HE WHO FIGHTS (Nathaniel Rane Book 1)

by Mike Morris

Rane smiled. "Thanks for saving me."

  "I almost wish I hadn't." Zee spat blood on the floor. “That hurt.”

  "Rest. I'm going to have a chat with the Lord General."

  Zee grasped Rane's arm. "The others will be back soon."

  Rane nodded. “I know. Watch for them. Warn me if they return.”

  Jefferson's eyes opened as Rane approached. Old wounds crisscrossed the old man's flesh and fresh blood stained his clothes. Even his leg wound was reopening. His eyes popped open and found Rane. "Come to gloat, Nathaniel?"

  Rane knelt down beside him. "I remember when I first met you. I was just out of training camp, and they brought me to see you. I'd never been in awe of someone before I met you. You exuded confidence and charisma and I thought 'This is a man to follow.' And for ten years, I believed that. So, no, it doesn't make me happy to see you like this, to realise I was wrong for all that time, that I sacrificed so much for someone who wasn't worth anything."

  "I remember you then — fresh-faced and full of self-righteousness. Not much has changed." Jefferson coughed, specks of blood staining his beard. "I'm still a man to follow if you'd just open your fucking eyes."

  "I don't think so, Sir. It's too late for that. It ends here. Today."

  "Nothing ends here," snarled Jefferson. "Nothing. So you kill me. So what? My plans go on. You can't stop what's been put in motion."

  "Why? Why did you do it?"

  "Why? You foolish boy. Why? We were going to die. Isn't that a good enough reason? The Rastaks were going to storm those walls and massacre every last one of us. And Babayon offered me a way to stop that and become more besides. Not an old man in his final years, but young again, strong, immortal and with more power than I'd ever dreamed of. And by doing so, I got to save all of you as well. I didn't have to agonise over that. It was the easiest decision I've ever made."

  "But you gave us no choice. You cursed us all without so much as a by your leave."

  "You are soldiers!" shouted Jefferson but a fit of coughing stole his voice away. More blood speckled his chin and beard. When he spoke again, there was no hiding the pain in his voice. "Soldiers don't get a say in what their commanding officers decide. You gave up that right when you put your mark on the dotted line. You gave up that right when you promised to follow me to the gates of hell." He paused to catch his breath and glared at Rane. "Oh yes, I remember you saying that, Nathaniel. Well, we were at the gates of hell and I led you out of there and gave you the opportunity to become something far greater than you could ever have imagined. I will not feel guilty for that. I will not."

  "Can it be undone?"

  "Why would you want it undone? Look at what you've accomplished with only half the power at your disposal and for once in your life try and see the bigger picture. Embrace the transformation and fulfil your potential. You could be the greatest one of us all."

  "Can it be undone?"

  "Ask Babayon. I never asked him. I didn’t care. Why would a god want to become a human once more?"

  "We are very different people you and I. Where is Babayon? Where will I find him?"

  Jefferson laughed. “In the wind. Enjoying the madness of it all. It’s what he lives for.”

  “I’ll find him. I’ll kill him just as I’ve killed you.”

  "Then get on with it. Pull out that sword of yours and kill me." Anger flared in Jefferson's eyes. "Be a man for once in your fucking life."

  Rane could feel Kibon's excitement at the Lord General's words. He stood up. "I think not."

  "Then run, you coward. Run as far away from here as you can but I promise you this — I will track you down and I'll be the one who'll put an end to your miserable failure of a life. Then you can join that whore of a wife of yours in the afterlife."

  "You mistake me. I'm not going to let you live. A price must be paid for what you've done."

  "Then get your sword out and do it. See what taint my soul will bring you. No matter what you do, you're damned."

  Rane shook his head. "No. You're wrong. Wrong about so many things."

  He fetched Jefferson's sword.

  The old man’s eyes bulged at the sight of it and immediately Rane could see its magic work. Wounds began to heal and colour came back to Jefferson's cheeks. He snatched out, tried to seize the blade, but Rane kept it out of reach.

  "Give it to me," demanded Jefferson, spit and blood flying from his mouth.

