The Banner of the Broken Orc: The Call of the Darkness Saga: Book One

by Aiden L Turner

  The Goblin writhed around on the floor in agony as it cradled its missing limb. Wilhelm, now in a state of bloodlust, hacked again and again at the wounded thing that lay at his feet, sending blood, flesh and bone flying into the air. Wilhelm was now covered from top to toe in gooey green blood and chunks of his enemy’s meat. He looked around and spotted knight-captain Colburn decapitating a foe with a backhanded slash, sending its head soaring into the air to land with an echoing thud ten feet away from its twitching corpse.

  Wilhelm focused his attention forward as another attacker bore down on him, its mouth agape, revealing cruel and angry teeth, and brandishing a large knife in each hand. Wilhelm swung in a figure of eight motion, but his opponent dodged the blows easily, its movements fluid and graceful. It jumped into the air, slashing downward as it passed over Wilhelm’s head to land behind him. The Goblin, dressed in nothing but a loincloth, turned much quicker than Wilhelm, in his cumbersome steel plates of armour. It stabbed at Wilhelm’s side, finding a gap in the young warrior’s armour, and twisted its knife underneath the plating, cutting through the leather beneath and finding flesh.

  Wilhelm screamed with pain as the point of the Goblin’s blade penetrated the small of his back. The Goblin squealed and shrieked as it pushed the double-edged knife into Wilhelm’s body, forcing the wounded brother to the ground. The creature lost its grip on the handle of his blood-soaked weapon and abandoned it. Adrenaline coursed through Wilhelm’s veins as he struggled to get to his feet. He shook his head to clear the pain as he found his footing. The Goblin slashed wildly, but only found the solid metal of Wilhelm’s shield. Wilhelm charged the creature, throwing the weight of his body behind his shield, but the Goblin sidestepped to the right and Wilhelm once again found himself on the ground, as his assailant made ready to deliver the kill stroke. Wilhelm stared into his enemy’s yellow and red eyes and saw nothing but wickedness. He thought of his mother as the glint of the enemy’s blade was pulled back, then released. Wilhelm closed his eyes expecting death, but instead of cold steel, his flesh was greeted with warm sticky blood. He opened his eyes as the headless corpse of the Goblin fell on top of him. Wilhelm blinked in shock as he was offered the hand of his smiling captain.

  ‘Not bad, young Wilhelm, but next time try to remain standing throughout the entire battle.’

  Wilhelm tried to stand but only managed to get the ground beneath one of his feet before he collapsed, face down, into the blood-soaked grass and mud that was moments ago a field of battle. The smile on his captain’s face vanished as he noticed the large knife protruding from between Wilhelm’s front and back plates of armour, wedged deep into the young man’s shredded flesh.

  ‘The field is ours!’ Holtern bellowed, his sword held high in victory.

  ‘Tend the wounded’, Colburn ordered. ‘Make ready, we leave for Iron Guard immediately.’

  It was about a day’s march to the platoon’s garrison, at the great northern fortress named Iron Guard, but with Wilhelm and his friend Zachary both on stretchers, because of deep stab wounds, it took the group two.

  Wilhelm spent the entire time in a fitful sleep. By the time they had reached the garrison, he was awfully close to death. Zachary had received a wound to his right thigh; the Goblin’s short sword had penetrated deeply and caused much damage. The wound was messy and would attract infection, if left open, and without proper treatment.

  The dirty and tired platoon entered the main gateway. Walking through the large oak doors, they made their way through stone corridors and into the large common room where they were instantly greeted with the warmth of a roaring fire. Off-duty soldiers offered them hot food, as the knight-captain ordered men to help him take his injured men to the physician’s chambers.

  The chambers were small and poorly lit, comprising a pair of sleeping pallets and a small desk where a slight and serious-looking man sat, his simple black robes marking him as a priest of the order. Wilhelm was lifted from the stretcher to a surgical table and roughly striped of his armour and clothes Other men attended to Zachary. Dressed as warriors, they were brothers of the order much the same as Wilhelm and Zachary. The captain watched on in silent worry as the Father, a much-respected healer, examined the feverish and dying Wilhelm.

