There’s not much that will make you appreciate your life more than seeing someone whose life has been taken from them. Now, it’s not that I enjoyed the killing so much as I enjoyed the aspect of not being killed. Every person has to make it in life, one way or another. Some people are born with talents, some are born with wealth. It’s up to each person to find out how they’re going to make it and to act on it.
I was gifted with the talents of size and strength. I grew up to stand taller and wider than most men and Father had me fighting before I could fully walk. I may not have been born a killer, but I was raised as one.
I stepped over a thin man who had tasted the cold feel of a blade across his neck as his last act in life. The man next to him didn’t have any holes or cuts on him, but still looked properly dead. I drove my knife into his chest to be sure. You’d be surprised how many warriors will play dead in a battle, clinging on hopes they’ll be looked over and gifted with another day in this life.
I looked up and observed Sir Eisen across the courtyard. He seemed to be checking every corpse he passed was dead with his blade. I loved that man’s lust for war, but once the blood started to spill, he could be hard to pull from the fight. He still obeyed orders and hadn’t ever turned that anger on me, so I had no issues with him getting extra stabs after his opponents stopped fighting back.
In the bodies I observed a few familiar faces lying among the dead. You’re going to have casualties in a fight that involves swords and arrows, but it was never a good feeling as a leader to see my men down. Fighters, real fighters with a passion and talent for it, are hard to come by on the road. I was working on behalf of the King and he always added to my ranks with his own men, but my fighters are the ones who kept me successful. We spent countless hours sharpening our minds, bodies and skills. The King’s men would turn and run the second Sir Eiesn gave them the choice.
My fighters, women and men, would die next to me without hesitation. You’ll find the King doesn’t allow women in the ranks that involve the carrying of swords. I found that foolish; Little Junipa and Madam Samwell had more anger inside of them than any man I’d ever met. They may not be as strong as the largest of men, but they countered that with speed and a willingness to do what others wouldn’t. I’d gladly fend off a group of the King’s personal guards before I caught one of them in a killing mood.
Still though, I didn’t see anyone too terribly valuable in the corpses. My fighters must still be around, taking the fight from the entrance courtyard into the actual walls of the Keep. Normally in a battle such as this, when a King sends an army to take control over a Lord’s keep, one who denies the King it’s loyalty, people are spared after they surrender their allegiance to whom they serve. In cases where a mercenary is sent to lead that attacking army, such as I was today, no one with a blade is spared.
The King had enough troops to staff the Keep as he pleased; he didn’t need any who had been loyal to a rogue lord. In some cases I would keep the ones alive who proved to have true skill. Usually the skill meant they loved to fight, not that they loved serving whatever lord they swore allegiance to. They’d be perfectly loyal to anyone who gave them the chance to keep killing. But up to this point, the Langdrin Keep hadn’t supplied any men of such caliber.
I continued my walk through the courtyard, making my way to the interior walls so that I could rejoin the fight. I spent the walk gazing at all of the lost souls. Men who just hours ago still had plans and dreams in life. Now they were laid to rest and would be lucky if they received a proper burial. I’d imagine they’d be piled and burned before nightfall.
Informants told us Lord Langdrin would be meeting our army with at least 4,000 armored warriors. There couldn’t have been more than 500 inside the gates once we breached them. My fighters were able to clear most of them out on their own. Sir Eisen was quick on our heels, never wanting to miss the blood. He hardly had a chance to get his men inside the gate before the blood had been spilled. Normally 100 fighters against so many would sound like a losing bet, but knights fought in stupid ways. They lunged, one after the other, dying in single numbers. You can be sure that my crew would have as many blades as possible in a man if provided with a similar situation.
"Use your strengths. If you are able to attack one man with two men, then do it. Don’t fight in even numbers unless you have to," I could still hear Father in my head, instructing me on how to properly lead an army. After all, war is a game of numbers.
As my group made the mess, the King’s fools would clean as needed. They already had carts going around body to body, collecting any usable weapons and valuable items. My troop would take what they wanted, but we were paid quite handsomely for our services nowadays. We didn’t have the need to loot as much as we had in our past. But greed doesn’t leave a person fully; we still found ourselves with pockets heavier than they should be on most days. At least those I called mine had the decency to wait until the fight was over. The sounds of battle were still fresh inside the Keep. Sir Eisen had his men cleaning and celebrating like they were done for the day. For all we knew, there were still 3,500 armored men waiting to be killed just inside the walls.
"Hey Lad," I heard from my right. An old man with hair whiter than his dying skin struggled to sit up, propping himself against the butchered body next to him. He was clutching his ribs, which I could see held a nasty wound. The kind of wound you wanted to kill you, because the infection and fevers caused by it would be more painful than death itself. He looked too old to be fighting, anyways. I stepped towards him and held his gaze.
"Did my blade do this?"
The man laughed, which turned into more of a bloody cough, dripping from his mouth and adding to the red painting which already covered his body. "I have a feeling you would’ve given me a much quicker death."
I smiled at that. Call me kindhearted, but he was right; I did my best to deliver swift deaths to those I met in combat. Not everyone earned the pain I could bring so I saved the suffering and torture for when I needed it most. Men just following orders didn’t deserve to endure that.
"I have to know..." he gasped for air as the strain of words was proving to be a challenge for him. "How does a mercenary come to lead a king’s army and do his bidding?"
A funny story indeed, he was right to be curious. Uncle Henry, who was originally my squire and bodyguard as a boy, accompanied me on the road when I was newly 12 years of age. He wasn’t truly my uncle, but the name sounded more fitting than Lord Henry. He served me still, nearly eight years later, offering up a well thought out second opinion when needed.
