“They are dead, they killed all of the soldiers when they came to the village, many more soon after. They made the men fight them one at a time, tortured others.”
Markus sighed in anger and disgust, but he knew deep down that he should not have done so as this was the sort of war they were going to have to face. He was still unsure as to whether the Karsians were that brutal by nature, or if it was an element of their tactics, to put fear into the hearts of their enemies. The reason no longer mattered, they were fighting savage animals, and they would treat them as such.
“You cannot stay here. Pack what you need and go south to Leonzal with all haste. You will be safe inside their walls. Tell them what has happened here, they will gladly take you in,” Markus said gently.
“Thank you, for all that you have done.”
“I am only sorry we could not have helped sooner.”
The woman said no more, she only turned and walked away, having little will left to live or even walk, she had lost almost everything, and now her home as well. Markus turned to look at all the bodies that lay before him.
“We must cleanse this place, pile the bodies in the thoroughfare. We’ll burn them.”
“Not Hans, I will not have him piled among these savages!” shouted Vesart.
“Okay, find him and arrange his funeral as you see fit. Where are the bodies of the other people that lived here?”
“In the pig house to the west side of the village,” said Bull.
“Organise a funeral pyre for them also, we do not have time for anything better. It will be a greater service to them than they will receive by any other means.”
The men tied their horses up and got to work. Markus and Vesart sat beside the horses near the entrance to the village. This is what the war had come to, death and destruction in their own communities. They had won a victory that day, but were having to send as many of their own country folk into the afterlife as their enemies.
“This is the price of war against the Karsians, Markus.”
“You can never have seen it with your own eyes, Vesart.”
“No, that is indeed true. But long have the stories of their ways been passed down through generations of my people.”
As they talked, four men carried the body of Hans upon their shoulders, walking through the open gate and onto the plain beyond. They were solemn. A victory at the cost of one of their closest friends was a bitter victory indeed.
“What will you do with him?” asked Markus.
“They will build a separate funeral pyre outside the village walls, so that we may see him on his way to the Gods personally. He was one of us and should not be returned to the soil with the poor victims of this place.”
“Go, see to your man, I will get things finished up here and be there to pay my respects before the time comes.”
“Thank you, and do not trouble yourself with his death. We all knew the risks we faced when we took up arms with you, but we know it was the right decision. We would only come to this end another day, better we do it on our terms and in the company of allies.”
Markus nodded in appreciation, before heading towards the other men who were piling the bodies high.
“If you can find any weapons or armour worth taking, do so. Pillaging the dead is not a crime when they are the foul creatures before you!” shouted Markus.
He carried on to the west of the village to find Bull organising the bodies of the villagers. The few survivors watched in shock as the lifeless bodies of their friends and families were amassed before them. The men of Villau and Leonzal who helped them were white with disgust at the sights they were dealing with, but Bull was not at all fazed or surprised. He walked over to Markus and passed him a burning torch as the final preparations were made.
“People of Baden, I deeply regret the horrors which you have had to endure. But do not remember your loves ones and neighbours for the bloody end they met, remember the happy memories you have of them. Go now to a safer place, and know that we ride to right the evil which has plagued these lands. They will feel the cold steel of our blades, the might of our people and the taste of their own blood. Go now, in peace!” shouted Markus.
He threw the torch onto the mass of bodies and watched as it began to light, the survivors watching the last evidence of their friends and family removed from the world they knew. Then they turned and picked up what processions they had managed to salvage, and shambled towards the gate of their blighted homes. Markus caught sight of his tattered scarf and sadly thought of Lena, would they ever be re-united?
“Grab your kit, men. Vesart is making preparations for Hans, let us show our brother the respect he deserves, and send him into the afterlife as the hero he was!” Markus ordered.
His men stumbled back towards their horses, saddened by the work they had to do.
“Ulrich, Tobias, go and fetch our horses and armour from where we left them, meet us outside the gate as quickly as you can.”
A short while later all the men, including their leader Markus, were assembled a hundred yards south of the village on the open plain. They had built a wooden funeral pyre as tall as a man, Hans’ body rested above, his sword grasped between his hands. The group stood in a circle around the pyre, completely silent. Vesart stood just inside the circle with a torch in his hands.
“Hans was one of us, not just of our people, but a Knight of Salbein. He died fighting for the lands we have called home since our very birth. He died with glory, in days when these lands must remain ours, and in the aid of the helpless. Remember him, for his spirit will be with us to the very centre of Lienzberg. That city belongs to the people of Werstria, and Hans, like all of us have given over our lives to fight for our people. Let us continue onwards, and remember his name, honour it!” shouted Vesart.
He threw the torch onto the base of the pyre and it quickly sparked into flames. Standing back and into the circle of men, Vesart watched as his friend’s body was consumed by fire, committed to the Gods.
The men stood watching the flames burn, whilst the blood and sweat was still wet on their swords and armour. They all knew that this was only the very beginning of the losses they would endure, because this was just the very beginning of their war.
