Brothers of Blood (Fall of a King Book 2)

by James Fuller

  Andras had let them take over the camp - the fifty defenders there were to fight only briefly to make it look real and then retreat. They had done their part with minimal losses and the enemy had seized the supplies and quickly made haste back towards the castle, hoping to reach it unhindered, shortly after dawn.

  “Once we wipe out this army, we may very well have the strength to take back Mandrake Castle,” Jarroth said - they could just hear the faint sound of the enemy drawing near.

  “Let us not get ahead of ourselves,” Master Jacob chuckled. “We have a thousand warriors to kill first.”

  “My blade shall drink two scores this day, a score for me and a score for Lord Dagon,” Jarroth replied, his large sword already in hand.

  Andras grinned over to the Mandrake’s large Champion. “I believe you too.” He then regarded Jacob. Being Zandorian, he and his men cursed at having to fight next to someone with the Gift, but in the short time he had with the wizard, he had begun to like him as a man. The wizard’s power still awed and terrified him, yet he was beginning to see the advantage of having a wizard within the rank of soldiers. Not only had Jacob proven his prowess in several battles in his short time there, he had proven his worth tenfold in the three scores of men he had healed; saving many of them from death or loss of limb. “You ready for this, wizard?”

  “Ay, I be ready.”

  “Good, then let us go meet our prey face to face, shall we.” Andras heeled his mount forward, his horsemen following in desired formation and four hundred infantry charged in quick pursuit.

  Andras, Jarroth and Jacob spearheaded the cavalry charge in a wedge formation, as they sped up the small hill into the unsuspecting enemy. Jacob quickly took the lead, his mount tested and true. As he neared the enemy he dropped the reigns, his mount already committed to the charge. Jacob summoned his innate abilities, releasing a fierce torrent of air that struck the enemy ranks. The pillar of wind was so powerful and rigorous that it tore the large warriors from their feet, throwing them back into their brethren as Jacob rode into their midst, cutting a clear path down the center. Andras, Jarroth and the hundred horsemen drove into Jacob’s path, their blades hacking and slashing wildly through the enemy, leaving scores of fallen in their wake.

  The battle roar of four hundred men crested the hill and they crashed into the fray of panicked barbarians. The sound of steel on steel rang loudly in the early dawn, as Mandrake’s defenders cut through the enemy in the hopes of evening the odds. The surprise wore off quickly and the barbarians began fighting furiously, backed by pure desperation. They soon realized their numbers were superior which gave them courage and they began overwhelming their attackers.

  Jacob reined his warhorse around and surveyed the battle. They had struck the enemy a serious blow already, but the savage’s numbers were still greater.

  “All right, wizard…let us finish these heathens!” Andras said, stopping his mount beside his.

  Jacob summoned his strength, feeling the intense sensations rise within him. A wicked grin crossed his lips as a long wall of wizard’s fire erupted from the earth near the center of the enemy’s ranks. It cut off the overwhelming enemy numbers from the Mandrake soldiers, allowing them to kill the remaining barbarians on their side with ease, as most panicked by the sudden appearance of wizard’s fire.

  “Almost done, Jacob,” Jarroth said, halting the cavalry behind them. “Let us finish this.”

  The ground around the perimeter of the enemy rumbled and began to split, leaving a wide and deeply gaping fissure all around the remaining savages on their side of the flaming wall. The concentrated effort of it nearly caused Jacob to fall from his horse, but Jarroth was there to support him. On cue, scores of arrows sliced through the growth on either side, cutting into the trapped barbarians with ease. The bellows and curses of dead and dying enemy were absolute as the first rays of sunlight broke free from behind the mountains.

  Jacob dismounted after he had refocused and went to the edge of the crevice he had created. Normally, he would save what powers he had left to heal the many wounded, but he knew it was unnecessary. Arcs of energy tore from his hands into the throng. Chests and midsections were torn open and limbs were all but disintegrated, the wizard unleashing his fury without remorse.

