Kingdom of Fire

by Nick S. Thomas

  “Of course, Count.”

  Yorlor threw him a new shirt and the scarlet doublet, which he had become quite fond of. He quickly pulled them on, and walked alongside their leader’s horse to the siege lines.

  “Markus, you have seen the breach we have made, how long do you believe it will take us to get into the city?”

  “I am no expert, Klaus, I have never experienced a siege for myself.”

  “But you have faced the Karsians recently, and won. You also know the Lords who lead the assault, give me your opinion.”

  “I believe their heart is not in it. They have come to this place on the orders of the King, and all the Lords will be wondering if they should not have done as Holbein did. We will never succeed here unless the men are truly inspired. They must want victory, not just hope for it.”

  “That is an interesting outlook.”

  The two men stopped beside the guns and looked out to the huge walls and breach of the castle. It was almost impossible to make out who was who in the brawl that ensued. It was a bitter and bloody affair, and looked like nothing more than a complete mess from where they stood. The Werstrian men were amassed outside the walls, only a few able to fight at any time.

  From the ramparts above the breach, muskets rang out in a haphazard fashion, blasting the troops below, along with crossbow bolts. It was impossible to make out the dead from the living, as they were all intermingled. The dark shades of the Karsians and the colourful flamboyance of the Werstrians was ever blending together as dirt and blood covered them both.

  “Do you know why I seek your counsel, Markus?” asked the Count.

  “I do not.”

  “Because of all the Lords, you are the only man who will tell me exactly what he thinks. The others are not all bad men, but they forever concern themselves with political ambition and saving face among their peers. Likewise they fear angering myself, or the King. You are none of those things.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You can understand then why it bothers me so that you lied to me just moments ago.”

  “Count?” asked Markus.

  “You did not get that injury from training, not one of your men was practicing this morning, as is evident from their attire. And a man such as yourself does not receive such an injury from training.”

  “I am sorry, Count, but I felt it unimportant and an unnecessary concern for you.”

  “This is how the Lords come to be untrustworthy because when they decide what they should, and should not tell me. I can no longer have faith in them.”

  “Holbein sent three men to kill me.”

  “You have proof of this?”

  “No, but they told me as such before I dispatched them.”

  “You must have made quite an impression on the Lord.”

  The two men laughed, amused by the demise of such a coward and a fool.

  “Without proof I can do nothing to assist you in this matter, but I can say I will not interfere with any actions you take against him. Having disobeyed the call of the King, he will not be in favour, unlike yourself.”

  “Your vote of confidence is reassuring, but all I want is for Werstrians to act like men, and for us to fight the real threat at our door.”

  “That is noble, but there will come a time where we must all face the enemies within our own lands,” the Count replied. “The real question is once we have taken this city, will there be a man among the armies with the will left to fight? The war does not end with this city. Each year our country grows weaker, if we have a victory here it will be little more than holding back our demise a little longer. It is very hard to find men with the will for war, even though it is upon us. They wish to live out their lives in as much peace as they can, never realising in that doing so only shortens their lives and that of future generations.”

  “Was the taking of this city not enough to convince all Werstrians that we must act?” asked Markus.

  “Sadly not, we need leaders who can inspire the troops, and yet we have Lords who squabble over the smallest thing. We need men like you, a generation who has lived without the infighting and can revive the old Kingdom.”

  “I will do my utmost to do so,” said Markus.

  “Go, see to your men, they will likely be needed before long.”

  Markus nodded to the Count, but stood a while longer to watch the fighting at the breach. He could already see that it had devolved into a stalemate, but the men fought on. He could just make out the shapes of wounded men shambling back towards the encampment, others being dragged. He had already fought in many encounters, but never had he seen carnage on such a vast scale.

  He walked back towards his encampment, leaving the Count looking out at the progress of the battle. Markus knew now, more than ever, that he had to be the man to take the city. It was not just important for his personal ambition, but also for his country. The Count was right. Werstria did need new blood, stronger leaders and a return to the old glory of the Empire.

  Despite this consideration, the thought of power weighed heavily on Markus. He had been born to be a fighter, eager for promotion among his unit, but never to the responsibility and command of thousands. His country required this of him, and he would not disappoint them. Walking into his camp, the knights were sitting around, much of their armour removed. Markus looked around at his men they looked both bored and anxious. All of them knew they would have to fight, but the waiting was the worst thing.

  “Knights, gather round!” he shouted. “We will not fight today. But I can guarantee that tomorrow we will. Tobias, I want you to go and find something tasty for our last meal before the assault. A hog would be good, you will likely have to go to rim of the Salbeins to get it. We will share it with the men of Villau and Leonzal.”

  The knights had already begun to pull off the rest of their armour before he had finished speaking, and Tobias went to get his crossbow from the tents.

  “Vesart, do you think you can arrange dyes for the men’s clothing?” asked Markus.

  “Probably, what did you have in mind?”

  “I want all coats dyed scarlet red by morning.”

  “To what end?” asked Yorlor.