We spent years on the road together, forming a group of brothers and sisters that we met on our travels. We took in anyone who needed a purpose to fill and had the desire to fight in them. Moving from town to town, killing who needed to be killed and taking what we needed to take. We became so deadly in our ways that whispers eventually floated into the King’s ears. He beckoned for me and Uncle and provided an offer; die by his hands or use our gifts to help him lesson the number of enemies he had in this world. And here we are today, working on one less enemy for him to worry about.
"The King heard of how nice a man I am," I replied to the dying elder. "He wanted to ensure everyone within his kingdom’s reach was met with hospitality and open arms. So he sends me to deliver his kindness," I knelt down, coming just inches from the old man, speaking now in barely a whisper. "Would you prefer to bleed out slowly or shall I end your suffering?"
The man looked into my eyes, surely wondering what he could have done differently in life for it to not end this way. I had seen the same look and thoughts countless times. He raised his chin and looked towards the sky, taking a long, deep, and final breath. I drew my short blade and sliced his neck clean open.
The portion of the battle that was to take place in the courtyard was clearly complete. I saw no more of Lord Langdrin’s men left with the ability to fight. The advancement into the walls had only began just minutes ago; there would still be plenty of blood to be shed inside, which is where I always wanted to be.
The stone work around the Keep was old, but was built with a solid foundation. The Langdrin family had been wealthy for many generations and afforded the best builders during the time of the construction. They were one of the last families in the King’s grasp that had not yet pledged their loyalty to him. The youngest son, Brine, was recently left to rule the keep on his own after a terrible fire (that many rumored he himself set) killed his last relatives.
The boy, not yet 16 years of age, proved to not have a mind designed for ruling or leading armies. Despite his poor leadership, he was supposedly as skilled a swordsman one could be at his age. I would argue the body count I left behind me during my 16th year would prove a different truth to that. Perhaps the boy did have some skills to his name, as his father surely would have provided him the best teachers possible in his youth. As an heir who wasn’t first in line for the title, your job was to fight and captain your lord’s armies. Brine would have spent his childhood learning how to stab, rather than how to read and run a keep.
The passing from the main gate led into a wide street cluttered with various shops on both sides. There were bodies scattered all along the roadway, mostly consisting of Langdrin men. Some merchants with nowhere to go were hiding in their shops, but the majority of residents here were safely hidden from view and out of the way of the fighting, not wanting to be mistaken as a soldier or fighter. Still, I observed some of them had not fled the area soon enough and now lay dead, adding to the picture of chaos.
I observed a few hundred feet down the road, the battle was fresh. My army was still pouring through the gate, moving with me towards the fighting. Some broke off and went to clear the smaller streets of any militia men waiting for their chance to die. I followed the path in front of me, as it was the quickest way to the giant, looming tower that stood looking over the Keep from the center of the walls. It appeared the tower had been built first, and everything else sprouted up around it over time. The Langdrin men would surely be set in heavier numbers inside and directly around the tall tower, hoping the smaller numbers would tire the men out and the lord could be protected from worn out fighters just before they reached him. They would soon learn that strategy is worthless against my family.
I pushed into the fight, using my size to shoulder through the battle-hungry men who had been enjoying themselves, leading the assault from the front. True warriors, hungry with the fight. The King’s men were mixed in with us now, but the majority of the push was still led by my fighters, as it rightfully should be.
I drew Anglin, the sword Father had passed down to me in his death. It’s handle was thick enough that even I had to use both hands to effectively wield it. The blade was forged in the hottest of flames, born from the great Vesuva, a magical mountain that was filled with liquid fire. Stories tell of Vesuva becoming angry in years passed and unleashing a small portion of the Dark God’s wrath onto the world. Turning everything it touched into rock or completely removing it from existence, causing homes and living beings to become a part of the liquid fires themselves. Only a handful of swords ever cast in the great fire of the mountain still survived today. Whether the fires had magic in them or not, the blades they created seemed to worked like magic for anyone who could properly use them.
The blood of battle quickly cast it’s hue on myself and Anglin. I stabbed, swung and danced the steel around the guardsman who were waiting for a killing. Uncle fought just next to me, older than his youth but still better with the fight than anyone who stood against him. We cut down men and proceeded down the road. The number of guardsman growing heavier as we progressed, but still not as heavy as they should be. Something wasn’t right about the formations. We still had not taken the lives of even 1,000 men. The numbers had to be waiting for us somewhere.
We pressed on, not slowing the pace of the fight. Hacking through skulls and piercing through chests. The men left on the street began to turn and run towards the Lord’s tower. They were running to regroup I gathered, as the bells of surrender had still not rung out. Some of the King’s men raced after those that fled, following them into the training grounds that surrounded the tower.
My fighters knew better than to give chase until we knew where the chase was leading. I had seen pictures of the castle in books and battle maps the King provided for studying while planning the assault. I knew the tower was built in a square shape and around it was a large stone circle of walls. The walls added a second layer of defense around the tower and the training grounds were large enough for a fair amount of soldiers to be waiting. Only one gate led into the grounds, which was not more than a stone’s throw from me now and was left standing open; inviting in those who were brave enough to enter.
From looking directly through the gate, there were only a handful of soldiers waiting inside. I began to believe the young Brine may truly not have the numbers promised in his army anymore. Maybe his soldiers fled to stronger lands with rulers who led with more promise.
Myself and most of my fighters made it through the gate before the thick metal doors dropped from the sky and closed the advance of the King’s men who were following behind us. Guardsman had been hiding on top of the wall, waiting to close the gates. The dropping of the heavy doors resounding with a deafening boom, blasting it’s way to the ears of anyone who stood within a half mile. With that boom came Lord Brine and the rest of his army. Flowing in from the doors leading into the tower and emerging from around the hidden corners of it. His men quickly surrounded us. I could not count so quickly, but it appeared his army was just as vast as we had been told. Perhaps stronger, even.