General’s Pride

By Brian P. Sweet

“My soul is cursed. The giant hammer has crushed the invincible rock into thousands of pebbles. It has fallen upon my land – the Land of the Alows.” A dark haired man wrote into his journal. The pen, dabbed in the black ink, left beautifully curved letters upon the parchment. The magnificent penmanship told the story of a well-educated and patient man.

He glanced up to see the logs in the fire collapse upon each other, creating a stronger flame, as the gray smoke ascended into the dark hole, searching for a way out. He continued to write, “It was not enough for the bear to be happy with the trout in the shallow water. Instead, it found the larger salmon taunting him to follow further into the flowing river. The bear drowned in its own greed.”

The man, in disgust, shut the leather cover and wrapped a thin strap around it. He pushed the bound material across the oak table and sat with his face resting in his hands.

A deep breath.

The thick, oak door across the large room swung open with a great force and a snow covered woman dressed in tanned leather and furs entered. The sounds of the howling wind screamed outside as hundreds of snowflakes rushed inside only to disappear into water droplets on the wood floor.

“Close the door before you turn my house into a snowdrift,” the man yelled out above the crying wind.

The woman pushed the door shut and latched it. She walked over to the fire and threw another log on, trailing water behind her.

“Here,” he tossed a large shirt to her. “Dry off with that.”

“Well aren’t you in a good mood today?” The woman’s voice was soft but full of confidence.

The man ignored her and continued, “Did you find where they are?”

“Yes,” the woman pushed her hood back and ran her hand through her long brown hair, attempting to detangle it. “Your men still live. They are being held east of the river, two days hard ride in this weather. Xenox did not want them on their land, so they traded with the Cretes.” She held his gaze sensing the pain he wore as a heavy coat.

“Thank you Shana,” he said solemnly. “You know it means…”

“Stop.” Shana walked over to where he stood. Her hand reached out to his and she stared at the dark hair that covered his arm. She rubbed his cold fingers, easing the tension out of the joints. He began to relax and he let out a deep breath. “There will be no talk of appreciation or apologies. You know who you are and you know what you have to do.” She gazed lovingly into the big man’s blue eyes and spoke in a gentler tone. “I will follow you to the edge of the world, Connovar. You know that. Let us speak of this no further and enjoy our last night here.”

****

The General waited among the line of soldiers, weighing the defense of the enemy. He turned to the commanding officer, “Send a score of soldiers into the middle from the north. Let them see you coming. Take the gates down with the battering rams. Send another score to the left flank. Have them scale the walls near their port on the east side. We don’t have ships that can break through the ice, so they won’t be expecting us there. They will concentrate on the middle.”

“Yes sir,” the commander saluted, thumping his fist across his chest. The man watched the commander run down the line barking out commands, all too happy to get his men moving to keep the blood from freezing in their veins. Others repeated those commands until all units yelled back, “Yes sir!”

The General stared at the quiet fortification from just beyond bow range. Something was wrong.

The walls were covered with waiting soldiers, but there was no sound from them. No taunts, no commands…no noise. He spun around and searched the tree line three hundred feet behind him. The forest was quiet. The beginning of winter usually scattered the local animals into their warm homes, but there was always some activity in the forest. Today, there was none.

“Major!” he shouted without turning.

“Yes, General.” The major came running.

“Do you feel it?”

“Sir?”

“Do you hear it?”

“I don’t follow, sir.”

“The trees. Look! There!” The General pointed to a flash of light just inside the dense forest. “You see it? A reflection of the sun on a shield. Son of a whore! Were being flanked!”

Connovar did not wait. He ran down the line of soldiers and yelled out his commands. The soldiers turned and prepared to charge the forest.

Too late.

Scores of arrows flew in the sky toward the battle-ready soldiers, awaiting the attack command. The hail of shafts rained down on the unsuspecting men. A hundred died without knowing what hit them, for the arrows came from the east.

That was when the massacre began.

Another score of arrows hit their mark as men ran for cover toward the western edge of the forest, out of bow range. But the enemy was there, too. Hundreds of the waiting foe poured out of the woods and attacked the surprised army.

Men died instantly, holding their polished swords. Chaos ensued, but the General and his commanders were able to react and regroup the confused division. They formed what was left of the small army and launched a counter-attack. But it was not enough.

The enemy now surrounded the desperate battalion as the remaining soldiers fought to get the General clear of the foray. They opened up a gap and a few of the men half-carried the General to safety, as the man watched the slaughter of his “immortal battalion”.

Once they were at a safe distance, one of the men turned to the General with black, deep-set eyes and blood drooling from his mouth. A sword was buried to the hilt in the man’s chest. He latched onto the General and pulled him closer. The General’s eyes grew in horror as he watched the man, he once knew as Lieutenant Gibson, turn into a rotting corpse. The dead man yelled at him in a throaty voice. “You did this to us General Ashton. You killed us all!” The flesh fell away from his skin and his skeleton turned to dust in the General’s hands.

