Kingdom of Fire

by Nick S. Thomas

  Yorlor stepped forward, throwing off his furs. Like all of the tribe, he was very tall, perhaps a touch taller than Bull even, but with a wiry physique, nimble, fast and well conditioned. Vesart stood watching them prepare themselves beside Markus.

  “You are courageous men to walk into our camp without a fight, sportsmanlike to challenge us, but perhaps foolhardy in your plan.”

  “Just don’t be surprised when your man cries like a girl,” Markus answered.

  The leader chuckled before stepping into the circle between the two men who were awaiting their fight.

  “The fight ends when one man is unable to stand, or he submits! Begin!”

  They circled each other, looking for their opportunity to strike. Finally, Bull thrust out a lightning thrust to the man’s head, which he dodged narrowly. The shock of Bull’s speed covered the man’s face. These people were clearly not accustomed to meeting strangers who could equal their lightning fast actions.

  Yorlor threw a feint towards Bull’s head before quickly re-directing with a powerful strike to his other side. Bull, just as quickly, twisted the staff across his body and parried it, and without hesitation smashed his staff into Yorlor’s face. The impact knocked him back several paces and left a deep cut in his nose, blood streaming from the nostrils.

  “Your man is fast, faster than any foreigner we have met,” said Vesart.

  The bloodied man shook his head to regain his composure and quickly came back on guard. Bull was grinning with arrogance and confidence as he awaiting his opponent’s move. Yorlor swung his staff in a big one-handed arch. Bull voided the strike and thundered a heavy vertical cut, which was also dodged. Yorlor’s staff came back around in a circular motion and crashed into Bull’s rib, making him twist in pain.

  The two men again came on guard at wide distance, each now understanding how capable the other was. Yorlor cut and was parried twice before he thrust a hard strike towards Bull’s head. Bull ducked under the strike and cut with the staff into the man’s groin. Yorlor reeled in agony, the staff falling immediately from his hands as his body keeled in pain. Bull did not wait for a response. He cut with the opposite end of the staff into Yorlor’s jaw, throwing him off his feet and unconscious to the ground.

  The men around the circle looked in surprise as their tribesman pounded into the layer of snow, which still covered the hard ground. Vesart was initially in as much shock as the rest, before he finally stepped forward towards Bull. He walked casually up to the triumphant fighter who was unsure what to expect. He offered his hand out to Bull, who accepted it. Vesart slapped him on the shoulder with a smile on his face.

  “Bravo! I am honoured to have such men among us, we will honour our agreement!”

  Markus finally relaxed, relieved by both their victory and the reasonable nature of the tribesmen. He stepped forward to where Vesart and Bull were standing.

  “You are not what we were expecting. We thought to find savages, but your speed and skill is impressive,” said Markus.

  “We live here because we choose to live a simple life, not because we are barbarians. Now tell me, is it true what you say about the Karsians striking across the Ensee and through Werstria?”

  “Sadly, yes.”

  “Then join us for a meal, eat heartedly, we will prepare you some horses and you can leave in the morning.”

  “We’d be honoured.”

  “Excellent! Let me show you to what you came for, I think it will be beyond what you could have ever imagined,” said Vesart.

  “What about him?” asked Bull.

  He pointed to the motionless body of Yorlor.

  “He will wake up when he’s ready, now come.”

  The high-spirited leader led them beyond the hog roast and between some trees to a huge iron door. The stone building before them only appeared to rise to the height of a few men, and most of it covered, they could not believe that it could hold the treasures they had been told. Vesart hauled the heavy door open and stepped through. Simple beds were laid out across the room and it seemed to be where they lived, hidden from the world.

  To the left side of the room there was a spiral staircase, which led both up and down. He led them to the stairs and picked up a lit torch from the wall, continuing deep below the surface. They eventually came to the bottom of the steps and into a huge room, though they could only see a flickering glint of steel reflecting in the tiny light of the single torch.

  Vesart lowered his torch to waist height at the side of the room and a new light ignited, spreading quickly around the edge of the room. To Markus’ amazement the entire room burst with light, a technology he had never seen, but what was more marvellous was what the light revealed. The room before them was five times the size of the one above the surface, and barely a single space not filled with armour.

  Bull stepped forward, in awe of the magnificent full harness armours and the lines of swords that decorated the walls. It was the finest collection of military equipment that either of them could have ever imagined. The fine armours were fit for Lords and Kings. Shields bearing the old wolf’s head of Werstria lay at the back wall, the same wolf they had seen in Hammer’s cave.

  To their right side lay a wooden rack of more than forty arming swords, each as outstanding as the next. Finely woven gambesons hung from a rack on the wall, but it was the back right wall that Bull was drawn to. He stormed across the room past all of the finest armour he had ever seen to a rack of greatswords, as tall as the hulking man himself. He pulled one down with the grip as long as his arm, the guard was almost as broad, with a large protective iron ring protruding from each side.

  Lifting the sword in his arms close to his body, a huge grin spanned across Bull’s face. The first section of the blade was wrapped in leather, up to a pair of spikes protruding from the blade. Markus laughed at the sight of his friend who was revelling in his find.

