"I cast Abby off. Clearly she is incapable of producing me with an heir, so I will find a richer soil to plant my seed instead of her inbred over farmed blood," Christian replied coldly.
"I go to all the trouble to find you a pure woman of noble blood, a direct descendent of the Duke of Essex of old, and you cast her off? You utter idiot! I swear sometimes lad, you have shit for brains."
Christian laughed. "You can insult my brains all you want, but at least, Father, I haven't become so old and infirm that I can't get it up without beating a woman or torturing some pathetic soldier of Malachi's. I mean, really, before that wee bit of fun you had in the Throne Room, how long had it been since you've been able to get off?"
Edmund backhanded his son. "I hope one of Malachi's soldiers gets lucky and cleaves you in two, lad."
"And I hope you, old bastard, you have a heart attack and die while I'm gone." The two men glared at each other.
After a long minute Christian turned, gestured for his men to follow him, and headed out. Christian set the pace so that they would arrive at their destination a little bit before nightfall. Carefully scanning the area, they saw no one about. It was a small farming community with only five houses. They attacked the first house without warning, slaughtering them at their table. As Christian surveyed the room, he considered just burning the house with them in it. It wasn't much of a statement. He indicated the four bodies. "Drag them outside, then burn it down."
Richter turned to face him. "If we set fire to it before we've dealt with the others, it will give them warning."
Christian laughed. "Good, then maybe the next one is likely to put up a fight and we'll have a wee bit more fun."
He gestured for his men to follow him. He headed for the next cottage. Christian pointed his sword at a group of his men, then indicated for them to enter first. They did so. However, this time as they burst through the door, they found six armed men waiting for them. Malachi's men cut down the first seven men to enter without difficulty. Richter charged in after his men and attacked the first enemy soldier he came in contact with. There was a quick exchange of blows. Before Malachi's man fell to the ground dead, more of King Edmund's men flooded into the small cottage and they quickly overwhelmed the enemy soldiers. Christian entered once the fighting had ceased. He looked around and remarked in a casual tone, "It appears as though my father was mistaken about the skill of Malachi's men. Drag the enemy outside. Leave our men inside. Burn it." He turned and exited the cottage.
Richter brought up his sword as though to strike Christian down. One of his men grabbed his arm. "It's not worth it. Wait until the King is dead and then you can kill that wee runt and take the throne." Richter nodded, but looked annoyed.
The second cottage was barely aflame before Christian ordered to move on to the third. This time he sent twice as many men inside. They came out a few moments later shrugging their shoulders and looking confused. "It's empty. There's no one in there. It looks as though they were sitting at table and then just suddenly got up and left," remarked one of the soldiers.
"Of course they suddenly got up and left," Richter snapped with irritation. He gestured to the two burning cottages. "They had plenty of warning to get out."
Christian shrugged his shoulders unperturbed. "It's not important for us to kill them all, but to merely make a statement. Leave them no home to come back to. Burn it. Let us go and see if our quarry saved us the trouble of killing them. There are still two cottages left. We might get lucky and find someone hiding in one." A quick search of the area turned up no more of Malachi's people.
Christian looked disappointed. "Oh well, maybe next time, and here I was looking forward to getting my hands on one or two of Malachi's women. What a disappointment. Ah well, burn everything. As soon as you're done, we'll head home and report our victory to His Majesty."
Richter snorted and refrained from comment. He didn't see how ten dead enemy farmers versus eight of their own men dead was considered a victory. After all, their men were supposed to be soldiers.
Chapter 5
The Borderlands, Scottish Highlands
August 12, 2231
Richter stood staring at his own men. They were undisciplined, shabby, pathetic excuses for soldiers; then he shifted his gaze to the enemy army. Now they were soldiers and they were going to slaughter his men, even though Malachi and his men were outnumbered nearly two to one. Something in Richter's gut told him that Malachi wasn't even throwing half his men at them and from what he could see, Malachi's men were all between eighteen and thirty. Unfortunately, his men were between sixteen and fifty and this was just a shade more than half of King Edmund's army. As he continued to watch the two armies form up, he idly wondered if the traitor was down there. A group of men on horseback rode out in front of the enemy army.
