Forgotten Hero

by Brian Murray

  Tucci informed the priests that the Dark Brethren had helped quash an uprising against the crown, led by General Gordonia and the Imperial Guards. His father and mother were unfortunately killed during the fighting to retake the palace. He smiled at the corpses and whispered, “I am the Chosen now, Father. I now rule.”

  Fury approached Tucci and bowed low. “We are now in control of the palace, your Highness. However, we cannot find your sister and I have sent out my men to track her.”

  “I want her taken alive, Fury, and brought here before me. She will be my empress and we will produce a pure blood heir.”

  “As you wish,” replied Fury, bowing. Using his telepathic abilities, he called ahead for Sekkers to be commissioned to find her.

  The new Chosen chuckled. “Now we await the arrival of your master, and then our plans will be ready. I think he will have a state welcome. What do you say?”

  “Aye, as you wish, your Highness.”

  Chapter 5

  Thade’s feet lightly touched the ground as he enjoyed his morning run. Crossing his lands, he sprinted up hills and down across open fields as he continued on his daily ritual; keeping his body primed and keen, so it would not let him down again. The early morning sunlight glistened against the man’s sweating torso and the fresh dew on the grass. His mind was clear, fresh like the dawn of a new day, and he pushed his body on and on. His arms pumped as he reached the final rise and his legs started to burn, but the man pushed himself into a sprint; four hundred strides uphill to the end. His even breathing became more ragged, now short gasps. He continued striding up the hill to his home. Two hundred strides and his legs burnt like hot coals. His arms ached with fatigue. Fifty strides to go and his legs started protesting, his lungs ready to burst.

  Reaching the gate, Thade roared with delight, adrenaline pumping through his body. He reached up his arms, and stretched up onto his tiptoes, so that every muscle in his body tensed. He let out a battle cry, but one of joy, not battle lust. Not since his fever had he been able to complete the full run distance. A month ago, his body had wasted away; at its worst he was half his normal body weight. But being the fighter he was, he clung onto life and his fever finally broke, to the obvious relief of his friend and his housemaid.

  The man was six feet tall, with long dark hair tied at the nape, broad shoulders tapering to his waist, and strong thick legs. His torso and arms were criss-crossed with scars from battles during his time in the arena. He continued to stretch his aching body as an older man approached. The morning exercises were not yet finished. Thade spun on his heels, taking up a fighting stance. Legs apart and knees slightly bent, body twisted at the waist so he led with his left hand.

  “Boy, you ready for another beating?” asked the older man, tossing his opponent a pair of padded gloves.

  “I was born ready, you old misery.”

  The two men circled each other while the younger man put on his gloves, his stormy-grey eyes gleaming with mischief.

  “Well, old man, I’ve been running since sunrise and my body is tired. Whereas you, on the other hand, have just removed your rotting carcass from your bed and stepped out here. Needless to say, I can still beat you with one hand behind my back,” goaded the younger man, jumping from side to side on his toes. “So old man, let’s get this over with so we can break our fast,” he continued, letting loose with a left jab that struck home. He threw a left, then a right punch, followed by another left jab that cracked on the older man’s chin. The older man rolled his head to click the bones in his neck and chuckled. They continued to circle each other.

  “Ah, old man you are such an easy target,” said Thade, bobbing about, then throwing a sudden straight left punch.

  The older man blocked the punch and countered, throwing a thunderous uppercut. The punch connected with his younger opponent’s chin and he flew backward, landing on his back. The older man strode forward. Looking down, he smiled at his unconscious friend.

  “Boy, somewhere a village is missing its idiot,” he whispered, shaking his head. “You will never learn.” Stepping over the fallen man, he swaggered back to the house, removing his gloves and rolling his massive shoulders.

  Chapter 6

  Cara, a plump housemaid, watched the brief sparring match and sucked in a lungful of air when the finishing blow found its target. She winced as the young man landed on the ground in a puff of dust. The older man said something to his opponent, who lay unconscious, before approaching the kitchen.

