Warlord Slayer

by Nicholas Everritt

  “She’s only a barbarian.” Mark scowled, hateful eyes locked on Maedoc.

  Maedoc burst out laughing and began to applaud him. “He speaks! And what poetic words! There’s life in the whipped dog yet!”

  Once Mark had been taken back to Fangmar the Morrowfow boys were given leave to beat him up again. He was ruthlessly pummelled by a dozen thugs. Maedoc watched on, not grinning now, but looking thoughtful. The beating began as the sun was setting. It ended when the night was at its darkest.

  Maedoc stood over Mark’s battered husk holding a candle. He inspected his body. Lash-wounds on his back. Nose bleeding. Eyes swollen. His skin was black and blue. He gestured to his men, and they grabbed Mark by the arms and dragged him through the mud, following Maedoc to one of the ramshackle huts nearby.

  Mark was thrown in. He landed hard, sprawling on the floor, his body aching all over. It took a few moment for him to muster the energy to open his eyes.

  The tent was lit only by the light of Maedoc’s candle as he stood in the doorway. Inside were eight Morrowfow men, naked except for their war paint, heaving and panting.

  “Thank you for your display today, Mark. It was very heartening for the me.” spoke Maedoc, putting on a more sombre tone. “I’d like to give you a gift, something that’s going to make you feel closer to the woman you loved, the barbarian woman you loved.”

  “I’m going to let you experience what she experienced on the last night of her life. Perhaps by sharing in her pain, you will feel you have regained something of her.”

  “Of course, when I asked for volunteers to rape your lovely Hesetti, I was inundated. I had to ask my men to be patient, to take turns. But when I asked for volunteers to fuck you, Mark, fewer were forthcoming.”

  “There are a few of my boys who have that particular fetish. They prefer the firm flesh of a man to the softness of a woman. Good on them, I say. But I was still short a few volunteers.”

  “So I put it to my men like this: think of it as an experience that few people can say that they have shared. Something to tell your grandchildren about, that kind of thing. They can put little Birkir on their knee and say, my boy, when I was a young man, I fucked Mark of Darloth in the ass. Yes, that’s right, the Mark of Darloth. Slayer of warlords. Scourge of the barbarian tribes. Yes, Birkir my lad, I fucked him in the ass, and I did it good and proper.”

  Mark could just about make out the cruel smile on Maedoc’s face as he hissed his next words. “Try not to die.”

  With that, he blew out the candle and everything went pitch black. Mark listened to Maedoc’s footsteps as he set off back to Fanghall. Only when his footsteps could no longer be heard did the Morrowfow brutes move in.

  “Hmmm…” pondered the medicine man as he inspected Mark’s body. He was chained up outside in his usual place, broken and battered. More a pile of meat and bones than a man. His whole body ached. His eyes would not open. His wheezing breaths were slow and weak. He twitched and shuddered.

  “What’s the verdict?” asked Maedoc before biting into an apple.

  “It’s not good.” said the wizened old slave, dressed in rags. “If he doesn’t get his wounds treated, he’ll die. If he doesn’t eat, he’ll die. Whatever you’re doing to him…He can’t take much more of it.”

  “You won’t die, will you Mark?” chuckled Maedoc. “No, wise Aelguf. He won’t die. He hates me too much. He wouldn’t give me the satisfaction.”

  “The body can only take so much, my liege…”

  “Hmm. Very well.” he said, kneeling down to address Mark. “I bring news from your homeland, Mark. Darloth has agreed to my terms, and will pay a hefty fee in exchange for you. I daren’t imagine what they have in store for you, my boy, having disobeyed the crown twice now. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes let me tell you!”

  “But hey-ho, look on the bright side. You’re going home! You can say hello to your king again! Reminisce, tell stories. You can say, I tried to kill Warlord Maedoc, but that was a foolish thing to do. I was whipped like a dog, beaten like a mule, and fucked like a whore. And he can say: I’ve been sat in my chair the whole bloody time like always!”

  Maedoc ruffled his hair. “I’ll have my men cart you off tomorrow, Mark. I’m off hunting but I’ll be back before you go. I’ll save my goodbyes for then.”

