CHAPTER 4 – THE PURSUIT
Lord Thulsa, Su-Katii warlord and Noble of Aristria, had spent many years of secret planning and waiting for the perfect time to execute his master plan. For years he had been the victim of his own success. Twenty years had passed since the execution of his last bold plan that had brought about the end to a raging war between the Aristrian and Tanarian nations. After Twenty years of peace and mind numbing boredom he thought it only right that it should be he that undid his original work all those years ago. He had spent his time wisely, slowly planting the seeds of discontent amongst his men. The other Su-Katii generals had not needed as much work to bring them around to his plan as he had initially expected, in fact it had almost been as if they had harboured the same thoughts all these years. Had he miscalculated or perhaps it was their intent to double-cross? No, the first and foremost ancient ruling of their God still applied – when they walked this world they were not permitted to cross swords in anger. He had only one dream over these past years; to relive the old days of victory and glory in battle. The current situation that he had created was quite the opposite. Imagine the formation of the finest warriors and generals that the world could produce and then binding them to a lifetime of peace. Sadly, the old ways were gone, but a change was coming and as every great leader knew, it was always best to lead the change rather than to follow it. As Commander in Chief of the Aristrian army and Warlord of the Su-Katii order, Lord Thulsa knew that he was born and bred to lead this change.
The Su-Katii order comprised of twenty full members in total, it had taken a long time to personally visit each of the members and accurately gauge their reaction to his radical plan. It was only logical to make two great nations into one. Only Lord Candis had disagreed with his controversial plan. He always did have too much of a moral code about him.
‘Law and honour – Pah.’ What were they without victory and the thrill of battle coursing through your veins again? Unfortunately, for now he was still bound to follow the Su-Katii code when dealing with Candis. His removal would have been the quickest way to get his plans moving, he had no love for the man and decided to examine the Su-Katii law in great detail, it dictated that no member of the order may engage in battle or single combat with another outside the Su-Katii Temple Rift, it said nothing of killing them indirectly with poison. Unfortunately, he had no doubt that an unexpected poisoning of a Su-Katii Lord would have set the rest of the order against him in a heartbeat. One Lord had broken this law along time before and paid a heavy toll, or so the legend told. Thulsa had no desire to prostrate himself before the God-King’s mercy, so had instead taken a different tack.
Now with a new resource secured, the timing for his plans delivery was perfect. His mind went back to the last time he felt such excitement. Ironically it was when he had taken command of the Aristrian army after the truce with the Tanarian nation - his first and last post as supreme commander. Then the war had ripped the two nations apart over a long standing border dispute for years, each side fighting bitterly to gain the advantage. The population had suffered a great deal in the struggle and the Su-Katii knights had, until then, remained neutral in the dispute. The nationality of a Su-Katii was often unknown as they were selected young for training but occasionally there was no hiding some of their original racial features. Regardless, should they display any sympathy for a particular nation they would be ejected from the order. They existed only to serve the will of the God-King, who had now lost interest in the affairs of mortals. After a vote amongst themselves the Su-Katii had taken measures to stop the war and save the civilised world from consuming itself.
Their solution was to bring peace by ensuring that the war could not be won by either side. Six Su-Katii generals each took a commanding post on the opposing sides. At first in secret from the enemy forces, so that each side expected their own army to now hold a major advantage over their hated enemies. By the time they uncovered the deception it was too late. None would dare oppose the Su-Katii Knights who were now on both sides and in positions of high command. Some tried to continue the war, but none survived to tell of their victory. With the first Su-Katii law dictating that none from their elite order were permitted to fight another from their order, an uneasy peace was established. Those on each side who rebelled against the new order were quickly put down by their new masters, for no-one could stand toe to toe in combat against the ability of the Su-Katii.
It had been a proud moment bringing peace to the nations all those years ago and he had felt like a true hero at the time. The reality of his first command was that it had gradually grown to be a disappointment to Thulsa. Later after taking complete command of the 1st Aristrian Battle Group he had envisioned his years would be spent training and facing strategic challenges that pushed him to his limits, conquering new lands and banishing raiders. Instead, the peace and order that they had generated had been too complete. The once exciting possibility now turned into endless years of trivia, parades, inspections, desk duty… and boredom.