Markus waited until Hans’ body was entirely surrounded in flames and gone from sight before he turned back to his armour that lay behind him and continued to strap it back onto his body. He could feel the cold clamminess of his gambeson as the sweat was already beginning to cool. They were becoming an ever more dirty and shabby group. Their clothing and armour covered in the blood of their enemies, and the sweat and grime of war.
One by one, the men stepped away from the pyre and headed for their horses, readying themselves for the journey. They knew they had to continue onwards to the city and be at its walls before the end of the day. They could only hope that they would be able to rest out the night without another battle. Markus looked at his men readying the last parts of their equipment.
“Today was both a significant victory and a tragic loss! That is the price of victory. It is a bitter cup to drink from but far better than the price of defeat, which would have all of us dead or enslaved, as well as every man, woman and child you have ever known! We ride north to the city. I cannot tell you what we will find when we get there, nor what our plan may be, but I can tell you that before the month is out, we will stand within those walls!”
The men did not cheer. They barely acknowledged their leader. They all shared his belief, but with the body of their friend burning in the background, they could not summon the enthusiasm to speak or respond in any way. Markus allowed them their moment of silence, before turning his horse and taking the road to Lienzberg.
Markus wondered how many more would have to die for them to rip victory from the Karsians. So far he had lost many of his friends, and they had done nothing to reclaim land that was taken from them. Fighting an ever-losing battle it was hard to see how they could hold back the invading armies of the K
arsians.
Chapter 9
The ride north towards the city was exhausting. The forests and open plains were beautiful at the start of spring, but it was hard to appreciate with the sombre feeling amongst the men. It was late in the day when they finally reached sight of the city.
Markus had never seen city of Lienzberg before, or the grand capitol of Wolfdenberg. Only Ambstern, the smallest of the triangle of cities had he seen with his own eyes, and only in passing on the Wolf Pack’s journey to the Ensee.
Lienzberg was a marvel to behold even from that distance. It was a multilayered city, with huge outer walls. Countless round towers adorned the stone citadel. Markus judged that there must be a quarter of a mile’s distance between the outer wall and the next layer, and an even taller curtain wall. Beyond that lay further more stone work from what he could make out.
The city was so vast he could only wonder how it fell so quickly, for even the greatest force should have take weeks to seize such a massive stronghold. Above the walls he could just make out the outline of black flags fluttering in the wind, the flags of the Karsians. He drew his horse to a halt and the men behind him.
“That’s it, men! At those walls lies our destiny!”
He kicked his heels in again and road on towards the imposing stone city, which resembled more a giant fortress than a town, a symbol of the old power and wealth which existed in Werstria so many years before. Long gone was the great Empire, which they tried with every effort to hang onto. The Werstrians like to think of themselves as a sophisticated society, which was the envy of the world, but many were starting to realise that they lived in a crumbling and decaying society.
Seeing the banners of Karsia flying from their grand city was no surprise to any of the men under Markus’ command, it was the very reason for their being where they were, but that made it no less difficult to see with their own eyes.
The horsemen continued on their journey, taking the north road that would take them to the east side of the city. An hour later they rode up over a crest and the sight before them set their pulses racing. In the distance, were endless lines of canvas tents and the glimmer of movement among them, it was the Werstrian army.
“Looks like the army made it before us!” shouted Vesart.
“Rightly so, they didn’t have to fight their way here!” shouted Markus.
“How will we convince the Lords of your status seeing as you are completely unknown to them, they could well consider us traitors?” asked Vesart.
“We are just going to have to do what we can. We should not be ashamed of who we are, nor try to hide what we have done. We have earned the title we have given ourselves, and God save any man who says otherwise.”
“You don’t have faith in Gods, Markus.”
“No, but that does not mean I cannot use their will to threaten lesser men.”
They continued on towards the encampment. The guard at the south of the camp quickly stirred and readied himself. Markus’ men were instantly recognisable as Werstrians, and yet they were disgustingly dirty, looking nothing like the men of the army so recently arrived. The soldiers of the Werstrian army were a colourful force to look upon with their puffed sleeve doublets and mix of bright and contrasting clothing.
“Halt there!” shouted the guard.
Markus led his column calmly up to the guard who stood with his halberd, his armour and clothing perfectly polished and in pristine order. He looked at the men, at the dried blood splattered across their armour and shields.
“I am the Captain of the guard, what is your business here?”
“I am Markus Handel of the Salbein Knights, formerly of the Werstrian Wolf Pack, 18th Guard, and I lead the men of Leonzal and Villau.”
“Salbein Knights? Never heard of you, I cannot allow you into the camp without permission of the Count,” said the Captain.
“Count Klaus Kohler? He leads the army?”
“Yes, but I cannot allow you entry.”
