“How did they come at you?” Nikomedes asked, too caught up in the moment to think of protocol.
Felix gave him a stern look before sighing. “A handful of them made to fall upon me while I slept, but having suspected such an attack I had prepared my camp with snares and traps—traps for which I used myself as bait.”
Nikomedes felt his eyebrows rise. “You succeeded,” he stated matter-of-factly, in spite of his surprise at hearing that Felix employed traps rather than brute strength.
Felix nodded slowly. “I took them to a man and left their bodies for the animals to feed on, which is all that they deserved.” He fixed Nikomedes with a cold, hard stare, “A man without honor is no man at all; he is nothing but a beast of the sea or field.”
Nikomedes looked out across the field and wondered aloud, “Is honor truly so important?”
His warlord grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around until they were eye to eye. “There is a beast within each of us, Niko,” Felix said in a low voice. “That beast is capable of great destruction if left to its own devices; without honor, you cannot control it—but it can, and will, control you.” He released his grip on Nikomedes’ shoulders and ground his teeth. “Kratos believes that honor makes us weak…that it merely prepares us to be manipulated by those who would do so.”
Nikomedes paused and considered his words carefully before asking, “Is he right?”
Felix’ eyes snapped up and for a second Nikomedes thought he had overstepped, but the warlord merely chuckled after the moment passed. “Perhaps,” he allowed, “but even if he is, a world without honor is not worth living in.” The Protector looked down at his palms as he clenched his fists rhythmically, “Each of us is made for greatness, Niko, though most of us never achieve that greatness even when it is brought forth on a silver platter.”
He paused and shook his head slowly, as if lost in thought. Nikomedes had never known Felix to speak so much, but he knew there was wisdom that comes with experience—and only a fool refused to listen to the counsel of those who have gone before him.
“I have never met a man like you, Nikomedes. You, more than anyone I have known, are destined for something greater than this,” he waved his hand, encompassing the field and the Citadel, and he sighed before adding, “but I do not know what that is.”
“War is what we have, Protector,” Nikomedes said stoically. “Without it we cannot secure our places in this world, or prove ourselves worthy of our upload to the next.”
Felix waved a hand dismissively. “Be that as it may, I am certain there is something…greater which awaits us, if only we could reach out and grasp it.” The warlord and Protector of Hold Mistress Eukaria’s realm shook himself from his reverie. “Enough talk,” he said brusquely, “when we meet with Kratos under his so-called ‘flag of truce,’ you shall act as my second. Should battle ensue, you shall do the same.”
Nikomedes was speechless, and he had to replay the words in his mind to be certain he had heard it correctly the first time. “I feel…honored,” he said with a short bow.
Felix considered him for a moment before nodding in satisfaction. “I actually believe that you might.”
When dawn’s first light came streaming across the barren, wintery field surrounding the Citadel, Felix and Nikomedes made their way out to the appointed spot: a small table with a lone man standing on the side opposite Nikomedes’ and Felix’ approach.
They approached wordlessly, and Nikomedes scanned the horizon for any sign of Kratos’ men but he found none. It was as if only the three of them shared the entire field.
As they neared the small table in the field, Nikomedes realized it was not so small after all—Kratos was simply a mammoth of a human being. He stood a hair taller than Nikomedes, who was the tallest man in the Hold as far as he knew. But height was not the only physical characteristic this man possessed in the extreme—he was broader and thicker than even Felix, who made most soldiers of the Hold look frail and childlike by comparison.
Felix approached the table warily, carrying his huge hammer, Glacier Splitter, propped over his shoulder. When he arrived opposite Kratos, he thunked the hammer head-first onto the ground and locked eyes with the other man, holding the hammer’s haft in front of his chest between clasped hands.
Kratos’ eyes were cold and grey, like hard mountain stone, and he spared barely a glance at Nikomedes as the sixteen year old stepped beside his warlord.
