Luther woke to the sound of a cheering crowd. He was in a darkened room, thin window slits along the wall letting in the only light. Rope cut into his wrists where his hands were bound. In the dim light, he could make out the dozen or so other prisoners he had shared the cell with for the last week, practically all of the survivors from their journey north.
“Finally, you’re awake,” Wolfgang said beside him.
Luther grinned at his friend as he sat up. “Did I miss anything?”
“Grom is dead.” Wolfgang indicated a dark corner of the room, where a figure was lying still.
Luther nodded sadly. “No surprise there.” Grom had been dying since they were captured, his wounds horrible. “What is happening outside?” The sound of the crowd was growing louder.
“We think the day has come. People have been gathering in the square since dawn.”
“You should’ve woken me.”
Wolfgang laughed. “And what would you have done? Stormed out of here and strangled them all?”
Luther chuckled. “Fair enough.”
“The executions will be soon,” Barstag said from his other side. “There is nothing we can do to stop them from here.”
“You think we have a chance once they drag us out?” Luther asked, turning to look at Barstag.
Barstag shrugged. “Not really. But I won’t die without a fight, and I know it's the same for you. We are soldiers of the Kroanian Empire, and we won’t be slaughtered like animals.”
“Any chance of rescue, Barstag?” Luther asked.
“We don’t need to be rescued,” Wolfgang said. “We shall fight our way out, and see how tough these northerners act then.” Luther ignored him, waiting for Barstag’s answer.
“People are coming, that’s for sure,” Barstag said after thinking for a moment. “But whether they reach us in time is a different question. I think we’re on our own.”
Luther sat back and waited in silence. The prisoners around the cell prepared themselves for their second death. The crowd outside grew louder, more and more people gathering for the day’s entertainment.
Luther knew it would come to a fight, and he was ready for it. His body was conditioned for war, his arms like tree trunks. He had been in Wardom for over a decade, and had spent all of it fighting. First for Lord Helgon, and then for the Kroanian Empire when Helgon knelt to the young Ulrik. Luther wasn’t as strong as Wolfgang, or as tall as Barstag, but when it came to it he was just as good a fighter.
The door to the cell swung open. Luther covered his eyes as light spilled into the room. Soldiers entered the cell, pulling the prisoners to their feet. They barely paused when they saw Grom’s corpse. Luther was yanked to his feet and pushed towards the door. He stumbled out into the square, soldiers all around him.
The cell door was closed behind the last prisoner. Luther took in his surroundings. He had only seen the city briefly when he was first captured, but then he was too tired and hurt to really see the city. He hadn’t been outside since; the door only opened to give them food and water once a day.
A massive crowd was gathered in the square, their eyes on the prisoners. A platform had been constructed at one end of the square, next to the Mayor’s Manor. A man clad all in black stood on the platform beside a concrete block. He was idly sharpening a huge axe, watching the prisoners. On a balcony above the platform, the Mayor himself stood. He was dressed in his finest clothes, jewelled chains dangling from his body. Two soldiers stood behind him.
Luther was pushed forward, forced to follow the other prisoners across the square. The crowd’s eyes followed them, the people falling silent. The prisoners were led up the steps of the platform. The soldiers drove them to their knees along the middle of the platform. Guards took up positions behind them, not blocking the crowd’s view of the prisoners.
“Good citizens of Qorayn,” the Mayor’s voice came from above. “Today, we gather to execute the animals who have invaded our land and killed our people. These Kroanians think they can go where they please and do what they like. They think they are superior to us, when really they are nothing more than savage barbarians!” The crowd cheered.
“Those you see before you were part of a small group that came into our land to gather information on us, so that they could slaughter us,” the Mayor continued. “But they underestimated how powerful we are. King Torbain, wise and gracious ruler of all Vittor, does not stand for such things. He shows today his commitment to defending his land. These prisoners will learn the true power of Vittor, and their deaths shall serve to demonstrate our lack of fear. Their heads shall be sent back to the coward Ulrik and he will tremble!”
