Asgoleth The Warrior: A Modern Tale of Sword And Sorcery (fantasy fiction books)

by Kirkwood, Bill

  ‘Come my lords, we have much to discuss.’

  Later that night Asgoleth leapt swiftly to his feet, sword in hand, as a panel in the wall of his chamber slid quietly aside. A smiling girl looked boldly in at him and motioned him to follow her. She led him through hidden passages to another luxurious chamber then vanished as silently as she had come.

  A soft rustle of silk behind him made him turn and there he saw Amira and he grinned in appreciation. Candlelight shone through the thin silken gown she wore, displaying the glorious feminine outline of her body. His eyes burned with desire and she hesitated as she saw what she had aroused in him.

  He went to her and, with a gentleness that surprised and pleased her; he picked her up and carried her to the bed. She sought his lips with her own, whispering,

  ‘Show me then how a warrior of the north treats a woman, Asgoleth.’

  Their bodies merged and the soft velvet darkness of the Torran night enfolded them, blotting out the sights and sounds of a great nation preparing for the death struggle with its ancient enemy.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A cold wind, moaning like the spirits of the damned, blew down from the Agar Mountains and swirled around the ancient and solid walls of Fort Kronos. A young sentry pacing the ramparts felt that icy blast and shivered with something more than just the cold. He felt uneasy and restless but why, he did not know. Perhaps it was just fatigue that bore so heavily upon him.

  He yawned and rubbed tired eyes, it had been a long, tedious watch but now the sun was rising. In less than an hour the guard would be changed and he would be able to crawl into his warm bunk in the barrack room. He drew his heavy military cloak closer about him and watched the sun rise over the plains.

  Suddenly he stiffened, his weariness forgotten, as he spied a distant flash of light. He rushed forward and leaned on the stone battlements, his eyes searching the distance. There it was again, a brief, flickering flash of light and another and yet another. The rising sun was being reflected from the helmets and spear points of a host of soldiers as they approached the fort.

  He could see them more clearly now as the light strengthened and his face went white. There were thousands of them. This was no mere feint to test the Torran defences as had been tried before, this was a full scale attack. He raised his horn to his lips and blew hard. Three long, brazen notes rang out in the morning air warning his comrades that the hated and feared Akonites were on the march once more.

  Within moments of the call to arms, the defences were being manned. Warriors poured from the barracks rubbing sleep from their eyes and buckling on their weapons as they ran. None needed to be urged on, they all knew what would happen to themselves and to the people of Torr should their enemies ever manage to break through their defences. They could expect no mercy from the cruel Akonites.

  Lord Arindor, the commander of Fort Kronos, was just buckling on his sword belt when the door of his chamber flew open. He glanced up sharply then nodded when he recognised Micah, his sergeant at arms. These two old warriors had served together for over twenty years. They had fought side by side in the thick of battle and had endured many hardships together. Each owed the other his life many times over and theirs was a bond of mutual respect and friendship which allowed them to treat each other as equals, despite their difference in rank.

  Arindor frowned when he saw the grim look on Micah’s face.

  ‘What ails you Micah? Surely you are not worried by the appearance of a few Akonites.’

  Micah shook his head gloomily and said,

  ‘I think we might be in trouble this time old friend. I have never seen so many of them before and there is something different about them too. They have made no effort at all to conceal their approach but instead march straight towards us as if they are sure of victory. I don’t like it. Not one bit.’

  Arindor was too experienced a soldier to dismiss the gut feelings of his men. He knew Micah was a brave man, fearless in battle. If such a one as he was worried, then he had good cause to be. He clapped Micah on the shoulder as he strode towards the door of his quarters.

  ‘Come then old friend, let us go and see exactly what is coming at us.’

  As he emerged he noted with satisfaction the smooth and efficient way his troops were preparing for battle. The walls were fully manned with alert warriors. The baskets of the catapults were loaded with mounds of fist sized stones which would cause havoc in the ranks of an advancing foe. Archers stood ready with arrows nocked and beside them were men equipped with long poles which would be used to push away the scaling ladders of the enemy. Smoke was rising from small fires in iron pots beside which stood containers of pitch into which arrows could be dipped and set alight before being sent in among the enemy. All that could be done had been done and they were ready to face whatever the Akonites sent against them.

  As he climbed onto the ramparts he cast an eye over the stout fortress. The walls straddled the mouth of the Khilbar Pass and they stood forty feet high and twenty feet thick. Above this massive barrier the cliffs on both sides had been hollowed out and row upon row of firing slits pockmarked the cliff faces, each slit concealing an archer ready to pour death down upon any invaders; behind the first huge wall, at a distance of fifty yards, stood another barrier as large as the first. No enemy had ever managed to pass even the first wall let alone the second. Arindor intended to keep it that way.

  He nodded to himself in satisfaction then he turned his attention to the advancing ranks of the enemy out on the plains. His eyes narrowed at what he saw there. Rank upon rank of mail clad men met his gaze, their lines stretching off and fading into the distance. He could detect no sign of siege engines or of catapults or of battering rams. Only infantry and cavalry could he see and he began to share Micah’s unease. How did the Akonites expect to breech these walls without siege equipment?

