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

by Aiden L Turner

  ‘You and Holak both must go?’ Elysabeth replied.

  ‘We must.’ Holak answered for Askia. ‘For we both have reputation, and they will need to hear that respected brothers are ready to stand against the king’s men.’

  ‘When?’ Elysabeth asked.

  ‘At sundown’, Askia replied. ‘We shall meet upon the battlements; it is not unusual for warriors to take the cool night air. I would be plain and clear with you, my lady?’ Askia asked.

  ‘Speak freely Askia, you have more than earned the right.’

  ‘If the king’s men seek to take you, we shall fight. We shall slay many, but we shall need to flee. We can go north to our brothers and they will join our cause, but it would mean civil war.’ Askia spoke gravely.

  ‘The future is not ours to know, my faithful friend. But we could not make the north, even if that were our intended path. It is not. If the need arises, we shall make for the western coast, to the monastery upon the sea.’

  They spent the hours till sundown in comfortable silence, each to their own thoughts and mental anguish. The warriors honed their already razor-sharp blades. Elysabeth contemplated the need for men to fight and die for her, and the thought made her feel sick. The moments dragged by until the sun fell beneath the horizon and Askia stood. ‘It is time.’

  No more was said. It was not needed. Askia and Holak sheathed their swords and bowed towards their lady. They left the chambers and closed the doors. Wilhelm stood to the left of the portal; Zachary stood to the right.

  ‘You know your duty’, Holak said. It was not a question. Wilhelm and Zachary both slammed shut the face plate of their armour and drew their swords. They stood like statues, steel sentinels with steel naked in their hands and an eagerness to make their swords sing.

  Askia and Holak marched down empty corridors. Their face plates were raised but their faces were set in a grim determination that mirrored the cold impassiveness of the steel armour.

  They mounted steps and ascended the stairway to the battlements. Guardsmen stood peering out to the night, watching for enemies in the one place in the kingdom that had seen none for an age.

  The two warriors of the prince’s guard walked towards a small group of four men clothed in the armour of the Brotherhood of the Order of Light.

  ‘Well met Askia, Holak’, said a young man in the prime of one about to become an anointed brother, yet without the coldness in his eyes of one who had seen battle.

  ‘Only four?’ Holak said after appraising the gathered soldiers and turning to Askia.

  ‘There are more’ the same young man answered curtly, ‘who will follow our lead. Speak in full, for your message was cryptic.’

  Holak bristled at the tone and manner of this young and untested man, but Askia placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘We are tasked with protecting the prince and in that duty also the prince’s lady, Elysabeth. Those in the order deem this to be a matter of high import. We fear an attack on the lady’s person and we seek men who would stand with us.’ Askia spoke matter-of-factly, with no hint of panic or emotion.

  ‘Stand with you against whom? She is under the king’s protection and in his castle, is she not?’ said the young man. His companions remained silent, grim looks upon their faces.

  ‘We are servants of He who is Greatest of them all and of the Order of Light.’ Holak spoke angrily. ‘The king is not, and it is against the king we shall need to defend our charge.’

  ‘You fear she is in danger from the king?’ the young man asked, surprise charging his words.

  ‘We do’, Askia said simply.

  The young man looked towards his companions, then turned back towards Holak and Askia. ‘I fear you are right’, he said gravely. ‘In fact, I hear he means to fuck her then feed her to his hounds.’

  Holak and Askia reached for the hilts of their swords before the man finished his sentence. The long blades had nearly cleared the scabbards when heavy blows from behind knocked them both to their knees. The king’s guard were upon them, six men armed with long-shafted war hammers. Blows rained down upon the two stricken warriors, their force smashing the bones beneath their armour plating.

  The young man came to stand over Askia and looked down upon him. ‘You and your kind have forced your slavery on us for far too long. The times of the order are over. We shall get paid for our service. Paid from the king.’

  Askia and Holak tried to move, their broken bodies not submitting to their commands. The two brave warriors shuddered, with countless shattered bones beneath mangled steel. ‘I curse you!’ Holak managed to say through blood that sprayed from a mouth twisted in agony. Askia twisted round and grasped his brother’s hand. Their eyes locked, and each took comfort from the other’s gaze.

