Warlord Slayer Read online

  On one occasion Hesetti was storming about the camp for no apparent reason. Mark followed her two steps behind. She turned round and shouted at him.

  “Will you fuck off and stop following me?”

  Some of the men nearby laughed and went ‘ooooo’. Mark stayed right where he was, glaring at her.

  “Look,” she said, exasperated, “I just need a little time on my own. I’m going for a walk.”

  She stormed off towards the treeline of a nearby forest. Mark followed her as closely as ever. He was there not just to protect her from lusty Darlothian soldiers, but also to make sure she didn’t run off.

  Hesetti looked back and rolled her eyes as she saw him following. As she pressed on towards the forest Mark tried to catch up with her.

  “That’s enough. We need to get back.” he growled.

  Hesetti turned in a flash and kneed him in the bollocks. Mark bent double and gasped for breath. Instinctively he whipped an axe from his belt and aimed it at her back as she made a break for the forest. It was only then that he remembered this was a political captive and not some barbarian bushwhacker. He gave chase, but she was fast and unencumbered by armour, and was soon lost in the trees.

  As Mark dashed into the thicket and undergrowth of the forest he realised he had lost sight of her. He started to panic as he looked around the forest, hurriedly stepping over fallen logs and dashing between great oaks. The evening sun shone pillars of light through the canopy, but it was still dingy and difficult to see in there.

  “Shit.” he cursed. He’d lost her. The consequences didn’t bear thinking about. Tiberix would be furious. Even worse, he’d be disappointed.

  He pressed on into the forest, looking around desperately. It was then that he heard a splash. He dashed up to the nearest tree and pressed his back against. He slowly peeked around the tree to see a flowing stream, clear water meandering around rock formations and tree roots. He turned back out of view. He listened to what sounded like someone wading through the water. Perhaps it was her. Or maybe it was a barbarian scout shadowing the Darlothian army. Either way, his approach would be similar.

  He readied his axe, and charged.

  Mark burst out from his hiding place, axe in hand ready to intimidate the girl or split the scout in two.

  Hesetti was swimming in the stream. Her dress was lying in a pile near to where Mark was standing, flabbergasted. She turned to see him, and Mark’s heart skipped a beat.

  Mark turned round in a flash, averting his eyes from her nakedness. He heard a splash and dripping water as she stood up and walked out of the stream.

  “I was just having a wash.” she said.

  “We need to go.” Mark grunted.

  Hesetti said nothing for a moment, enjoying his embarrassment. “Can you pass me my dress?” she asked, teasing him.

  Mark couldn’t understand her. He turned around just enough to see her pointing at the dress. He walked over to it and picked it up, keeping his eyes off her at all times, shoving it in her general direction.

  “Thanks.” she said as she took it. Once she was dressed she walked up beside him. “Alright. Let’s go.”

  Mark, red-faced and flustered, grabbed her by the arm.

  “Ouch, fuck! Calm down!” she snarled. Mark grunted, and dragged her off through the forest.

  He dragged her all the way back to the camp as roughly as he dared with such a valuable prisoner. By the time he finally dragger her back into her tent her dress was ripped and covered in mud, and her feet were cut by brambles. When he threw her into her tent she turned round and spat at him. He snarled and turned away, storming out of the tent and standing guard outside, seething.

  Thegn Kilbane and some of his men had been watching all this unfold with some amusement.

  “The girl giving you trouble, lad?” smirked the thegn.

  Mark mumbled something indistinct.

  “You know, if she’s getting too big for her boots, a good smash to the chops might do her some good.”

  “The matter is in hand.” insisted Mark, and Kilbane and his men laughed.

  “Look at him. Typical bloke.” chuckled Kilbane. “He’s cool-headed when he’s going to duel some fearsome warlord. But force him to spend time with a moody woman, and his temper’s as short as a horny wolverine’s!”

  On her first night in Tirigast, King Tiberix and his thegns feasted on roasted boar and drank ale in the great feasting hall. They wolfed down meat with their bare hands and glugged from their tankards. They ate in silence aside from the sound of their own guzzling. Torches and a blazing fireplace lit the room.

