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La Maestranza
New Sevilla
Second Church Protectorate

Eldrid spat a piece of broken tooth from his mouth. The b**ch had hit him with a pan! His beautiful wife, replete with dowry was bat-sh*t crazy. Over the last year she had accused him of an affair with an unidentified female, of hiding their life savings and most recently of trying to kill her. The local priest claimed that demonic possession was the only explanation, but having spent time with his wife’s family he was not so sure.

“Grow a pair,” she screamed, waving the grease-streaked implement wildly, “be a man and let me go!”

“The door is that way,” he mumbled, swiping the sleeve of his jacket across his mouth, “feel free.”

“You only want me for my money...”

“It’s your f**king father’s money,” Eldrid snarled, losing his patience, “and he can have it and you back. In fact I told him that last week. His answer was to laugh in my face. “Keep the money,” he said, “but for the Lord’s sake, don’t send her back!”.”

“Liar!”

“Unfortunately not. Listen Castra,” he said more calmly, “keep the money and the house, in fact keep everything. Find someone else to torment. I’m out of here.”

She raised the pan again with murderous intent.

“Don’t,” he said, “you fooled me once. Trust me when I say that you’ll never do it again.”

Her eyes flicked to his right hand which played with the hilt of the knife at his belt. Castra seemed to decide that mental abuse would be a more healthy option, and began to recite her repertoire of his faults. Eldrid merely smiled as he packed a small bag, wondering at how easily a weight could be released from around a person’s neck.

“Bye Dear,” he called as he closed the door behind him, “missing you already.”

His laugh echoed in the corridor as he heard her retort, the words could no longer hurt him.

Spaceport
Chavez City
New Sevilla
Second Church Protectorate

“Do you have the time?”

Eldrid looked up. A man barred his exit from the end of the alley. Behind him, he heard more footfalls. He had been expecting this.

A day spent in a tavern did not necessarily mean that he was drunk, but it was an easy mistake to make. In fact, although alcohol had passed his lips, it was only a means to aid his digestion, and in a small way to celebrate the end of his abusive relationship. For sure, no-one would have understood how a man as large as Eldrid could have suffered beneath Castra’s ministrations. She was petite, pretty and drew admiring gazes wherever she went. He, however, was easily overpowered by the scope of her anger.

His father lived by the tenet that any loss of control was a weakness, and had taught his children the necessity for a positive outlook in the face of adversity. Each new day brought joy and opportunity, although Eldrid’s choice of wife had been a bone of contention between them. They reached an agreed peace before his father’s untimely death, and Eldrid’s last private words, before the flames took his wasted body, had been ones of contrition.

It was therefore with a resigned smile that Eldrid stopped, relaxing his muscles for what he knew was to come.

“Sorry,” he said, “I’ve been a little preoccupied today and left my chrono at home.”

The man smiled back, his open mouth revealing blackened and twisted teeth. A quick glance over Eldrid’s shoulder revealed the presence of others.

“Castra says hello,” said the man, unlimbering what looked like a cosh of some sort.

“She never knows when to let something go,” responded Eldrid, “and now she has your blood on her hands.”

Surprise turned to shock as Eldrid threw his bag straight in the man’s face, following it with a snapped kick into his opponent’s groin. He span, blocking the overhand strike of another attacker. With a twist, he disarmed the man, continuing to exert pressure until he heard a bone snap. Now he used the second attacker’s momentum to spin him into a third, in whose hand he saw the glint of steel. Eldrid stepped forward, grasping hair and smashing his knee into a face. There was the crunch of bone and a satisfying scream of pain. All three men were confused, disoriented. Castra no doubt had told them of how weak and spineless was her husband.

He retrieved the dagger from the floor, deliberate in his movements. The blade was sharp and the skin around the third man’s throat proved of little resistance. Fear and pain greeted him as he turned to the second attacker. It was short-lived, the blade driven deeply into the man’s chest. He left it there.