  ‘He who was there at the beginning shall be there at the end’, Askia said to his dying brother.

  ‘Touching, very touching’, the young man said in mock compassion. ‘But you will not die as warriors.’ He signalled to the king’s guard and men tied ropes around the crippled brothers. The opposite ends of the ropes were tied to the battlements. The young man’s companions looked in disgust and made to turn away and leave before the man spoke again.

  ‘If you leave, the king will hear of it’, the man snarled. And so they turned, to watch as Askia and Holak, veterans of the north, brothers in blood and steel were lifted bodily and thrown from the rooftop, with thick rope wrapped around their necks, where the weight of their bodies and the armour they wore served to sever their heads from their bodies.

  Wilhelm and Zachary turned towards the king’s guard, who came in force down either side of the corridor. They stood immovable, steel-clad warriors, back to back, swords raised, daring men to come and be killed.

  ‘Who dares stand dressed for war in the presence of the king’s guard?’ A middle-aged man with short cropped grey hair and a clean-shaven face, evidently the man with rank, spoke as if he were dealing with poorly armed criminals.

  ‘I stand before the king’s guard dressed for war!’ Wilhelm barked. The man stood five paces away and Wilhelm had marked him as being the first to die.

  ‘You will stand down and sheath your swords. We are here to escort the girl named Elysabeth for an audience with the king’, the commander of the king’s guard said. He was tall and broad-shouldered and spoke with the tone of one who was seldom challenged.

  ‘So many armed men for one small girl’, Zachary said over his shoulder. A dozen men or more faced each of them. ‘Do the men of the king’s guard quake at scratches from a pretty girl’s nails?’ Zachary spoke with a mocking tone, seeking to enrage the guardsmen into an undisciplined attack.

  ‘I asked you to name yourselves and you reply with mockery. It is no wonder you no longer stand in the brotherhood’, the commander replied calmy.

  Elysabeth stood facing the door. The dagger of power was held in her trembling hands. She heard the voices from the corridor and knew men had come for her. She had wanted to be brave; she had wanted to show defiance, yet now the moment had come she was still the same girl she had been two years before when the king’s men had stripped her naked and when fear had frozen her heart and loosened her bladder.

  She took a deep breath to calm herself. She heard the defiance in Wilhelm’s voice and tried to find the courage to open the door, to fight beside the men who would die for her. Her hands became still and steady, her teeth clenched, she found her resolve. Then the glass panes of the windows and the masonry of the walls exploded inward.

  ‘I say name yourself!’ The commander roared, his hand upon the hilt of his sword.

  Neither Wilhelm nor Zachary spoke. They were consigned now to fight, but they were loath to shed blood first. The commander backed away. The king’s guard drew swords. Wilhelm and Zachary braced themselves for the charge.

  Thunder sounded from within Elysabeth’s chambers, a noise like rocks falling in avalanche, accompanied by the sounds of breaking glass. Both warriors instinctively turned towards the door, alarmed at the sudden
noise and the calamity it heralded.

  Elysabeth instinctively threw herself to the floor and covered her face and head with her arms. The dagger fell beside her. She uncovered her face and looked around the room. Men were climbing through the shattered remains of the windows. Holes were being smashed through the wall, and grim faces of men were visible through the ragged holes in the wall, as men wielded monstrous hammers, destroying the wall with powerful proficiency. She grasped for the dagger and fumbled it back into its scabbard, high upon her thigh. She rose to her feet and stumbled for the door handle when rough hands grasped her shoulders, pulled her backwards and slammed her to the floor.

  ‘Inside!’ Wilhelm called to Zachary. ‘I shall hold them until our brothers’ return.’

  Zachary placed a hand upon the door handle but was knocked backwards, a crossbow bolt striking his faceplate and snatching his head back. His head swam. The force of the bolt had fractured his left cheekbone, and the swelling half blinded him. ‘Cowards!’ He bellowed in outrage.

  More crossbow bolts flew, the distance short, the power incredible. Wilhelm felt his ribs break as two of the darts hit his armour plating, scarring the hardened steel and transferring the bolt’s furious energy into damage to his body beneath.

