“You might be worth something after all,” Cromwell said. Kian could not help but grin. “It seems we have scared the fight out of them.”
“You might be right. Come, Kian, we will take the fight to the bastards. See if we can find out how K’xarr is faring.” Kian’s blood was up, he followed the Toran at full speed.
The two men ran into the center of the village where what was left of the rebels were still fighting. More than half the village was ablaze now, the battle would soon be over.
Cromwell and Kian crashed into the rear of what looked like the last pocket of the village’s defense. Kian caught sight of K’xarr fighting alongside the captain. He tapped Cromwell and pointed. The big man nodded, and they started to cut their way over to their companion.
Kian felt a stabbing pain in his lower back. He spun around, the shaft of a small javelin was sticking out of his back. A boy no more than thirteen stared wide-eyed, amazed his throw had hit its mark. Kian went to his knees; Cromwell, seeing his friend wounded, looked at the boy and gauged the distance. He swung the two-handed sword over his head and threw it with all his great strength. The heavy blade hit the child point first, bursting through his chest carrying the boy several feet in the air to land on his back stone dead.
Cromwell scooped Kian up and carried him away from the fighting. He laid him down by an old shed, one of the few buildings that wasn’t on fire. The Toran gripped the shaft of the javelin and pulled it out of Kian’s back. It was all the Half Elf could to not to scream. He was light-headed and everything was blurry, he heard Cromwell’s voice. “You’re bleeding badly. I’ll get the surgeon, try to stay still until I get back.” Kian gazed into the dark sky, gritted his teeth and waited.
Kian thought he must have passed out. When he awoke, Siro, the new battle surgeon for the Birds of Prey, was finishing binding his wound. “The wound was deep, but I stitched it up. He’s young for a Half Elf, he should recover quickly.” The homely healer stood up and brushed the dirt from his knees. Siro was the only man as short as Kian in the whole company. Kian rolled to his side to see the Toran grinning down at him.
“I have seen Toran children with worse wounds than that out playing with their war dogs.”
“Help me up, would you?” Kian said, trying to get off the ground. Cromwell reached down and hauled the swordsman to his feet and all but carried him over to the old shed. The big man propped Kian against it.
“Watch what you’re doing, you big oaf, you’ll pull his stitches out,” Siro said, frowning. Cromwell gave the healer a nod of thanks as the little man packed up his instruments and walked away.”
“You fought well. Stay here and rest. I will come back and get you.” Cromwell clapped him on the shoulder and walked toward where Kian saw the remains of the company gathering.
The battle looked to be over. He could hear the wails of widows and fatherless children echoing through the night. The fire still burned bright enough, he could see the mercenaries were rounding up what was left of the villagers. Most of what remained seemed to be the women, children, and the old. Guilt flooded his mind as he watched the mercenaries pushing and shoving the survivors into an old barn. Many of the women were being dragged away from the bodies of their fallen husbands and fathers. Some of the mercenaries were beating the helpless villagers to get them to abandon their dead loved ones.
Captain Barbeau stood near the doorway to the barn as the people were forced inside. He was picking out the prettiest of the young women from the survivors, having his men hold them back from going inside the barn. Kian figured he planned to sell them as slaves, or he had decided to keep them for himself and his men.
He realized tears were running down his face. Minutes ago he had been so proud of how well he had fought, now all he felt was shame. Defend others and yourself, that is what Gildor had taught him. He knew his master would be appalled by the mercenaries’ treatment of the defeated villagers. The old man would never stand for it.
Kian wiped his eyes and used the shed wall to push himself up. The wound shot lances of pain through the small of his back. He clenched his fists and started limping towards the captain. He knew Siro’s stiches were starting to tear as he hobbled along, he could feel the blood starting to trickle down his leg into his boot. It didn’t matter, he had to do something even if it meant his life.
Cromwell turned in time to see Kian before he got to where the ring of sell-swords stood. The Toran reached out and stopped him. “What the hell are you doing, you’re going to start bleeding again, you fool.”
Kian looked up at Cromwell, the firelight casting shadows on both men’s faces. “This is wrong, someone has to stop it.”