  “We have never been called to use such weapons, but now I can understand why they exist. Take whatever you want. I am having three horses prepared for your journey.”

  “Why are you doing so much for us?”

  “Because we were once like you, our homes washed away by the hordes of the Karsians, and we can perhaps help you do what we could not.”

  “Then ride with us, Vesart, we are heading for Leonzal to recruit some men to our cause, before heading north to help reclaim Lienzberg and drive the Karsians back over the Ensee.”

  “My friend, we are all that is left of our people, we have long given up the fight of nations.”

  “So what, you will just live as exiles, hoping to go unnoticed?”

  “I am sorry, but we have seen enough bloodshed of our people. I will leave you now, stack what you want by the steps and I shall have it carried to your horses in the morning. Please, join us for a meal when you are done.”

  “Thank you, your hospitality means a lot to us.”

  Vesart took his torch and continued back up the stairs to the ground level. Markus turned back to the room, marvelling at the shimmering steel before him. As a poor and lowly man, he had never seen anything near the quality and completeness that the armour before him presented, except at a distance when Lords had visited his land.

  “What do we take?”Bull asked him.

  “Everything we can. This armour is more than just protection. It is a symbol of Werstria, a symbol of our power.”

  He stood before a magnificent full harness, its construction deeply fluted and inlaid with gold. It was fighting armour, for a King. He stacked it ready to take and then turned his attention to the arming swords. He was drawn to a magnificent piece with an interweaving spiralling wire grip, and a solid silver pommel in the shape of two wolf heads, back to back. The blade was acutely tapered, with a strong spine running along the flats of the blade. It had been sharpened many times over.

  Next to the swords, he picked up a solid iron mace, flanged and fluted at the head with gold inlay inset within the flutes, and a strong spike protruding from the tip. He
passed the daggers but sentimental enough to want to keep his, the only possession he had left of his former life in the Wolf Pack.

  Bull took hold of a single-handed axe with a long spike on the reverse side and a strong steel shaft, as ideal at opposing armour as Markus’ new mace. He looked at the armour, immediately drawn to a mighty harness, far less ornate than his friend’s, but breathtaking to admire in its masterful construction. The pauldrons had huge vertical guards that reached the ear height of the helm, an intimidating feature, which appealed to the man deep down.

  Markus and Bull spent well over an hour salivating over the most outstanding array of arms and armour they had witnessed in their lives, and best of all, choosing their favourite pieces to continue with them on their journey. They took two poleaxes as tall as a man, with a large hammerhead, a spike on the back of the head and on the top and bottom.

  Walking along the lines of outstanding workmanship, Markus stopped suddenly in his steps, looking at one piece glistening before him. Bull stepped up to his side, both unable to speak as they stared at the huge sword. It was as tall as Markus, gold runes and a Dragonhead inset pommel, just as Hammer had said. The guard had broad quillons and double d-rings, all blackened.

  Taking the amazing weapon from the wall, Markus spun it around in the small space between armours. The grip was wire bound over a rough and mottled skin he could not identify. He was still not sure if he believed in Dragons, but it was a weapon to strike fear into the hearts of any enemy. A strange feeling came over him and he felt his father and brother were with him. It was as if he was in a trance, his ancestors were all surrounding him though he couldn’t see them, just a dark mist. It was as if the great sword was passing its strength to him. Then it all began to clear and he was aware of his surroundings once more.

  Eventually after a long time waiting for their arrival, Vesart wandered back down in the tower to find them. He walked in to see Markus swinging a large greatsword, only marginally smaller the one his friend had chosen, the two looked like children given new toys.

  “Gentlemen!”

  The two men abruptly halted and turned to their host.

  “I am glad you have found what you were looking for, but there may be one other room of interest to you.”

  Vesart turned off to the right side of the room and pulled back a shield that was hiding a door. He took a large metal key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Before them was an eccentric collection of firearms, some barely recognisable as weapons at all.

  “Before you is a selection of fine firearms, many of them are one-off, experimental and obscure. They may well be of use to you.”

  Markus picked up an odd-looking weapon. It was three short gun barrels, lightly fanned out and attached to some kind of bracer to attach to the arm, with a single trigger and firing mechanism. He could already see its application and took it for himself.

  Bull picked up a huge gun from the ground, far too heavy for most men to wield, likely intended to mount on castle walls. It had the furniture of a musket, but much larger, looking like a musket for a giant. When stood upright it was as tall as a man.

  Looking around the small room at the obscure selection of weapons, Markus took a four-barrelled gun from the wall. It had a separate wheel lock mechanism attached to each barrel, a bulky looking weapon but with short barrels. He took a satchel of gunpowder from a table and a bag of lead ball. Looking along the table, he saw a wooden box full of large iron balls. They looked like small cannon balls, but with match cords protruding from the top of each.

  “What are those?” asked Markus.

  “I believe they are hand held explosives, you light the match and simply throw them.”

  “They could be useful,” Bull said.

  “Alright, grab the box, and take what ammunition you need for that cannon,” said Markus.

  Bull picked up the crate of explosives with a happy grin on his face.

  “We have everything we need, thank you, Vesart.”

