The Suderfeld, 106 years after the Fall
CTENKA had seen someone hogtied once before, but he’d never appreciated what it did to a man until now. A bounty hunter had come through their village when he was a boy, prisoner in tow. His quarry had been tied hands to feet, lying there like he was waiting to be butchered then hung for ageing. Ctenka and the other village children had laughed and taunted the prisoner. How Ctenka regretted that now.
The rope burned his wrists and he could feel his legs cramping up as he lay on his stomach, breath coming hard and laboured. He could barely suppress the panic rising within. What were these bandits going to do to them? Worse still, what were they going to do to those priestesses?
The seven of them were in a clearing surrounded by their captors, around a dozen in all. They hadn’t bothered to tie the women up, and at the moment they were jeering and poking sticks at them, trying to take a peek under their robes. Ctenka knew that wouldn’t satisfy them for long. He and Ermund had been tied and dumped at the side of the clearing, so they were being ignored. For now.
He could hear Ermund struggling with his ropes. It was futile, he knew that much, but he could only admire the man for his persistence.
‘You’ll only wear yourself out, my friend,’ Ctenka whispered.
Ermund gave him a withering glance, before seeming to come to terms with the finesse with which he had been bound. The southerner finally gave in, exhausted from his efforts.
‘So what now?’ asked Ctenka.
Ermund glared at him. ‘How the fuck do I know, Ctenka? What kind of stupid question is that?’
‘I thought you must have had a plan when you surrendered so quickly.’
Ermund’s brows furrowed. ‘What were we supposed to do, fight a dozen bandits with nothing but a bunch of priestesses for back-up?’
‘At least we’d have gone down fighting and not ended up trussed like livestock.’
‘Really?’ said Ermund, his face turning a darker shade of red. ‘That’s how you see yourself? A brave warrior dying in the midst of battle?’
‘Well…’ Ctenka realised how stupid he had sounded.
‘The only thing you’ll die fighting is liver failure, you drunken little shithead.’
Ctenka turned away embarrassed, as Ermund went back to struggling against his bonds.
As one, the bandits fell silent. A figure walked from the surrounding undergrowth and into their midst, head and face matted with red hair, eyes glaring down at his prisoners. From his position on the ground Ctenka thought the man looked like a giant, and his need to piss grew suddenly more urgent.
‘A sorry bunch,’ said the red-haired man. ‘And you thought these were worthwhile marks, did you?’
The question was directed at his men, who now stood on the periphery of the clearing.
‘We didn’t touch any of the women, boss,’ one of them said. ‘Thought we’d wait for you before we started.’
The giant ignored the man, still intent on his prisoners.
‘I am Tarlak Thurlow,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’ve heard of me.’ Ctenka hadn’t, but he doubted he’d earn himself any friends by pointing that out. ‘And you have the misfortune to have fallen foul of my band of… loyal followers.’ He said the word loyal as though he could quite as easily have exchanged it with the word dim-witted. ‘I wouldn’t normally bother with you myself, I’m after richer pickings, but now you’re all tied up I guess you’ll have to be dealt with…’
He paused as his eyes fell on Ermund, who stared back defiantly. Tarlak’s deep ginger brow creased in thought.
‘You look familiar,’ he said, glaring down at the southerner. ‘Have we met?’ He shrugged when Ermund failed to answer. ‘No matter. Since you’re a sorry fucking bunch and don’t have anything between you worth taking, you’ll have to compensate me and my men in some other way. I don’t think I have to spell out what way that is. If it was up to me I’d make it quick, but my men… they’re in need of some sport. So who’s first?’
The priestesses gave no reaction. They were huddled together now, heads covered, awaiting their fate in silence. At any moment, Ctenka expected the bandits to fall on them like wolves, but the silence pressed on.
‘That one,’ said a voice from behind Tarlak. Ctenka craned his head to see the innkeeper, finger pointed accusingly. ‘That fucker’s got a smart mouth. Cut his tongue out before you fuck him.’
Ctenka opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say a word, one of the priestesses stood up.
Le’Shan pulled back her hood, revealing that head of tightly curled ringlets.
‘I will be first,’ she announced, not one hint of fear in her voice.
Thurlow seemed impressed. He walked forward, towering over the priestess. ‘I like your spirit,’ he said with a grin that made Ctenka want to vomit. ‘Impress me, woman, and maybe I’ll keep you around.’
She didn’t answer, just slowly dropped into a crouch in front of the bandit leader. Tarlak Thurlow grinned the wider, reaching down to unbuckle his belt.