Cromwell grabbed Kian by the arm ,he could see the Half Elf was having trouble staying on his feet. “I know my friend, Barbeau should have mercy and just kill them, not burn them up in that Barn. There is no need to be cruel.”
Kian pushed Cromwell’s arm away, “He’s going to burn them? I have to stop this. I won’t let it happen.”
Cromwell shook his head. “You can’t stop it, you can barely walk. Besides, you know they won’t listen to you and the captain won’t hesitate to use your protest as an excuse to kill you.” The Toran took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “The villagers lost, this is their fate.”
Kian Ignored Cromwell’s logic and looked the crowd over for K’xarr. He could see him standing with his arms folded on his chest. He was looking right at them from across the circle of mercenaries, his face was unreadable. There would be no help there.
“You and K’xarr can watch this evil, if you want. I won’t stand by and let them die. I will pay whatever the price I have to.” Kian drew his blade.
“Then go to your death an Arradar if you must.” Cromwell pulled his Voltakar out and sliced his forearm. “With this blood I honor you with the scar. I will remember you. Die with honor, Kian Cardan.” Cromwell stepped back; Kian just nodded to his friend, not understanding the Toran rite. Then he limped into the circle of mercenaries.
Sweat ran down the captain’s face from the heat of the fire, he had stripped down to his knee breeches and expensive shirt, both of its ruffled cuffs stained with wine. He was laughing with his lieutenants as they looked over a girl no more than twelve years old. Rapier in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other, the captain seemed to be enjoying his victory. “Barbeau, hear me Barbeau,” Kian shouted.
The circle of men went quiet as all eyes went to the Half Elven swordsman. The captain raised his arms. “What do you want, half-breed, none of these fine young girls want a tumble with a freak of nature like you, be off, find a nice sheep to love.”
The men roared with laughter. Kian seethed with anger, never had he been this full of rage. All the mistreatment the captain had heaped on him over the last two weeks, along with the anger over the atrocities he was witnessing, boiled to the surface. “I will not allow you to burn these people or rape their women.”
The captain walked over to where Kian stood. “What did you say, you little bastard?”
Kian met the captain’s gaze. “I said I will not allow you to burn these people.” The captain smiled and stabbed his rapier into the ground. He leaned on the blade as he took a big swallow of wine. “You’re wounded and can hardly hold that sword up, how would you stop us? Besides, you would have to kill me, you son of a whore, and that you couldn’t do on your best day.”
Kian spun, his blade flashing in the firelight. The captain’s head rolled across the ground and came to rest at the feet of his lieutenants. The captain’s rapier snapped in half and his body fell to the ground. No one was laughing now.
Kian knew he had ripped his wound wide open. His legs began to shake the pain was agonizing. He went down to one knee, they would kill him now but he was strangely content.
One of Barbeau’s seconds named Ospree drew his sword. “You are dead, half-breed scum.” His legs were shaking and his strength was gone. The Half-Elven swordsman knew that he had lost a great deal of blood, his boot was full of
it, but Kian gritted his teeth and stood back up. “I won’t be the only one.” He was having a hard time seeing, he came to guard as best he could and waited for them to come.
“You kill him, you will have to kill me too and you may find that a little harder task, Ospree.” Cromwell came to stand beside him, two-handed sword resting on his shoulder.
“Damn you to hell, Cromwell.” K’xarr drew his sword and stomped over to stand with them. “You’re both damn fools.”
There was starting to be a bit of doubt in the eyes of the mercenaries. Many looked at one another, unsure of what to do. “We’re with you K’xarr.” Two more men came out of the circle to stand with them: a young man with uncut blonde hair, the other slightly older in a horse-hair crested helmet and the breast plate of a Dragitan cavalry officer.
K’xarr walked over to Ospree and pointed his sword at the lieutenant. “Your choice, Ospree, you can let the villagers go and get your pay from the Baron or you can face the five of us. Choose.”
Ospree gave a confident smile showing his rotten teeth. “I have seventy men or better, you can’t kill us all K’xarr. You’re as mad as that half-breed if you think the five of you can take us. Your odds are not too good, Camiran.”
