Swords of Steel Omnibus

by Howie K Bentley et al.

  The Khan’s men were dropping at an exponential rate. Both defensive lines at the head of the caravan and on the west side were breached. Now the bandits were riding and rampaging through the ranks of the whole of the caravan. It was now nothing more than an open brawl with the numbers of the caravan defenders dwindling rapidly. Braxus had been thrown from his horse during the assault on the front of the column but he managed to dispatch his assailant. He made his way back towards the center of the caravan where Argus was doing his best to stand his ground against fearful odds. And the odds were now becoming even worse due to another group of mounted bandits from the north entering the fray.

  Argus, still mounted upon his steed, was locked in combat with two bandit riders, one on each side of him. He swung his sword furiously, slashing across the chest of one bandit and dismounting him. He came back across with his swing too slow, leaving himself open. His other opponent’s scimitar found its mark across his chest. Luckily the blade did not cut its way through his Arcanian cuirass, merely denting the armor. But the blow was sufficient enough to launch him from his saddle and onto the ground. Stunned, Argus rose as quickly as he could, but as he looked up he saw the mounted bandit with scimitar raised above him preparing to deliver a fatal blow. Argus began to raise his sword to block the blow but he knew that his effort was going to be too late. And then a streak of black horse flesh swept between Argus and the mounted bandit. Argus was sent reeling backwards, but he managed to stay on his feet. As quickly as the blur of black came it was gone. Remaining in front of him was the bandit slumped on his horse, his head dangling from his shoulders by a thread of bloody flesh.

  Argus regained his composure and was astonished to see the fugitive Tarsus running his black stallion headlong into another bandit’s horse, both of his gladii swords singing their death song as one red sash after another fell lifeless to the ground. Tarsus wheeled his horse back around, dispatching another bandit with a mighty swing. He spurred his horse on and returned to Argus, yelling at him, “Get mounted, man! This battle is lost and your only hope is to survive this slaughter is escape to the east.”

  Argus looked upon him with confusion. He tried to stammer out words of concern for the caravan, but was interrupted quickly by Tarsus again. “No time to think, man! You are outmatched. Do as I say or die here.” Tarsus spurred his horse on again and met another bandit rider, chopping the rogue’s spear in twain with a backhand stroke of the sword in his left hand and following it with a mighty forward stroke of the sword in his right. The blade cut clean through the bandit’s spear arm and a spray of red ichor splashed upon Tarsus and his horse. The arm flew to the ground, still twitching and clutching what was left of the spear. The bandit let loose a scream of agony and fell from his mount, bleeding out rapidly.

  Argus ran and mounted his steed just as another bandit came riding towards him at full gallop. By now Argus had regained his senses and his composure. He reared his stallion up with its hooves striking at the oncoming horse and rider. The bandit’s horse winced at the sight of the attacking war horse, giving Argus the advantage of position. As the magnificent white horse came slamming its hooves down to the earth Argus struck, his sword finding the lower jaw of his assailant. A shrill gurgling sound emitted from the man as blood and teeth flew from his face.

  Argus looked for Braxus. He was standing on one of the carts slashing away at riders as they sped by. “Braxus! With me!” screamed Argus as he grabbed the horse’s tethers from the bandit he had just cleaved. He jerked on the reins and spurred his own horse on. As they took off towards Braxus the bandit fell from the saddle and lay limp on the sand, his smashed jaw hanging from his face. Argus rode by the cart and Braxus jumped onto the bandit’s horse. They both turned and rode towards Tarsus, who was still wielding crimson death to more of Saris Borga’s men.

  Tarsus turned to see Braxus and Argus riding up to him. He yelled at them, “If you wish to live, follow me.” He kicked the black stallion hard. It sprang into action and launched into a full run eastward towards the steppes and the Himla Mountains.

  “I wish to live!” cried Tarrak, who jumped out of the cart and ran up to Braxus and Argus as they rode by. Braxus reached down and grabbed up the Khoshite scout and flung him up and onto the back of his horse.