  Rane shook his head. "I want you to know that I'm going to hunt down every one of your tainted Legionnaires and kill them. I will hunt Babayon down and find a cure for those Legionnaires yet to turn, and I will not stop until your plans for this world are as dead as you."

  With the cloth wrapped around the hilt, Rane unsheathed the blade. The steel was pure ebony.

  "Killing me with my own sword won't save you," sneered Jefferson. "It'll turn you into me a heartbeat later."

  "On my way here, I stopped in Candra. They were hanging Legionnaires outside our old barracks. The crowds watched our brothers and sisters dance on end of the ropes but that didn't kill them. They died only when the priest came out, took their swords and smashed their blades." Rane leaned Jefferson's sword against a large piece of rubble.

  Panic flared across Jefferson’s face. "No. No. No. Don't. Think about what you're doing, Nathaniel," he begged. "Think about it. This won't save you. It won't bring anyone back. Stop it."

  Rane picked up an anvil-sized chunk of stone. "After this. I'm going to break every sword I find so that your twisted Legionnaires can't hurt anyone else."

  "Please Nathaniel. There's a cure. I promise..."

  Rane brought the stone down onto Jefferson's sword with all his strength. It shattered on impact. Jefferson didn't even have time to scream. Whatever fire burned inside him was snuffed out in an instant. For a man who thought he was a god, Jefferson looked as human as the next man in death.

  "They say Heras treats everyone the same in the end. In your case, I hope she makes an exception. May you suffer in the underworld for all eternity," said Rane to the corpse at his feet.

  "Done?" asked Zee as Rane straightened up.

  Rane nodded. "Not yet. We’ve still got to kill the others."

  43

  While Zee kept watch, Rane fetched barrel after barrel of gunpowder from the armoury and set them up around the courtyard and the lower bailey. He hid them behind rubble and covered them with cloth — anything that would keep them hidden long enough for Jefferson’s army to enter the castle without detecting them. It was long, hard work, made possible only by his magic fuelled musceles. The sun climbed back into the sky, the sounds of battle faded, and the canons had long since fallen silent. Even the cries of the wounded were beginning to die.

  Zee stood by the portcullis, watching the battlefield. Rane wished there was some way to spare her the horror she had to witness but there was no other choice. He couldn’t leave over one hundred tainted Legionnaires loose in the world.

  “They’re coming back,” cried Zee. “Whatever you’re doing, hurry!”

  Rane ran to her side. He could see them, gathered together, confident, invincible. “They’ll pay for what they’ve done.” He took Zee and led her back into the courtyard. They hid behind a half-fallen down wall. Rane had a fuse and a taper in his hand as he watched the main gate. Time slowed. Kibon niggled at his mind. Why use explosive when his sword was all he needed? Why lose the power that could be his? Its voice was still so seductive, despite all he knew and had witnessed. He shook his head. He would deal with Kibon soon enough.

  Zee grabbed his arm. Voices. They both heard voices. Laughter. Banter. The bastards were in a good mood after slaughtering thousands, high on blood and souls. The first Legionnaire walked under the portcullis, smiling, strutting. Then came the second, the third, the fourth. Blood stained their clothes but not their swords — all black. More followed. Rane could see the shock on their faces when they saw the devastation in the courtyard, the destruction of the siege tower, the bodies of the dead.
Jefferson lying there.

  They rushed to his side, checked to see if he was alive. More Legionnaires entered the courtyard. There were fifty or sixty of them at least now. He could hear his name mentioned. They knew it was his work. Zee shivered with fear next to him, urged him to light the fuse with her eyes, all wide and bright and full of tears. He wanted to — the Gods knew he did — but he had to wait. He needed more of them gathered. They only had the one chance to wipe the Legionnaires off the face of the world.

  More flooded in. Battle-stained but triumphant, expecting congratulations for murder and finding chaos. They milled about, unsure of what to do, their only leader dead at their feet. There were a hundred legionnaires, a hundred and ten. Rane’s comrades once, his friends. More came. Were they all there?

