This is a fictional story. The characters and events described herein are fictitious. The story and its contents are the sole property of the author. It has been posted on the Nifty Story Archives page with the permission of the author. Any act of copying or plagiarism will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. If you are offended by sex or sexual acts between two consenting males, or by a relationship between an older man and a significantly younger one please do not read any further. Please do not read any further if you are under the age of 18 or it is illegal for you to be viewing such material where you reside. For the rest of you who don't need this read on and enjoy. Let me know what you think. Copyright 2006
This chapter contains depictions of graphic violence. If you are offended by such please do not read further. You have been warned.
Author's note: I do apologize for the VERY late chapter. I can offer no real excuse other than life simply just happens. But if your interest hasn't wanned then I've still my story to tell, this hardly being the last chapter. Thanks be to all of those who have e-mailed me with their comments and their encouragement to continue the story. Though it was never really a question of if, but when. So, for all of you who have patiently awaited this chapter I give you what you ask for. Enjoy.
Chapter VII
They came charging at him, five mounted men against a single combatant. They thought to ride him down into submission. They spread out in a quarter circle to try and pen him in. His face split into a ferocious grin that gave him a faerel appearance and made him look more his namesake than ever.
Just as they were upon him he dove to his left with a cry of fury, summer-salting. He came up in a crouch and leveled his blade to his right, swinging his sword with all his strength. The edge bit deep, severing the closest foreleg cleanly at the knee and cutting the far one and the close hind leg to the bone. The horse screamed in agony and stumbled and rolled forward, the soldier riding it barely managing to avoid being crushed. As he stood Kreshtar stood as well, pivoting on his foot, launching himself and following through with the momentum of the sword. The soldier had enough time to look up as the blade severed through his neck, finding the gap between breastplate and helm as though drawn to it. His body fell to the earth limp and lifeless.
At that point the others had turned around and began to charge at him again. Kreshtar stood facing them and received the charge with his sword pointed at the ground. At the last possible moment he brought the sword up as though it weighed nothing, leveling it again and pointing it at the breast of the horse to his right. The blade slid easily into the chest of the horse, the animal skewering itself on Kreshtar's sword. Another scream echoed across the fading dusk. The blade sank in to the hilt, in the same instant Kreshtar pivoted again to the outside heaving mightily with his arms and shoulders. The blade exploded out of the horses side following the arc of Kreshtar's arms and aided by the horses forward momentum.
The soldier took the opportunity provided him though and brought his own blade down across his body, the sword finding its mark, bitting in between Kreshtar's shoulder and neck. Only the tip had hit him, but it still made Kreshtar grunt in pain and blood immediately started running down his side. The maneuver cost the soldier though and he went down under his horse, his leg crushed and he cried out in pain.
Kreshtar never hesitated for an instant, though his shoulder screamed at him. He leaped over the downed horse and stabbed his blade into the underside of the soldier's exposed chin. The point of his blade emerged on the diagonal of the soldier's head with a metallic thunk against his helmet.
Kreshtar turned as the soldiers charged him once more, driving at him in a wedge. Kreshtar feinted right and leaped to the left, again going for the outside rider. This soldier was a little better prepared for the attack, having seen the tactic already. He brought his blade down in a calculated slash, Kreshtar had counted on it. Lightening quick he caught the soldier's wrist in one hand and wrenched it with all his strength, spinning to the outside once more. The soldier was pulled off his horse and landed on his back, the wind knocked out of him. Again there was no hesitation from Kreshtar as he pulled his blade back and plunged it into the soldier's breast. The breastplate yielded as the earth yields to a plow and he felt it bite into the soil underneath.
The other two soldiers were riding in an arc around him in an effort to flee. Kreshtar drew his hunting knife and threw it at one soldier, spinning end over end. The knife found its unlikely mark in the back of the soldier's neck, just under the helmet and over the back of the breastplate, emerging from the other side of the man's throat. He fell off his horse as the last soldier rode off into the night unchallenged.
Kreshtar stood there heaving for a moment.. his shoulders burned where they had been cut, blood ran down his chest and back, not enough to be a worry, yet, but they would need tending to.
First he went to the rider he had taken down with his hunting knife. He withdrew it unceremoniously with a grunt of effort, wiped it off on the soldier's cape and returned it to his side. His sword he wiped on the soldier's cape as well and returned it to its sheath across his back as well. It didn't take long to find the horse he had pulled the rider off of, grazing nearby. Kreshtar found the reins and led it back to the remains of what would have been their campsite for the night. It wasn't too difficult to find the trail that Tristan had left with the two horses, the moon blessedly at three-quarters of her full providing enough light.
