CHAPTER 15 - HOSPITALITY
Titus trundled along the trail behind Athene on the dappled Nordheim pony that he had acquired from the stock left outside the shrine. He had deliberately put the girl on his own horse, even though the steed was almost four hands taller, much faster and bred from a fine line of thoroughbreds. Anyone else would have thought it a poor choice, for the larger mount could easily escape any Nordheim pony that Titus now rode. Unfortunately for Athene it was also trained expertly by its master to halt on his whistle, amongst other tricks. With a growing bruise on her hip from being vaulted from the saddle it had only taken one such display to prove that she should give up her idea of escape. As they rode over the rough terrain of large rocks and bushes it was obvious to Athene that Titus was still in some discomfort from his wounded leg, this pleased her greatly. He was already irritated by the irregular movement which aggravated the wound and the thought that his mission had now turned to one of baby-sitting, irritated him. Titus’s mood darkened. Feeling a trickle of blood running down his leg he reached into his saddlebags. After some time rummaging about he eventually produced a red crystal from his stash, which he promptly cracked on the saddle pommel. He loosened his waist ties enough to stretch down and rub the escaping liquid into his throbbing leg wound. As the wizard had promised, the damaged flesh and skin tingled as the crystals powers accelerated the wound’s healing process and eased the pain. He gave a small wince followed by a loud sigh of relief. Athene took a backwards glance and was both astonished and amused to see Titus, with his hand down the front of his leggings slowly rubbing his hand up and down with an expression of blissful relief on his face. Titus was suddenly aware of a long forgotten sensation of embarrassment.
‘My leg... hurt leg…’ he tried to explained hurriedly. ‘I needed a crystal on it.’
The expression in her rolling eyes and a large sigh, were all that were needed to cut the warrior’s babbling short.
‘Great,’ she said. ‘I am forced to share the trail with a pervert as well as a murderer. Is it any wonder I tried to get away?’
‘Hey lady, I don’t have to explain myself to you – but you can rest easy. It was just my leg that I was tending to, the wound is deep. I can assure you I am not in the habit of molesting young girls,’ said Titus. ‘But to be fair to your looks, you do fill the view ahead marginally better than that of the fat old swine I used to keep.’
‘Wonderful, also a sweet talker, my luck just gets better all the time,’ said Athene sarcastically.
‘Shush, face forward and follow the track,’ was his curt response.
After several hours over the rough terrain, the entertaining sight of Athene’s rear end rhythmically swaying about in the saddle ahead, had lost its initial appeal, but, after scanning the barren landscape, his eyes returned to rest comfortably back on Athene. He had decided that it was the more interesting of the two and continued his letch.
Far better indeed than fat old Hogger, but he would never tell her that. Their journey continued and Titus soon grew bored. He was not used to escorting prisoners, it was a new angle to his more ruthless job and he decided that any conversation was better than none to brighten up the mundane ride. Even if she was just going to spit feathers at him, he thought, at least it could prove amusing and would whittle away a few more hours if nothing else.
He had already noticed the slight wrinkle in Athene’s nose that preceded any angry outbursts and would happily provoke her just to invoke this reaction again. ‘How do you strike up a normal conversation with a captive,’ he thought, his task was usually just to kill the target, not escort it. The immediate answer that entered his mind was, ‘However I damn well please, she is my prisoner.’ However, a cool gust of wind crossed his face and it seemed to blow away some of the hatred that had filled his mind. For a brief moment, a glimmer of the younger and more curious Titus returned, a man filled with confidence and pride.
‘Tell me lady - why would a wizard offer a small fortune to hand over a simple girl like you? The other one that you were riding with, Tyranny, I can understand how she would fetch a good price on her head. She has been looting and stealing from wizards for far too long, not the kind of people that you want to cross, but you, as far as I can see are unimportant and have offended no-one.’
Athene did not reply.
‘Perhaps you are also a wizard yourself,’ he continued. ‘Although I think not, or you would not still be riding this path with me, so what is it that you do exactly woman?’
Still no response.
