Kingdom of Fire

by Nick S. Thomas

  The Count stood up and walked out of his tent with Markus, talking as they walked back to the Salbein’s camp.

  “I am honoured that you would take this on, Markus. You have the shortest history of any Lord here, and yet the most enthusiasm and sheer willpower. Continue like this and you will go far, but do not just take Cranach’s simple explanation of what you must do, this will not be an easy thing. Go as light as you can, avoid all contact where possible, and come back alive!”

  “I understand. I wouldn’t want to miss our victory at the city!”

  The Count laughed. He was glad to see this youthful enthusiasm which was so lacking from the other Lords and officers.

  “Why are you so eager for this city?” asked the Count.

  “I promised a man I would lift our flag over the city, and I intend to honour that promise.”

  “That’s no small thing to promise a man, I wish you every success, but there will be much competition for the position.”

  “How so?”

  “The man who leads the first successful breach into the city and raises the flag is the most honoured position of all, and secures with it promotion, wealth and respect among the Kingdom. Some men have been elevated to Lords for doing so, and respected as such.”

  “Then that is what I must do. It will fulfil my promise and guarantee my status in the Kingdom.”

  “I should also note, only a handful of men have lived to reap the rewards of such heroism.”

  “We all have to die, Count, but I shall choose when and where.”

  The Count put out his arm and stopped Markus.

  “My father used to talk of men like you, myths and legends of great Lords and champions. Long have they vanished from this Kingdom, and yet now you stand before me, at the time of our greatest need, the Gods themselves must have made it so.”

  “The Gods did not save my life in Raubuck, and neither did they teach my hand with the sword. The Gods left this Kingdom long ago, all we have left is the strength of men,” said Markus.

  “And you have confidence in men?”

  “If I do not have confidence in them, how can I expect them to follow me to battle and carry us to victory?”

  “I like you, Markus, I really do, but I can only wonder how long a man like you can survive in these days.”

  “Perhaps that is why we are at this impasse, too many men not willing to act.”

  “You will anger many of the Lords with your philosophies and actions. You shame them with both your words and actions.”

  “Let any man who does not approve of my actions fight me in combat.”

  “I do not doubt your ability in combat, my friend. Soldiers pick fights with those who have offended them. Lords have their enemy’s throats cut whilst they sleep.”

  “I will keep it in mind, but I must press on,” said Markus.

  “Of course, good luck to you and your men, and get back with all haste and without injury.”

  Markus continued on to his encampment. The Count’s words had brought new concerns to his already worried mind. The threat from arrogant and spiteful Lords had never been a concern of his, having always been too lowly in the ranks to be in their line of fire. He found it difficult to comprehend the fact that he was hated and despised for acts of heroism and victories on the battlefield. Men were now jealous of him. Good he thought, the more jealous they were the better he must be doing.

  “Vesart, get Ulrich, Tobias, Bull and Yorlor, we have a job to do. Carl, I’m leaving you in charge, we’ll be gone for a day at least.”

  Markus sat down beside his tent as Vesart rounded up the men. He knew it was a lot to ask of them, but he also knew they would follow him through any hell. Finally, they all assembled and sat on logs piled ready for the fire.

  “The Count has received information that the Karsians have a gun, so powerful that it breached the city almost immediately back before the winter. Our sources suggest it is as big as some houses, a goliath that I can only imagine. Those who have seen its carnage, call it The Beast.”

  “I have heard rumours of such a thing, but never saw it in person,” said Bull.

  “The Count is concerned that they will turn the gun north to Wolfdenberg. He is also concerned that even if we can beat the Karsians in battle, they will just flatten our cities with this Beast.”

  “Is it really that powerful?” asked Vesart.

  “It is a monster of epic proportions, and apparently it fires some type of explosive ball, the damage reported has been catastrophic,” Markus replied.

  “What can we do about it?” asked Tobias.

  “Our information suggests that it is currently stationed in Ternen. Too far for an army to be able to march without being confronted or the machine moved, but lightly guarded enough that a few men may be able to reach it in the black of night.”

  “Sounds suicidal,” said Yorlor.

  “Perhaps, but then do you want to sit in a city whilst that thing rains down hell upon your head?”

  “We’re with you,” said Bull.

  “Right, take basic weapons only, no armour. Ulrich, go and get some decent grappling hooks and ropes for the siege works. Tobias, get two tinder boxes.”

  “Anything else?” asked Vesart.

  “Just our horses, we cannot take anything more but our own skills.”

  Within fifteen minutes, the men were upon their horses and riding out of the Werstrian siege camp. All of them thought they had finally settled at Lienzberg before the siege, eagerly awaiting the assault, but once more they were cast aside to other duties. They rode quickly on the road south, remembering when they had last ridden this road with Hans, their lost friend.

  “This is the second time we have been sent away on another task, what do you believe the reason for it, Markus?”

  “We are newcomers to an old army with a long history. Our first task was a test of our abilities and loyalty. I believe this is a symbol of the faith the Count places in our strength.”

  “You have spoken to him often, how do you judge the man?”

