“Okay, I suggest we make our way further into the mountains, further from their supplies and any re-enforcements, and further into the wilderness. The only thing we have on our side is surprise, let us use it well.”
Markus picked up his axe and the two men set off at a fast pace, as best they could keep over such a long distance. They had been walking quickly for most of the day when Markus finally found a location he was happy with. The spot was a small narrow valley with tall thick trees, and plenty of undergrowth. A stream ran through the centre and drowned out a lot of noise, and was therefore ideal for an ambush. The little valley ended in a sheer rock wall, which the two men put foot and hand prints on to look as if they had climbed, before covering up their later tracks.
“This is where they will stop for the night, they will not climb that in the dark,” said Bull.
“Is there any way we can divide their numbers?” asked Markus.
“Once they have decided to stop, two will be sent to find food. That will be our opportunity.”
“You sure about this?”
“Yes, we are savages, we are predictable.”
Markus grinned, amused that his hulking friend could understand and use sarcasm. The two men waited patiently in the thick dense foliage, waiting for their opportunity to strike. The light was already beginning to fade when they could hear the clumsy and heavy sound of the Karsians trundling towards them. They watched as the men followed the tracks up to the rock face and began to talk among themselves. Eventually four of them began to take their equipment off and sit down, whilst two headed off into the distance with a crossbow, just as Bull had predicted.
“You ready?” whispered Markus.
“Yes,” he replied.
The two men slowly lifted themselves off the ground and stepped carefully on the balls of their feet towards the four orcs, who were pulling off their armour and equipment. Markus had the axe in two hands, the heavy haft resting on his right shoulder, ready for one big vicious strike. Bull moved surprisingly quietly for a big man, the falchion in his right hand, the blade hanging low beside his leg.
Markus crept up behind his first target propped up against a fallen tree trunk. As he approached the beast took his helmet off and relaxed back against the tree, sighing with relief. Markus pushed his hands up above his head, lifted the axe head high, before smashing it down onto the Karsian’s head with all the force he could muster. The heavy blade drove deep into the skull and stuck there, killing the orc instantly.
Before the others could react, Bull ran out from behind a large tree and hacked into one of the orcs’ collarbone before he could pick up a weapon, the force of the strike knocking him to the ground. Markus drew his rondel dagger and leapt at his next target, thrusting for his collar with a hammer grip. The big Karsian stopped the knife with a simple arm parry and punched Markus in the face. The heavy strike sent him thundering to the floor, flat on his back.
As Markus’ attacker stepped towards him, Bull levered the blade from his victim’s collar and jumped to his friend’s aid, thrusting the broad falchion through the orc’s heart from behind, the curved clipped edge blade exiting through the front of his body. Markus stumbled to his feet in time to see the last attacker rushing at Bull from behind, he tossed the dagger in his hand so he had the blade end and quickly threw it. The narrow and strong dagger blade pierced the eye of the fourth Karsian, blood poured from the socket as he tumbled down dead. Bull turned to see his countryman collapse lifeless behind him, not at all surprised or shocked.
“Thanks,” said Bull.
“Let’s get those other two bastards whilst we still have the element of surprise,” said Markus.
Bull just nodded and followed him. They followed the tracks of the two Karsians to the south, but their tracks were barely traceable under the moonlight. After ten minutes of careful and quiet walking, they came across the two men who had just started loading their crossbow. They had obviously found something to kill and eat, but Markus could not see what. The Karsian’s foot was in the stirrup of the crossbow, his hands winding the string back with a mechanism as his friend stood watching their prey.
Markus and Bull crept closer and closer to the men, desperately trying not to alert them to their presence. They stopped just short, waiting for them to fire their shot before they pounced. The crossbowman loaded on his bolt and raised the crossbow to shoot. As his finger reached for the trigger, the trees beside them rustled madly and a figure burst out from the foliage, a huge man-shaped figure in thick fur, armed with a staff as thick as some men’s arms.
The crossbowman turned to fire at the unknown figure, but before he could train his weapon on the target the massive staff smashed the Karsian’s face, a heavy crunch as several parts of his face caved in. The second man reached for his sword, but the mysterious figure pointed at him, fire bursting from his hand like lava from a volcano, burning the orc to a black crispness, killing him instantly.
The rugged stranger stood upright and relaxed his posture, standing the staff upright beside him. He looked at Markus and Bull, his eyes piercing and bold. The two men were as astonished that he had spotted them, as they were by his display of raw power and magic. It was as if he was fully aware of their position before the attack, they were both still frozen in their kneeling position, completely unsure what to do, until the stranger finally spoke.
“What is your business here?”
Markus and Bull slowly stood up, knowing that their position was compromised. They carefully walked towards the man, unsure as to whether they should treat him as an enemy of not, and in awe of his power and speed.
The stranger had a short, well kept beard and long hair. His face was hard and defined, old and wise, but not at all tired. He was tall, and the thick and bulky bear fur he wore made him look more like a giant. Around the fur he wore a thick leather belt with a large aged bronze buckle, the icon of which neither man recognised. On his arms were finely crafted steel bracers.
“Well?” he asked again.