  Argus looked back over his shoulder toward the caravan as they raced away on their mounts. There were only a few of Almec Khan’s men left alive that he could see and it appeared as though they were being struck down at that very moment. Bandits tore through the carts and rounded up the scattered camels and mules. Slaves were taken captive and he could see some of the female servants being ravaged by several of the red sash ruffians. His heart sank as he realized he had failed his mission. He had lost his command, and as far as he was concerned, his honor also. Just before he turned forward he noticed an especially tall and muscular Khoshite bandit, with red turban upon head, standing on one of the carts staring directly at him and his retreating companions.

  * * *

  Night was beginning to fall as the stars crept into view in the darkening desert sky. Not a word had been spoken between any of the four while they rode as fast as their mounts could be spurred to. Tarsus finally stopped his black steed and wheeled about, looking for any signs of pursuit. Argus and Braxus slowed their horses to a halt with Tarrak still clutching onto Braxus from behind. The horses were frothing from the run but the heat of the day was starting to subside. Tarsus climbed down from his saddle and knelt in the sand. Braxus helped Tarrak down from the back of their mount. “We must let this poor excuse for a horse rest. By the gods, those bastards skewered mine back there.”

  Argus dismounted as well and approached Tarsus “My lord Tarsus, we… I… owe…”

  Before another word could spring from the lips of the Arcanian, Tarsus raised his hand in a gesture of silence. “Listen.” he whispered. They all remained silent for several moments. “I had a suspicion but now I am sure. We are being followed.”

  Argus strained to look into the desert night. “How can you tell? I can’t see anything out there.”

  “I can hear their horses. It would serve you well to take inventory of what food and water you have. We will need to ration what there is, I am certain.” Tarsus stood up and grabbed one of three water pouches hanging from the horn of his saddle. He threw the pouch to Tarrak. “Here, boy, see to it that the horses get equal shares of half of that.”

  Tarrak looked at Argus as if to ask if he should obey. Argus nodded, saying, “Do what he says, Tarrak.”

  The towering Camorian known as Braxus the Bull came to the side of Argus and Tarsus. “What would they have of us? They already have the caravan. What else is there?”

  Tarsus looked at the brute of a man and spoke with a dark husky voice. “They want you. You would both make fine trophies for the likes of Saris Borga. Every westerner that he kills or captures grows his fame and charisma amongst the tribes. Plus, our horses and western steel are much more desirable than what is normally found in Khosh. Or maybe they just want that horse of yours back.”

  Braxus chuckled a bit. “The wonders of the gods never stop. A northman with a sense of humor.”

  Braxus began to introduce himself to Tarsus but the Aiser interrupted him mid-sentence. “I know who you are. Little is left to secret within a place like Rho Thule.”

  “How is it that you came to our aid, my lord?” asked Argus. “And maybe even of more interest to me—why?”

  Tarsus turned to the east and began to lead his horse while calmly answering. “You called me a brother in arms. I had forgotten that I had any. Now we must push on, for the bandits of the Red Brotherhood will not rest till they overtake us. They are not far behind.”

  “How many do you figure are tracking us?” asked Braxus.

  Tarsus quickened his pace a bit. “If I know Saris he will send no less than a dozen of his best men. And if he feels you a notable prize he may even come after you himself. If that is the case, then we can expect many more on
our heels. We will proceed on foot for a time until the animals have rested enough to ride again.”

  Across the desert sands Tarsus and his newly acquired comrades pressed on through the night, only stopping briefly to rest and share what little water they had with their mounts. Tarsus was better provisioned than the rest with water and food. Tarrak had mere bread scraps hidden away in his shirt but no water. Braxus had some form of hardtack and jerky in a sack found on the bandit’s horse along with one water pouch. Argus had no provisions aside from a lone water pouch that by now was half empty. His bedroll and saddlebag had been lost during the battle at the caravan. Tarsus repeated his warnings to preserve their water as much as possible. Just before dawn Tarsus stopped and shared about half of the oats that he had with all three horses. Every so often he would stop to listen and peer silently into the chilled night behind them.

