Kingdom of Fire

by Nick S. Thomas

  They looked back towards the town, flames and smoke still bellowed from the centre, they could only imagine the devastation it must have caused. They continued on, their hearing slowly returning to them but still muffled. It was another long walk through the night to reach their horses, but they were as eager as each other to return to friendly territory. At last, they reached their horses, exactly as they left them. They knew that no man travelled in the forest in that night.

  “What the hell was that?” shouted Vesart.

  “A Dragon of course,” said Bull.

  “Surely not?””

  “I fear it is so, Vesart,” said Markus.

  “Do you think it survived the explosion, Markus?”

  “The fact it isn’t trying to kill us right now would suggest it is at least incapacitated.”

  “Thank God for that!”

  “That was one hell of a blast,” said Bull.

  The men chuckled, feeling thoroughly pleased with themselves. They rode on through the night, retracing their steps from earlier, to the main road to Lienzberg. They had been looking forward to sleep, but now the adrenaline was fuelling their bodies it was the last thing any of them could think of.

  It was first light by the time the six riders reached the edge of the siege camp. Many of the soldiers were looking west, trying to understand the massive plume of smoke rising from the town there. They all knew that it was under Karsian control, they could only guess what could have happened.

  Markus and his men rode into the camp, their clothes even more filthy than before. They were covered in dust, a new layer of grime to cover the dried blood and sweat of their previous journeys. The men at the camp stared at them in amazement yet again. They rode directly up to the front of the Count’s tent who following the call of his guard, stepped out to greet them. The Count marvelled at them with a wide smile about his face.

  “Gentleman! I can only imagine you found success, though it appears all the more dramatic than I had imagined!” shouted the Count.

  “It is done,” said Markus.

  “Indeed, and it sounds and looks as if you took the whole town with it.”

  “It would seem so.”

  The Count laughed as he shook Markus’ hand, followed by the other five men.

  “Then you have done an even greater service to the Kingdom than was asked of you. There were many soldiers stationed in Ternen, you have likely dealt a wicked blow to both their infrastructure and morale, I salute you.”

  “Thank you, but I must report one more thing.”

  “Go on.”

  “Just before the blast, we were attacked by an immense creature. It was breathing fire and able to fly, it appeared to be ridden by a Karsian.”

  The Count look taken back, but not quite as much as Markus would have expected. In any previous occasions he would have been called a madman for saying such a thing.”

  “A Dragon?” asked the Count.

  “I would say so yes.”

  “I had heard rumours. Dragons existed in the myths of our ancestors. No one has ever been sure they even existed. But now word has it that the Karsians have somehow found or created one, maybe more than one. These are troubling times but there is nothing more we can do about it now.”

  “What news of the siege, Count?”

  “Back from one fight and eager to hear about another. Markus, is your energy never expended?”

  “Not in these days, there is time to sleep in the grave.”

  “Please, step into my tent. Guard, see that these men are well fed.”

  The two men stepped through, the Count in his finest armour, Markus in his shabby and bedraggled arming jack.

  “Markus, you have done us a great service, and you will be rewarded for it, but we must for now turn our attentions to the battle at hand. I am told the walls will be breached tomorrow, our men and equipment are ready.”

  “What will I do?”

  “At this stage, nothing, rest and be ready. Lords Cranach and Neumann lead the assault, it is their right to do so.”

  “I am to lay about as the fight ensues?”

  “My man, you have done more than your fair share already. The honour of the assault is theirs. There are many thousands of men among this army, they cannot and should not all assault the walls at once.”

  “Count, what of my promise?”

  “That is your responsibility. Do not press this matter, you are an unorthodox Lord, and I like that, but there are still many rules you must abide by. You will have your opportunity for further glories, rest and be ready.”

  Markus said nothing and nodded his agreement to the Count. Having nothing more of use to say, he walked away to his camp.

  Chapter 11

  Markus awoke abruptly to the sound of the cannon batteries firing. They had started early that morning, at first light. The Lords must have been eager to finally begin the assault. Markus’ back ached from his fall from the explosion, and the sweat and dust still clung to his body. Stepping out of his tent in nothing more than his shirt and breeches, he stretched his stiff body. The knights were sitting around a fire between their tents, taking a welcome rest when they could get it.

  “Vesart, do you know of any lakes nearby?”

  “We passed one on the road north out of the camp to Ambstern, Markus.”

  “Mmm, yes, I do remember now.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “A bath.”

  Vesart grinned. “Yes, a nice thought, though I am not sure my body cares any longer, for it will only get dirtied once more tomorrow.”

  Markus walked along the lines of the tents to where their horses were tethered. He leapt onto the saddle, feeling relief with the freedom to once more ride a horse without the cumbrance of arming jacks, armour, weapons and shields. He felt remarkably relaxed. Trotting through the camp to the north, the men didn’t know what to make of him. He was scruffily dressed in dirty clothing, atop a fine horse and saddle, they were all too afraid to comment. They were still unsure as to who he was.

