Brave Men Die: Part 1 Read online

  Argol reached over and slapped him on the arm. ‘That should just about do it?’ he said, smiling his infamous grin before digging in his heels.

  Castor shook his head and charged off after his companion, grinning stupidly. He stared out at the horizon. The sun was low in the eastern sky. The breeze had died and the summer day would reach a sweltering heat by midday. Castor was grateful not to be wearing his plate armour, suffering the humidity of the open road. He twitched in the saddle to get comfortable. The grass plains lay in the foreground, opening the way to the mountains on his left. The dark alpine trees covered the foot of the mountains and woodland pockets sporadically located off to the right. Red wild flowers sprouted randomly across the green landscape. This was the sort of punishment that Castor could enjoy.

  Before long Castor realised that Argol was slowing down and pulled Virtue in too. The column had already stopped up ahead.

  ‘It’s a shame about the sight seeing.’

  Argol glanced back over his shoulder with a smile that acknowledged the sentiment.

  Riding over the loose sun-dried dirt, Volans kicked up dust as he rode back along the column. There had been little rain since the beginning of summer and the hardened travel road had become brittle and cracked. Volans’ face was covered in dust and his sweat had smudged it in. He looked over the faces of the unit as he went past. The men mainly looked casual, but under the bored expressions were men willing to receive and carry out any of his orders. He continued riding until he found the two men he was looking for.

  A smile formed on his parched lips. Volans watched as the faces of the two young men turned sour. Castor appeared to take it to heart, his sullen expression revealing his opinion for only the briefest of moments before control returned. Argol on the other hand was furious. He muttered something so low under his breath that Volans could only make out some key words, not appropriate language to be directed at a superior officer.

  ‘What else do you want us to do?’ Argol asked, highly suspicious and aggravated at Volans’ arrival and not at all worried about letting it show.

  ‘Lieutenant,’ added Castor.

  ‘Hydrus has a lovely job for you two.'

  Castor looked at Argol and raised an eyebrow. ‘And what does it involve?’

  ‘You two get to ride down the Trasken road and act as decoys.’

  ‘Sitting targets? No fair!’ exclaimed Argol.

  ‘Everyone else will ride cross country. Either you will draw them out or we will flush them out.’ Volans remained rigid, trying to press on the youngsters the seriousness of the situation.

  For a brief moment Volans wondered if they would disobey him. Castor and Argol were his closest friends within the unit but he drew a fine line when they were on duty and he was their superior.

  Fate stepped in. Castor nodded his head in acceptance and started to ride off. Argol sucked in his gut and puffed out his chest before audibly exhaling. ‘It’s all good mate. We know where the orders came from.’

  Volans turned and rode about twenty paces behind Castor and Argol. They sat straight and tall in their saddles, even amongst the sniggering and laughter from the rest of the Nails. Since the rest of the unit was older they seemed to enjoy the novelty of youth, and when those two got the shit jobs they couldn’t help but smile, the tension between Hydrus and those two obvious to all. Argol and Castor never returned the unflattering remarks. As they passed Hydrus the boys both saluted, mocking Hydrus and his orders. Volans glanced at Hydrus. His face displayed no sign of offence, his lips remaining a hard, straight line.

  With big smiles the boys dug in their heels and rode off.

  As Volans pulled up at the front of the company next to Hydrus, it occurred to him that neither Castor or Argol were part of Hydrus’ loyal followers. Castor, having grown up and tutored with him, thought of him more as a sibling, an annoying, snobbish one at best. As for Argol, Hydrus was just another competitor who was slightly older and lucky enough to have a better station in life. They respected him and grudgingly followed his orders, but when the opportunity presented itself they followed their own agenda. Well, more so Argol’s. Volans smiled and Hydrus raised an eyebrow at the sudden shift in attitude. Volans shrugged it off and regained his composure. Those two were not Hydrus’ men. They were his.

