Unnamed Story: Chapter 1

“You're useless!”
Tharman grabbed his two longswords and leapt to his feet, his sleep-laden eyes searching for the source of the commotion. Krizs slept on in the corner of the green canvas tent.
Tharman placed his swords on the floor and saluted. “I'm sorry sir!”
The captain glanced at Krizs and answered: “You two are...were supposed to be out scouting an hour ago.”
There was a gleam of  humour in his eyes as Tharman gulped and Krizs turned over in his sleep.
“I don't care if you're royal, get kitted up and out there,” the captain bent towards Krizs' ear, “NOW!” he yelled as he left the tent.
Krizs cried out and rubbed his head. “Shouldn'a had that ale last night...”
“I thought we were in for it then.” said Tharman, putting on his black leather tunic and yawning.
“My face...why weren't you up...?” Krizs groaned.
“I had only just gone to sleep...I'd been reading that book.” he pointed while attempting to pull on his black leggings, consequently falling over.
Krizs roared in laughter, then winced as Tharman staggered to his feet.
“We had better hurry up.” muttered Krizs.
Tharman swung his quiver round his back in answer.
They finished dressing in silence.
They took their first steps into the snow outside and Krizs winced.
“Can't you put out the sun? Just for a moment...”
Tharman stepped out into the sunlight. He wore a black leather tunic and leggings with two scabbards and two small pouches at his belt and a quiver and bow strapped to his back. His short blond hair and his glinting blue eyes put together was a look so unlike the rest of his people.
Krizs cowered from the sunlight, wearing a green tunic and brown leggings, a chain shirt over the top and a longsword strapped to his back, along with a bow and quiver.
His long brown hair was a total mess and his brown eyes were covered by his hands.
Both young men reported directly to the captain, who was sitting on a tree stump. Before they got near he pointed in a direction and they set off.
Tharman sighed as he trudged through the deep forest when they were just out of sight of the camp.
“I hate mornings.” grumbled Krizs.
“Same, but it doesn't matter whether we like it or not. It's our duty to defend our people no matter what the time of day or weather.” replied Tharman, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“True, but that doesn't mean I can't hate this. I just have to bear it.” Krizs groaned in reply, a little too loudly as many birds scattered from their nests.
“Nice one! Now everything around us will be alerted to our presence! Excellent!” said Tharman sarcastically as he clambered over a dew laden fallen tree trunk. He then waved his left forefinger in Krizs' direction in imitation of their hunting teacher...but his right hand - which was supporting most of his weight – slipped on the mossy tree and he crashed into the brambles below.
Krizs waved his left index finger back, then crashed down next to Tharman.
They glanced at each other and burst out laughing.
After a moment of silence, they got back on their feet then continued on through the woods.
Once they had cleared the dark pine forest they found themselves on a hill overlooking a foggy valley. They could just spot a village in the bottom of the valley.
“Hmmm...I'm starving. Why don't we grab a bite to eat, there's bound to be a tavern!”
“What caused your headache today?”
“Erm...a tavern?” replied Krizs.
Tharman didn't bother to answer, but starting clambering down the hill.
There was a loud crash that echoed round the valley, then faint screams...
Tharman quickened his pace, leaping down the hill, with Krizs fast in pursuit, having just dropped his bow and quiver.
They were barely a dozen paces down the hill before they were engulfed by smoke and fog.
Their vision was reduced to little more than a couple of paces ahead of themselves. He mouthed a curse and crept forwards quietly, as he had been taught by the stealth master at his training school. Silently he thanked her for being so harsh on him. He continued to creep onwards, his arms outstretched in front of him so he wouldn't walk into anything.
Suddenly there was a clash of steel on steel, somewhere ahead of him. He put his hands on the hilt of his swords and started to draw them. He hurried forwards and walked into a wall.
Tharman groaned and got up to hear the sound of heavy footfalls. He drew his blades, the metallic ring echoing in the fog.
The panting of the approaching person was laboured. Tharman could hear the jingling of their armour. He leapt at the person, his swords swinging down at them but there was a clang of stone on steel. He cursed and drew back into a defensive stance only to hear Krizs say: “Bloody hellfire! You only just missed me!”
“Eep...” Tharman replied guiltily.
Krizs growled and set off again, only to stop and curse again as he fell into a river with a splash.
He got out and followed Tharman as stealthily as he could. Tharman did his best not to punch his cousin: the noise he was making! As they moved through the fog the noises of conflict grew louder and the princes could tell that the fighting was fierce.
“Krizs, you continue down this street” he pointed, “I'm going to head down this row and see what's happening...”
Without waiting for Krizs' answer, he darted ahead into the street.
He blinked suddenly, his vision completely reduced due to the darkness of the narrow street. It was only when his vision had returned that he realised he was not alone.

