Kingdom of Fire

by Nick S. Thomas

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Kingdow of Werstria

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Kingdom of Fire

  By Nick S. Thomas

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Swordworks Books

  Copyright © 2011 by Nick S. 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.

  Prologue

  The Kingdom of Werstria had been at war for over a hundred years with the Karsians, a barbaric and orcish people with which they had little in common. Whilst the Werstrians strove for a safe and stable empire, the barbarian Karsians wanted only to conquer and destroy.

  Werstria was an old country, its borders barely altered in thousands of years, its leading families changing little. The Kingdom was ruled from the Citadel of Wolfdenberg, the oldest and largest city in the country. Rivalling it were the cities of Ambstern and Lienzberg, together forming the economic triangle of the north. The Werstrians had a history of myths and legends many now forgotten, but some still remembered the tales of a young Lord who would save the Kingdom with a magical sword.

  All of the territory to the west of the River Ensee had been lost to the barbarians twenty-four years before, and the two armies had fought ever since over the towns of Judense and Ternen, neither side managing to gain ground either side of the river.

  The King of Werstria, Farian V, had long since tired of the war, too old to care, and too young to remember or be bothered about the loss of the west. To the north of the Kingdom was the Golden Empire, a decadent culture that fancied themselves the leaders of the known world, but they were a shadow of their former selves. To the south, the Ardian States, rich, corrupt, mercenaries, they claimed to have the moral high ground backed by their religion, but could be barely trusted more than the orc hordes of the Karsians.

  King Randar ruled the Karsians and was reputed to be brutal and barbaric. His only son, Prince Ozturk, led the armies of Karsia. The Karsians reputation was of one of cruelty, greed and lust. They would take everything in their path and kill all who opposed them. There were even rumours that they had special powers and could summon Dragons to their cause. The leaders of the Werstrians dismissed this as myths and lies by the Karsians to spread fear among the towns and villages of their kingdom.

  Since the fall of the west, Werstria and the Ardian States had a pact to defend against the barbarians, but being in the south bounded by the sea, they had rarely seen any combat in the hundred years of war.

  Like their King the population of Werstria was tired of war, with no stomach for conflict, no desire to reclaim what was theirs by right. They lived in the naive belief that they could carry on their lives in the knowledge that the River Ensee would protect them. Though they lived under the constant threat of invasion from the orcs, and the rumours and myths of even deadlier creatures.

  Only one town in the kingdom prepared for war, Blundon was ruled by the King’s cousin, Count Klaus Kohler. He was one of the few men who understood the shadow that their kingdom was under, and the only leader who recruited and trained his forces for the start of the war he anticipated.

  Once Werstria was a Kingdom famed for its Lords and rich nobles, but decades of war had drained its wealth. The country looked battered and ravaged, but among its populace was one poor and lowly landowner from the eastern village of Moden.

  Could this be the catalyst for change, the one man chosen to lead the Knights and men of Werstria? Would his destiny change the Kingdom forever?

  Kingdow of Werstria

  Chapter 1

  Markus awoke by his brother Johann kicking his feet. The fire beside him had long gone out. He rubbed his eyes and sat up after an uneasy night’s sleep. The Wolf Pack was encamped at the base of a valley, maybe a day’s ride from the east of Lienzberg, near the Salbein Mountains. The thirty-man pack had travelled from their training barracks in Schwartzal several days before, heading for their intended duty along the River Ensee.

  The valley was a subdued green terrain and dwarfed by the craggy and mountainous Salbeins, a range no one had entered in decades, maybe even centuries, back when the Werstrians lived on high ground. They were just off the main road from Ambstern to Lienzberg, the open rolling hills ahead of them and the mountains at their backs. Light snow had already begun to stick at the base of the mountains, and they were just weeks away from the winter.

  “Come on little brother, time to earn your silver,” said Johann.

  Johann led the column of thirty riders, whilst his younger brother Markus was his second in command, two young and poor landowners eager for promotion, combat and glory. Their father was killed at the great siege of Zwetsee, before the young Markus had been born. The two brothers had an ingrained hatred of the savage Karsians, despite never having even seen one. Johann offered his hand out to help Markus who gladly accepted, and was hauled to his feet. Both men were well built, fit and strong, and naturally good swordsmen.

  “We set off in a few moments, be ready.”

  Markus pulled his long chainmail coat over his head and strapped the breastplate over the top. He picked up his sword belt, and slung it around his waist. The sword was that of his training town, single handed, with a bronze wheel pommel with an eagle motif. The blade acutely shaped and heavily tapered, the quillons of the crossguard curving around towards the point of the blade.

  “It’s just two days ride to the Ensee now, so keep your wits about you.”

  “You have nothing to worry about on my part, brother, I was born for this.”

  “So was our father, but that did not keep him alive,” said Johann.

  “No, he died in glory, something we would be lucky to repeat.”