  Argol did not like the idea at all. Him, a sitting target? Not bloody likely! His brain worked furiously thinking over how he could get around the order of riding directly down the path to end up as an overly large pin cushion. His brain ticked over as his eyes darted around.

  ‘Any ideas yet?’ he asked Castor, who looked resigned to his fate.

  ‘Not one that doesn’t directly go against orders. I think we’re stuck on this one.’

  ‘Best to make the most of it then.’

  ‘Suppose so.’

  Argol reached for his canteen and took a swig. He passed it on to Castor and took a look around. The sun was slowly progressing upwards into the blue. His momentary lapse was broken by Castor hitting him on the chest with his canteen. He put it away and thought about the rebellious salute he had given Hydrus. And good old Castor had backed him up too. Shame that Hydrus had no emotions or sense of humour. Still pleased with himself, Argol thought that maybe one day something might get under his thickened skin.

  His duty forgotten in the beautiful morning, he started to whistle. It was an old tune, passed along through his family. His mother had always sung it in his youth before illness took her. Castor had absentmindedly joined in too as he scanned the landscape for threats before his eyes settled on the stretch of woods that ran either side of the road. Argol liked the idea that his better qualities were rubbing off on his friend.

  ‘You know it’s your fault that I haven’t been promoted yet?’ Castor jested, poking Argol in the ribs with his elbow.

  ‘My fault?’ Argol’s face distorted in astonishment. ‘Last time I checked you still can't ride better than me and you still don’t know which end of the sword to hold.’

  ‘Oh,’ Castor grunted, grabbing his friend in a headlock and trying to wrestle him to the ground.

  From horseback this was difficult and both youngsters tried until they were tired and out of breath, neither really gaining the advantage over the other. They each let the other go and sat back in their saddles exhausted, watching the clouds drift by.

  ‘Do you really want to be promoted? Have all that responsibility?’ Argol asked.

  ‘I’m not really sure. It just seems to be the next stage. All I ever wanted to do was be a knight and I guess becoming an officer is all a part of that. Hell, I’ve been doing it long enough.’

  ‘Why waste all that training, huh?’

  ‘Yeah, it would seem like such a waste. Why, what do you have planned? You’re not getting out any time soon?’ Castor asked, slightly concerned that his friend was about to desert him.

  ‘No, I’m signed on for another couple of years yet. But I could never order anyone to do anything. I barely take orders, can you imagine me giving them?’

  Castor laughed as Argol elaborately mimicked barking out orders like Volans and Hydrus and the blank stares the unit gave him. He managed to keep a straight face for a moment longer before he lost it and soon both lads had tears streaming out the corner of their eyes.

  ‘Look Castor, Volans already treats you like a corporal, gets you to do all the little things for him, even though the company doesn’t officially have that position. You tell someone to do something and they do it, you’re just much nicer when you go about it, that’s all.’

  Castor nodded. Argol guessed he hadn’t really thought of himself as the Nails’ corporal but surely it made sense when it was pointed out to him.

  ‘Castor, even I listen to you. That’s got to mean something.’

  As they entered the forested area Argol noticed an increase in the temperature and a steep climb in the humidity. Perspiration formed on his brow and the itch under his leathers decided at that moment to return and annoy him.
The thick foliage overhead trapped the heat inside. In the tangle of the branches it would be even hotter. Being a decoy never looked so good.

  Around midmorning the track started to bend to the left. Nothing had happened so far. Castor was drumming his fingers on the hilt of his sword. Argol looked at the trees on the right and surmised they didn’t look any different than normal. They were all green and brown and tree-like.

  Glancing down the track, Argol spotted a carriage stopped off to one side and thought it wasn’t the safest of places to stop, considering there were thieves about. He stared as men raced around it, taking crates and trunks from the top. All very professional looking.

  ‘Guess we found them,’ stated Castor.

  ‘Oh … yes, seems that way,’ Argol replied, hitting himself for not seeing it.