  It was a short ride north to the lake. Riding through the cool morning, Markus marvelled in the fresh air streaming through his shirt and hair, and the beauty of the land around him. For a moment he was able to forget the war and suffering around them, and think of his days as a boy when he would ride across the fields of Moden. Then he was completely unaware of the threat to the west, of war or suffering. He had been told of his father’s death, but never knowing the man meant he felt little of it until later in life.

  He wished for a moment to be back in Moden, in the rich green fields where they lived a simple and risk free life in their community. As much as he wished for the return of those days he knew that they were given such grace by the men and cities that bore the brunt of the hordes to the west. Never had the war meant so much to him as when his brother died, and the harsh reality placed at his doorstep.

  Finally, he reached the sight of the lake surrounded in trees. It was a tranquil and beautiful place, completely unaffected by the war, untouched by men. He led his horse to the edge of the water. Markus simply stood and looked out at the peaceful lake, a moment of sheer escapism from the war that confronted them all.

  Snapping out of the daydream that overtook him, he pulled of his clothes and stepped into the water. It was icy cold, the morning spring water being a sharp shock to his body. He didn’t care, as it was a welcome change from the stifling heat and clamminess of battle. He walked further in, deeper and deeper, until the water was at the height of his chest. He dipped his head under and rinsed his matted hair through the water. His skin was caked with dirt and grime but the water slowly washed it away.

  The cold was a comfort to him, a reminder of his training with Hammer in the Salbeins. He had never liked the cold, the bitterness of it, but now it had a sentimental value. He lay back in the water, letting him float on the surface, looking up to the bleak spring sky. The trees around him were mostly bare, compounding the feeling of darkness that th
e Karsians had brought with them and swept across the land.

  Markus stood back up with his feet touching the rocky floor of the lake. He wrung the water from his hair and threw more water on his face. Suddenly he felt a shiver run down his spine, not from the coldness, but that of the feeling someone watching him. He turned back to look at his horse to see three men standing at the side of the lake.

  The three ominous men said nothing. They wore the armour and carried the weapons of Werstrians, but had completely plain black tabards over their mail coats and brigandines. They had their weapons in hand ready for a fight, with no cause or reason in sight. Their faces could not be seen, covered by the helmets they wore. Markus looked over to their horses, trying to find some sign of their allegiance. There was nothing, no symbols or markings at all.

  He stared at the men, they were clearly ready for a fight, but he could not understand why. One held a mace between his two hands, the other two with swords resting on their shoulders. Markus didn’t know what to make of the situation, at first he thought they might simply be checking he was not a Karsian, but they had seen for themselves and not spoken.

  “Can I help you, gentleman?”

  After a lengthy silence, one of the men finally spoke, but through the vents of his helmet, not to reveal his face.

  “We send Lord Holbein’s greetings. Now step out of the water!”

  He should have known as such. There would always be consequences of angering and humiliating such a powerful coward and spineless Lord. In all of the drama and conflict of the days, he had already long forgotten the political entanglements that he had created. He thought himself a fool for not taking greater precautions, but didn’t show it.

  “You would strike a man without letting him first put on some clothes?”

  The three men look at each other, until finally the one beckoned him forward. They stepped back several paces, to allow him space to reach his clothing, but not to his horse, where they likely suspected he had weapons. Markus slowly ploughed to the water’s edge. He stepped out of the water, still naked. He faced the sort of odds he used to consider suicidal, but Hammer had long since taught him otherwise. The freshness in his body from finally being clean furthermore gave him confidence and rejuvenation.

  Markus pulled on his under garments and breeches as the three men closed in on his position, their weapons at the ready. He reached for his shirt, but immediately threw it at the man on his far left who carried the mace, jumping after it. The shirt landed on the man’s helmet as he flurried to get free. Markus skilfully stepped to the side opposite the other men and wrapped his hands around the man’s helmet, still wrapped in his shirt. With a quick and sharp twist, the man’s neck snapped and he went limp.

  He reached for the mace and just managed to grasp it from the dead man’s body as the next man cut against him with the sword. Leaping back the very tip of the longsword sliced into his cheek, almost reaching his mouth. The concentration and adrenaline flowing through his body allowed him to ignore the bloody flesh wound.

  The three men circled each other, looking for an opportunity to strike. Markus knew he could not make the first move, and his assailants now realised that they faced a far more dangerous opponent than they had first thought, a fact that had already cost one of them dearly.

  Suddenly, the man on his right stepped forward with a thrust, Markus parried of the sword with a hanging parry, and using the momentum to circle the mace head and smashed it down on the man’s helmet, knocking him to his knees and stunned. Before he could follow up with a second strike or even respond, the second man cut against him. Markus parried with the shaft of the mace but the man drove the sword around and forwards onto his left arm, slicing deeply.

  The attacker had drawn his blood, but in doing so had closed the distance, losing the advantage of the reach of his sword. Markus quickly wrapped his arms around the man’s arms and locked them into his side. Without giving the man time to think, he hacked to the neck with his mace, the man’s collarbone fracturing with the impact. He dropped to one knee in agony. Markus took the mace in two hands and hammered it down with all his force onto the flat top of the helmet, the man died instantly.