  Before the sun had fully emerged from behind its hidden haven, a thousand enemies lay butchered across the crimson-soaked soil. Out of the five hundred Mandrake defenders, only a hundred and twenty three had joined them.

  ‘It was a fine day to regret being an enemy,” Lord Andras laughed as they sat around the evening cook fire. “Master Jacob,” this had been the first time Andras had acknowledged the wizard by his rightful title and it was not lost on him. “You were born to battle these heathens.”

  Jacob smiled and raised his mug of mead, accepting the compliment. “You are too kind, Lord Andras, but I fought no braver than any of these fine men around me!” His voice was loud so those in the camp heard him and cheered.

  “We dealt them a devastating blow today, one they will not soon forget,” Jarroth said. “Their numbers within Mandrake must be dwindled down to below our own by now.”

  “Likely true, Jarroth, the range is estimated to be between two thousand and three.” Andras refilled his mug.

  “It might be time to plan for taking back my Lord’s Castle. Their numbers are low, they grow weaker by the day, and our men’s morale has never been higher.”

  “All truths, Jarroth,” Andras said, mulling over his drink. “But a pitched battle at the castle walls would end many lives, much of them our own. At this rate, it will not be long before they are forced to surrender the castle and fight us in full.” He grinned. “And as you said Jarroth, they grow weaker by the day, which will make our job much easier.” They all shared a laugh.

  “I do have a suggestion for another tactical, yet unorthodox win.” Jacob said across the campfire, catching their attention.

  Chapter 11

  Nicolette paced her cell feverishly - her eyes were swollen and scarlet, her cheeks crusted with dried tears. So many had fallen that she had none left. It had been three days since Shania had been taken by Jeriki. Three days since Nicolette’s guilt-ridden mind had allowed her sleep. Every moment felt like forever and every day made her positive that Shania was dead... because of her cowardice.

  “Will you just stop over there?” Nina barked across the hall from her cell. “It has already been three days, she is dead. You can stop wasting your time worrying about it. She is in a better place than the rest of us.”

  “Nina, shut up!” Luna snapped back. “Have some respect.”

  “She is driving me crazy, blubbering and pacing like a caged animal - like it is actually gonna help bring her friend back.”

  “She is a caged animal, we all are,” Luna countered. “As I recall, once upon a time you were doing the same thing.”

  “We all have at some point,” Sherry added. “It is in our nature; we are not meant to be behind bars.”

  “I just hope she gets sold soon, so we can be done with her,” Nina muttered nastily.

  “Shut your whore mouth, Nina!” Luna hissed again.

  Nina walked to her bars and stared out. “At least I do not send my friends in my place.”

  Nicolette’s scream was primal as she threw herself at the bars of her cell. “I will cut out your tongue!” She raged as she pulled on the bars, praying they would break. “You speak to me again and I swear to you, I will see you dead!”

  Nina stepped back, startled by Nicolette’s display. “So the kitten has got claws and not just a pretty face after all.”

  Nicolette glared across the hallway, her eyes filled with hatred as she began pacing once more.

  “Stop being such a bitch,” a new voice added from the cells closest to the entrance. It was the only one of the girls Lance had gotten from Reed that was still there - the other two had been sold to a band of mercenaries that passed through the day before. The girl was larger, with dark hair
and almond-set, dangerous eyes.

  “Mind your own business, new girl!” Nina nipped.

  “I am making it my business!” The stout girl growled.

  Nina rolled her eyes. “It is a good thing killers normally like their girls fatter.”

  “Shut up, someone is coming!” Sherry warned and everyone fell silent.

  Nicolette’s heart froze in her chest as the doors were pushed open and Shania was half-dragged back to the cell by Mitch and two others. Dark, sinister bruises marred her exposed skin virtually everywhere, both her eyes were nearly swollen shut - her lips were split and her gait was awkward and rigid.

  One of the men pushed Shania roughly into the cell - she stumbled and fell, but Nicolette was quick to catch her. “Jeriki told me to tell you your friend kept her word and pleased him often,” the man said smugly and the two left.