  The silence was broken as the great doors of the feasting hall swung open. “Move.” said Mark, curtly, as he ushered Hesetti into the hall.

  The thegns perked up as they looked upon the sullen beauty. They chuckled and muttered lewd remarks to one another as she was led to her seat by her grim bodyguard. She wore plainer clothes now, a simple blue dress. Exhausting by having to stare hatefully for two weeks’ ride, her glare was now one of resignation and casual disdain. She ignored the mocking laughter of the thegns, and refused to meet their lusty glares. She sat down at the table where a plate of over-boiled vegetables had been prepared for her. It was a dish far more fitting for a woman than spear-won boar. She glanced over at Tiberix, who gestured towards her plate, and with a weary sign she began excavating it with her cutlery.

  Mark stood just behind her, hand resting on the haft of the axe at his side. He looked pent-up and paranoid, as if he half expected an assassin to leap out of the shadows and attack at any moment. The stress of watching over the snide madam was clearly getting to him.

  “You can take a break, Mark.” said the King. “Nothing’s going to happen to her here. Come, sit and eat.”

  “I ate already.” growled Mark, and he stayed exactly where he was. Tiberix and Kilbane shared a chuckle. They had trained the boy well.

  A fat, middle-aged thegn with an eyepatch had been watching Hesetti since she’d walked in. As she gingerly pushed the boiled turnip around her plate he began to chuckle to himself. He nudged the thegn next to him in the ribs and gave his two cents.

  “Not very talkative is she, eh? I though barbarian women were supposed to be a bolshie lot”

  The other thegn chuckled. “Aye. Not bad to look at, mind.”

  “Oh aye,” the one-eyed thegn concurred, “not bad at all for a savage. I like ‘em tall. Means there’s more of ‘em to fondle.”

  There were grins and chuckles from the other thegns. Tiberix’s fierce gaze turned, briefly, from the bone he was gnawing on to the fat old thegn, but his attention turned back to his food soon enough. Hesetti realised the joke was at her expense, and she shot the one-eyed man a hateful look.

  He laughed as he met her glare. “What’s wrong, wench, you don’t like root vegetables? It’s the lifeblood of Darloth, love. Our farmers and milkmaids were raised on the stuff. Better than the crow’s wings and pig’s blood you savages eat I’ll wager!” he chuntered, to much laughter from the others.

  Tiberix slammed his fist onto the table and set his glare upon the one-eyed man. At once there was silence, though the thegn nonetheless kept grinning to himself.

  “Are we going to have to endure a whole year of your barbarian jokes, Thegn Carlbrite?” Tiberix scolded. “She may be a savage, aye, but she’s a guest in our keep. I want her to be treated with a modicum of dignity and respect. It’s what separates us from them.”

  “A modicum, eh? What’s that when it’s at home?” chuckled Carlbrite.

  Tiberix shot to his feet, and immediately Carlbrite’s head bowed like an obedient dog. Tiberix knew he didn’t have to say another word, so he sat back down and returned to his meal. The feasting went on in uncomfortable silence.

  Hesetti only managed a few mouthfuls of her soggy veg, wincing with each spoonful. When she was done she pushed away the plate, and her eyes began to wander round the room. She looked over the thegns, all of them gruff, bearded old men with ter
rible table manners. Then her eyes turned to the trophy-shields and weapons adorning the walls. She was about to stand up, but Mark put a firm hand on her shoulder.

  “Don’t move.” he glowered.

  “Easy Mark.” said Tiberix. “She is our guest. Go on, girl. You can leave when you want.”

  Hesetti stood up and shot Mark a nasty look. Then she began to stroll around the hall, looking over all the weapons and shields, running her fingers over them, inspecting them. Mark followed her every step of the way. She ran her fingers along the hilt of a glittering longsword.

  Then she ripped it off the wall and pointed it at Mark, a fierce snarl upon her face.

  There were gasps from the thegns, who stayed dead still. Mark didn’t move a muscle, simply matching Hesetti’s fierce glare.

  Then she laughed, breaking the tension. King Tiberix began to chuckle, and this gave the other thegns permission to do so. Mark stayed stern, his grim glare fixed upon her.