“What is the meaning of this, Kratos?” Felix asked gruffly. “You go to the shadows for nearly a decade only to reappear now—and at the head of an Ice Raider army?”
Kratos held Felix’s gaze for a moment before he chuckled deeply, and the sound it made was like a glacier grinding across a rocky slope. He turned emphatically to look around their position, “I see no army, Felix. I see one large man, one small man, this table,” his eyes locked with Nikomedes’ briefly, “and one man-child pretending to be something he is not.”
Nikomedes felt anger surge through himself, but he kept his features stoic and his posture as relaxed as he could. It was likely that Kratos had multiple warriors hidden from view who would spring to action at the slightest hint of danger.
“You did not come here for wordplay, Kratos,” growled Felix, “and you did not march an army to my doorstep for anything less than blood.”
Kratos shrugged his massive shoulders, and Nikomedes saw his eyes flick down to Glacier Splitter before once again finding Felix’ face. “You left so quickly that I hadn’t the chance to say goodbye.” The huge man feigned a dramatic pout, “And here I thought we were friends.”
Felix shook his head stiffly. “You are a radical—a heretic, even—and I will have nothing further to do with you or your kind.”
Kratos’ eyes flashed with anger momentarily, and Nikomedes braced himself for conflict. But the mountain of a man laughed again, and his voice boomed across the open field. “Well…we don’t have to worry about ‘my kind’ any more, now do we? And I suppose, if I’m being honest, I have you to thank for that.”
“The Red Dawn was a mistake,” Felix lowered his eyes to the table. “I was a fool to believe such an act could undo what had already been done.”
Kratos cocked an eyebrow. “You mean to say that you regret the attack which saw the slaughter of your former kinsmen?”
“They were never my kinsmen!” bellowed Felix, and Nikomedes could feel his heartbeat begin to quicken. He knew that this affair would indeed end in blood, and he would not die with his weapon sheathed. With that thought in his head, his hand crept to his sword’s hilt as his warlord continued, “The Red Dawn was necessary, but I failed to finish your kind once and for all—that is why it was a mistake!”
Kratos had clearly anticipated this type of reaction, because he folded his arms across his massive chest and gestured with one hand toward Glacier Splitter. “Tell me…did you take my brother’s hammer before or after you stuck my father’s head on a pike outside the fortress walls? Such disrespect was far from ‘honorable conduct,’ if I understand the term correctly.”
“Is that what this is about,” Felix demanded angrily, “you want your father’s hammer?”
“You aren’t getting off that easily,” Kratos shook his head and bared his teeth. “You know what they say: ashes for ashes, blood for blood. You took something from me and now it’s my turn to take from you. If it makes you feel better, just think of it as my way of…honoring an old debt,” he said with a contemptuous sneer.
“Then it’s to be war?” Felix growled.
“You of all people should know that I do no woman’s bidding, cousin,” Kratos scoffed. “Wars are only fought to increase holdings. Since men are not allowed to hold title in their own names, what purpose of mine could possibly be served by throwing my army at your walls? Even after I won, none of it would belong to me; why should I go to the trouble?”
Nikomedes felt himself bristle at Kratos’ blatant disregard for the traditions of their society. It had been
decreed by Men in ancient times that women would be the sole legal bearers of property, and that men should act as their adjutants and physical auxiliaries. It was the binding thread of their society, and to even speak as Kratos had just done was grounds for summary execution.
“Keep your heretical words to yourself, Kratos,” spat Felix. “If you did not come to fight then why are you here?”
Kratos wagged a finger admonishingly. “I only said I did not come to make war. But make no mistake, I came for blood—yours.”
“Then it’s a duel?” Felix said stiffly.
Kratos threw his head back and laughed, and Nikomedes felt a powerful urge to cover his ears but he resisted it. “No, Felix,” Kratos shook his head in mock sadness, “not a duel, but a fight.”
Felix slammed his fist into the small, wooden table. “Your tongue seems to have twisted until you speak only in riddles, Kratos. Tell me your terms, and be quick about it!”