  Maedoc chuckled as he wandered off, throwing away his half-eaten apple. The medicine man thought about it for a moment, checked Maedoc wasn’t looking, then shuffled over to the half-eaten apple and put it in Mark’s limp hand before shuffling off to his hovel.

  Mark was so weak he was barely able to hold it. He pulled it closer to him and bit into it, tasting the sweet apple and the phlegm of his nemesis.

  As Maedoc and his hunting party rode out on chariots they laughed and taunted Mark as they passed, his body still and seemingly lifeless. Mark, for his part, didn’t even have the energy to open his eyes and watch them leave.

  She turned round to him.

  “Let’s go out over the lake.” she said in her soft voice.

  She sat down in a small dingy with a paddle in it. The lake stretched out in all directions surrounded by large hills, and a pebble beach around it.

  Mark got in and sat down with her. But she didn’t start rowing.

  “But we can’t go.” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m still there. There’s part of me that’s still there with you.”

  “I’m sorry.” said Mark. “I couldn’t find it. I tried really hard.”

  Hesetti put her hand on his. “I know.”

  “Do you mind?”

  “No. It’s ok. We can go.”

  She kissed him on the lips and picked up the paddle. The paddle hit the water.

  Mark gasped as he woke up. All at once, his pain returned. The aching of his bones. The anguish. The anger. The loss. Skull-splitting pain.

  But soon all of that disappeared, just for a moment. He had been awoken by the kick of a little boot. Sionna was standing over him grinning naughtily. She was holding a key. She had her dog with her. In that sweet, dopey grin there was hope, a glimmer of hope that everything might be ok in the end.

  “Daddy’s gone hunting. He left his key.” he giggled.

  It took all of Mark’s energy to fight back the pain and sit upright. “Okay. It’s time for an adventure.” he said, his voice hoarse and weak, barely more than a whisper. “Unlock the shackles.”

  “You promise you’ll take me to the War Pit and show me all the gross bodies?”

  “I promise.” said Mark, mustering a weak grin, revealing bleeding gums and missing teeth.

  “You promise you won’t do anything stupid, like try to take on Hellhound? It’s like they always say, dogs have four legs and men have two so they’re twice as strong.”

  “I promise.”

  “Cross your heart.” she said, making the gesture.

  “Cross my heart.”

  She put in the key and unlocked the shackles. Mark grimaced as the shackles fell off and he was able to stretch his arms once more. He looked down at his hands, weak and shaking, and clenched them into fists.

  “Okay, there’s nobody around so we should be able to sneak out…But we’ve got no time to lose!” said Sionna, trying to pull Mark up onto his feet.

  “Good boy…” said Mark, putting a quivering hand out to pat Hellhound. The mutt growled as his hand neared.

  Mark was on the beast like a shot. He grabbed it by the head and broke its neck.

  Before Sionna could scream Mark had her, his hand clasped over her mouth.

  Maedoc’s hunting party arrived back at Fanghall an hour before dawn. A storm roiled in the black sky. The rain came down in a torrent, and lightning arced across the sky at irregular intervals. The gates swung open and Maedoc led in the column of chariots laden with Morrowfow warriors and slain deer and boar. It was immediately clear that something was wrong.

  A crowd was congregated in the middle of Fangmar. There was a hud
dle of Morrowfow warriors accosting several dozen slave women, who wept and pleaded, but the warriors were fuming and agitated. They slapped the women and shouted at them to get them to shut up. They paced around nervously and watched Maedoc approach with great trepidation. Most had their weapons in hand. Many carried torches which illuminated the foetid hillfort.

  The inhabitants of Fangmar stirred from their beds and watched on from their mangy huts, keen to see what was going on. There was a second gang of Morrowfow loitering outside Fanghall.

  It didn’t take Maedoc long to figure out why. The crowds. The armed warriors. The screaming women – they were his own personal slaves, maids and orderlies who tended to his needs in Fanghall. They were distraught, many of them covered in blood, but far too much of it for it to be their own. And Mark – he was gone, his shackles lying there in the mud and rainwater. And his family – his wife, his sons, his beloved Sionna…They were nowhere to be seen.