“Castra always underestimated me,” he said conversationally as he retrieved his bag, in passing noting the small device emblazoned on the men’s tunics, “but in a way she has won. Now I must leave my home, this night’s work is too much even for her father to ignore. I would ask you to take her a message, but this will have to do.”

The cosh smashed into the groaning man’s temple, crushing bone. Eldrid probed with a finger and struck again. Satisfied, he turned away, whistling a tune as he headed for the main Port buildings.

La Maestranza
New Sevilla
Second Church Protectorate

Joshua David winced as the door to his study slammed open. He had no doubt who was making their entrance.

“Castra,” he drawled, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

His nonchalance stopped her for a moment, but no longer.

“You cannot ignore this. He has besmirched my honour, demeaned me and embarrassed me in front of others. What are you going to do?”

He had in fact been considering his options before she had so rudely interrupted his thoughts. Eldrid’s message was clearly intended for both of them and he could not ignore it. Castra’s anger and precipitation had caused the death of three of his men and a created a slight that he needed to erase from the minds of his followers.

“You must...”

“Shut up!”

His words were clearly enunciated and cold. It was the latter which stopped her in mid tirade. She remembered the last time he had spoken in such a tone. Men died.

“Your whims and anger are no doubt my fault.” He said, “That, however, does not resolve our issue. You married a man beneath your station, tried to turn him into something he was not and forgot who he really was. Three men lie dead because of you.”

He held his hand up in warning as she drew breath.

“Heed my word, girl. One more stupid comment and I’ll have you dragged away and publically flogged. That is an embarrassment I am sure you will long remember.”

Castra bit her lip, eyes flashing, but held her tongue.

“Eldrid Wild is a soldier. He was trained to kill for us, to protect us and sow discord amongst our enemies. You tried to turn him into a noble, then berated and abused him when he did not live up to expectations. You tried to kill him, without my knowledge or permission. Have you forgotten where his family came from?

“Idiot girl. Be thankful he has left our planet. I must respond to his little message though, and so you will get your wish. He is a dead man. The order has been given. Now get out of my sight!”

King Joshua David watched her leave, triumph in her eyes. May the Great One keep me safe, he prayed, for Castra as Queen was a future he wished on no-one.

Cadaen City
Caer Seus
Fortress Worlds
Second Church Protectorate

Light streamed in through the open window, waking Eldrid and momentarily disorienting him. The evening’s events blurred together, yet clean sheets spoke loudly of his changed circumstances. Arriving at the General’s villa, he had been shown to his quarters whilst the older man, with the aid of two servants, carried his nephew to bed.

The sound of movement below suggested it was time to get out of bed, and after a quick wash and shave, he made his way downstairs to the kitchen. He found the General there, enjoying a hearty breakfast.

“Sit, Eldrid,” said General Franc, indicating a place across from him at the breakfast table, “my nephew won’t be joining us, I fear, but perhaps that’s for the best.”

Eldrid sat, waited for the servant to lace a full plate before him of steaming bacon and eggs, then spoke.

“My thanks, General, it’s been a while since I’ve slept in clean sheets.”
The General laughed and took a drink of water.

“It is I who should thank you,” he said sitting back, “I think that I had perhaps bitten off more than I could chew.”

Eldrid started to speak, but General Franc waved him to silence.

“You saved me and my nephew from certain injury. Therefore, I would like to do something for you. News has reached me of a dangerous criminal recently escaped from New Sevilla...”

“It’s a lie...” began Eldrid, but stopped as the General continued to smile.

“I know King Joshua, and have heard of his lovely daughter. It strikes me a little unlikely that you are guilty of all the crimes you are accused of.

“It does leave me with a dilemma though, I owe you a huge favour and yet my duty presses hard on me.”

He saw Eldrid’s hand close around the handle of the knife next to his plate and grinned.

