CHAPTER 8 – LAMBS TO THE SLAUGHTER
Thankfully, the night had passed uneventfully, the short bout of shouting and the taunts that had initially echoed in the streets outside had ceased almost as quickly as they began, as if Titus knew they were fruitless. Apart from their sleepy-eyed sentry duty and considering what awaited them outside, everyone had slept rather well thanks to the exhaustion that had gripped them. Feeling refreshed the group had first refitted their armour and weapons, finding something suitable for everyone. Henrick had found a thicker chainmail vest than his previous ornate set, which was a lot more practical for battle, and a full set of greaves to complete the set. On his head sat a helmet sporting a winged serpent in the Nordheim style, Athene thought it hideous.
‘You’ll be seen for leagues with that monstrosity on your head Henrick.’
‘It’s all I could find that would fit.’ He insisted. Corvus broke down with a fit of laughter on seeing Henrick.
‘You see, we’ll make a Nordheim warrior out of you yet,’ he jeered, which seemed to break the tension that had been building up between them over the morning.
‘I’m sorry Henrick, but I really do think that helmet suits you.’ Corvus struggled to keep a straight face.
‘It’s just strange to see a Tanarian wearing such fine attire. You know, in my army the officers need to stand out above the men, it sets the standard as I’m sure you well know.’
Athene needed some assistance pulling on the mail shirt that Corvus had selected for her. She had embarrassingly managed to get the shirt stuck around her breasts but now her arms wildly flailed the air, struggling to wriggle the protective links down over her lithe form. Both of the men immediately jumped to her aid (which greatly cheered her up as she could not maintain the pretence of the stuck vest much longer) and with one strong tug with both men pulling it the shirt fell into place.
‘I thought your warriors were meant to have big chests,’ she giggled cheekily at Corvus as her cheeks reddened noticeably. She then suggested that he had deliberately engineered her ungainly introduction to donning armour by selecting an overly small vest, she cocked her head to one side and gave him a sideways glance expressing her suspicions in a single look.
‘It was all that I could find in here, I’m afraid. Its one of the boys’ sets, so no need to lay off the sweet cakes yet milady,’ Corvus smiled warmly, after giving her a mock bow he held his position observing her stagger away. Athene awkwardly walked off in the armour trying to get used to the unaccustomed extra weight that now hung from her, she stumbled before reaching the provisions. She gathered up some eggs and a side of bacon from the fresh rations store and the group were soon chatting while they ate a fine breakfast as if nothing could possibly be wrong. The chatter stopped abruptly as a metallic clunk came from the roof. Heavy footsteps from the tower above followed, all heads turned upwards reminding them of their predicament.
‘You did double-check the bolt on the tower hatch didn’t you?’ enquired Henrick quickly, his eyes widening.
‘Of course, this place is locked down tighter than an innkeeper’s daughter,’ said Corvus. Athene bit back her reply; she knew that Corvus couldn’t know of her mother’s profession.
‘Relax you lot. That hatch is also made from the finest Nordheim oak and is reinforced with iron rivets. It would take a week to get through it.’
‘How then are you able to chop down those mighty Nordheim trees?’ asked Tress, sarcastically.
Ignoring both remarks, Corvus merely grunted, ‘More bacon please, Athene.’
Titus methodically chopped away at the top hatch. The rope and grapple hung behind him. How had his meticulous planning come to this? He had followed Tress’s trail – one pony riding rapidly, did not require the mastery of tracking that he had acquired over the years. He had judged that she would head for the Great Gate, but after the voice of Saznack, his patron, had magically conversed with him, he had changed direction and headed towards Croweheim. He normally worked alone but the mystic tip-off had saved him a lot of time.
Having noticed the band of pursuing warriors’ slow pace, Titus had judged he would have enough time to kill anyone who stood in his way before the mob’s arrival. What did Saznack want with this Athene anyway? Why did they always insist that he took them alive? His business was killing, not slavery. He cursed himself for losing the valuable time needed to complete his task, by offering them a chance of surrender.
‘Always got to open your stupid mouth first,’ he muttered and cursed as he chopped, but then his training had always been to where possible instil fear into an opponent first.
