Champions of the Apocalypse

by Michael G. Thomas

  “Excuse me,” said Synne and without hesitating continued onwards to her place.

  As she moved to sit, a great booming voice echoed through the room.

  “What do you mean, excuse me?” asked the giant, still standing and unmoving.

  Synne lowered herself to her seat and ignored the man.

  “I’m talking to you, little princess!” exclaimed the stranger.

  “Then maybe you should go outside and find somebody else to annoy, Raider,” said a sarcastic voice.

  A young man stepped into view and faced off against the stranger. He was one of the town’s newest warriors. The two looked at each other for several seconds, neither saying a word. A volley of laughter echoed through the warm room as the other patrons enjoyed the joke at the expense of the stranger. The barman placed a tankard of the locally made ale on the table and made his way discreetly back to the bar.

  The laughter continued as the stranger walked slowly over to the table where Synne sat. As he reached just a few short feet away, the young man stepped ahead and blocked his way.

  “Maybe you didn’t hear me, I said you should go outside!”

  “So, the girl has a child to protect her,” replied the stranger, as he lowered his right hand to his left hip and placed his hand on the hilt of something, obviously preparing to draw a weapon.

  “Hey, I don’t want no trouble here. You know the rules, no violence in Haven,” said the barman, “on pain of death!” he added, almost for effect.

  The stranger looked at the barman and then back to the people in the room. His hand still rested on the hilt of the weapon and he showed no sign of backing down.

  “Do you know who I am?” he demanded.

  The door to the inn opened and in walked two more men, both wearing similar clothing and armour to the stranger. On their chests, they wore a symbol of some kind and on their belts each carried a vicious looking blade.

  “Cainon, Lord Galan is ready to see us, come on,” said one of them.

  The stranger looked around the room and with a grunt he turned and left the inn. As he took several paces away from them, he released his hand on his weapon and appeared to relax a little. As he was about to close the door the younger man called out.

  “Don’t bother coming back, you’re not welcome!” he said with a laugh.

  The stranger turned just a few degrees so his head showed in profile against the low light. He looked inside for a brief moment and was gone. As the door shut, the younger man jumped down to sit in front of Synne.

  “You are unwise to antagonise one of the Thirty, Peter,” said Synne as she took a sip from her drink.

  “One of the Thirty, I thought that was a story used to frighten children. They don’t really exist,” replied the younger man.

  “Peter. My brother says you are a good student and showing promise, you are not a warrior though, not yet. You know our military is small and like any of the other members of the League, can afford only a few dozen warriors and you have not even finished your training. You must learn to control yourself if you are to become one of my brother’s retainers. By antagonising Cainon, you once more show your lack of understanding and humility.”

  “Understanding? All I saw were a few nomads who were trying to look tough and pushing their way around our lands. Do you have no pride? Don’t you care? I thought you were training in the arts as well?” asked the young man with a strong tone of scorn. “Your brother would fight!”

  The door shut with a loud noise.

  “Her brother would tell you exactly the same, student!” came a growl from the door.

  “Ulric!” said Synne with a happy grin.

  The gruff looking man strolled in, he was a good head taller than Synne and carried himself with the poise of a man that was used to commanding people.

  “Cainon is one of the Brotherhood, the collection of nomadic tribes and bandits from the North East that controls half of the land here.”

  He gestured with his hand for the young man to move out of the way. With a gap created, he sat down in front of Synne and winked at her before turning back to Peter.

  “Most of their territory is in and around the Wastelands. We don’t know how they are able to survive there but somehow they do. Together the Brotherhood is the equal of the League, mainly because nobody else wants to live or travel anywhere near the Wastelands. They are a troublesome and very dangerous people. Luckily, they spend more time fighting amongst each other and fighting the Raiders from the mountains than worrying about us. They fought against us at the last Contest, and if it wasn’t for the fact that the rest of the League sided with us, they would have easily won. If they had won they would have led and this would probably lead to the League being dissolved or worse, open conflict between the League and the Brotherhood just like in the old days. As my sister has explained to you, your actions could cause trouble between us.”

  “I understand, please accept my apologies. I didn’t realise it was quite as complicated as that,” said the young man as he stood up and left the space in front of Synne.

  As he turned to move away, he stopped and turned to Ulric.

  “If I might ask though, why do we follow these rules? Why don’t we fight and run our own affairs? The League is strong, maybe stronger than the Brotherhood.”

  “Fight? You know this, have you never listened to my brother? If the Brotherhood was ever able to unite they would be a power more deadly than any of us could match,” exclaimed Synne.

  Ulric moved a step closer to his student, looking intently into his eyes.

  “There are few of the powerful Houses left now but the League stops any one becoming more powerful than the rest of them combined. This means the League is always able to exercise control over the members. At present, the members could just about match a united Brotherhood in battle, but for how long? What if one member, refused to fight? It was your attitude of war and conquest that led to the scouring of the land and the fall of many of the settlements here. The strongest of the remaining Houses made a decision five generations ago, that led to the first Battle of the Thirty to stop the never-ending war and to let the decision be made with the least blood spilt. You know this!” said Ulric.