  As soon as his charioteer pulled at the reins and his chariot came to a halt Maedoc leapt off with a face of furious thunder. He stormed over to one of the Morrowfow warriors who was slapping around one of the crying slave girls, seemingly interrogating her.

  “What the hell is this?” howled Maedoc, his eyes wild.

  The warrior, who looked big enough when he was slapping an unarmed woman, shrunk under Maedoc’s terrifying glare.

  “There’s been a situation, sire, me an’ the boys, we’re tryin’…” he stammered.

  “I asked you a question, you miserable cunt, and you haven’t answered it! What has happened? Speak plainly or I’ll cut of your hands and feet and feed them to the dogs!” scowled Maedoc, baring his teeth, eyes ablaze.

  “It’s the Darlothian, sire, he’s…Escaped.” said the warrior, frantically. Maedoc’s glare grew ever more furious as he spoke. “He snuck into Fanghall. I’ve been tryin’ to make sense o’ the wenches, but they’ve gone hysterical. Say he killed the guards, took the girl hostage then sent all the slaves out. He says…”

  “The girl…” seethed Maedoc as his worst fears were realised. “Sionna…What did he say? Spit it out, man! Speak!”

  “Says none should enter Fanghall, elsewise he’ll kill the girl.” said the terrified warrior, sweating profusely. His comrades shuffled their feet and look on awkwardly. “Except for you, sire, he says you should go see him, else he’ll kill her also.”

  Maedoc paced around with a face like thunder, seemingly thinking things through, then he snapped “My wife? The boys?”

  “Still inside far as we know.”

  Maedoc was a picture of rage. He scowled, eyes furious yet distant as he nodded his head slowly.

  Then he roared a terrible cry, his face contorted with rage, and drew his sword. He started laying into the warrior there and then, who pleaded pitifully even as the blade slammed into him again and again until he was nought but a pile of bleeding flesh. The other warriors looked on in horror.

  “Make way! None are to follow me, none are to enter Fanghall!” bellowed Maedoc, now covered in the man’s blood, as he stormed his way up towards the hall. The Morrowfow parted to let him through and gave him a wide berth. None dared follow as he trooped up to Fanghall and hurled open the doors.

  Maedoc stepped through the threshold and found himself in a house of slaughter. His feasting hall was littered with the bodies of his guards. Their throats were ripped open. They were dismembered. An assortment of weapons protruded from their bodies. Their blood made the floor wet as he paced along the hall, his bloody sword held out in front of him.

  The hall was lit be a few candles, arranged as if to lead him through the charnel house. His eyes peered into the half-gloom, searching the shadows for his attacker. He was anxious. As he pressed on through the hall, stepping over bodies, there was fear in his heart. For his life, yes. He wasn’t too proud to admit it. But also for his family. His wife, his boys…And dear Sionna most of all. He found himself praying for the mercy of a man he had done his best to destroy.

  Once through the hall Maedoc paced his way through Fanghall’s corridors, littered with yet more bodies, following the candles as before. His eyes darted this way and that, peering through the shadows, searching desperately for the grim butcher. He scanned the dead men’s faces, thinking maybe Mark was playing possum, luring him into a trap.

  He stopped as he reached his bedroom door. He paused, breathing deeply, bracing himself, fearing the worst for what might be inside. Then he pushed open the door and stepped in.

  He could just about see their bodies lying there on the bed, but the light was dim. Then lightning flashed, illuminating them briefly, horrifically. His wife and boys lay there with their throats slit, their blood staining the white sheets red.

  Maedoc gagged as he saw them. Grief struck him, and terrible anger. “No!” he roared as he staggered to their side. “My boys…My poor sweet boys…” he sobbed, tears running down his face.

  He dropped his sword, stroking Jansen’s face with a trembling hand. He kissed his son on the forehead, which was cold and pallid, tears falling from his eyes and onto his son’s cheeks. Then he kissed Angis, as still and lifeless as his brother. Then he squeezed his wife’s cold hand.

  His thoughts returned to his daughter. “Sionne…” he glowered beneath his breath, wiping the tears from his face. He grabbed his sword, gripping the hilt with furious anger. He burst out into the corridor and cried out, desperation overcoming his mortal fear.