Kreshtar followed the trail till he came to a clearing. He found it necessary to dismount in the middle of it as the trail be came confused. As the tracks began to reveal what happened Kreshtar's heat sank, and a knot of fear and furry wound itself in the pit of his stomach.
"No," Kreshtar whispered, pleading for the impossible as he sank to his knees in despair.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" he screamed in anguish and frustration.
His despair lasted only but a moment more, and then it was replaced. Rage, white hot lances of furry poured itself through his veins, wrath as red as flames seered in his limbs. He rose in the pale light, turned to his horse and retrieved the reins. He followed the tracks to the opposite end of the clearing. When he was sure of the direction, back towards the city, he leaped onto the horse's back and purred it on. The horse sped off in the direction he pointed it at, anyone who would have witnessed the lone figure charging off on horse back from the clearing would have said that Odin's own eight-legged horse could not have moved faster.
Baraethius watched, his face as impassive as he could make it, as the leader of the scouting entered the commander's tent and deposited the body of the unconscious young man, no more than a boy really, on the thick carpeting of the tent. Baraethius looked on, his stomach beginning to turn, as the commander stepped forward and and knelt down to examine the boy closer.
"Beautiful," the Remaeus whispered, and it seemed that all others around him had simply disappeared. "Is there anything else to report?" the commander idly asked, running a caressing and possessive hand along the soft line of the boy's jaw, continuing down the young man's neck and moving over his shoulder and arm.
"No sir," the soldier responded.
The commander picked up the boy gently, cradling him in his arms, turned and moved to the bed, carefully deposited the boy on the soft down mattress and turned back to the soldier.
"Tell me," Remeaus inquired in a soft, dangerous voice, "why is he unconscious? I believe my instructions were crystal clear when it came to any companions that might be traveling with this beast, was I not?"
"Yes sir," the soldier replied hastily, "I believe he may have had a panic attack and blacked out, he was breathing uncontrollably when we were bringing him here."
"I see," the commander responded turning away from the soldiers assembled once more, his focus once more on his recently captured prey, "that is a very good thing. T'would be a shame if this poor lad had come to any undue harm before being delivered to me.
"Put his horse and pack horse with the other horses, but do not go through any of his belongings yet. I wish to be present for that and as far as I am concerned it can wait till the morning. Any man not willing to show some patience in this regard shall be entertaining me tomorrow night. Understood?"
"Yes sir."
"Excellent." the commander said absently. "Now, all of you, dismissed."
The men present all turned to go, Baraethius included. He found that his dinner was not sitting right with him at the moment, and the sooner that he was out of the commander's tent the sooner that would no longer be an issue.
"Oh, lieutenant?" Remaeus called out without turning to face Baraethius. He was sitting on the bed beside the body of the boy. "One thing before you leave."
"Yes?" Baraethius asked carefully, his voice as neutral as he could make it.
"Excuse the guards outside my tent for the evening. I do not wish to be disturbed excepting in the direst of circumstances. Am I making myself clear?"
"Do you... really think that wise sir?" Baraethius couldn't help but ask. The commander turned his head slowly to look at his lieutenant, a dangerous look in his eyes.
"Need I remind you of who I am? Of where I came from, where I got this scare?" the commander ran a hand along the left side of his face, tracing the scar down his cheek and neck. Baraethius had the unfortunate and intimate knowledge of just how far down that scar ran. If there had been any mercy in the gods that day they would have let that be a killing stroke. But in the Arena there is no mercy but the crowd's whim, and that certainly cannot be depended on.
"Your concern for me is touching," Remaeus half laughed in a mocking and amused tone, "but you and most of the men should know by now that I am fully capable of defending myself.
"Hmmm... If you are not satisfied with me being left to my own devices then perhaps I should have another soldier present with me. Yourself maybe, or perhaps Ithukas?" the commander smiled and the look in his eyes was pure evil, pure malice. Other men called him 'The Wolf' but Baraethius disagreed with that. Wolves did what they did because they had to, to survive and because they were animals, they knew no better. They could kill you as soon look at you, but they would take no pleasure out of it, it would simply be a kill to them. They would not try to find ways in which to hurt you, they simply killed. Remaeus enjoyed what he did, no, loved and thrived on it. In Baraethius' eyes the commander was as far from a wolf as one could get.
