The Curse of Fierabras - Part V

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Part V - The Conquest of the Emperor

“You founded the Restoration?” Dante asks.

“Aye, lad,” Jerek answers as he gets to his feet. “Do you remember what things were like before the Emperor took control?”

Dante shakes his head. He has heard stories from some of the villagers back home, but he was too young to remember anything prior to the Emperor. “No, but I’ve heard stories. It is hard to believe they were true.”

“About how there was peace and prosperity?” Jerek asks, turning to gaze out the window.

“Yeah,” Dante says. “Are they true?”

“They are true. Twenty years ago we were enjoying the longest stretch of peace and prosperity that the seven kingdoms had ever seen. Roads were being built to connect us all, speeding along commerce and boosting the economies of all the kingdoms. Soldiers were fighting together as one unit to fend off the barbarian hordes landing on the coast. The seven kings came together regularly to discuss the future of our land.

“The peace had lasted so long that people became lax in their security. Young men wanted to become soldiers because it had become an easy job, requiring no training or skill. The kings stopped traveling with fully armed escorts. It became common to see foreigners in every major city and kingdom across the land. City defenses became neglected as everyone poured their gold into other profitable ventures.

“No one expected things to change.”

Jerek looks down at his feet, a beam of moonlight splashing across his face. He licks his lips and turns toward Dante, a look of anger in his eyes. “The Emperor conquered the kingdoms, one by one. He timed it when a massive barbarian fleet landed on the shores, drawing away the only real army we had. He met minimal resistance. Those who did stand in his way were either untrained or out-of-practice.

“He allowed no survivors to escape to warn the other kingdoms. The roads that we had poured so much gold into allowed him to move from one to the next with incredible speed. With each victory his army grew larger, and soon even the trained army wouldn’t have stood a chance against him. Yet we tried to stop him, outnumbered and weary from the battle with the barbarians.

“That day we learned that the Emperor had discovered a dark magic that hadn’t been around for a thousand years. He had learned the art of Necromancy, commanding an army of the undead. Every soldier that died in battle that day became one of his army. Brother fought against brother, and many found they could not strike a fatal blow against a loved one, even one they knew to be dead.”

Jerek kicks the bucket across the room. The water remaining in the bottom splashes onto the stone wall, trickling down to the floor. Dante remains seated, trying to process what he is hearing. If the Emperor commands the dead then there is no chance of defeating him. There can be no war waged against him. The Emperor would want a war, increasing his own army while diminishing the opposition.

“A few of us managed to escape from the slaughter with our lives,” Jerek continues. “We hid ourselves among the other six kingdoms, continuing to hang onto the hope that someday we’d be able to strike back. Over the past twenty years we have trained ourselves, and others, in the ancient warrior arts. While the Emperor has gotten lax in his own defenses, entertaining himself with diversions like this coliseum, we have been honing our skills and building our own force.

“We’ve watched family and friends get killed or taken away for no reason. We’ve seen our people struggle to survive as the Emperor’s minions have caused our fields and our forests to wither and die. We have stood by and watched the hope of life get sucked out of every city and kingdom. We live our lives as slaves to a tyrant who values no life beyond his own. But the time to strike back is coming.”

“So how did you end up in here?” Dante asks. Jerek sighs heavily and sits back down across from his cellmate.

“I was part of an espionage troupe scouting the capital. One of my men turned on us and raised an alarm. My horse was shot as we were making our escape two weeks ago. I’ve been down here ever since.”

Both men fall silent. Dante’s mind races as he considers everything Jerek told him. Some of the story fits with the rumors he had heard in his village, but a lot of it was new information. He falls asleep and his dreams are filled with hordes of undead chasing after him.