“I am Markus of the Werstrian Wolf Pack, 18th Guard, who are you?”
“I asked, what is your business here?”
“We, we...the Karsians attacked across the Ensee. Lienzberg had been attacked, we went to help at Raubuck, but we were beaten. We are trying to make our way back Ambstern.”
“And yet you have a Karsian with you?”
“This man saved spared my life, he is my master now,” said Bull.
The stranger sighed, thinking deeply, as elusive as he was when they first saw him. It was an uneasy silence, the two men had seen an eye-opening display of the stranger’s strength, speed and skill, and did not at all understand his intentions. Markus thought carefully about how to word his next question, but Bull simply came out with it.
“Why did you kill those men?”
The stranger looked up at them, almost insulted that he even had to answer the question.
“Nobody kills the creatures of this glade without my permission.”
“That’s it? You couldn’t just ask them to stop?”
The stranger shot a piercing look at Markus, who felt humbled by the imposing and confident stranger.
“And because I didn’t like the way they smell!” he added.
Bull burst out into laughter, the sense of humour clearly pleasing him greatly. The stranger chuckled in return, until it increased into a booming laughter.
“That fire you created, how did you do it?” asked Markus.
“There are many things which have long been forgotten in this world.”
“All these tales of the Salbeins, I had assumed they were myths.”
“My friend, most myths are founded in history.”
Markus was still stunned and confused by what he had seen. He had never believed for a moment that magic actually existed, or that anything but wild beasts inhabited the mysterious mountain range.
“You seem alright to me, how about you join me for a drink?” asked the stranger.
The two men looked at each other, surprised at their luck.
“This is Bull, or it’s what I call him,” said Markus.
“Welcome to my land, gentleman. My name is Gottfried Biermann, but my friends call me Hammer.”
“Should we ask why?”
“Probably not,” said Bull.
“Alright, follow me!” shouted Hammer.
The mysterious stranger led them to the entrance to a cave not far from where they had fought the Karsians shortly before. They followed their new guide, a man they knew almost nothing about, a leap of faith of which they had few other options. Markus had the distinct impression that they were going to do as Hammer wanted whether they liked it or not, the less painful option was preferable.
Hammer pulled back the foliage covering the entrance to his cave, the haze of the light from his fire being a welcome and pleasant sight. They stepped through into the cave, but it was far from the simplistic and spartan dwelling that they had expected. Old wooden bookcases lined several walls, and racks of fine weapons beside them. The cave was quite compact, but it clearly contained everything that the man considered valuable. A fireplace had been carved into the stone with a chimney exiting above the rock.
Markus looked around the room, it was carefully arranged with not a single thing out of place, not an item that did not have a use or immense sentimental value, the floor lined with wood. He looked over the fireplace, a solid gold crest hung above it, he did not recognise the symbol, though it he knew it would be worth a fortune, and it resembled the wolf head of Werstria, though subtly different in every way.
Bull was immediately drawn to the weapon rack that was filled with an astounding array of fine weaponry, arming swords with exquisite guilt and blue, longswords with finely carved hardwood grips and solid bronze hilts, twisted to resemble the branches of a tree. Hung from the wall either side of the fire were huge greatswords, as tall as many men, with broad guards with protruding rings from each side of the guard, and parrying hooks a foot up the blades.
“Who are you?” asked Markus.
“I have already told you,” replied Hammer.
“No, where are you from, where did all this come from?”
“Do you always value a man by what he keeps in his home?”
“It is a good indicator. You must have been a wealthy noble, unless you stole all of this.”
Without any warning, Hammer smashed his fist into Markus’ face, the broad and iron-like fist hit like a hammer to his jaw. Markus’ head snapped back and his legs quivered below him, sending him flat to the floor. He hit the wooden floor hard, the landing stunning him almost as much as the punch to the face.
“No one ever calls me a thief!”
“I was only suggesting it might be the case.”
“Well, you are lucky, I only hit you lightly. I like you.”
“That’s reassuring,” said Markus.
Markus dragged himself to his feet, his jaw already sore from the strike, a punch of the sort of force he had never felt in his life. He walked to the entrance to the cave and spat blood into the wilderness. The aching man stepped back into the cave sitting down at the bench next to Bull, his pride more wounded than his face.
Hammer put out three clay mugs onto table before them before filling them with some dubious smelling liquor. He gestured to the two men to pick up their drinks. Markus threw back a mouthful of the frothy liquid, his eyes widened, back tingled and his face shuddered.
“Ahh! What is this stuff?”
“My finest brew, I have been refining that for centuries.”
Markus stopped, lowered his mug and looked at the man with surprise.
“Centuries? How old are you?”
“There comes a time when you no longer count years, or remember your age.”
“How can you have lived so long?”
“Why do you live for so little?”
Markus stopped asking, he did not know what to make of the eccentric man’s statement, it sounded preposterous, but nothing yet had suggested that their host was a liar or crazy person. He looked again to the wolf above the fireplace, studying it intently. It was a finely crafted piece and worth more than all he owned in the world, nothing like what you might expect to find in a cave. In fact nothing in Hammer’s home was as you would expect, he was both sophisticated and barbaric in equal measure.