"No sir," Baraethius swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, "I do not believe that is necessary."
"Of course you don't. Now, lieutenant, dismissed." and with that the commander turned away from Baraethius and focused his attention on the sleeping body beside him.
Baraethius strode from the tent as fast as he could, not bothering to mask the outright disgust on his face. Outside the stars shown brightly and the light from the campfires cast a multitude of shadows. The air felt too hot and too cold, he could not decide which. All he knew was that his stomach was ready to deposit whatever remained of the evening meal there on the grass, he wanted to make sure that there was no one around to witness it if it did.
The two men standing guard started to look questioningly at their lieutenant. Baraethius could still not quiet believe the arrogance of the commander, but he would do as he was ordered, if only to keep someone important to him safe.
"You men are to retire for the evening, the commander's orders. Anything that does not immediately need to be brought to the commander's attention is to be brought to me first. Understood?" Baraethius was brusque, but most of the men were used to being dealt with in such a fashion.
"Hmph...," one of the men grunted, "figures the commander would'na share that pretty prize o' his that's fallen ita his lap." the soldier turned a toothy, crooked leer to his fellow guard and they both turned and started walking away. The two laughed at some lewd comment the one man made and continued on into the now settled camp.
Baraethius strode away from the commander's tent, his stomach turning. He tried to put the boy from his mind as he strode angrily through the quiet rows of tents, to not think about what would happen this night to some innocent young man who's only crime may very well be being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He found himself in front of his own before he knew it but he could not make himself go in, not just yet.
"Fool," he whispered angrily at himself. "Idiot. You stubborn, stupid, irrational man. There is nothing you can do. Put it from your mind." at least, that is what he told himself. Another part of him felt differently. Another part of him felt that he would not be able to live with himself if he did not do something to prevent what he knew was going to happen. Felt like he would never be able to look into Ithukas' eyes again, or kiss him, or do anything with this or any other man he might possibly come to love in his lifetime without feeling sullied by the knowledge that he might have done something to prevent what was very possibly taking place at this moment.
No, that wasn't quite right, Baraethius knew the commander, and his appetites. No, he would make it last as long as humanly possible.
Baraethius sighed, resigned to what was to become his fate. "You stupid, stubborn, valorous fool." with that he pulled asside the tent flap gently and stepped inside.
The light of a single lamp lit the interior of the tent. Across the length of the cot Ithukas sprawled nude as the day he was born. He turned his head and opened his eyes at the sound of the tent flap opening. Under normal circumstances Baraethius would find the sight of his lover in such a state incredibly arousing. But tonight he did not think that anything could 'rouse' his interest.
Ithukas, knowing his partner all too well, picked up on Baraethius' mood immediately. He sat up and looked a question at his comrade in arms, and other things, there was no need to ask it out loud, he knew he was understood.
Baraethius sat on the bed next to Ithukas his head lowered. He was hesitating and he knew it, Ithukas knew it. He found it both surprising and not surprising in the slightest how well this man knew him, better than he knew himself sometimes. He forced himself to look up and meet Ithukas' eyes, those clear pools of blue.
"How much," Baraethius asked quietly. "How much do you love me?"
Tristan's awareness returned in degrees. He remembered the fight with Kreshtar, arguing about something that seemed not only pointless right now, but seemed like he himself had been wrong about. The soldiers had come then and Kreshtar had told him to flee. His wild flight on the back of the stallion and the other horse being almost dragged behind. Emerging in the clearing and finding to his horror another scouting party. His own attempt at eluding them and then being bound and gagged and thrown on the back of the stallion like so much baggage.
He didn't remember the whole of the ride to wherever it was that he was now. On the ride he started breathing frantically. It had felt like he had been drowning but there was no water in sight. Instead, panic and fear had filled his lungs and he had not known how to expel them. It seemed that on some level the instinctual side of his brain fully understood that each breath he took might very well be his last and it was hell bound and determined to get as many as it could. Tristan had ended up putting himself into shock and he blacked out. Right now though, he considered it a small blessing.
There was a dull ache on the side of his head where he had been hit, but it was distant. He had yet to fully swim up from the depths of unconsciousness. For now, he felt like it kept him safe. If he were not awake for anything then nothing could happen to him, no harm would come to him. The thought was, of course, irrational. But it gave a measure of comfort, however menial.