  The carriage had the old and noble look — the cedar was stained, not painted, and the detail of the insignia on the door could be seen from where Argol was saddled hundreds of metres down the road. As they rode closer they could clearly see the body of the driver hanging listlessly over the side, a bolt protruding from his chest. His crimson blood stained the wood, dripping from his extended hand. The carriage had come to a stop in a wider section of the Trasken road, beside some boulders on the left that would have provided perfect cover for the ambushers.

  Argol took count of five visible targets. They moved about the place unloading the goods while keeping the hostages at bay inside the carriage. Not that that was particularly difficult; they were probably women, and with their driver’s body clearly visible from the window, probably scared witless as well.

  The leader, a cut above the rest, directed the thieves to load the lot on waiting transport. He was tall and well-groomed, the white shirt not only clean but likely silk — obviously crime was paying well. Each thief wore a few days stubble but was otherwise neat and presentable. Perhaps even the dishonest could be successful.

  Argol looked over and saw eagerness in Castor’s eyes. Watching as Castor withdrew his sword from its scabbard in all haste, Argol was surprised at his apparent enthusiasm. Normally it would take ages to convince him that this sort of thing was a good idea. Castor’s horse jumped as he dug in his heels, rearing back on her hind legs before leaping forward with Castor clinging to the saddle’s pommel to keep himself from falling off on his arse. Argol’s eyes darted around as Castor sped off, and saw no evidence of movement in the trees to suggest the rest of the Nails were nearby. It was their day to play hero.

  ‘Looks like we will see some action today after all,’ Castor yelled over his shoulder, now body lengths in front.

  A smile flickered over his lips as Argol drew his own sword and screamed a battle cry as he went chasing after Castor.

  At the sound of the battle cries and galloping horses the highwaymen turned their attention to the two knights. Castor was close enough now to see the startled expressions on their faces as two stood clutching a trunk between them, another with a bag over one shoulder. The smiling vagabond leader yelled coded orders as the thieves dropped what they were carrying and instantly took up arms. Who smiled at the charge of the Nails? Or at least two knights on horseback? He pressed Virtue harder, telling himself he didn’t want to know what surprises lay in wait. Out of the corner of his eye he caught movement up ahead as blurry shadows in the tree line became highwaymen sentries, posted to deal with this kind of problem. With him.

  Oh fuck.

  Castor leaned to the left and directed Virtue there with a sudden kick. He sensed Argol moved right, splitting the archers' targets and ducking and weaving to dodge the first volley of bolts. He pressed himself low against Virtue’s neck and kicked her flanks, wanting as much speed as possible to get to the archers before they could fire again, this time with more accuracy.

  Castor charged down the left of the road, kicking up a dry dust while the thieves reloaded, switching his sword to his left hand. As the first man had his crossbow lowered to bring back the string, Castor rode him down, slashing out across the man’s throat. In a heartbeat he was at the second archer’s location and pulled his arm back to strike, but the thief thought to step back and around the tree, avoiding death.

  Cursing at his misfortune he hazarded a look in Argol’s direction, whose skill on horseback was still superior — he was a born natural and took every moment to remind him. Weaving from side to side in the saddle as his horse did the same, ducking the loosed bolts, Argol reached both archers on the right side of the road before they could reload again or move away from his strike. His arm moved quickly, steel flashed, decapitating one and slicing through the jugular of the other.

  Castor gritted his teeth and focused on the next thief pointing a crossbow at him from in front of the carriage. He kept riding forward, digging his heels in and hoping for the best. He crouched lower in his saddle, making himself a small target, and hurtled toward the man near the carriage. He watched as the thief lifted the crossbow to his shoulder, took aim, and waited. Castor kept his body still as he narrowed the gap. A bolt from behind flew overhead moments before the man in front released his shot. Flying straight and low, it pierced the leather armour on Castor’s left shoulder. He screamed in anger and blinding pain as it penetrated his flesh. His left arm went numb and he had to fight the sudden instinctive urge to loosen his grip, ripping his sword from his hand seconds before it dropped to the ground. Castor urged Virtue to move faster with his legs. Glaring cold hard hatred at the man who wounded him, he adjusted his grip on the hilt and closed the last of the gap. As the archer turned to get away Castor slashed out, slicing across his face below pale blue eyes. Blood sprayed across Virtue’s neck as she hurtled past the dying man.