  Shania’s legs were trembling erratically and Nicolette slowly lowered her battered form to the floor. “What have they done to you?” Nicolette cried out as fresh tears she did not know she had left burned their way down her swollen cheeks. She looked into her friends eyes; they were empty of everything except terror. “I am sorry.” Nicolette sobbed harder, pulling her friend gingerly to her, stroking her hair gently. “I am so sorry, Shania... so sorry... it should have been me, not you...”

  “Enough crying,” Mitch barked. “It is time for you wenches to get some fresh air.”

  “What about her?” Douglas asked pointing to Shania’s battered form.

  “She can stay here this time. No one wants to see that.”

  “You cannot just leave her alone!” Nicolette gasped out.

  “Shut your mouth, wench!” Mitch spat. “We can do whatever we like. If I say she stays here, then she stays here!”

  Nicolette ignored him. “She needs help, she could die!”

  “And I care?” Mitch countered.

  “You should,” Sherry said from her cell. “If she dies, then Lance is out at least eight silver pieces.”

  Mitch and Douglas exchanged knowing glances.

  “Go fetch Elsrath; he will make sure the bitch does not die,” Mitch grumbled.

  “I will stay with her,” Nicolette said, cradling her friend’s head gently.

  Mitch stepped into the cell and grabbed a handful of her short brown hair. “You will do as I tell you.” He pulled her from the cell and threw her to the floor, a hard kick landing deep in her ribs. Nicolette coughed and wheezed for air, holding her side. “Anyone else want to tell me what ‘they’ think they are gonna do?” No answer came. “Good, now strip down and get outside!” Mitch tossed the cell keys to Douglas.

  Nicolette hated this part - she had given up on trying to cover herself with her hands and arms though, and was instead angrily resigned to it all. The first time, the shame and indignity had been too much and she had refused. Lance’s men had slapped her around and tore the grey tunic off her. For her insolence, she had been left naked for the remainder of the day.

  The sun bit painfully at her unadjusted eyes as she stepped out and down the stairs behind the other girls as they were led to the high fenced corral called “The Hen House’ and ushered in before the gate was closed. The hoots, howls, and obscenities from the men around the camp overwhelmed the ears, but she knew it would die off before too long - it always did.

  The Hen House was a square paddock once used to hold horses - now it was used to display Lance’s wares and allow them fresh air and sunlight. In the center of the enclosure was a large circular trough, full of fresh rain water where the girls could wash themselves. The only other luxuries within were several crudely constructed benches, where the girls could sit or sunbathe.

  Nicolette moved to the trough, forcing back the tears of humiliation as the men around the camp took in her naked form with their vile eyes and taunting words. She knew the tears she fought back the hardest were ones of guilt for Shania. She picked up a dirty rag and began washing away the dusty film that caked her body. The cool water felt good on her skin. The sensation allowed her the briefest moment of contentment…where nothing else around her mattered.

  “Looks like they actually took my words to heart,” Sherry’s voice cut through Nicolette’s still haven.

  Nicolette followed the woman’s gaze and watched Elsrath enter the barn with Lance. Fresh tears stung her eyes as remorse found her again.

  “Do not cry... your friend will live,” Sherry said, dipping her own rag into the water.

  “It is my fault,” Nicolette whispered, forcing herself to stare at her reflection in the water.

  Sherry moved closer to her. “No it is not. You did not do this to her.”

  Nicolette was not listening anymore. She dropped the rag and walked to the edge of the fence, her eyes scanning the camp for any sign of Zehava or Dahak. The camp was full activity as another day of drinking, gambling, and fights to the death would ensue. She could see them within the fighter’s cell. Even from this distance, she could tell they had been severely punished for what Zehava had done.

  Nicolette found it hard to believe that they were so close to each other and yet their worlds were entirely different now.

  Her concentration was broken as hoots and hollers erupted from both within the Hen House and out. She turned to see a fight had broken out. The large, black-skinned girl and Nina were rolling around the ground, raining fists down upon each other.