Thulsa drained his glass at the thought of the past years. At least the fine Aristrian wine had always been good. He wondered how Candis was getting on with the urgent mission that had suddenly required his unique diplomacy skills. A trade dispute in Menchata – it would take Candis months just to get there. He poured another goblet of red wine, which tasted especially good tonight, but then it was expected, he did own the finest wine cellars in Aristria. There was a knock on the door and the voice of his personal guard called out.
‘Lord Thulsa a messenger seeks audience with you, his paperwork is correct yet he refuses to tell me his business, he has been searched and all we found on him was a single stick of chalk and a bag of dust, Sir.’
Dragging himself away from his musings and back to the present Thulsa responded. ‘At ease man, let him in.’
The door opened and a small robed man with a shaven head and half-starved appearance entered. He took in the plush surroundings with contempt before bowing before the warlord. As his head inclined low in a bow before Thulsa, he noted the triangular brand on the back of his skull that marked him as a servant of the Magicians’ sect, although he did not comprehend its true meaning. Thulsa took in every aspect of the man, as was his habit, from his dirt engrained fingernails to the smell of horse sweat imbedded into his robes. Yes this man would certainly appear to be Bellack’s messenger, but if he did not answer with the correct passphrase the man would be dead in seconds.
‘Snowy Peaks?’ Thulsa asked.
‘Mountain Dew,’ the bald man retorted quickly, watching for the Lord’s reaction. Thulsa inconspicuously moved his hand away from the dirk that he always kept concealed in the small of his back. Without any further words the messenger produced a chalk stick and began to draw a large and complicated glyph on the boarded floor, the methodical squeaking of the chalk irritated the warlord as he watched. Thulsa looked on uneasily as the man went about his preparations for magic.
‘My master wishes to converse directly with you Lord,’ the messenger said, by way of explanation. The strange little man opened up a leather pouch and sprinkled some kind of ground dust onto the chalk glyph that surrounded him, then seated himself cross-legged in the centre of the glyph. Suddenly his head shot up, his face contorted, white eyes rolled back into their sockets as he entered a trance like state.
‘Thulsa?’ Bellack’s voice came echoing into the room through his servant. Thulsa’s face clearly betrayed his anger at the lack of respect for his high rank from the magician. He simply had not heard his name without ‘Lord’ in front of it for such a long time.
‘The second front in Nordheim has been established on time and as promised, the internal chaos to Tanaria will soon be generated and your ambitions fulfilled.’ The servant intoned.
‘Excellent.’ Thulsa smashed his fist onto the table, ‘I can move my units to their form-up areas, your payment and requests will be completed in return Bellack.’
Bellack’s servant began to shake as his masters words flowed through him,
‘I must ask one more thing of you Thulsa. Yesterday a small group of travellers resisted my powers - powers that I intend to use further to aid you. I have captured one of their party and we have analysed the situation and determined that we will need your assistance. There is a girl amongst the group called Athene Torsden, I need your men to track down her family, her friends, even her pets – any damn person who has as much as looked at her in the street, I need to know everything about this girl and I need it now.’
Thulsa’s forehead creased in a large frown, he didn’t need any extra complications at this stage, especially one as trivial as this.
‘Her mother has a travellers’ tavern – it is called the Ravens’ Roost, you will find it near to the border where your invading army will pass. I will need you to detain her until I can send my man to pick her up.
‘Is this of any tactical importance to my invasion plans – or is there something else that I should know?’ asked Thulsa.
Bellack’s servant Kerric gasped in more air as he felt his masters anger grow through him,
‘No Warlord. Call it more a personal insult to my ability.’ Bellack reassured Thulsa through his servant. ‘Very well,’ nodded Thulsa knowing that there must be some other undisclosed reason for this sudden hunt, but what did he care about the motives of sorcerers? They had upheld their end of the bargain so far and now there was yet another task that he required them to complete. At the end of the day Thulsa just wanted to spend as little time with this degenerate as possible and get his plans moving. He sighed, now bored with such trivia. ‘It shall be done.’
Bellack’s bald acolyte gasped loudly as his body became his once again, his blue eyes opened and he swiftly bowed again before the Warlord.