Kratos ceased his laughter and locked eyes with Felix. “I have come to avenge the Red Dawn, which was itself an unsanctioned act of violence. According to your vaunted customs, I am allowed to seek retribution against the author of such an act, as are any whose lives were touched by your far-reaching assassinations.”
Felix ground his teeth, and Nikomedes had to admit that he admired Kratos for his ingenuity—if not for his insane, unspeakable politics. He was referencing age-old doctrines which had governed the satisfaction of old grudges, but his heretical declarations had already shown him to be unconcerned with tradition. “Very well,” Felix said stiffly, “how many did you bring?”
“There was scarcely a family in the north who cannot claim distress from your act of wanton carnage,” Kratos said with an indifferent shrug, “so each of my men has come for his own retribution. But my spies report that you have a private force of four hundred at your personal command; I will agree to keep my own number equal to that, if you will agree to meet us on the open field at dusk this eve.”
Felix glowered at Kratos, and Nikomedes was at something of a loss as to what was being negotiated, so he took a step forward. “You do not mean to bring war to the Hold?” Nikomedes demanded.
Kratos’ gaze fell on the young warrior and he blinked in feigned disbelief. “He’s a sharp one, this…boy that you’ve taken as your second, Felix,” he said dryly.
Nikomedes ignored the huge man’s slight and continued, “How did you raise such an army and manage to fly the flag of a Hold Mistress? No Hold Mistress would sanction your actions if you have not come for war.”
Felix turned to Nikomedes with a hard look on his face, which silenced the younger man as the Protector turned back to face Kratos. “If you agree to immediately leave the Hold in peace after the battle, should you prove victorious, then I will meet you at dusk,” Felix said heavily.
“With your four hundred men,” Kratos insisted.
Felix shook his head, but Nikomedes sensed he had little choice. “Only a handful of my men participated in the Red Dawn, Kratos. What is accomplished by the inclusion of my entire force?”
Kratos sneered as he cast a menacing look toward Nikomedes, “The followers…and offspring,” he gave a pointed, hard look at Felix before continuing, “of a warlord must share in the honor of that warlord’s victories—and the bitterness of his defeats. I would see you, and your memory, stamped out like the dying embers of a fire which has outlived its usefulness. If your memory dies, then your offspring may live.”
Felix nodded slowly. “Then we will meet you on this field at dusk,” Felix said after a brief pause. “I will go to ask my Hold Mistress’ permission.”
Kratos nodded condescendingly, “You do that.” He turned his back to the two of them and began marching away from the table as he called over his shoulder, “Goodbye, cousin.”
As they made their way to the Citadel, Nikomedes found himself unable to answer the questions which arose, so he stopped in his tracks and Felix did likewise.
“Why did you accept?” Nikomedes asked. “He has no grounds to force such an engagement, and Hold Mistress Eukaria would have certainly negotiated a peace with her counterpart since neither side has overwhelming superiority.”
Felix stopped and paused with his back to Nikomedes for several moments before turning. “You would not understand, Niko.”
Nikomedes would not accept such a dismissal, taking a deliberate step toward his warlord. “I believe I understand our ways well enough to recognize incongruity when I see it. Kratos clearly manipulated you into accepting; I would know how, and why.”
Felix brow lowered as he squared off against the younger man. “You would know?” he asked threateningly. “Best be cautious with your words, boy.”
Nikomedes pumped his fists as his choler rose, but this time he managed to reign in his temper. “I do not understand why we agree to meet them in the open field when we have the walls of the Citadel we could man. The stockrooms are loaded with supplies; we could withstand a siege for months!”
Felix sighed and shook his head as he looked down at Glacier Splitter. “I will not discuss it now, but I promise you this,” his eyes rose to lock with the younger man’s, and Nikomedes saw something foreign in his warlord’s expression, “should you survive the battle, its meaning will be made clear to you. Until then…” he trailed off, clearly searching for the proper words, “consider it a matter of protecting the innocent from having the price of my transgressions visited upon them.”
