Asgoleth The Warrior: A Modern Tale of Sword And Sorcery (fantasy fiction books) (7 page)

Brave as the Torrans were however, there were just too many Akonites surging forward into battle, they could not hope to stem the tide of enemies that beat against them but despite the odds against them they fought on bravely. As the long bloody day wore on towards dusk, king Aractus fell victim to the black shafted arrows of the Akonite archers and fell dying to the bloodstained earth. Asgoleth roared in fury and rushed to the fallen king’s side.  The huge barbarian stood over the kings body and slew all who drew near and he shouted encouragement to his comrades in an attempt to keep them fighting. Then he too fell to the blow of a battleaxe that split his helmet to the skull. With the death of their king and the loss of the giant barbarian’s leadership, the Torrans broke before the overwhelming might of the Akonites and fled back towards the city. The trickle of fleeing men soon became a torrent as others joined in the rout. A roar of victory rose from thousands of Akonite throats and they surged forward after the defeated Torrans.

Men fell beneath the iron hooves and steel clad legs of the enemy and were trampled underfoot. No mercy was shown to the fallen and the ground ran red with the blood of the slain. The battle was lost now and there was nothing to stop the Akonite army as it swept towards the helpless city

The last rays of the sinking sun encarmined the silvered helmets and glittering sword blades of the Akonites as they strode arrogantly, drunk on victory and looted wine, through the streets of Torr. Fires glowed in the gloom of night, the flames reflecting redly from the swinging blades that rose and fell to chop out cowering victims lives.

The air was heavy with the acrid odours of smoke and blood and the cruel laughter of the Akonite warriors and above the laughter screams of pain and despair rang out as the women of Torr were ravished by their brutal, drunken conquerors.

The old, the sick and the wounded were put mercilessly to the sword. All others were sent to join the ever growing ranks of the enslaved who were being herded together in what had been the market square. Here they lay, moaning in their fear and despair, under the cold, pitiless eyes of their Akonite guards.

The long bloody night continued and while the city and her people writhed in their agonies, Demos sat upon the throne of Torr and savoured the taste of victory. His cold, dark eyes surveyed the looted riches that lay in piled heaps before him. Gold and silver and casks full of gems met his gaze and he stroked his beard in satisfaction. Among the riches were the ladies of the Torran court kneeling in front of their new master. Their fine gowns were gone, torn brutally from their bodies by rough hands. All that adorned them now were silver slave collars around their slim necks. Demos grinned as he listened to their sobs of shame and humiliation. Then his eyes fell upon his men and his grin grew broader still. Many of them bore the marks of battle and in their eyes burned the unspoken question. Why had he not used the magical power of his ring against the Torrans? It was a measure of his powers over them that none of them dared to ask the question aloud. Let them wonder, he thought, he had his reasons.

He had discovered that the use of the ring left him drained and exhausted. After the destruction of Fort Kronos he had almost collapsed from fatigue. Why should he put himself through such discomfort when he had an entire army at his command? He was their master, with the power of life and death over them all. If any of them should doubt that then he would use his power and they would die.

He leaned back and looked upon the spoils of war and he smiled again. Victory was his but still he required one more thing to make it complete, the secret of the Heart of Ra’s hiding place. Only when he had wrested that knowledge from the princess Amira would he know that he had truly won.

As yet she had not been found but it was only a matter of time until she was. A thousand pieces of gold had been offered to the man who brought her to him. As he had known it would, the promise of such wealth ensured that no stone would be left unturned in the search for her.

Thus he was not surprised when, a short time later, the doors of the throne room opened and a soldier entered carrying a struggling, spitting, Amira. The bloody condition of the man showed that her capture had not been easy. His helmet was gone and clumps of hair had been torn from his head. His face bore the marks of her long fingernails and blood dripped freely from a deep wound in his arm where her slim bladed dagger had struck home.

The soldier set the princess down before Demos and had to duck swiftly to avoid another slashing swipe from her nails. Two guards stepped forward and held her arms in a firm grip and her captor backed off quickly. Demos laughed and threw the soldier the promised bag of gold and dismissed him. The man grinned as he caught the heavy bag, then bowed quickly and left, glad to be free of the Torran she devil Amira.

Silence gripped the assembled Akonites as they gazed upon the princess. Her gown had been ripped during her struggles and tantalising glimpses of soft white flesh showed through the rents. Her long, black hair hung in disarray and her magnificent green eyes blazed with anger and hatred as she glared at Demos sitting upon her father’s throne.