“Listen, Captain, my men have fought to defend Leonzal from the Karsian army which the Ardian States allowed pass through the north, and this morning we laid to rest most of the village of Baden, including a good friend of ours. The Count needs all of the fighting men he can get, and he will not find better than here.”
“Leonzal was attacked? My brother lives there, how is the town?”
“It was besieged by a force of several thousand, we broke them on the walls and butchered them outside the town, not a single survivor. It is safe for now.”
“Bless you, I will take you to the Count, he will want to know this information immediately. Come with me, but I must ask you to leave your weapons.”
Markus looked at the man, disgruntled by the lack of trust from his own people after the perils he had been through to fight for them.
“I am sorry, I believe your story of events, but we have rules, and I have never heard of you and you do not appear on our lists,” said the Captain.
Markus untied his sword belt and hung it over the saddle of his horse. He looked up at Bull who looked wholly unimpressed by their welcome. Then he looked back at his men, they looked weary and even angry. They had risked their lives and their homes to help the cause. They did not look impressed at their treatment.
“Listen up, men! I am going to see the Count, I will arrange for you to join me shortly. Rest easy for a while and enjoy the view!”
He knew the words did not settle his men, but there was little he could do when such proud and honourable men were treated as strangers in their own land. The Captain turned and allowed Markus through, walking beside him through the camp. They marched past line after line of striped Burgundian tents. All around them men adjusted equipment, sharpened weapons and prepared siege tools.
“What is your name, Captain?” asked Markus.
“Harro.”
“Where are you from, Harro?”
“Born and bred in Blundon, and you, Sir?”
“Moden.”
“And how did a country man from Moden become a Lord who could afford armour as fine as that, if you do not mind me asking?”
“My ascension to power was more by chance and combat than birth or money.”
“Sounds like an interesting story.”
“Maybe it would, if I had not just lived and fought in it, and seen my friends and family be buried along the way.”
“I am sorry, we had no idea that the fighting had reached the south. Anyway, here it is, wait here, Sir.”
Harro pulled back the canvas on a huge tent and stepped through, the cover falling back so that Markus could not see in. He stood waiting for several minutes while the two guards stood in front of the tent studied him intently. They stared at his dirty and bloody armour, desperate to know the story behind it, but also holding their tongue, thinking him a high noble for the masterfully crafted harness.
Finally, Harro pulled back the entrance to the tent and gestured for Markus to step through. Five Lords stood in the tent, all identifiable by their exquisite armours. One of them stood behind a large wooden table with a plan of the city, the others in front where Markus stepped in.
“Thank you, gentleman, please let me see to this matter,” said the Lord.
The four men stepped out of the tent, leaving only Markus, Harro and the one Lord standing the other side of the plans. The Lord was clearly a man of great importance, dressed in finery, a huge gold chain about his shoulders and the look of a confident man. Despite this he had several scars about his face, he was clearly an old soldier. Markus immediately relaxed, feeling lucky to be able to appeal his case to a fellow military man, rather than the scheming politicians that often made up the Lords of the land.
“I am Count Klaus Kohler, leader of this army, Captain Harro tells me you lead over fifty Werstrian men and have fought in the south.”
“Yes, Sir. We helped fight and destroy a force of several thousand Karsians at the walls of Leonzal.”
The Count’s eyes widened at the news.
“You have my word as a Werstrian, my men and I have fought and bled for this Empire. My father died in the third siege of Zwetsee and my brother, Captain of my Wolf Pack, died at Raubuck before the winter.”
“Raubuck? Several refugees told accounts of a Wolf Pack who fought to the death in their village to allow them to escape.”
“It is true, but two of us survived, carried to safety by allies, Sir.”
“Harro tells me you also fought at Baden, tell me the facts.”
“After riding north from Leonzal, our forces split up to recruit men from both Baden and Villau. Our men were ambushed in Baden, one killed, one captured, we organised a rescue. When we got inside the walls, we fought and killed the forty or more Karsians. They had killed many of the villagers.”
“This is grave news. Tell me. In your opinion are the southern towns and villages still at risk?”
“Yes, but I think they may have a brief time of safety.”
“Then I thank you, you have done Werstria a fine service.”
“Only my duty, Sir, but I am driven as much by the desire for revenge as my duty as a soldier.”
“I will not hold that against you, we need men with your initiative and bravery. Now, tell me, you say you are Lord, leader of the Salbein Knights, who made you a Lord?”
“My sword made me a Lord, Sir, men follow me because they believe in what I fight for.”
The Count laughed aloud.
“Good man, you have the heart of a lion, I am forever surrounded by Lords who are weak and feeble. They are eager to forget and ignore the conflict at their gates. I will call you a Lord, and I will have every man among my army do so. I only wish I had generals like you among my army.”
Markus lowered to one knee, looking up at the Count.
“I have come here to volunteer my services, Lord Kohler, my sword and my men are at your service!”
“Stand, stand my good man!”
Kingdom of Fire Page 12