****

Connovar awoke with a jolt. He scanned the room but found only the darkness and a warm sleeping body beside him. Cold sweat beaded on his muscular frame as he pushed the thick blankets to the side. He stood up and staggered out of the bedroom and toward the fireplace.

The naked man felt the chill as he stared at the glowing embers starting to fade. He grabbed a metal rod and pushed the coals around, circulating the air through the cinders. Once again, a flame glowed from the charcoal depths, eventually growing into a heat source for his unprotected skin. He threw a few more logs on the fire as it began to give more light to the retreating darkness.

He continued to stare into the blaze as a pair of arms slipped through his and wrapped themselves around his stomach. He closed his eyes as he felt a warm body up against his back.

“It never goes away,” Connovar muttered.

“The dream?” Shana’s head rested on the middle of his back, trying to warm him.

“Yes. Gibson was right…”

“Gibson is dead.” Shana retorted quickly.

Silence ensued.

“He may be dead, but he’s still in my dream. I killed those men, Shana. My dreams of greatness have led to my downfall. Now, my men; my best men are locked up in some camp waiting for their death.”

Shana moved around to stand in front of Connovar. She wrapped her blanket around the both of them. “We will get them back General Ashton. I know their exact location. And because of the snowstorm, it is not well guarded.”

“Just like the battle of Xenox, huh? They were not supposed to have that large of an army. The castle was not supposed to be well guarded. All of our intelligence reports told of a small force ‘not worthy of my greatness.’ But we were slaughtered by a force that would rival my entire northern army.” He stared hard into her dark eyes and let out a loud sigh. “You realize we cannot make any mistakes in this. We release any able fighters and then the rest, if they are broken up into two or more groups. With a little luck, things will fall in line from there for us.”

“I still don’t understand why we don’t bring the other division back and take them by force.”

“The other division is two hundred miles away. My scouts tell me they are on their way back, but we would lose a lot of time waiting for them. Right now, this is between you, me, and the Cretes. If our operation does not work, then Hell shall be unleashed upon them. But I have to do this my way, do you understand?” Connovar bowed his head and closed his eyes. “The guilt is slowly killing me, Shana.”

Shana bowed and shook her head. She raised it and gazed up into his eyes, “When are you going to learn Connovar? Men die. We are at war…”

“I am at war!” Connovar shot back. “I created it. Xenox did not do anything to prompt an attack. They just didn’t want to join us. Me, and my power for glory, my lust for the world; I did this! Now I will undo it.” He turned and started for the bedroom. He stopped, glanced to the side and added with a softer tone, “Come, we have a long day ahead of us. Let us get, at least, a little sleep.”

Shana smiled and followed, leaving the fire to burn through the early morning.

****

The sun shone bright upon the fluffy white powder that decorated the pine trees surrounding the hidden cabin. The storm from the day before had begun to move east toward Karost and the imprisoned soldiers of Connovar’s army.

Connovar finished packing the saddlebags on his chestnut mountain horse, Blind Fury. “Today, we follow the storm, my friend,” he told the animal. “And tomorrow, we will ride back home with my children in tow.” Blind Fury glanced back at the solemn man and nodded his approval as if he understood.

The horse then turned toward the wafting smell of pork frying in grease emanating from inside the large pine cabin. The strong scent made his nostrils flare. Smoke arose through a stone chimney from atop the cabin as the strength of the smell intensified. A rumble from Connovar’s stomach reminded him he had not eaten for three days.

Connovar pulled the cinch tight that held a bag full of dried elk meat. Besides a great leader of men, the General was also a skilled hunter, a man of the mountains. This was his land and the animals that fed off it were also food for the owner and his wife.

“Conn,” Shana called from the opened door of the snow-covered cabin. “Your breakfast is ready. Come in and eat, you’ll need your strength for the long ride.” The icicles hanging from the roof dripped into a pool of melting snow, showing the ground beneath.

As Connovar entered the front door, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The scent of burnt pork struck his nose first, quickly followed by fat frying in spices of pepper, sugar and cinnamon. He smiled at the aroma and realized how much he had missed his wife’s cooking. He hadn’t felt this hungry for a long time. But with hunger came weakness and then sickness and his mind fought his stomach for control.

His mind lost.

He clasped his hand over his mouth to keep the bile down that arose in his throat. His face paled as the weakness enveloped him. He shook off the effects after taking a moment to regain his composure. The lack of sleep and food had finally caught up to him.

Connovar rushed over to where his wife had set his plate. He picked the pork up and tore into it, as a wolf would have a deer. Again, he fought the urge to spit out the bile that gurgled in his throat.