Demos smiled coldly at her as she stood, haughty and defiant before him. Finally he spoke.

‘Look upon the ladies of your court Amira. See how they bow down before their new master. I rule in Torr now and they belong to me. I can do as I please with them. I could have them enslaved or killed if I so choose. Instead, I intend to set them all free.’

A gasp of astonishment arose from a hundred pairs of lips at his words. Amira frowned as she looked at the captives then she turned her gaze back to Demos.

‘And what do you ask in return for their lives, tyrant?’

Demos grinned at her.

‘Two things, princess; First, I want to know where the Heart of Ra lies hidden. Secondly, I want you to become my queen. Together we shall rule the great empire I will build.’

He sat back and smiled at Amira’s outrage. All eyes were on her as she stood there trembling with anger. At last she gasped.

‘You dare ask me to betray my sacred duty to the mighty Solus? You dare ask me to marry you, you who have raped and murdered and enslaved my poor people. My father lies dead, slain by your soldiers and my people groan under the whips and chains of your slave masters. I will never do as you ask. I spit upon you and your heathen gods. Slay me or enslave me as you will, I would prefer the embrace of slavery or death to yours you monster.’

Demos laughed at her outburst but unholy lights burned in his dark eyes as he replied.

‘Ah my princess, such spirit you possess. However, I believe that given just a little time you will reconsider my simple requests and see the wisdom in agreeing to them. In the meantime, while we await your decision my warriors and I will engage in some light entertainment.’

He clapped his hands and the doors of the throne room swung open.

A group of muscular slaves entered, bearing on their powerful shoulders a large, heavy cage. A gasp of fear arose from the cowering, naked women on the floor as they beheld the occupant of the cage. It was a creature out of nightmare and madness that glared back at them. Almost eight feet tall it stood on its bowed legs. Its huge, powerful body was covered in short black fur and its eyes, beneath a low brutal forehead, glared malevolently about the room.

There was a cruel intelligence in those red rimmed eyes and a savage lust when it beheld the helpless captive women. It gave vent to a terrible roar and rattled the bars of the cage in anticipation. Many of the women screamed with terror and some fainted dead away. Demos and his men laughed at their fright then Demos looked at Amira.

‘Allow me to introduce my little pet, Princess. His name is Zann, a man beast from the dark jungles of Siltha. Captured as a cub, he has been trained to perform in the great arena in Akon. He has provided many hours of entertainment there on many occasions. Perhaps you have heard of him?’

The girls on the floor cried out in terror. All had heard of the dreadful creature that had been trained to ravish women for the wicked amusement of the degenerate Akonites. Amira turned a hate filled gaze upon Demos.

‘So this is to be my fate. If I refuse to do as you ask I will be given to this foul creature. So be it then! I would prefer his embrace to yours.’

Demos assumed a mocking air of injured innocence.

‘My lady, you do me wrong to think such a thing. Beauty such as yours is not for a cruel beast like him. He is here merely to amuse my men and I while we await your decision. You may take as long as you wish to decide, I fancy the amusement will continue for quite some time.’

He glanced meaningfully at the naked girls and Amira cried out,

‘You would not dare!’

His face was completely without mercy as he replied,

‘I will do exactly as I please. I rule here now and there are none who will defy me.’

He gestured to two of his black clad guards and they stepped forward and hoisted one of the girls to her feet. She shrieked her terror as they dragged her towards the cage. There was no mercy in any Akonite eyes. Her cries only served to amuse them. Zann’s small red eyes gleamed with unnatural lust and he stretched his long arms through the bars of the cage, eager to grasp the struggling girl.

Amira, stricken with horror, stared at the monster as it roared with impatient excitement. For a moment her eyes met those of the terrified girl, saw the fear and horror there, then her gaze moved to the face of Demos and his Akonites. What manner of men were they? In their faces she saw only cruel lust as they watched the girl’s frantic struggles. In that ghastly moment she knew that he had beaten her. She could not allow the ladies of her court to suffer such a hideous fate.

Desperately she fell to her knees before him and, in a stricken voice, cried out,

‘My lord, I beg you to stop this! I will do as you ask.’

Demos held up his hand and the guards halted just outside the reach of the man beasts clutching hands. Demos sneered down at the kneeling princess and demanded,

‘You do this of your own free will?’

Amira’s shoulders shook with sobs of despair as she whispered,

‘Of my own free will my lord.’

‘So be it then!’ he cried and Zann’s roar of anger and frustration was drowned out by Demos as he laughed out loud in his triumph. Now Torr was truly his.

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.