Asgoleth the Warrior

chapter SEVEN

The battlefield, upon which but a few short hours before, had sounded the din and clangour of war, lay now still and silent beneath the cold, uncaring stars. The dead lay in their gore among the wreckage, glazed eyes staring unseeingly at the slowly rising moon.

Among the fallen; furtive figures moved, stooping here and there to prise the gems from the hilts of broken swords or to cut the rings from cold, dead, fingers.

Sometimes a pain wracked moan would sound only to be silenced by the swift, vicious thrust of a dagger as some sorely wounded wretch was discovered by the robbers. Then, with their latest victims valuables added to their haul the stealthy slayers moved off in search of still unlooted corpses.

It was one such shadowy figure who came upon the place where king Aractus and his men had fallen. The king’s body was gone and his head now adorned a spike atop the city gates. His warriors however remained where they had fallen.

The heaped bodies of Akonite warriors which lay in piles three and four deep attested to the fact that the king and his men had died bravely and well. The robber cared little for that and was intent only on looting the dead of their gold and jewels. He bent eagerly to his grisly task, moving swiftly from one body to the next.

Soon he came upon the body of a huge man wearing the uniform of the captain of the king’s guard. The looter stared thoughtfully at the body. The fallen warrior was a barbarian from the far northern land of Calthia. He had heard of this man, Asgoleth by name. He had heard the tales of the warrior’s prowess in battle and of the events which had led to his promotion...

A hard, mirthless smile touched the looters lips. He too was of the north and his people, the Kalchik Nomads who roamed the wide Kalchik plains, had long been the bitter enemies of the men of Calthia. This fallen enemy of his people had been a great warrior but now he was only food for the scavengers. One day he too would travel the same road the dead man had embarked upon this day but until then he would continue to supplement his mercenary pay with the gold of his enemies. He had fought hard this day and he intended to gain as much wealth as he could for his labours.

He gave a snort of disgust as he saw that here lay no bejeweled nobleman. He noted the helmet, crushed by a blow from mace or axe no doubt that had been the blow that felled the Calthian. The man’s heavy northern broadsword, a huge length of fine quality glittering steel, would bring a good price but the warrior’s strong fingers gripped the hilt in an iron death grip. He would have to cut the hand away in order to free it. The sword though would be heavy to carry and he decided to leave it for some other scavenger. He wanted only gold and jewels, things that could be carried easily and concealed from prying eyes.

Then his eye fell upon the golden buckle of the sword belt that would have to do. He bent to his work but the buckle resisted his efforts and he cursed as he tugged and pulled at it. So engrossed was he in his task that he failed to notice the Calthian’s eyes flicker open. Only when he heard a rasp of breath being drawn by the fallen man did he leap back in surprise. He pulled a dagger from his belt and snarled,

‘So you still live, you dog! I kamka of the Kalchik shall end your worthless life now.’

He raised his weapon for the killing thrust but he was already far too late. Asgoleth, with the vitality of the wild flowing in his veins, had survived a blow that would have killed a lesser man. When he opened his eyes and saw the knife wielding figure looming over him he reacted with lightning speed.

One powerful hand shot out and seized the looters knife arm in an iron grip while the other hand reached out and closed about the man’s throat. So sudden had been the barbarians reaction that Kamka had time for only a short gasp of shocked surprise before those iron hard fingers closed and choked out his life. The last thing he saw before his eyes dimmed forever were the fierce grey eyes of the Calthian glaring ferally at him in the moonlight.

Asgoleth threw the corpse from him and muttered a sour curse under his breath. His head ached horribly and when he pulled his battered helmet off a fresh flow of blood cascaded down over his face. He cursed again and tore a strip of cloth from his tunic to bandage the wound. That done, he glared about him in the gloom alert for any other looters. He saw none and satisfied that he would not soon be attacked, he turned his gaze upon the city.

The city burned and a red glow filled the sky and acrid smoke stung his nostrils. He thought of the princess Amira and rage filled him as he thought of what might have befallen her at the hands of the Akonites. There and then he determined that he would rescue her if she still lived. If she did not then Demos would pay a heavy price for her death.

Normally, if he, as a hired mercenary found himself unemployed because of the death of his employer then he would have no further obligation to that employer or his cause and he would be free to go his own way.

This time though, things were a little different. His own personal code of honour would not allow him to leave when a girl, be she princess or pauper, with whom he had shared the furs, was a captive of a man like Demos. He glared at the city for a moment then turned his attention to his own immediate problems. Before he could attempt any kind of rescue he would have to attend to his own personal needs. He had lost a lot of blood and he was feeling sick and unsteady on his feet. He needed water and, if possible, food. After that he would need a disguise, he could not enter the city in his uniform.

He bent to retrieve his sword and a wave of dizziness swept over him. He gritted his teeth until the feeling passed and when he opened his eyes his gaze fell upon the body of the looter he had slain, here was his disguise.

He quickly stripped of his blood soaked uniform and donned the garments of the robber. They were ill fitting and barely covered his huge frame but the long heavy cloak the man had worn would hide that. It would also help conceal the sword about his waist. He took also the heavy bag of looted baubles reasoning that he could use the contents to bribe any guards who might try to stop him entering the city. Thus disguised he set off for Torr, keeping his eyes open for any who might want to dispute ownership of the bag with him

As he picked his way among the dead his keen eyes searched the piled and broken bodies for any sign of a waterskin or a ration bag. His vigilance was rewarded when he spied a half-full skin affixed to the saddle horn of a dead horse. He took a long refreshing drink and upended the remaining water over his aching head. He grinned as the water eased his parched throat and feeling much better now he strode forward into the darkness. Soon he stood in the shadows just beyond one of the smaller city gates.