‘Why is there a price on your head? Listen lady, we have a long way to ride and I can tell you, this is going to be a really boring trip if you remain so chatty. Come on, let’s start over again, maybe we could just pretend that I am a handsome young stranger that you have just met. Of course I don’t have to pretend much there, perhaps with my former past forgotten we have just met on the path whilst out for a little ride.’ He hid his sarcasm well, trying to tempt out the wrinkle in her nose with his comments.
‘Oh, hello young maiden. Pleased to meet you, what’s your name milady and what brings you to these fine lands?’ His sarcasm was now very apparent.
‘My name is Athene,’ she replied in a girlish voice worthy of a six-year-old.
‘And I have been kidnapped by a perverted, smooth talking, sword-wielding bastard.’ Her voice reverted to its normal tone. You were right, if I had been a wizard I would have used my magic and turned you back into your natural form – a slug, or escaped you by now, but judging by your words it would appear that I am some kind of precious cargo to you.
‘A slug,’ he laughed, ‘Is that what you think of me, how fantastic.’ Athene found his delight even more irritating and fired back at him
‘No, I figure that perhaps a slug is too complimentary and that if you were going to hurt or rape me you would have done so by now. My experiences have taught me that most men in a position of power like to touch rather than just watch my arse for several hours. So this makes you either an extremely patient slug or a lover of boys.’ Her confidence grew as it occurred to her that he may not want to damage the goods in his care, she decided to see how far she could push it.
‘So my queer fellow, I’ll happily make idle chit-chat with you as you take me to God-knows-where, but you should be aware you may have a proper fight on your hands, not with your sharp swords, but instead with my tongue. As she glanced behind, she took in a deep breath to try and defuse her growing anger and red cheeks, but she quickly realised that she actually didn’t care any more.
Titus could not resist a cheeky grin at the red face and crinkled nose.
Catching sight of the grin she took a sharp intake of breath and continued, ‘If you want to talk you can begin by telling me why the hell you have taken me hostage. Who wants me and why?’
‘Ah, it would appear that the lady does have a mystical talent after all, eyes in the back of your head and a tongue like a rattlesnake.’ He knew that terminating the conversation would infuriate her further, so replied, ‘I beg your pardon for disturbing you. Face forwards and ride on.’
Feeling smug, Titus knew that his last command had made her seething with hidden rage underneath her now composed exterior, but the silence that undoubtedly would follow would be worth it.
Another half-hour passed on the trail and the seeming endless plain stretched out before her, the distinct green of woodland could now just be made out in the distance. Athene could not help but replay the previous conversation in her mind. What had she been thinking? It had been a foolish thing to say. He may have been almost prankish with her so far, but she knew he was a very deadly man, now worst of all she actually felt guilty for her outburst and her demands. It had been pure anger that had taken hold of her at the time, now she realised that if her assumptions were wrong, her anger could get her killed. Even if she was a precious cargo, best not to push her luck any further,’ she thought. However if she could change her tack and engage him in a lasting conversation, he might actually start to see her as a person and not just his prisoner. When she was younger she had overheard tales before in her mother’s inn about a prince who had been held hostage and was initially treated no better than a dog, but every night his captors would untie him to eat and he would tell his kidnappers tales of his father’s adventures during the old wars. His father had been a skilled tracker and a fearless warrior who had escaped death several times. When his ransom was eventually paid up, the kidnappers gave him parting gifts because they had grown to like the prince and his amazing stories. Athene thought it more probable that they feared the father and were hedging their bets in case he came after them to wreak vengeance. Was there any truth in the story or was it just a fairy tale, who knows? Either way she figured if she could be a little bit more of the old Athene and get her captor to view her as another human being rather than a bounty, she may have a better chance of coming through this alive. Thinking of her mother’s inn made Athene wonder how she was faring. She muttered to herself, ‘It looks like she was right again.’ She paused wondering if Titus had overheard her.
As if he could read her mind, Titus said. ‘Mothers are rarely wrong. What was she right about?’
She could feel his victorious grin behind her back as he feigned his curiosity.
‘My temper, she always said it would get me into trouble.’
‘Trouble surrounds us all of the time, like a cloud. But it is not your doing lady, it just happens. Believe me I have seen far too much of that cloud over the years, count yourself lucky to have a mother, I never knew mine.’