K’xarr looked around at the mercenaries, then back at the other four men standing inside the circle of brigands. “You’re right, Ospree, you might take us in a rush, but not with seventy men, you know not all of them will fight. There’s no coin in it and the ones that do back you won’t have their hearts in it.”
K’xarr looked at his sword then at the mercenary lieutenant. “I swear by all the Gods, Ospree, I will see to it you are the first to die, how are those odds sounding now? Not so good, eh? Besides, you’re the captain now, the half-breed did you a favor.”
The lieutenant looked at his men and sighed. He knew K’xarr was most likely right. It would be more than half of the greedy bastards that would not join in the fight and no one wanted to face the Toran and that two-handed sword of his.
“One condition: the five of you give up your pay for the villagers and you leave.”
“Done.” K’xarr sheathed his sword and walked back over to where his comrades stood and lowered his voice.
“You Half-Elven idiot, you almost got us all killed and you owe me the coin I just lost. What in the hell were you thinking pulling a foolish stunt like that? If most of these curs weren’t cowards, we would all be dead.” Kian smiled at K’xarr and put his hand on the Camiran’s shoulder then he fell backwards. Cromwell caught him before he hit the ground.
Cromwell was glad to be leaving the Birds of Prey, they were poor warriors. K’xarr thought so too, but he hadn’t wanted to leave. He said they needed to build a reputation. Cromwell didn’t care, he was just happy to be rid of the sorry band.
Siro had worked on Kian through the night. The Half Elf had lost a lot of blood, but the little healer was good and the swordsman yet lived. They took some of the Bird’s horses and loaded Kian into a small wagon and headed east. Siro had asked if it was possible that he could travel with them when they left. The Toran thought Siro must not have like the mercenaries either.
The little healer was hard to look at but he seemed to know what he was doing, and a good healer was very hard to come by so they had agreed to bring him along.
K’xarr’s new friends Rufio and Vandarus were coming along as well, they had worn out their welcome with the mercenaries the night before when they had joined K’xarr and Cromwell in Kian’s defense. A Dragitan and a Bandaran, they weren’t from the Harsh Coast but Cromwell could overlook that since K’xarr had said they were good men.
He knew that Dragita was one of the most powerful nations in the world. He had heard their armies were vast and their leaders cunning. Rufio claimed to have once been a cavalry officer for them. The Dragitan had short dark curly hair and was built like a block of stone. He didn’t talk a lot and Cromwell liked that about him.
Vandarus, the Bandaran, seemed a fine warrior. He was as tall as K’xarr and strong. Cromwell didn’t like the fact he came from a country that worshiped the One God, but aside from that he found no fault with the young warrior.
He knew K’xarr was angry with him and Kian. The Camiran didn’t like anything interfering with his plans. If Kian hadn’t decided to take on the mercenaries single-handedly they would still be with the band and K’xarr would be happy. The truth was neither he nor K’xarr would have troubled themselves to help the villagers. They both saw it as how the world worked: the victorious survive and the defeated die.
It was Kian’s courage that had made him step forward and the fact that the Half Elf had saved him from a spear in the back. Cromwell knew he was no thinker. The whole incident confused him, he had never thought about helping anyone weaker than he was. It was not the Toran way. In Tora the weak and helpless were left to die. It made the clan stronger.
The wounded Half Elf was prepared to die for villagers who wouldn’t trouble themselves to spit him. Kian’s act of valor had shamed the barbarian.
It was like one of the stories the old ones told of the Arradar. K’xarr would not understand, he was not Toran and had not lived with the Toran laws of honor.
He knew K’xarr would think Kian a fool or mad, but Cromwell knew better. He saw what was in the little swordsman’s eyes, he was willing to die for what he thought was the honorable thing.
Cromwell talked of honor all the time, it’s what the people of Tora lived for, yet he had seen little true honor among the clans. Kian had the kind of courage the old Toran stories talked of. The world was very strange sometimes. He needed to stop thinking on it, his sword was sharp and he travelled with brave men. Things were good.