‘Guards. Show this man out, feed and water him, then send him on his way.’ By all the Gods, it looks like he needs it, he thought.
‘Yes Lord.’ The two burly guards helped the shaking runt of a man to his feet then frog marched him out of the room down the corridors, towards the kitchens.
Back in the mountains of Nordheim, Athene had struggled to keep pace with the two fit warriors on the steep uphill climb, she had already been tired from her days labours, but she dug deep to keep up with the men. The rough terrain had shredded her shins and her woollen leggings were torn and sodden. Panting like an animal, she needed another break soon.
‘Come on lazy bones, almost at the peak now, it will all be down hill after that,’ called Corvus, his methods of encouragement were not the best.
‘Don’t make me have to come over and carry you again, it’s getting far to steep for that.’ The pursuit had at last slowed, the possessed townsfolk had been unable to close the gap on the group, being far to clumsy in their movements to gain the needed ground on them, but the town’s animals could move faster and had come at them in several waves. The first wave had been a pack of the town’s dogs; there had been many, but the two warriors had managed to block the narrow goat track that they followed, they worked well together with a warrior’s instinct hacking at anything that came close and they had managed to stop the beasts from getting to the un-armoured Athene behind them.
Both warriors had been in full ceremonial armour for the feast and, although savage, the dogs had been unable to penetrate the light armour with their bites. Such was their mindless assault that the possessed animals’ broken teeth lay next to their lacerated bodies. Henrick had loaned Corvus his boot dagger – it had looked pathetic clutched in his huge fist, like a toothpick, but all the same he had skilfully done the necessary work with it.
The last wave of beasts had caught them by surprise – two possessed crows attacked them, flapping and pecking at the warriors’ un-helmeted faces - Henrick had swiftly run one through with his short blade. As the second bird flew about Corvus’s face he promptly bit off, chewed and spat out the bird’s head in one motion, almost as if he was well practiced in the art, his face was bleeding from several minor pecks.
Henrick shook his head and muttered, ‘Savage,’ then called across to him, ‘The bird seems to have improved your looks a little.’
Corvus picked up both the crows and tucked them into his belt, ‘It was good of them to present us with breakfast,’ he smiled back. ‘Now move it, Tanarian.’
The morning sun gave little warmth as it crested the mountain peaks, but it was welcome all the same. Henrick relaxed the frantic pace that he had been leading.
‘I think that we have lost them for now or they have given up. How are you holding up girl?’ Henrick asked with little sympathy in his tone, he had noticed Athene struggling with the pace.
‘Shattered.’ Athene huffed back. After weeks riding up on the wagons with little exercise she now realised just how unfit she had really become.
Henrick nodded his understanding and added, ‘But at least you’re alive, what the hell happened back there?’
‘I haven’t got a clue, sir.’ Athene replied in a bewildered tone.
‘I think we can dispense with the formalities now, you’re not one of my troopers who has to call me Sir,’ he added gently, ‘Athene,’ as he recalled the cooks name and decided to add a softer touch to his words after his military style of encouragement during their long climb up the hill last night. She had seen a different side to him then and had certainly felt like one of his troopers; it was all that he knew – but it had been effective.
Corvus perched himself on top of a rock, stretching his feet for a moment. Such had been the speed of their ascent that Athene’s face now dripped with perspiration; she could feel uncomfortable damp patches across her body where her dirty and ripped clothes now stuck to her back. She briefly considered how much of an unattractive sight she might appear to her saviours. A cold mist had settled in around them and the ground now had a full covering of snow.
‘Come on people, we need to get moving or we’ll catch hypothermia,’ commanded Corvus. Reluctantly the exhausted party moved off.
Soon after they had reached a ridge line allowing them to make their decent, the chilled wind almost blew them over the last few steps. After navigating an initially tricky crag the ridge line dropped off into a more easy going downward slope, which naturally encouraged them to pick up their pace again. Henrick kept glancing behind to check on Athene, he judged the girl was beginning to struggle, Corvus had always been at hand to help her when she struggled. He knew that there was no chance that she would be left behind.