  After many long minutes, the priest motioned Colburn outside and said in a simple, matter-of-fact tone. ‘He bleeds from inside so I cannot close the wound. He has a powerful fever and has lost much blood; I have applied the strongest salves we have but, if the bleeding does not stop, he will die.’

  The captain looked saddened by this news as he hung his head he asked, ‘Is there nothing else that to be done for him? He is young and strong.’

  The grey-haired father of the Order of Light placed his left hand upon Colburn’s shoulder and tried his best to sound, and look, sympathetic. ‘I shall try everything in my power to save his life but, even if he is as strong as his father, I would not expect him to live out the night.’

  Chapter Two

  King

  The sun rose over the battlements as Kane the First, known amongst the peasants and surfs as Kane the Cruel – though none would voice the nickname in earshot of his guardsmen of the realm – surveyed his domain from the throne his forefathers had built during a time before the histories had been recorded.

  The stone throne, carved from the finest marble, shone a breathtakingly pearl white as it caught the light, causing it to dance in the morning sun. Both armrests of the seat of power ended in symmetrical and intricate designs, picturing a giant wolf’s head. Whilst the back rose eight feet from the seat and finished with a solid gold carving of a thick oak log, with a jewel-encrusted golden eagle perched upon it.

  Guarded at all times by sentries in fall battle dress, the throne of the ruler of Man sat in the centre of a raised dais which in turn sat upon a stone circular platform that rose ten feet in height, a full five-feet taller than the surrounding battlements. The circular dais sat on cogs allowing the throne to be turned and although it took the strength of ten men to do this Kane the Cruel would look upon each corner of his domain daily, as the sun rose and he broke his fast. The view was outstanding and on a clear day the dark green of the jungle canopy to the north could be seen, a dark smudge devoid of light, a hundred miles away.

  Filled with vile Goblins, savage Orcs and all their terrible allies, they frequently raided into the kingdom of men to murder, pillage, and cause general mayhem and chaos. As well as raiding on foot, they occasionally rode into the villages and fields on huge wild boars, the size of a small pony. With tusks wrapped in metal cord and barbed with razor-sharp spikes, coated with a deadly poison that made the flesh rot and peel off in sizeable chunks. Victims that survived the initial attack but had had the poison enter their bloodstream would literally fall to pieces over a period of agonising weeks. The boar would gore men, women and children, as their riders wield spears, axes and war hammers, laughing insanely as they callously butcher, indiscriminately, as many unarmed peasants and soldiers before vanishing into the depths of the accursed jungles.

  A line of fortresses protected the entire north of the kingdom, twenty in total, which sat ever watchful at the frontier of the land of men. Garrisoned by the order of the Brotherhood of Light, warrior monks who led lives only in service to the one God above all others, He who is greatest of them all.

  Greater both in stature and sword-skill, these men-at-arms were held in awe by peasants, nobles, commoners and warriors alike, both for their piety and for their great fighting prowess. They were seldom under six and a half feet in height, with muscles to dwarf even the strongest blacksmith. Their armour, coarse in look, was nonetheless thick and well made. They carried huge broad swords and were commanded by knights, men of their order who had committed deeds that marked them out as worthy of knighthood and command.

  In the kingdom of men, those of the order of the Brotherhood of Light were set apart from the service to one lord or the other. Their authority came only from He who is greatest
of them all, and as such they served only the order and the king under God.

  Great lords held power and wealth throughout the lands they owed but, with that power and privilege, they held the responsibility for the land’s protection. As with every man-at-arms of the order of the Brotherhood of Light, each lord, great or small, baron and earl, was sent to the Academy of martial education. From the age of ten training began, then at sixteen they were ready for war and rank. The men-at-arms would live a life of service in the northern fortresses whilst the noble sons would return to the lands of their fathers.