Unfortunately for Tristan consciousness was coming to him and he crossed the line between being asleep and awake almost imperceptibly. For the time being though he decided to keep his eyes shut, despite perceiving light falling on his eyelids.
That was his first observation, light. Probably from lanterns, it wasn't warm enough nor strong enough for daylight and he could not hear the roar and crack of a campfire so lanterns. Also the smell, burning oil with some sort of herb mixed in to mask the sharp, acrid scent of a lantern. The scent seemed to be frankincense, which made him worry all the more. No one he knew could afford the expensive herb and he could not think of anyplace good that he could be where it might be present.
He turned his attention to himself to see what state he was in. There was the dull throb from the back of his head where the soldier had bashed him for resisting, he was probably going to have a bruise. But curiously he felt comfortable other wise. The spot where he was lying was unbelievably soft, even more so than the mattresses at Marcus' inn. And he felt like he was lying amongst the softest furs in the world. The amounts of comfort and perceived luxury he felt around him only served to heighten Tristan's sense of unease and anxiety.
Then came the most stunning observation of all, he was not bound. Feeling his own wrists and his mouth where the gag should have been, not literally with his hands but a mental inspection of his own person, he did not find the ropes that had been tied on him present. Slowly, cautiously, Tristan opened his eyes.
He was in a tent, that much he could ascertain, he turned his head to survey his surroundings and nearly jumped out of his skin. At the end of the bed he was on quietly sat a man with his legs folded under himself. There was a patient stillness to him, as though he could sit there till the end of time, never moving a muscle, and he would still be waiting expectantly for whatever it was he wanted to happen.
The man's body was bare except for a moderate wrapping of linen that Tristan knew were referred to as small clothes. The man's body was muscled to be sure, but it lacked the beauty of muscle like Kreshtar's. There was no artistry to it, purely functional lines that delineated where the chords ran underneath the skin. It lent a haggard and almost hungry appearance to the man. But there were two features that drew Tristan's attention the most. The first was a massive scar running down the left side of the man's face continuing down the length of his neck and torso, running underneath his small clothes to reemerge and travel down to the middle of his thigh. Tristan could not even begin to imagine how someone could possibly survive such a wound. Death must have looked this man in the eye and decided to simply go elsewhere for the day and find less troubling fare to deal with. The man's eyes were the other notable feature. Grey, like cold and merciless steel, Tristan felt like he was more looking into the eyes of a predator rather than a fellow human being. There was a slightly manic gleam in them and they studied Tristan intently and with all possible focus. It made his flesh crawl just to have that gaze on him.
The man smiled. On any other human face it might have been at least a courteous expression, on this man however it had an undertone of malice, a promise of violence and pain. Tristan scrambled back and pushed himself against the headboard of the bed, if he could have sunk into it he certainly would have. The smile on the man's face only widened, baring just a little bit of teeth, increasing his predatory appearance.
"Well, so glad to see that you finally opened your eyes boy," the man spoke softly in Latin. Tristan couldn't understand all of it but he could get an idea of what the man was saying. He thought it more prudent, however, to play ignorant a bit and so simply continued to stare at the man with a frightened expression on his face. It was certainly not difficult to manage under the circumstances.
"Can you speak Latin?" the man asked patiently.
"A... little," Tristan said hesitantly, not bothering with pronunciation, the less this man thought he understood the better.
"Well," the man went on, continuing to stare, "that will have to do then. I'll try to keep things simple so that you understand." The man leaned forward and propped himself on his hands moving closer to Tristan. Tristan felt a scream building in the back of his throat, his fear and panic were trying to choke him again, this time though his unconsciousness would not protect him from anything. He fought down the urge to scream, he would not give a single one of these dogs the satisfaction, but he did nothing to hide the terror on his face, the man had already seen it in his eyes and he could not disguise it now.
The man crawled across the bed moving in a way that promised pain, and blood. Tristan met his eyes as best he could, his fear naked and bare, but there was the smallest bit of defiance as well. The man's smile only widened. The man brought his face to Tristan's till they were almost touching noses.
"I believe I am going to enjoy this," he whispered, drawing out his words in an obscenely intimate fashion. "Understand this, wildling, you are mine, till death separate you from me. My name is Remaeus, but you will call me master. Serve me well in every capacity and you shall be rewarded. Displease me, and swift punishment shall follow. I enjoy punishment and pleasure, but I'm hoping that you will warrant punishment. Don't disappoint me."