  “Cursed woman,” Lance bellowed as he and Elsrath exited the barn, “causing me nothing but inconveniences today.” He grabbed his nearest man. “Get in there and break them up before they do serious damage to one another!”

  “Seems even the woman are disobedient in your camp,” Jeriki said with a condescending grin. “Makes it hard to believe you have done as well as you have.” He laughed, walking away.

  Lance stared hatefully at his rival as he walked away. His anger boiled uncontrollably.

  “We have fights to set up,” Elsrath told him.

  “Get these bitches packed away with half rations of food for a week!” Lance ordered as he walked away.

  *****

  The day was hot and humid, making the smell of death that hung in the air much more putrid. It had been days since Zehava had acted instinctively and interfered with Dahak’s fight, saving his friends life - but in punishment Shania had been sent to the tents of Jeriki. Early that morning, she had been escorted back to the slave barn. She had hardly been able to keep her feet beneath her and even her dark olive skin and the distance could not hide the brutal bruises that riddled her flesh.

  Dahak had not spoken to him since he had witnessed Shania’s removal. He had screamed himself hoarse and thrashed until his wrists had bled, then thrashed some more until he had no energy to move and had passed out from exhaustion. When he had woken in the middle of the night, his screams had been primal and had rapidly stirred the entire camp. It had earned him several lashings - if he had noticed them it had not shown. Since then, he had not made a sound, he had not moved - he simply sat on the wooden bench within the cell and stared blankly at the floor. Zehava had tried to talk to him, but he showed no sign of even registering his existence.

  Lance and two of his men walked up to the cell. One man carried a long chain. Lance’s look was grim and annoyed as he stared in at them, chewing his lower lip in sour contemplation. “You two have caused me more grief than any other slaves I have ever had. Even catching you was nearly not worth it for all I have lost. Now you will likely cost me even more.” Lance leaned in close, his eyes locking on Zehava’s. “If you survive this I will consider you forgiven and will put your stupidity behind us,” he paused and gripped the bars tightly. “If not, I will have to make the small fortune you have cost me back from between the legs of those two pretty little things.” Lance pushed himself away from the bars in frustration. “Chain them up and get them to the pit.”

  Zehava and Dahak stood alone on one side of the pit, a thick chain the length of two men linking them together by their ankles. A
sword and dagger were dropped down beside them, nothing more.

  “Here is your chance to keep your friend alive,” Lance called down to him. “But my suggestion would be to worry about your own life and those of your other two friends.”

  Zehava looked over to Dahak - his friend stood placid, his face almost serene. “Take the sword, Dahak; you will need it. I shall be all right with just the dagger.” Zehava went for the knife but his hand was kicked away.

  “I do not want your protection,” Dahak hissed, grabbing the dagger, his eyes deadly.

  Zehava had no time to respond - the crowd roared loudly and two more fighters were dropped into the pit. Startled, Zehava realized that they had no chains binding them together. Zehava snatched up the rusty sword just as one man lunged forward with a trident and he barely managed to parry the attack. Zehava stepped in and his sword came down, the ironwood staff of the trident was quick to intercept. Had Zehava’s blade been of decent quality, it might have severed the wood. A hard boot punched out and caught Zehava in the midsection, stealing his breath and throwing him back against the pit wall. He threw himself to the side, just as the trident slammed into the dirt wall where his head had been. The chain on his leg pulled tight, allowing him to go no further. Zehava slashed his blade across the man’s exposed abdomen, but his strike was weak and only left a minor wound as he fought to regain his breath.

  Dahak stood nearly perfectly still as the fight began - for the first time in his life, he felt no fear threatening to overwhelm him, no anxiety coursing through him about dying. There was nothing except an indifferent calm, surrounded by a storm of bitter antipathy. He watched the man attack Zehava but he could find no concern for his friend’s safety. All he could think about was had Zehava let him die, Shania would not have had to suffer at the hands of Jeriki and his cruel fetishes. The chain that held them jerked, causing him to twist to keep his balance, his opponent’s battle axe flashing down in front of him, nearly taking his nose from his face as it was buried into the dirt.