 

The Curse of Fierabras - Part Four

Part IV - Jerek

           The desperation thrust misses its mark and Dante stumbles past the guard, tripping over his feet. He skids across the dirt floor of the arena. Dirt clings to the open wounds in his side and his thigh, intensifying the sensation of pain. Dante braces himself for the killing blow that will put an end to his agonizing pain. It never comes.
           A stone pillar comes crashing down on top of the guard behind Dante, crushing him. Fragments of the pillar scatter in every direction. The last remaining guard pauses his advance, uncertain about his odds for success. Jerek steps forward with a sword in one hand and a broken dagger in the other.
           “Stay down,” Jerek says as he advances toward the center of the arena. He crouches down low like a cat, ready to pounce. The soldier thrusts with his spear and Jerek pivots to the right. Jerek counters with a quick dagger thrust and the guard shuffles back a few steps to avoid the attack. Jerek presses forward, feinting with the dagger and striking with the sword. The guard continues to give ground, trying to place some distance between them, but Jerek remains in close.
           The figures get smaller as Dante watches the battle unfold between them. Jerek fluidly moves from one attack into the next, keeping the guard off balance. Dante wonders how many men lost their lives to capture Jerek. Nobody could stand a chance in single combat against this swordsman. Jerek backs the guard into a pillar and the guard makes a desperation attack, much like Dante had done moments ago. It was the window of opportunity that Jerek must have been waiting for. The broken dagger pierces into the guard’s shoulder while the sword slices across his midsection. The guard falls to his knees, the spear dropping from his hands.
           A mixture of boos and cheers fill the arena. Small scuffles break out among the crowd. Dante gets to his feet, his muscles aching and sweat dripping down his face. Jerek crosses back over, slipping the sword into an abandoned scabbard. Two dozen of the king’s soldiers come into the arena and encircle the two victorious men. They take Jerek’s sword bind him in chains. Rage flashes in his eyes but he submits to the imprisonment. They chain Dante and then lead the two men back into their cell.
           Neither man says a word as they are placed into the cell and their chains removed. An hour later a loaf of hard bread and a bucket of tepid water are placed in their cell. Both men tear into the food and Dante finally breaks the silence.
           “I’ve never seen anyone fight like you.”
           “Thanks,” Jerek says between mouthfuls of bread.
           “I want to thank you,” Dante looks down at his reflection in the bucket. “If you hadn’t toppled that pillar I would be dead now.”
           “You ever been in a fight, lad?” Dante looks up at Jerek, caught off guard by his question.
           “I’ve sparred in the practice ring back home, but nothing like this.”
           Jerek nods and bends down to take a long drink from the bucket. He looks back up at Dante, droplets of water running down his chin. “What’s your story?”
           “I shouldn’t be here,” Dante says.
           “None of us should. These are bad times we’re living in.”
           Dante nods as he swallows another bite of bread. “About a week ago the Emperor’s army passed through our town. They stayed for two days, eating our food and drinking our ale. All the young men followed them around and staged mock battles, hoping to get drafted into the army. I kept to myself and tended my wares. When they prepared to leave, they told several of the men that they were part of the Emperor’s army now. When they told me that, I refused their offer.”
           Jerek raises an eyebrow at this, pausing mid-bite. “And they didn’t care for that, right?”
           “I was rewarded by being backhanded and then chained up. They brought me here, accusing me of being a member of the Reformation and inciting riotous behavior.”
           “And now you are going to die, here in this arena, because you didn’t want to wear the royal uniform. Why didn’t you accept? They’d at least be giving you better meals than this.”
           “I don’t know, exactly,” says Dante. He had been wondering that same thing ever since they led him to the capital. Why did he refuse? Few people had anything negative to say about the Emperor, and those who did were usually gone by the next day. “I don’t think the Emperor is as good as we’re led to believe. Towns are being found deserted, crops are scarce everywhere, people go missing and no one seems to notice. But he never tries to fix these problems.”
           “So you think they are hiding something?”
           “Yeah, I suppose I do. I’ve heard stories about what things used to be like, back before the Emperor.” The problem is that no one believes those stories. The Emperor has been reigning for as long as most people can remember. The few who do remember usually keep quiet about that. Those who don’t usually go missing, or end up hanging from a tree alongside a road. “What do you think, Jerek?”
    “Things were better before he came along, that’s for sure,” Dante stoops down to take a drink from the bucket. “That’s why I helped start the Restoration.” Dante coughs mid-swallow, unable to believe what he just heard.

Go To: Part Three - The First Battle

The Curse of Fierabras - Part Three

Part III - The First Battle

            The blade of the saber slices through the air. Dante crouches down, shifting his momentum and leaping back to avoid the fatal blow. The soldier’s force carries his weight forward and his sword cuts into the ground. Dante runs from the man as he struggles to remove his weapon from the arena floor. With his eyesight finally adjusted, Dante is able to look around and see what he is facing.

