“Johann! Can you walk?”
His brother tried to get up, struggling with the pain of his wound, and unable to use the left side of his body. He could just make out the shadow of the tall Karsian watching them. Markus ran to him and helped him to his feet. Johann wrapped his right arm around Markus for support and the two stumbled back towards the Pack. They looked to their line of fighters, who were utterly overwhelmed and fighting to a desperate and bitter end. Markus pulled his brother to the nearest door and kicked it open, dragging him into the small and dark house. He propped Johann against the inner wall.
“How’s the wound?” asked Markus.
“Oh, great,” said Johann.
“No, seriously.”
“Seriously, this is the end for me, Markus.”
“No, don’t say that, we’ll get you out of here!”
“Look around! We are defeated, but this isn’t the end for you, you have to get out of here. Be careful of their leader, I feel he is a danger to you.”
“So what must I do?” shouted Markus.
“Get back to Ambstern, they’ll be organising forces there to fight back.”
“I can’t just leave you here!”
“You can and you will. You have always been stubborn Markus, and strong headed, but you must learn to be greater than that. I had my chance at leadership, I have failed, but you live on. Do what I could not. You must fulfill….”
His breathing slowed, it was almost the end for the Captain. With his right hand he pulled from around his neck a large silver pendant attached to a thick metal chain, he held it out to give to Markus, who cautiously accepted.
“What is this?”
“Father left this for me, as the eldest son, it has been in our family for as long as anyone remembers, and now I pass it to you.”
Markus clenched the pendant tightly into his left hand as Johann’s breathing slowed, he was about to utter his final words when the door smashed open. Markus quickly reached for his sword and looked up to their attacker, but before he could respond, the room lit up with the gunpowder ignition of a blunderbuss. The pressure and force of the scatter shot sent Markus flying back against the wall of the house and then crashing to the ground, unconscious.
* * *
It was hours before Markus woke, and not to the dark, low ceiling building that he last remembered. The air was fresh, and the area quiet and peaceful. He lay on grass, disorientating him from what he could remember. He tried to sit up, but his muscles and joints ached. Markus rolled onto his side so that he didn’t have to use all the muscles that hurt so much. Blood seeped down his face, and his hands were black with powder residue. The metal breastplate that he wore was black with powder and burn stains, scratched and with many small dents.
Finally, the bruised and battered soldier managed to pull himself up onto his knees. He looked around and saw that he was in a small opening among the trees. Looking down into the dip below a man stood washing himself in a small lake. Markus pulled himself to his feet, feeling utterly beaten and exhausted.
His memory of the fight in the village was quickly coming back to him, to the point where he remembered his brother was dead, as well as most of their Wolf Pack, men who had become his closest friends. He had no memory from the point of being shot in the house where his brother died, and the place that he now found himself in. The only conclusion he could come to was, that one of the Pack had dragged him away from the burning village, of which the man by the lake must be the one.
Markus staggered down towards the lake to talk to his saviour, desperate to know the outcome of the fight and its aftermath. As he got closer to the man, who had his back to him, he noticed how broad he was, tall, muscular, but also scarred, nothing like one of the Wolf Pack he travelled with. Markus looked over at the man’s clothing that lay beside the water, a rough quilted gambeson, blackened mail armour, no weapons. This was not the equipment of a Werstrian soldier.
Markus cautiously and quietly drew his dagger from his belt, the only weapon he had left about his person. The dagger had a long single edged blade with a strong back edge, ideal for puncturing through lighter armour, the guard made of a round flat disc. He approached the man as quietly as he could with the dagger raised high in a reverse grip, the blade pointing forwards. He got within twenty feet of the stranger, when without turning he finally spoke, in a deep and rough voice.
“I don’t mean you any harm.”
Markus stopped in his tracks, his heart pounding in his chest, compounding the pain throughout his body. He could not think what to do.
“Who are you?” asked Markus.
The man calmly turned around, further revealing his strong physique and stature. Markus was taller than most men he knew, but this stranger dwarfed him. With hands substantially larger than any man he knew, and a jaw and facial features that were broad and strong, this was not a Werstrian. There was a tattoo of a snake on his chest. He studied the man a little closer, partially recognising him, until it finally dawned on the battered soldier. It was the Karsian who he had seen chained to a cartwheel. Markus was confused, desperately trying to make sense of the situation. He had many Karsian features, but somehow looked partially human too, his skin colour being closer to a Werstrian.
“Why did you save my life?” asked the stranger.
“I didn’t, I just didn’t take it,” Markus answered.
“But you could have, probably should have.”
“Why? Are you a dangerous man?”
“To my enemies, yes.”
“How did I get here?”
“I carried you.”
“Why? Why would you do that?” Markus asked him.
“Because you spared my life, so I spared yours.”
Markus lowered his dagger, putting it back into its sheath. He did not yet understand the situation, but he was already starting to relax slightly, fully knowing his life was in the stranger’s hands.
