Zenak Read online

  “I march today against an army that bears no insignia,” Zenak said quietly.

  “I know.”

  “When I come back we shall have a great feast in your honor,” Zenak said trying to cheer up Mara and himself.

  “You may not come back,” Mara said as she stared at Zenak with cold, fierce eyes. Then Mara got up and put the child in its cradle. Zenak walked to the cradle and looked at the baby.

  “Of course I’ll be back. I have a fine son and a lovely wife.”

  “You never can tell,” Mara said to herself as she paced back and forth in her bedchamber. Zenak look at her questioningly, but she said nothing. While Zenak dawdled by the baby’s cradle, a knock sounded on the door.

  “Enter,” Mara ordered. General Malook entered the room.

  “My King,” he said as he slapped his right thigh, “the marksmen and Balbania’s troops are ready and await your leadership.

  “Good work, Malook. Are they outfitted with longbows and arrows?” Zenak asked.

  “They are completely outfitted, My King,” Malook answered. “A sword, two daggers, a shield, a shovel, and longbow and arrows.”

  “Excellent, that’s exactly as it should be. We march within the hour.” Zenak said.

  “Very good,” Malook responded and then he left the room.

  Zenak walked up to Mara, wrapped his arms around her, and said, “I’ll see you soon, my queen.”

  “Yes,” said Mara. She pushed Zenak away, walked to the other side of the room, and busied herself.

  Zenak started to go after her but stopped short.

  He stood for a minute in the room and looked at Mara’s back, then at his son, and finally walked out of his wife’s bedchamber. As he walked out of the palace, he tried to figure out what was wrong with Mara. He couldn’t figure it out.

  Chapter 4

  Tenen stood by Gam’s side. He patted the war mark on its nose and was talking to it gently. Tenen was trying to calm the mark down for Gam knew that the smell and taste of battle was near. On the other side of Gam stood Habor, cap­tain of Balbania’s troops. Habor was a big bruising sort of a fellow. His muscles bulged out of his chain mail just as his stomach bulged from too much ale. A scar crossed his jolly, dark countenance and three of his front teeth were missing. His mark stood next to him and was as fearsome as its master. It stood almost as large as Gam but was solid black. The seven-inch daggers on its hooves were sharpened to perfection, as were his gold-capped razor teeth. Zenak walked briskly into the courtyard. Mara was discarded from his mind; fighting was now to be his preoccupation. Zenak was the picture of envy of any fighting man of any time. His blond flowing curls rested lightly on his massive shoulders. His slim waist carried the belt from which his great broadsword hung. Cold and fierce were his dark eyes for they were set on only one purpose: to kill or be killed, for such were the ways of a fighting man. Zenak mounted his mark.

  “Take care,” Zenak said to Tenen, “and beware of that bastard, Vokar.”

  “Good fighting, My King,” Tenen replied, “and don’t worry about Vokar.”

  Zenak looked down and smiled at Tenen and said, “Only two of the three greatest fighters march to battle. I will miss your sword, Tenen.”

  Zenak’s referral to two out of three was his reference to himself, Tenen, and Habor. They had come from the western lands together and had spilled the blood of many enemies to­gether. Many a night these three mighty men had spent their money in debauchery with women and ale.

  “I shall miss the smell of battle also,” Tenen said, “Habor, fight for the both of us and on the way back from the victory drink enough ale and deflower enough women for the both of us.”

  Habor guffawed causing his stomach to jump and replied, “I shall bring back the sweetest woman and the strongest ale I find just for you, Tenen.”

  “Farewell, Tenen,” Zenak said jumping into the dialogue. “We will see you in a better day,”

  “Farewell, My King, and farewell, Habor. My bed awaits the sweet woman you shall bring me and my mouth is already antici­pating the ale,” Tenen said smiling broadly.