“You won’t have need of that,” he said, “I have a way of repaying my debt and ignoring the demands of a spoilt child.”


Eldrid was interested now. He leant forward, ignoring his breakfast.
“I have experience of unruly children. You met my nephew briefly last night. He is a good soldier, but an awful judge of sensible behaviour. He needs someone to teach him what is right and proper, and to keep him out of trouble whilst he does so.”

“I am no nursemaid,” growled Eldrid.

“Of course not, Eldrid, but you are a soldier, and that is what I need. We are at war; the Taurans have opened a new front and Captain Franc joins his new command tomorrow. What he needs is a good sergeant at his side.”

Eldrid stared for a moment, “You want me to in the Church Guard?”

“We aren’t that bad,” laughed the General, “and n-one is looking for Sargeant Eldrid Wild, Even if they find you, it’s a different proposition killing one of the Church Guard.”

“But I’m no Sargeant...” said Eldrid, picking at his food.

“You are if I say so and you wear the right uniform.”

It took Eldrid little time to make up his mind, “What do you want me to do, Sir?”

Automatic Early Warning Systems detected the presence of the Tauran ships soon after their entry into local space. The AEWS’ urgently beamed signals were treated with initial disbelief which rapidly turned into frantic action. Before the Attack Shuttles from the Tauran ships were fully deployed, weapons platforms stirred into malignant life.

A worry-free Artur Ap Naib stared at his screen, waiting for the expected response. He smiled slyly as his captured signal was sent to the waiting machinery and the systems powered down. Artur just loved traitors. They were such a useful commodity.
For now relaxing local troops, the first real signs of trouble came as the Attack Shuttles strafed the dormant platforms. By then it was much too late to react, but Church Guard fighters scrambled anyway.  Many of them were destroyed in initial launch, as the Tauran Attack Cruiser eagerly joined in. For himself, Artur Ap Naib knew that this was only the beginning, yet it was a good one.

In his shuttle, Gorkus ignore the shouts and chattering of communications traffic. The job was yet to start; ground batteries were human-controlled and would not be fooled by simple command codes. He checked Hathor’s orders and nodded coldly. It was time to begin.

*

On the ground, Eldrid had but recently formed up his men when the first information on the attack reached him. There was no time to remember names nor to assign new duties. Klaxons screamed, calling his Church Guard to their posts and he raced along with his men to their assigned stations. Out of the frying pan…he thought to himself as he checked his auto-rifle. Frome’s men knew what to do and Eldrid was thankful to the General as his men grimly awaited the Tauran offensive.

His communicator buzzed.

“Wild,” he responded.

“Yes, it is, Sargeant,” said a calm voice, “this is Captain Franc. I just hope you’re as good as your file says you are. It seems as if our visitors have targeted your location as the ideal spot in which to begin a new and beautiful friendship. I will be joining you shortly. Try not to be too welcoming, and you don’t have to wait for me whilst you explain to our new friends’  their lack of manners and the expected social niceties in polite society.”

“Yes Sir,” replied Eldrid seeing the tell-tale breaking jets of an Attack Shuttle, “it appears as though they are eager to meet us.”

Franc’s voice changed, “hold them there,” he said clearly, “we will be with you shortly.”

The snap of the broken communication was drowned out by the roar of the approaching craft.

“okay, boys,” Eldrid said calmly, “time to show these Taurans a good old Church welcome. Singing is not forbidden, yet I would rather hear the sweet music of their agony and deaths. There will be no prisoners.”

Unknown faces peered up at him, yet they did not show fear. Frome had definitely done a good job with them.

“Fire at will!” shouted Eldrid, following his own advice as the first Taurans spilled from the Shuttle. He heard the comforting sound of his men’s weapons and laughed at the absurdity of his situation. Maybe New Sevilla had not been that bad after all.

“This is completely screwed,” said Eldrid to himself as he saw the Tauran hit the ground again. With a final burst of speed he reached the armoured figure, just as it began to struggle to its feet.

