Timeros: A Clash Of Gods

1.

The sound of clashing steel had died away. The screams of agony and death had become nothing more than quiet murmurs on the chapped lips of the many men that lay littered across the battlefield. Some cried out for their wives, sons and daughters others, perhaps the younger flag bearers, perhaps knights old enough to have sired kin older than the flag bearers cried out for their mothers. The name of Gorgaroth, God of old, was sputtered out at the final moments, asking for forgiveness and a place at His right hand side as one of His warriors. Thoughts of the next journey becoming their last on this blooded land.

The sun had risen as a fiery red disc as red as the land the first rays of its mighty light had spread upon, any witness would see the tendrils of low lying fog burning away under the heat of the rising sun. As the fog cleared the bodies came into view, face down, on their backs, draped one on top of the other, in many places skewered on large poles, sheer carnage of the battle unveiled for all.

Yet one moved, alive amongst the dead. About him, bodies of his friends, of his comrades and of his enemy littered the ground. Faces could be seen twisted into masks of agony as death finally took them. He sat up on his knees, the front of his white surcoat and his cote of arms hidden beneath blood and mud torn in places revealing chain mail and armour beneath it. He doubled over gagging and heaving as his stomach lurched, he held his eyes tightly shut head pounding as he attempted to be sick. But nothing more than spittle left his mouth, catching on his beard.

"Crusader," The call came from behind, a voice of pure fury and vengeance the word descending into a terrible scream "Crusader," he turned too fast his head throbbed an almighty pain, his stomach lurched again and he fell forward his left arm barely keeping him up right. A man, no a Giant, staggered across the field, his clothes torn and frayed and a shirt of black hung now round his waist. Arrows, by Gorgaroth so many arrows had pierced his skin front and back, sticking out as if he were a maidens pin cushion. In his hand he held an Axe its end chipped and bloodied but thirsty for more. "Your time has come Crusader. Gorgaroth walks not this filthy ground, bow your head and receive the blessing of my Almighty father." The giant screamed raising the axe above his head.

The Crusader moved quickly catching the giant by surprise. The man was on his feet in seconds springing forward, in his right hand a broad sword that caught the sun light making it look like the blade was made from the fire itself. The giant swung high, at the last moment the Crusader ducked and pushed forward with his sword. The giant howled out as the blade pierced his side ripping through the flesh just below the rib cage.

The Crusader cursed his unsteady hand, the thrust was meant to go deeper and end the fight before it had chance to begin. He sprung back and landed awkwardly on a tangle of bodies, he looked down 'fool!' he thought to himself realising his error he looked up just as the axe came in from the left side. The Crusader screamed out feeling the axe slicing into his side then he was airborne, the force of the swing lifting him from his feet and sending him flying.

He rolled onto his back, his left hand clutching at his side, feeling shredded armour and worse yet the gaping pulsing wound that was quickly covering his hand and the body beneath him in warm blood. A shadow descended, he looked up squinting through the pain. The Giant stood over him a grin stretched across his hairless face "The time of the Crusader is at an end," He said breathing heavily raising his axe once more, "no more will your ilk stink up this land."

Somehow he moved, somehow he had gotten to his feet and propelled himself forward, the weight of righteous steel in his right hand swinging round connecting with the giants side, slicing, digging and embedding into his flesh. The Crusaders left shoulder crumpled beneath the weight of the Axe as it swung down, had his shoulder plate not been made of hard iron and the Axe pitted and worn it would have removed his arm with ease.

They embraced, the axe now forgotten on the ground, the broad sword buried deep in the giant's side. The giant wrapped his dirtied and sweaty arms around the man and held the crusader to him as if he were a stout bear clutching prey. "I will crush you Crusader. I will taste your last breath as it leaves your body. I will eat your soul." The last word screamed into his face.