  Neither man had recovered before the enemy charged. Zachary swung his sword at the blurred images that came screaming towards him. His blade bit into flesh and he was rewarded with the screams of his enemy before he was struck a blow to his head. He was on the ground now, his sight gone, the noise of men’s anger and steel upon steel a dull sound that seemed far from his person. He grasped with his hand blindly until he caught what he sought. He grasped Wilhelm’s hand. It brought him a wave of comfort and he croaked one last word, ‘Brother.’

  Elysabeth lay on a bed in the king’s chambers, her dress torn, her stomach twisted into knots as she saw the king leering at her exposed breasts. Zachary and Wilhelm were both shackled to the wall. Wilhelm was motionless, head slumped on his chest, but Zachary strained against his restraints, and tried to speak his fury through a broken jaw and mangled face. The two warriors were bound and naked, and for the first time Elysabeth saw them as human and vulnerable. Their armour plating and clothes were piled before them, a reminder of their exposed frailty.

  ‘Jacob will kill you’, Elysabeth said softly. And again. ‘Jacob will kill you. Jacob will kill you. Jacob will kill you.’ Over and over she repeated the phrase, chanting the words as a prayer.

  ‘Maybe.’ The king raised his hand dismissively. ‘But I think not. In fact, I am quite sure he is himself killed, but it matters not.’

  Elysabeth was unbound but found it difficult to move. She felt feeble, as if her body were detached from her will to control it, though her mind felt sharp and focused.

  ‘Ah’, the king said as he watched her struggle to move. ‘You are finding it hard to move, yes?’ The king chuckled to himself as he spoke. Elysabeth saw there were no guards in the room. ‘It is a powerful herb that causes the muscles to lose their strength yet does nothing to dull pain.’ He drew a small knife. Elysabeth recognised it as one of the thin-bladed knives men sometimes used to shave their face. ‘Your pain will be a splendid gift to me, a pleasure far beyond that which mortals deserve.’ He tossed the knife to the ground and climbed upon her. He ran his hands over her prostrate form and roughly squeezed her breasts. ‘But the physical pain will come later.’ He spoke excitedly, then lowered his head to sniff her neck in an exaggerated fashion. ‘I smell your fear’, he sneered ‘and it is a delight’.

  Wilhelm woke with a start and immediately raged against his shackles. ‘You fiend!’ he called. His sudden anger and force startled the king, and guards came through the closed doors, weapons naked in their hands.

  Wilhelm stopped struggling and barred his teeth at the king. ‘Your death will be celebrated for a thousand years! I curse you, in the name of He who is Greatest of them all!’

  ‘Jacob will kill you. Jacob will kill you. Jacob will kill you.’ Elysabeth chanted from the bed.

  The king looked from Wilhelm to Elysabeth like a wolf trapped between hunters. Then he threw back his head and laughed, a sound so devoid of humour Elysabeth shuddered at its menace.

  King Kane, the Cruel, first of his name, turned to his guards with sudden anger. ‘Leave’, he bellowed then turned back towards Elysabeth and stared intently at her form as his mind wrestled with which horrendous acts he should let free upon her first.

  Wilhelm turned to his right, and Zachary turned back, despair in his eyes. Suddenly Zachary turned his head sharply and smashed his chin hard upon his own shoulder. There was a sickening snap as his jawbone was smashed back into its sliding joint socket.

  Zachary moved his mouth. It moved freely but with incredible pain. He closed his eyes and used his training to calm his body. He acknowledged the pain, recognised it and embraced it. He let the pain wash over his body and then forced his will to rise above it. In his mind’s eye he envisioned himself standing above the sea of pain, yet he floated above it and then, with the strength of will only true servants of the Order of Light possessed, he pushed the pain from his thoughts.

  ‘We can endure’, he said simply to Wilhelm. ‘We must keep him from the lady until we are aided.’

  ‘Then let us begin’, Wilhelm said quietly. Then in a loud voice he called, ‘Kane! You impotent fool!’

  The king turned away from Elysabeth and came to stand before the two manacled warriors. His face showed confusion.

