Bronislav gazed straight ahead, attempting to keep both of his opponents in his field of vision. He strained to hear movement from the one he knew was behind him. He was stripped to the waist, as were his sparring partners. He held his sword in a deceptively loose grip at his side. The warriors circled, Bronislav rotated in place to keep at least two of them in front of him at all times.

To his left, Varak, a grizzled veteran with a long braided black beard who hefted a spiked axe. To his right, Zlyth, a rather thin man but wily and lightning fast. He wielded two wickedly curved swords. Behind was Draag, a monstrous brute of a warrior who brandished a gigantic maul that other men could scarcely lift.

Bronislav heard the heavy footsteps on the packed earth even before the huge warrior uttered his fierce warcry. He waited two heartbeats and leapt to the side, twisting his body to avoid the crushing blow from the great hammer, which smashed into the very earth he had just vacated. He risked a glance at his other two opponents. The axe-wielding veteran had begun his advance, quickly but not rushed. Zlyth was circling and looking for an opening. Bronislav turned his attention back to Draag, and just in time. In a surprising show of agility the gigantic man shifted his grip on the maul, and continuing his forward momentum used it like a pole vault, launching a high kick with his massive boot toward Bronislav's head.

Bronislav spun away from the brute's kick, and brought his sword up just in time to parry the side-sweep of Varak's axe. Draag's momentum carried him away from the battle for the moment, but Bronislav had lost track of Zlyth. He reversed the direction of his blade and brought around it in a whistling downward arc. Varak, whose axe was still swinging away, had to dodge wildly to avoid the deadly blade. He fell to the ground with a grunt.

Bronislav let the momentum of his swing carry him around to face the wily swordsman, who launched a blinding series of attacks. Bronislav parried them handily, but Varak and Draag were sure to be back in the fight soon. With a mighty sideways swing he swept both of his wiry opponent's blades aside. Instead of recovering from the parry, Zlyth glanced up and threw himself to the side. Bronislav did the same, the iron head of the maul blurring past, mere inches from his head. Gods but that man was fast for one so huge!

From his knees Bronislav swung his sword in a vicious slice across his body, the blade biting deep into the back of the brute's knee, severing muscle and sinew alike. Bronislav pulled his blow so as not to sever the limb. Blood sprayed over the blade and ground. Varak, back in the fight, loomed over the prone Bronislav and launched a deadly swing at his exposed neck.

In his position Bronislav could neither dodge nor parry the attack. He grit his teeth and raised his shoulder, taking the blow just above the bicep. The blade bit deep but did not reach bone. The Varak grinned momentarily, but his smile melted away as Bronislav grabbed the haft of the axe with his wounded arm and snaked his blade inside the man's guard. With a flick of his wrist he slashed through the hard muscle of the veteran's belly. The man collapsed in pain.

Bronislav stood slowly. The Zlyth waited for him a good distance away. He gestured with his swords. Come, let us fight.

Bronislav advanced confidently. He thrust his longer blade toward the swordsman's midsection. Zlyth swung his right-hand blade to parry, while bringing his left-hand blade around for a sweep aimed at Bronislav's head. With superhuman speed Bronislav checked his thrust and slapped the flat of his blade against the hilts of the swordsman's parrying sword, knocking it out of his grip. He rushed forward, inside the arc of the left-hand swing. His fist smashed into the Zlyth's face, splitting his lips and shattering teeth.

The swordsman fell to the ground, his mouth a ruined mass of flesh and blood. Bronislav put his sword at the downed Zlyth's throat, who dropped his remaining blade and stared at the sky, quietly waiting for his judgement. Bronislav removed his sword and reached out to help the man to his feet.

"It was a good fight," he told the bloody warrior. "We all fought well today. Aq'Chamoneth will be pleased."

"Hail Aq'Kharneth, the fire lord surely smiles upon you," Zlyth slurred back. Bronislav turned to a nearby priest.

"Have these men brought to the temple. Aq'Chamoneth will heal them for their bravery."

"It will be done, Aq'Kharneth. You must go as well. You should be healed first."

"This scratch? Do as I say and get these men to the temple before I show you what a wound is!" Bronislav growled.