He felt his rib cage snap, something popped shortly after and his breathing became agonising. He freed his right arm and clawed at the Giants face, punching out trying desperately to break the hold. His last punch landed weakly on the giant's hot cheek. His hand flopped to his side as he hiccoughed blood from his mouth. His fingers danced on the shaft of an arrow.

The Crusader took a painful deep breath grabbing the arrow and wrenching it free from the giants flesh, he lifted it high and swung down. The tip found its mark, bursting the soft eyeball as it entered through the socket. The giant screamed out but held him tighter still. He pushed the arrow forward feeling it ripping through muscle. Blood and scraps of eyeball dripped down the giants face. The final push and the giant's screams were suddenly silenced. The giant wobbled back and forth before finally toppling backwards crashing to the ground, the Crusader rolling free.

The sun had risen higher and the sky was a pale blue, the start of a beautiful day the crusader thought. Black flowers bloomed in his vision as he blinked. Breathing had become secondary. The pain was too much to continue inhaling so he lay still and stared at the blue dome above him. The ground trembled beneath him. He turned his head expecting to see the giant rising once again to claim his head. Instead he saw three figures, dressed in black cloaks and hooded. One led a large black horse an open wagon strapped to its hind.

'Death must be busy this day, he sends helpers to collect the fallen.' The crusader thought as the figures circled around him, his eyes fluttered then closed as they knelt and lifted him from the battlefield nothing more now than dead weight.

2.

Captain Farringdon Rosen's hands felt the smooth dark skin of his own Queen's thighs as she rode him slowly. She cupped her small breasts in her own hands, fingers pulling at her hard black nipples, back arched her long black hair cascading behind her. Rosen's left hand moved to her inner thigh and over her matted pubic hair his thumb finding the swollen bud beneath. Queen Oundle let out a loud gasp as his thumb pushed down she bit her lip trying to hold back what was coming. Rosen's right hand reached across her belly feeling the sweat they had both made beneath his dried battle weary hand and up to her left breast. Queen Oundle rocked quicker and pushed down harder, her own free hand now in her mouth muffling her gasp, moans and sighs. Rosen met her rhythm lifting his own hips getting his cock in to her as deep as he could, knowing that they were both close. She shuddered and froze on him her hand barely able to hide the deep moan that escaped her mouth. Rosen lifted his hips once more and felt himself peek, releasing deep inside his Queen.

They had been lovers for five years the good King Balestre was not so good in the bedroom and his wife the Queen Oundle had found her own needs did not need to go wanting for long. Farringdon Rosen made a fine lover. Now they lay side by side, Oundle draped one hand across his chest her fingers playing across his scared body, Rosen feigned sleep, the sex was enjoyable but not as enjoyable as lying in a bed, especially after being in the field of battle for two seasons. "No new scars this time?" She noted her words no more than sigh.

Rosen smiled "Your husband places me with assignments that require less of my sword and more of my mouth." He had lately felt more like an errand boy than a revered Captain.

Queen Oundle let out a small laugh, "your mouth is more likely to get you in trouble." She moved quickly her legs either side of Rosen's head before he had time to stop her and lowered herself onto his waiting tongue.

3.

King Balestre loved his war room. The entrance hid beneath a large ancient tapestry that hung behind the Kings Throne. The room had no windows and with only one entrance no one could enter without being seen and once in, there was nowhere to hide, the room was a spy's worst nightmare, how the king loved it so. Three walls were lined with large dark wood bookcases. On these sat maps, books, ancient scrolls that were so brittle that they turned to dust at the slightest breath and other sundry papers that past and present kings had left behind.

Only three men were now present in the room. The King himself as well as Captain Rosen and behind him, stood firmly with his back to the door was the Giant known as Golman.