  Zachary turned to Wilhelm and spoke in a secretive tone, though his voice was loud. ‘I hear he is cursed, and his testicles are like shrivelled grapes.’

  ‘Must be why he has no seed’, Wilhelm said, laughing.

  The king’s face became a mask of anger as he stalked towards a closed closet. He opened the door and surveyed the objects within with great interest. After a few moments of decision, he took hold of a crossbow and stood once more before the two warriors. The king rested the end of the weapon upon the ground, placed his foot upon the curved wood of the bow and took hold of the cocking lever. The king pulled, but the weapon took great strength to cock and the king struggled.

  Zachary and Wilhelm burst into fits of exaggerated laughter. ‘He has the strength of a child’, Wilhelm exclaimed.

  ‘It must be why he has no seed’, Zachary replied through his forced laughter.

  The king ignored the mockery and continued to heave on the crossbows lever, making progress, though it took great effort.

  Elysabeth watched. She knew her beloved and loyal warriors were distracting the king from her own mistreatment. She also knew they would pay in pain and death for the few moments it delayed her own suffering. She felt something beneath her buttock, something solid and hard. Her dagger, she thought with a glimmer of hope that fled as quickly as it came. But maybe there was hope. Not of escape, but retribution. She could end the king, here and now. And then the thought struck her with the force of a physical blow. Maybe it was her fate, all that had happened in the last two years driving her to this point, where her life could be of the most value.

  ‘I hear even his manhood lacks strength.’ All eyes turned to Elysabeth. Her voice was now strong and filled with contempt as she mocked her captor. ‘It is why he has no children; he is not capable of the required deed.’

  The king lowered the now cocked crossbow and turned towards her, infuriated. Wilhelm caught Elysabeth’s gaze and shook his head. She returned his gesture with a nod of her own.

  The king saw the silent communication. ‘Ah, it is touching how you desire to protect each other even now, when all hope has failed you.’ He turned again and raised the crossbow and placed a bolt in the weapon’s groove. He levelled it at Wilhelm’s face and was rewarded with a vast smile of defiance when a thought struck him. ‘No’, the king said aloud but to himself. ‘I can kill the traitors at any time, but not before I hear their anguish as I punish the bitch.’ He placed the crossbow on a small table before the footboard o
f the bed and looked from Elysabeth to the two restrained brothers of the order. He licked his lips and giggled with delight. ‘Yes, they will suffer as she suffers. I shall show you, bitch, the strength in my manhood.’ He cocked his head to the side as if listening. ‘Yes, we shall’, he added.

  As he said the last, he prowled towards Elysabeth, removing his clothes and he crept on to the bed like a cat stalking a mouse. And then she struck.

  She rolled meekly to her left and gave a weak moan as if in terror. Her right hand slid underneath her buttock and grasped the handle of the dagger. The king was on all fours now, a hand either side of his victim, his head coming towards her breasts. She aimed for his throat and her aim was true, but her strength was lacking. His left hand shot forth expectantly and grasped her wrist.

  The king laughed, ‘Yes! Fight me, bitch. But know I have you at my whim.’ He sat back and took the dagger from her and tossed it to the floor. He forced her hands down by her head and bit her upon her breast, drawing blood and causing her to scream in panic and pain. She had failed in her one attempt and the despair lashed at her spirit like a cat-o’-nine-tails whip.

  The king now was fully aroused and groped at her manically, slapping her face hard every time she tried feebly to push him away. The king laughed. Wilhelm and Zachary tried desperately to rip the shackles from the wall. Elysabeth screamed and struggled. The king laughed.

  Then the very foundations of the castle shook with earthquake force. Cracks split the masonry of the great fortress of Man. Furniture bounced around the room. The closet shook open and a horrific array of torture tools fell around the floor. And the king fell sideways from the bed and hit his head, stunning him and leaving him dazed.

  Elysabeth seized her opportunity and flung herself towards the place on the floor where she had seen her dagger falling. The quaking stopped. Wilhelm’s manacles had been shaken loose from the wall, and he now stood. Wrapping the chains that held Zachary around his forearm, he pulled with all his might and with a final snap as the stone released the iron his brother was also freed. They stood on shaky legs and made their way towards their lady.