Luther glanced over at Wolfgang and Barstag. They nodded at him, and he understood immediately. He flexed his arms and pulled lightly against the rope around his wrists.
“The Kroanians will fear to ever come near us again! And if they do, we would simply kill them again and again until they learn their lesson. There is no end to our strength and our resolve. Kroanian blood shall flow wherever we go!”
Before Luther could act, his eye was drawn to the far end of the square. A trio of men rode into the square, fleeing something. The people nearest to them stopped cheering, turning to see what was chasing them. Arrows soon flew out of the road, striking the retreating men. Riders streamed into the square, swords, axes, spears, bows and all other sorts of weapons drawn. The joyous cheers of the crowd turned to terrified screams as the people were cut down on all sides. Luther grinned. The Kroanians had arrived.
Beside him, Wolfgang jumped to his feet. He was swinging around before his guard could act, both his fists crashing together into the soldier’s face. Luther scrambled to his feet. The soldier behind him had drawn his sword, preparing to strike down Wolfgang. Luther looped the rope that bound his hands across the soldier’s neck, pulling tightly. The sword slipped from the soldier’s hands as he thrashed against Luther’s hold. Luther kept pulling, the soldier’s thrashing barely slowing him down; even after a week in a cell, Luther was still stronger than most warriors.
The soldier grew weaker and eventually slumped back. Luther let the body fall to the floor. Wolfgang had cut his ropes off a fallen sword, and had already taken down another soldier. All along the platform, the Kroanian prisoners fought back, some dying, some getting free. Barstag was facing two soldiers, his ropes already cut. Kroanian riders were racing across the square, killing people in the crowd on all sides. Soldiers flowed out of all the streets, trying to fight back against the Kroanians as well as take back the platform.
Wolfgang turned back to Luther and cut the ropes at his wrists. Luther grabbed a sword off a fallen soldier, turning to join the fight. He parried a blow from a soldier, swinging his sword around and slashing a deep cut across his opponent's chest.
Luther saw the executioner before him. One of the prisoners lay dead at his feet, most of his head chopped off from a swing of the long axe. His black clothes had droplets of blood staining them. The executioner moved towards Luther. Luther ducked underneath the swinging axe. He thrust his sword up and into the executioner’s neck, letting go as blood spouted out down the blade.
Luther caught the axe before it hit the floor. He examined it. It was of a finer quality than he expected to find in these lands, considering that most of the soldiers wore mismatched armour if any at all. The axe had a long dark oak handle, worn from use yet still sturdy. The metallic head of the axe still shone, blood dripping off of it. The front was sharpened to a deadly curve, the back blunt enough to be used as a hammer. The axe was as tall as him, and he was not a small man. It was perfectly balanced in his hand. Luther grinned; this was his kind of weapon.
A soldier charged towards Luther, drawing him back to the fight at hand. Luther’s axe sliced across his chest before the sword was even in reach. Luther blocked a blow from another soldier with the shaft of his axe. He kicked the soldier backwards, sending him flying off the platform to be trampled below. Luther dodged a soldier’s swing, bringing the axe back around. His first blow brought the soldier to their knees, the second cleaved the head clean off their shoulders.
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Luther looked about at the carnage. Dozens of bodies lay about the platform, only three or four of them belonging to prisoners. Wolfgang killed off the last soldier, blood dripping from both his swords as he turned away. Barstag held a sword loosely in one hand, a light trickle of blood flowing out of a small scar in his arm.
Luther spun as something crashed to the platform behind him. The Mayor lay there, his body twisted. An arrow protruded from his chest. Blood spread across his clothes, touching the jewels that dangled from his corpse. For all of his words earlier on, the Kroanians had been faced with little in the way of resistance.
The fighting was finished in the square. Kroanian riders gathered up the survivors into groups and led them away. Luther knew they would be offered the chance to join the Kroanian army and swear loyalty to King Ulrik and the Empire. If they refused, they would be killed or taken as slaves, depending on what lord had led the attack. It was by such methods that the Kroanians had grown to be the biggest and strongest army in all of this part of Wardom in only five short years.