“What are you thinking about? I hope it’s about how you and Kian cost us all a lot of coin.” Cromwell looked over, he hadn’t even seen K’xarr ride up beside him.
“I think we did the right thing,” Cromwell said holding his head high. K’xarr mouth opened to speak then he closed it. He shook his head and rode up to the front of the wagon.
Cromwell started to follow K’xarr to make him understand what he meant, then thought better of it. It would be smarter to let him cool off first.
Vandarus rode over to where Cromwell trailed behind the wagon. He was grinning again. Cromwell could not think of a time in the last few weeks when the Bandaran wasn’t talking, and he almost always had that aggravating smile on his face.
“I think you pissed him off, big man.”
“Aye, it’s not a hard thing to do,” the Toran said.
“Tell me something, Cromwell, do Torans ever laugh?”
“Rarely, tell me something Vandarus, do Bandarans ever shut up?”
“Point taken, my friend, I just wanted to say Rufio and I agreed with you and the Half Elf about the villagers.”
“It was Kian’s idea, not mine. I would have watched them burn just like you would have.”
Vandarus gave the Toran a confounded look. “True enough, my friend, I feel bad about it too. I couldn’t believe the half-breed had the guts.”
Cromwell gritted his teeth and stopped his horse. “Watch your mouth, Bandaran, there are no half-breeds here.”
“Sorry, I meant nothing by it. It’s just he is a Half Elf and you know ... I’ll be off now.” Cromwell lowered his brows and did not reply.
Vandarus turned his horse and rode up to where the healer sat driving the wagon. “Siro, can I ask you a question? Since you’re a healer and a man of knowledge, you may have an answer to something that has been plaguing me.”
Siro nodded. “Ask I will answer if I can.”
“How the hell did you get that ugly?” Siro frowned and spat on the ground, slapping the reins and driving the wagon faster.
Vandarus laughed so hard he almost fell off his horse.
Cromwell sighed and rode up ahead to join K’xarr. “Where are we heading?”
“Southeast, we will skirt the mountains and ride into Warmark, see what trouble you and Kian c
an get us into there.”
“Damn you, K’xarr, you were there, you saw him limp into that circle of cutthroats, take the captain’s head, and then defied the rest of those bastards to doing anything about it. That is something most only hear about, let alone see, and I was not going to be out done.”
K’xarr shifted in his saddle, “Not let him out do you, in what, stupidity? Cromwell, we were just lucky to get away with our lives and we lost all our pay, for what? A bunch of worthless peasants. I don’t like rape or slavery, but you didn’t see me trying to pick a fight with the whole company over it. We have to be smarter than that.”
“You aided us, why if it was so foolish?”
“You’re my friend, Cromwell, and I suppose that unconscious half-breed back there is too. Listen to me now, we can’t let Kian play hero anymore, we’re mercenaries, we fight for pay. The villagers were not paying, so we should not have been fighting for them.”
Cromwell banged his fist on his chest. “I know what we are, Kian only stood by his principles and I stood by him.”
K’xarr stretched back in his saddle, they had been riding a long time already. “Don’t be so naïve and stop getting all worked up. We aren’t knights or heroes from a story, we’re sell-swords and poor ones at that. It’s hard enough to keep a job very long with this accursed blood of ours. Just keep him and his principles in line. Okay?”
“I will do my best but he is an Arradar, K’xarr, it will be hard.”
“I don’t even know what the hell that is, Cromwell.”
“It is a Toran word for someone who will die for a cause, a protector of the weak. In the traders’ tongue it means defender.”
K’xarr looked up at the sky, “That’s just what I need.”
Chapter 9
I bet you’re glad to be out of that wagon,” Vandarus said.
“It was a long ten days. I know the wagon was slowing us down. Now that I can sit a horse we can move along,” Kian said.
“I don’t know how much speed we picked up without the wagon, Siro and that damn mule aren’t much faster,” Vandarus said, pointing behind them with his thumb to where the healer rode.
Gods Of Blood And Fire (Book 1) Page 13