With that the man brought his lips to Tristan's and kissed him, hard. There was no tenderness behind it, it was the first time that a kiss ever made Tristan feel unclean. He knew in the back of his mind that this would only make things worse, that if he just went along with the course of events that there would be less pain. But something in him simply refused to meekly submit to the monster in front of him.
The angle was wrong, there was no room to pull back but Tristan did the best he could. He struck the man in the jaw. The man's head went to the side, following the path of Tristan's swing and Tristan could see that there was blood coming from the corner of the man's mouth.
"The goddess has no pit on this earth black enough, nor foul enough for you pig!" Tristan spat in the man's face as he uttered his curse in Norse, "May you rot and may the beasts scatter you bones to the edges of oblivion! Die!"
Tristan made to strike again and the man caught his wrist without so much as a glance at it. Remaeus held Tristan's arm in a grip like iron and turned his head slowly back to face the young boy. His eyes met Tristan's and they were cold with delight. His tongue emerged from his lips and it cleaned the blood from the side of his mouth, disappearing from whence it came.
"Thank you," Remaeus whispered again in that tone that was both obscene and intimate at the same time. He rose up, not releasing his hold on Tristan. He drew his free hand across his body and Tristan did not see the man's fist strike him. He only felt the impact on the right side of his face. If this man Remaeus had not still been holding his wrist Tristan was certain that a second impact would have followed, that of him hitting the ground. As it was he felt a trickle of something thick and sticky oozing down the side of his head.
The man leaned down and licked the side of Tristan's face where the trickle was. Tristan again felt defiled. Remaeus sat back up and Tristan could see the red covering the man's tongue, which he drew again back into his mouth. Tristan could almost taste bile at the back of his throat at the sight.
Again without releasing Tristan's wrist, the man leaned down and reached into a chest that was sitting next to the bed that Tristan had not noticed. Remaeus withdrew several lengths of leather with several holes along the length and a metal buckle at the end. In the middle and on the back of each strap was a metal ring. Remaeus proceeded to wrap two of the straps around both of Tristan's wrists. Tristan tried to wrest his arm away from the man's grip, but Remaeus jerked Tristan's arm so hard in response that it felt as though it were ready to be ripped out of it's socket.
Next, the man connected the metal rings on the back of both of the straps to a short chain and lock on both of the posts of the bed. He successfully repeated the process on Tristan's ankles, despite struggling from Tristan, which only earned him more abuse from his captor.
"Now," Remaeus whispered again in that tone, running a hand along Tristan's side to the clasp on his loincloth. The touch filled Tristan with revulsion and made him try to shrink away from it, but he was too well restrained and had no where to go. "The real fun begins." and Remaeus smiled.
Baraethius strode through the rows of tents once more. It had been a longer talk than he had wanted, but it had been necessary to work out all the details. This would probably end his career as a soldier, but that no longer seemed important. His only concern had been that Ithukas have a way to get out from under the commander. When his comrade, no his lover, had heard what was quite probably going on at this minute there had been no question of if, only when. The rest had been details. Ithukas was packing his things and returning to the capitol tonight. He would put in a request to transfer, above the commander's head and without his knowledge, as soon as possible. It was going to take a favor or two to call in, but Ithukas had been a soldier longer than Baraethius had as a matter of fact. Commander Remaeus was hardly his first commanding officer and probably the only one with whom he was on less than stellar terms with.
It was not a guaranty, by any stretch of the imagination, but it was the best Baraethius was going to get. As far as his own situation was concerned, Baraethius had no clue as to what would happen to him. Even in the best of circumstances the best outcome he could think of was execution. He would not change his course of action, though it would quite probably lead to his doom. His conscience would not permit it. There was no choice in his mind.
He was making his way to the commander's tent when Baraethius spotted another soldier hastily making his way to the commander's tent as well. Baraethius adjusted his course to intercept the man.
"Lieutenant! Quickly sir," the soldier said breathlessly, "come with me to report to the commander."
"Hold for just a moment," Baraethius was picking up on the man's anxious state and wondered in the back of his mind just what else would go wrong tonight. "What's happened? Where is the rest of your scouting patrol? I know it is not necessary for all of you to report but correct me if I'm wrong but you were not put in charge of your party. Where is the soldier that was put in charge?"