  The lord’s lands were to the south, east and west of the great fortresses, whilst the lands to the north, the frontier lands, being the richest and bearing the best harvest, belonged solely to the royal family. Thus, over half the armed forces of the nobility were always stationed north, but miles south of the fortresses, to protect these lands and to gain the king’s favour and personal glory.

  The border lands ran across the entire north; from coast to coast it spanned about two hundred miles. Every ten miles stood a strong and imposing stone fortress, one mile in distance from the edge of the jungle, garrisoned with around two hundred men at arms of the brotherhood. They rode no horse, and all carried the same weapons: a great-sword, a small, spiked mace and their ever-present iron shield.

  The great-sword was a fearsome weapon, with a blade four feet in length and as it met the hilt, four inches in width, made of the strongest steel. It was quite capable of cutting a greater Orc in two separate pieces.

  On the most northerly point of each garrison, stood a stone tower fifty feet in height and equipped with a signal fire but no archer platform. The men-at-arms were sired only by men of the brotherhood and adhered to a strict code of honour. The way of the sword went deep within their religion, as bones are deep within flesh, and no man of the brotherhood would ever use a weapon as craven as a bow.

  King Kane the First rose from his throne after eating and made his way from the great open and flat stone roof of the castle, Sprettaman. The greatest castle in the kingdom of Man and seat of the king since time began. The castle was a perfect square, each wall half a mile long, and twenty feet thick. It had no courtyard and only one entrance, a ten-foot-high, twenty-foot-wide archway, sealed with a pair of two-foot-thick oak doors that opened inwards and could only do so when the portcullis immediately behind the great doors had been raised.

  The expansive fortress housed not just the royal family, which consisted of the King and his nephew Jacob, but also advisers and members of court.

  Jacob was fifteen years of age and enormous, easily the size of the average man-at-arms, and still with quite a few years of growth left in him. The young prince inherited his great size from his father, the current king’s elder brother, along with his great strength, which was legendary by the age of thirteen and now unmatched throughout the kingdom. His father had died during a huge enemy invasion of the borderlands. Over twenty thousand Goblins, on foot and astride their wicked beasts, had rampaged through two garrisons in the centre of the north-lands on a rampage of murder before returning to the jungles, dragging hundreds of screaming peasants with them, according to the handful of peasants who survived by hiding in surrounding bushes. Jacob’s father had died trying to protect the unarmed peasants, something the King considered idiocy. The King despised acts of kindness towards the lower classes, who he deemed to be nothing more than slaves to do as he commanded. Jacob, however, took after his father solely – his mother having died during his childbirth – as he was raised completely by his father until his death ten years ago, and then adopted formally by his uncle.

  Jacob and Kane were complete opposites. Jacob was tall, strong and full of vigour whilst the King was short, thin, weak, and had aged terribly, despite him being only forty-two years of age. Jacob’s face was soft and round with bright blue eyes and a small, straight nose. His King’s face was hard and narrow, with a long, pointed and crooked nose. Kane’s eyes were blue, as were Jacob’s, but Kane’s eyes were clouded and harsh, far too close to his nose, and constantly shifting like those of a rat.

  Kane’s mouth was large and always smirking as if he were always pleased with himself. His teeth were green, broken and uneven. Whilst Jacob’s mouth was perfect, containing sparkling white teeth which were impossibly straight.

  Their differences did not end in appearances. Kane the Cruel had undoubtedly earned his reputation. He took great pleasure in torturing anyone who voiced negative views against him, and more than a few who did nothing other than to catch him in a foul mood.