Christian laughed. "Do you really believe I'm interested in anything you might have to say?" Christian turned to one of his men. "Open fire, take your best guess on which one of those men is Malachi." Christian laughed again. "Not to worry lads, I'm sure we have them outnumbered at least five to one."
Richter grimaced as the two sharpshooters opened fire. He watched and saw only one of the men recoil from a blow; the others turned their horses and hurried back to the cover of their men. As he watched them flee, he didn't know why, but it irritated him to see that they didn't leave the wounded man behind. He knew his soldiers would have. As soon as the group had reached the cover of their men, they attacked.
Christian drew his gun and fired it into the air signaling his men to attack. Then Christian stood back and watched his men charge into battle. He wondered how long it would take for them to kill Malachi's men. Watching, he occasionally saw one of Malachi's men break through the battle line and he would shoot them before they had a chance to get any closer. As he continued to watch from a safe distance, he slowly became aware of the fact that the battle was not going their way. Malachi's men were beginning to overwhelm his.
*****
Richter drew his sword and charged in to battle. Coming face-to-face with his first opponent, he cut him down in a few quick swings of his blade. Turning to confront his new opponent, he barely managed to block a blow aimed for his shoulder. He shifted and countered, aiming for his opponent's leg. His opponent easily deflected it and countered quickly, trying to bring his sword across Richter's stomach. Richter dodged, sliced him just inside of the elbow, causing him to drop his sword, then Richter shifted his blade and brought it up, cutting the man from hip to throat. The man fell dead at Richter's feet. Richter pushed forward, yelling as he did so, "Hold your ground, men! Don't let any of them past you!" As he came up against his third opponent, he laughed. The idiot had somewhere lost his sword and wore no armor. He will be an easy kill, Richter thought to himself as he swung for the man's chest; but when his sword struck the man's chest, it was his opponent's turn to laugh. Richter's arm shook and his hand went numb as though he'd just hit a solid stone wall. His opponent laughed, gripped Richter's blade, and jerked it from his hand. Richter was so startled, he froze. The man took advantage of his stupidity and grabbed him by the throat. Richter grabbed his arm and struggled, but it was no use, the man clearly had the strength of ten. Richter felt himself begin to lose consciousness; at the very edge of his awareness, he heard the order to retreat given by Christian. Richter's last thoughts were, Christian, you gutless coward!
Christian and his men fled the area in all haste. It wasn't till nightfall when they felt safe enough to rest and take stock of how many men they lost. Christian was sitting by a campfire, drinking coffee, waiting for the report when a soldier approached. "I hope you'll forgive the intrusion, Your Highness, but I have the numbers."
"Go on."
"As near as we can tell, out of the eight hundred men we took up against Malachi, only two hundred and fifty of us escaped with our lives."
"How many men would you say Malachi brought against us?"
The soldier hesitated a long moment before he rep
lied, "I believe before the battle, you estimated we had them outnumbered five to one."
Christian turned on the soldier. "Don't be insolent! I asked you a question! I expect an answer!"
"I didn't make a thorough count, but I estimated there were five, maybe six hundred, though closer to five hundred of them."
"A bunch of pathetic farmers beat us with less men."
"Since I anticipate Malachi is going to kill us all before winter, it doesn't much matter whether you kill me now or not, so let's be honest. Your mistake all along has been that you continue to think of them as farmers. They're not farmers. They are well-trained, well-disciplined soldiers. You want to know why our men got their asses handed to them? It's because you think you're better than them and that's why they're gonna kill us all, unless of course, they leave us to starve to death over the winter," the soldier snapped.
Christian smiled at him. "Well, at least an empty belly is not something you're going to have to ever worry about again," Christian said as he picked up his gun and shot the man. Every soldier in the area turned to stare. "Somebody do clear away the garbage," he remarked casually, going back to drinking his coffee.
Two days later, they arrived back at Stargazer Castle. There was no hero's welcome home. The men filed in to the courtyard, then they lined up somberly as the council's clerk began roll call. Once this was finished, they were released. Christian, not wishing to face his father, had gone straight to his chambers.