  “No problem, now join us, the hog is ready to eat!”

  That evening they sat around the fire dining on the succulent pig, a fine meal before carrying on with their journey. It was a pleasant reminder of the camaraderie Markus had become so accustomed to with his time in the Wolf Pack.

  “Bull, that serpent on your chest, what does it mean?” asked Vesart.

  He was referring to the tattoo, which all had seen on the man’s chest earlier that day. It was indeed something Markus had been curious about since first seeing it. It was not common for men in Werstria to decorate their bodies, except for criminals and other lowlifes. For this reason, he had considered it rude to ask.

  “It is the mark of a Karsian Royal Guard, which I earned,” said Bull.

  The men went quiet, looking in shock. Markus could feel the air of hostility growing, until Versat finally broke in to laughter. Finally, he stopped and spoke.

  “A Karsian who fights for Werstria, proof that a barbarian can be tamed!” shouted Vesart.

  The other men burst out in a deep roar of laughter. Bull initially looked put out, until he accepted the truth of the matter, that he had risen beyond the savageness of his people to become something better. He had found honour and righteousness by himself, and those who shared his beliefs had shortly found him. The men nodded in respect, accepting the barbarian as an equal among them, then they continued with their own conversation. Vesart looked to Markus.

  “Do you believe you can take Lienzberg back?”

  “It depends how many Lords will join the fight. Werstria is tired of war, its Lords content to hang on to what precious little they have left. But we must try, if we cannot reclaim the city and drive them back Werstria will fall, maybe not this year, or the next, but our children will live to see it so,” said Markus.

  “Enough of this talk. There is evil in this world, we have all seen it, but now is a time to enjoy the hours we have, to share our time with friends. Tomorrow the war resumes, for tonight it is on hold!” shouted Vesart.

  The fire roared on as the men talked, ate and drank through the evening until they were too weary to do so any longer. The two travellers were given simple beds in the tower of the Lords, a welcome shelter from the brutal nights of the winter, which still clung onto the land.

  Despite lying in a comparatively comfortable bed to what he had become accustomed, Markus could barely sleep that night. He could only think of what was to happen in the coming days. He had anger in his heart to take revenge for his brother’s death. But he was also concerned that he would be able to serve his people and help in the great conflicts to come. And the sword, what did it all mean? Were there such creatures as Dragons?

  Bull was out within a moment of reaching the floor, with no worries left in his life, he would meet each fight as and when necessary. Markus feared for his home country, having long been taught of the risks of invasion over the Ensee and what it could mean for the people of Werstria.

  The west of Werstria had fallen long ago, and all Werstrians were familiar with the raping and pillaging encountered at the hands of the barbarians. Few survived that conflict, those that did, were put into slavery far to the west, or survived as a shadow of their former selves. Markus was just one man in a massive war, and his first battle had taught him how little one man may affect the outcome. However, Hammer had taught him very much the opposite. How men can be greater, more than what they were born to, more than equal to the sum of their enemies. Could he be one such man?

  Markus lay awake for much of the night contemplating the incredible odds that they faced. He knew in his mind that they could not win, but something in his heart told him that he could make a difference. Over the voices of doubt that filled his head, Hammer constantly resounded in his thoughts. He had told him, the man that wins a fight is the one who knows he can. Markus fought the doubt in his head with all the strength he could muster, the fight of doubt and confidence ever entangled in a battle within his mind.

  Eventually the f
atigue set in and he fell into a deep sleep, whether he wanted to or not. His sleep was uneasy. His dreams were of his brother’s death and his Pack’s demise. He also dreamt of his father’s death, despite never having seen it, his imagination ran wild attempting to portray it. Markus never knew how his father died, only where, but he had always tried to imagine it as a heroic death, and his dreams usually portrayed it as such. His father filling the breach of the great city and fighting the hordes of the Karsians until his very last breath.

  Morning came, the light did not wake them, but the increase in temperature did, just as they had been accustomed to in Hammer’s cave. Markus and Bull woke up to an empty room, not another man in sight, and much of what was in the room now gone. It was surprising for they had laid to rest in a room of men they considered friends.

  “Where did they go? Surely we did not dream it all?” asked Bull.

  “No, we did not dream it. Armour up, let’s move out.”

  They pulled on their new arming jacks, finely constructed of the highest materials, a luxury they were not accustomed. The thinly bound flat ring riveted mail was a revelation to them, far lighter and more flexible than what they were previously issued with. They slung their sword belts about their waists and finally headed to the door, hoping to find the horses they had been promised.

  Bull pushed the heavy iron door forwards until faint rays appeared, breaking through the thick undergrowth that kept the tower hidden. They stumbled though the foliage and out into the daylight, the bright rays initially blinding them. Markus was looking at the ground, trying to accustom his eyes to the bright light, until he could look up.

  Finally, as he did his eyes began to adapt and focus. Before him was a sight to truly marvel at, and one he could never have dreamed of. To his utmost surprise, thirteen men stood before him, armoured with the finest equipment that the tower had to offer, like the finest knights of the realm. The sun bounced off their fine armours, a beautiful sight. Vesart was at the front in an outstanding full harness, the wolf head adorning his breastplate.