Before he could drop his leggings, Le’Shan produced a wickedly curved blade from within her robes. Two quick swipes and she’d opened up deep lacerations in Tarlak’s thighs.
As the bandit leader fell with a strangled cry, the other priestesses bolted into action. Ctenka saw them abandon their robes, revealing tight-fitting leather tunics beneath. Each of them carried twin blades, the same wickedly curved weapons Le’Shan had used, and they went at their captors with swift efficiency.
The bandits shouted in panic as the women attacked. Three of them went down clutching their throats before the rest even realised what was happening, but it didn’t take them long to rally.
‘What the fuck is happening?’ Ctenka said to Ermund, as the battle erupted around them.
Ermund said nothing, just watched, waiting for his opportunity. It didn’t take long to come.
One of the bandits fell gasping his last, right next to where Ctenka was lying. They stared at each other for a moment as the bandit mouthed words that wouldn’t come, his throat open to the world, blood spilling all over the grass.
‘Blade,’ Ermund snarled.
Ctenka dragged his attention away from the dying bandit to see a fallen knife on the ground. As the battle continued to rage, both men shuffled towards it. Ermund was there first, and he turned, fingers probing for the weapon in the wet. Eventually he managed to grasp it, and Ctenka turned, presenting his ropes. The blade was keen, cutting the ropes with ease, and Ctenka let out a long breath as he was finally freed. Quickly he took the knife from Ermund and cut him free.
Both men stood to survey the battle. The bandits still fought, Tarlak Thurlow barking his ire at them from the ground, legs pissing blood everywhere.
The priestesses attacked like animals. After their initial attack, the bandits had managed to steel themselves, but they weren’t a match for these women. Ctenka watched in awe as they moved around the clearing like dancers, slashing with those knives, probing at the bandits who did their best to hack at the women clumsily.
There was no way he was going to let them take all the glory.
Ctenka looked for where their equipment was piled. His sword lay discarded next to their saddlebags and he grabbed it with shaky hands.
By the time he’d unsheathed the weapon the fight was almost over. Some of the bandits had fled, but the rest still fought on, too scared of Tarlak Thurlow to disobey his bellowed orders to ‘kill these bitches’.
Then Ctenka spied the innkeeper, standing back from the fray, creeping up on Sicabel who stood at the edge of the clearing nursing a wound in her side. Ctenka saw his chance. Moving swiftly he raised his blade and brought it down on the side of the innkeeper’s head.
Whatever Ctenka had expected to happen when he first killed a man, this wasn’t it. The impact of the blow jolted up his weapon and into his hand. The innkeeper went down silently, with no last cry of pain. This wasn’t what he’d expected from all the tales he’d heard. Where was the feeling of triumph? As Ctenka stared at the body all he felt was ill, his arms starting to shake.
One of the bandits turned, seeing the blade in Ctenka’s hand and what he had just done to the innkeeper, and without a word raced off into the woods. Looking around in a daze, Ctenka saw the rest of the bandits were dead or fled now. The only one left alive was Thurlow, still foundering on the ground. Ctenka, his blood up, panic rising in his throat, stumbled over to the bandit leader.
‘Yield, you fucking bastard,’ he screamed. His voice was shrill like a different Ctenka, a more terrified version of himself, had said it.
Tarlak Thurlow looked around, seeing he was the last one alive, that his men had bolted and left him to his fate. His laugh was deep and rumbling.
Ermund walked forward, breath coming fast, mouth and nose bleeding from the fight. Thurlow looked up at them both and smiled.
‘I know you,’ he said to Ermund. ‘I knew I’d seen you before. You’ve changed. The years haven’t been kind, have they? What happened to you?’
‘What’s he talking about, Ermund?’ Ctenka asked, trying his best to stay calm, blood coursing through his veins.
Tarlak laughed at that. ‘Ermund? Is that the name you go by now? This one doesn’t know who you really are?’ He looked at Ctenka. ‘Your friend here isn’t who he says he is, boy. This is—’
Ermund buried his sword in the bandit leader’s head and split it with a crack. He remained stock still for a moment, before one of his eyes dripped a single tear of blood and he keeled over into the brush.
It was quiet in the clearing. The women – priestesses, if that was even what they were – stared at the two men.
In the aftermath of the battle, Ctenka couldn’t help but admire the way these women had dispatched their enemies.
‘Well fought,’ he said, arms still shaking. ‘We make a formidable team.’
The women looked at one another. Then, with an almost imperceptible nod from Le’Shan, they surrounded the two men.
‘Drop your weapons,’ said the dark-skinned Scorchlander.
Ctenka immediately dropped his sword.
Perhaps they didn’t make a formidable team after all.