“I have evacuated the farmlands along the border and stationed the militia along the watchtowers. The iron track in the Wastelands seems to be at the heart of the Raiders’ plans. If we can work out a way to avoid the sickness I am sure an expedition could follow the track and finish them off, once and for all.”
Lord Galan turned his head in disagreement.
“The Raiders are not the real issue, they are still small in number and are more of a nuisance than a real problem. I am much more concerned with who is encouraging, or perhaps even aiding them in their actions, and I suspect the Brotherhood is involved. They have been spoiling for a fight for many years now and they have never been happy with the primacy of our House. These Raiders over the last year have weakened us yet the Brotherhood’s lands seem safe, why is this? You saw no bodies from the Brotherhood, yet they blame us?” he asked rhetorically.
Lord Galan walked to his window and looked out across the town. A number of people were walking, going about their daily business. He noticed a few riders making their way through the main street. He turned back.
“I sense dangerous times ahead. Mobilise the reserves and strengthen the border. I will send messengers to the Houses for a conference. It is time for the other Houses to hear of this and my suspicions about our neighbours to the East. If my suspicions are correct, the Brotherhood have a long-term plan and you can be sure it will not paint us in a good light with the rest of the League.”
A banging sound from outside indicated the guards had a messenger. Two armoured men escorted him into the chamber. The messenger, in the uniform of the Brotherhood, walked ahead and knelt before the Lord Galan. As he approached Gratus stepped forward and intercepted the man. He had much experience with the Brotherhood and his suspicions were often correct. The messenger lifted his arms, submitting to a search that yielded nothing of note. With a grunt, Gratus stepped aside and let the man move a step closer, he then dropped to one knee, acknowledging the position of Lord Galan.
With a movement of Galan’s hand, the messenger rose and spoke.
“Lord Galan, I bring word from the Brotherhood.”
“Why do I think this isn’t going to be good news?” said Ulric sarcastically.
Lord Galan indicated to the man to continue.
“The Brotherhood demands a Contest between our lands!”
“What?” shouted Lord Galan.
“With the death of Master Lar, which the Brotherhood blames on your negligence, it has been agreed you are unfit to lead the League.”
The Master started shouting, his anger bursting into a rage.
“How dare you! You will suffer for this outrage!”
Ulric gave a signal and the two guards escorted the messenger outside.
“We will march!” cried Lord Galan.
“Father, we cannot afford war, none of us can, we must stay calm,” pleaded Synne who until now had remained quiet.
“What do you know of war?” said the Master with a snort that he instantly regretted.
“Synne is right father, a war with the Brotherhood will leave us open to attack by the rest of the League. We need to maintain the agreement or we will suffer the consequences,” argued Ulric.
“The agreement is already broken!” barked Lord Galan.
“Only if one House declares war, Sire, what of our agreements with the other Houses? The Contest assured us of primacy before all the Houses until the next Contest,” said Synne.
Lord Galan took a step back and looked around the room as though he was looking for some item he had been missing for days. He paused and then looked back to his children in confusion.
“With Master Lar dead the Brotherhood must choose a new leader. Part of the agreement is that a new leader may call for a Contest, it is the law.”
“A Contest, but why should we agree to it?” asked a confused Ulric.
He paced the room, trying to find answers.
“We are already supreme. We have nothing to gain and everything to lose. If they win we will have to swear fealty to them for the next ten years,” said Ulric.
“True, but the law allows for this. By breaking the law, we forfeit our position and they fight a Contest without us to determine a new primary House. A victory for us in a Contest will secure our position in the League and force their new leader to swear allegiance to us. No leader would then declare war on another. That is the entire point of the agreement, to stop continuous warfare,” explained Lord Galan.
“Are you sure this is wise, there must be a better way?” said Ulric.
“Perhaps, but five warriors in the Contest is better than five hundred at our border, fighting the combined League. A battle I would add that we could not win, not yet anyway,” said Galan as he gave a wry smile to Synne.
“Ulric, the Contest has kept the peace for five generations, there is no reason to doubt it now. Plus, with you leading our contingent how could we ever lose?”
Lord Galan ordered the messenger to be brought back before him.
“I have made up my mind. I need riders to take messages to the leaders of every House. A contest is to be held in ninety days. Each House may enter a contingent of five as are the terms of the agreement. The winning house will take leadership of the League for the next ten years. Any House violating the sovereignty of another during the Contest will forfeit their position and be automatically cast out,” ordered Lord Galan.
The messenger bowed and then left.
“Sire, are you sure?” asked Ulric, still unconvinced of his actions.
“Do you doubt your own abilities? You have three months to ready your group. I will contact the other Houses and ensure we have allies for the Contest. We need only to defeat those who oppose us to gain ten more years and a stronger position. By declaring a Contest we force the Brotherhood’s hand. If they still attack during this period they bring the wrath of the League and even they cannot stand against the rest of us,” explained Lord Galan.
“Anyway, we have other things to attend to and in my opinion they are developments that equal or even surpass the importance of the Contest,” he said mysteriously.