The pork slid down with ease but the searing pain from the spices on his raw throat made him wince. Connovar quickly chugged down the giant cup of cold liquid that sat on the table beside him. Relief ran across his face as the water acted like medicine for the pain.

The food was delicious and the hungry man searched for more. “There’s a little more over here.” Shana sat across the room in a wicker chair watching her husband and enjoying the heat from the fireplace. “You’ll need to take it slow, otherwise you’ll throw it all up. And that won’t help you on our ride today.” She edged forward in her chair and stared at the hot tea in the cup between her palms. “We’re going to have to make up time, you know. The sun has broken above the lower tree line. We should have left when it crested the horizon.”

“Yes,” Connovar agreed absent-mindedly. The big man stood tall as he gazed over the large room. Weapons of war adorned the walls on both sides of the fireplace. Weapons that he and Shana were both very skilled in: a polished silver cavalry saber, a long bow, a seven-foot halberd decorated with colored ribbons, a long sword embossed with gold designs and a jeweled pommel, and four empty spaces where a short bow, battle axe, a two-handed sword, and a pair of short swords previously occupied. These four weapons were now packed on the horses, ready to taste the blood of an enemy. Satisfied with his choices and feeling a little stronger from breakfast, he strode back outside and stared down into the valley of Tas.

The rows of pine trees looked like a giant army awaiting command from their General. Beyond the pines lay the open land and cities of metal and stone. Small villages dotted the land like stars in the unending sky. Connovar loved his home in the Mountains of Tas. It was his refuge where he could think without the noisy sounds of city life: the merchants selling their wares in the Square, the Guard marching through the street protecting their citizens, children screaming and running down the cobblestone streets as they played. Now he missed those sounds. He missed the camaraderie of his men drinking in the taverns and the love and respect those men had for him. The loneliness was overwhelming.

Shana stepped outside, closed the door and moved toward her gelding. She glanced at the weapons tied to Blind Fury and then shifted her gaze to Connovar. He saw the worry in her eyes. She had voiced her opinion earlier about his unnerving determination to free his men but he would not be moved. He would get his men back, no matter the cost.

Connovar waited for it and as if on cue, Shana reminded him, “Our first priority is to barter for your men. Bloodshed is what we fall back on. Agreed? Connovar?”

The man seemed like a giant sitting on his horse with his back to the sun. He gritted his teeth and nodded approval. He knew she was right. Even he understood there was no way for two people to free his men. The Cretes were powerful and many in number. But they were without land for their people. Connovar would offer part of his growing empire in exchange for his men. But the General knew they might not take that offer. The man’s reputation had grown throughout the lands as greedy and imperialistic. No land was safe from General Connovar Ashton and his expanding armies. He decided that he would have to offer more…the possibility of a blood contract made him shiver.

“Let’s move out, Conn.” Shana mounted her gelding. The bay was beautiful with the mane and tail matching the fluffy snow falling off the tree branches.

Connovar watched the gracefulness of Shana as she swung up into the saddle. She stared back at him, waiting. Her dark eyes matched the brown trews that hugged her long legs and shapely butt. She wore a green and gray long sleeve shirt that was hidden by the tanned leather jacket she wore the night before. She was a sight more beautiful than all the land in the world, Connovar thought. The mountains made her a tough woman but by all accounts, she was still a lady. No one would ever say anything different. He smiled.

Shana smiled back as if reading his thoughts. She looked him over and his typical riding attire before going to battle; his black pantaloons lined with animal furs for warmth and his long brown coat concealed a drab green shirt underneath.

Connovar knew Shana hoped no blood would have to be spilled, but she was a realist and he was the dreamer. They both knew there was more than just a small chance they would have to fight their way out of this.

****

Hach Winik Hiute waited patiently with two of his men. The fire kept them warm deep in the empty cave, but being tribesmen, they didn’t need fire for warmth. These men, night after frozen night, slept on the ground without as much as a roof over their heads to protect them from the falling snow. They were inhabitants of the frozen tundra, where nothing grew except the icicles in their hair.

Hiute’s stood with his baggy shirt open, revealing the many lined tattoos covering his chest and stomach. The fur and wolf-skin vest he wore stood out as typical tribesman clothes. He wore nothing spectacular that showed he was a tribal leader. He strode away from the fire and studied the far wall of the cave, noting the smoothness of the rock. His men shifted uneasily, growing anxious.

“Sir, they are late. The sun has set and the night is upon us. Do you really think they are coming?” one of the men asked their leader.

“She is true to her word, Ahtena. She will be here. Have patience.” The voices echoed down the cave.

Hiute turned away from the wall and casually strode toward the entrance. He was met by a giant man in a long coat holding a knife to the throat of another tribesman. The fire behind Hiute gave enough light to barely make out his features. “You hold my man hostage even though we are unarmed?” Hiute asked the stranger.