  Arindor despised the Akonites for their cruelty but he did not underestimate their fighting ability. They were fierce and terrible fighters. He had seen them sacrifice hundreds of men so that a mere few could gain the top of the walls. He knew they feared death, as did any man, but they feared their commanders more. Perhaps, he told himself, their siege equipment was still out of sight although that would be the first thing he would have brought to bear against a walled defence. He shook his head and looked at Micah.

  ‘I see what you mean. There is indeed something very odd about all this.’

  Micah merely nodded and the two men stood and watched the approach of their ancient enemies.

  The sun, the visible embodiment of the goddess Solus, rose higher into the sky and the defenders started to sweat in the heat. By mid-morning the Akonites were almost upon them and the Torrans tensed themselves for battle. Suddenly the sound of distant voices barking orders rang out and the Akonite army halted just outside the range of the Torran archers.

  A deep silence fell and Arindor and Micah frowned. This was not like the Akonites. Usually they would charge straight into battle. Even odder was the fact that there was still no sign of any siege equipment. What were they up to?

  They watched as the front rank of the enemy army opened up. Through the gap rode a single horseman. He wore no armour, only a simple black robe and no helmet protected the shaven skull that gleamed in the morning light. The man rode forward as though unafraid of the warriors he faced. One Torran archer, stung by the man’s obvious contempt, drew back his bow string and took aim but Arindor caught the movement out of the side of his eye and called out.

  ‘Hold your fire lads; let’s hear what he has to say. Maybe they want to surrender.’

  A ripple of laughter spread through the defenders as they lowered their weapons. They waited then, until the man reined in his horse below them. Arindor leaned out over the battlements and demanded,

  ‘What do you want here, Akonite?’

  The man looked up at him and replied.

  ‘My master, King Demos, bids me tell you that he will spare the lives of you and your men if you surrend
er the fortress to him. If not, he will destroy the fortress and kill you all.’

  Arindor gave a snort of derision which was echoed by many of his men. He looked down at the messenger and said,

  ‘I have never heard of King Demos but I have no doubt that he is no better than his insane predecessor. Go back and tell your master that we decline his kind offer. We would rather die than live as Akonite slaves.’

  A roar of approval from the men greeted his words and the Akonite glared up at him as he waited for the noise to subside. When it had, he spoke.

  ‘You do not understand what you are dealing with Torran. My master does indeed have the power to destroy this fort and all within it. You would do well to do as he asks.’

  Again Arindor snorted,

  ‘You Akonites have tried for centuries to destroy Fort Kronus, yet still it stands firm against you. I do not think that its walls will crumble now just because your king wants them to. We have nothing further to discuss Akonite. Go back to your master while you still can.’

  The man glared up at him and then without another word, he turned his horse and headed back to his own lines.

  They watched him go with a mixture of anger and contempt. Micah growled,

  ‘Did that upstart king of theirs really expect us to surrender without a fight?’

  Before Arindor could answer his keen eyes saw more movement in the enemy ranks and he called out,

  ‘Make ready lads, here they come!’

  The Torran defenders drew back on their bowstrings, ready to send sheet after sheet of whistling death into the ranks of their enemies but no charge was forthcoming. Instead, as before, there was only a parting of the front rank as yet another black robed man rode forth. At first Arindor thought that the messenger was returning, then he saw that this man wore the golden crown of Akon upon his shaven head.

  He looked at his old friend and said,

  ‘We are honoured today Micah. There is King Demos himself. Perhaps he intends to lead the charge against us personally.’

  Micah shook his head.

  ‘His warriors make no move to follow him. I wonder what he is up to.’

  Demos reined in his horse below them and sneered up at the defenders. Then he cried out,

  ‘Behold Akonites, and witness the fate of those who would defy me!’

  The gemstone upon his finger began to pulse with red light as he stretched out his arm. Then from that hellish stone flew a bolt of crackling energy and all eyes watched it with superstitious fear. Here indeed was black sorcery.

  The bolt hit the stone walls and there came a tremendous explosion of sound and light. Men cried out in fear and pain as they were hurled from their positions by the blast and when the dust cleared a gasp arose from a thousand throats when they saw the huge gouge that had been torn out of those stout walls.

  Arindor and Micah too had been knocked off their feet and Arindor’s face was white with shock as he climbed back upright. He was covered in dust and bleeding from many minor cuts inflicted by flying splinters of rock and he cursed savagely as he beheld the damage. What hellish magic did this Demos possess? He wiped his face and shouted,

  ‘Archers! Bring him down.’

  Bowstrings twanged in response and hundreds of deadly shafts hurtled towards Demos. A red glow surrounded him and as the arrows came in contact with it, they burst into flame and fell harmlessly to earth leaving Demos alive and unhurt by his enemies.

  Again he stretched out his arm and, glorying in his power, he sent out bolt after bolt of hissing, crackling, destruction. The defenders fought back as best they could but their weapons were of no use against this evil magic. Demos was invincible, yet for all his might he still felt a twinge of impatience. If he had possession of the Heart of Ra he knew he could have wiped this fort out of existence in an instant.