  “Tomorrow we lead men from many different towns, I want them to fight alongside each other as brothers. Look at the regiments of the army, a sea of colour, a beautiful sight, but it is not an imposing one. I want us to march as one, a sea of blood red.”

  “It might not be a popular idea among the men.”

  “They will do as ordered. These men need direction and command. They will follow my will and as such will reap the rewards. I want every jack to be blood red by morning!”

  The men nodded and went about their business as musket fire continued to rage in the background.

  “You are asking your men to throw away their identities, and do as you please, what makes you think they will follow you?” asked Bull.

  “You did. Whatever this country has been doing throughout the war it has not been working, it is time for change and tomorrow we march to death or glory. I want to do more than just fight. I want to inspire the rest of the army. They do not have what it takes to win here, we must make them remember the greatness of their ancestors.”

  The day continued on exactly as planned. Markus had nothing to do during that day so he sat on the gun lines until dusk. Thousands of men marched to the breach, hundreds staggered back wounded, many more littered the ground before the walls. For all the day’s fighting, they had nothing to show for it. Nobody could tell what damage they might have caused on the Karsian forces, but it was clearly not enough.

  As the sun went down, the men remaining at the breach began to retreat to the camp. As Markus stood watching the bloody and battered troops make their way in a disorganised fashion back to the camp, he saw Lord Cranach walking towards him. The Lord was filthy dirty, his helmet hanging by its straps in one hand. His face was thick with dirt, and he looked exhausted and utterly demoralised.

  “Markus
, perhaps now I wonder if I should have let you lead the assault, for it was not the glory I had imagined,” said Cranach.

  “It was a noble attempt, my Lord, but it was never going to be a quick or easy affair, there will be plenty more blood spilled before this siege is over.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “Let me lead tomorrow’s assault.”

  “I cannot, Lord Neumann has the honour of tomorrow’s attack. You are but a boy to us, how can we trust you with such responsibility?”

  “Lord Cranach, whatever the nobles of Werstria have been doing for the last few decades, it has not been working and we stand at the very tip of our destruction, we are an ever smaller Kingdom. It is time to forgo some traditions, adapt and overcome. If we want victory we must change as a people.”

  The Lord stood and thought intently about what he was saying. He was beginning to accept the shortcomings in the nation’s ruling, as he could finally see things crumbling around him. Despite this, he could not bring himself to break with tradition nor fully trust a man he had so recently met and found promoted to equal status.

  “I am sorry, Markus, it is not my decision to make.”

  “But you have influence among the Lords, you could speak in my favour, all I ask is a chance to lead our people to victory!”

  “Oh, your time will come, there may come a time when there is no one else left to lead our people, but that is not these days. Tomorrow Lord Neumann will assault the walls, and we will watch and spur him on.”

  The Lord continued on his weary walk towards the encampment. Markus watched as countless soldiers passed him, many injured, all exhausted. Looking back at the wall, the Karsians still cheered and waved their black flags on the battlements beside the breach. Markus had told his men they would fight the next day, and he promised himself they would, whether the Lords wanted it or not.

  That evening was a pleasant and relaxing affair but a far quieter one than one would have expected. The solemn feeling among the camp of the losses of that day, and the anticipation the battle the next day, kept a quiet and sombre tone. Markus sat with a cloth, cleaning his sword. Blood along the blade had already turned to a black patina, with yellow patches of rust from the sweat. It was a fine sword, and he regretted not having the time to keep it in the order it was when he had first taken it up.

  The yellow rust of the blade wore down with the oily cloth as he continued to buff it. The rough texture of the surface rust flattened out until the blade had a more familiar flat and smooth finish. The stains could not be removed with the simple cloth he had but it was enough to stop any further damage. Cleaning the sword was a calming experience for Markus, as he pondered the next day. Vesart strolled over to him as he sat with his blade about his knees.

  “The jackets are as ordered, they will be ready in time.”

  “Thank you, my friend. I want our forces assembled at first light in full battle dress.”

  “Has the Count ordered us to battle?”

  “No, but we will be needed tomorrow. Neumann does not have what it takes. If I can see that then his men will feel it also. Tomorrow we are going over that wall, and may the Gods save any man who dares try and stop us.”

  Chapter 12

  Markus woke abruptly to the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. His eyes sprang open and he grasped the dagger beside him ready to strike. His sleepy vision quickly focused and he could make out the face of Bull stood before him.

  “It is time,” he said.

  It was the first time he had asked to be awoken before first light, he wanted to be ready as the sun came up, with his men. He knew that it could be many hours before they would be able to fight but he wanted the discipline he required to be instilled in them from the very beginning. Markus followed Bull to the front of his tent and looked from the entrance. His knights were already pulling on their armour and weapons, preparing as he had asked.

  “Good man, I will be out shortly.”

  He stepped back to his bed where his clothing and armour lay. He knew this fight would be like nothing he had ever seen. Markus had become a veteran of single combat and skirmishes, but he had yet to witness and participate in a true battle. He pulled on his arming jack, dyed red as he had requested and it was pleasantly dry from the cold and clammy sweatiness he had gotten used to.