Bronislav snatched a towel from a nearby post and strode through the compound on his way back to his chamber. Things had been going exceedingly well for the followers of Aq'Chamoneth. They were steadily expanding their territory, and the clansmen worked day and night to cultivate the rich soil. Caravans departed and arrived daily en route to Aq'Chamonek. As their holdings grew, so did the compliment of warriors to patrol and protect it from the other forces who were busily expanding their lands as well. A second fortification in V'resorkorek was completed just last week.

Yet, despite all of their great success, Bronislav was deeply troubled. The Vor'Ir Aq'Kharneth were getting restless. Fights broke out daily in the warriors quarters, often leaving one or many men severely injured. Others turned to drinking Uzu, a fiery liquor which the warriors and clansmen quaffed with great gusto. This soft land and the lack of a real enemy were tearing down all that he had built up.

Bronislav entered his lodge. He proceeded to his bedchamber, where a steaming bath awaited him. Evika, his third woman, had prepared well for his return. His second woman Mili, whose belly was quick with his child, was curled up under the furs on his bed, asleep. Varna, being his first woman, was most likely about tending to the business of running a warlord's household.

Bronislav stripped off his sweat soaked breeches and strode naked to the hearth. He thrust his hand deep into the glowing embers of the waning fire, relishing their searing heat. He retrieved a handful of the fiery red coals and pressed them firmly to his shoulder. He felt the heat spread into the wound, burning, cauterizing, and cleansing it.

He tossed the spent coals back into the fire pit, then eased himself into the blessedly warm water, allowing himself to relax as Evika began to wash him. As her small but strong hands worked the tension out of his muscles, Bronislav wondered when the latest expedition would return.

After the recent clashes with the orcs, Bronislav had sent out increasing numbers of patrols, hoping to spark some sort of conflict that would bring his men back into focus and discipline. So far nothing had happened. A rap on the door interrupted his thoughts. Evika stood and answered it.

"It is the High Priest Vladimir, M'hlav, shall I send him away?" she asked, hopefully.

"No Evika, send him in," Bronislav replied. Vladimir was first among the priests of Aq'Chamoneth and very skillful in the arcane arts. Besides Bronislav himself, Vladimir wielded the most power in the Vor'Ir Aq'Kharneth. He was fervently devoted to Aq'Chamoneth, and accordingly, supported Bronislav's command. The priest glided to a chair opposite the bathtub and gracefully seated himself.

"Good news, Aq'Kharneth. The contingent of the Magma Guard you dispatched have returned. They have met a raiding force of the greenbloods in an outlying territory and have defeated them soundly. We have expanded our holdings again."

Bronislav perked up when he heard the news of the clash with the greenbloods, but sank slowly back into his bath when he heard of their quick victory.

"Shall I direct the quartermaster to assemble a group of settlers to inhabit our new province, my lord?" Bronislav waved his hand dismissively, his head hanging back over the rim of the tub.

"Yes, yes, see that it is done," he sighed. Vladimir stood, executed a slight bow toward the bathing lord, and turned to go.

"Vladimir…hold for a moment."

"My lord?"

"Is this what Aq'Chamonek wants from me? Was I chosen in the flames to be a Lord of the Farmers? Shall I be doomed to this drudgery forever? What have I done to displease the Fire Lord so?"

"My lord, Aq'Chamoneth is pleased," the priest reassured. "Your calling was to lead a great crusade to expand our Lord's influence, to increase his people. We are accomplishing this very well. These new lands…"

"Enough, priest, enough!" Bronislav leapt to his feet, sloshing water all over the floor. "Aq'Chamoneth praises honor and strength! How can we show him these things by tilling the earth? How can he be pleased when our axes bite only wood?

We must bring the glory of Aq'Chamoneth to our enemies, who even now grow strong around us! We will teach these wetlanders the benefits of our ways. We will open their hearts to Aq'Chamoneth by opening their chests! The wails of their widows will be our sermon."

"As Aq'Kharneth commands," Vladimir murmured, spreading his hands in supplication.

"Evika, prepare my armor. Vladimir, summon the war council. We move in the morning!"

On to the battle

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