‘I am sorry to hear that and please, call me Athene, I’m certainly not a lady or a wizard either, I’m afraid - just a cook. Now that this freezing wind has cooled my temper down, I must apologise; I regret that I called you all of those foul names earlier – by what should I call you sir?’
‘Just by my given name, Titus’ he replied in a firm voice. ‘Now see that dip in the ground, up there, by the large rock? It will provide some shelter from the wind, so head directly for that and we will take a short break for some food. Don’t worry, I won’t be calling upon your cooking skills, it will just be the pleasures of some smoked meat and rye bread. He shook his head and murmured to himself, ‘By the Gods, they have me capture a cook, how ridiculous these times have become.’
She snorted in disgust at his comment then remembered that she was striving to appear nicer so instead she complied without further argument and rode towards the wind break.
The meal had been as Titus had promised, plain and simple. Athene had offered some of the oatcakes that she had picked up back at Croweheim, to add some further variety to the bland flavours. Titus proved to be more than willing to make further small talk with her, commenting on the rations and even asked some questions about her mother. The more he talked, the less he would treat her like a prisoner, or so she hoped. As she prepared the horses, ready to hit the trail again, she gazed around the vast countryside. The tall mountains reaching for the sky in the distance were familiar; she had passed those tall twin peaks before, when arriving through the Great Gate. The horse suddenly became skittish as the wind blew a new scent to their noses. She raised her head from the shelter of the hollow and, as a second gust of wind blew her dark hair about her face, she spotted to her right a number of the possessed stumbling along aimlessly across the open ground and she looked back nervously at Titus.
‘Not again, we need to get out of here quickly,’ she rapidly packed up the remaining food.
‘Don’t worry yourself; they won’t bother us,’ said Titus calmly.
‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that,’ retorted Athene as the figures advanced closer. Titus continued to slowly pack away unbothered, then calmly walked to the far side of the rock.
‘Excuse me – nature calls.’ Titus stood urinating in the direction of the figures still approaching.
Athene was skittish as she impatiently waited for him to finish his business, she was sure he was deliberately trying to tempt her into trying to make a run for it again.
The mindless mob came within twenty metres of the hollow. Every intimidating inch of these horrifying figures could now be clearly seen.
The hairs on the back of Athene’s neck stood on end as the group stumbled on past them harmlessly. She sighed and looked down unwittingly realising that she was now clutching Titus’s shoulder, she quickly brushed herself down, as if to brush off her disgust.
‘That one there looks a bit like you don’t you think?’ He pointed and laughed at the ugly half-naked possessed female. She fought hard and did not take the bait.
Both horses needed sweet words of attention to keep them calm until the last of the abominations had passed. Athene was surprised at the gentleness of Titus’ words to calm the beasts. ‘Perhaps he cared more for animals than people,’ she thought.
As they resumed their journey, she decided to find out how far she could push a conversation with this brute. She was desperate to find out who was ultimately behind her abduction and why.
‘Henrick, the man you killed yesterday, said that you were a Su-Katii – what did he mean?’ She managed to hide the distress in her voice well.
‘Ah your friend Henrick, he was a good fighter, in fact he was an incredible fighter towards his end, well - for a ‘One Lifer’ but I think he had some help from this. He patted the hilt of Tress’s sabre now hanging across his saddle.
‘You see, I have fought countless opponents over the last nine hundred years and never sustained as much as a scratch, well apart from once - but that’s another story.’
‘Nine hundred years?’ Athene repeated. ‘You are kidding me right, or are you really trying to tell me that you have lived for nine hundred years? If that’s the case you’ve certainly aged well. Is that what Su-Katii means?’
‘Well not strictly speaking. Like most things in life, it is complicated.’ His mind appeared to linger on an old memory.
‘The Su-Katii is an order of warriors, nothing more.’ The vehement manner in which he uncomfortably spat out the words told Athene that he now regarded them with an element of contempt. He made no attempt to hide his disgust.
‘You were one of them, or are still one of them, aren’t you?’ Athene probed.
‘I am no longer a member of the Su-Katii order, yet once a member, always a member.’ he sneered.
‘Now ride on Athene.’ His sudden discomfort of the conversation showed in his tone.