  “Make sure you wipe your feet, you mean old goat,” snapped Cara.

  “Woman, your tongue is like a lash on my bare back.”

  “You didn’t have to hit him so hard and then just to leave him there,” she chastised.

  “He needs to learn. Quick, he was, and will be again, but now he is still weak and should know it.”

  “You’re a mean old man, Dax.”

  “What happened to ‘sir’ or ‘master’?”

  “You can stick that where it hurts, Dax. Now go freshen yourself up for some food, you’ve a long day ahead of you.”

  “A lash I tell you,” muttered Dax, receiving a playful slap on the shoulder for his comment. “And you call me mean.”

  “Be off with you,” said Cara with a giggle. Her laughter stopped when she saw that the fallen man outside had not yet moved.

  The smell of frying bacon and eggs finally roused Thade. He rose on wobbly legs, his head still groggy from the blow. “I should have seen that one coming,” he complained to himself, rubbing his aching chin. Every day for the past week, one hit, his feet left the ground, and hello floor, he landed heavily on his back. He staggered to the well, drew the bucket, and washed his upper body. The refreshing fluid cleared his head, so he decided to wander up to the kitchen and face the old man.

  The back door creaked slightly as Thade opened it.

  “Ah, the fallen has risen. We’re blessed,” barked Dax joyfully.

  “That was a lucky punch, old man. Next time just you watch,” moaned Thade, grabbing a towel and drying himself.

  “Next time it will be exactly the same.”

  Thade walked around the kitchen table and sat down facing the older man. He looked into the warrior’s gleaming violet eyes and smiled.

  “Dax, you know I let you win. It makes you feel young again. You know for a hundred years old, you aren’t half bad.”

  “When you’re ready, I will put you on the ground again,” countered Dax, between mouthfuls of crispy bacon.

  “That’ll be enough of that kind of talk, you cantankerous old goat. As for you,” said Cara, pointing at Thade, “You should know better by now. Do you want some food?”

  “Is that any way to speak to the master of the house?” said Thade, standing with his hands on hips, pretending to be angry.

  “You sit that peachy arse of yours down before I tan it,” she snapped, motherly.

  “Well, we know who runs this house, and guess what, it isn’t you!” mocked Dax.

  Moments later Cara placed a bowl of hot salted oats in front of Thade, who groaned.

  “Don’t you be groaning at me! The healer said hot oats in the morning until you get all your strength back.”

  “My strength is back, Auntie Cara,” moaned Thade miserably.

  “Is that why your arse landed so delicately on the ground outside? Now eat!”

  Thade peered up at Dax’s plate of eggs and bacon, and sighed. Dax suppressed a chuckled.

  “May I have some honey, please?” asked Thade.

  “No!” she snapped, and Dax laughed. The sound was a rich, deep rumble.

  “And you,” she said, wagging her finger at Dax. “You’ve sat there long enough, so go and chop some wood for the fire.”

  “A lash, I tell you,” muttered Dax softly.

  “I heard that and if you want feeding later, you’d better get started, and now.”

  Dax rose from the table, still chewing his last mouthful, and headed for the woodshed, letting out an obscene
curse.

  “I heard that!” Cara called after him.

  Dax muttered curses more quietly; his use of bad language was not for the delicate, and he thumped opened the door to the woodshed.

  Now it was Thade’s turn to laugh and in good spirits, he finished his oats, actually not minding oats with salt. Cara placed some tisane in front of him.

  “Honey?”

  Cara merely looked at him, a mother’s look that said, without any confusion, “Now, that was a dumb arse question, why the hell did you ask it? Idiot!”

  Thade smiled weakly and sipped the tisane. His mind wandered back to their first meeting with Cara. Thade had returned from Phadrine with Dax some three years ago, returning a wealthy man from his winnings in the arena and growth from investments with traders, which unbeknown to Thade, was augmented with Dax’s own wealth.

