Kingdom of Fire

by Nick S. Thomas

  The Mayor was clearly a proud man, and proud of his town. Leonzal had indeed been home to the Prince of Leonzal for many years, and it had been the seat of the King himself in a bygone era. The bustling market town was once the capitol of the Werstrian Empire, when it was little more than a number of villages and small ports. Leonzal had long since been left to stagnate and never developing beyond its roots in a simpler age.

  Anton pulled a large iron key over his head, and unlocked the steel plated wooden doors. Stepping inside it was clear that the building now stood as a museum to the great history of the town, long forgotten by current generations. Anton pulled open the wood shutters hinged across the windows in the room. All around were items of the town’s long history, ceremonial swords, exquisite art, sculptures and silverware.

  “We have to keep this place locked, and guarded at night. It is too tempting for any thief to resist.”

  Anton led Markus to the back wall of the front room where a huge banner adorned the wall. The cloth was of a deep red, though faded and torn at the edges. The wolf motif in the centre was worn and dirty. He gasped at the very sight of it, a tingling sensation running down his spine.

  “Do you know what this is?” asked Anton.

  “The Standard of Leonzal, my uncle used to tell me and my brother about it when we were boys.”

  “The banner was carried by the Mayor of this town at the second siege of Zwetsee. That man was my father. After the Karsians took the city eighty years ago, my father led the charge through the breach of the city nearly thirty years later to take it back. He carried this banner through the breach personally after the bearer was hit by a cannon ball, his body smashed and the men around him about to scatter to the wind.”

  “It is magnificent,” replied Markus.

  He looked in awe at the tired cloth, shabby in its appearance, godly in its symbolic power. It was still attached to the ash wood pole that had carried it to victory all those years before, a steel spike at its head. Gold braid was stitched near the edge of the cloth, and the text LEONZAL sewn above the wolf head. Anton reached for the banner, pulling it from the wall and held it out in offering. Markus looked at the banner, afraid to touch such a relic. Looking to the man’s face, he knew he could not say no, and he knew what power it could wield.

  “We face the darkest days the Empire has ever known, and there may come a time when not a single one of us will live to remember our great history. Lienzberg must be taken back, at any cost. Asking men to go to war is not a difficult thing, but inspiring them to want to, is how you will win. This banner is more than just cloth, it is the symbol of victory, every man and woman in the Empire would recognise it and can be inspired. Use it wisely.”

  Markus reached out for the banner and took it in his hand. He was himself inspired by its very presence.

  “I, I don’t know what to say.”

  “You need say nothing. You honour us as much by carrying it to battle, as we do in offering it to you.”

  Anton took hold of a cloth tube from the corner of the room and took the banner from Markus to prepare it for the journey. He wound the flag around itself and the pole it was attached to until finally he pulled the cloth protective sleeve down the shaft covering the material completely, but allowing the spearhead to protrude from the very top. He handed it back to Markus.

  “Now, you must be eager to leave, let us see you off in good speed.”

  “Thank you. I promise you I will raise this flag over the city of Lienzberg.”

  Markus quietly stood with the banner in his hands, still staring at it, despite the fact that the cloth itself was fully covered. He could not believe that he had touched the standard he and his brother had been told such heroic stories of. As a boy, he had always wanted to be with the famous men who stormed the city and raised the banner over it. He now carried that banner and had a lot to live up to, but just holding this great symbolic relic of Werstria’s Markus felt his confidence double.

  “Now, on to the subject of my daughter.”

  “What of her?”

  “It may have missed your attention, but she is somewhat enamoured with you.”

  “She has not shown me as such.”

  “She will. You have my blessing, and may that be further motivation, to not just fight, but to live.”

  “Thank you again. I dearly wish that the years to come will allow me the privilege of returning to you and your family, which I would gladly make mine.”

  * * *

  It was not long before the men that Markus now commanded were assembled in the town square before the hall they had banqueted in the night before. The Knights of Salbein again outfitted in their fine armours, the rest of the men in a mixture of mail coats, and odd parts of metal armour, brigandines and splinted armours. Spending prolonged periods in their armour was something no man desired, but the prospect of having to fight at a moment’s notice compelled them to do so.

  Alix was pulling on the armour that the Mayor had so kindly given him, a well-manufactured and elegant harness. It was quite different to what Markus and the others had taken from the tower, smoother, with a more rounded finish, no flutes or protruding sections, streamlined in every way.

  “What a wonder to see it on a worthy man, I never thought it would see the light of day again. This armour has served me well, thought it fortunately has only had to see light use through skirmishes years ago. I wish you every luck with it, may it bring you as much luck as it did me!” shouted Anton.

  As the horsemen attached what little equipment they had to their horses and readied to travel, Markus dismantled the Leonzal Standard, it being a two-part shaft, joined by a strong bolt. He lifted up the blanket, which covered his greatsword and tied the two parts of the banner next to the sheath. No other man of his company knew of the banner, and he wished to save its introduction to the moment it would have its greatest effect. Markus turned to see Bull heave his huge cannon onto the back of his spare horse. It must have weighed as much as some men.