Nikomedes was far from satisfied, but he knew that he would learn nothing else from his warlord until Felix had deemed it proper. So they walked the rest of the way to the Citadel in silence.
Nikomedes stood outside the chambers of the Hold’s privy council as his warlord and Hold Mistress Eukaria conversed within. The meeting had lasted for nearly an hour during which time Nikomedes had stood silent vigil outside the large, wooden door across from the pair of guards assigned to the Hold Mistress’ person.
He had considered his warlord’s words, and concluded that Felix himself must have been a heretic like Kratos. The two were apparently cousins—with a family resemblance that could not be ignored—but that had not stopped Felix from ushering the Red Dawn, which itself was shrouded in mystery. But it had been the Red Dawn which had earned Felix the prestige necessary to become Protector to Hold Mistress Eukaria.
Nikomedes was broken from his silent musings when Felix opened the door and purposefully strode from the chambers. Nikomedes stole a glance inside the privy council chambers and saw Hold Mistress Eukaria standing with her other advisors around a large table.
He quickly made his way to his Felix’s heel. “We march?” he asked in his deep, smooth voice, trying to hide his mounting anticipation.
Felix nodded curtly, “We march.”
Chapter III: An Eye for an Eye
Preparations had been simple: Felix’ private force of four hundred soldiers was to march out of the Citadel and meet Kratos’ men in the open field. The traditional armaments of long spears and shields, with broad, short swords in reserve had been issued to each man.
In addition, each soldier was to carry three javelins—two lightweight, long-range javelins and one heavier, short-range javelin for piercing armor. The field was not large enough to allow for more than a few casts before the enemy would be upon them, so there was little point in bringing extra munitions to clutter the field.
Still, Felix had decided to take precautions against betrayal, and the army employed a secret passage which allowed them to come out of the Citadel in a flanking position to Kratos’ force—which had once again made itself known by marching into formation in plain view of the Citadel’s walls. If Kratos intended to go against his word and make war, the soldiers of the Keep would march out and flank the enemy forces from the opposite side. The lay of the land made defending against such a pincer attack nearly impossible, and even if Kratos knew about the tunnel there was little he could do about it.
They crept out of the tunnel, with Felix and N
ikomedes in the lead, followed by the various units of twelve men until the entire force had emerged, and they began making their way to their place on the field.
The walk took them a half hour, but they arrived just before dusk to see Kratos appeared to have kept his word. There were approximately four hundred soldiers on the field, and each was dressed in leather armor with long, black skins of some kind strapped about their bodies like some sort of cloaks. Nikomedes did not recognize the black fur lining those skins, but it was clearly some kind of uniform.
Felix’ men were armored more heavily, with bands of metal strapped across the more pliable leather beneath. Each man had a metal helmet in the shape of a cat’s head since the cat was the natural symbol of Felix’ private army, with the mouth of the cat’s head providing the viewing window. Their boots were cleated with short, metal spikes, and each man wore leather gauntlets with bands of metal similar to their armor.
As they approached, Nikomedes saw that the black skins were, in fact, cat skins. They belonged to a larger specimen of cat than he had ever seen, but the heads had been perfectly preserved and appeared identical to the helmets Felix’ men wore—save theirs were made of hide while Felix’ were made of metal.
They arranged themselves into a line twenty companies wide, with the other twelve companies in reserve. The line itself was three men deep and eighty men wide, spanning four hundred feet from end to end. They were arranged with absolute precision, and Felix stood at the left flank of the line.
Kratos’ men made no such alignment, and no sooner had the sun kissed the horizon than a great battle cry erupted from the Ice Raiders. They raised their weapons—mostly axes and spears, Nikomedes noted—in unison, and Nikomedes saw Kratos emerge from the throng. He was unmistakable with his physique, and Nikomedes felt a thrill of anticipation. This would be his first, true battle, and he could not wait to test himself against these invaders.
The Forge of Men Page 4