  Thade had purchased a fertile valley to the north of Rhaurien from a local baron. Due to problems with raids from the Kharnacks and slavers from the Rafftonia, the land was sold cheaply and Thade bought a huge plot, the size of a small duchy. Dax and he had built the main house, stables, and all the outhouses. He had hired ex-soldiers and former gladiators to work the land while he bred horses. Each man had been given a parcel of land for his own home and the men were encouraged to bring their families to settle. Thade had set the rent very low as these men were like himself, ex-soldiers or former gladiators who did not have the money to put down roots for their families when their livelihood ended. As long as each built a home for their family, they were welcome to stay.

  In the early days, the men had helped repel raids from the Kharnack clans and Raffton slavers, but now all was relatively quiet in the north. The men instinctively looked to Thade and Dax for leadership, and followed them as they would have done their own general.

  Cara had arrived at Thade’s home wanting land to work for her family. She had lost her husband in the uprising in the north some years earlier and as a widower expected the same treatment as an ex-soldier . . .

  Cara sought land for herself and two sons. Dax had been sceptical, but she convinced Thade to give her a plot of land. There, she had lived happily paying her rent on time, until one harsh winter, a fever took both her boys. Cara had disappeared, but Dax found her and brought her back to the main house.

  From that terrible day onwards, Thade’s home had known only joy. Thade was happy, Cara acted like the mother he had never had – he was an orphan. Cara was pleased as she now had two grown ‘children’ to look after, and these two certainly needed looking after. Dax would never admit it, but he was also pleased she had agreed to stay.

  ***

  Thade’s mood became sombre as he thought about Cara’s children. He said a silent prayer for Cara’s two sons and left the kitchen.

  He changed his clothes and set about work on a leaky section of roof above his bedroom. He was hammering on some new slates when one of his men rode up to the house. The horse was heavily lathered, which meant only one thing – it had been ridden hard and fast.

  “Sir, we’ve problems to the north,” called up the man, upon seeing Thade on the roof.

  “The Kharnacks?” asked Thade, annoyed at being spoken to with such formality.

  “No sir, it doesn’t seem so. I think they’re raiders or slavers.”

  “Have you seen them?”

  “No sir, but I’ve seen the aftermath of their handy work in the Hamlet of Gareb. They killed women and babes, sir.” The ex-soldier’s eyes misted and he bowed his head.

  Hearing the conversation, Dax stopped his work in the woodshed and strode purposefully outside. “You’re from Gareb?” he asked.

  “Aye sir, but I was away hunting what we suspected were wolves.”

  “Your family?”

  “They were in Gareb, sir.”

  Dax stood before the man and looked deep into his brown eyes before asking the next question. “Are they still there?”

  “My wife is gone, sir, she used her body as a shield to protect our babe. My boy lives.”

  “You will have your vengeance,” announced Dax coldly, striding back to the house without another word.

  “Saddle up three horses, we’ll be ready in a moment,” commanded Thade, jumping down from the roof of the single storey building. Landing lightly on his feet, he turned and walked purposefully into the house.

  Inside, Cara fussed around. She had heard the conversation and did not like them leaving to go and fight. She understood why, but she hated them being in danger.

  “I’ll have some oat cakes ready for you.”

  “Thank you,” answered Thade, walking through the kitchen to his room. He put on leather leggings, leather tunic, and knee-high riding boots, then reached for his cloak. Weapons? He moved a painting on the wall and pressed a hidden panel. A section of the wall slowly spun around, revealing a display of weapons. Thade selected his gladiator short swords, crafted by Blacksmith Platos. He picked his light stained chain-mail tunic, an absolute work of art again made by Platos. Covering his torso, its links were small, interlinking steel ringlets joined to form a beautifully coarse metallic cloth, not yet pierced in his battles, but outlawed in the arena. Looping a scabbard harness over his head, he strapped his swords on his back and finally picked up a small crossbow and a quiver of iron bolts. Now ready, he closed the panel to his secret armoury and re-joined Cara in the kitchen.