He moved over to a table at the side of the room that was stacked with papers. Nearby were a number of wooden crates, one of which had been opened. A map covered in many markings was laid out in the middle of the table, each corner weighed down by paperweights. In the centre was the city of Haven and around it the many villages, workshops and farms that it controlled. On its borders were several of the League Houses and to the north east of them all, was the great buffer that led to the wilderness of the Wastelands. To the South was the great desert that ran off into the unknown.
“As you know, the League has been trapped in this area by the danger of the Wastelands to the North and the barren wilderness of the desert to the South. What if, I were to tell you that I know of lands in the North where towns still exist, traders ply their goods and people travel in the same fashion as us?”
“You jest, father?” asked Ulric suspiciously.
“Indeed I do not. I have received news that a caravan travelled through the Wastelands and came directly here not a week ago, completely unscathed,” said Lord Galan excitedly.
“This isn’t possible, father,” said Ulric.
“Look, I spoke with several of them and after a long discussion I have made arrangements for a monthly visit by their traders to sell their goods and for us to export ours. They bring all manner of items including this,” he said as he pointed to a long wooden box.
Synne wandered over and lifted the lid, inside was a short metal object the size of a large dagger. It was well made and mechanical. In the centre was a rotating barrel that clicked as it moved.
“What is it?” asked Ulric.
“The trader said it was a weapon called a pistol, apparently it was used with metal and chemicals to launch projectiles, by the Ancients,” explained Lord Galan.
“A pistol, I have read about these items!” exclaimed Synne.
�
��Listen, my children. I want you to arrange a small party of trusted men to go on a scouting mission in two weeks time. I have arranged for you to meet these traders at a place called the Trading Post. It is here,” he said as he pointed at the map.
“But that is in the North of the Wastelands,” replied Ulric.
“Indeed and these traders say the sickness only affects these areas to the East and West, they are marked in red on the map.”
“So you are telling us that there are lands to the North we have never seen that are trading in goods and artefacts such as these?” asked Ulric.
“Indeed. There are even iron rails that carry mechanical transports off to distant areas where more clans live. If what these traders say is true, then the true number of towns and people is five times more than we ever thought. There are great opportunities for knowledge, learning and trade.”
“Mechanical transports, you mean trains?” asked Synne as she imagined the machines from her books.
Lord Galan nodded with satisfaction. Synne and Ulric smiled as they examined the contents of the map and the ancient weapon whilst Lord Galan seated himself back down with a groan. Gratus helped him in position and moved close to his ear.
“Gratus, I could do with a drink,” said Galan as he closed his eyes and rested.
CHAPTER TWO
Ulric and Synne were wearing only light armour and both carried wooden training swords. Their armour was fashioned from the simple but highly effective boiled leather. It was stiff and hard, and perfect to protect against blows deliver by both metal and wood. Synne carried a single-handed sword and wooden shield, whilst Ulric carried a large two-handed sword that stood from the ground to his armpit. It was a vast weapon and when wielded in the hands of an expert like Ulric it was a sight to behold.
“Remember, little sister, the shield must stay in front, don’t swing it aside when you strike, you create an opening.”
The two circled each other, both looking for an opportunity to attack whilst trying to encourage their opponent to make a mistake. Ulric held his longsword up high above his head. It left his body completely exposed to an attack, but also positioned the weapon ready to deliver a series of deadly strikes. Synne was all too familiar with this particular position though, and knew that if she moved in she could expect a flurry of deadly cuts that could come from either side. She would have to position herself carefully if she was to get close enough to strike with her shorter sword.
“I see you’ve been looking at the manual I’ve been translating for father?” asked Synne with a smile.
It was a poor attempt to grab Ulric’s attention and as she spoke, Synne stepped forward and slashed at Ulric who easily evaded the attack by simply moving one foot. As he adjusted his balance, he stepped forward and slightly to one side whilst simultaneously bringing down his blade. The tip slashed down and behind Synne’s shield and struck her in the upper arm and chest. As Synne yelped, she dropped her shield and in doing so she created the perfect opening. With a quick twist, Ulric brought the sword back up in an arc and cut a horizontal move towards Synne. With expert timing, he stopped just a few inches from her throat.
“Don’t lose your head, little sister, you talk too much!” he laughed.
Synne tried to smile but her arm was still throbbing from the cut to her forearm.
“I’m sure you hit me just that bit harder to punish me then, Ulric,” she said with a grimace.
“It is a common enough mistake you made. If you lose your hand or arm in a fight, you will lose your ability to wield a weapon. I know it seems a weak or lazy way to fight but I’ve seen many good fighters take a slash to the inside of an arm and they instantly lose their ability to fight. It is easy to kill your enemy when he can no longer fight. Use the shield, and keep hands and feet out of the way. Strike fast, hard and then recover. Always keep the shield in front and you’ll live, at least for a while,” he said as he thumped Synne.
“Come on, another round,” he said.