  Zenak and Habor turned their marks and galloped out of the palace toward the city gates. The citizens of Balbania had stopped their work and had gathered in the streets to bid good fighting to the king and his soldiers, but Zenak never noticed the people for he was in deep thought. Habor waved and smiled at the people, but then he didn’t have the burden of a kingdom on his shoulders. When Habor and Zenak reached the city’s gate, Zenak rode on through without looking back. Habor, however, stopped and turned around so he could look at his new-found home once more before he went on his jour­ney. Habor, considered the most fearsome fighter of the two, he and Zenak, felt he would never return when he went to battle. Zenak, confident in his abilities, felt no reason for one last look for he knew he would return and return victorious.

  The 40,000 army marksmen and the 7,500 Balbanian marksmen were ready to ride. They were lined up ten abreast outside the gate and were mounted on their eager marks. The marksmen watched with pride as Zenak and Habor rode quickly to the front.

  “Sound the trumpets, we march,” Zenak ordered the bugle boy.

  The bugle boy sounded three blasts and then the great mass of fighting men moved out at a slow gallop. The lines were kept straight and the fierce war marks made the earth tremble beneath their deadly hooves as they galloped to an unknown end. In the city all was quiet as the people thought of their loved ones going off to battle.

  The ride took ten hours. This was twice as long as it would have taken if the warriors were riding non-military riding marks. But the warriors did not mind because war marks were much stronger and much more agile in close fighting than a riding mark was. Proponents of riding marks felt that riding marks could be trained to fight like war marks, but many a trainer had tried and failed. The riding mark was too gentle. All he wanted to do was run. He had no preference who rode him or where he was taken. The war mark, on the other hand did not like to run. He preferred fighting, and he had a preference for who rode him. Only his master could ride him. This was because a marksman would find his war mark when the mark was very young and train him to his specifications. Once the war mark was trained, no other rider was able to sit upon him without the mark trying to throw the new rider. It was a common oc­currence that if a marksman was killed in the battle, his mark would stay by the body until it had died of hunger. That was why a war mark was killed when its master had died. If it wasn’t killed, it would suffer the pain of death from hunger. It was a very able marksman who could get a strange mark to allow him to ride him. After their grueling ten-hour ride, the army made camp 20 karns from the Volski. Zenak immediately sent three scouts out into the field to find the mercenary army’s exact location. The next day only one scout, a boy not over seventeen years of age, returned.

  “My King,” gasped the young scout, “I have seen the mercenary army.” The young boy then fell to the ground by Zenak’s feet in a state of total exhaustion.

  “Get him some food and water,” Zenak ordered one of the tent guards.

  “What did you see?” asked Zenak.

  The scout gasped for air and grasped his side as he spoke, “At least 100,000 men and it looked as if they were building war machines, battering rams, and machines for scaling walls.”

  Zenak sent for a doctor when he noticed blood on the boy’s hand that grasped his right side. Zenak crouched to the ground and held the boy’s head in his hands.

  “What happened to you and where are the two other scouts that went with you?” Zenak asked as he cradled the boy’s head in his arms.

  “Ten mercenaries found us. We put up a good fight and killed them all, but my two friends were killed. They might have lived if I knew how to fight better. I felt they were protecting me. They stood around me and fought off the mercenaries because I was the first one to be stabbed. They killed off all the mercenaries except one. He was too big for them and they were tired; he killed them in a matt
er of seconds. And just as the man was going to behead me, my mark put two of his hooves into the mercenary’s chest. But to my dismay, the killer stuck his sword into my mark’s heart. I ran back here,” the boy said.

  “Where is the camp?” asked Zenak.

  “About fifteen karns northwest of here. The camp is big but it has no fortifications,” the boy answered in almost a whis­per.

  “Good,” said Zenak to himself. “Where is the doctor?” Zenak looked anxiously at the tent door.

  The boy looked at Zenak and whispered, “Help me, oh King.”

  Zenak looked at the dying youth and said, “I wish I could.”

  The boy died in Zenak’s arms as the doctor walked into the tent.

  “Get out,” Zenak ordered. “As usual, you are late.” The doctor humbly left.

  Zenak laid the boy’s head on the ground and sighed. As he stared at the boy, a guard came rushing in. “My King,” he said, “we have caught six mercenary scouts.”