  “Where is she, Mark? Where is my daughter? Answer me, damn you! You shall have me, just spare her life!”

  Then he saw that her bedroom door was ajar. Fear and anger roiled within him. He snarled and bared his teeth as he paced up to it. He listened at the door, but there was silence. He saw a pool of blood seeping through the doorway, and prayed it was not his daughter’s. His sword ready, he burst through the door.

  “Sit down.” grunted Mark. He was sat on a chair opposite the doorway with Sionne on his lap. There were tears in her eyes, but she was alive and unharmed. For now. One hand was clasped over her mouth. Another held a dagger to her throat. Mark was wearing a hauberk, trousers and boots. They had been stolen from Harmesh’s corpse, which lay impaled on a spear nearby in a pool of his own blood.

  Maedoc said nothing. He sat down on Sionna’s bed. He set aside his fury for now, for there was a glimmer of hope that his daughter might be spared.

  “Lose the sword.” grunted Mark.

  Maedoc did as he was told, throwing it aside.

  “I can kill her any time I want. You took someone from me. I’ll take someone from you.”

  “No.” said Maedoc, his voice deadly serious. “We can do better than that. Leave her. Take your revenge on me instead.”

  “You’d die for your daughter?”

  “Yes. Your quarrel is not with her.”

  “My quarrel wasn’t with your wife and sons either. Nor your guards. But I killed all of them, didn’t I? You’ve only yourself to blame. You made me do it. Perhaps I should kill her too…Slit her throat open right in front of you…It would be fair vengeance.” he said as tears fell from the girl’s eyes.

  “Leave the girl.” Maedoc hissed, his anger betraying him. This was no bluff.

  Mark shook his head and laughed, grimly. “I have to admit I didn’t think this was going to work. I didn’t think you had any love in you, any compassion. Not even for your own kin. But I see now that I was wrong. There is a glimmer of something good in you...Even in the black soul of a barbarian cunt like you.”

  “I tire of this.” snapped Maedoc as they sat there, seething, staring into each other’s hateful eyes. “Whatever you’re going to do, get on and do it. No use delaying things.”

  Mark nodded slowly. No use indeed. He gave his instructions. “I’ll tell you what I want you to do and you’ll do it, otherwise she dies.”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re going to leave Fanghall. You’ll get one of your Morrowfow dogs to bring us two horses. We’re going to go for a rid
e together. And you’ll tell your boys that nobody is to follow us. Tell them that if they do you’ll rape them to death, or whatever it is you do to keep them in line.”

  “Yes.”

  “And if any of them try taking a pot-shot, trying to pick me off from a distance, they’d better hope they hit me in the head, because if they hit me in the body there’s a good chance I’ll live long enough to kill the little one. Do all of this and she’ll live. You have my word on that, for what it’s worth. Understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s go then.”

  The warlord followed his instructions to the letter. He walked through Fanghall, through its corridors and corpse-strewn hall, and then outside, closely followed by Mark who held the sobbing girl close to him.

  Outside the thunder had relented but the rain came down still. A huge mob of Morrofow waited there anxiously, armed to the teeth, drenched by the rain. As their warlord emerged followed by Mark and Sionna their savage eyes and bloody snarls turned to the Darlothian.

  “No! Do nothing! Do not attack him!” Maedoc bellowed. “You there, bring two horses!”

  The warriors stood there, gazumped. None moved.

  “You dare disobey me, boy?” screamed Maedoc. “Disobey me again and I’ll cut off your balls and feed them to your children! Horses, now!”

  The raider relented and set off to fetch the horses. As he went the rest of the Morrowfow looked at each other awkwardly, unsure what to do, and cast hateful glares at Mark. The horses came soon enough.

  “Nobody follows! Nobody!” bellowed Maedoc as he mounted up. “If you do, I’ll cut your limbs off one by one and feed them to the hounds!”

  Mark mounted the other steed and sat Sionne in front of him. With one hand he took the reins. With the other he clutched his dagger, his forearm wrapped around Sionne’s chest.