Henrick had always harboured a dislike for women on a campaign, because men tended to follow their natural instinct to protect a woman – making then them disregard every ounce of their military training and intelligence, reacting irrationally to save the female at any cost. In the past he had raged against his superiors when they had done this and now here he was guilty of the same offence, paying Athene more attention that the current situation. Perhaps he was feeling the first signs of exposure. With the wind chill and cold mist intensifying on the exposed mountain side they may not even make it off the mountain at all. In the past he had seen men go down fast, during the winter campaigns. Cold weather and steel armour – never a good combination - one minute they would be chatting away, then a silence fell over them and soon they would slip into a deep coma. Drastic action or shelter was necessary to stop death claiming a new victim.
‘Corvus.’ Henrick called out. There was no reply, ‘Corvus.’ he shouted again.
‘You know these lands. Have you a plan for where you are leading us, we desperately need some shelter?’
‘Aye laddie and before you ask, we are already heading in the direction of help, or at least I think so. There is a cabin some two hours’ further down this valley; an old servant of my father lived there in solitude. I used to ride out his way with my father as a lad. But I haven’t visited this area for a few years, so I hope he’s still alive.’
Four hours later the miserable, bedraggled group silently approached the log cabin. The peat roof was decomposing, being in dire need of repair and could be smelt before it could be seen. However the sight of smoke rising from the chimney lifted their spirits resulting in a newfound burst of energy stirring deep within them, a desire to envelop themselves in its beckoning warmth. Athene had been half dragged the last mile by Corvus.
‘Ah well, think of the benefits, at least all this enforced exercise would shift a few pounds from her hips,’ she consoled herself.
Corvus entered first, calling out a greeting – dagger in hand.
‘Jaloti? ‘It is I Corvus, your King,’ he said in his native tongue. A faint croak came from within the building, he waved the others over and they all entered cautiously, peeping around Corvus’s large frame like schoolchildren. Jaloti, the grey and ancient Hunt Master, lay under his duck-down quilt delirious with fever. He had once been a strong man, stocky and quick, but was now reduced to being no better than a living skeleton and he clearly would not last the week.
The thick pungent air of the cabin sat in their throats, but for the luxury of warmth it was well worth the occasional gag. Athene slumped down in front of the fire; her teeth chattering, while Corvus tended to the old man, talking to him gently. Athene was surprised at his tender actions, a day before when she had first clapped eyes on the King of Nordheim she could not have pictured him like this. Henrick threw Athene some blankets and furs that lay at the end of Jaloti’s bed.
‘Get out of those wet clothes, quick.’ Henrick commanded. Athene felt no shame as she fumbled to remove the wet garments with her numb hands, her skin white and her small breasts pert from the cold; she wrapped herself in some spare animal furs and a scratchy blanket sitting down to face the fire, rubbing some warmth back into her cold limbs. Within minutes she was asleep.
Henrick being a gentleman had managed to keep his gaze averted when passing the furs to the naked Athene. As a former officer of the Lancers he still maintained a courteous streak within him, although today he found it difficult to follow his code. Throwing one quick glance at the slender curved hip and leg protruding from the furs, Henrick was genuinely surprised at her attractive figure. Athene had for once followed her mother’s advice and hidden her figure well on the trail with baggy cloths and many layers. Now convinced of the need for some fresh air in the stuffy lodge, he declared that he was going outside under the pretence of checking the surrounding terrain.
The pace of the hill had not affected Henrick too badly. He always maintained a high level of fitness – he was a lean old wolf and from the old school of training.
‘Better to sweat on the training ground than bleed on the battlefield,’ had been the words of his old master sergeant. Henrick had taken these words to heart and would train in some capacity every day regardless of the situation or hangover. During the trail to Nordheim he had risen before first light and jogged around the wagon train in full armour and sword, incorporating his sentry’s rounds at the same time. The men had secretly nicknamed him the ‘Old Ballista’ as like the siege weapon, by the time you saw him coming there was bugger all you could do about it.
After checking the ground around the lodge, Henrick felt satisfied that there were no hidden surprises although he disliked the ease of approach, there were no defendable points, but at least you could also take flight in the surrounding woodland in any direction should the need arise. Starting to feel the chill of the air, he returned inside to enjoy the warmth. He had found a pickaxe outside and thinking it could be useful he brought it in with him.