  Zenak stood up and said, “Excellent work. Bring one of them to me and behead the others. Maybe in this way our young scout here will be avenged.”

  “My King,” the guard answered as he slapped his right thigh. Then the guard ran out the door to get the mercenary scout.

  Zenak turned away from the dead boy and ordered one of his tent guards, “Give this boy a hero’s funeral.”

  “Yes, My King,” he said and then he and two other guards carried the boy out of the tent.

  “It is good that the mercenary camp has no fortifications,” Habor told Zenak.

  “I feel sure spies have told them that we are at one quarter of our strength—why should they bother?” Zenak remarked.

  Just then a guard pushed the enemy scout that was left alive into the tent. He pushed the mercenary so hard that the man fell on the ground. The mercenary was a man of average height. He had scars of many battles written on his face and the scars on the top of his bald head suggested that his baldness was not the consequence of any hereditary or disease problem. Zenak walked up to the sprawling man. The scout looked up at Zenak’s fearsome countenance but showed no sign of fear. On the contrary, he smiled slyly at Zenak.

  “Well, well, King Zenak, the most fearsome fighter on the Island. Do you want information? Is that why you kept me alive? For a price I’ll tell you all,” the scout said.

  “Get up,” Zenak ordered.

  The man rose stiffly on his feet. “I’m not as young as I used to be,” he said. Zenak moved close to him.

  “Now, I want information. How many marksmen does this army have? How many infantrymen march in this mercenary army? Who is your leader? And who hired your leader?” Zenak fired off.

  “Well, we are full of questions, aren’t we?” the scout answered. “I’ll tell you the name of our leader for free. His name is well-known throughout the Island. Tabilo is his name.”

  “Tabilo!” Habor screamed out. “I thought I killed him before we overcame Mara’s father at the battle of Dorman. My sword struck him across the face and he slipped to the ground in his own blood.”

  “He bears the scar well, even though one of his eyes is missing from the ill-fated blow,” the scout told Habor.

  “I care not about scars or missing eyes,” said an en­raged Zenak. “Now tell me how many marksmen and infantrymen are in your army?” The king grabbed the man by his shirt and lifted him off the ground. The scout leeringly looked into Zenak’s eyes.

  “I will tell you nothing more until I have 1,000 gold pieces in my pocket,” the scout said evenly.

  Zenak glared at the man and then let him go. As the man was straightening his shirt, Zenak, as swift as the western winds, drew a dagger out of a pant leg pocket and before the scout could even move from natural reactions, Zenak sliced the mercenary’s right ear off. The pain had not even regis­tered in the man’s mind when he saw his neatly sliced ear on the ground. “Oh, my gods,” the man screamed. He tried to fall to the ground but Zenak impeded him by holding the mercenary by his shoulders.

  “Now,” Zenak said quietly, “how many marksmen, how many infantrymen, and who hired your leader?”

  The scout spoke readily now. Apparently, an ear was worth more than 1,000 gold pieces to him. “Seventy thousand marksmen and 25,000 infantrymen are with us. We also have 10,000 slaves working for us. But I swear on every sword I’ve ever owned that only Tabilo knows who hired us. Now just let me wallow in my misery, please.”

  Zenak let him drop to the ground. The man writhed in pain.

  “Almost two to one,” Zenak said to Habor.

  “When do you march?” Zenak asked the scout in a de­manding tone.

  “Tomorrow at sundown,” the scout said weakly. He was holding his hand against the wound but could not stop the pro­fusion of blood that was spilling on the ground next to Zenak’s feet.

  “They were going to surprise Deparne at dawn,” Zenak said. The king looked at the man crumpled on the floor. He drew his massive broadsword and like a great pendulum Zenak swung his sword down and severed the scout’s head from his body. Then Zenak immediately sheathed his sword and ordered the guards to remove the body.

  A guard, not wanting to touch the bloody head, kicked it out the door of the tent.

  Zenak turned to Habor and said, “We march tomorrow at dawn.”