  “Lord Markus!”

  He turned to see Lena stood before him. She was dressed in man’s clothes, with her mail coat hanging to her knees. A shield was slung over her back with a leather strap and her fair hair resting on the armour lying over her shoulders.

  “I have waited for a man like you for all my life, a man I could love, and yet follow into battle. But as soon as I have met you, you are once again leaving and to a battle I could only dream of.”

  The sentiment took Markus utterly by surprise, he had been mesmerised since he saw her for the first time upon the battlements the day before, but had not for one moment believed she could have been his. He honestly thought the Mayor was simply hoping that his daughter, who seemed more interested in fighting than family, would come to her senses.

  “You fought well yesterday, but this is just the beginning of our struggle. You have a responsibility here, train the men well, and keep this town free of evil.”

  “Will you come back for me, my Lord?”

  “I promise it. I could not think of any woman in the world I would rather spend my days with, but this war is our destiny,” said Markus.

  “Can I do nothing to persuade you to take me with you?”

  “I would not dare offend your father, nor remove you from your much needed duty here.”

  Lena opened a bag she carried over her shoulders, pulling out a red and white silk scarf, handing it to him. It was so light to the touch, like nothing he had felt before. The stripes ran the full length of the scarf, the scarlet shade so vivid.

  “Please wear this, as a token of my love, and let it remind you of me in the cold dark nights and the calm before battle.”

  “I will indeed, though where we are going, I cannot assure you that I can return it in the condition I received it.”

  “That you wear it and bring it back to me is enough. I beg you, please, do not forget me!”

  “I can never forget you!”

  Markus turned to his horse, and wra
pped the scarf around the brim of his helmet, tying it at the back, the long ends dangling from the fine bascinet. He climbed onto his mount confident, but also knowing he could not waste a moment longer on luxuries he could not begin to hope for in this life. He looked down at Lena and her sad eyes staring into his. He turned and said nothing, for there was nothing left to say.

  “Today we ride for Lienzberg to join with whatever forces the King has managed to amass. Between here and the city are two villages, Baden and Villau, we must try to rally further men to our cause before continuing onwards! Vesart and Bull, take five of the knights with you to Baden, I will carry on with the rest of the force to Villau. Get to Baden with all haste!” ordered Markus.

  “Good luck to you all, and may the Gods be with you!” shouted Anton.

  “We go where the Gods fear to tread! Good luck to all of you, may you hold fast, Forward!”

  They rode out of the northern gates to the roar of the townspeople. A hundred yards beyond the town walls, they branched off into two columns, heading for their respective villages. Markus had no idea what chances of assistance they had at either place, knowing nothing of the villages except their names. He travelled everyday in foreign lands, never having seen any of it before except for on a map.

  It felt strange to Markus to be fighting for their country in lands he had never known, but what was certain was that the people of Werstria were as one, united by conflict. The spring was truly setting in, the snow all but melted and the air fresh. It was a long ride before they reached sight of the village in the distance. It was a small place, far smaller than he had expected. Markus only hoped his friends found Baden to be a more developed place.

  Markus was leading his men north to find the combined forces of Werstria and assist them. He assumed that they would be assembling to attack Lienzberg by now, as following the long winter they would be eager to regain the vital territory before the Karsians spread across the lands.

  Riding towards the sight of the peaceful village, Markus could only think back to the ride towards the burning village of Raubuck. That day he had felt sheer excitement as his friends rushed to the aid of the burning village. He had felt invincible as he approached that village, ready for glory before victory had been won.

  Markus thought of his brother’s death. Both men had been capable fighters, and competent riders, the best of their training school, but the reality of combat had been a shock to them both. They fared well against the recruits of their school, but it had not prepared them for the overwhelming number and power of the Karsians.

  Looking out to the village before them it was peaceful and war had not touched its simple existence and the people who lived there. They galloped into the village, this time with Markus at the head of the column, Yorlor at his side. Many of the villagers turned to watch the riders coming towards them, already knowing why they were there.

  Markus headed straight for the only building with two floors in the village, knowing he was likely to find their leader there. As they reached the epicentre, a tall proud man with a short grey beard appeared from the building to greet them.

  “My Lord, what business brings you to our village?” he asked.

  “What is your name?” asked Markus.

  “Wolfgang, I am the leader of this village.”

  “My name is Markus, I ride north to join the offensive to re-take Lienzberg. We seek any men worthy and willing to follow us.”

  “May the Gods bless you, we thought we had been abandoned to the will of the invaders.”

  “I am sorry to have to ask for men from your village, but if we do not push them back across the Ensee, there is no hope for these lands.”

  “We will gladly let those who choose to follow you do so, but it may take some time to gather them up from the farms,” said Wolfgang.

  “Then please dispatch messengers immediately, for time is of the essence.”

  Markus sat down on the wall of the well in the village as the leader went about organising his people. He knew that any men he got in these villagers would be poorly equipped, but all allies were now needed, no matter their training or armour. One thing he was sure of, he would get strong and fit men from the farms, capable brawlers if nothing else.