  Anger grew in him and he turned his attention away from the crumbling walls of the fort to the cliffs above. Under the impact of those furious bolts of energy, the cliffs began to fall. Huge boulders were torn free and fell with smashing force upon the men below. Shrieks of terror and agony filled the dust laden air mixed in with the deep grumble of falling rock and the fortress began to disappear under that terrible onslaught.

  Arindor glared wildly around him at the wreckage and he knew that he and his men could not hope to defeat this black sorcerer. He gripped Micah by the arm and shouted,

  ‘We must fall back and warn the king. Send messengers on ahead and then sound the retreat, go!’

  Micah nodded grimly and began to slide and scramble down the pile of rubble that had once been a stout wall. Arindor watched him go then he began to rally those who still lived.

  ‘To me Torrans,’ He cried. ‘To me!’

  He heard a soldier cry out,

  ‘Look out my lord, above you!’

  He glared upwards and saw a wall of tumbling rocks coming straight at him and he knew he was doomed, there was no way he could escape them. He was swept up by that crushing torrent and he cried out in pain as he felt his bones snap and splinter under the impact of the rocks. At last, after what seemed like an eternity of pain filled rushing movement, he crashed to a halt at the base of the wall.

  There he lay, with blood frothing from his lips as he tried to breathe. Each breath was an agony but he would not give in to death easily. Then Micah was at his side, scrabbling at the rocks that pinned him down. Arindor looked up at his comrade’s grief stricken face.

  ‘Don’t waste your time, Micah, I’m finished and we both know it.’

  He coughed weakly and blood spattered over the dusty stones. He looked at Micah and said,

  ‘You must save yourself now, Micah. You must try to get back to Torr ahead of these Akonite scum and try to give the king some advance warning of what has happened. Maybe the rest of the army will be able to stop this sorcerer.’

  Micah looked at him in anguish.

  ‘We can’t surrender the fort to them, we can’t!’

  Arindor coughed and more blood sprayed. His face had gone grey and death was near. He gripped Micah’s arm weakly and whispered,

  ‘There is no fort to surrender, now obey my last command and save yourself old friend, I wish I …..’

  Arindor gave a long, bubbling gasp and lay still, his eyes now staring at realms beyond the ken of mortal man.

  Micah watched him die and sat there for a moment or two with his head bowed. Another rumbling crash nearby brought him back to grim reality. There would be a time for mourning later, if he lived. He rose to his feet and saluted his fallen comrade.

  ‘I will do as you have commanded, my lord. I shall warn the king and I shall find a way to avenge your death. This I swear by mighty Solus.’

  With a last look at his friend, he turned and began to scramble away over the rock strewn ground. Above the roar of rockslides and the screams of the dying, he could hear the victorious cheers of the Akonites and the hateful laughter of their sorcerer king. There was a snarl of fury on his face as he grabbed the reins of a riderless horse and leapt into the saddle. He forced the terrified animal into a gallop over the shaking ground, determined to get away and warn king Aractus of this terrible disaster.

  Behind him, the Akonite army surged forward over the ruined walls of Fort Kronos and like an evil tide, swept on into the land of Torr.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Asgoleth gritted his teeth and suppressed a sigh as yet another whining merchant stepped forth. He was finding out that life as a palace guard did not sit well with him. He was a warrior and he should be about a warriors business instead of standing here listening to the endless complaints of merchants.

  His eyes roved over the court of King Aractus taking in the perfumed nobles in their costly robes and their bejeweled ladies upon their arms, all of them adhering to the formality of the court. He found their behaviour and their conversation strange and near incomprehensible at times. It was all very different from the life he had known as a mercenary on the border.

  He mis
sed the camaraderie and the bawdy jests of the barrack room. Found himself missing the danger and excitement of the border patrols, the clash of swords and the exultation of victory over his foes. He was no civilised man and this soft life he was leading now did not suit him; and there lay his dilemma. He had given his word to guard the king and his daughter and his word was binding upon him.

  His hand sought out the hilt of his sword and closed about it firmly. He glared at the merchant before him and the man caught that look and blanched. Asgoleth grinned at the man’s discomfiture then silently berated himself for behaving so. It was not this man’s fault that he was a merchant rather than a warrior. Merchants were a necessary part of city life. Without them no city could exist. He ground his teeth and looked at the king. Later, when the day’s business had been dispensed with, he would speak to Aractus and ask to be returned to the border garrisons. That was where he could be of most use. But then he would no longer be able to see Amira and that was something he did not want to give up. What was he to do?

  His head jerked up and he half drew his sword as he heard a commotion outside the doors to the throne room. The doors flew open and a travel stained warrior strode in struggling with the guards.

  ‘Get out of my way you fools! I must speak to the king at once.’

  Aractus was on his feet in an instant and called out,

  ‘Let him approach.’

  The guards fell back and the man came forward. He did not waste time bowing but instead came straight to the point.