  Johann grabbed his brother’s mail coat and pulled him in close, an angry tone about him, yet he did not want the rest of the men hearing the conversation.

  “This is not a game, Markus, this is war! Death is for fools and those unfortunate enough to meet it.”

  “And perhaps if you worried a little less about death and more about living, you could be as great as our father.”

  The horsemen around them strapped their blankets onto the saddles of their horses and hoisted themselves onto their mounts. The Wolf Pack was a lightly equipped scouting party, little armour and light equipment, used for scouting and skirmishing, not a frontline unit. A rider galloped at full pace into the camp, one of their Pack.

  “Captain Handel!” shouted Alix, the rider.

  Markus’ brother quickly turned to acknowledge the rider, eager for news.

  “What is it?”

  “A rider from Lienzberg! The Karsians have attacked across the Ensee and are at the city!”

  “In what numbers?” Johann shouted.

  “Thousands, the rider told me that some for
ces have even pushed past the city.”

  “My God, it has begun!”

  “Johann, how could they have gotten so far?” asked Markus.

  “Let’s face it, our defence of the river is minimal at best, this day was always coming, we just never knew when and hoped for the best.”

  The men of the Wolf Pack rallied around their leader, some already in their saddles, desperately waiting to be told what they should do. All were fresh recruits and all brought up with the stories of the savage enemy in the west.

  “Listen up! We know that Lienzberg is under attack, but nothing more. I cannot reassure you as to what lies ahead, but what I can tell you is that it is the direction I am going!”

  The men erupted with a cry of enthusiasm, thrusting their lances into the air, eager for battle.

  “We may not be able to make a difference at the city, but if smaller forces have gone past the city they are likely ravaging the towns and farms, I for one will not stand for it! Mount up!” Johann ordered.

  Markus grasped his lance up from the ground and leapt onto his horse, fixing the weapon into the right stirrup crook. With his left hand, he threw his helmet onto his head, an open-faced burgonet. The helmet sides reached down to his neck and a rim stuck out at the front, a tall ridge running vertically from front to back, a large white feather plume rising from the rear. He reached forward and unbuckled the strap that held his shield securely to the front of his saddle, knowing he may well need to put it into action at a moment’s notice.

  “Forward!” Johann shouted.

  The eager group of men lurched forward at a quick pace, the metal on metal abrasion sounds of their armour providing a constant ambience to their stride. Every man’s lance held vertically, the red banners with a white wolf’s head motif fluttering in the wind as they increased pace. Markus joined his brother at the front of the column.

  “Brother, where are we heading?”

  “To the village of Raubuck, it’s the nearest to us, and completely undefended!”

  “Do you expect they will have gotten that far?”

  “Not their main force, no, but they will likely have raiding parties around the outlying areas of the city.”

  “Do we stand any chance against them?”

  “No idea, but we stand a damn sight better chance than the farmers do. The Karsians are brutal, we must help the village!” replied Johann.

  It was over an hour’s ride to the village, more than enough time for their blood to boil, for their fear and excitement to build in equal measure. The Wolf Pack had spent a year in training back in Schwartzal, becoming expert horsemen, able to manoeuvre with perfection at any speed, skewer a moving target at full gallop, and wield a sword in as natural fashion as others ate their lunch, but nothing could have prepared them for the foreboding blood and bitter combat.

  Fifteen minutes away from the village of Raubuck, Johann stopped abruptly, pointing upwards to smoke in the distance. He turned his horse to face his men who had gathered up behind him.

  “That’s the village of Raubuck, it has no soldiers, no walls, only farmers and it is almost certainly under attack as we speak. No one will be riding to help them, no one but us! The Karsians orcs will be like no one you have ever fought. Remember your training, remember your discipline, stay tight and give them hell!”

  He kicked his spurs into his horse and launched forward with his brother by his side and his companions at his back. They reached a full gallop and did not stop, reaching the village quickly. Half of the buildings were already alight, with screams of fear and pain echoing around the hills. It was in that moment that Markus caught his first glimpse of an orc. He was taller and stronger than any man of Werstria, and covered in crude chainmail and bear furs. He carried a huge two-handed axe. The savage’s face was blackened, covering his grey blue skin, an intimidating outline of a figure.

  The Wolf Pack did not slow, but they all gasped at the sight of their savage enemy. The riders charged down the horse track to the village, four wide at the front with lances lowered and ready to strike. As they neared their first target, they could see a dozen more Karsians running wild amongst the village.

  “For Werstria!” called Johann.

  His lance struck the first target, the steel tip splitting the rings of his mail armour and driving deep into his chest, the shaft snapping from the impact. The Wolf Pack’s lances were hollow, allowing them to be light and agile, but typically single use weapons only. Johann pulled a long hafted axe from his saddle ready for his next victim.

  “Split up! Kill them all!” he shouted.