The two moved back into position with Synne lowering her stance and placing herself firmly behind her shield. Ulric moved around her, this time he held his sword down low with the point out in front of him and just a few inches off the ground. To the uninitiated, it looked like he was being lazy or possibly even lacked skill. It was all a game though of move and planned move, no different to a game of chess. He made a move forwards as though to attack and Synne jumped half a step, pushing her shield forward and exposing her own defensive plan.
“I know what you’re doing Ulric, you’re not going to tempt me out!” laughed Synne.
She took a few wild slashes but kept her footing and never came even close to striking Ulric, who was able to keep out of distance by simply moving his upper body. Ulric could already see that his sister was being cautious and far more concerned with defending herself than in actually trying to initiate any real offensive action against him.
“Is that your best cut?” said Ulric as he took a light swipe at Synne’s head.
The cut wasn’t intended to realistically make contact, just to keep Synne busy so she didn’t have time to formulate a plan. Synne lifted her shield slightly to counter the movement and made a fatal error by exposing her legs.
Ulric sliced gently and his blade thudded into Synne’s ankle, the impact was light but it was enough to remind Synne that in a real fight she would now be lame.
“Come on, you can do better than this!” said Ulric as he circled slowly around.
Synne took a few more slashes but they were never close enough to threaten Ulric. Sensing the moment was right Urlic moved in and did the same feint and once more Synne readied herself for the inevitable attack. As she moved forward Synne couldn’t help herself, it was simple instinct and her reactions forced her to respond to the feint. Now Ulric could see the tension in the body language of Synne. He could see in her face that she was annoyed being played with, this was where he could expect to use the pent up aggression to his advantage. For the third time he feinted, but this time he started to move forward and to the side. Synne, assuming another feint simply pushed up her shield and rushed down Ulric. This technique was one they called a shield barge and was simply where the fighter forced his shield forward and into his opponent. It could cause damage or injury and often threw the enemy to the ground. There was also a good chance of trapping an enemy’s weapon so that you could then use your own. Any other fighter would have been struck, but not him.
Ulric cried out as he timed it beautifully and as Synne stepped within inches of his side he brought his two-handed sword down onto Synne’s exposed shoulder and dropped her to the floor. As she dropped down, Ulric swung his sword up so that his left hand rested on its flat part, about half way down its blade. He placed the point on Synne’s flank and pushed just enough that she could feel the tip.
“Okay, I know, you beat me...again!” said a slightly irate Synne.
The two stopped and Synne lay there groaning, more in annoyance than pain. She nursed her shoulder and made to stand up before her ankle sent pangs though her body. She stayed for a few seconds more before starting to laugh.
“You never give me a break, you know that, right?”
Ulric sighed as he slumped down to sit next to his sister. He dropped the wooden sword to the ground and pulled over a tankard that was half-full of warm but clean water. The two drank their full and wiped away the sweat.
“I never give you a break because I want you to live. A dead sister will upset father!” he laughed.
Ulric took another sip from the water.
“Seriously though, I know you will be a great swordsman. If I let you strike me, all I will prove is that I cannot be bothered to make you better. When you face an enemy for the first time, he will not stop until you are beaten. It is my job, sister, mine alone, to make sure you and the rest of our warriors are trained and ready to fight and ready to win.”
Synne looked pained to hear the words and Ulric could easily see his sister was belittled
by what he had said. Knowing he couldn’t go back on what was a simple truth, he moved to a different topic.
“Father said you have been working on a single sword section in the library, some kind of big knife?”
Synne looked at him, thinking for a moment before the images of the book popped into her head and her enthusiasm for this new knowledge, could no longer be contained.
“Yes, in the one section of this book there are sequences that describe using a weapon that is similar in shape to this wooden sword, the Ancients called it a Grosse Messer,” she said as she raised the battered wooden training sword.
“Can you show me?”
“The book? It is in the library.”
“No, some of the techniques, if you can remember any?” he asked with a smirk.
Synne lifted herself up from the ground, walked over to the rack of training equipment and took out another single-handed sword. She moved with a slight limp but as she returned, it appeared to be easing, much to the relief of Ulric. Synne handed the wooden sword to her brother and then took a step back.
“Okay, the first one I have been reading is a technique to remove the hand,” she explained.
“How convenient, show me and perhaps if it works you might use it next time we spar?”
Synne faced him, with her weapon held low and behind her.
“Funny, brother! Ok, now if you strike down to my head.”
Ulric stepped forward with his right leg and cut downwards in a fast arc that reached towards Synne. With an almost panicked movement, Synne brought her rear leg forwards and out to the right, and simultaneously cut upwards and into Ulric’s wrist. It was a light cut, but it still made Ulric groan and he dropped the training sword and his hand went numb. Synne then stepped to the side and delivered a second light cut to Ulric’s neck.
“Hey, easy now, little sister. Ouch, you got my wrist well and good there,” he said as he shook his hand.
Synne’s pleasure at seeing the technique work turned to concern at the injury she seemed to have caused.
“Are you okay?”
Champions of the Apocalypse Page 3