The gate was guarded by Akonite sentries who were grumbling to each other because they could not join in the carnage within the walls. In the mood they were in he would have to fight his way through them and while he had no objection to killing Akonites, he did not want to draw any attention to himself until it could no longer be avoided. He decided to scout around and try to find another entrance. Keeping to the shadows he worked his way around the city walls until at last, he saw a spot where the walls had been breached.

Many bodies lay sprawled among the rubble, evidence that the citizens had not given up easily, but of living men there was no sign. Swiftly he glided forward and swarmed over the broken masonry with scarcely a sound to mark his passing. He found himself on one of the cities broad streets which were lit dimly by the glow of the fires that burned elsewhere. In that lurid light he saw many drunken soldiers but they were too busy carrying heavy sacks of plunder to notice his silent form.

Blending with the shadows and moving with stealthy ease, he made his way through the ruined city and as he went a cold fury began to build within him as he beheld the atrocities that the people had suffered at the hands of the Akonites. Horribly mutilated bodies lay everywhere and the sights fired the flames of his fury.

He was a seasoned warrior, well used to the sight of bloody, violent, death but what he was seeing now was the result of cold, cruel, butchery. These Akonites were indeed as wicked and depraved as they were said to be.

A noise from a doorway attracted his attention and he stealthily edged nearer. Peering within he saw two Akonite soldiers cruelly torturing an old man with hot coals.

‘Tell us where your gold is hidden old one and we will let you live.’

Said one, an ugly brute with a long, badly healed scar running down the right side of his face. His companion, a slim, dark skinned rogue, laughed as the old man tried to wriggle away from the glowing coal he was lowering onto his skinny chest.

‘Tell us you old fool!’ cried Scarface. ‘Why suffer like this when you don’t have to?’

The old man cried out in pain as the burning ember scorched through his torn shirt and crisped the frail flesh beneath.

‘Damn you both!’ he cried. ‘I am an old man and I have no gold but even if I did I would tell you nothing. You are naught but a pair of filthy cowards.’

The Akonites laughed again, they were enjoying their sport. The slim one picked up another coal in his metal tongs and held it in front of the old man’s face.

‘Oh I think you will tell us you Torran pig. You just need a little more encouragement.’

He began to lower the coal then stopped and stared in horrified amazement at the length of bloody steel that had just leapt out of his chest. He gave a strangled cry of horror then slumped to the floor as Asgoleth tore his blade free. Scarface gave a startled curse and leapt backwards drawing his sword as he did so. He saw a huge warrior facing him and a grimace of fear appeared on his face. He knew their laughter had masked any noise this killer might have made in his approach and because of their carelessness he was now going to have to fight or die where he stood.

With a wild cry he leapt into the attack hoping to startle his enemy enough to make him drop his guard a little but it was to no avail. The other parried his swinging slash with ease and then came into the attack himself. Their blades clanged and rebounded and met again with flickering speed as each sought a weak spot in the others defence. Scarface soon learned that his foe was no beginner and fear filled his cruel heart and fired him to desperation but Asgoleth was in no mood to prolong the fight.

At any time other Akonites might hear the swordplay and come to investigate. He had to dispatch this dog swiftly. He increased the speed and fury of his blows and for long moments the battle continued. Then, with a sudden swift lunge, the Calthian buried his sword point in his enemy’s throat. The blade sliced through flesh and bone and Scarface glared with hate filled eyes at his slayer before he slumped dead to the floor where he lay still in a slowly widening pool of blood.

Asgoleth went over to where the old man lay and saw at once that he did not have long to live. His ordeal at the hands of the Akonites had been too much for his ancient frame to bear. He gently raised the old man’s head.

‘Your torment is over old one. Those two dogs will never bother anyone again. Why were they torturing you?’

The old man spoke in a hoarse whisper,

‘They wanted gold but they were angry with me too for I had spoiled their fun with a slave girl they had captured. I was hiding in my cellar when I heard them enter and I thought that they had just come to loot the place. I expected no less and so I stayed hidden until I heard the girl scream. Before I knew what I was doing I had grasped my old sword and I was attacking them. I couldn’t’t stay hidden and leave her to the mercies of Akonite scum.

They fell back in surprise and I shouted at the girl to run. She fled while I held them off as long as I could but I was soon overpowered. Then the torture began and went on until you appeared and slew them. By mighty Solus warrior, my heart was with your every stroke.’

He coughed then and blood sprayed from his lips.

‘You have the thanks of an old man Warrior but I fear I will not live long enough to repay you.’

He coughed again and Asgoleth could see that death was very near, quickly he said,

‘Perhaps there is a way you can help me Old one. I have come into the city to try and rescue the princess Amira. Do you know if she still lives?’

‘Aye, she lives Warrior, I heard those two talking about her. She is being held in her own quarters in the palace. It seems that dog Demos has a special interest in her. I wish you well in your quest Warrior and I will ask mighty Solus to aid you. I feel I will be seeing her soon.’

He gave another shuddering cough and then, with a sigh, the life left him and he went limp in Asgoleth’s arms, his pain at an end. Asgoleth laid the body gently down and stood up and a glimmer of fierce hope ran through him. She lived! Amira was alive and being held captive in her own palace but soon she would be free. He knew secret ways to her chambers and with any luck he would be able to steal her away and be out of the city before anybody knew that she was gone. There was a new spring in his step as he made his way towards the palace. By Ragnar, he would pull the beard of the tyrant Demos before this night was over.