"I don't have time for this," the soldier blurted impatiently, "either come with me to hear my report or get out of my way! I have to go see the commander, now!"
"The commander," Baraethius countered in an irritated tone, stepping in front of the other man, "is in the midst of his 'entertainment'. If you wish to disturb him with something trivial, or even something he deems unimportant, despite how important it may seem to you, then he may very well have you participate. Does that sound enticing to you?"
The idea made the other man hesitate, and he finally gave in. Baraethius listened to a tale that he would have said was pure fantasy if it had come from some other source. But these men knew better than to exaggerate or embellish matters.
"I see," Baraethius responded as stoically as he could manage, "very well. See to yourself for the time being. I will go report to the commander and if he wishes to hear it from your lips we will send for you. Let the sentries know to keep an extra sharp eye out though. It's unlikely that he will come and attack us, that would be foolish in the extreme. Most likely he will run as far as he can tonight. But just in case it shouldn't hurt to keep a careful watch tonight. Dismissed."
The man turned and walked away, looking somewhat relieved to not have to bring this news to the personal attention of the commander and to not have to interrupt any ' entertainment' that might be going on.
Baraethius walked the rest of the short distance to the commander's tent and stopped just outside the flap. He heard whispering from inside but no other noises came to his ears.
"Commander Remaeus," Baraethius called out clearly, "permission to enter, Sir."
There was a moment's silence and then a response from within.
"Enter, lieutenant."
Baraethius pushed the tent flap aside and stepped into the interior. He took stock of the situation as discretely as he could. The young man was bound on the bed, face up, and his loincloth had been removed. Fortunately it looked like the commander had not really had a chance to get started though, the boy had no marks. For that small kindness he breathed a sigh of relief .
The commander was standing in the middle of the tent dressed in only his small clothes with his arms folded across his chest looking expectantly, and irritated in the extreme at having been interrupted.
The boy that had been caught was strapped to the bed with the restraints that the commander never traveled without. His loincloth had been removed leaving him exposed, but it looked like Baraethius had arrived in the nick of time.
"Sir, the third scouting party has returned," Baraethius stated as neutrally as possible. He felt like every inflection in his voice gave away his intentions, but he did his best to keep his face impassive.
"Or, more appropriately, what is left of the third scouting party," and Baraethius began to relay what had been told to him by the soldier and what his orders to the soldier had been. The commander listened to the report, expressionless.
"Well," the commander said thoughtfully, "it seems like things have just gotten more interesting." He turned away from Baraethius and started to walk towards the boy on his bed. Baraethius knew that this was his best chance, it was now or never.
Baraethius strode silently and purposefully up to the commander's turned back. He laced his fists together and raised them over his head. Something must have shown on the boy's face because the commander began to turn around but it was already too late. Baraethius brought his fists down on the back of the commander's head with his full force. The fact that the commander was not expecting Baraethius to attack him must have been the only reason this had worked, Baraethius himself had seen the commander in battle. When prepared for it the man could take a blow that would turn other men into a lifeless pile.
The commander crumbled to the ground, out cold for the moment. Baraethius waisted no time, he hastily went to the bed and began undoing the leather restraints. The boy only stared at him with confused and terrified eyes. Baraethius looked around for the young man's loincloth and found it had been thrown across the tent. He went and retrieved it and handed it to the boy who hastily replaced it where it belonged.
Baraethius sank down on his haunches, putting him at eye level with the former prisoner, put his hands up, palms out, to show that he was harmless.
"Can you understand me?" this would be much easier if they could communicate verbally. There was a moment of hesitation from the boy, as if he were still were not sure this new comer could be trusted.
"Yes."
"Good," Baraethius was relieved, "listen very closely. I am going to get you out of here, back to your horses and your supplies. You need to ride as fast and as far as you can, don't stop for any reason till you are far, far away. You got that.?"
The young man nodded once, his eyes wide and stood up waiting for Baraethius' lead. At that moment though a riot of screams pierced the night, a fierce cry going up with them.
"TRIIIIISTAAAAAAAAN!"
Kreshtar stalked in the shadows. He was like a breath of wind between the branches where as these men, trained fighters though they were, might have well been in a parade. That was one thing in his favor, Odin knew that he had few advantages here.
His only real hope was that, with the return of the lone survivor of that scouting party, they expected him to flee while he had the chance. If that was the case then he would still have the element of surprise. But even failing that, they would not know from what direction he would attack. His best bet was to eliminate as many of the sentries as possible without alerting the rest of the encampment. Once an alarm was raised things would get significantly more difficult, to put it mildly.