  As the sun rose above the mountain peaks far to the east, the light of a new day lit up the desert sand with sparkles and gleams. Tarsus stood straight legged in his stirrups, raising himself up as high as he could. He peered out across the barren terrain, eying a faint cloud of dust behind them to the west. Tarsus beckoned to the others, who were all looking very worn and tattered from the flight. “They will be upon us by midday if we do not make haste.” He spurred his horse and as he passed the others he gave each of their steeds a slap on the hindquarters.

  “Why not stand and fight?” Braxus bellowed.

  “I am sure it will come to that, but it shall be in the place of our choice.” Tarsus yelled back. “If we can stay ahead of them long enough to make it to the rocky steppes, then we may find higher ground that we can defend.”

  Onward they rode, the horses weakening with the rising temperature as the morning passed on. White foam formed on the steeds as they struggled for good footing in the sand and baked broken ground. A gust from the northeast began to blow. Tarsus halted his black stallion, looking back to the west and then to the north. The bandits were closing fast. Now the riders themselves were visible. Tarsus gave another look back and forth between the approaching riders and the northeast.

  “I make them twenty or more. Too many to face on open ground. We will never make the steppes before they overtake us. We have only one chance, lads. There seems to be a storm brewing there.” He pointed towards to the northeast. Swirling clouds of sand could be seen in the distance.

  Argus questioned the Aiser. “You plan to lose them in the wake of the storm?”

  Tarsus spurred his horse, saying, “If not, then blind them to our blades.” He directed his stallion toward the ever-growing storm as Argus and Braxus looked at each other.

  “Will we not also be blinded to theirs?” Braxus asked sarcastically.

  They both kicked their mounts after Tarsus. Tarrak hung onto Braxus, screaming, “The gods have forsaken us. If the Red Brotherhood does not kill us, the wrath of the sands shall.”

  The velocity of the wind increased and blew sand everywhere, making visibility somewhat poor. But as Tarsus glanced back to their rear he could see the bandits were nearly upon them. The gusts became even stronger and a whirlwind of sand blew against them, obscuring anything at a distance. It was difficult to even see each other. The sand began to sear into their faces and exposed flesh. They pushed on as the sandstorm gained intensity, doing the best they could to guard their faces from the blowing sands that felt like needles.

  They could no longer run the horses in the gale and vision was limited now to only the length of a pull cart. The black stallion of Tarsus began to pull to the right again and again. The bandit horse that Braxus and Tarrak rode stumbled upon a seemingly rocky ledge protruding out of the ground. Tarrak fell off the horse, landing on his back with a yelp. Braxus stayed the mount and regained control.

  Tarrak struggled to his feet. He looked about him and then announced to the others, “It is a wall… I think… or what remains of one.”

  They all gathered together for a moment while Tarrak hopped back upon the horse behind Braxus. The wind was nearly deafening at this point. Tarsus yelled to the others, “My horse believes there is water in this direction. Stay close to me.”

  Tarsus let his steed guide him as they slowly entered what seemed to be ruins of walls and buildings. Perhaps they were ancient remnants of a settlement or village of some sort. As they continued further along they happened upon more and more broken walls made from large limestone blocks. Soon it became obvious that this had not been a mere village but a somewhat large city. There seemed to be no structures with roofs left, however. Tarsus halted the group when he found a wall that was large enough and well positioned to protect them from the storm. It stood about twice a man’s height. They hunkered down and clung close to the wall, trying their best to keep the horses protected from the raging sands blowing all about them.

  Tarsus handed the reins of his horse to Tarrak. “Guard him well, boy.” Tarsus drew in close to them all, speaking in a hushed and husky voice. “Speak not. I believe the bastards are still at our heels. Draw blade and prepare to deliver.” Tarsus then disappeared into the blowing sands as silently as a cat.