  “What will be our plan of attack?” Habor asked.

  “From the information we have received, I think that it will be best for Captain Zimon to take his marksmen and attack from the right and for Captain Lokos to take his marksmen and attack from the left. Of course, Captain Lokos will have to leave before we do so he can be positioned. You and I will take the rest of the troops and attack straight on from the east,” Zenak said.

  “You do not expect our attack to be a surprise, do you?” Habor asked.

  “Of course not,” Zenak replied. “We will march until we are one karn from the enemy and from there I will decide if my plan of attack will be worthwhile.”

  “What if Tabilo attacks us while you are surveying the situation?” Habor asked.

  “He won’t—his troops will be too busy preparing for their ride to Deparne. The most that his troops will do is get their defenses up. And they will have them up long be­fore they see us, for they will hear the sound of our marks’ hooves.” Zenak said. “Now I’m going to bed. You relay all my orders to the appropriate captains and tell the troops to prepare for a long day tomorrow.”

  “Sleep well, my friend,” Habor said, and then he quickly left the tent.

  Zenak grabbed a bottle of wine from a table and went to his furs. He fell heavily upon them. He had many things on his mind: the battle, who was Tabilo’s employer, and why was his lovely wife acting so strangely. He looked at the bottle of wine, took a swig from it, and said out loud, “Ah the smell of battle will be sweet. But on all the gods’ heads, I wish that I was just a common marksman fighting for my king. To be a king is to castrate oneself. When I return I shall give the throne to Tenen. Then Mara, my child, and I will leave Balbania for better places. We will go where the sky is always blue and the grass is always green and lush. We will go where the wine is sweet, the meat tender, and the houses warm. I know places like that must exist; they only need to be discovered.” Zenak smiled to himself and then downed the rest of the wine. He fell blissfully asleep dream­ing of Mara’s awaiting arms and the upcoming battle.

  Chapter 5

  The night of the day when Zenak and his troops left fell quietly on Balbania. The streets were quiet save for an occasional laugh from one of the many taverns. In one of the numerous alleys of Balbania, a dog was howling and a baby could be heard crying near the palace. It was a good night to sit on a porch and think. It was also a good night for making love, an act taken as seriously as an artist takes in painting. This was a night when many couples would get together and become one.

  In the palace everything was in order, but it was unusually quiet. On a normal night the palace was bustling. But tonight found most of the inha
bitants of the palace deep in thought about the outcome of the battle that their king had gone off to. The few people in the palace who had known Zenak for many years had an overwhelming amount of confidence in their king. But the rest of the people in the palace and in all of Balbania had known Zenak for only a year. To them he was a high-spirited barbarian liberator who seemed rather reckless in his manner of doing things. It was these people who worried the most about the outcome of the battle.

  The generals with their infantries were slow and it would take them two days to leave for the Volski. They would be of no use to Zenak.

  While the armies were preparing to march and lovers were embracing each other, Tenen was relaxing on the balcony of his bedchamber that overlooked the palace’s well-tended gar­dens below. He was sipping on a golden goblet of wine and was lost in thought when he felt the presence of another. Like the war machine that he was, he leapt to his feet and prepared to fight this stalker of the night. To his surprise he saw Mara. Feeling the fool he relaxed himself and gazed on her beautiful form. She was dressed in soft yellow silks; her full breasts were seductively revealed and the rest of her body spoke of a sensuousness that is rarely known to a man.

  “Tenen,” she said quietly.

  “Mara, what brings you here?” Tenen asked. He was smiling broadly for Tenen loved Mara as a sister. He loved her because he knew that Zenak loved her.

  “I feel it in my soul that my husband shall never re­turn from battle,” she said feigning sadness.

  “Hah, Zenak not return from battle? I doubt that will ever happen. He is too great a fighter,” Tenen said confidently.

  “But Tabilo, the head of the mercenaries, is supposed to be the best fighter on the Island,” Mara said.

  “Tabilo is head of the mercenaries?” asked a shocked Tenen, for he had seen Habor strike a deadly blow to Tabilo’s face.