  “Yes, yes, I know, I’ve heard this story since I was a boy. When will there be the next Contest then?” he asked.

  Synne sighed and looked at her brother in exasperation. Ulric looked at her, acknowledging her grin before turning to the youngster.

  “If you listened half as much as you talked you would know the answer. A decision can only called for after a minimum of ten years or if the leader of any of the League members retires,” he said.

  “Or dies,” added Synne.

  “I still don’t understand though. What difference does it make who wins the Contest?” asked the young man.

  “What difference?” exclaimed Ulric with alarming volume.

  “Listen, the winner chooses the leader of for the alliance of the League and the Brotherhood from its own faction as well as the Captain of the combined armed forces of the Alliance. Basically the winner will lead until the next Contest is called. Imagine what it would be like if a clan or House like the Brotherhood ever won. They would lead and control the military,” explained Ulric.

  “Is that a bad thing?” replied the man to the annoyance of both Ulric and Synne.

  The door opened and in ran two teenagers.

  “Have you heard the news?” shouted the first whilst the second pushed ahead.

  “What is it?” asked Ulric.

  “Raiders have attacked the flatlands in the North. Lord Galan has ordered the Alliance’s warriors to drive them back. The Brotherhood is already sending men as required and four more cities in the League are sending their men,” said the second boy.

  A murmur rushed around the inn as those present realised the enormity of the situation. In the past, attacks by Raiders had been anything from a dozen men to a coordinated attack by almost a hundred. Raids were usually l
aunched to steal food and supplies, but they could also continue with land grabbing or even kidnapping. The arrival of slavers was a threat few wanted to even consider.

  “I must go, sister,” said Ulric.

  He stood and made for the door, the young student close behind him. As he reached it, he turned back to Synne.

  “Keep your weapons close, just in case.”

  * * *

  Ulric and his group of warriors dismounted from their horses and made their way to the gathering of warriors.

  There were groups from various Houses and each wore distinctive clothing and armour of their lands. A small but rough looking contingent moved ahead to meet Ulric. The group stood next to a pair of parallel metal tracks that led off into the mist. Some said that the track had been part of the old transport system, though how sets of metal lines could help move people or goods was anybody’s guess.

  One group, wearing the distinctive back mounted banners of the Blood Pack stood off to the side. Their armour was slick with red dye and each carried their favoured spears. They were from a small mountainous territory off to the west of Haven but had been loyal friends for decades and a strong member of the League. On top of this, they were the sworn enemies of the Brotherhood. They took their name from their ancestors who had hunted with wolves in their homelands. Though they now occupied the area with small towns and villages, their warriors still clung to the traditions of wearing wolf pelts and decorating their armour with the blood of their kills. Ulric nodded to them as he moved to the rest of the gathered warriors.

  The contingent from the Brotherhood approached, their armour was blackened with fire, in theory to protect the metal from rust, but more likely to look more menacing. Each of the men carried well-crafted and modified armour as well as swords, axes and knives. They looked like a mixture of a wild barbarian and an ancient armoured soldier. As Ulric and his men continued forward they were met by Master Lar of the Brotherhood. He was the tallest and strongest looking of the group. His head was shaved bare and on his shoulder he carried a prized and extremely rare weapon that Synne was convinced had the name of musket. Ulric had only ever seen one before, and in the hands of a trader who wanted more wealth that he had ever seen to buy the item. Apparently, they used a special explosive powder that could be bought in only a few of the most expensive markets. This was one of the items his sister, Synne, was currently studying and learning about. Ulric look surprised to see the leader of the Brotherhood out with such a small body of men.

  “Ulric, my clan is here, as required by our agreement. We have already run into two parties of Raiders, who I might add are being taken back as spoils,” he said as he looked at Ulric’s contingent of tough looking fighters.

  “What are your plans?” he asked.

  “The Blood Pack has already cleared the border villages, there is one large group left that is travelling back to the Wastelands. We will ride out and intercept them before they get there.”

  “Where is the rest of the Brotherhood?”

  Lar shrugged, “Who knows, maybe they were distracted on the way.”

  “The order from Lord Galan was that all forces were to assemble here under my command. The agreement between the League and the Brotherhood says you must provide a force equal to ours,” said Ulric angrily.

  “Well, take it up with him when you go home, Ulric,” he said with a snigger.

  “As for the Raiders, what if they reach the Wastelands?” asked Lar with an odd expression.

  “Let’s make sure there is no if!” replied Ulric sternly.

  One of the local scouts spoke up.

  “We’ve seen them about a mile away, there were too many of them to stop. They have prisoners and projectile weapons,” explained the man.

  Ulric whistled and three of the men brought over their horses.

  “Not for much longer, Lar and the rest of you, follow me, we will stop them!” he barked as he climbed onto his horse.

  As Ulric galloped off to the North with his warriors from the Guild and the Blood Pack riding alongside them, Master Lar looked at them and paused.