  Within an hour, twelve men had volunteered to join the cause and were preparing what little equipment they had, old gambesons and weapons that had known several generations. They looked scared, hearing endless rumours about the horrendous acts committed by the Karsians as they swept across the lands. There was little that he could say to reassure them. For the rumours were true and the reality often being worse still.

  The sound of galloping hooves became apparent to Markus as he sat drinking a cup of water, awaiting the gathering of his forces. He stood to look out to the west from where the horsemen approached. His face went pale as the riders came into sight, and he realised there were only five, when he had dispatched seven. Vesart stormed into the camp, blood trickled from his cheek. The man beside him, Gustav, had a crossbow bolt lodged between his breastplate and spaulders. Bull was missing from the group, as well as Hans.

  “Yorlor, attend to Gustav’s wound! Vesart, step this way!” shouted Markus.

  The last thing he wanted was to discuss a loss among the entire crowd of both his men and the people of the village. Vesart jumped from his horse and followed Wolfgang into his house with Markus.

  “Markus, the village is overrun, they were already there when we arrived, ambushed us as we got inside. There’s a wooden palisade surrounding the village, we barely got out with our lives.”

  “What of Bull and Hans?” asked Markus.

  “Bull was beaten from his horse by a halberd strike to his head. He was still when I saw him, but I should imagine the helmet saved his life. Hans was shot in the face with a musket before he could lower his visor, he could not have survived it.”

  “Do you believe Bull could still be alive now?”

  “If I know the Karsians, they will torture and torment him to a brutal death, he may have a few hours at best.”

  “In that case we are going to get him back.”

  “You would risk everything for one man? What about the city?” asked Wolfgang.

  “If we do not fight for our friends, what is the purpose of it all? I am going to Baden, and I am going to kill every one of those sons of bitches,” said Markus.

  “How? We have no siege equipment, how we will get over their walls?”

  “Wolfgang, we need half a dozen ropes, and something that will work as grappling hooks, anything you can do?” Markus asked him.

  “I’ll work something out.”

  “Get to it, we leave in five minutes!”

  He stormed out to assemble his forces. All the men who he now commanded, now over fifty, stood in a crescent around the building, desperately awaiting news or command. Markus looked over to the well he had been sitting on. Yorlor was pulling off Gustav’s armour to get to the bolt as he writhed in pain.

  “For those who have recently joined us, I dispatched seven men to Baden to recruit as we have done in your village. They were supposed to meet here. Not only have they not returned with recruits, they are two men down. One of those men may still be alive. There is also a chance that at least some of the villagers are prisoners within their own walls. When I asked all of you to join me, it was with the intention of ridding our lands of the Karsian invaders, and saving as many lives of our own people as we can. I will not leave our own people to die, nor will I leave this village at the mercy of those savages who will almost certainly be here within days. Mount up, time for them to feel cold steel!” shouted Markus.

  Wolfgang ran out of his home carrying a bundle of ropes. He had attached metal rake heads as improvised grappling hooks, a practical solution to the problem and just as Markus had requested.

  “Three, that’s the best I can do at such short notice.”

  “Thank you, my friend, it is much appreciated. Please help attend to Gustav’s injury as wel
l you can and then send him packing. We meet at the crossroads to the north.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as we can make it.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Make them pay, Lord Markus,” said Gustav.

  “I can assure you they will.”

  Markus kicked his spurs into his horse and galloped away towards the village of Baden. He had no idea what to expect, and knew the risk he faced attacking a fortified village, but there was nothing else for it. In Raubuck Markus was helpless to save his brother and friends, but now he commanded an admirable force, he would not let another friend die whilst he had the power to do something about it.

  As they rode away from Villau they could hear the people cheer, as much for them as the men of the village they had given to Markus and his cause. He hoped that the village would remain safe throughout the conflict, but he knew that their chances were not great. The whole of Werstria east of the Salbeins was at risk of defeat within the year, but all he could do was join the fight.

  Chapter 8

  Markus was galloping towards the village of Baden, praying that his friend still lived. The wide-open plain of the valley was a beautiful sight in spring, so similar to his homelands of Moden, and yet his experiences being so radically different. Back in Moden he had imagined the glory of being in the Werstrian Wolf Pack, but the reality was nothing of the sort. He now led more men than he could have ever imagined and wore finer armour than he had seen in his life, but he felt weaker than he used to then.

  Growing up in the rural and safe easterly lands of Werstria, Markus had been fed the grandiose stories of the Empire and its vast and great lands. Never could he have imagined how close his country was to falling into destruction, slavery and death. He always wanted glory, but never responsibility. Markus had imagined himself following great Kings and Lords, being a great champion for them, not having the responsibility lying on his shoulders.

  As he rushed to Baden Markus could only wonder, with the power and responsibility he had, was he now making the right decision. He was risking time and lives to rescue one man, and perhaps a village that could already be destroyed, its peoples ravaged, murdered or sent back to Karsia as slaves. They rode as fast as they could to reach the village, until Markus finally stopped them as they had just reached sight of it. He turned to look at his men, all were eager to follow his commands but equally as unsure about how they would breach the walls.