Champions of the Apocalypse

by Michael G. Thomas

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  Champions of the Apocalypse

  by Michael G. Thomas

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Swordworks Books

  CHAMPIONS OF THE APOCALYPSE

  Copyright © 2011 by Michael G. Thomas

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The library was dark even though the light breaking in through the dulled glass windows betrayed the fact it was the middle of the day. The cold stone walls were covered in cloths and fabrics that displayed a mixture of patterns, symbols and pictorial accounts of long past events. One great tapestry showed a great battle between armies of men in leather and metal armour. Some of them stood on metal vehicles and above them was a winged machine, dropping fire. The land was barren like desert and the ground littered with bodies. In front of the tapestry were a number of relics including a broken axe, helmet and what looked like a rubber wheel though it was too flexible to use on its own. The library was rectangular in shape and over half of its space taken up by a dozen oak bookcases, each dark with age, and as sturdy as the day they were built. At one point in the past, they had probably been full to overflowing with books and papers, but those days were long gone. Only a fraction remained of the world’s old literature and the texts on the dusty shelves were valued more highly than any food, fuel or material. Few of the books were complete and most showed extreme signs of age and deprivation.

  Synne sat at her wooden table, a place where she had been working now for over three years. She had spent every day of her training either working on martial arts, writing or working in this library. When she was a young girl, she had been taught to read by her father, an ability that was increasingly rare in these lands. Of the population of the old city, only half of them could read to any extent and a tiny proportion of those could write. With these skills, she was learning, though she had already started to pass on her knowledge to a new line of teachers who could then teach others. It was her father’s hope that in less than ten years the entire city could be literate, the first member of the League to do so. Her city was self-contained, founded by a group of nomadic warriors and built amongst the ruins of what must have been a mighty city itself at sometime in the past.

  Even more important though, was that she could read, and understand some of the books she had found that were in different tongues. This was a unique gift, as over half the books known to exist were not in the League’s native language. Any member of the League that had the ability to read and understand the knowledge contained in these old texts would have a priceless asset, and be most valued of all. Of greater importance though would be the benefits to all members that such knowledge could bring. The thoughts of the medical, science and engineering knowledge waiting to be discovered thrilled her, and it was what drove her to learn to read the old tongues.

  To the side of her desk were several ancient machines, each lovingly maintained, cleaned and oiled. The closest to her was a simple handheld press. It featured movable type and Synne had used it in the last few hours to duplicate financial records for the archives. Of all the work she did, this was the most boring. With this chore completed, Synne was able to move on to something she found infinitely more interesting. This part of her working day was dedicated to transcribing, repairing, restoring and copying the small number of sacred written texts and relics still owned by the city. The book she was working on was a water-damaged copy of an early twentieth century edition of Sun Tzu’s Art of War. The book was dated, but this was only of partial use to her, as the only dates used were those of the founding of the League. Synne had no idea when the twentieth century had been, only that it wasn’t in her lifetime or anybody else she knew.

  Large sections of the book were unreadable due to damage over the centuries as well as water and fire, but the sections she had fixed so far were fascinating. The area she had been working on for more than two weeks was ironically called, Attacking with Fire and concerned the tactical and strategic use of fire in war and politics. Synne’s father Lord Galan, was the leader of the city of Haven, and had shown great interest in this book and wanted the copies of the reassembled sections sent to him. When she was finished, the repaired and reassembled title was to be printed on the machines, with at least a dozen copies to be created at the personal expense of the her father. The costs of making the ink alone made this a valuable proposition and the books would be a valuable heirloom and great status symbol.

  The door to the library opened and in walked two young men, both in their early twenties. Between them they carried a chest. They staggered inside and dropped it to the ground with a thud.

  “Oops,” said the first, though with little reverence.

  The second noticed Synne who was still working at her desk. Upon hearing the noise and the door, she stood and turned to them. Her clothes were basic and drab and she had the look of someone who, though fully occupied, was hardly satisfied with what life had to offer her. She was a tall woman, just under six feet and relatively strongly built which was surprising considering she spent so much time in the library.

  “What have you got there?” she asked.

  “Uh, items recovered from the expedition into the Wastelands. This is all the paper they could find, sent over by courtesy of your brother,” said the first.

  Synne wandered over and lifted the lid gently, peering inside at its contents.

  “This isn’t paper, you fools! These are books and they contain knowledge and wisdom you can only dream of.”

  “Uh, yeah, okay. So, we can go now?” asked the first man, his disinterest in the box being self-evident.