Eldrid planted a heavy boot on the Tauran’s chest as he twisted the timing mechanism on his explosive charge. A large hand grasped his foot, lifting the offending boot effortlessly.

“Cr*p!” gasped Eldrid, swinging the satchel around, its magnets clamping hard to the Tauran’s armour. Disdainfully it tossed him aside, hands moving to tear the device away.

As he hit the hard-packed earth, Eldrid kept rolling, hands covering his ears.

“Suicide bombers, my arse”, he muttered as the following explosion at least made him fly.

His impact drove the air from his lungs and he struggled to draw breath. The loud bark of the auto-cannon was the first real sound to break through the ringing in his ears. Shaking his head, Eldrid looked around for the Tauran. He saw an arm and then part of a torso. The auto-cannon continued to fire.

“Not doing that again,” he groaned, crawling back towards his men, his only thought of how he just had to lead by example. Something grabbed at the back of his tunic and he tried weakly to fend it off.

“Sh*t, Sargeant,” complained Walsh, “I’m only trying to help.”

Eldrid let him, leaving on the small man as he stumbled back to his position behind the barricades.

“You lose, Sarge,” quipped Medina as Eldrid half-fell next to him, “you never said it had to fly all in one piece.”

Eldrid laughed wryly, admitting defeat as Medina fired once more.

*

Gorkus saw his companion fall, then come apart as the reckless Church Guardsman exploded his satchel charge. Now there was a warrior, he thought, as he watched the rest of the Guard positions over-run. Hathor had returned to type, roaring and swinging his rusty battle-axe in wide swathes of destruction. It would soon be over.

He was still thinking that way when the bombs began to drop indiscriminately amongst the battling troops.

“Cowards!” he screamed, until realizing that the protagonist was none other than Artur-Ap-Naib. His leader had brought his Attack Shuttles in low, looking for a quick end to the battle.

A curse formed on Gorkus’ lips, but got no further as an auto-cannon round punched him from his feet. The remaining Church Guards under command of the reckless warrior were attacking again. He rose looking for his men and heard the recall signal. The falling ordnance got thicker. Something clanged against the back of his helmet, and he slapped the offending attacker aside. It was Hathor.

“I always knew that I would have my moment,” sneered the red-skinned Tauran, raising his axe on high, “I just had to be patient.”

Gorkus stared coldly at the frothing Hathor, giving himself up to this fast approaching death.

“No you don’t,” said a quiet voice as the butt of an auto-rifle blocked Hathor’s downward blow, “this one’s mine.”

“No!” snarled Hathor, freeing his weapon and preparing to strike. Eldrid emptied the full auto-rifle clip into the Tauran, just as the welcome sound of his men joining him came to ears.

“You sit there,” said Eldrid, slumping next to Gorkus, “I’m sure that my Captain will want to talk with you.”

Gorkus watched him keel over, just as Medina and Walsh appeared, grinning savagely. He looked down at Eldrid. There was no doubt in his mind that he could defeat these human soldiers and kill this warrior. Yet, honour forbade him. His own side had resorted to treachery and cowardice when the battle was already their’s. This one had at least fought as a warrior should, and now there was a debt to be paid.

It was with this decision that Gorkus’ life changed. He had been beaten for the first time in his life, and by a human soldier. No longer did he lead. Both honour and duty must be satisfied and that meant a change of allegiance. This did not worry him as much as it should, rather he saw himself bound to a new Lord, stronger than himself. Life now had a purpose and Gorkus was satisfied.

It's always good to read your stories, Rayo. This is another fine example of your work. Thanks for posting.

Thanks Rat. Good to see you around.

Cheers

Rayo

Thanks Rayo,

I'm trying to work my way back online. The universe has been taking a collective dump on my head for the past 6 months...  Almost everything that could go wrong, has. I'm ready to kill that Murphy chap!