She noted the use of her name rather than ‘Lady.’ She smiled to herself and settled for the small victory.
Anak’s lifeless body lay frozen in its contorted death throes on the ground. In his last minutes he had called upon every shade of darkness to try and preserve his puny life but it was to no avail. It had happened too fast and the last essence of his life had been sucked away from his body when he fell with the Soul Beast’s demise. His dark magic had a high price for failure and his controlling link to the beast had sealed his fate, dragging him down to Hell with the beast like an umbilical cord to a baby. Saznack and Bellack had both retired quietly to their chambers exhausted, feeling the strains of the day they both desperately needed to recuperate.
Later deep in the summoning chambers of the Wyvern’s nest, the acolytes desperately struggled to maintain their control of the possessed. Three of the six lay in a deep sleep or coma like state on the cold stone floor, their bodies totally overcome with exhaustion from the demanding spell. The other three could feel the panic rising inside them as their powers of concentration struggled to maintain the single consciousness that controlled the mindless possessed.
‘We need to wake up the Master now, only he can decide whether or not to release them,’ said the first acolyte
‘But if one of us leaves, the spell will be broken and we will be finished,’ cut in another of the acolytes.
‘Slaves.’ shouted the third, ‘Slaves, come now, quickly.’
But none appeared as, following procedure, they had all been locked away when a human sacrifice was required. It was never good for the obedience of the slaves, for them to witness another of their number being butchered. However for this very reason the Wyvern’s Nest maintained a small garrison of troops in case the slaves required a little ‘discipline’. It was led by the perfect man for the job, Marcus Thain, the most heartless, cruel, but efficient commander money could buy. He made the men he commanded appear almost saintly and all they demanded in return was a purse full of silver, twenty days’ leave and as many slaves as they wished for their personal enjoyment.
The screams from the lower gatehouse often carried into the main residence when the new slaves arrived and were inducted to replace the older ones that had mysteriously disappeared. Marcus had also proved useful on several special tasks. He was too tall to pass anonymously through the streets, but his unique presence had always proved of worth for enforcing the sorcerers’ demands in the past, especially when a rough hand was needed. Marcus had already selected his new plaything from the latest batch, one of the young Nordheim girls from the recent influx of lively new slaves; she was still fresh with the hope of escape. This batch had been delivered to the guards as an advance payment for the forthcoming missions but this one would not see the sacrifice room. With silk-soft skin and firm thighs she had scratched and fought Marcus from the second he had pulled her from the batch. She was strong – this was good. She would need to be for what he had in store for her.
Unfortunately for the struggling acolytes, Marcus’s quarters were the closest to the summoning chambers and their feeble shouts for assistance went unnoticed as the young girl’s screams of terror drowned out Marcus’s shrieks of excitement, as he fulfilled his torturous desires drowning out all other external sounds.
Barrad stood in the front rank of the shield-wall anonymously blending in amongst his troops. The three-deep wall of heavily armoured men spanned the fifty paces that stretched across the bottom of the track. He now wore a standard infantry-crested helm and plate-grooved chest piece. His purple cloak concealed the twin blades slung about his shoulders, the straps adjusted to a low sling so not to allow the pommels to protrude above his shoulders. The cold steel of his mass-produced helmet pressed into the back of his neck in discomfort as he watched the dark malevolent mass of men approach. At first the enemy had appeared like a stream of ants coming up through the valley, but now their serious faces could be seen individually. His men may not have much love for him, but they were certainly glad that he was now standing in the front rank alongside them. Whilst on the other hand the original Tanarian generals stood on a higher twist in the path with a rank of shield bearers standing at the ready about them, they had orders to remain visible next to the war banners and they watched on from the relative safety of the higher ground. Barrad was familiar with the use and techniques of all weapons including almost anything that could also be turned into one, but now standing amongst the men, he could not help but think that that the main reason that soldiers the world over struggled to stay alive on the battlefield was down to the poor quality of the weapons and armour they had available to them. The spear was far too heavy at the tip and its prolonged use would cause accelerated fatigue on the upper arms and shoulders resulting in inaccuracy. Still it would serve its purpose today.