‘Get out of your freezing armour and warm yourself you fool - and shut that bloody door.’ Corvus barked as he entered. He had tended to the old man as best he could while Henrick had been outside, making him as comfortable as possible in his last days.
The two warriors warmed their bones by the fire, they faced each other and conversed quietly. Once opposing rivals in skirmishes that had long since passed they soon found a common ground.
‘Tell me King Corvus,’ enquired Henrick wishing to get a feel for the character of the man he would be spending time with. ‘Are the legends I hear about Nordheim Kings and the Trial of the Lake true?’
Corvus looked at him in genuine surprise.
‘Interesting,’ he said, ‘Not many foreigners know of such things within our culture. Tell me friend, where did you hear of the Trial of the Lake? As far as I know, no outlander has ever witnessed this event?’
‘Well my good King,’ Henrick gave a mock bow, ‘I have been a soldier in the Tanarian regulars for many years, eventually being hand picked for the Lancers until my retirement. My career has taken me to many lands and let’s just say that this is not my first visit here. I must have heard of it from our local pathfinders that we used to employ,’ added Henrick.
Corvus frowned and a quiet ‘hmm,’ grumbled in his throat menacingly.
‘If I cast my mind back a few years to the Tanarian border skirmishes, a rather talented Tanarian Commander carried out a series of successful guerrilla actions and maintained an elusive network of spies throughout my lands before scurrying back through the Great Gate. I never did manage to catch the bugger.’
‘Yes,’ replied Henrick, ‘I think I met the fellow once at the Tanarian Honours Tournament – can’t remember his name – but he was a damn fine swordsman.’
Corvus pondered, deep in thought, eventually clearing his throat.
‘In answer to your question, a Nordheim King is not just born – he is made. I have faced many trials and tests in my time – the present is certainly no exception. I’m sure what you have heard is probably more legend than reality – but yes, as a lad on one of my trials I was cast into an icy lake in full armour, sword and shield; one of the tests to show that a putative king can fight on ice and continue to lead his men even if he should fall through.’ He looked Henrick in the eyes and chuckled. ‘What the legends don’t tell people is that my iron studded shield was replaced a few weeks before the trial with a painted wooden shield and that my forty-pound battle chainmail is replaced with twelve-pound ceremonial mail. Both look the same but you see it’s just not good to have the bloodline heir to the throne drown in front of his people. However, dragging yourself from that freezing hell and fighting a dual afterwards still wins the respect that a king needs.’
‘Indeed,’ nodded Henrick ‘And by the way, I must compliment you on your sudden mastery of the Tanarian language. This conversation seems to have helped improve your accent no end as I notice that your pronunciation is now perfect. I would guess that your teacher came from the Mirelands by the regional accent?’
Corvus gave a large crocodile smile, ‘Perception and appearance can serve you in many different ways. I need neither, now that I no longer have a people to rule.’
‘…Or do I?’ He thought. He removed some armour and began to strip off his sodden outer garments, ‘I won’t be needing these now,’ he said as he threw down the dead crows and collected food into the corner of the room and continued to cut off and consume a string of smoked sausages that were hanging over the fireplace. Munching away, he felt weariness take over as he stoked more life into the fire and then continued to strip off.
Corvus slid the large iron bolt across the door, then after holding up the blanket and taking in a good eyeful of the pleasing view below he joined Athene under the pile of blankets and furs.
‘Skinny Westerners,’ he grunted. ‘No wonder she was freezing, she needs more meat on her bones if she wants to stay in Nordheim,’ he huddled in close to the warmth of the furs and drifted off to sleep.
Corvus’ dreams were not pleasant. The images of his beloved wife Amiria and youngest son Lars filled his head disturbing his sleep and awakening him on several occasions. They had been among the mind controlled crowds pursuing them in one of the waves of creatures from the town, their glowing green eyes tormenting him. He had known immediately that they were well beyond help and would have struck them down himself if either had come into his path. To him they were now dead.