King Edmund was sitting alone in the Throne Room when Council Member Douglas, who had drawn the short straw, brought in the list. "Save me any of your speeches and nonsense, Douglas, just get to it. How many men did that pitiful excuse for a son of mine bring home?"
"Out of the eight hundred Prince Christian took with him, only two hundred and eighty-seven returned. Amongst the dead was your nephew Richter."
King Edmund's face darkened. "Send for my wife and daughter-in-law and bring Lady Sylvia to me."
"Aye, Your Majesty, right away."
Roberta and Abby arrived first. When Sylvie was brought in a few minutes later, King Edmund rose to his feet and beckoned her forward. He held out both of his hands to her and she tentatively placed hers in his. "My dear child, I must regrettably inform you that your betrothed Richter was killed. I will only require you to wear mourning for three months and then I will find you a new fiancé." Sylvie looked very nervous. "Do not worry. I will pick a man of suitable birth and breeding."
"It's not that, Your Majesty."
Edmund narrowed his eyes and asked, "Then what is it?"
Sylvie looked even more nervous. "The night before the men left, Richter came to my room. He'd been drinking very heavily … I tried … I tried to tell him no, but he wasn't in the mood to take no for an answer."
Edmund backhanded her. "You wee slut, you can't keep your legs together and now you blame my dead nephew for your immoral behavior. You know that you were supposed to be a virgin bride. Do not attempt to convince me that my nephew would've gone against me. You soiled yourself with some dirty soldier and now that my nephew is dead, you will blame him for it. You unfaithful wee whore!" He backhanded her again.
Abby started forward in defense of her sister, but Roberta quickly grabbed her and pulled her back, placing her hand over Abby's mouth. She barely breathed in Abby's ear, "Anything you do will only make it worse. Best to just be silent."
Edmund grabbed a handful of Sylvie's hair. "Jeffrey, give me your knife."
Abby screamed and struggled. Roberta pressed her hand tighter against Abby and was now pleading in her ear, "Please be quiet! You don't want to attract his attention."
Jeffrey quickly handed over his knife. Edmund took it and began butchering Sylvie's hair. When he was done, he handed the knife back to Jeffrey. "Jeffrey, make sure all of the men know if any of them so much as lay one finger on this dirty wee slut, I will cut their balls off. She is to serve in the household as drudge until I decide what her punishment is going to be for ruining herself. Have Gertrude give her some appropriate clothes and from now on she will sleep in the attic with the rest of the slaves. She is not to associate with my daughter-in-law or my wife any longer."
"As you command, but if you're looking for a man who's willing to take her in her fallen state, I would not mind having such a jewel as my bride," Jeffrey said as he leered at her.
She cringed in revulsion. Edmund laughed. "I will most definitely consider that possibility."
Sylvie threw herself to the King's knees and gripped his ankle tightly. "Please, Your Majesty, I swear to you, I will do anything, anything you ask of me; but please, please don't make live with the slaves."
"Jeffrey, take her to Gertrude and see that Gertrude has her orders. The dirtiest, worst, most demeaning chores are now hers." Jeffrey took her by the arm and dragged her away.
Edmund turned his attention to the other two women. "You two will remember that a member of the Royal family has passed away and show him proper respect by wearing full mourning. If I see you again in the next three months not being properly attired, I will make sure you regret it immensely. And there are now two slaves you do not want me to punish."
Chapter 6
Stargazer Castle, Scottish Highlands
October 8, 2231
"Your Majesty, I know that you believe your Royal Line will triumph over our enemy, but I believe it is time for you to face facts. Your Majesty, for nearly four months you have attempted to stop Malachi. Malachi and his men have slowly and persistently pushed back your borders. They now control half our farmlands and if you don't do something, they will control your entire kingdom within the next week. I think it's time you surrender and make a deal with Malachi. The larder is completely depleted, the men are on half rations, the women and children are on quarter rations, your people are going to starve to death in a matter of weeks - if not sooner. Your Majesty, are you even listening to me?" demanded Douglas.