“That wolf, it is like the Werstrian one, but somehow not quite, what is it?” he asked.
Hammer looked at Markus as he drank his ale, then looking intently at the wolf crest. Finally after another uncomfortable silence, he spoke.
“That is Werstria, my Werstria.”
“What do you mean?”
“There was a time when we Werstrians ruled all the lands, we were the strongest people, the richest, the most wise, that was my day.”
“But, that must have been hundreds of years ago?”
“Sounds like crazy talk,” said Bull.
“And they were times when we would cut off your head for such insolence.”
“Then why don’t you?” asked Bull.
“Perhaps we all mellow with age.”
“All talk and no action.”
Hammer laughed as he sipped back on his ale, amused by the arrogance of youth.
“Tomorrow we fight, but tonight we drink!” yelled Hammer.
Markus’ initial instinct was to interfere, but something in the back of his mind made him stay silent. He felt somewhat curious to know who Hammer was, and if he really was as tough as he made out. The three men talked nothing more of the subject that night, focusing only on many good drinks and light banter. Markus felt completely alien in these new surroundings, and yet surprisingly confident in this company.
* * *
Markus woke to a cold morning, his head slightly sore from the heavy ale they had shared the night before. Bull was asleep and snoring the other side of the room, not at all bothered by anything, he was clearly a man who slept easily. Markus lifted himself to his feet, feeling well refreshed by the rest and already rather less battered and bruised than the day before. He walked to the front of the cave and pushed by the foliage that covered the entrance, thick snow fell from the branches. It had been a heavy downfall overnight.
Walking out into the daylight and onto the soft fresh snow, he took a deep breath of the fresh, crisp air. He stopped to look around at the vast land, so much of it hidden by the night the last time he had seen it. They were high in the Salbeins, the terrain a mix of rocky crag and tall thick trees. The landscape was imposing, unaffected by man, a marvel of the natural world. Snow covered much of the rich green grass, but the vibrant thicket of the trees remained strong.
He looked down the hill before him. Hammer was hanging from a horizontal tree branch, bare from the waist up. He lifted his bodyweight up and down, his back muscles tightening with each pull-up. The strange fellow was facing away from Markus who was enthralled by the sheer mass of the man, so strong beyond anything he had seen in Werstria. The man would even dwarf his new friend Bull. It was in this moment that Markus began to entertain the idea that Hammer really was everything he had said, and not just a hermit in a cave.
As Markus stood in awe, Bull arose and joined his side. The gruff Karsian yawned and stretched, finally coming to some level of lucidness. He followed Markus’ eyes to their host, surprised by what he saw.
“He looked a lot smaller and weaker last night,” said Bull.
“Not quite the old man you wanted to fight?”
Bull chuckled slightly, not at all concerned about who he had to fight. Bull was clearly a man that had never been afraid to fight any opponent, going into every fight with the utmost confidence, and sure of his victory.
“Are you ready?” shouted Hammer.
“Always!” Bull answered.
Bull pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the ground. He jumped on the spot, twisting his hips and joints, loosening his body. He had a huge grin on his face, looking forward to c
ombat, as if it was his natural state of mind, which it was. The two men approached each other amongst the trees. They circled one other, each eyeing up the other’s stance and tells.
The smile on Bull’s face widened, his confidence supreme, but as he did so Hammer smashed his face with a lightning fast jab. The strike snapped his neck to the side, it was so fast he had not even seen it begin, and it hit as hard as the heaviest hook he had ever taken. He shook his head to reconstitute himself, sure that he was simply not awake yet. He launched out a hook towards Hammer’s face, but before he was half way there, the man had ducked and voided to his left side and released a quick punch into the other side of his face.
Bull stumbled back, obviously feeling the heavy impacts hard. Getting angry, he ran back at Hammer, swinging with the heaviest strike he could. The huge man caught Bull’s hand in full swing with his left, shocking Markus who was watching eagerly. Hammer kicked to the man’s stomach, making him keel forwards in pain, before delivering a back fist to the side of his head that sent him thundering to the ground, utterly finished. He rolled over on the ground, in pain, but smiling through his blood-seeping mouth.
“You’re pretty good for an old man,” croaked Bull.
“Why did I beat you?”
“You were faster and stronger!”
“Yes, that’s right, and don’t you forget it.”
He offered his hand out to Bull, hauling him to his feet with no effort at all. Markus stepped up to the two men, it was not a wholly surprising outcome to him, as he had felt a gut instinct about the mysterious man, and yet, no threat from him in a malicious manner. He pulled his gambeson off and his shirt after it, ready to take his own shot at the man. He knew Bull was strong, but also clumsy, he could not resist testing his own skill against such a worthy opponent.
“You want to bleed as well?” Hammer asked him.
“Where better to test myself than against such a worthy and friendly opponent as yourself?”
Hammer nodded his head in acceptance, with an amused look on his face. Markus was a head shorter, and half his bodyweight, but the man’s courage and enthusiasm pleased him greatly. He raised his hands ready for the fight, but before he could consider his actions, Markus leapt with both feet forward and snapped a punch into his face as, surprising Hammer more than stunning him.
Kingdom of Fire Page 3