If you can put doubt into their minds before a fight, then their battle is lost, but this time their battle would have been lost on any account as it took more than a few men to better the mighty Titus. ‘I’ll just do things quicker next time and keep my dammed mouth shut,’ he promised himself. The axe head shattered on hitting a rivet. He cursed. Maybe fire would work better on the main door he mused.
Titus climbed down and started dragging combustibles towards the strong door, as Tress took pot shots at him when presented with a target, she skilfully used a light cavalry bow that she had found. She released her arrows through the raised firing posts of the upper guardhouse structure. Her aim was true but this served no purpose other than to delay his work, as with impressive dexterity he evaded or deflected every arrow. The Su-Katii warrior had now removed his helmet as if totally unbothered by the pot shots and continued to casually deflected the arrows that hampered him with a large round shield. He even took time to deliver a bow that infuriated Tress in return to one of the close shots, such was his cool demeanour. Athene had become growingly apprehensive at the action going on outside and as it appeared safe to look, she also took a peep out from another arrow slit to reassure herself that it was only one man that stood in their way. She was taken aback, she had not expected to be met with his young and vibrant looks, sparkling blue eyes and short cropped blonde hair. From the commanding and grim voice that had bellowed from within his helmet the previous night she had expected the dead eyes of a scar faced killer. Yet she had already seen the truth that hid behind those sparkling eyes. Titus whistled a merry tune as he coolly went about his business, he had always enjoyed his work and considered himself the best at what he did. He had first moved the horses to a secure building to stop his prey from gaining a quick escape, should they be tempted to dash out. Since these new crystals had made an appearance, finding oil to smother the door with to produce a good burn had been a difficult task but in the end you can always rely on a blacksmith to have some and he had found a large vase of combustible oil down by the town forge.
Henrick darted about inside, checking doors and locks to find out which would provide the best protection should they need to rapidly retreat. Athene packed trail packs with rations and equipment whilst Corvus produced a strong box from another room, after several hits from his axe it opened. He distributed the silver coins found within, between them.
‘It’s not entirely the wealth that I promised you all but at least we have some coin if we need it.’ With that Corvus just rolled over for a mid-morning nap. Athene returned and prodded him.
‘How can you sleep at a time like this Corvus?
‘Have you ever seen a lion Athene?’
‘Not in the flesh,’ she replied, confused at the large man’s question.
‘I thought not, as if you had, you would know that the lion is the strongest of all beasts, but he can only maintain such strength by spending most of his life sleeping. I have saved you a little space next to me if you decide on a nap.’ A faint smirk crossed Athene’s face as she pictured his likeness to the giant cat. Tress rolled her eyes, more like an alley cat she thought, she shut the arrow hatch and returned to the group, she spoke with a tone of remorse in her voice.
‘I should have just gone my own way when I had the chance. I never wanted to bring my problems to you all. We’re now caged up here like chickens waiting for slaughter.’
‘No lady.’ replied Corvus, sitting back up.
‘When you want to trap a wolf, you must stake a lamb out in a field and wait.’
‘We are the lambs and the wolf is outside,’ said Tress. Corvus’ words were not reassuring to her. Corvus smiled back at her,
‘Are we really?’
‘It would seem that lambs come in all sizes,’ added Athene ‘But still, who is waiting to trap the wolf then?’
‘Well, as I’m sure old Henrick here would agree, it is not a good military practice to have all your troops in one place. I, being a good military man, as well as King and Commander of all Nordheim’s military, had half of my army in the field patrolling my borders at the time of the feast.’ Corvus bragged.
‘There are borders and lands to protect at all times. Now, after finding Tress unharmed in the wilderness there is hope that this magic has not affected others further spread out in my lands. As long as they are still alive and are free-willed and loyal, they should be returning to camp for a changeover later today or maybe tomorrow. So, all we need to do is sit tight, eat well and sleep until my thousand warriors return. I think that these are odds that even Tit-bit, or what ever his name is, wouldn’t fancy …and that my dear is how you trap a wolf.’
‘Corvus, you old war dog, I could kiss you’ smiled Henrick, a sparkle of hope stirring within him.
‘Well boys,’ pointed out Athene, ‘I hate to break up your newfound relationship but it would appear that the wolf is also a fellow cook who prefers his lamb smoked.’