  “He is clever, fair, honest and understanding. But he is the only Lord among the camp who I would trust my life with, or show my back.”

  “Good to know.”

  They rode on south until they were well out of sight from the city, where they turned west towards the Ensee and very tip of the Stocktl mountains. They knew they were tiring their horses quickly at the pace they kept, but they would soon be given time to rest. The men would shortly have to continue on foot as to remain discreet.

  It was not long before they reached the woods beside the Ensee, getting ever closer to the imposing peaks of Stocktl, the sister range to their beloved Salbein range. The Stocktl Mountains were famous for once being the training ground of the elite troops of Werstria. Far lower than the Salbein range, every Wolf Pack spent months there training, an honour that was long lost since the Karsians invaded. Markus had done much of his training in the Aldoner range, a poor substitute for the famous Stocktl training grounds.

  Looking up at the Stocktls, Markus could only think of his brother. They had both longed to visit the famed grounds of their ancestors. They had promised to one day travel together to the Stocktl range and pay homage to their ancestral home. Markus drew his horse to a close near a small water pool, his men following suit. They tied the horses to a nearby tree within reach of the water and quickly assembled the equipment.

  They all knew it would be a long hike to Ternen, but they would likely arrive at exactly the right time, under the shelter of the night. Following the River Ensee north they made their way ever closer to the town. They were surprised to find no sign of guards anywhere on the outskirts. The Karsians were clearly confident enough that they did not believe any Werstrian would travel west beyond Lienzberg.

  Approaching the town, they could see a number of burning torches upon the wall. The silhouettes of guards walking up and down the walls were quickly apparent. The six men crept ever closer, keeping to the shadows
. It was a low wall, but sturdy and thick. Markus pulled a hook and rope from around his shoulders, and looked up and across it for any sign of the guards. The shimmer of light from torches spread out across the wall gave a low ambience to the area, but there were still plenty of shadows cast by the towers.

  Markus aligned himself close to one of the towers on the far south side of the town, the quietest area. No Karsian would ever expect an enemy presence from the south, especially considering their invasion through the Ardian lands. He threw the grappling hook up with just enough force for it to clear the battlement and lock over the stone edge. He tugged the rope to be certain.

  “I have no idea what to expect once we get over that wall, if all fails, get back to the horses by any means you can,” whispered Markus.

  The men nodded in agreement, as he lifted himself onto the rope. Markus wore his dirty arming jacket that had mail voiders. His metal shield was slung over his back, along with his sword belt. It was all the equipment they could take on such a mission. He hauled himself up the rope as quickly as he could and slipped over the wall, retreating into a dark corner beside the tower. He watched as the rope went taut again as the next man followed him.

  Vesart appeared at the top of the rope and clambered over. Markus gave him the signal to stay in position. He stepped up and through the open doorway to the tower beside them. As quickly as he stepped into the room, he saw a Karsian guard walking through from the other side of the wall, his weapons at his side.

  Markus did not pause to wait for the guard’s reaction, the man had not yet realised that Markus was an enemy, looking as bedraggled as many of the Karsians. He ran at the guard and delivered a swift kick to the groin, instantly silencing the orc from any alert he may scream. As the beast keeled over in pain, Markus drew his dagger from the belt around his shoulders and thrust it upwards into the orc’s throat, blood seeping over the discs of his rondel and hand.

  The guard immediately went limp and dropped to the floor. Markus hauled the body to the front of the tower, as far out of sight as was possible. Bull appeared in the doorway, quickly followed by the others.

  “Get the rope up.”

  He looked out of the door from where the guard had come and across the town. Most of it was pitch black, only a few key areas lit by torch, an ideal situation for his task. Looking out to the town square he could immediately recognise The Beast, never having seen it before in his life, it was a giant among the small buildings around it.

  “There it is, let’s move,” he ordered.

  They stepped cautiously out of the tower and onto the stone staircase, down to the town and finally into the darkness again. They carefully made their way through the narrow streets. It was very dark, but they were forever aware of every tiny sound they made. All among them knew that the slightest mistake could mean all of them dead.

  At last, they reached the opening in the street that led to the town square. They looked out at The Beast, a titanic feat of engineering. It was as amazing in its construction, as it was fearful in its purpose. It lay upon ten huge cast iron wheels, the carriage and barrel made entirely from steel and blackened. It must have taken dozens of horses or oxen even to move it. They crept up to the iron titan and moved around to the opening of the barrel, almost large enough for a man to stand in its width.

  “My God, it truly is a beast,” said Vesart.

  “Yes, and like a beast, we will slay it,” said Markus.

  He looked across to a huge mound beside the weapon. The massive iron cannon balls were almost as tall as a man. They had fuses protruding from the top and were stacked as cannon balls would be.

  “Alright, that must be the ammunition. Bull, how long do you think those fuses are?” asked Markus.

  “Not long, twenty seconds I’d say.”

  Markus looked around, he could see a large crane in the corner of the square. It must be how they loaded the massive ammunition, as no number of men would be capable of doing so.

  “Bull, get that crane over. Vesart, get the fuses extended on all of these rounds.”

  “How long?”