  Synne nodded and as the two men left, she stood and stared intently at the objects resting in the wooden box. She moved to the side of the box and noticed the lettering. It read simply, Stacks.

  “Stacks?” asked Synne to herself though she was still unsure as to the meaning.

  She looked back inside and at first was disappointed only to find loose sheets of paper. Though valuable, they were nothing compared to the knowledge of the Ancients. As she lifted the sheets and placed them delicately into a case on the lower shelf, she noticed one contained a list. Moving it into the light she read it carefully. The lettering was smaller than usual and it appeared to be a record of books to be sold off.

  “Sold off?” she muttered to herself. The Ancients must have had access to a bewildering array of knowledge, if they could afford to simply sell off books. The only other option she could think of was that these were essentially treasure that had been exchanged for something of equal value. Some kind of economic measure, perhaps.

  She reached inside and withdrew a glossy book, its cover thin and colourfu
l though faded with time. With a gentle blow, the dust moved aside to reveal the cover. It showed a picture of a three-legged machine that seemed to be chasing or herding people.

  “Strange,” whispered Synne as she opened the book to reveal its contents.

  “It is a book of a war with creatures from Mars,” she said with a hint of surprise.

  She looked out of the window and up to the sky before turning back to the book and then flipped it over. The idea of a great war was always of interest, especially as one of the biggest questions any of them ever had was, what had happened centuries ago? Some even doubted any great event had occurred and that the mysterious buildings and artefacts had been left by an older, more advanced society. So many questions she thought to herself. She turned the book over and noticed a dusty and partially worn away description of its contents. She strained as she tried to read the text, then smiled to herself as she made out the words.

  “Ah, a science fiction story, fascinating,” she exclaimed.

  As she placed the book down, she found a dark leather-bound edition of a book that must be of value. As she lifted it part of the old leather dropped off, and with a twist of her wrist she managed to catch it and place it on the table. The name on the spine had faded long ago yet the pages looked solid. She opened a few pages, staring in awe at the illustrations. The first showed people in sets of metal armour and they were fighting next to wooden barriers. The next page showed a bizarre machine like a cart, yet it was fitted with blades and armour. Synne looked closely at the machine, the detail was incredible as were the many hue and colours.

  A hand knocked at the door.

  “Come in,” answered Synne, though she remained engrossed in the work.

  In walked a man of common clothes and bearing. He approached Synne and then stopped in front of her, waiting patiently.

  Synne turned to the man though her thoughts were still on the incredible machines.

  “Can I help?” asked Synne.

  “I’m from the flatlands, miss, we’ve been expanding the crop fields and I’ve started organising the irrigation of the new sections. The problem is we need to move water from a lower field to clear it for crops.”

  “And what do you need from me?” asked Synne.

  “Well, I was told you might have a piece of technology that could help us move the water,” he explained.

  Synne stood and walked over to one of the many bookcases. As she looked along the rows of books, she continued talking.

  “What have you tried so far?”

  “Well, we’ve tried buckets but it is taking too long. I don’t have enough labourers to work the land and drain the water.”

  “I understand. So, a machine you could use to pull the water and place it somewhere else would be of use then?” asked Synne with a smile.

  “If such a miraculous machine existed it would help us clear the land and start work immediately,” said the man with a growing smile.

  Synne removed a book from a shelf. It was a simple volume containing a section on tools, equipment and machines for agriculture. She walked over to her desk and laid out the book so that the man could see the pages.

  “This is called an Archimedes Screw, it is an ancient invention. By placing this screw in the channel of water you simply turn the screw and the water will be pulled upwards and out this side,” she explained.

  “Incredible, this will truly work with water?” he asked.

  “It will work with all kinds of fluids. Take this plan to the workshop and ask them to assemble you one that is five yards long, that is that about right.”

  The man took the paperwork and headed for the door.

  “Be careful with those plans, they are priceless,” said Synne with a smile.

  As the man left Synne grinned inwardly, knowing well that the material she had shown him was a copy from the archive of the screw, she had over fifty more copies locked safely away. She moved back to her book and examined the contents in detail. From the inlay page it said it was a selection of illustrations from the German swordmaster, Talhoffer. Synne hadn’t heard of the man before but the illustrations were extraordinary. As she skimmed through further pages, she could see examples of men and even some women that were fighting with a great variety of weapons. Some used swords, others spears and there was even an image of a person using a piece of cloth with something wrapped up inside it.