  There was no time left to wait. Rane thought of the dead on the plains, of Marcus, and the corpses Marcus had left in Rooktown. Of the people Rane himself had killed, wrapped up in his blood lust under Kibon's spell. He thought of Kara and her gentle kiss, of the plans they'd had and lost, of the child they'd never have.

  Time for them all to be avenged. He lit the fuse.

  It burned quickly and Rane and Zee ducked down, covering their ears.

  The barrels exploded in rapid succession. Their blasts aimed towards the centre of the courtyard, trapped by its walls.

  Even protected, Rane was battered by the fury of the explosions, as the shockwaves bounced across the castle. Smoke filled the air. His ears rang with the monstrousness of it all. Then he heard the screams and the cries and the wails. Not innocents this time. No. The legionnaires had discovered pain and death.

  He stood up, blinking the dirt and dust away from his eyes. Bodies lay in a tangles mess across the courtyard. Some were missing limbs, others torsos and heads. But a great many, ripped apart by powder and rock and shrapnel were still alive, healing. Their swords already at work. He could feel the glee in Kibon. It knew there was work to be done. Blood to be had. But Rane would feed it no more.

  He worked methodically, moving from one Legionnaire to the next, breaking swords. As the blades shattered, they died and there was no coming back. No healing. He tried not to look at the faces. Didn’t want to remember who’d they been before, didn’t want to remember the heroes he’d fought beside, the men and women who’d saved a continent. They were just monsters now and they had to be destroyed.

  Once the weapons were destroyed, Rane dragged the bodies together, building a funeral pyre with Jefferson at its heart. Crows came to watch, protesting at good food going to waste, but there was no way Rane was going to leave any trace of his beloved Legion’s shame.

  "Are you going to say a few words?" asked Zee, handing him a torch.

  "What's there to say? Let Heras deal with them. They were the best of mankind once but they became monsters just as evil as any we've fought," replied Rane.

  He tossed his torch onto the pyre. The flames danced across the corpses. A heartbeat later, Zee's torch followed. One hundred and fifty bodies didn't take long to catch on fire.

  They didn't stay to watch. What was the point? The fire would do its job. They retreated into the main hall where Zee scavenged food from the kitchens.

  Rane tore into the food. By the Gods, how long had it been since he'd had a proper meal?

  "Did you mean what you said to the old man?" asked Zee.

  "I did," said Rane. "Four hundred and fifty of us got transformed that night. What we've done here is nothing compared to the number that are still out there. I have a duty to protect the world from those that remain."

  "So do you have a plan?"

  "So do you have a plan?" asked Zee.

  "The mage, Babayon is the key to everything. I'll look for him first, see if he can break the curse. And I’ll deal with any Legionnaires I meet on the way."

  "What about me?" replied Zee. "I have nowhere to go."

  "This isn't your fight," replied Rane. "I'll take you to a town. Get you settled somewhere safe."

  “No.” Zee shouted. "How will anywhere be safe? I'm better off with you."

  "You’re not safe with me. If the taint gets a hold of me, there’s a good chance you’ll get killed by my hand."

  "That won't happen," she replied but her voice had lost its edge. Doubt ebbed away at her conviction.

  "You know it can," said Rane. "It nearly happened earlier. When the sword has me in its grip, it’s hard to see sense. I can’t tell friend from foe. It just wants blood and it’s all but impossible to deny it. And it'll only get worse."

  Zee's chin sunk to her chest. "Then don't use it. Don't feed it."

  "Easier said than done," said Rane. "There've been times when I've not even known I've drawn my sword."

  “I still want to come with you," said Zee.

  Rane looked at the girl, saw her determination. She had the same spark that Kara had once. "Only until I can make sure you're safe. Only till then."

  Zee nodded and said no more.

  Rane sat back as his thoughts took him to all those he'd lost. Kara. Myri. Marcus. Jefferson himself. Simone. People he'd loved as much as any family. He stood up.

  He stood up. "I'm going to get some air."

  He could feel Zee’s eyes on him as he left but he didn't look back. He climbed the stairs until he reached the battlements. The pyre still burned in the courtyard and even from up on the wall, he could feel its heat. Still see some of the bodies lying amongst the flames. By the Gods, what a world he found himself in.