  Markus dropped the mace and picked up the longsword from his victim, a long gripped sword with an acutely tapering blade. He quickly turned his attention to the last man, who was back on his feet but still slightly stunned, Markus stormed at him. The man cut with a strong diagonal hack from his right side, but Markus twist his hilt around and high, parrying and levering around the sword. His point drove through the man’s neck as his sword clashed against the guard of Markus’ weapon.

  Standing among the bloody bodies of his attackers, Markus dropped and looked at the open wound on his arm. The pain was beginning to set in as the sword had driven deep. Blood seeped from the wound and he knew it needed attention. He walked over to his first victim, his helmet still wrapped in Markus’ shirt. He drew a dagger from the man’s belt and cut a length of material from the shirt, wrapping it around his injury.

  With one last look at the death around him he staggered over to his horse and climbed into the saddle, heading back to the camp. The pain was uncomfortable, but nothing he could not handle. What bothered him most was that when their people faced utter defeat, death and slavery, men could be so petty as to pursue personal disputes. Markus realised that Werstria had become weak and decadent because of men like Holbein, their honour and pride long given up for greed and envy.

  He rode along the trail south into the camp, not at all in a rush. He was both saddened by the weak and pettiness of some of the men among them, as well as angry at not being given the chance to assault the city. As he strolled into the camp the guards looked at him with intrigue, but yet again did not say a word. The guns fired repeatedly as he continued onwards. As he was halfway through the camp a roar of excitement rang out from the siege works.

  He looked over just in time to see the wall of the city crumbling and collapsing to the ground. Dust and dirt erupted into a dirty cloud as the stonework came to a standstill. Markus turned his horse and continued on up to the ramps of the guns. Several thousand men were positioned to the north, ready to breach the city.

  Markus turned back to the huge city walls. The smoke and debris was beginning to settle. The breach was substantial, as wide as perhaps twenty men, but the debris had created a natural ramp to climb. The men continued to cheer all around, a thunderous roar of excitement. Markus could see Lord Cranach shouting inspiring words to his men, but he could not make out what.

  “What happened to you?”

  He turned to see Bull at his side, full armoured up and ready for battle. Several more of his knights stood along the line of artillery watching the welcome demise of the wall. Vesart walked up beside Bull.

  “Holbein sent men after me.”

  “You should take this to the Count,” said Vesart.

  “That I killed three men who wore no uniform or insignia, and do not live to confess their crimes? As far as any man could see it was just a well-prepared bandit attack. I am going to need some help stitching up this wound.”

  “Well it’s not like we have a task here, the butchering will begin without us,” said Bull.

  “I spoke to Kohler about our part in the assault, but it is yet more political nonsense. Don’t you worry, our time will come.”

  He turned his horse around and continued towards his encampment. Behind him, he could hear the sound of thousands of men moving to assault, the rustle of their armour and pounding of their feet echoing out across the plain for all to hear. Beyond that, shouts and horns rang out across the city as the Karsians prepared to face the attackers.

  Markus was disappointed not to be in the assault, but he also knew that there would be plenty of opportunities yet. The Lords dreamt of a courageous assault through the breach at the first attack. He knew this would never happen, that breach would be a meat grinder, many hundreds or thousands of men would die before a victor found.
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  He sat down beside his tent, his men bringing him bread and water. Vesart set about removing the bandage. Much of the blood had dried and stuck the piece of shirt to his flesh, making it painful to remove, but fresh blood was still seeping from the open wound.

  “You’re very lucky, any deeper and you wouldn’t be able to move the arm.”

  “Lucky? Lucky would have been not getting hit.”

  “You took no weapons with you, and yet this is a sword wound, it was not good odds.”

  “That was your biggest mistake, never go anywhere without a weapon,” said Bull.

  “Hammer told us that our body is the weapon, and a sword is just a tool.”

  “And where did that get you? You’re a bloody mess.”

  “I am alive aren’t I? You face three armed men with your bare hands and see how you do, Bull!”

  “Sounds like my kind of fight.”

  Markus looked up at him, realising that his friend was fooling around, lifting his spirits. He smiled as it was very much appreciated. Vesart cleaned off the wound and got to the stitches. It was not at all a comfortable experience, but after the pain endured at the hands of their teacher in the Salbeins, it didn’t really bother him.

  “Bull is right. We seem to be building enemies on both sides, none of us should go unarmed, especially alone,” said Vesart.

  “Alright, I hear you.”

  A rider rode up to their tents casually, accompanied by two others. Markus looked up to see the Count upon his fine steed and in a fantastically decorated harness, the splendour of which would inspire any man.

  “What happened to you?” he asked.

  “Training accident.”

  “You must train hard, Markus.”

  “Always.”

  “Well, try not to kill yourself before you get a chance to face the enemy,” said the Count.

  Markus nodded in agreement. He knew he could not burden the Count with his problem, and also that it was a personal matter which he would gladly resolve himself in the near future.

  “I am going to see how the assault progresses for myself, will you join me?”