“What on earth is that?” asked Alix.
He looked at the engineering marvel that was Markus’ new musket. The barrels were placed in a square pattern, two on top, two below. Each barrel was connected to its own wheel lock firing mechanism, and the wooden stock was engraved with hunting scenes. The lock was a mixture of finely crafted steel and brass components. The large trigger guard wrapped around four separate triggers, set up in side-by-side pairs, so that the inner trigger was revealed after the outer was fired.
“This thing? I found this yesterday, thought it might be of use.”
He grinned as he spoke. “Found it? I wish I had your luck.”
“We make our own luck, my friend,” replied Markus.
Markus began to load the monstrous weapon, no quick task. He knew that once the battle began he would not have time to reload it, but four good shots was a welcome start to the combat. He was also eager to put the weapon to the test, to find out if it was as effective as it was a marvel of engineering.
A deep horn resounded, the same they had heard earlier that day. The army in the distance finally assembled into uniformed blocks, a blurry mass of evil to the defenders. The blocks of Karsians stomped towards the walls of Leonzal. More than two thousand attackers approached the walls, with little more than four hundred to defend them. Every fighter along the walls readied their equipment, loaded their muskets and pulled on their helmets.
It was a long wait for the army of Karsia to get within firing distance, the beat of their drums thundering towards the walls. They marched at a slow and steady pace, a solid wall of bloodthirsty savages. They were a lightly equipped force, which is what had allowed them to travel so quickly. They wore only rough, padded jackets and simple mail coats, with open helmets or none at all, their faces blackened with a black paint that made them look like creatures of the night.
“Fire at will!” shouted Markus.
Muskets along the wall fired in an almost uniformed volley. Men at the front of the Karsian column fell dead or wounded, but they were marched over, quickly disappearing unto the black horde. It was half a minute before the next shots rang out, the training and competence with the weapons was not half as good as Markus would have liked. He waited with his four-barrelled marvel, waiting for shots that he could not miss, knowing he could only use the weapon once in this fight.
The Karsians kept advancing slowly, ladders carried over their heads, and the beating of their drums causing the defenders’ pulses to race. They finally got within fifty yards, the musket fire seemingly causing little damage to the battle lines. Markus aimed his musket, the barrel propped on the battlement, giving a steady shot. He squeezed the trigger, and sparks flew from the spinning wheel lock mechanism as the barrel contents ignited and the shot punctured one of the Karsian’s armour, imbedding in his chest and the man dropping dead to the dirt.
Impressed with the result, Markus reached for the next trigger and took his shot. It was only seconds later, that he had emptied all four barrels, and killed an orcish barbarian with each. As he laid the rifle down, the first explosives were being tossed over the walls. Alix stood beside him with a torch as the men lit the match cords and threw them over. Seconds later the charges blew and explosions erupted along the Karsian battle line.
Markus looked out at the carnage as the men beside him continued relentlessly to pepper the attackers with the charges. Fifty explosions rang out before the horde reached the walls, clambering over the heaps of the dead and horrifically wounded orcs. The iron shrapnel of the explosives had incapacitated huge swathes of the attacking force. The destruction brought before them was a surprise to the Karsians, but it didn’t stop their attack.
Ladders were pushed up all along the wall, dozens of them. As one landed against the battlement where Markus stood he grasped his greatsword and as the first orc appeared he cleaved down onto his head. The broad blade drove deep into the beast’s skull, splitting the head down to the jaw, his lifeless body falling to his comrades below.
Bull lifted his cannon to his shoulder, pointing the barrel down over the wall. Between his teeth was a lit match cord. He pulled the pan of the barrel to the burning cord hanging from his mouth, the powder igniting and slightly singeing the stubble on his face. The cannon, erupting with a booming blast, knocked Bull back a few feet. He laid the hot barrel down and leant over the edge to see the result of his work.
A huge gunpowder cloud spread out across the wall, the horde below completely covered by it, the ladders disappearing into a thick sulphur fog. Karsian orcs continued to clamber up the ladders, bursting through the swirling smoke. Screams rang out from beneath the dirty fog, cries of pain and agony. Eventually, the cloud dissipated across the plain, revealing the horrific carnage below. Bull looked out at the bloody crater, at least thirty orcs were left in a bloodied mess, dead or dying. He thought for just a moment about those who he used to call his countrymen. Looking at the brutish and savage horde, blood hungry and sadistic, he turned his gaze to the townspeople and knights who led them. In this moment, he knew he had made the right decision and risen above being a simple barbarian.
Vesart stood at the centre of the next wall along the southern perimeter, Yorlor and Carl, another of his knights at his side. Vesart carried a curved blade two-handed sword, with a broad complex guard incorporating a knuckle bow that reached down to the pommel. As a Karsian reached the ladder in front of him, he swung a mighty blow with his huge sabre, cutting the head clean from its shoulders, the helmet still strapped to the head as it sprung into the air before falling to the attackers below.
Five barbarians leapt onto the wall twenty paces to Vesart’s left side. He saw from the corner of his eye as one of the town’s militia was cleaved down the collarbone with a two-handed falchion, and another thrown over the wall to the bloodthirsty horde.