Krizs shook his head, trying to work out just where the fighting was. There was a loud curse and a clashing of blades from the street Tharman had just gone to.
“And he had the nerve to tell me to be quiet! Bugger that!” he murmured. With a roar that echoed across the valley he charged blindly into the village square.

“'Morning sunshine, want to come and play?” growled a huge man barely five paces ahead of Tharman. The man drew a huge claymore from a brown scabbard hanging on his back.
The giant was plainly dressed, a brown sleeveless brigandine over a chainmail shirt with brown grass-stained leggings.
Tharman was blinded by the sudden light change, and lunged forwards with his left sword but his thrust went short. As he righted himself, the huge man swung his claymore over his shoulder then back at Tharman's head, who jumped backwards and the point of the blade sunk into the ground.
“Raaaaarrrrggghhh!” yelled Tharman, and he slashed at the giant's unprotected forearm.  The brute dropped the claymore and yelled, and drew a dagger that hung at his belt. He leapt at Tharman, who was well used to this tactic, and the man's dagger hand flew through the air in a splatter of blood.
Tharman finished the giant off by plunging his right sword into his stomach, cutting straight through the chainmail. The giant slumped to the floor and Tharman wiped his sword blades on the grass. He examined the corpse and to his surprise discovered that the man had a tabbard hidden underneath is armour. A tabbard that he recognized from his studies.
A roar echoed from the surrounding houses, knocking Tharman out of his daze. Within seconds he realised it was his cousin and dashed off towards him.

Krizs' longsword was already dripping with the blood of the first foe he had dispatched with a perfectly timed blow to the skull, severing the neck and leaving the man's head rolling across the ground.
Roaring his battle cry, he charged forwards to encounter two men tormenting a group of small children. He plunged his sword into the first man's back, ripping the flesh and spraying scarlet across the floor. The man collapsed to the floor in a gurgling scream.
The second raider started circling Krizs, battleaxe raised, until he lunged,but Krizs parried the blow and threw his foe backwards.
Krizs ducked under the second attack, and slashed at the tormentor's shoulder, lightly cutting the flesh, then followed up with a thrust to the man's chest which cut through, leaving the man gasping as his lifeblood dripped from his body. The children looked at their saviour and their tormentor's corpse. Krizs nodded at the children once as he raced towards the commotion, where he could hear his cousin's distinctive cries and curses.