“You have two more men in back of you with weapons drawn. I figure them both to be built the same as this one since they carry no weight in the snow. That could only mean that they are archers…or thieves. Either way, you are not to be taken lightly,” the stranger casually explained, hiding his face behind the hostage.

“Ah, a tracker. Very good work.” Hiute’s clasped his hands in front of him. He acted as if he had no reason to fear. “So now what? You are not alone, either. The woman behind you makes too much noise shuffling around to get her arrow set on her mark.” Hiute laughed. “You may come out of the dark, Shana.”

Connovar’s eyes narrowed as he held the knife firmly against his captive’s throat. “What game is this?” he asked accusingly.

“No game, my friend. Merely an alliance.”

Shana walked out from around the mouth of the cave, her bow at her side. “It’s okay, General Ashton. This is an old friend of mine. Hach Winik Hiute, meet General Connovar Ashton.” Shana turned to the perplexed General. “Lord Hiute is going to help if we need it. I just made sure that our alternate plan was not a suicide mission.” She smiled but Connovar did not return the emotion.

“Please General, join us at our fire and I will explain all.” Hiute turned his back to the man and sauntered deeper into the cave.

Connovar released his hostage and turned to Shana. “An alliance with tribesmen? I hope you know what you are doing.” The General reluctantly followed the tribal leader leaving the woman behind.

****

Connovar didn’t care at all for tribesmen. His opinion of them was known among his troops. He voiced it frequently, saying that they were savages, feeding off of each other and established communities. They were cannibals. He thought they were lazy and that they refused to accept society and growth. In some instances, he was right. But as stubborn as the man was, he only accepted his portrayal of the tribal people, however illogical any of it may seem.

Connovar knew that tribesmen could not be trusted. They rarely kept their word, for honor was not a part of their vocabulary. Worse yet, the only times they made alliances with outsiders was when they wanted to wage war against each other. He imagined this situation was no different.

Connovar and Shana sat across the fire from the three tribesmen and their leader. “General, I assure you that there are no dark undertones to this alliance. I owe Shana from years ago and now I am here to repay my debt,” Hiute explained.

“What did she do for you that you are willing to ally yourself with a hated outsider?”

Hiute smiled, “We’ll just say that I owe her my life and in turn, I give you mine for use.”

“Yours and three others?” the distrustful General asked.

“No, my new friend. Mine, my three commanders and a few others out there in the frozen night awaiting your arrival.”

Connovar’s eyes narrowed again. “Yours is a debt to repay. What are the terms of your friends?”

“See, now that is what I like about you General. Your perception and knowledge takes away the possibility of lies and deceit. I like this.” Hiute smiled, showing his crooked, yellow and black-stained teeth. He leaned back in a rock chair and stretched out his short legs. Even sitting on higher ground than everyone else, as was the honor bestowed to a tribal leader, the man seemed shorter than the average young teenager. “Tell me General, what is the worth of your men? What are you willing to part with in order to get them back?”

Keeping his calm, willing to play his game, Connovar replied, “You tell me Hiute. What am I willing to give up?”

Without hesitation, the smaller leader retorted, “Your leadership.” Connovar blinked a few times and cocked his head to one side as if not understanding what he had just heard. Hiute edged forward in his seat to make sure that Connovar was listening intently. He continued, “I am to lead you to get your men back. I will be your General for the day and when your men are freed, they will answer to me until the battle is over.”

Connovar stared at him hard and was silent for a few moments. He then turned to Shana who had been sitting behind him, off to the left side, as was the custom of women in the midst of tribesmen. “Sir, I believe Hiute is true to his word. It is said among the tribes that Hach Winik Hiute of the Small Arrows is an honorable man,” Shana offered.

Connovar’s eyebrows met in the middle above his nose as he thought for a moment. “What does the Small Arrow have against the Cretes?”

“It is not the Cretes we despise,” Hiute explained. “They are nothing to us. The Cretes are a hunting tribe. They feed off the land and trade with other tribes and villages. Because they are hunters, they are spread around the country, never gathering too much in large groups. After your attack on Xenox, they were sought after because they have eyes for a hundred miles. They would know when your next attack would be. They traded Xenox for your men but they did not want them, so they traded with the Shard for protection. The Cretes have a few villages where the women raise the children, but they do not have any protection against raiders. The Shard, on the other hand, is a caste of warriors. You will not be able to barter with the Shard. They only believe in bloodshed and torture. I’m afraid that the only way to get your men back is to sneak into their camp by way of the morning fog and destroy the Shard. My archers will lead the way and the three of us will free your men.”

Connovar thought about the tribes and began to change his mind about them. He didn’t want to involve himself in their political games but the thought of an alliance with Small Arrow was inviting. He knew he couldn’t do this alone and the deaths of Small Arrow tribesmen would not be on his conscience.