  “I’d say five minutes, if possible,” said Markus.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Do you think we will be able to move The Beast?”

  “Why?” asked Vesart.

  “If we can get the barrel up against the stone wall ahead, we can ensure that the pressure in the barrel will be enough to blow it apart.”

  Vesart look out to the wall, there were large iron rings hanging from the wall, clearly extremely strong and designed for huge forces.

  “Tobias, check the area. We need pulleys and strong ropes, anything you can find.”

  The men all went about their work, completely unnoticed by the guards of the town. It was just as the Count had predicted, the Karsians would never believe that the Werstrians would be so audacious to try such a thing. Perhaps before Markus and his men had arrived the Karsians would have been correct, but their arrival had sparked a new enthusiasm and will within the Count. He was becoming the leader his father before him had been.

  Vesart rigged up the longer fuses Markus had asked for and they hoisted the first round up into the barrel of The Beast, the long fuse trailing from the tip of the massive cannon. Ulrich and Yorlor lashed up the pulleys to the wall and tied the thick ropes to the eyelets affront the cannon. Three men took each rope and they pulled together. They winced and groaned at the sheer force needed, moving the gargantuan war machine only a few inches at a time. Finally, after using every last ounce of strength among them, the barrel pushed up against the wall.

  “Well done, now roll the rest of the shot over, all around the base of The Beast, I want to make sure we finish this monster for good,” whispered Markus.

  “What guarantee do we have that a guard will not simply find this and put out the fuses as we make our escape?” Yorlor asked him.

  “None at all, but we have no choice, now we rely on luck alone. There is no more time to waste, light the fuses and let’s get the hell out of here,” said Markus.

  “This should be interesting,” Bull said.

  “Not what I’d call it, you better hope we can move quickly,” said Vesart.

  “We will, we move quietly only for the first half of the journey to the wall, enough to be away from The Beast as to not risk alerting anyone to the town square. After that, it’s every man for himself, do whatever you can to get out as quickly as you can,” Markus ordered them.

  They nodded as Vesart pulled all the fuses together and got out his tinderbox. Within seconds the fuse was lit.

  “Go!” ordered Markus.

  They quickly set out towards the wall where they had arrived at. Retracing their footsteps as quickly as they could, without alerting anyone to their presence, they could only hope to make it out. None of them knew to what extent the carnage would be, other than more than any of them had ever witnessed.

  As they reached sight of the tower that they had climbed up beside, a bell rang out from it, followed by shouting along the walls. The body of the guard must have been discovered, an unfortunate circumstance, but its timing could have been a lot worse. Markus immediately drew his sword, knowing that they would not make it out of the town without a fight, his friends followed suit.

  “Alright, let’s move!”

  They quickly leapt into a fast pace, running to the wall, the fastest they could manage while remaining alert and forever aware of the danger surrounding them. Before their very eyes a Karsian ran out from behind a building heading towards the tower, his sword in one hand and a torch in the other. He turned quickly as he caught a glimpse of the intruders from the corner of his eye, but it was too late. Bull barged him with all his weight into the inner wall of the town, the force shocking the orc. Before he could recover, Bull thrust his sword through his heart, killing him instantly.

  “Intruders!” shouted a guard from the wall.

  Before the man could speak another word, Tobias lifted his cro
ssbow and let off a bolt, which shot into the orc’s chest and sent him tumbling off the wall to the inner court.

  “Let’s go!” shouted Markus.

  They ran up the steps they had so quietly travelled previously, shouts and bells sounding out throughout the town as soldiers were mustering. A musket fired below, the ball smashing the wall just a foot away from Bull’s head as he rushed through the door. They all quickly pulled off their ropes and hooked them onto the wall. Just as they were about to leap over the parapets a shrill scream rang out in the air behind them and over the town.

  The shocked group of daring soldiers turned to see what their imaginations could not even create, something so horrible and unbelievable that they did not believe it could exist. What they could only describe as a Dragon was soaring towards them over the rooftops of the town. They could barely make out detail, but enough to see the silhouette of someone riding atop the creature.

  Markus’ heart was pounding, as he stood frozen by the shock of such a sight, such pure evil. Two musket balls ricocheted off the wall next to him, snapping him back into reality.

  “Over the wall now!” he shouted.

  Jumping over the parapet, they slid down the ropes, burning their hands in the process, a small price to pay for a quick escape. Four of them hit the ground, but as Markus and Yorlor were still on the ropes a huge fiery ball erupted over the wall, narrowly missing them as they took to the ropes. Just a second later a thunderous explosion erupted immediately blowing through their eardrums and completely deafening them. They were thrown off the ropes as debris erupted over the walls. The ground before them trembled with the sheer force.

  A few seconds later bits of wood and stone peppered them, smoke and dust filling the air. The town was momentarily silent. Markus stumbled to get to his feet, completely off balance and barely able to walk. He shouted at the men beside him, but couldn’t hear his own voice or their responses. They shambled off towards the Ensee, following it south, still stunned from the explosion. They knew they wouldn’t be followed, as it would be sometime before any surviving soldiers could compose themselves.