Just remember Sod's Law : "MURPHY WAS AN OPTIMIST"  and of course, drink more beer 

Cheers

Rayo

Gorkus grunted with the effort and shifted Eldrid’s dead weight. The strange rat-like Medina was ahead, scouting the area before signaling them forward. His mate, Walsh, was by his side, five others strung out behind them. They had picked them up in their travels, saving their lives in a number of small skirmishes. Medina’s skilled had surprised Gorkus, almost as much as his own caused grudging respect from the Church Guard. Neither had been willing to leave Eldrid behind and their only argument occurred over what to actually do with him. Gorkus solved the problem simply by picking up the unconscious Sargeant and following Walsh. This decision was now beginning to weigh heavily, more physically than metaphorically, and Gorkus was wondering whether to ask for a small respite. Any decision was taken away by a grunted “put…me…down…” and Gorkus willingly obeyed.

“Sargeant,” said Medina happily as he trotted back to the now seated Eldrid, “have you enjoyed your rest?”

“Cheeky sod,” muttered Eldrid, rubbing his arms and legs in an attempt to encourage his circulation.

“What happened?” he asked, looking at Gorkus.

“The Taurans took the city, or rather should I say they destroyed it.” Interrupted Medina, “We fought our way out, finding some of our boys and girls on the way. Now we are trying to get out of the city in one piece.”

He nodded towards Gorkus.

“That thing refused to leave you. Quite touching really.”

Eldrid laughed and struggled to his feet, refusing Medina’s proferred hand. He shuffled over to Gorkuas and crouched down.

“What do you want?” he asked without preamble.

“I do not understand,” replied Gorkus, truly sounding puzzled.

“Why are you here?” Eldrid tried a different tack.

“You are here,” replied Gorkus simply, “where else would I be?”

Now Eldrid was confused.

“What has this got to do with me?” he asked.

“You beat me, then you saved my life. I ask you again, where else would a follower be, but by his leader’s side?”

“But I’m only a Sargeant,” said Eldrid lamely.

Gorkus shrugged, the movement causing the moonlight to reflect of his strange armour.

“Where you go, I follow. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Later,” said Eldrid, getting back to his feet, “for now I need to find out exactly where we are.”

The Tauran Elite said nothing, merely rising and following closely behind.

Prison Compound
Cadaen City
Caer Seus
Fortress Worlds
Second Church Protectorate

Captain Franc awoke disoriented. He remembered his act of defiance and the pain in his head. Bastards! Someone had slugged him from behind. Looking around he saw he lay propped against a wall. Somewhat apart from him were other members of the Church Guard. A ragged bunch of soldiers huddled together in the center of an open area of hard-packed earth. Raising himself on one elbow he studied his surroundings. They were held within a fenced area, Tauran soldiers patrolling the exterior, weapons at the ready.

Slowly he stood, ignoring the pain thumping in his head, and moved towards the group of his fellow prisoners.

“Where are we?” he asked, and was greeted with a sullen silence. Recognising some of his men, he tried again, yet none would meet his eye.

“I asked you a question,” he said, refusing to back down.

“Who do you think you are?” the question came from a new source, a large man who pushed his way through the crowd, clenching his fists in anger.

“An Officer, soldier, and don’t you forget it!” replied Franc, rage overpowering him.

“Yeah,” spat the soldier, “one of those who got my mates killed. Right now, you’re nothing, just another prisoner waiting to die.”
Franc usually avoided conflict, but instinctively knew he could not back down.

“Sir!” he snapped, “you will call me Sir!”

“Not fu…” the man’s defiance was abruptly cut short as Franc slammed his fist into the open mouth before him. He followed it with a brutal kick to the knee, before smashing his elbow into the protesting man’s temple.

“What do you call me?” he growled.

“Sir,” said one man, quickly followed by the others.

“Now,” Franc said calmly, “you were about to tell me where we were.”