King Edmund had been listening to the Council's endless complaining for over an hour. He wasn't sure exactly when his mind had wandered to his own problems. I wonder if I should consult my physician. Perhaps there's something he can do about my wee difficulty. He stroked his chin as he considered 'his wee difficulty'. He considered for another moment. He wasn't being honest, not even with himself. It must be my age. He slowly shook his head. Three years ago he had no problem bedding woman after woman. All it took for him to become aroused was a wee bit of exposed flesh and he was quite capable of taking any woman he desired. His troubles all started about two years ago. At first it was only an occasional 'difficulty'. Aye, I like that word, difficulty. It sounds so much better than the other one. He shuddered at the thought of the word. Then about eighteen months ago it become impossible for him to become aroused without the slave sucking his cock, but after about six months even that no longer aroused him. Only through exercising his sadistic side was he able to satisfy himself. Granted, he did enjoy expressing that particular side of himself, but it had the decided disadvantage of leaving the slave unpleasant to look at. But since all this trouble with Malachi had begun, he'd become completely - he hesitated - finally, he allowed the thought to actually form in his mind - 'impotent'. Nothing he, the slave, or Roberta could do was able to arouse him. The harsh tone of his advisor brought him back to reality. "Of course I've been listening to you all complain for these past hours. You want me to surrender. I'm not going to do that. I will see every man, woman, and child in this castle dead before I surrender. And any man attempting to leave will be cut down. I am confident that the walls of this castle will withstand Malachi and his men." Edmund rose to his feet, turned, and stormed from the Council chamber.
Five days later, Edmund and Christian stood watching Malachi's army approach. "How much ammunition do we have left for the rifles, Father?" Christian hoped he managed to sound purely curious.
"We have plenty of lead shot. It's the gun powder we lack." Edmund held up his handgun. "The eight rounds in my gun and whatever you have lef
t in your pistol and maybe twenty or thirty shots in the rifles. That's it."
"I only have three rounds left in my gun." Christian contemplated for a long moment using one of them on his father and then surrendering. After a long moment he dismissed the idea. Malachi would slaughter him. Well, he'd use the last round on himself then. That was a good idea. It would be a more dignified ending than being Malachi's prisoner.
Edmund brought up his binoculars as he saw some unusual movement towards the center of the army. He saw a man bound and beaten, shoved hard and knocked off of his horse, then was dragged to his feet and the men started pushing him forward through the ranks. By the time he made it through Malachi's army, he was limping. It took him a quarter of an hour to make it to the gate. King Edmund hesitated only a moment before he ordered the men to open the small door in the gate and let him in. He went down to meet him. The pathetic, battered, beaten and half starved figure collapsed at Edmund's feet. He pushed himself on his side, his hands were bound and bleeding. "Uncle, Malachi says this is your last warning. Surrender, or he'll kill every man in the castle." Edmund stared down at the figure. He sniffed, then felt sick. The smell was so repulsive, he pinched his nose.
"Good God, Richter," blurted out Christian.
Edmund continued to stare at his nephew. He couldn't even recognize him. One eye was nearly swollen shut and the clothes he was wearing were not his own. There was barely enough to preserve his modesty and he looked and smelled as though he'd been sleeping with the pigs. Edmund gestured to a guard. "Get a bucket of water and douse it on his back. My nephew had a scar there that is very distinctive."
"I know I'm hard to recognize, Uncle, but I swear it's me, Richter! If you value your life you must surrender!" The guard did as he was ordered. Edmund gasped as he saw his nephew's unmistakable scar.
"Cut him free. Take him to the doctor, get him cleaned up and attended to." Four of the guards quickly did as they were ordered. Edmund considered for a long moment. "Order any man with ammunition for his rifle to fire into Malachi's men and kill as many as they can with the remaining ammunition. I think that will give Malachi my answer, don't you?" Christian nodded, but didn't look as though he agreed with the decision. "Let us go and see how many men we can successfully kill," Edmund said smugly.
Second Age of Darkness Page 3