Death came swiftly for these first few, a silent kiss from Kreshtar's blade that let slip no more than a whisper. Where he had a clear shot he used his hunting knife, killing at a distance was always safer than getting close, though he knew which method he really preferred.
Four sentries, five, six, seven. Kreshtar was a beast stalking silently between the trunks of the trees, and these men were all that stood between him and what he wanted most, what had become the most important thing in his life. Half of him wished that he could take his time with each one and give these bastards the proper treatment that they deserved. The other half of him could not seem to kill these dogs fast enough, nor did they die quick enough for his liking. Eight sentries, nine and ten.
It seemed, so far as Kreshtar could tell, that he had eliminated all of their watch without so much of a peep. It would appear that he had Loki's own luck this night, for which he was grateful. He was not so much of a fool though to think that everything would go his way.
With that accomplished Kreshtar ventured farther into the camp, his sword at the ready. He had no idea where to start looking for Tristan. The boy could be in anyone of these tents and there was not time to search them all. First things first though. If Kreshtar hoped to make it to see the next dawn alive with Tristan there were some things to do first.
Kreshtar made his way to one end of the encampment where the sound and scent of horses came from. The horses, primarily for the scouting parties Kreshtar assumed, were all tethered just a little ways from the last tent, with two men standing guard. Their attention was on anything than what there duty was and Kreshtar sneaked up on them with about as much noise as a cat.
"Did you hear about what they found on the road today?"
"Nah, it's only been all about the bloody camp. It's the only thing that everyone is talking about. Bodies strewn about like scattered leaves and the one man hanged by his own entrails."
"You reckon it was the work o' this 'beast' we been trackin' for the last few weeks now?"
"Well it's sure not the work of the local folk, that's fer certain. Now hush up about it, there's things that're just not right to be talkin' about in the dead of night. They say that things can listen."
"Well," the one man was cut off due to a lack of air and the blade of a knife blossoming suddenly out of his throat. He fell to the ground making a sickening wheezing sound. The other man was too dumbfounded and shocked to react, as if his mind refused to accept what had just happened, even if only for the space of a moment. That moment was all Kreshtar needed. He brought his blade in a swift arc and sliced open the other man's throat as well, cutting off any means of warning the other soldiers, and then burried it in the man's gut, ensuring his death.
Kreshtar stopped long enough to retrieve his dagger and moved to the lines tying up the horses. He hadn't caught any of what the soldiers had been saying before their untimely demises, but it didn't matter to him. With a single minded efficiency he began cutting the lines that tethered the horses at one group he paused though. Again it seemed that Loki's own luck was gracing him this evening, for here, in this group of horses was the stallion and mare that Tristan and he had purchased, along with everything else they had supplied themselves with.
At that moment though a noise caught his attention. He looked at the far end of the horse line and saw a lone figure loading and untying one of the horses. Kreshtar crept upon the man silently. Before he could strike though the soldier turned around to retrieve a pack on the ground and saw Kreshtar coming upon him. Kreshtar made to throw his knife before the man could alert his fellows but he knew it was already too late. So much for Loki's luck.
"Wait!" the man cried in Norse.
Kreshtar was barely able to stop himself before he threw the knife. This was certainly unexpected but he did not let his guard down.
"Boy," the man obviously only knew bits and pieces of the language but he now had Kreshtara's undivided attention.
"Other side.... camp. Big... tent. Boy there. Hurry," and a note of urgency crept into the soldiers voice, "bad happening.... don't know... word for it... using force."
On the last Kreshtar understood what was happening, realization and horror dawning on him, swiftly being overpowered by tides of rising fury. There was a moments indecision though.
"Can I trust you?" Kreshtar said slowly and clearly, trying to suppress his overwhelming sense of urgency.
"You... must. I... leaving. Won't... alert... men. Go... now." with that the soldier grabbed the bag and mounted the horse, not bothering to check and see if Kreshtar was going to take his word or not. He pointed his horse south and spurred away. Kreshtar let him go. Of course it helped to know that all the sentries, so far as he could tell, were dead so there was no one to alert outside of the camp. But he had the feeling that even if there were this particular soldier would have kept his word.
Kreshtar scattered the horses as quickly as he could, tying the stallion and the mare just inside the tree line where he hoped they would stay hidden. With that taken care of Kreshtar began to make his way over to the other end of camp. He no longer bothered with stealth, it mattered not at this point.