  What really caught Synne’s eye though, was the lavish detail on the armour and machines. These were not the simple works of a humble blacksmith but those of skilled craftsmen with expert knowledge on the shape and movement of the human figure. The machines were fanciful and she was excited when she saw what looked like a land ship, a wooden item covered in metal plating and pulled by armoured horses. On the sides of the machine were metal tubes with puffs of mist coming out of them.

  “I’ve seen these before,” she muttered as she looked intently at the details.

  She spent several more hours, pouring through the book, forgetting the rest of the titles sat patiently in the box before she noticed how dark it had become. Because of the gloom in the library she already had several lamps burning and had turned them up without giving the lateness of the day any consideration. It was time for her to go she could return and continue her work tomorrow. She closed the book carefully and ensured there were no naked flames anywhere in the library before stepping outside. As she opened the door, a chill wind crept in and sent a tingle through her body.

  She closed the heavy wooden door behind her and locked it shut. Only she and Lord Galan carried keys for the library and if anybody was found to be in the room without them, they could expect a very heavy punishment. She walked the short distance from the library, where she had been working all day, to the inn. As she made her way along the path she thought about the exciting treasures she had seen and for a moment she was tempted to head back and read some more. Then she remembered, she had promised to meet her older brother Ulric today, primarily to discuss his training. She had not seen her brother for a week as he had been away, teaching at the League’s combat school that was over a day’s ride from their settlement. Her brother was one of the small numbers of warriors in the area and it was his job to protect the region from Raiders and slavers. The other members of the League knew that Haven was the strongest of their members and the teachings of its greatest warrior well appreciated. Some of the border regions were paid upkeep by the great Houses to provide small bands of militia to protect the fragile frontiers, and to occasionally provide troops when needed. Ulric often had to travel to help teach these people how to fight.

  Although there were nearly a thousand people in Haven and five times that number in the farms, villages and lands nearby it was unable to afford more than a fifty full time warriors, the rest had to be provided by the militia or from other League forces. Every person that lived there was a mouth to feed and warriors contributed no food, trade or materials, even though their role was necessary and vital. That didn’t mean they neglected their defences though, every man or woman over the age of sixteen was shown how to use basic weapons and was expected to man the defences if the time required it, which it frequently did.

  Ulric, and his companions spent their time travelling the borders improving their equipment or training the inhabitants of Haven and the other members in the basics of combat should it ever be required. As Synne wandered down the path she looked about at the city, the remnants of what she thought was probably a great settlement at sometime, perhaps even a major city to the Ancients. After all these years the old names had faded, the buildings had collapsed and little remained other than foundations and the odd relic usually taken away or stripped for its parts. These days the city was known as Haven. According to the old men that lived there it was named due to it being the first of the settlements to be reoccupied and rebuilt centuries ago, though many would dispute that or even that there ever was some great calamity at some point in the past. It was obvious that people had been here many
years ago as some of the ruins on the outskirts and even some of the older buildings in Haven must be very old. Whatever the truth, the city of Haven was the most powerful, successful and peaceful of the settlements in the League and its warriors were renowned though the lands.

  It had been dark for almost three hours and most of the inhabitants of city were indoors. The shadow of the ruined fortress loomed over the small number of buildings just as it must have done for hundreds of years. A flicker of light came from a few guard posts and a great orange glow came from the busiest part of the area, the old inn. Only a fraction of the city was occupied, the perimeter was a mixture of trees, bushes, and scrub that seemed to hide a bewildering array of low walls and outlines of what probably used to be buildings. The dusty paths between the ramshackle buildings were in poor condition and travel at night could be treacherous. Night-time in this part of the world was always a danger, and it was a time when everybody had to be on their guard. The open ground around the outpost could hide all manner of evil things and it frequently did.

  As she approached the inn she placed her torch in the water bucket and then into the stand nearby. She opened the door and went inside.

  “Synne, busy day?” asked the barman who was busily serving a customer.

  Synne nodded and walked towards a table, moving past the half a dozen regulars. As she approached the table, a dark figure turned slightly to face her. Synne ignored the man and continued to her usual spot. As she moved a few more feet, the man at the table moved and either by accident or by plan, ended up striking Synne in the side. She stumbled a foot or two and then turned to face the man. She was unable to respond though, before the seated figure moved to stand towering over her. It was hard to make out the man’s full figure but as he stood it was clear he was a man of violence. He wore iron armour on his shoulders and chest and had specially fashioned vanguards and braces of either leather or thick rubber on his arms and legs.