“Carl, stay put! Yorlor, with me!” shouted Vesart.
The two men charged across the battlement behind the men who were desperately fighting those trying to get over the wall. Vesart roared as he stormed at the nearest attacker, his mighty sword held high above his head, ready to end his opponent in one fell strike. The Karsian cut horizontally with his falchion, the strike skittered across Vesart’s hardy breastplate as his sabre descended on the orc’s head. The kettle helm he wore split and buckled, the sword reached its desired target.
Yorlor rushed past his captain, smashing his steel round shield in a Karsian, driving him against the battlement. As the orc was trapped against the shield he swung his iron mace into the beast’s kneecap, crushing the joint and toppling him to the ground, quickly followed by a second thunderous strike onto the orc’s head. The mace cracked the Karsian’s skull, killing instantly.
A third Karsian swung a short halberd down towards Vesart’s head, but he lifted his sword at the last minute, parrying the heavy strike. Before Vesart could respond, the barbarian wrenched back his halberd, pulling Vesart off his feet. He let go of his sword and kept tumbling towards his attacker, empty-handed. Grabbing hold of the shaft with his left hand, Vesart punched the Karsian in the face with his steel gauntlet, and again until the orc fell to the ground. Without waiting for him to respond, he stamped on the barbarian’s head, the weight of his plate sabatons fracturing his skull.
Picking up the enemy’s halberd from the floor, Vesart thrust it forward, the tip driving through the throat of the orc at the top of the ladder. Instead of drawing out the weapon, he simply kept pushing forward until the lifeless body was thrown from the ladder, the weapon still skewering him.
“Yorlor!” Help me with this ladder!”
The two men gripped the ladder at the wall and pushed with all their might, the rough ladder collapsed down onto the men below. They both looked out across the plain and could see many of the wounded and demoralised Karsians were already stumbling away from the town walls. Markus appeared through the doorway of the tower that joined the wall sections they had been fighting on.
“Now! Now! Now!” shoute
d Vesart.
Markus ran back into the tower and down the steps, followed by the rest of his knights and the men selected as riders. They jumped onto their horses tethered at the fences below. The muskets above them continued to fire whilst the last of the Karsians at the walls fought as their comrades fled.
“I want to run every one of these bastards down, do not stop until the valley is filled with their blood!” Markus commanded.
He drew his arming sword from his side and trotted up to the gates, two men waiting for his signal to open them. A mere ninety riders were all they could muster, but he knew that the damage they could cause to a fleeing army would be horrendous.
“Open the gates!” he shouted.
As the heavy old gates were hauled open, Markus could see the backs of his enemy, many of which who were only twenty paces away from the walls. The other horsemen formed up in a column behind him, ready to storm through the gates. Bull rode beside him, his axe in hand.
“Charge!” shouted Markus.
They stormed through the narrows gates, quickly spreading out into an arrow formation as they cleared the walls. Through the pounding of their horses and the clatter of their armour, they could hear the roar of their allies on the walls, the sound of victory. The enthusiastic cries only made the fleeing barbarians run faster, but they could never outrun fresh horses.
The horsemen quickly reached the back of the fleeing columns, hacking their way deep into the lines. They butchered the Karsian barbarians with ease. In fifteen minutes not a single soul of the enemy was left standing. Markus turned his horse around to face the town, now a mile away from where they had begun. He looked back across the open plain, a trail of death and destruction.
The horsemen were scattered across the plain, seeking out every last one of their foes. Markus looked down at his armour, blood was sprayed and splattered across the plates and dripping from his sword. The previously shining armour now dulled from the residue of gunpowder and the mix of blood and sweat that adorned his equipment. His equally dirtied and bloody knights rode back to their triumphant leader.
“God it feels good to get some payback!” called Vesart.
They could hear the shouts of victory and the excitement in the distance, and could just make out the sight of the men on the walls thrusting their weapons in the air in sheer ecstasy.
“We have made our stamp on history today, the beginning of the legend that will become the Salbein Knights. Now join me and ride to our triumphant return!” Markus shouted.
The militia and civilians clapped and cheered with excitement as the blood-soaked horsemen road back into the town, the knights at the head of the column. They were met at the gates by Lena.
“Come, my father will want to greet you in the Town Hall!”
She led the men through the town to the old stone hall, the political centre of the district. The doors were open, the Mayor standing at the entrance to greet them. He was an old man, the relief of victory beamed from his tired face. Markus stopped at the steps to the building and jumped from his horse, Lena taking the reins. He pulled his helmet off and dropped it to the floor, staggering towards the Mayor, his body exhausted.
“Welcome, gentlemen!”
Markus lifted his hand to shake the man’s hand, but stopped, noticing the blood still wet and soaking on the leather palm of his gauntlets. He shook them off and threw them to the ground next to his helmet, before embracing the man’s welcome.
“The town cannot thank you enough. You have led us to victory in this dark time! Can I ask your name?”
“I am Markus Handel, of the Knights of Salbein.”
“I am sorry to say I have never heard of you.”
“Well, now you have, and so will the rest of the land over the coming days!”