A group of riders rode slowly into the square, and Luther turned to look at them. At the head of the procession rode Lord Ardaric. He was one of Ulrik’s closest advisors and one of the most powerful men in all of the Kroanian Empire, alongside Lord Valamir. His reputation for being a strong warrior and a wise strategist was known throughout the land. Luther had only seen him a few times before. Ardaric wore elegant armour, jewels decorating it. A greatsword was strapped onto the back of his horse. No slaves, then. Ardaric was known for killing instead of enslaving.
“Am I a fool, or is that Lord Ardaric that has just arrived?” Wolfgang asked, coming up beside Luther.
“That is Lord Ardaric,” Barstag said. “But that doesn’t mean you are not a fool.”
Luther laughed. “What is he doing here?” he asked.
“Saving us, of course. And obviously looking for Lord Helgon.” Helgon had been the leader of their expedition into Vittor. Not as powerful as Ardaric or Valamir, he still had some influence in parts of the Kroanian Empire.
“Let’s go to him, shall we?” Wolfgang said.
“Let me do the talking, Wolf,” Barstag said. “We all know I am more…. diplomatic than both of you, to put it nicely.”
“Go ahead, Barstag.”
They descended the platform and approached the riders. The rest of the prisoners stayed where they were, seeing to their injuries. Barstag, Wolfgang and Luther were almost certainly the most senior out of the survivors, and beyond a doubt the best warriors.
“M’lord, I am Barstag Currock, and I am at your service,” Barstag said, bowing before Ardaric. Luther and Wolfgang followed his lead and bowed.
Ardaric looked down at them from atop his horse. “You were with Lord Helgon?” he asked. Ardaric was tall and slender, and young. His youth still surprised Luther. Luther knew he had only been in Wardom for five years, like King Ulrik and Valamir. That alone showed how young their empire was.
“Yes, m’lord.”
“Where is he? Is he alive?”
“He survived the ambush, sir, and was with us in the cell. That was until three days ago, when soldiers came and brought him out.”
“Where did they take him?”
“I cannot say for certain, m’lord. But we heard the soldiers talking of Zarkone.”
“To the capital, eh?”
“Yes, m’lord. It is directly to the north of here, only a day's ride.”
“Hmm.” Ardaric turned to the soldier behind him. “Get these men horses.” The soldier moved away as Ardaric looked back at Barstag. “Prepare yourselves and any of the other survivors who are able to fight.”
“M’lord?” Barstag asked.
“My army is waiting outside. We ride today, for Zarkone. We shall see if Helgon still lives, and we shall dispense punishment to his captors.”
***
The Kroanian host rode north through Vittor, towards the city of Zarkone. There were hundreds of them, riding in unordered units. Luther did not know how Ardaric had gathered an army so quickly. But even the troops they had were only a miniscule fraction of soldiers spread through the Kroanian Empire.
They encountered little resistance on their ride, but that was expected. Word would have flown before them of their army, and King Torbain would have gathered all available forces at Zarkone. But Luther doubted it would be enough.
“Lord Ardaric wishes to speak to you,” a voice said, drawing Luther out of his thoughts. They were riding slowly across an open plain, nothing to be seen in any direction. A soldier was sitting on his horse near where Luther, Wolfgang and Barstag rode towards the front of the Kroanian host.
“We would be honoured to speak with him,” Barstag said.
They followed the soldier to the very tip of the army. Ardaric was leading it himself, some commanders around him. Ardaric waved his commanders away as Barstag, Luther and Wolfgang approached. The commanders pulled back, leaving Ardaric to speak with them alone.
“You asked for us, m’lord?” Barstag said. Helgon’s greatsword was strapped onto the back of Barstag’s horse. He had found it inside the Mayor’s Manor, and had taken it to give it back to Helgon once they rescued him.
“Give me a report of your mission,” Ardaric said, barely glancing at him.