A man emerged from his tent, probably to make water in the middle of the night. Still groggy from sleep he did not register the big man with the sword coming at him till it was too late. He died with Kreshtar's sword in his belly and began making gurgling sounds in his throat. Kreshtar moved on without bothering to make sure the job was done.
Kreshtar came upon a fire unattended and grabbed a good length of burning wood. As he passed the tents one by one he began to set them alight. He found a grim amusement in the irony that in addition to having Loki's own luck this night he also would be employing Loki's most trusted servant, fire. Most of these men would die in their sleep. What few did wake would have smoke in their lungs and be so disoriented as to give him a much better advantage. Most of the other men would be attempting to put out the fire rather than trying to deal with a lone man in their midsts. Overall the confusion would be his greatest ally.
Kreshtar got seven tents alight before a man wandering between them cried out at the sight of tents burning. Kreshtar kept setting tents on fire, he got another four before someone finally came against him.
He tossed the makeshift torch onto another tent before drawing his sword. The man came screaming at him. Kreshtar parried his blow and spun to the man's side bringing his sword along the soldier's unarmored and exposed back. By this point some of the men in the tents he had set alight woke up in the middle of burning and began to run about the camp screaming, trying to extinguish the flames. Four more men came against Kreshtar and he bellowed his rage.
They were good. Kreshtar swung at one man on the left with as much force as he could bring to bear. The man brought his sword up to deflect the shot, and would have under normal circumstances. The force of Kreshtar's blow drove his sword through the other man's cleaving it in two and bitting down between the man's neck and shoulder sinking into his collar bone.
Kreshtar heaved the man off with his foot and brought his sword around in time to parry one blow from one of the men but the other two took their swings and connected. One man planted a blow on Kreshtar's thigh making clean cut along the length, the wound was shallow but it was crucial. The other man stabbed a dagger into his right side. Kreshtar felt the small blade scrape his rib and he cried out in pain, though luckily the weapon had not breached his ribcage.
He turned his full attention to all three of them, reversing his grip on his sword hilt with one hand and drawing out his dagger with the other. He wounds, including the one on his left shoulder that he had received earlier, screamed at him, burning but he distanced himself from the pain and fought on.
The man on his left swung at his legs and Kreshtar knocked the blow aside with his dagger. The man in the center made to thrust his own blade into Kreshtar's belly. Kreshtar brought his sword up in an arc deflecting the man's attack, it knocked the man's sword and arms up and Kreshtar took the opening. He plunged his dagger into the other man's side just below the ribcage and pushed him into the man on his right, knocking them both to the ground.
"TRIIIIISTAAAAAAAAN!!!" Kreshtar screamed, no longer able to contain himself. The last soldier turned and fled amidst the flames and the screams of the dying.
Tristan and Baraethius emerged into the night. The better portion of the camp was on fire and men scrambled about to put out the flames. Mixed in were the screams of dying men as they were burned alive. The smell was nauseating and the smoke brought tears to both their eyes.
And there, not forty feet away stood him. Baraethius would not have believed if he hadn't seen it. The man was blood soaked, a great deal Baraethius guessed was not his own. He was howling like a wounded animal in a fury. He looked exactly as his namesake suggested, a beast.
"TRIIIIISTAAAAAAAAN!" he bellowed once more.
Before Baraetius could do anything the boy ran to the barbarian.
"KRESHTAR!"
There. By all the gods and completely unexpected Kreshtar heard Tristan's voice. It brought him back to reality. Tristan ran to him and threw his arms around the man, sobbing into his blood soaked chest. Kreshtar dropped his dagger and wrapped his arm around the boy fiercely.
Kreshtar heard someone speaking in Latin and looked up. A soldier stood there speaking rapidly at them. He almost brought his sword to bear but Tristan halted him.
"He's telling us to go, and quickly. Besides, he saved me from that monster of a man."
"Thank.... you." Kreshtar said in his broken Latin. The man nodded and urged them to hurry. Kreshtar really didn't need to be told twice and knew better than to look at fortune askance.
They turned and fled, back through the camp. No one came against them. The efforts to put out the fire were too important. By the time they found the horses the mare and the stallion both were panicking from the smell of blood and fire. They had to take firm hold of the reins and lead them a good ways away before they were able to calm them enough to mount them. Then they rode.