Tharman emerged from the narrow streets into the large village square. As he rushed forwards the mist lifted and he saw the extent of the damage: corpses of  raiders and defenders covered the floor, thick, chunk-filled blood pouring into the drains at the middle of the square. Buildings burned on all sides, and two groups of defenders fought on, exhausted and barely standing, surrounded by raiders.
A building collapsed and in the midst of the roaring flames Tharman heard the screams as the burning beams and stones came falling down on the first group.
One of the second group of defenders cried out as a blade plunged into his belly, and there were two valiant warriors left.
A second defender from the group, with a bright red dyed beard, roared, and swung his huge two-handed axe in an arc, cleaving through a couple of soldiers. He swung his axe down again into a raider's neck where it stuck fast. The broad chested man let out a cry of frustration and swung his fist, wearing a chain gauntlet, into another warrior's face.
The third defender was shorter, but still tall, his shoulder-length black hair tied back in a ponytail. He was wearing the simplest of black leather armour but wielding a masterwork katana, the hilt inlayed with amber, with the prowess of a man who had trained for years.
Tharman charged the mob of raiders, his blades cutting through a couple before they realised he was even there, but he was quickly encircled. Despite the overwhelming odds, he continued to fight a desperate but hopeless battle.
As he was about to fall to the enemy blades Krizs careered round the corner of a street and, with his fist, sent one of the raiders flying. He slashed in blurred circles, spinning around and hacking at the raiders in a dance of death. Tharman shook his head and threw one of his longswords at a raider, who parried it, and he threw another which struck true.
No sooner had he lost grip on his swords than another warrior leapt on his back, knocking him to the floor. The raider was overhead, swinging his sword down for the killing blow, but Tharman drew his dagger and in one swift movement kicked his assailant in the stomach and plunged the dagger into the man's throat.
Tharman rose onto his feet unsteadily, his dagger dripping onto the bloodstained cobblestones.
He looked around, and saw that most of their foes were fleeing. They had won.
His eyes searched for Krizs, and he saw his cousin's distinctive sword lodged in the back of a raider, who was running with his last remaining moments of life. Just behind him was Krizs, trying to get his sword back.
Dagger still in hand, Tharman advanced, wary of any foes faking death. He reached the fleeing foe before Krizs, and wrenched his cousin's sword out of the raider's back and threw it to Krizs.
One of the few remaining raiders knocked the dark haired defender to the ground, then turned towards Tharman, who ducked under the raider's axe, stepping on a fallen warrior's wrist with a loud snap, and kicked the man hard in the groin, then plunged his dagger into the raider's chest. He pulled the blade out and  as the corpse fell, knelt down in front of Krizs, who seemed to have been knocked out from behind, due to a bloody bruise on the back of his head. He carefully felt for his cousin's pulse at the left wrist, which appeared to be broken. He felt again, and found it at his neck. He stood up , unhooked his canteen from his belt and emptied the contents over Krizs' head. The effect was instant, as Krizs swung his arm around and caught Tharman at the ankles, knocking him to the floor. Behind them the bald warrior dispatched the last foe with a heavy punch to the face.
Krizs groaned and said “That wasn't the best fight I've ever been in. I hate people who club from behind.”
“Be glad it wasn't a sword.” Tharman replied as he pulled Krizs to his feet with his left hand.
“Something I don't quite understand is why my wrist feels like it's broken” he winced.
Tharman decided not to mention that he'd walked on it, so he lied “I have no idea either. Let me splint it for you. Lucky I remembered to bring a medical pack.”
He hastily splinted his cousin's wound, the basic medical training taught at the academy proving it's worth.
“There you go, good as new.”
He turned to see the two villagers, the bald one and the dark haired one, head towards them. He greeted them in his kingdom's language “Good morning, I'm Tharman and this is Krizs. We are trainee scouts for the kingdoms of Falborough and Indigo. Do you understand me?”
The black haired one acted as if he didn't, then replied “Yes. I'm Daeron and this is Blazing.”
Daeron explained as Tharman raised his eyebrow at the name “It's what we know him as. To be honest, I don't know why. Anyway, I'm the brother of the village leader...well, ex-leader, probably. I think I saw his corpse near the gates.”
“I'm sorry for your loss.” said Krizs awkwardly, cutting across his cousin's words.
“I'm glad, I hated him, the stuck up-”
“Is there anything we can do to help rebuild?” cut across Krizs.
“I'm afraid you can't do much, there are only us two and three badly wounded. We could never hold this village against the bandits, we won't even be able to hold the fort in the mountains for more than a few days.” said the bald giant in a deep voice.
“I have an idea forming here,” replied Tharman, “you could give your fort and village to the kingdoms, or to us, and we will be graduating from the academy soon. We would use the fort as our base of operations. Just the other day my father said we needed an outpost in this region, just before sending me on this patrol.” said Tharman excitedly.
“That would be just giving our land away, where would we live?” replied a disgruntled Daeron.
“Well, I suppose you could join the Guard. I'll ask my father and the Council if you can be posted here.” argued Tharman.
“And who exactly is your father?” asked a very interested Blazing.
“Bugger, well done cousin. No-one was supposed to know who we are when we're in the field, moron...”
“I think we can trust these two. Think about the strategical advantage of an outpost here, and since when have we followed the council's orders?”
“I guess it's worth the risk to tell them our full identities. We are the princes of the two kingdoms. Here we are, getting our first experience in the field.”
“Well, that's...interesting... say the least. Strangely enough, I believe you and I will give you the fort so long as Blazing, myself and all the surviving villagers may still live in the fort.
“And most of all, you let Blazing, myself and any of the villagers that wish to temporarily attend your training schools" demanded Daeron.
Tharman groomed his hair with a pensive expression on his face and he answered "That's a reasonable deal, I don't exactly have the power to order that but I can 'convince' the master of our school to accept. Now we'd better get moving to the camp before more raiders arrive.”
Daeron hastily agreed as a warhorn sounded in the distance. Tharman quickly tended to the three wounded, binding wounds as well as his little training allowed, fortunately no-one was too badly hurt. As the battered survivors climbed the hill that the two princes had run down, a group of raiders emerged from the forest on the other side of the valley, beyond the village. Tharman muttered a curse and turned to Daeron.
“Do you know how to shoot a bow?”
“Not much. I'll improvise.”, replied Daeron with a grin.
“Those scouts will pick up our trail easily, so me and you could hold them off at a distance while the rest get to the camp.
“Good idea.”
Krizs objected to Tharman's idea, saying he could still fight, but was dissuaded when Tharman poked him in the wrist and he cried out in pain.
Once they had reached the crest of the hill by the pine forest, the injured and Blazing quickly disappeared into the gloomy overgrown woodlands, leaving Daeron and Tharman to prepare their weaponry in silence.