  All three heeded his words and drew their swords. Argus and Braxus, both giving control of their horses to Tarrak, took up positions at each end of the wall that protected them from the storm. Tarrak stayed snug behind the wall holding the tethers to the horses, shaking with fear. Still it was impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction as the wind and sand blew with even greater might. The wind howled furiously, but Braxus thought he caught ear of horses on the opposite side of the wall. His shield had been lost in the caravan raid, but he still had his weapons to defend himself with. He gripped his medium length sword in his right hand and a large hunting knife in his left. He poised himself ready to strike anyone coming around the corner of the wall.

  The sudden sounds of a horse braying and the crashing of stone alarmed Braxus. He felt the blocks of the wall beside him heave as two large sections of stone tumbled down beside him. To his surprise he saw a brown horse sprawling on the ground. Then a dark skinned Khoshite fell beside it with a gaping wound from shoulder to chest. The horse scrambled to its feet and ran out into the blowing sands. Braxus took a brief look at the bandit to make sure he was dead and noticed the red sash wrapped around his waist. “That has to be the gladiator,” Braxus thought to himself. He sprang around the corner of the wall, still being pummeled by the wind and sand, with one thought in mind. Tarsus was on foot, so if it rides a horse, kill it. He saw a faint outline in the blowing sand and raced headlong toward it. As he closed in he could tell it was a horse with rider. With a mighty leap he crashed into the rider and embedded his sword into the man’s chest. The horse bucked and ran as the two combatants fell to the ground, the Khoshite already dead. Braxus ripped his sword out of the man’s chest and tried to gather his sense of direction. He headed back towards where he thought the wall was. He could hear horses but with the howl of the storm he was not exactly sure from which direction.

  Two mounted bandits seemed to manifest out of the sand to Braxus’ left. They headed straight for him, both riders brandishing throwing spears. As they prepared to throw, a figure on foot slid in front of the second rider’s horse with the speed of a striking panther, slashing at its legs with two Arcanian gladii swords. The horse’s legs buckled when struck, and the rider toppled from the saddle as the mare slammed face first into the ground. Tarsus was upon the dismounted bandit instantly, delivering a blow with each sword that left the head crushed and faceless.

  The other bandit managed to loose his spear at Braxus, who tried to dodge it without success. It penetrated into his left side, breaking ribs, but still the man-giant unleashed hell upon the bandit, slashing at his leg as he rode past. Braxus’ sword found flesh on both horse and man. Entrails gushed out of the horse’s side and blood sprang from the deep cut in his assailant’s leg. Both rider and horse toppled to the ground in a pool of blood. Braxus pulled the spear out of his side with a groan of
agony. He hurled it into the chest of the wounded thief, killing him instantly.

  Braxus spat at the dead bandit and then fell to one knee, holding tightly onto his punctured leather armor. Unfortunately the spear tip had not hit any of the metal banding on his leather armor, but had pierced deep into his side. He was losing blood rapidly. Tarsus came to his aid, helping him to his feet. He half-dragged Braxus back to the wall where Tarrak and Argus still were. When they arrived they found Argus standing over another bandit with red sash lying dead on the sand, blood streaming out of the wound from his partially severed neck. The great white stallion of Argus was on the ground, mortally wounded with spear in neck. None of the other horses were in sight. Tarrak clutched at the wall in absolute fear with his scimitar on the ground before him.

  Argus started as he saw Braxus and Tarsus approaching. “Braxus, you’re hurt?” inquired Argus.

  “I can still fight,” Braxus barked back.

  Tarsus leaned the wounded Camorian against the wall and immediately went over to Tarrak and lifted him to his feet by his shirt. “You lost my horse? I should kill you right now! But I may need to eat you later, since you lost all our food and water also.”

  Tarrak answered in terrified voice, “It is this place. It is haunted by the souls of the dead. I can feel them. I have heard of this place. I know it to be evil. We must leave here at once, my lord.”

  Tarsus threw the boy to the ground. “You spineless sack of wine. There is no such thing as ghosts or even gods. You are just a coward, believing in tales old women tell to scare children.” Tarsus looked to Argus. “We must find refuge from this storm. I am fairly certain there are more of Saris Borga’s men still here sniffing for our blood. Let us begone and try to find more suitable cover.”