The flames licked up around the main entrance, faint ripples of smoke crept under the door and into the room. Tress quickly soaked a bed roll and plugged the gap. Luckily the wind was directing most of the smoke down the side of the hard stone structure, as often the smoke is more effective than fire at extracting people from a building. Henrick tested each of the many longswords in the weapons rack for balance and weight, eventually settling on his third selection. He also grabbed a large tower shield from amongst the armaments. Watching the burning door he soon realised that Nordheim oak was not all it was cracked up to be. Scratching his stubble-covered chin he considered their options and eventually he cried out.
‘I think I have a plan - your cloak Tress, it can keep you concealed right?’
‘Yes, as long as I am wrapped up tight within its folds.’
‘Good,’ replied Henrick,
‘Because I have noticed that the doors in this guard house have deadlocks on both sides of the doors. Should that bastard get through the main entrance you could remain concealed on the outer side of this door, then once he has passed through in pursuit of us you could lock the door behind him from the outside. The next room leads to the tower and has a similar lock. If we can manage to get both doors locked, we can trap that killer in the room and make our getaway out of the tower hatch, then we can escape and run like hell, hopefully towards Corvus men. I spotted through the arrow slit that the rope he used to inspect the roof earlier was still dangling down from the tower.
‘I like your plan Henrick,’ replied Tress,
‘But if he gets across that next room and past the door, he’ll make mincemeat of you all.’
‘You’re right’ nodded Henrick in agreement. ‘That guy can certainly move. That’s why I will be waiting in the doorway with my tower shield. If he makes it to the door I’ll have to bash him back into the room to buy us more time, but hopefully it won’t come to that.’
‘If we arranged some obstacles in the next room, that may slow his advance to the door,’ Tress added.
‘Good thinking, Tress, you know I think we make quite a good team between us, two equally devious minds.’ Henrick gave Tress a rare smile. He went back over the plan again as Athene moved the trail packs next to the roof hatch.
‘If he reaches the door Corvus we only need to defend it long enough to get it locked, nothing reckless. If you fight him, he will kill you, have you got that Corvus?’
‘Yes, yes I know - run away.’ A bottle of plum brandy smashed against the main door, the flames intensified, roaring ever higher. The time went excruciatingly slowly as the door burnt away. Their attempts to douse it with water were fruitless as the arrow slit windows were just too narrow to throw sufficient water. Later, as the last charred oak slat of the main door fell into the room, Tress whispered the magical enchantment and wrapped the cloak tightly about her, vanishing into the surroundings. The sabre already in her sweaty palms glowed slightly, almost feeding from her stressed emotions. The sword had been delivered to her by a man known as Sorus shortly after passing in to Nordheim on Tamar’s mission. He had approached her on the track playing a flute, In passing conversation he had quickly revealed that Tamar had sent him to deliver a package, He told her that he had looked into her mind and had seen that she could be trusted to wield a great power. He handed over the sword to her. He also mentioned that its powers would aid her survival when facing the powerful Anak. He added that they still didn’t understand the true power of the sword as it did not come from this world, but somehow they knew it would be of use to her at her most desperate hour. They had been correct on both counts and she was pleased that they had trusted her with it, for it had already saved her life against the void beast. She had thought it strange at the time that a magician should want to keep a sword but it obviously had magical properties, although she had no clue as to its powers or origin – it had not appeared in any of her manuscripts that she had studied.
She pressed her back against the wall as debris from the burnt door tumbled inwards, big plumes of smoke and burning embers filled the room. Safe within the folds of the cloak, Tress did not cough or splutter – no smoke penetrated its magical fabric. A woodsman’s axe smashed the remaining door fragments into the room, then the small flash of a shaving mirror could be seen in the doorway as daylight flooded the room. Tress watched silently. This one was a very cautious adversary. Even though he was obviously full of his own confidence, he still took no chances before sticking his head through. The hot doorway was still difficult to pass and being the most likely place to make a stand, the lack of defence had perhaps been a mistake, the killer appeared more vigilant than first anticipated. Had he guessed their plan? Two silver blades entered the room first, cat-like, he moved through the doorway immediately placing his back against a wall. Another cloud of smoke blew in. He brushed the hot embers from his armour and removed his helmet which was impairing his vision. This one was in no hurry. Henrick clattered his shield, hoping the sound would quickly draw Titus in to their trap; he coughed with the smoke as his eyes scanned the doorway looking for any traps or an ambush. It took Athene’s voice to bring the killer into the next room. He rapidly moved forward towards the girl’s voice, past Tress, into the doorway – two more steps and he would be in the perfect position to fully close and lock the door behind him. Tress slowly moved to the door handle preparing to slam it shut. Titus swung back around and focused on the smouldering doorway, hundreds of years of killer instinct telling him that something was amiss. Henrick pushed open the door on the far side of the room shouting abuse at the frozen form. Another gust of smoke swirled around the room and Titus’s eyes followed it as the smoke traced around Tress’s invisible outline.