“M’lord?” Barstag asked.
“Lord Helgon was sent here to investigate the recent changes in Vittor, was he not? Tell me what you learned.”
“I think Lord Helgon would be much more suited to give this information to you than me, m’lord.”
“Helgon is not here, is he?” Ardaric said, turning to look at Barstag. “Now, tell me what you found.”
Barstag hesitated for only a moment longer. “Well, m’lord, under Helgon’s instructions we spread out through the towns nearest the border. We discreetly talked with the inhabitants and found out as much information as we could. We then regrouped with Lord Helgon. We learned that in recent times there have been gatherings of soldiers across Vittor. More and more people are being recruited into their army, and training camps have sprung up everywhere.
“After that, Helgon then put the plan in place to capture someone with more information than the commoners. We were successful, and we captured a minor lord. After much interrogation, he told us all he knew. Sadly, that was not a lot. The king is keeping his reasons for these changes very private. We suspect even most of the mayors do not know. We did learn of a name: Queen Skadi. Apparently she has come to power in the far north, beyond Vittor. What her relation is to the changes and the king, we do not know. It was soon after then that we were ambushed and held prisoner.”
They rode on in silence for a while, Ardaric mulling through the information. Luther glanced at Wolfgang, wondering if they were meant to leave the lord. By his expression, Wolfgang was equally without answers.
Finally, Ardaric looked at Barstag again. “Is that all you know?” he asked.
“Yes, m’lord,” Barstag said. “I don’t know if Helgon had any more information.”
“Hmm. What do you think is going on here?”
“It’s not my place to speculate, m’lord.”
“No, it’s not. But I am asking you to.”
“Honestly, sir, I do not know.”
“And you?” Ardaric asked, looking over at Luther.
Luther thought for a moment. It was the same thing he had been asking himself since they were captured. “I think the Vittorians fear war from this Skadi, sir,” he said after a moment. “I think they are gathering soldiers to defend themselves, or else to start the war first.”
“Do you agree?” Ardaric asked Wolfgang.
“Yes, my lord,” Wolfgang said. “I think Luther is right.”
“Interesting. It is a possibility. But I don’t think that is what is happening.”
“Do you mind me asking, sir, what do you think is happening?” Luther asked.
“I don’t know. But I think your theory is wrong for one main reason. Our relationship with Vittor and King Torbain has always been tenuous at best. They have raided our north-eastern territories frequently, and we have dished out justice when necessary. Torbain always denies the involvement of his small army, placing the blame instead on bandits. Recently, we even began to trade with him. Vittor has some useful resources, and Ulrik is holding off invasion in favour of keeping his army for more important purposes.
“A dozen weeks back, the trade stopped without a word. We heard rumours that an even greater army was being trained up to replace his current miniscule forces. Ulrik sent an envoy, and he never returned. Now, Torbain has captured one of our lords. If they were expecting a war from the north, why would they cut off us, their only hope for help? That is why you were sent. So far, it seems there is little new information, and I am no closer to a conclusion.”
Ardaric sent them away, but Luther couldn’t escape Ardaric’s words. He mulled it over and over again in his mind, trying to see what he was missing. Trying to make sense of the Vittorians’ actions. But he couldn’t.
The city of Zarkone appeared in the distance as the sun dipped towards the horizon. It wasn’t that big of a city, nothing compared to many back in the Kroanian Empire. Luther could see the lights burning inside the buildings and along the surrounding wall. No one was outside the city, but Luther knew there would be hundreds of soldiers waiting for them along the wall.
Far out from the city, a lone spear was stuck into the ground. A head was mounted atop it. The Kroanian army rode slowly past it, only glancing at it. They set up their camp beyond the head. Luther stopped at the head and stared. The face was chopped up, and an eye had been poked out. It was contorted into an expression of agony.
Barstag and Wolfgang came up beside Luther, looking at the head. They stared at it in silence for a few moments.
“Well, I guess you get to keep the sword then.” Wolfgang said as they stared at Helgon’s head.