  Markus could see a Karsian chasing a villager up ahead, he pulled his reins around and galloped towards the orc, impaling him on the shaft of his lance as he rode past, the shaft breaking, leaving half of it impaled in his target. Markus turned his horse around to see in amazement that the orc he had just run through was still running at him, with several feet of wood skewered through his body. He threw the remainder of his lance to the ground and drew an iron ball mace from his saddle, spurring his horse forwards.

  As his injured target raised his large glaive above his head to strike, Markus rode past, smashing the mace down on the Karsian’s head with brutal force. He turned again to see his victim’s knees quiver until he toppled dead to the ground.

  Markus looked around to see his companions fighting all around, their numbers were now equal, but more Karsians were running into the village street. He galloped on towards a big crude cart, seeing an enemy stood beside it. He raised his mace ready to strike, but abruptly stopped as he saw shackles around the target’s wrists chaining him to a cartwheel. He looked into the eyes of the soldier, the look of a prideful man, who stood upright, not cowering down, even though he was helpless. He had the clothing and armour of a Karsian, as well as the build, but his skin was somewhat closer to human. He lowered the mace in kindness, and saw the man’s speechless nod in respect and gratefulness.

  He rode back to the square of the village where most of the Pack was fighting, several were now on foot, their horses killed. Johann was at the centre of a line in the main street of the village, while the civilians ran for their lives behind him.

  “Do not let the bastards pass!” shouted Johann.

  Markus heard footsteps to his left side and quickly turned as he lifted his shield. A huge two-handed war hammer smashed against the shield with such immense force that his horse toppled over onto its side, crushing his leg.

  As the huge Karsian lifted his massive wooden hammer above his head for a finishing blow Alix galloped past, thrusting his lance through the man’s neck, blood spewing out over Markus’ face and shield. Markus looked over to see Alix ride on and then disappear into a cloud of smoke as a blunderbuss erupted to his side.

  “Alix!”

  Markus tried with all his strength to lift the body of his stunned horse from his leg as he could see eight of the enemy approaching from the south side where Alix had just killed his attacker. The Karsian with the musket slung it around on his back, and drew an iron pick from his belt and marched towards the trapped rider.

  “Johann!” screamed Markus.

  His brother looked around with a look of utter despair. He pulled the reins of his horse and galloped towards his stricken brother, swinging his axe into the man’s head, the steel helmet denting and twisting as his neck snapped with the impact. Johann leapt from his horse to his brother’s side and used every reserve of his strength to pull Markus free. The two men stood, holding their shields and drawing their swords.

  Johann looked up the street to the rest of his men. They were utterly overwhelmed by the numbers and sheer strength of the Karsians, Alix lay motionless next to a house, his horse dead beside him. Looking back to the south side, seven enemy soldiers were now closing in on them, eager for blood.

  “You ready brother?” asked Johann.

  “Maybe.”

  “Not quite the glorious death you had envisaged?”

  “We aren’t dead yet,”
said Markus.

  The two men stepped towards their foes, they all stood broader and taller than them. The first Karsian swung his big two-handed sword in a strong horizontal cut, Markus ducked under the heavy swing and stuck his sword into the orc’s stomach with a quick thrust, immediately drawing it back out. The brutish soldier reeled in pain and then swung a second heavy cut down towards his head. Markus displaced the force of the strike off to his side with the shield and spun around, cutting down onto the Karsian’s neck, hacking deeply. He drew back the blade from the cut, deepening the wound down the collarbone.

  Johann deflected an axe strike with his shield and cut down to the hamstrings of his target, the strong soldier toppling to the ground, followed with a thrust down into the heart. The next Karsian thrust a spear towards Johann, he pushed it down with his shield and cut down onto the exposed lead wrist, cutting the hand from the beast’s arm, and then immediately cutting quickly to the throat, causing the orc to grasp his bloody neck as he collapsed.

  The fourth attacker swung at Markus’ lead arm with a single-handed axe, Markus parried across his body, and raising the sword point over the shield, drove forward, pushing the creature’s arm down and the point of his sword into his chest. Drawing the bloody sword out, he parried a heavy cut from a billhook above his head, and kicked quickly to the orc’s knee, snapping the joint and forcing him to the ground. Markus drove the bronze pommel into the beast’s face, smashing his nose, and then slashed the throat open.

  Johann avoided a swing from a sword and went to return a strike when the other Karsian smashed a glaive down onto his collar, carving deeply into his body and smashing him to the ground. Johann gave out a cry in agony as his sword fell to the ground and his left arm was paralysed. The Karsian was like a giant, he was taller than the other Karsians and they seemed to follow him. He must have been their leader. Markus smashed his shield into the next soldier’s face, sending him stumbling backwards, before lunging low with a thrust into the other’s groin. He leapt forward and twisted as he pulled the sword out and then jumped towards the last soldier who was regaining his footing. The Karsian thrust the billhook forwards as Markus parried the weapon as he spun around to the man’s side and cut down into his arms, quickly following with two hard cuts to the man’s head.