He thought about the consequences of giving power to Hiute. To let his men see that he was not in charge could lead to problems. His men never took orders from anyone else. Why would they start now? But the possibilities of a permanent alliance with a strong tribe could lead to better trade relations and better overall relations with the tribes.

Many thoughts passed through his mind but the one that painted a vivid image was the thought of one of his men lying on a table being gutted by a laughing, drunk tribesman holding a rusty blade covered in blood and skin.

“Alright Hiute, we will form an alliance. Tell me of your plans and we will discuss how this will be worked out.”

Hiute smiled and produced a pipe from a hidden pocket within his shirt. The chance to lead the great warrior would show in the faces of his men, and word would spread throughout all the tribes that Hach Winik Hiute was more powerful than the man who would be king someday.

****

The darkness brought on the frost as the air froze the ground. The gentle breeze felt as if a thousand needles stabbed into Connovar’s skin. It was late into the night and he was weary from the previous day’s hard ride, the weather, and the long discussions with Hiute of the Small Arrow tribe. Sleep called his name but he refused to listen for he knew the icy fingers of death lay waiting.

Hiute left the dying embers of the fire behind him as he strode from the entrance to the cave. He walked over to his horse and his second in command vaulted him into the saddle. Hiute stared down at the now smaller man and nodded.

The man reached into a saddlebag and produced thick twisted and gnarled roots. He turned and began to pass them out to the waiting others. Connovar stared at one in the darkness. He could make out the rough texture and the light brownish color. He brought it up to his nose and quickly pulled his head back from the horrid stench.

“These are Kalady Roots. They smell bad and taste worse, if you are not used to them.” Hiute’s men chuckled and smiled at Connovar. “These will keep you awake and warm your blood as we ride a short distance to our destination. In a couple of hours, you will be completely awake and feeling immortal. But eat slowly Connovar, I don’t want you feeling like you can take on the Shard army before we get there.” The laughing continued but in hushed tones. Hiute turned back and winked at Shana. His smile held the confidence of a leader of armies.

Hiute led the band of warriors with Connovar sitting second and Shana bringing up the rear, as was the tribal custom of women. The ride was slow and long as the night’s cold air continued to whip the backs of the riders. The Kalady Root took its effect as the night grew on. Connovar still felt the effects of the stinging wind but it was enough to keep him awake. He only hoped Shana felt the same effects and was awake. He knew he couldn’t look back, the tribesmen would consider him soft, caring more for a woman instead of his men and the upcoming battle.

It felt like many hours before they had to stop. In reality, it was two, but in the frozen forest of Karost, two hours felt like eternity. A couple of miles before arriving at their destination, they came upon a large wooden table with a giant sign before it. The sign was written in common tongue reading: Enter and Fate will follow.

“Interesting.” Hiute moved up to the sign, still upon his horse. “What does it mean?”

“It means they are waiting for me.” Connovar pointed to the table and took the last bite of his Kalady Root, a good size chunk that would put him over the edge. Hiute glanced at the remains of what looked like a human being diced up in parts, spread along the table.

“Oh yes, the Shard’s welcoming sign for visitors. They chop up bodies after torturing them and put them on display as a warning. This is where we lose the horses, their camp is not far from here.” Hiute dismounted and led his horse off the trail deeper into the forest. The others followed solemnly.

Once the tribal leader felt it was safe, he tied his horse to a tree and took his saddlebags off. As he waited for the others to do the same, he mixed water with some dark powder from his bag - making a paste. He then applied the black paste diagonally to his face leaving only small portions of his tanned skin to show above and below the streak. He then motioned the others to do the same.

Hiute then turned and strode to his horse. He used the paste once again, drawing an arrow crossing a half moon on the animal. Again, he motioned the others to do the same. Whispering, he explained, “Others’ will not bother the beasts. They know not to steal the Small Arrow horses for a deadly rain will take their lives if they try.”

Hiute stood tall with his head back, staring straight ahead; his command seemed to make him taller. The others waited behind, waiting for a word.

A strange whistling sound came from their leader and it was answered a few seconds later by others, near and far. He turned his head to the side, revealing his black and tanned, camouflaged face. The whites of his eyes glowed in the moonlight with ferocity. “Now we move slowly to the point. Connovar and Shana, you will come with me. You will wait for my move and then we shall see an end to your enemy. Once you free your friends, then it is up to you. Remember what we discussed.”

Connovar stared at the shorter man, noticing his weapon of choice - the blackened curved blade of the scimitar hung out of the scabbard on the man’s right side, slapping his thigh as he walked. It did not reflect any type of light. Connovar had never known a warrior to be left-handed. A good omen for a tribesman, maybe. And he had never seen a blade as dark without gleaming from some source of light. No, not a good omen. A fearful one. His men feared what they did not know. That is where his power comes from, Connovar surmised. They think he is their savior. He chuckled to himself. After tonight, he will be viewed as a god, leading the legendary General in a battle against the Shard.