“Are you going back to your people?”
“No,” said the stranger.
“Does this have something to do with the reason you were shackled to that cart?”
“Yes, I had a... disagreement with my captain.”
“What will you do?”
“I have no army left, but I have you, one who showed mercy, I will follow you.”
“The Karsians just killed my brother! My only intention is to kill every last one of them!” shouted Markus.
“If that is what your wish, then I will help you.”
“You would fight and kill your own people?”
“A people who would enslave or kill me are no longer my people,” said the stranger.
“You look more human than the others I saw, why?”
“I am a half-breed, half Karsian, half human from the men of the north.”
“I didn’t think that was possible.”
“It is, but the Karsian’s kill most half-breed babies, I am one of the few to survive.”
Markus slowly lowered himself to the ground, glad to relieve his aching body, and content that a threat no longer existed. His mind wandered back to the village and the battle that had so recently taken place. The Wolf Pack was never intended for that sort of combat, they were a light scouting and skirmish cavalry. After all his brother’s talk of death being for fools, he tried to make sense of his actions. His brother had given everything to help the villagers, everything to help his people, never caring for glory.
“How do I know I can trust you?” Markus asked him.
“How can I trust you? This is your land, and you are the only one with a weapon.”
“That’s fair.”
“We should be safe here today, and you must rest, clean your wounds and be ready for the morning.”
Markus nodded in agreement not at all happy with the turn of events, but knowing he could do nothing but accept them.
“I am Markus, what is your name?”
“Bulkaresh.”
“Bull? That fits.”
T
he stranger looked at Markus with a grin, pleased to have a master that did not want to kill him.
“I’ll gather some wood for a fire,” said Bull.
The two men sat out the rest of the day, discussing things of no importance, and realised how little divided them as individuals. As the sun went down, Markus was weary, glad to be able to shut his eyes. For all of the pain and suffering of the day, his strength was the one thing he needed now. The cold was biting through his gambeson, each day becoming colder than the last, but that could not keep him from sleep.
Chapter 2
Markus’ eyes snapped open as he was woken by sounds in the woods close by. His body did not move, not wanting to acknowledge the sounds, nor let anyone know that he was awake. His right hand slowly and carefully reached for his dagger that lay on the ground beside him. He slid the blade quietly out of its leather sheath until he held it freely. A twig snapped just footsteps behind him, and knowing he had to act, Markus rolled over and leapt to his feet.
A Karsian stood before him, armed with a heavy falchion, hardly a fair fight. Markus lifted his dagger ready to take on his attacker, but before the brutish opponent could step forward a hand reached around his neck, clamping around his throat. The orc gasped in shock and desperation as the sword dropped from his hand and he was lifted off his feet. His attacker then dropped him to the floor and before the stunned man could react, Bull’s hands wrapped around his head and jaw and snapped his neck.
At that point, Markus finally believed his new friend, he had saved him once, but now he had killed one of his own people in defence of a friend. A battle cry resounded as two Karsians charged out from the woods behind Bull. He reached down for the falchion, and as quickly as he had it in his hand, he parried a heavy strike with a halberd. Bull grabbed the shaft of his attacker’s halberd from the parry and ripped it from the orc’s hands. Before he could strike his disarmed opponent, the orc charged at him and smashed him to the floor.
The second attacker ran at Markus with a two-handed axe and swung the weapon with a wild strike. Markus leapt back, narrowly missing the blow that was heavy enough to fell trees. The Karsian used the weight of the weapon to swing it up above his head and then down with a second swing as he stepped further forward. Markus jumped to the orc’s right side and spun to avoid the axe, which embedded into the ground with a pounding impact. Markus thrust his dagger into the man’s ribcage, before quickly withdrawing it and stepping back.
The big Karsian roared with rage and simply ran at Markus, seemingly unhindered by the wicked injury. Markus spun the dagger into a forward grip and held it back near his chest, his left arm extended and ready to engage. As the Karsian swung a heavy and uncontrolled hook towards Markus, he parried off the punch to his right under the dagger and thrust the blade into the orc’s throat. Without waiting for another response, Markus grasped the creature’s hair with his left hand and ripped it back from his dagger, then smashing the pommel disc of his dagger into the orc’s face.
The wounded Karsian stumbled back trying to breathe. He then staggered towards Markus with bitter hatred wanting nothing but to hurt his opponent. Markus simply watched as the mortally wounded barbarian moved towards him, until his eyes went still and his body toppled to the ground before him. He looked over to Bull, who was standing above and behind his kneeling attacker, the falchion held to his throat. Without any further thought, and with a hand at each end of the blade, Bull levered the blade into the orc’s neck, until the head was cut from the body.
“This was a scout party, they must be searching for us,” said Bull.
“Why?” asked Markus.
“Their leader was an important man, Prince Ozturk, and you killed a great many of his men.”
“And they killed my brother!”