  He also had a deep hatred for women, stemming from him being sterile. He only married once, and when she could not bear him a child, he had her tied to a tree, which he could view from his throne atop of the castle. Each limb had been locked in a thick steel bracelet and attached to a chain. Each chain had been connected to a harness worn by oxen. He had laughed like a drunken soldier winning at poker when a hot branding iron struck each animals’ rumps and they simultaneously raged forward, tearing off her arms and legs. Leaving nothing but a twitching torso and a face contorted in agony and terror, tied to the tree. He never married again, but instead King Kane the Cruel kept women in his chambers, like a man kept dogs, bound by collars and chains whilst he forced them to partake in his sadistic sexual games.

  In contrast, Jacob was soft-hearted, which did not please Kane one bit, and although capable of wielding a sword, he preferred tamer ways to spend his time. He was often in the libraries studying or with the priests of the Order of Light, holding discussion on every subject available, from the meaning of life, to the study of animals and plants. In particular, there was one priest, a young man called Robert with an inane grin, rosy cheeks, a huge red beard and long red locks that rested haphazardly upon his shoulders, earning him the nickname Red Rob. Robert was a fat, loud, happy priest, unlike most of his order who were surly and quiet. Robert was in his thirties and the youngest out of around a dozen priests, known as fathers, who kept a semi-permanent residence within the castle walls. Jacob and Robert were fast becoming friends, Jacob being as keen to learn as Robert was to teach. They both shared a fondness for everything green and pleasant, of animals and wildlife, as well as having lively discussions of the stars, of their place beneath God and of the concepts of good and evil.

  Kane left the roof and found Jacob reading a book, Variants in species, as he sat by the window in the library.

  ‘Nephew, what do you read?’ asked the King sternly.

  ‘It is a catalogue of the differences between animals found in the kingdom Your Highness. Father Robert and I were hoping to find some new species and add them to the texts’, replied Jacob from behind the large, leather-bound book.

  ‘Put down that bloody book and look at me when I address you Jacob.’ Kane shouted angrily.

  Jacob shut the book and dropped it down on the table quickly. ‘Sorry Your Highness I was a little distracted. I find it interesting how some creatures, even tiny creatures, share qualities with others. It takes time to study, but I find it a worthwhile pursuit.’

  ‘A worthwhile pursuit!’ The king raged. ‘Studying animals and plants with that joke of a priest. You know the only reason I haven’t sent you to the frontier is, like it or not, and know that I don’t like it one bit, you are the only male who stills breathes from my line and one day you will be king. YOU king!’ The king’s voice raised as he pointed a bony finger into Jacob’s boyish face. ‘And you spend your time studying animals.’ The king screamed as he lifted the book and heaved it across the room. ‘You are overdue for an education that will be to this kingdom’s benefit, and my swordmaster’s time is not to be wasted, do you hear me, boy?’ The king harshly reprimanded his adolescent nephew.

  ‘Yes, Your Highness, I shall go there right away’, Jacob said as he stepped around his temperamental uncle, hanging his head, preparing for the slap he knew he would receive, and did so. Although his frail uncle could not cause much damage to Jacob, with the sl
aps he gave him at nearly every encounter, he would occasionally lose his temper completely and beat him with a walking stick, or if the King thought he warranted a thrashing but was not in the mood to hand out the beating himself, he would order his guardsmen to administer it whilst he watched.

  Jacob entered his bed chambers and hurriedly began to don his armour: a splendid steel breastplate, polished with the finest of sands to such a high quality it shone as if made of silver, trimmed in gold and kept in perfect condition by the royal armourer and the squires of the castle. Strapping on the matching greaves, the steel plates that covered the front and backs of his thighs, Jacob grabbed the rest of his armour along with his helmet, as he darted out of the door and ran at full pace whist attempting to fasten its chin strap.

  Jacob entered the swordmaster’s training room and collided at high speed with Swordmaster Malick, sending them both gambolling arse-over-head into a sword rack and a very surprised young squire, who in turn was bowled over, until all three came to a sharp halt at the presence of a very solid stone wall.

  Swordmaster Malick was the first to rise. ‘You, my future king, are as clumsy as you are undisciplined’, Malick said through gritted teeth as he helped the blushing, highly embarrassed prince to his feet.