It was strange, he thought, it was the first time in so many years that he did not have to think about the strategy, about the repercussions of war. This was a battle between the tribes and he and his men were in the middle trying to find a way out. That is all he wanted to think about right now. He could not use his head because his heart was in this battle. Reality bit back and his mood deepened.

The trio reached their destination. The mist began to settle in thick as the early morning announced its arrival. The haze camouflaged them and they weren’t able to make anything out ten feet in front of them. Pure whiteness obstructed their view.

Hiute unsheathed his black blade, Deathbringer. He smiled as he turned to Connovar. The General did not look at his temporary commanding officer. Instead he was thumbing the sharp blade on the large battle-axe, blood slid down the oiled blade but Connovar did not seem to notice.

Shana’s short swords were in her hands ready for battle, but she continued to stare at her husband. He glanced back as if reading her thoughts. He smiled, trying to comfort her fears of his revenge. He knew, that if he exacted his revenge, he would endanger his men. This was only a rescue mission. The Small Arrows would see to the death of this tribe.

They continued forward as the haze began to lift. Slowly, their line of sight increased and then they stopped as they saw before them, the guarded compound of the Shards.

They only had to wait for a couple of heartbeats before it began.

An arrow struck the eye of the nearest Shard at the same time as another man was downed with an arrow jutting out of his neck. Two more thuds in the distance as tribesman fell to their deaths from the trees that hid them. An alarm went off as horns rent the morning.

The trio crouched in the thick bushes, hiding them. Shard warriors ran about preparing for an invasion. Connovar stared hard at Hiute. “What are we doing? Are you letting them prepare for us?” His harsh whisper threatened the other.

Hiute smiled, “Watch our way of battle. It will be finished before it begins.”

Silence.

The Shard compound was silent but for the heavy breathing of some of the warriors. A hiss from outside the compound and the sky lit up with a hail of flaming arrows. The Shard never saw it coming until it was too late. Most of the arrows that hit the buildings were quickly extinguished being buried in the snow, but some of the arrows were able to make their way into open buildings starting fires and increasing the confusion. Warriors screamed their war cries but never saw the enemy. More arrows, more death.

The three rescuers then leapt at the opportunity of confusion. They ran across the opened area and hacked at the crazed tribesmen that got in their way. Hiute knew where to go and he timed it just right before the next group of arrows came down.

Hiute pointed to an open pit, “Your friends are there. Most of them are there. Shana, you go release them. Connovar, over there is the torture shack. The other men are there. Meet me here as soon as you can.” He stared hard at Connovar. He truly looked the part of a crazed jungle warrior. “Do not exact your revenge, Connovar Ashton! It is not yours to take today.”

Hiute spun on his heels and buried his scimitar in the belly of a rushing Shard. He lifted the skinny warrior off the ground and threw him off his weapon. He turned back and yelled, “Go now!” his eyes flashing red with adrenaline.

Hiute sprinted across at a slew of oncoming Shard warriors. Connovar stared at Shana and nodded, saying nothing. He spun on his heels and ran toward the shack, ignoring everything around him.

****

Shana watched him go for only a heartbeat. Any longer and she would have been skewered by a seven foot lance rushing in from her right. Instead, she stepped forward and spun after seeing her attacker out the corner of her eye. Her blades came down. The right sword snapped the wooden lance with the other sword following close behind to counter. Shana’s right arm circled around and sliced open the attacker’s throat as his momentum carried him into the oncoming blade. The warrior continued to run but at a slowing pace, not realizing he was dead.

Shana spun on her heels and sprinted forward to the pit, wary of the gathering forces of the tribesmen, who were no longer confused. The warriors were now pointing out their enemies to each other, ready to pounce on their prey.

Shana was half way to the pit when a shout went up from a tribesman, “Hula goze chadalee!” She turned her head and saw a tattooed tribesman pointing in her direction with about twenty warriors behind him, ready to attack. A roar went up from the others and they charged. Shana realized she couldn’t make it to the pit without fighting her way past the charging tribesmen. Even then, she knew she would die. She was good, but she could only take on five or six at the most before she was cut down.

The woman blademaster came to a stop and crouched into her fighting stance, waiting for death to come. But death didn’t come and before the enemy took five strides, arrows thudded into the front line and dropped five of the warriors. A score of Small Arrows ran past Shana and crashed into the rest of the charging Shards, swords swinging.

Realizing her allies were behind her, she regrouped herself and continued on, thankful she was still alive. She reached the pit and a cheer for the woman rose up from the thirty-foot hole. She stared down at the fifteen officers and closed her eyes. The hole was big enough to fit ten men and these men were pressed up against each other so tightly, there was not enough room to take deep breaths. They stood in mud and their own feces, shivering. The only heat came from their bodies pressed against each other.