  He rubbed Kara's locket and thought of a cottage in the woods where a beautiful woman sat on the porch, holding her baby. It would have been a good life. "I love you Kara," he whispered to the wind but he knew a different path waited for him now. He'd hunt Babyon down and any of his brothers and sisters from the Legion that remained.

  He had monsters still to fight. A war to finish.

  The End

  Afterword

  I hope you enjoyed the first adventures of Nathaniel Rane. If you did, please leave a review on Amazon or on Goodreads. Reviews really help every author and make a massive difference.

  Visit my website www.mikemorrisauthor.com to find out more about Nathaniel Rane and all my other books. If you sign up for my mailing list, you’ll be the first to get my next release.

  Plus you can follow me on twitter or Facebook — look for @scifimikemorris.

  I’d like to dedicate this book to the memory of my grandmother, who encouraged me to read and was more than happy to spend hours discussing Star Wars with an excited seven year old boy.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from CRY HAVOC, available now on Amazon.

  1

  In the year 702 Post Nostros

  “I’m going to murder you when I catch you!”

  Jack Frey ran as if all the demons in the world chased after him. His bare feet pounded the cobbled stone as he tried to keep up with his brother Brendan, two years older and that much quicker, but a gap soon opened between them.

  Behind him, the shouts grew closer.

  "Stop! Thief! Thief!"

  The wide avenue was full of traders and shoppers. Everyone turned to see what the commotion was about as the two boys raced past. A man half-heartedly reached out a hand to grab Jack's collar but he dipped down, leaving the man grasping air. A horse reared up as Brendan zigzagged past, its red-faced rider shouting abuse as he struggled to keep the animal under control. A coal cart made its way across the pathway, blocking the brothers' escape. Brendan jumped onto it and leaped to the ground on the other side while Jack scrambled beneath. He stole a cheeky backward glance and saw their pursuers clatter into the cart. The fat man, whose house they robbed, looked even unhappier behind his silly black moustache. Desperation filled his voice for one last plea. "Someone stop them! Please stop them!"

  Fat chance fat man. Rich folks don't get involved. Too much trouble, too many chances of getting their hands dirty. In Jack's neck of the woods, it was a different story. Someone would have a go. It wouldn’t be out of goo
d will though. They’d want a reward, or nick whatever they’d stolen for themselves. They'd do anything for a penny in Brixteth. Because no one had anything, everything was up for grabs. That's why he and his brother went over the river to Grayston. If you are going on the rob, you needed to be where the money was. There was no point stealing from the poor after all.

  Up ahead, Brendan swung around a corner into an alley. Jack followed, plunging into the shadows between two stone houses and slipped as he turned. The sack in his hand clanged against the ground as he rolled across the cobbles. Jack hoped nothing was dented — his brother would beat him if it were. He scrambled back to his feet and chased after Brendan, eager to get away.

  A wooden fence blocked off the far end of the alley. Brendan didn't hesitate. He jumped, caught the top of the fence and pulled himself up. He straddled it, throwing a hand out towards Jack. "Throw me the sack. Be quick."

  Jack hurled the sack at his brother with all his might but he missed Brendan's fingers by inches. The bag fell to the ground. His brother didn't say anything. The glare was more than enough. Jack had let him down again. He could feel the burn on his cheeks as he picked up the sack. He swung again, harder. This time Brendan caught the sack.

  "See you at home," said Brendan. He winked at his brother before dropping to the ground on the other side of the fence.

  "Brendan!" Jack stood there, ready for his brother to reappear and hoist him up. He knew Brendan was just teasing him, that he’d come back. He stared at the top of the fence, willing his brother to return, hoping it wasn’t another one of his lessons in growing up.

  "There he is!"

  Jack spun around. His pursuers bundled into the alley, trapping him.

  "We got you now, son. It's the hangman for you," panted the fat man, waddling into the alleyway. Sweat covered his face as he fought for breath, his beady eyes locked on Jack. His lackeys stood behind him, all laughing at Jack's plight.

  There wasn’t any waiting for Brendan anymore. Jack leaped. He snatched at the top of the fence but his fingers caught only splinters. He felt very small as he fell back down.