  “She must be one of those barbarian warrior women you hear about in stories!” laughed one of the thegns.

  “You judged her wrong, Carlbrite! The girl has a sense of humour after all!” said another.

  “Aye, I like her spirit, but if she thinks she can fight her way past Mark, then she’s a brave fool!” chuckled Kilbane.

  Hesetti turned away from Mark and started strolling around the hall, whirling the sword in her hand. The laughter of the thegns slowly died down as she whirled the blade this way and that with great skill.

  Then she vaulted over a table and landed with her feet planted, sword pointed at Mark. There were gasps from the thegns.

  “She wants to fight him.” grinned Kilbane.

  “That sounds like a good bit of fun.” said Tiberix, mopping up his meat juices with a chunk of bread. “What do you say, Mark? Go easy on her, will you?”

  “I don’t think that’s possible.” scowled Mark.

  Tiberix grinned. “It’s easy really. Just fight her like normal, but remember to miss.”

  Mark grunted something indistinct. He didn’t relish the prospect, but he had his orders.

  He turned to the wall and took off a sword of his own. Then he paced around the tables and chairs until he was facing Hesetti, who stood in a low stance with her sword pointed at his chest.

  She cried out as she charged at him, and her blade swept in wide arcs. Mark lifted his sword to block each blow. With each strike there was a flash, and a clang, and an ‘oooo’ or an ‘aaaah’ from the watching thegns, who enjoyed the swordplay as well as the novelty of it. A warrior woman was unheard of in Darloth, so Hesetti was quite an oddity. And the thegns always liked making Mark a little uncomfortable when they got the chance – it was usually good value.

  Mark paced about the hall, blocking Hesetti’s firm blows as they rained in from every direction. She was good, but no match for Mark’s skill. He fended her off, but was reluctant to strike back for fear of hurting her.

  Then her sword lashed out in a thrust. Mark ducked back, but the blow was faster than he had anticipated. The blade made a small cut in his cheek. There were gasps all around. Hesetti grinned from ear to ear.

  Mark placed his finger where the blade had bit and looked at it. There was blood. He was bleeding.

  Mark scowled. With one swipe he sent the sword flying from her hand. It planted itself in a nearby table. She had just enough time to look shocked before he punched her in the face, sending her sprawling to the floor clutching her eye socket.

  Tiberix and the thegns roared with laughter and clapped their hands. She lay there for a few moments, then when she had regained herself she sat up and shot Mark a hateful glare. Mark felt a strange mixture of shame and embarrassment.

  “You, young lady, have come closer than anyone to killing Mark in the last two years.” bawled Tiberix. “The only other person who has scarred the boy was Warlord Durthu. And he was the biggest, baddest motherfucker I ever knew, right up until Mark ripped his spine out. As a matter of fact, girl, you are the only person to have scarred Mark and lived to tell the tale!”

  “Don’t feel bad Mark, I smack my wife all the time.” guffawed one of the thegns. “Give her a peck on the cheek and she’ll be right as rain!”

  Kilbane grinned. “If I know this lad like I think I do, the only woman who could stir his loins is the one who can make him bleed. You ought to keep an eye on these two, Tiberix.”

  Tiberix laughed long and hard. “I’ve never known Mark to go anywhere near a woman’s love sheath. He’d sooner fuck a battle-axe than a broad.”

  Mark, not really knowing what else to do at this point, dragged Hesetti off to her room followed by the bawdy laughter of the thegns.

  The next day Hesetti woke at sunrise, and when she left her room Mark was standing guard outside. She shot him her usual hateful glare, a bright purple shiner now covering her eye. Mark was sporting a tiny scar where Hesetti had cut him the day before.

  “I’m sorry.” said Mark as she stormed past him. He had said it even before realising that he might be about to say it.

  Hesetti turned around in a flash. “What?” she snapped.

  Mark shrugged and blushed, then gestured to her eye. “I’m sorry.” he said again.

  “Right. Okay.” she said, getting the gist. “Well, I’m sorry for cutting you.” Then she shot round and stormed off through one of the many corridors of the labyrinthine castle, and Mark followed behind.