Azeth rode to the front of his advancing army to survey the ground and assess the preparations and ability of his opponents. Several days’ labour preparing the defences were evident, with several ditches dug into the frozen ground at the track’s entrance to slow a charge up and lines of sharpened stakes had been driven into the ground to stop any cavalry. It appeared that the natural terrain also favoured the defenders. The necessity for his men to expose their faces as they looked upwards on the steep track would make them vulnerable to archers and it would also limit their room to manoeuvre. Beyond the rocky crags of the first choke-point, the enemy had massed, the path widened out in points as it wound its way up to the mountain plateau above. He knew the busy mountain town of Monaki lay beyond it, dominating the plateau and overlooking the rock face beyond it, several of the roofs were visible marking its position. He also knew that the enemy would be fighting for their families’ lives as well as their own. There would be no further retreat for them.
Azeth confidently trotted back to his men. ‘Now it is time, we shall see how those dogs fight.’ he shouted. ‘There is still enough light for one good assault. Let’s see how they stand up to our Uphrians and their renowned charge. If they could break the line it should be easy to overrun them with a superior weight of numbers. We will be feasting in the town by nightfall.’ he announced. One of the Aristrian officers spoke up from behind him.
‘My Lord, should we not follow protocol and offer them the chance to surrender first?’
‘What? And spoil our fun? Ahh what the hell,’ he thought. ‘These are mountain men, proud and arrogant, they will refuse anyway – let’s give them the chance to turn us down.’
The Tanarian line shuffled restlessly as the invading battle group formed up below them, the first column of several thousand men advanced. ‘Uphrians,’ whispered one of the men closest to Barrad. The distinctive war paint on their faces could now clearly be seen.
‘Interesting’ thought Barrad.’ He would have expected a cavalry assault first, but there was a noticeable lack of cavalry. They must be deployed elsewhere – or perhaps it was a deception. Still, the effects of a Uphrian war charge were almost the same as a cavalry charge. The Uphrians were once a proud and wild independent warrior race living on the extremes of the north Aristrian borders, they had been conquered many years ago, but at a high price after their constant raids into the rich Aristrian farm lands could no longer be tolerated. But their warlike reputation still befitted them as one of the best mercenary forces that money could buy. Their most renowned tactic was the surge in which they simply broke ranks and quickly descended into their opponents in a screaming mass. They painted their faces with images of ferocious beasts to frighten their foes into submission, then charged into them like a herd of frenzied buffalo wielding large two handed swords and axes as their weapons of preference. If the line broke against them, defeat was sure to follow. They were also known for their bloodlust and total disregard for discipline in fighting as one unit. Barrad hoped that this would be their downfall. The message was passed down the line for more men to keep out of sight in the mountain coves.
‘Listen men.’ Barrad called out. I have no inspiring speeches for you – today is simple. Fight or die. Just remember this, your loved ones lie behind you on the plateau up there and your failure will also mean their death. Keep your ears open and fight well.’
A rider with a white standard approached the Tanarian lines. The eyes of the entire field fell upon him. His horse snorted out the cold mountain air as it stopped. The herald wasted no time and shouted out his proclamation.
‘The generous Lord Azeth offers you these terms of surrender – all ranking officers will step forward and surrender themselves for judgment and all fighting men will lay down their arms. If you submit yourselves to Lord Azeth now, every fourth man will enter slavery and all others will become subjects of Aristria. The people of Monaki will pay tribute of four thousand gold coins or equivalent livestock towards the Aristrian war effort. In addition, all subjects will swear allegiance to Aristria. If all of these terms are met today, most of you will keep your lives. You have a few moments to make your choice.’
The herald’s dark eyes nervously scanned the opposing ranks. The answer from the mountain men came quickly. Talos, the blacksmith broke ranks, with his great hammer raised high above his head he leapt out in front of the men.
‘You lying swine. Get off my lands.’
He screamed the words as he stomped down the hill towards the herald. The herald turned his mount without a backwards look and swiftly retreated back to the formed Aristrian ranks. Some overeager archers from the Aristrian lines let go a volley that peppered the ground some twenty metres in front of Talos. Suddenly feeling rather exposed, the blacksmith backed up towards his comrades, stepping slowly backwards not wishing to turn his back on the enemy. Barrad shouted down the line.