  Pulling on the garment, he made a mental note in his head to always have a spare arming jack in times of war. That was if he could survive the day. No matter what he did, they never dried out overnight as one would wish. He stood and marvelled at the armour before him, the harness he had so carefully selected by in the tower in the Salbeins.

  Despite owning such a magnificent harness, he had given it little usage so far, having to fight almost all of his battles without it out of sheer necessity or chance. That morning he finally appreciated the armour, knowing he was walking into a wall of fire and death. He sat on his bed and strapped on the legs of his armour. Finally, standing, he strapped the cuirass over his torso, the faulds overlapping perfectly on the cuisses of his leg armour.

  Next came the arms, perfectly jointed to allow absolute movement, the large pauldrons laying over them. He picked up his sword belt and buckled around his waist, the arming sword hanging from his left side. He sheathed his rondel dagger on the right side of his belt, and then hooked the cord of his mace onto the brass fixing beside the dagger sheath, the brutal weapon dangling from his side.

  He picked up the three-barrelled pistol vambrace and strapped it to his arm, a fascinatingly odd weapon, with which he was certain to find a use. He picked up his bascinet and greatsword. Markus stepped out of his tent to find Vesart, Bull and Captain Durer awaiting him.

  “’Morning, gentlemen. Captain Durer, assemble your men behind the siege, we await the assault there, the rest of you, follow me!”

  The knights’ armour clattered through the encampment as they made their way to the siege works with purpose. The first rays of sunlight were just appearing in the distance, but the camp was still in the dark of night. Barely a man among the tents was awake, all but Markus and his men. Accompanied by his knights, Markus stood up at the line of guns, looking out to the vast city and the breach, which was so tranquil at that hour.

  Turning around to look at the camp the men of Ambstern, Villau and Leonzal were assembling behind him, a dark column of Werstrian soldiers. He watched as they formed up before him, coming to a halt in formation.

  Markus stood absolutely still, his knights at his side and looking out over more than a thousand men at his command. He stood and watched as the sun rose. Its beams were striking the mass of vibrant red jackets, a magnificent sight. All who followed Markus could not doubt his orders, as they now understand the reason in his words. They were a fearsome force to behold, uniformed and eager.

  From behind the lines of soldiers, Markus could see the Count riding towards him, marvelling at this newly turned out army in astonishment. He rode straight up to Markus, not sure what to make of the situation.

  “Lord Handel, your men truly are a sight to behold, but why are you formed?” asked the Count.

  “I will leave the assault to Lord Neumann as agreed, we wait here in readiness for when we are needed.”

  “You may be waiting some time!”

  “So be it.”

  “Well I commend you on your discipline and appearance, a fine fighting force you have created, may I address your men?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Good morning to all you fine men! I know that most of you are men of Ambstern. I am sorry that your Lord would not lead you to this fight, but you have been given the honour of following a far greater man. Markus Handel was not born a Lord. He earned that status through great deeds. Let that be a lesson to you all! For the men of Villau and Leonzal, I salute you, it has taken great courage to leave your homes and join this war! Good luck to you all, and may you find victory and glory on the battlefield!”

  The men erupted into a roar of excitement, raising t
heir weapons into the air. The Count looked out across the lines of uniformed men, eager to march to battle, many to their deaths. In that moment, he caught a glimpse of the courage and strength that Markus had placed into the men’s hearts and it impressed him. He knew that somehow, Markus would find a way to reach those walls, whether by order or not, and who was he to hold back such a champion.

  “You honour us, Count!” Markus said.

  “You honour yourselves. I wish you the best, find victory, glory, and may you live to tell the tale!”

  He rode off down the line of men with his guards, the red-coated men still roaring with excitement. Markus looked down to the north, where he could see the first of Lord Neumann’s forces amassing. He was certain they did not have what it took to breach the city walls, they were there because they were ordered to be, not because they felt it necessary or important. He looked back to his men. They were awaiting his words. He took a step onto an ammunition cart that lay nearby, raising him above them and visible to all.

  “Men of Werstria, brothers in arms! We do not have the order to attack this day, but I can guarantee you we will! We may wait out the morning, perhaps even much of the afternoon. I want you to watch the battle before us, to see our countrymen fight. Rest easy now, but be ready for when you are needed!” he shouted.

  The men cheered once more, before their officers bellowed commands for them to rest easy. Markus could make out the figure of Lord Neumann approaching from the north with six riders on horseback. He grinned, knowing exactly what to expect.

  “Lord Handel! This day belongs to us, why have you assembled?”

  “We stand here in your honour, to watch your grand assault!”

  Neumann rode in close, so he could talk more quietly and beyond the hearing of the columns of soldiers.

  “Do not think that you can steal the honour from me this day, Markus. It is time you learnt your place.”

  “I am well aware of it, and so shall you before the day is out.”

  The Lord sat back up in his saddle, sighing in response. He had nothing left to say. It was clear that he was used to beating men for such insolence, but now he was dealing with a man who was legally his equal, a fact he clearly had absolute disdain for. Neumann turned his horse and galloped off to his troops.