  He heard Argol just behind him over on the right. That still left the archer to his back that could fire at any time. He was vulnerable to another bolt, this time in his back. He already had one in him, why not two? His thoughts were broken by a bloodcurdling scream. Argol had reached his next target.

  Volans had remained close to the left side of the Trasken road, wanting to be the first at hand if the two lads got into any trouble. It was incredibly humid under the foliage and the coarse brush made the travelling slow. The low hanging branches that kept hitting him in the head were annoying. Volans swatted at the irritating bugs that hovered around his face, hoping this wouldn’t last all day. Through the tree line he could see the movement of his boys up ahead. He urged his mount to keep pace but it was near impossible and he was gradually left behind. He sighed and figured he’d hear their screams if they had any trouble.

  It was a while before he heard them. Argol and Castor were a long way down the road when he heard the echoes of their battle cries, followed shortly by the dying screams of men. He urged his mount forward, directing the horse to a small trail that seemed to have been unused for a long time and increased his speed. He reckoned they were only a bit further ahead. Stealth forgotten he clamoured through the brush without hesitation, directing his horse to the road and wishing that the blue sky would appear quickly. There was an urgency as he slapped the reins. The battle had already begun, and his boys were fighting alone.

  Coming through the tree line in a thunderous tumult, Volans pushed his horse faster, the sound of screams echoing in his head. He came out behind a bandit holding a crossbow, taking aim at the backs of the two knights. Bringing his war hammer to hand he crushed the back of the man's skull with one swing. Volans turned his attention from the broken corpse to the scene further down the road. Dead bodies littered the ground and his two men continued their ride at full pace, passing the carriage and the remaining bandits who stood with short swords at the ready.

  Seeing no sign of any of the other Nails, Volans dug in his heels to join the fray. He located the bandit leader pointing and screaming orders, directing the thieves at Castor and Argol. He smiled when he realised they hadn’t seen him yet. Volans watched as Castor pulled up and executed a sharp turn, while Argol raced past and turned in a wide arc. Hours upon hours of trai
ning had sunk in. His smile grew bigger.

  The bandit leader screamed out more orders as Castor turned and Argol raced past in a wide turning circle. Four more men armed with short swords emerged from behind the carriage and the wagon that they had been busily loading. The five stood in a line, obviously trained to fight side-by-side, something that no ordinary group of thieves would have practiced. These men were probably ex-soldiers or mercenaries, who had trained for years to fight beside another. As Argol came around, Castor kicked off and charged the line. Argol whipped out a dagger and threw it into the chest of the thief at the end of the line. The man sputtered, looked from the wound to his killer as his knees buckled and he fell aside.

  Castor raised his head for the briefest of moments to witness a charging warrior racing down the road toward the back of the group. He recognised the armour instantly, following the man’s arm to his weapon and smiled. Volans swung his war hammer in a graceful motion, coming to rest poised above his head.

  Switching his attention back to the task at hand, Castor primed his sword arm and pointed his blade at a man’s chest. The thief stood with grim determination with his own sword in guard, staring calmly back. Castor and Argol closed the gap in seconds without removing his eyes from his target as the dust kicked up around them from the dry road. Argol dispatched the one on the left while Castor ran his man through and kept going, signalling Volans as he passed. Castor heard the swing of the hammer crackle through the air followed by the crunch of shattering bones. Glancing over his shoulder he watched the other lackey crumble to the ground as Volans slowed to turn. The bandit leader looked shocked when he realised he was the last one left in a fight with three knights.

  The three Nails swung around and moved in as the bandit leader glanced nervously over his shoulder. Virtue snorted underneath Castor as Argol started whistling. Volans began tapping his hammer on his open palm.