Luckily, Corvus hadn’t needed to put his thoughts to the test, his wife had never been a quick mover and had been unable to close on them. But perhaps Rikard, Corvus’s elder son, may still have a chance at life. He was far from Croweheim, and although officially he was enjoying King Saya’s hospitality, unofficially he was effectively a royal hostage. The rival king’s territory lay further to the east, but, as was the Nordheim custom, they would exchange their eldest sons in order to keep peace between their opposing regions. Unfortunately Balish, first son of King Saya, was last seen growing into a red oversized Rock-Beast outside the feasting hall. Perhaps he should turn east and try and rescue his son before news of poor Balish’s unfortunate transformation reached his father. Or if King Saya was to find out that Corvus no longer had a nation to rule, his son’s life could be in jeopardy. King Saya was not known for his charity and had personally crossed swords with Corvus in the past. If his rival had escaped being plagued by this foul magic that had unfolded in his land, he would likely make a play for his kingdom, for in the wilderness of Nordheim your lands are rightfully yours only if you are strong enough to defend them. What would King Saya care about a king with no subjects? Or perhaps he was even behind this in some way? With too many thoughts swirling around in his head, Corvus drifted back into his restless slumber.
It had been many years since Corvus had been forced to take a turn at sentry duty and it came as a bit of a shock to him when Henrick shook him awake.
‘Your stag Corvus, I’m going to get some sleep now.’ Henrick shook the snoring man awake.
The thought of rolling over back to sleep was tempting and he knew that if he didn’t immediately move he would fall back asleep, there was still a chance that their troubles may follow them, leaving him little choice. He pulled himself up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and instinctively began to attach his armour.
Now awake, he scanned the room for anything useful and noticed a hunting bow and a dozen badly fletched arrows. Jaloti’s eyesight must have been fading badly, he thought, as he had once been an expert woodsman. Poor old man, he washed out a new cloth and mopped up the sweat from the brow of the sleeping man. His eyes were drawn to movement on the table where a slab of maggot-ridden cheese rested. Perhaps Jaloti’s love for cheese had been the cause of his fever?
He also examined a wood saw and the pickaxe as he circled the room. Corvus picked up the pickaxe, feeling its weight and balance then looked down at Henrick’s boot-knife tucked into his belt. It was a simple choice. It may be troublesome if it gets imbedded, he thought, but it had a much longer reach. He threw some more logs onto the fire and stared into the rising flames.
The fully grown beast that was once Balish ran down the mountainside oblivious of its former existence. Its scaly red form uprooted the larger bushes in its path. Stooping to all fours on occasion as it pounded its way up the hillside with just one burning desire inside its mind, to close with and capture the three puny forms that had escaped it the night before. Beast was cold and exhausted but an unnatural power forced it along. As it reached the ridge line, the midday sun shone into it eyes, the snow capped peaks merged into the green and brown of the tree line below. In the distant valley below, far to the west, the faintest trace of smoke could be seen against the blue sky. Beast turned and headed west, the three other craggy beasts that accompanied it, followed, their shingle like skin reflecting the occasional red sparkle in the sunlight as they bounded down the hill.
Athene sat bolt upright, ignoring the furs and blanket falling from her pale form.
‘We are in danger.’
Corvus’ hand instantly snaked out to the pickaxe nearby.
‘From what and how many?’ asked Henrick rapidly strapping on his armour. How do you know this, Athene?’ His eye contact momentarily dropped.
‘I don’t know. A voice in a dream. A man? He said something was coming and that I needed to wake you all up immediately. His words screamed inside my mind and then he was gone?’
The crashing of a tree nearby made the group prick their ears up and take her words seriously.
‘Next time, tell the fool in your dreams to give us more warning,’ shouted Corvus. They all readied themselves as they felt a faint tremor through the ground. Henrick threw the bow and quiver of arrows to Athene.
‘I hope you can shoot as well as you can cook?’ Corvus said as he frantically began to stuff strings of sausages down his top. He winked at Henrick, ‘If we have to run we’ll need food, these are mine. You can have the cheese over there.’
Henrick instinctively glanced at the maggot ridden cheese, shaking his head he unsheathed his short sword and unbolted the shutters on the window peering out. ‘Does the old man have any horses nearby?’ he asked.
‘Afraid not,’ replied Corvus.
‘OK, take anything useful,