The men did not look like their former selves. Each one was stripped naked and completely shaved with patches of skin missing and blood continuously seeping out of the wounds. From the smell of it, they had been in that hole for weeks. Shana wanted to turn and vomit, but she was able to hold it in. She could not let them see her weak at this moment. They needed her. They needed their pride back. They needed a leader.

She glanced around and viewed the scene for a moment. Small Arrows protected her all around. They waited with their backs to her. Beyond them, the fighting continued.

She searched for a rope and found the one the Shards used behind her. It was connected to a stake and had knots tied every three feet. She tossed it down to the closest officer. With a renewed sense of strength, the officer was able to pull himself free of the pit.

“Help the others up and regroup. I am in command now until we reach our objective. Wait here until I get back.” Shana stood tall as the soldier finished his climb.

“Yes, my Lady Shana,” the officer’s voice still had some strength but his spirit was almost gone. He did not look directly at her. He turned his back and crouched, peering over the edge waiting for the next man to come up the rope.

Shana turned and ran toward a tent. The soldiers’ pride was all but lost and they needed something to help get it back. Shana ran into the tent and looked for something to clothe the men. Nothing.

She stared at the tent and stuck her sword through it. The tent was double layered for the snow. She quickly cut the inside layer down and made long strips, wide enough and long enough to tie and cover a man’s pride. Shana smiled and ran to the pit, handing one of the men the strips of heavy cloth.

“Cover yourselves, we’re going home.” She smiled and the soldier returned it without a word.

****

Connovar reached the small shack without a fight. The area seemed void of life except for the flies buzzing in and around the place. The stench of feces, blood, and rotting flesh was unbearable, but Connovar ignored it.

A moan was heard as he approached the half-opened door. Connovar kicked it in with full force, shattering it. The horror in his eyes told a thousand stories as he viewed the carnage in front of him. Blood splattered the wall, old and new. Chains dangled from the ceiling and from the walls, caked with flesh and dried blood. In one corner, a single chain hung down connected to a man’s neck. The vice held the head up staring at Connovar. Dried blood ran in lines down from the rusted metal screws embedded into the neck. The man, Connovar had once called his friend, was dead. Hatred now engulfed his soul.

A moan came from another corner. This man hung from his arms facing the wall. His back was tattooed with bugs eating their way into his flesh. His head was down and his body, limp. Death was calling for him but he could only answer with short moans. Knowing he couldn’t do anything for the tortured man, Connovar obliged him.

The General closed his eyes and heard something else. A shift along the floor. He snapped open his eyes and pulled a table away from the wall. Two naked men shivered uncontrollably huddling together trying to keep warm. They stared at the giant man before them with glassy eyes, not realizing their lives were saved.

“Cole, Resin. You’re still alive. Thank the gods. I’m getting you out of here.” Connovar set his axe down on the table next to a severed leg. He reached for one of the men and his arm was swatted away. “Cole, it’s me, General Ashton.” Cole’s eyes were distant and frightened. He looked like a kitten backed in a corner ready to be eaten alive by a tiger. “At least you still have some fire left in you. We’ll get you better.” Connovar reached again, this time taking a hold of the man he called Cole. Instantly, the man passed out from fear. Connovar lifted him over his shoulder and stared at the other man.

“G…G…Gen…eral…Asshhh…ton.” Resin’s teeth chattered but his eyes seemed to focus on Connovar.

“Yes, Resin, it’s me. Can you walk?”

Resin slowly rose, hunched over. He peered up and stared at his General and smiled. He then toppled over as an arrow jutted out of his forehead.

Connovar’s eyes widened and he snatched up his axe in his right hand. He ran out the door with Cole still slumped over his shoulder. He ran straight for the Shard preparing to fire again. Connovar released his axe and let it fly. The tribesman was not able to get off another arrow before the axe split his skull.

Connovar retrieved the axe and looked around to find more of the enemy. Nothing. Fire in his heart, he ran on. He was now looking for revenge.

****

Hiute saw the enemy gathering. They were starting to think and point out the three intruders before them. The rain of death had stopped and they were able to organize. Hiute ran at a group deciding what to do when they turned to greet him. He dodged a swipe at his head and backhanded the warrior with Deathbringer. The man fell forward spraying blood from his back. He spun around with the momentum of his sword, as another warrior was about to end the small leader’s life. Deathbringer again swept up and froze the enemy’s weapon above his own head. He dropped as Hiute continued on the killing spree.

Three more dropped, dead from the black blade that sang through the air. More attacked the short leader and more were cut down. Soon others’ fell in line, wanting a chance at the man with the unusual weapon. Those others never got the opportunity as Small Arrows filled the gaps and peppered the enemy with their deadly arrows.

Hiute stopped and barked out commands. The tribesmen ran over towards the pit and encircled the area guarding the woman behind them while watching the battle rage on. Hiute then ran over to find Connovar barrel out of the shack with a limp body on one shoulder and throw his axe at an enemy archer. He watched him close, knowing that there was hate in those eyes and in his soul.

