Asgoleth The Warrior: A Modern Tale of Sword And Sorcery (fantasy fiction books) (8 page)

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.

Ever heedful of the presence of the Akonites, he moved as silently as a ghost from shadow to shadow. None saw his stealthy progress even though many paced within arm’s length of the huge barbarian. Despite their cruelty they were yet called civilised men and their senses were not as finely tuned as those of Asgoleth. Slight sounds and stealthy movements that would have alerted Asgoleth went unheard and unseen by the Akonites and it was just as well for them that they did.

Asgoleth continued his journey unmolested and at last he reached a little used gateway which opened into the palace grounds. Amira had shown it to him and together they had used it many times to slip out of the palace unobserved. He smiled as he remembered her joy at those nocturnal visits to the lively city. She disguised as a rich noblewoman sampling the pleasures of a wild barbarian.

He pushed such thoughts from his mind; he had to concentrate on the business at hand. Under his skilful fingers the hidden projections that operated the lock slid back and he pushed the door open a crack. Peering through into the garden beyond he saw no sign of life or movement. A breeze rustled through the leaves of the trees with a soft sighing but otherwise all was silent.

He slipped through the gate, closing it silently behind him, and then sprinted towards a statue of Solus. He crouched at the base of the statue and looked all around him but he could see nothing and there was no cry of alarm from sentries, so far so good.

He pushed the statues foot and the base swiveled open to reveal a narrow set of stone steps which disappeared into a deep dark hole in the ground. With a last swift look around, he slid down into the blackness and the base swiveled back into place above him. He was in pitch darkness now but he needed no light to find his way through that passageway. Unerringly he followed its twists and turns until he finally reached the secret entrance to Amira’s chambers.

In the darkness he listened but he could detect no sound from within. Cautiously he slid the panel open and peered in. The room was in darkness but silvery moonlight gave enough illumination for his wilderness bred eyes to detect the slim female form that lay upon the bed.  Grinning he stalked silently forward.

He placed a strong hand over her mouth to stifle any cry she might make then a snarl twisted his lips. This girl was not Amira. The girl’s eyes were wide with terror as he leaned close and whispered,

‘Make any noise and you die, do you understand?’

She nodded and he slowly removed his hand, ready to slap it back into place at the first sign of treachery. The girl remained silent, gazing at him with wide frightened eyes.

‘Who are you and where is the princess Amira?’

‘My name is Alana, great warrior. I was placed here by Lord Demos to act as bait. Flee swiftly warrior for Demos controls me with his sorcery. He sees what I see and hears what I hear. Go now before it is too late.’

For a long tense moment he glared into her eyes and in them he could see a faint red flicker and then the door crashed open. He whirled, sword rising to meet the Akonite warriors who came charging into the room; behind them, in the corridor beyond, stood a tall, dark, bearded man, Demos himself. He was screaming to his soldiers,

‘Kill the dog, a bag of gold to the man who brings him down.’

The men rushed forward eagerly, they were six to his one and they were confident that the gold would soon be theirs. They reckoned without Asgoleth’s barbarian ferocity. His wild, bloodcurdling war cry filled the chamber as he leapt to meet them. Two fell choking on their blood as his great blade drank their lives. The remaining four, taken aback by this madman’s assault, froze momentarily. It was enough for in that moment he was among them and he was like a wolf among a flock of sheep.

In the close confines of the doorway they got in each other’s way but Asgoleth was not hampered by fear of killing a comrade and his blade smashed forward and impaled one of the Akonites. The warrior behind expected Asgoleth to take time to pull his blade free and he grinned cruelly as he raised his sword. Before this barbarian pig could wrench his sword free he would be dead.

Asgoleth did not give him time to bring his weapon down. He simply let go of the hilt of his own weapon and smashed his iron hard fist into the others face. Bones crunched under that terrible impact and were driven deep into the man’s brain, killing him instantly. The warriors face dissolved into red ruin and he slumped to the floor.

As the man fell, Agoleth pressed home his attack by reaching out and grabbing the helmeted heads of the two remaining soldiers. Their helmets rang as they were smashed together and they too fell, leaving Asgoleth and Demos face to face.

Demos snarled in fury and lashed out with his jeweled sword and only the Calthians swift backwards leap saved his life. The point of the blade sliced through his tunic and opened a slit in the skin of his chest and Asgoleth cursed.