‘Gotcha’ he smiled as his sword lashed out.
Time stood still for Tress as she realised what was happening. She threw herself sideways into the door frame trying to bring her sabre to bear, the warrior’s first sword pierced her cloak, just missing her leg and burying itself deep into the door frame, her cloak was pinned to the wall. His second blade sliced across her wrist. Fortunately her leather greaves absorbed most of the blow, but the cut to her arm was still deep enough to make her drop her blade in shock. Henrick without thinking charged across the room to her aid, sending the tables and chairs that they had strategically placed flying. Tress slipped out of her cloak as the warrior tried to pull out his impaled blade. When he saw his prey slipping away, he sent a blow with his remaining sword in her direction to finish her off quickly, Tress read the movement and twisted her head to one side, the sword point just missed her head by a fraction. Titus twisted on the balls of his feet ready to face the new threat; his blade thrust out at Henrick’s thundering form bearing down on him. The huge tower shield absorbed the blow. Titus managed to evade the shield bash that followed, with a deft sideways roll retrieving Tress’s fallen sabre as he did so. Now with Henrick between them Tress threw herself backwards out of her assigned door, pulling her skewered cloak from the sword that pinned it, tearing it in the panic and slamming the door shut. With a prayer for her comrades Tress secured the sturdy lock. The sound of the continuing battle carried through the thick door.
Corvus clung to the door leading to the tower, ready to slam it shut in an instant.
‘Get your arse back here now Henk.’ The ex Su-Katii warrior immediately wheeled around blocking Henrick’s retreat and repositioned himself into a new battle stance; his blue eyes gleamed at the certainty of the victory to come. Corvus grabbed a stein from a nearby table and threw it at the warrior, trying to maintain his position near to the door but also distract Titus who was now sizing up Henrick like a hungry tiger. Without breaking eye-contact with his opponent Titus’s backhand slash smashed the projectile in midair before it could hit its mark. Henrick seized the opportunity and pressed his assault. His sword missed the agile target but the shield bash that followed hit home hard, sending his opponent sprawling backwards, a trickle of blood running from his nose. Henrick felt a surge of confidence as he closed on his stunned foe, time to finish this upstart. Corvus’s further shouts of ‘Come on boy, run’ went unheard.
Titus quickly picked himself up spitting a mouthful of blood to the floor while at the same time managing to deflect Henrick’s attack.
Both warriors rained a blinding series of blows down on each other, seemingly an equal match. Unusually Titus found his anger growing, his rage flooding out like a burst dam. The more furious his assault the stronger his opponent’s defence grew. Unleashing a near impossible sequence of blows, Titus finally lunged forward, delivering a well-aimed thrust, which penetrated the narrow gap between Henrick’s sword and shield, however it failed to penetrate his heavy armour. Winded by the blow, Henrick kicked Titus backwards. Berserk with rage, Henrick closed the distance and turning the tables he rained down a relentless assault on the heartless killer, forcing Titus for the first time to go on the defensive. The runes engraved upon Tress’s sabre pulsed with an ancient magic as Titus used the sabre to great effect, repulsing his attack and gouging great grooves out of Henrick’s shield as he did so. The Su-Katii launched an ‘Appel,’ feinting a lunge, Henrick reacted swiftly and his sword passed cleanly through Titus’s exposed thigh slightly lowering his shield as he extended his blow downwards. Without hesitation Titus’s sabre struck out severing Henrick’s head from his neck, splattering the close walls in the falling warrior’s blood. Athene screamed in shock as Henrick’s headless body fell to the ground. Corvus cursed his loss as he slammed shut the inner door and slid the bolt home.
Corvus braced himself against the door, but instead of the expected battering the bleeding warrior turned and started to limp towards Tress’s door.