He had heard the stories of General Connovar Ashton, the Butcher of Sadar Hill, Commander of the Deathknights, and leader of the Berserker Clans. It was the last of the stories that had truth about it. He was of a rare breed, the berserker warriors, those who lived for war and lusted after battle. Those who lived short lives but died in the glory of the sword.

Connovar was a berserker but he would not die for a long time. This, Hiute would make sure of. He smiled as he watched what seemed like a giant, cross the battlefield to an open area. He set the body down and covered him with his coat. He then waited with his huge axe in both hands ready to chop through anyone who came near him. Not berserk today, Hiute thought. Loyal.

****

Connovar watched with pain in his heart, as his men slowly make their way toward him. Some were able to pick up weapons that had been left by dead tribesmen. They still had the fire in them, but they didn’t want to attack. The look about them told a story of scared children ready to break at any time. They only held together because of discipline and a desire to live. Revenge was not in their hearts today and Connovar decided it was not in his either. Safety. Healing. That’s what his objective was.

The battle began moving south as the Shards were being pushed back. Tribesmen didn’t retreat; they regrouped each time and attacked until the battle was decided. This battle would be decided only when the last tribesmen standing was beheaded.

Shana brought the men towards Connovar with a couple of Small Arrows bringing up the back. “My Lord Ashton, we have failed you,” a soldier said with his head bowed in shame.

“Pick your head up soldier, there is no blame today or tomorrow. You will ride out of here with your head held high if I have to prop it up myself.” Connovar stared straight at the man, showing no emotion.

“Yes, sir.” The man stood a little taller as pride started to flow back in.

Hiute strode to over to Connovar along with ten other Small Arrows, each one marked with stripes across their chests designating the number of battles they had survived. One, in particular, had seventeen stripes along with half as many scars on his body.

“Glory to the Small Arrows, Lord Hach Winik Hiute,” Connovar stood tall with his head high, staring over the top of the small leader. “What are your orders my Lord?” His body rigid and Connovar’s axe across his chest showed his allegiance to the tribesmen.

Shana showed the same allegiance and soon the bewildered eyes of the soldiers fastened straight ahead. Their allegiance was to their General but if it meant staying alive and the death of their captors, then they would show the same respect.

“My friend and partner in war, it is time for you to take your men away from this place of death. I will finish what we have started and be rid of this unclean tribe. When you are healed and ready to begin again, I will be here for you. That is my bond.” Connovar eyes fell to the shorter man. He couldn’t believe the words coming out of Hiute’s mouth. He was supposed to make Hiute look like a king in front of his men, but now the tribal leader treated him like a brother. “Your revenge, although cannot be taken today, will be taken another day. The Shard have only a small settlement up here in the north. They are much larger in the south and the man responsible for this is still alive. We will regroup and attack them in the Spring. It is your choice if you would like to join us. If you do, you will be welcomed as my brother and from there, you will have me at your will.” Hiute smiled and then added, “Take your men home General and take some rest. I will come for an answer in time.”

Connovar held out his arm and Hiute grasped it in the warrior’s clasp. His intense eyes spoke of appreciation and Hiute nodded. Connovar turned to his stunned men and said with strength, “There is a village a full days march from here. We can make it by nightfall if we keep a pace. If you cannot continue, I will carry you. If I cannot carry you, I will drag you. I will not let you die today or tomorrow. You are cold, naked and hungry. Tonight, you will be clothed, well fed, and will sleep in warm beds. So tell me now, who cannot make it?”

Silence.

The officer in front stared at Connovar and smiled. He blinked slowly and replied, “It’s good to see you again, General.”

Connovar lifted the resting soldier from the ground. Cole’s breathing slowed as his body began its long healing process. He turned and marched out of the camp with his men close behind.

****

Hiute smiled at the leaving soldiers. He thought again about his decision.

Loyalty.

He will see the General again. And when he does, he will make sure that he by his side when Connovar is crowned King.

****

One month later, Connovar sat in his cabin at the table with his journal. Maps covered the large table as he dabbed his pen in the ink. “The bear laid in the sun with his head held high, letting the rays relax him before he went hunting again. The salmon that lead to his undoing was still out there, taunting him. It was sheer luck that he did not drown. This time, he decided to wait for the water to go down. The salmon will then be trapped in the small pools and the bear will have his food. And if not, he will have the eagle there to help him.

“The beautiful land of the Alows has a new friend. And that friend shall see to my Kingdom.”

THE END

© 2003 by Brian Sweet. Brian lives in Phoenix, Arizona with his family, where he has only just started to get serious about his writing. This is his first submission as well as his first finished short story. He attributes his success to the incredible feedback from his wife and the Worlds of Wonder writing group.

E-mail: thequest3@hotmail.com