“And you wouldn’t hunt them down if you could?”
Markus went quiet, contemplating his own blood lust, his desire for revenge. He hated the Karsians with every fibre of his being. They had killed his father before he was born, and his brother before his eyes, damn right he would hunt every single one of them down if he had the resources to do so.
“I’m sure more will follow, it’ll be light soon, let’s go,” said Bull.
Markus picked up his mail coat and threw it over him, then tied his belt around his waist and wiped the blood off his dagger before sheathing it. He left the breastplate there, it had saved his life the day before, but it was now more weight and cumbrance than he could afford. The idea of leaving his own equipment behind was the most unnatural act, after his trainers had hammered into him the necessity to look after all he was issued with, but this was not the army, this was survival.
Bull took the belt and sheath for the falchion he had taken, and Markus picked up the last two-handed axe that he had been attacked with, slinging it over his shoulder. It was a heavy and clumsy piece.
“Damn, how do you wield something like that?”
“Get stronger!” answered Bull.
Without further conversation, the two men set off, making their way as best they could towards Ambstern. It was a gruelling journey on the hard cold ground. Markus had gotten used to the luxury of a horse for travelling distance.
“You know the might of the Karsian army, do you believe we can ever win this war?”
“Yes, there is always a chance. But few of your people have the stomach to fight any longer, they need leaders who can inspire them.”
“Curious. I had never seen a Karsian before the fight in Raubuck.”
“Where?” Bull asked.
“Where we first met.”
Bull did not respond, for he had nothing to say.
“Will you honestly follow me into battle against Karsian forces?”
“Yes, all I ask is for your confidence and trust.”
“Everything I was brought up with told me that Karsians were savages, and yet here you are talking about honour and trust?”
“Perhaps that is why I follow you. Maybe it is my destiny.”
Several hours later they were alerted to impending danger by the sound of galloping horses following their tracks.
“You want to fight or run?” asked Bull.
“From the sounds of it, we’re going to have a hard time of it,” said Markus.
Bull looked around the terrain and to the imposing mountain range that they had been working their way around. The huge craggy peaks thrust up towards the sky to be seen across the whole kingdom, a perilous and mysterious place.
“Those mountains, what are they?”
“The Salbeins, no one has travelled in to them for as far back as anyone can remember.”
“Sounds ideal.”
“Are you crazy? We have no idea what lurks in that land!”
“Well I can tell you what lurks in this land, and it wants us both dead, how can it be any worse?” asked Bull.
Markus looked back towards the sound of crashing hooves that were getting ever closer but were not yet visible. He thought for just a few seconds, they were stuck between a rock and a hard place.
“Alright, let’s go!” shouted Markus.
The two men rushed towards the base of the mountains, which were a sharp incline from their very beginning. They rushed through the woods that were the opening to the Salbeins and did not stop running until they were out of breath. Looking down towards the shallow hills below there were six Karsian riders at the base of the mountains, carefully studying the tracks and talking with each other.
“Will they keep hunting us, Bull?”
“Yes, the Prince is not a forgiving man.”
“I thought we came in here to escape from them!”
“No, we came here to even up the odds.”
“How so?” asked Markus.
“To follow us they will have to leave the horses and much of their equipment behind.”
“Great, so they are just as badly off as us.”
“Yes,” said Bull.
Markus sat down on a large rock, still panting fro
m rushing up the steep terrain. He lay down the heavy axe and his shoulders slumped, weary of being on the losing side. He had built up such a fantastical ideal of what victory and war would be like, never imagining for a minute that overnight he could go from a nice uniform and a unit of competent fighters to being hunted like a dog, with nothing more than a foreigner at his side.
“What do you know about these Salbeins?” asked Bull.
“They are a thing of myth, the setting of countless fairy tales and bedtime stories to scare children with.”
“Do you know anything useful? Do people live here, or beasts?”
“There have been sightings of wild men, giant bears, magicians, birds big enough to kill a man and serpents that could eat you whole, sometimes even Dragons. But no one has ever proven any of it,” said Markus.
Bull shot a look at Markus as if something had ignited his interest.
“What is it?”
“Over the last year I have heard rumours of Dragons, I never believed them,” said Bull.
“Why would you?”
“Your people clearly do.”
“We have progressed beyond simple savages, they are just old stories.”
Bull’s face tightened as he turned to counter the gesture, but refrained, partly in respect of his new friend, and partly at the memory of his own people being ready to execute him. He paced up and down uneasily.
“Will they never stop chasing us?” asked Markus.
“Until we either disappear or they are dead.”
“Perhaps it is you they are after?”
“Perhaps, but I think we have caused as much offence to them as each other,” said Bull.
Markus looked down the mountain, he could see that all the horses were tethered and their riders had set off. Their persistence was impressive, and worrying.
“We will have to fight them at some point, or we risk having our throats cut in the night,” Bull explained.
Kingdom of Fire Page 2