            A dozen pillars are scattered throughout the arena, most of them broken and worn down with time. Several large pieces of pillar lie among scattered rubble and debris from the prior battles. The floor of the arena is coated with a thin layer of reddish dirt intermixed with coarse sand. A few broken weapons have been left abandoned around the arena, many coated with a layer of dust. A few spears and an axe are lodged in the wall encircling the arena.

            Half a dozen men, including the one Dante evaded, are their opponents. Each one is wearing the same gold armor on their upper torso and is wearing a pair of gold greaves on their legs. Their feet are sandaled. Each appears to carry two weapons with them: a sword being paired with shield, spear, or mace. The four prisoners are outnumbered and outmatched, just like he was told they would be. The other three aren’t faring much better, either.

            Dante turns back to check on the location of his opponent. There is a large gash in the ground where the sword became lodged, but neither man nor saber is anywhere to be seen. Dante steps around a stone pillar, determined to locate this missing soldier. A large piece of stone falls to the ground in front of him, sliding into the pillar. Dante looks over and sees the soldier reaching down to grab another stone to hurl.

            Dante notices a splintered shaft of wood on the ground a few feet away from the soldier. The man is taking aim with another stone. Dante charges forward, sidestepping the projectile as it flies through the air. The soldier picks up his sword and plants his feet, bracing himself to meet the attack. Dante slides along the ground, his fingers grasping the fragment of a wooden handle. Dust stirs in the air. The soldier swings his sword in a powerful cut, but the shaft of wood has better reach and pierces the soldier’s exposed shoulder.

            The sword drops to the ground and the soldier staggers back a step. His left arm dangles uselessly at his side. Dante gets to his feet and grabs the dropped sword. He swings wildly, cutting through the air. The wounded soldier easily dodges a few attacks. Dante rushes forward with a feint, but the soldier trips him up.

            Dante slides along the ground, his lungs filling with dust. He rolls over in time to see the soldier pull the splintered stick from his shoulder, blood oozing from the wound. Dante scrambles backward, sword still clutched in his hand. The sun gleams on the golden armor as his opponent readies the makeshift weapon for a fatal blow. He pulls the weapon back for a powerful thrust. Dante brings his arms up over his face and braces himself for the upcoming pain. Instead of being skewered, the soldier falls to the ground, his neck twisted.

            Dante looks up to see Slate standing over him, arm extended to help him up. He is covered in cuts and scrapes. His one good eye is slowly swelling shut. His breathing is ragged. The corpses of two soldiers are behind him. Hoggle is pinned to the wall of the arena by a spear through his chest. Jerek is nowhere to be seen. The remaining three guards are advancing quickly on Dante and Slate. Dante grips the saber in his hand and Slate picks up a massive stone.

            Slate times his throw perfectly, but the three soldiers scatter before it hits them. The stone shatters into a dozen smaller pieces, flying in various directions. Most bounce harmlessly off the greaves, but a few cut through skin and one lodges itself in the foot of a soldier. Dante swings his sword at the nearest soldier. It is easily deflected off a large brass shield and the soldier thrusts with a counter-strike. Dante steps aside to avoid the blow but the sword catches his side, leaving a narrow gash in its wake.

            The soldier presses the attack on Dante, slashing and striking relentlessly. Dante backpedals, struggling to keep up with each attack. His breathing becomes heavy and sweat pours down his face. The soldier sees the sign of slowing and presses with renewed vigor. Dante parries a thrust, ducks under a slash. The soldier sweeps at Dante’s feet with his shield. Dante jumps to avoid the blow. The soldier anticipates this and stabs Dante’s thigh.

            The crowd frantically cheers for the soldiers. Dante is exhausted and wounded. Slate takes the mace from one soldier and crushes his skull with it, but the other soldier takes advantage and runs Slate through the chest with his sword. Jerek is still nowhere to be seen. The other soldier picks up a discarded spear and starts toward Dante. Pain shoots through his left leg from the wound, but Dante tries to ignore it while fending off the swordsman. His reactions are getting slower and the attacks are getting closer to striking a lethal blow. Dante closes his eyes and makes a desperate thrust, praying for a miracle.


Go To: Part Two - Cellmates                                                                                Go To: Part Four - Jerek