Down in the village, the young, inexperienced scout found bloody footprints leading up the side of the valley. He summoned his companions with a yell and they started up the hill.

Tharman unleashed his first arrow, the black and white-fletched shaft plunging deep into the closest man's chest, knocking him rolling down the grassy hill.
A loud twang came from his right a few moments later, with Daeron's arrow soaring into the air and plunging into the grassy floor far away from the raiders.
While reloading his bow Daeron grunted “I'd better get some bow training in soon...”
Tharman sent another shaft flying into the round shield of one of the raiders.
“You'll get the hang of it.”
Daeron let out a sigh of relief as his second shot clipped a warrior's arm, lightly spraying the grass with blood. Tharman's third arrow hit him in the eye, and Daeron's next hit the shield. The warrior fell to the floor, crying in pain.
Tharman commented “Not too bad, you're getting better already, all you have to do is get your eye in. That bow isn't exactly what you're used to anyway, is it?”
“No, I'm used to longbows, not this...”
“It's a recurve bow, both Krizs and I use them, they're easier for use in confined spaces, like woodland.” a few enemy arrows soared past them and Tharman added “Thinking about woodland, how about we get some cover in the forest and catch up with the rest?”
More arrows skittered across the ground past the two kneeling young men. Daeron agreed and hastily retrieved the two borrowed arrows he had stuck in the ground and dashed beyond Tharman, leaping into cover behind a fallen tree trunk, Tharman calmly firing arrow after arrow down at their foes. Daeron loosed an arrow and Tharman joined him, both dashing into the woods.

The sun slowly drifted down toward the horizon, casting a dazzling glare across the canopies of the autumn leafed trees. The raiders blinded by the setting sun, and fearful of the blond archer who fired with deadly precision so coolly,and equally fearful of the dark haired one who fired somewhat erratically but still brought down a few men. The scouts slowly drew back. Their captain spoke to the sergeant “Sergeant, there isn't any point in wasting more of our mens' lives in this place, let us fall back to our camp and tomorrow we will start the grueling march home.”

As the raiders slowly withdrew, filing through the burn out shells of the village's houses, Tharman and Daeron conversed in hushed tones.
“Tharman, do you think they'll be back?”
“I'm not sure, but I think we should follow the others and head back to the borderland camp, for all we know those raiders could have gone to inform a larger army to our presence.'
Daeron nodded, and with no further ado both young men gathered up their weapons and ran off into the darkened wood.
By the time they had reached the camp night had well and truly set in, they were challenged by one of the sentries. Panting, Tharman revealed the password to the sentry, who then informed him that the captain wanted a word with him. The prince thanked the woman and the two tired men trudged off to find the captain.
They found him sat next to a low camp fire, flickering to reveal a worried expression on the veteran's face. Tharman sat down quietly opposite the weathered captain followed by Daeron who had just stuffed a hunk of bread into his mouth from a nearby table.
The captain looked up at Tharman and the worry disappeared from his face, to be replaced by relief and then finally anger.
“Where in damnation have you been? Krizs arrived back ages ago, and said you'd be close behind!” whispered the captain loudly, so as not to wake the camp.
“We ran into some trouble...”
The captain sighed “I had guessed as much. Oh, and your cousin is fine, his arm was just fractured not broken, and the swelling on his head has gone down.”
“Well, we encountered an Empire raiding party. This young man, Daeron, and I held them off as the wounded escaped. We set off for camp when the raiders took flight.” reported Tharman.
Daeron, his mouth still full, grunted, stood up and went to find some water.
“So what's this incoherent story Krizs told me about you gaining a fort?”
“It's true sir, in exchange for a few people attending one of our training schools for a while and as long as they can still live in the fort. We will be able to use it as an outpost, a borderland post that we can send advance attacks from.”
The captain grunted then replied “Thank you for that report which was...more comprehensible that Krizs'. Now go get some sleep.”
Tharman nodded and set off for the tent, but the captain added: “Oh, and the bald brute has stolen your bed. You and Daeron will be sleeping on the floor.”
Tharman  saluted, then stumped off to find Daeron. He found him at the beer keg, and dragged him to the tent.
They found the tent piled high with animal skins. Tharman silently thanked the quartermaster and both sunk into the furs and were instantly asleep.