  Dax was already outside with his two fear-inspiring double-headed short axes strapped to his back. The black-bladed axes were concave and formed a circle if joined at the top and bottom. The uppermost part of each blade was tapered, connecting with the extended shaft forming a point, making the axes ideal for stabbing attackers. Each axe had been skilfully forged in one piece, the shaft with the blades, and the hilts made from leather stripes wrapped around the lower shaft. At the base of the axes, below the hilt, was another point that could also be used for stabbing. These were Dax’s Death-dealers and they had sent many souls to the hereafter.

  Cara handed Thade a small pack of oatcakes sweetened with honey, some dried meat, and fruit. Thade thanked her.

  “Now you be careful, boy. Listen to Dax now, won’t you,” she said, fixing his cloak around his shoulders.

  “Hush woman, everything will be all right,” he said, beaming a smile, and kissing her on the forehead. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “Oh, be gone with you,” she said, reddening and slapping Thade softly on the back. She had already spoken to Dax. “Look after him,” she had commanded. “Bring him back in one piece.”

  Cara watched the trio ride off into the hills, heading north.

  ***

  For two days the men rode north, then east, gathering a posse along the way, now totalling thirty men. On the third day, they came across the first signs of the raiders. A home had been burnt to the ground, the owner slain outside, left for scavengers that had already begun feasting on the mangled corpse.

  “Go inside and see if you can find his wife and daughter,” ordered Dax, who had made a point of knowing all about the men who lived on Thade’s land. He knew each man by sight and also knew if any man had a family. For an apparently miserable old man, he always sent a gift from himself and Thade on the day of marriage or the birth of a babe.

  Moments later, a man came out from the smouldering cabin. “They’re around the back, sir,” he announced glumly. “I think they’ve been raped, then murdered.”

  “They . . . Does that mean the daughters as well?” asked Dax, his voice cold with rage.

  “Aye, one sir. The other child must have been taken.”

  The men pushed on for two more days, following the tracks and the aftermath of the raiders. The raiders’ course changed, looped around, and now headed for a gorge through the Glass Mountains. Due to the snowmelt in the Great Mountains the rivers were swollen, flowing high, so the slavers had to get their precious cargo through the gorge. The team followed the raiders’ tracks through the gorge and then headed north, pushing their mounts hard
.

  On the first night after passing through the gorge, the pursuers reached the raiders’ camp, partially hidden in a hollow by the side of a trail. The men dismounted and Dax started to outline a plan for storming the camp. His plan was sound, but Thade’s anger pushed any common sense from his mind. Unnoticed, he approached the camp alone.

  “Hello to the camp,” called Thade, cheerfully hiding any rage from his voice. “May I join your fire?”

  Dax cursed and turned towards the camp. “That boy will get himself killed,” he muttered harshly. “Change of plans, boys. Follow me.”

  “Stranger, you’re welcome to our fire, come forward,” came a gruff voice from the camp. Thade entered the camp, looking around. About thirty gruff men sat or stood around the campfire while the captive women and children were huddled together away from the fire, each shackled at the ankles. Thade walked calmly to the fire, warming his hands near the flames, his expression devoid of emotion.

  “I am the leader here,” called a burly gap-toothed man carrying a long sword. “And you are, boy?”

  “My name is Thade and these people are from my land. You have unlawfully trespassed and killed people under my protection. And for your crimes, you will now die.” Thade’s voice was icy cold.

  The leader, a large, pot-bellied man with thick hairy arms, stared into Thade’s eyes. “You come here alone to my camp and threaten me, boy?” he shouted, laughing.

  “Not quite alone. You have done wrong in our homeland and now you must pay for your crimes,” countered Dax, entering the camp from the other side. Both of his short double-headed axes were drawn and he held them down, tapping the blades against his calves. “Boy, how many times have I got to come and rescue your arse?”

  “My rescue, old man,” jested Thade. “I bet a quarter of gold I’ll be saving your wrinkled hide.”

  “Wrinkled!” spat Dax. “Now, I’m mad with you but I have to swat a few flies first before I can tan your peachy backside.”