  “Not long now,” he said as he smiled.

  He signalled to his own men. With a nod, they mounted their own horses and with a cloud of dust joined in with the rest of the mounted host as they galloped to battle.

  * * *

  Synne stood with the reverence required when meeting the head of her House, Lord Galan. The man was in his late sixties and in his younger days been a warrior, much like Synne’s brother Ulric. The struggles of the past years had taken their toll however and the old man now walked with a pronounced limp. He was sat at his table, always guarded by his personal assistant, the mute but deadly Gratus. The two had fought side by side and at some point in the past, Gratus had been captured and tortured by one of the many clans in the Brotherhood. It was a mark of his loyalty that had made his enemies remove his tongue, a punishment that he apparently had returned on them tenfold.

  “So these are actual designs for machines of war? Real machines, not fanciful designs?” asked the Master.

  “Yes, father. The one design here is very simple and allows a lantern to be carried on the arm, as well as this shield device and a weapon. I think it is for use at night, probably for guards,” she explained.

  Turning a few pages, she stopped at a very detailed design for a war machine that allowed men to climb up and over a high wall. It was mainly constructed with wood, though the pivoting sections looked like iron. There were a number of metal cogs and levers, but nothing unknown to Synne.

  “The designs are detailed yet there is nothing here that appears contrary to science. I have already started on a model of one of the simpler designs, but my work is being slowed because of the text. If you look here, you can see the descriptions but they are in a different language. It looks like the language of the Germans and not one I am familiar with. I do have several texts in the library related to it though,” Synne said.

  “Curious. What of these techniques with the weapons, can we make use of them?” he asked, as he pointed at the pages with fighters using a variety of weapons.

  “I will check with Ulric when he returns, though from my basic training so far I do recognise some of the movements,” said Synne as she turned the pages.

  “For example, this particular move suggests that if a strike with a shorter weapon extends to my head, I can strike with a sloping parry directly in front and then step to the side and deliver a counter cut. We already practice this move so it would be reasonable to assume we can make use of the rest of the techniques,” she explained.

  “Fascinating, and these papers came from our scouting expedition into the wilderness?”

  “Yes, father.”

  “Well, that is some excellent work for all of those involved. I suggest you put the Eastern manual on hold for now and move on to these combat techniques. The attacks by Raiders are increasing in number and anything that can give us an advantage will be of help. I’m sure your brother will find this new found knowledge to be of great use. Now child, tell me of your martial training. How are you doing and have you mastered the staff yet?” he asked with a smile.

  Before Synne could answer the question, the thick wooden doors swung open to reveal Ulric and a bloodied warrior.

  “Brother!” cried Synne as she noticed the blood on both men.

  Ulric placed his hand reassuringly on Synne’s shoulder and then moved up to Lord Galan.

  “Sire, we have returned from battle with the Raiders. The League met and we drove them back but there were casualties. We lost three, the others even more.”

  “By the Gods, is the border secure?” asked the Master.

  “Our border is strong but the flatlands further north have been razed. We were too late to stop the Raiders and they have taken prisoners. We mustered nearly a hundred warriors from the League but the Brotherhood only provided a single contingent under Master Lar. We chased them north but they disappeared into the Wastelands.”<
br />
  “The Wastelands, we’ve lost many warriors in that place. Those that travel there are still falling to the sickness. Did you follow them?”

  Ulric turned his head.

  “No, father, I’ve heard that plenty suffer after even a few hours in the Wasteland. We know it affects men it turns them wild. Against my advice, Master Lar of the Brotherhood led a party north and into the heart of the Wastelands. I ordered them not to travel outside out our borders with so few men but he insisted.”

  “As leader of the expedition of the League it is the law that they follow your orders. Did you explain this to him?” asked an irritated Lord Galan.

  “I did, father, and Master Lar assured me he would obey. As we tended to our wounded he rushed off and took twenty men,” said Ulric as he sighed.

  “That’s when we heard news of the ambush, Sire,” he added.

  “Ambush, against Master Lar? Is he safe?”

  “No, Sire. According to the few that came back over fifty Raiders were waiting for them in the pass. They tried to fight their way out, but most were surrounded. Only a few managed to escape, Master Lar of the Brotherhood was cut down just feet from the boundary of the wasteland. I led our warriors to try to rescue them but it was already too late. The Raiders were gone and just some weapons and armour are all we found,” explained the exhausted Ulric.

  “What of the rest of the Brotherhood?”

  “A small number survived, they blame us for not helping them. After taking the bodies they left.”

  “You did the right thing, if you had stayed with Lar then you would almost certainly be dead. What of the bodies though, did you see the dead of the Brotherhood?”

  “No, father, why do you ask?”

  “Because, my son, I do not trust them, never have. They might say they lost men but who is to say what really happened. Anyway, Lar always was a warmonger looking for glory and he’s caused us enough problems in the past, perhaps this is not a bad thing. What about our border to the Wastelands?” asked Lord Galan.