‘I like your fighting spirit Talos, but break ranks again and I will kill you myself. Remember the lives of your comrades also depend on your actions. Now men, do you think that those pathetic painted faces can scare you? Let’s show them what awaits them. Let the foreign cattle hear the sound of the mountain lions.’
The men in the shield-wall gave a great battle-shout followed by the sound of a thousand weapons crashing against their shields. The noise carried far throughout the valleys. The men now stood taller, hurling insults at the approaching Uphrians. A whooping scream penetrated the air and the Uphrians broke into a slow jog forwards. Their archers also advanced behind and a large volley darkened the sky.
‘Arrows,’ shouted the men from the Tanarian ranks. The pounding of feet echoed through the valley as the Uphrians increased their pace. The shield-wall effectively soaked up the first barrage of arrows that rained down on them, the thick heavy infantry armour and large tower shields did their job well against the arrow storm. Only one man fell to the rear of the shield-wall, an arrow through his throat. Strangely everyone seemed to always remember the first man to fall in a battle ‘Riken, son of Hilda,’ was that man today.
The repetitive chinking sound from the Uphrians’ scaled armour quickened, marking their sudden change in pace. The sound filled the valley but was soon overshadowed by their battle cries as they broke from their jog into a full-blown charge. The steep hillside slope did little to slow their unstoppable pace. The Uphrians hit the shield-wall like a great wave upon the shore and the thunderous sounds of battle filled the valley. Men screamed as steel tore flesh and the fallen were trampled under foot. The thousands of screaming Uphrian warriors funnelled up the hillside into the enemy, the lead axe-man savagely swinging his massive axe through several men, as he carved a gap through their shield-wall. A Tanarian soldier stepped forward to fill the gap left by a fallen comrade, smashing the rim of his shield across the axe-man’s face, momentarily stunning his seemingly unstoppable advance. The Tanarian replacement stepped forwards into the opening break in the wall attempting to plug the growing gap. Another axe struck his shield and as he turned to meet his opponent, a huge sword stuck the replacement Tanarian in his exposed side smashing his ribs. The enraged Uphrian warrior quickly finished the man off then continued his push forward and the hive of men that followed forced the Tanarian ranks apart. With the defenders now split into two groups, the weight of the Uphrians’ advance pushed aside the ranks of the defenders back into the rocky walls. Sensing victory with the enemy close to rout they swept up the track forcing the defenders back against the valley edges as they raced upwards towards the town.
The arrows tore the throat from the lead Uphrian, his blood sprayed onto his bewildered companions and soon others fell as the second volley hit. Past the twist in the valley, a large contingent of men had pulled themselves up from their prone position and created another shield-wall blocking the exhausted men’s advance whilst the Tanarian archers behind peppered the front rows of the battle-scarred Uphrians. The trap was set and now the Tanarian archers were having a field day, taking care to aim their arrows into the mobs’ centre.
Azeth had already ordered the advance of the main force after witnessing the initial success of the Uphrian charge. From the excitement of watching the results of the Uphrian charge and the damage inflicted by his shock troops the delay had formed a natural gap between the massed units awaiting their orders to advance. Now his mighty Uphrians, exhausted half way up the hillside faltered in the hail of arrows, they had only counted on the one line to break, but still their tenacity carried them upwards to clash with their foe.
As planned, Barrad had worked his way around to the sides of the valley track during the fighting, trying hard not to distinguish himself, but he was still able to save the lives of several men around him as he moved. The men had followed their orders well and the scripted rout on the first charge had looked convincing or perhaps they had genuinely routed? It had been so chaotic. But now, pressed back to the sides of the track, they were like barnacles clinging to the side as a fast-running wave, which flowed through the middle of them up the track. Suddenly under the press of men, the wooden frame and canvas, made to look like shale, gave way and revealed a large area to the side of the path. For a moment the rear Uphrians just stared in shock at the hundred armed Tanarian’s crammed into the recess. The cart passing-point that had been selected for the ruse, had been so well camouflaged with the rock flake covered canvas that it had looked just like an extension of the rocky walls that lined the track. Bolstered by the extra r