‘Damn fool. What kind of man doesn’t follow his own rules? Don’t fight him he said.’ Corvus half-muttered to Athene who still stood frozen in a dazed state of shock.
‘Quickly girl, get your arse up and out of that hatch, I don’t know how long these doors will hold him.’
Titus spotted movement through the thin gap in the badly-fitting door frame. Clutching his deeply wounded leg, he stumbled and limped back to the door that led to the main entrance thrusting his remaining silver blade through the minute gap towards the shadow that was moving behind. Tress, straining to view the combat inside, had already anticipated the wounded warrior’s approaching blow and retreated backwards to a safe distance. As she did so, Titus’s blade thrust through the door sending splinters flying through the air, but its travel was halted by the large finger-guard. Tress picked up Titus’s discarded woodsman’s axe and smashed the protruding blade. With the image of the blonde Su-Katii’s face in her mind; she unleashed her rage until the broken sword fragments lay scattered on the floor. At that moment, Athene and Corvus appeared breathlessly in the doorway, having made a rapid descent from the tower.
‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’
As the three made a rapid departure, the sound of Titus’s curses followed. After a brief discussion they decided that it was too dangerous to wait it out for the returning Nordheim troops. Finding the secured horses they selected their steeds and sent the remainder scattering. Corvus had wanted to slaughter all of the remaining horses, but the women now outnumbered him, and being of a softer heart decided that they had all seen enough butchery for one day. He decided not to press his suggestion.
Titus sat on the floor, stopping his ranting only to apply direct pressure to his leg wound. He was familiar with the best treatment for almost any type of wound but had never needed to tend to his own since his days in the Temple. Remembering back to his years as a youth in the harsh Su-Katii training regime, first-aid had been paramount. The wounds had come hard and fast then, injury from blades, blunt trauma and even animal attacks. The painful thoughts of the mauling and lacerations were indelibly imprinted on the darkest recesses of his mind, however with the use of the red crystals, treatment had now become much easier. He reached into his belt pouch and pulled free a red crystal; he cracked it hard against the stone floor and placed it into the gaping leg wound. It sizzled in his wound and smelt like frying bacon, making him feel sick, rather than hungry at the thought. After regaining his composure he then kicked Henrick’s corpse with his good leg, instantly giving himself an intense feeling of self-satisfaction. How had this dead man managed to wound him? He had never suffered even a scratch in over two hundred fights since leaving the Temple and they were just the ones that he could remember. How many lives had he taken over the years? He replayed the battle in his mind as the crystal continued to fizz in the wound, stimulating the healing process. The warrior had been easy to read at first, his pattern of movement had been a typical infantry style. Titus had studied and practiced more than a thousand forms of combat over the years and the slain warrior’s moves had been textbook Tanarian military. Two to three combinations practiced with heavy repetition, these moves were more effective when used in a massed formation. Yet the dead man had quickly changed to a variant of Nordheim freeform which had thrown him, for it was not the newer form in practice today; instead it was an ancient style like that practiced century’s ago, most strange?
Titus remembered the anger he had felt at the point of the shield blow. The canny old warrior had almost lured him into thinking he only knew one style of combat. It was inconceivable that the dead warrior had lasted so long in combat against him, let alone wounded him. He had needed to allow the opening to his leg and tempt the man into a small prize in order to steal the victory. Titus had slain other Su-Katii knights before in half the time and with far less effort than he had spent on this one. Something was not right. He looked down at the bloody sabre. This was no ordinary blade he decided as he distinctly remembered seeing the sword glow during the struggle. His best guess was that it appeared to feed from his emotions, then, in some magical way transfer them over to the opponent, why would anyone ever design such an item? He had heard of such powerful blades in half-forgotten legends but had always dismissed them as old wives tales. He decided to wrap the valuable weapon carefully and take it with him… that was if he ever got out of this stupid room. The blade was obviously far too dangerous for him to use, even if it was sharper than anything he had ever seen before. Thinking back to the fight and his attitude at the time he guessed that its powers changed with the mood of whoever wielded it. Who knows and what did it matter? He had far too much anger burning inside his heart to consider risking using this sword again. He used to fight without becoming angry with his mind devoid of thoughts, but after reflecting on his past and what he had just been through, anger was now second nature to him and he would tap in to this endless resource.