  She spent the morning exploring the castle, its dank dingy corridors and its tall towers. She already hated the place. It was a symbol of everything the Lotherians hated about Darloth – it was big and powerful, made out of stone like so much of Darlothian architecture, built to keep the tribesmen out and to prove their superiority. But every once in a while she would reach a window and look out over the frosty fields of Darloth, and the mountains beyond, and stop to admire the view and the cold wind on her face.

  Eventually she found her way onto the ramparts. She stood there looking out over the battlements which overlooked the many walls and towers of Tirigast. She stared out towards Mount Staggheim which blotted out much of the horizon. The wind blew strong, wailing loudly, making her hair and dress flap about wildly. She looked down from the ramparts to the dizzying, perilous drop below.

  “It’s a long way down.” she said, though she knew Mark couldn’t understand her, and besides he could barely hear her over the wailing wind.

  “I’m going to hate it here, aren’t I? Held prisoner by a people who hate me and my people. Back home I could ride out over the grasslands or hunt in the forest. But now I’m stuck here, in this burial cairn.”

  “But the worst part is, this is the good part. In a year’s time I’ll be handed over to the Pictoi, to marry a man who’s name I can’t remember, a man I’ve never met, who might be a terrible wife beater for all I know. I will have to live amongst a tribe my people have warred against for decades. I will have to bear his children, endure his fist and take his penis whenever he wants me to.”

  “I had hoped to be a warrior one day, and lead my tribe into battle. Perhaps, if things had turned out differently, we would have met on the battlefield, and you would have killed me in glorious combat. But my fate is a different one now. It’s not a fate I want.”

  Mark took her arm. He didn’t grab it roughly, but held it as tenderly as he could, for she was half-way climbed onto the parapet.

  She looked into Mark’s eyes, not with hatred this time but with fear. He shook his head. She sighed and nodded, stepping down from the parapet. She looked out toward the horizon again as a tear fell down her cheek.

  “Who knows. A lot can change in a year. Maybe my fate will be a different one.”

  Then she walked off back into the castle. Mark took a couple of moments to compose himself before following her.

  As the months passed Mark and Hesetti managed to coexist well enough. There were no more hateful glares, but you wouldn’t have called their relationship warm either. She ignored him for the mo
st part, and he carried out his orders to the letter, following her wherever she went and standing guard outside her room.

  Soon enough she began to feel safe in his company, for unlike the rest of the castle’s inhabitants he wasn’t interested in taunting or degrading her. He was simply there to obey his king. The others, from the noble thegns (if noble is the word to use), to the lowly cooks, maids and servants, would make jokes at her expense, hurl insults which she could not understand, and make lewd gestures. They might have done worse were it not for Mark’s violent glare, which shot like a warning to those who ventured too close. Despite King Tiberx’s good intentions, she did not feel much like a guest at all.

  Hesetti would spend her days wandering the castle in a vain attempt to alleviate her boredom. She would stand on the parapet sometimes and talk about whatever was on her mind. She knew Mark couldn’t understand her, but it helped her to get things off her chest.

  After a few weeks they began sparring, duelling with swords and axes. Hesetti was keen to train as much as possible. She didn’t want to go soft while under Darlothian protection, and she was a potent warrior. Mark humoured her, going through the motions and putting her through her paces. He told himself that a bit of duelling practice was a better way to spend his time than endless hours spent standing guard outside her room

  Eventually she was even allowed to ride out of the castle, under Mark’s watchful gaze of course, and practice her horsemanship. As she rode she breathed in the cold air, and felt the rush of the wind against her face, and despite everything she began to enjoy herself. They were brief moments of freedom in an otherwise uneventful captivity.

  Their routine was broken when the Darlothian army was mustered and Mark joined his king on the long march into Lotheria. Darloth was content when the tribes were warring amongst themselves but when an alliance was struck between major tribes, as was the case here, Darloth had to act fast to crush whatever combined forces had been mustered.

  Mark was eager to get back on the march, and ultimately back onto the battlefield, and he would not miss the tedium of castle life. Deep down he would miss his daily training sessions with Hesetti, but at the time he would not have admitted anything more than ambivalence for the barbarian wench. While he was gone she was to be guarded by a grizzled old foot soldier named Garret.