“You must be tired and hungry, please, join us as soon as you are ready, we are preparing a meal in the Hall for you and your men.”
* * *
Later that evening, the knights sat at the banquet table that had been prepared in the Town Hall. The Mayor, Anton, sat at the head joined by his daughter to his left, Alix to her side, and Markus to the right of the town’s elected leader. They had long since washed the blood and dirt of war from their skin and been given fresh clothing to wear, having nothing else beyond their fighting attire. It was a mighty feast that had been arranged for the victorious knights, with delicacies the likes none of which they had ever witnessed.
“Markus, Alix tells me you used to ride together,” said Anton.
“Yes, he saved my life.”
“As did he mine today,” said Alix.
“Your arriving at our town was a stroke of luck so amazing I can only imagine it was arranged by the Gods themselves!” shouted Anton.
“The Gods have shown little mercy to our people, this war will be won by men, not by the will of the Gods. We came to this town to recruit men to our cause. Tomorrow we ride north to Lienzberg to join the fight to reclaim the city,” replied Markus.
“You believe we can take back the city?”
“We have no choice, if we cannot every town and city east of the Salbeins will fall within the year. We do not have enough fighters to fight on all fronts.”
“I can offer you little, for what we have we need to keep the town working and safe. As you saw today, we barely have enough capable men to defend the walls. But if this cause is as vital as you say, I will offer you thirty good men and horses for them.”
“Thank you, it is much appreciated.”
“It is not a loss we can afford, we have more dead and wounded from today’s battle than we could have imagined. However, if the situation is as bleak as you suggest, not sending men to the fight would be our downfall anyway.”
“I cannot promise victory, I cannot promise how many will survive. I can however give you my word that I will do everything in my power and fight to my very last breath to drive the barbarians back across the Ensee.”
“Alix? I suppose you choose to follow Markus into battle?” asked Anton.
“I do.”
“You have long repaid your debts to us, and fought admirably to defend this town. In return, I give to you my armour, I am long past a time where I could make use of it, and you will undoubtedly need it in the coming weeks.”
“Thank you, my Lord, it would be an honour, and I will do my utmost to return it to you in person and undamaged,” he replied.
“Father, I wish to join Markus, to follow him into battle,” said Lena.
The men looked at each other, unsure of what to say. All knew she was an able fighter, but none wanted to see harm come to her. Markus only wished he could prevail in this war to one day return to Leonzal to court her, in a time of peace which no man had yet imagined to be in near sight.
“We are giving up many of our best fighters, including Alix, who will command the defences. If you too leave us, would you leave it to your aging father to stand upon the walls?”
“Lena, I am honoured that you would ride to war with me, and I have no doubt you would fight admirably, but your father is right. We strip the town of more than it can rightly afford already, you have as much a duty here as we do to fight for Lienzberg.” said Markus.
“Markus, you would have me do nothing?” asked Lena.
“There may well come another time when you have to fight for your people, but it is not now. This is only the beginning of the war for us. Do not be so eager to rush to your death, Lena. You have the respect and loyalty of your townsfolk, I suggest you use your time to train your citizens how to fight and defend their town.”
“He is right, Lena. I have been Mayor of this town since long before you were born, and no one else has the stomach for it. You are the one person who can hold the people together, and take charge of the defence of this land. From hence forth, I appoint you Captain of the Town Guard, accountable to myself only.”
Chapter 7
Markus awoke from a deep and comfortable sleep in a soft bed, a luxury he had not known in ye
ars. He was housed in the Mayor’s home overnight. He sat up in his bed, savouring the moment, knowing that he would not get another evening and night of such splendour and relaxation for many weeks, if he lived at all. The door swayed open to his room.
By force of nature, Markus reached for his dagger, always expecting to be attacked while he slept. The Mayor walked in, though shocked at the sight of Markus standing ready for a fight.
“Sorry, Anton, it has become habit to be suspicious of any who approach my bed.”
“I understand. Put on your shoes and come with me, I have something to show you.”
The Mayor’s tone was serious, but not one which would merit concern. Markus pulled on his shoes and doublet, strapping his sword belt around his waist. In this time of dire conflict, he would never remove his sword whilst his eyes were open, and kept it always beside him when they were shut.
Anton led Markus out of his house. The old Mayor’s house was a traditional villa that had stood as the Mayor’s home for hundreds of years, barely changing at all in that time, a pleasant reminder of a time when Werstria was an all-powerful empire. They stepped out onto the cobbled streets, it was clear that Anton had more than just conversation in mind.
Finally being able to relax and look around at the town in the light of day, Markus marvelled at is beauty. Almost every building he walked past was hundreds of years old. The streets were very narrow, it felt like he had stepped into an old world, far removed from the small village he had come from, and the training barracks where he had spent his more recent times.
As they walked briskly down the streets of the town every passerby greeted them, some in recognition of the Mayor but many in respect of Markus, their saviour. Eventually they reached a large stone building with tall columns at its entrance. Markus had no idea what purpose the building served, but he knew it had great importance.
“This is used to be the Prince of Leonzal’s home, the seat of the air to the throne, long before the north became the powerful state it is today.”
Kingdom of Fire Page 9