The current king leaned over a long table, on which unfurled and held down on either side by heavy weights was a map that showed his land of Dolan, bordered to the east by Timeros. A thin smile was on his lips as he looked at the now fragile border, one hand stroked his black, greying beard. "The Crusaders are cowed and their King is reeling." He looked up at the man on the opposite side of the table. "The lands across the river are in disarray already those loyal to us are spreading the message that I will give them hope and safety. Timeros has yet to bring word of surrender to my ear. They fell so hard on our border I expected words of grave apology and abject subservience from their God Gorgaroth himself." Not one to anger his good King, Captain Rosen smiled and gave a dry laugh it was all a charade his loyalty to the King had faded rapidly.

Many, including Rosen had expected the battle to have gone against them, yet King Balestre had shown great skill in planning and executing that had changed the outcome dramatically. King Balestre it seemed had hidden talents. Rosen knew he would have to be careful from now on as did everyone in the land of Dolan. "I am sorry that you missed your chance on the battlefield," the king said, his head lowered once again to the map "Truly I am. A man like you enjoys the battle and for me to take that away, pah!" he waved one hand aimlessly.

"My King required my talents elsewhere and I accept that." Rosen shrugged showing that he had taken the duty with honour, though in reality he had raged and smashed his little homestead upon hearing his menial task. "Do you wish to have my report? I have only been back one day--"

"One day?" The king raised his head quickly from the map his eyes locking with Rosen's own, "I was told you returned before evening bell two days ago." Rosen's blood ran cold and fought to hold the Kings gaze.

By the door Golman stirred. Rosen's right hand man went wherever Rosen went. They had fought side by side for many years earning each others trust. The race of Giants in Dolan were said to be born from the God Barthan himself as a constant reminder to the people of his great strength. Rosen knew without turning to look that Golman's hand was already resting on the hilt of his large battle axe. "You must have been ill informed my King," Rosen spoke as if nothing was wrong, yet his mind screamed at him that the King had finally found out, "I returned yesterday, perhaps whoever spoke of me was confused."

The king said nothing simply starred into Rosen's hard, green eyes. No emotion could be seen, no feeling, the man did not even blink as he lied to his own King. As angry as Balestre was, part of him admired the courage it took. Balestre straightened up and smiled broadly as he walked round the table, as slow and dim-witted as many thought of their good King, Balestre was quick and cunning with an intelligence to match. He clapped Rosen on the shoulders, "Yes, perhaps that is the case. With everything that is going on it is an easy mistake to be made. Troops have been moving back and forth for months now even hedge knights have come calling bidding servitude. It is easy enough to mistake one man for another these days." If Balestre had drawn his sword and struck Rosen down no one would care, no one except Queen Oundle perhaps. But Balestre had taken the first step to revenge, he had let the Captain know that the secret was no more and now he would squirm and wait for the killing blow.

He took the rolled up parchment from Rosen's hand and unfurled it glancing at the spidery thin writing taking in a smattering of the boring detail on there. "Yes it was as I expected." He rolled the parchment back up and placed it on the table. "I hate to do this to you Captain but I require you and your men to cross into the land of Timeros. It has been three months since we began the route and while they are still licking their wounds I wish for us to spread the word of Dolan and of our true God. We have made a firm foothold in most of the towns and villages but there are some that still wish to fight on I require your skilled hand in this matter, to quell any thoughts of uprising."

"Of course my King, as you command it." Rosen bowed at the waist ever so slightly.

"Speak to the towns and the villages let them know Dolan does not hold them responsible for the unwise attack on our borders. Let them know King Balestre is lenient to those in favour of new rule," Their eyes met again, "let them know any uprising or betrayals will be met with swift justice."

"And what of the Crusaders and those who refuse to denounce their King and Gorgaroth." Rosen asked, though he knew the answer.

"Crush them as well. Show the people that the time of Gorgaroth is at an end." The King turned and walked back round the table his eyes returning once again to the map, his ringed index finger tracing an imaginary border that covered the lands of Timeros. "Rest up tonight Captain, you leave at the break of dawn. Get you affairs in order you may be gone for some time." The King placed as much emphasis on the word 'affairs' as he deemed suitable to drive the message home. He kept his eyes on the map not needing to see Rosen's expression.