1st of Eral, 318 A.D., Kingdom of Arabist

The general raised his hand clutched in a fist. The soldiers froze, waiting for orders. Each of them had what Racker called “druid’s gear”: armor made of wood and ropes, pitchforks instead of spears, axes instead of swords, and wide planks for shields.

In general, the Seventh Legion looked more like an angry mob than a military unit. This, however, didn’t bother the general, who contributed to the Legion’s “look.” He was the one who told them to wrap leather straps around their chests on which they’d hang the tongues of their enemies to show how many they had killed so that he could award them for their efforts. He had no idea what he’d reward them with yet, but he knew that this would be good for the morale.

“At last,” Racker whispered. “I was beginning to think that we would settle down and become farmers.”

“I’m sure that the villagers would be put off by the sight of your bare ass, but an army needs weapons and armor... No matter the quality,” Ash said.

Up ahead, situated at the foot of a hill, was a village of about five hundred inhabitants. Out of them, about two hundred were probably capable of combat. Against three and a half thousand scoundrels, they were but a pebble in an ocean. But Ash didn’t care for the villagers, he had no use of them. What he did care about, however, were goods that could be found in a village: food, ammunition, water, and all else that his legion lacked.

“We’ll take it.”

“How?”

“Overpower them.” Ash shrugged. “Tear down the gates and kill the guards. Leave the rest to the mob.”

“We’ll lose a hundred men at least, maybe more.”

“Doesn’t matter. We have no use of weaklings. Arabist will deprive us of a thousand for sure.”

“As you say.”

The two looked at each other and then shouted in unison. “Advance!”

“Advance!” the Legion shouted back and rushed toward the hill.

Watching them go, Ash and Racker summoned the flame of the first form and brought down the simple gate, letting the mob of shouting, bloodthirsty men enter the village.

The two mages raised their staffs high into the air, sending one fireball after another at the wooden houses, fields, and guards who had the misfortune of standing in their way. Ash didn’t really care if they summoned the reinforcements or not, the Seventh Legion could trample the imperial troops in a matter of moments, a squad of peasants was nothing but an inconvenience to them. However, he didn’t want to waste too much time here.

Although the recent wars had taken their tolls on the villages, where the first houses caught fire the streets were flooded with peasants armed with staves and pitchforks. They were surprised to see that their attackers were even worse equipped than they were.

Shouts could be heard. The battle had begun.

Blood colored the grass and cobblestone. Bodies, torn asunder and cut, fell into mud and muck with loud splashes. Shouts and screams filled the air. Those desperate to save their lives attempted to hide in their houses, only to be found seconds later and gutted along with the rest of their families. Wheezing and gurgling followed the desperate please of mothers trying to save their children. All that they were granted was a slow death as they watched their young be killed before their eyes.

On his way to the town hall, Ash noticed a bench and decided to sit the battle out. He wasn’t interested in killing. He didn’t enjoy spilling blood, torching people, and plunging his staff into flesh. Racker told him that he would, but he just couldn’t seem to figure out how. So, he’d sit there and wait for... something.

A couple of his men ran past him, simple blades in one hand, and decapitated heads in the other. Bulging, bloodshot eyes stared at Ash in utter horror. A swollen, blue tongue dangled out of the toothless mouth in a mute scream.

“Seems I’m doing it right,” he thought to himself.

The king demanded they become the worst nightmare of their enemies. They had to become so notorious that the mere mention of their name would make people pack up their homes and leave to hide somewhere where no one could find them.

Something warm and smelling of copper splattered his cheek as he calmly walked through the crowd. He didn’t bother wiping the blood off as it made his cheek feel warmer. Aside from the occasional drop sliding down his neck and tickling him, it didn’t bother him.

Sometimes, the boldest of the villagers would attack him only to immediately fall back dead with a hole in their abdomen. Ash, face an emotionless mask, didn’t miss his target even though he wasn’t looking. He was almost at the bench when a woman blocked his path. Clad in a sundress and an apron, she held a kitchen knife in her trembling hands, shielding a little girl with her body. Six-year-old, maybe seven... He wasn’t sure.

“May I pass?” he asked calmly.

His men would kill them anyway, so he saw no point in bothering himself with getting rid of the two. His staff was already covered with soot and he’d hate to have to clean it more than necessary. It was a long and boring process.

“Die!” the woman screamed.

Both she and the girl were pierced with the staff before she could even swing the knife. The corpses fell to their knees first, then to their side. There was almost no blood. The temperature of the fire was too high.

Pulling the staff out of their abdomens, Ash let out a frustrated sigh. He could hear Racker burst out laughing as he burned down the town hall and... and the bench he had been meaning to sit on. Seeing no other place to rest, he sat on the woman’s corpse. He felt tired after a whole day of marching.

Leaning his head on his hand, Ash watched as the village burned and blood flowed like a river, both that of his men and of the villagers. The latter stood no chance; however, sheers numbers were sometimes more important than skill.

“Racker!” he barked.

“Yes, general?!” Racker asked, turning around. He was dragging a woman by her hair. She was screaming and kicking, scratching his hand with her nails but couldn’t break free. Ash still didn’t understand what was it about women that made his men lose themselves. What was so good about them?

“Wake me up when you’re done,” he said and closed his eyes.

Screams, groans, the clanging of steel, the crackling of the fire... these sounds had been his lullaby for quite some time now.

***

“General!” someone shouted.

Startled, Ash opened his eyes and jumped to his feet. Rays of new dawn were breaking through the thick layer of snowflakes. His men had gathered around him, Racker at their head.

Ash yawned and stretched, looking around. Corpses lay strewn everywhere; blackened ruins of the houses and crimson rivers tarnished the whiteness of the snow. The assault was finally over. They had won.

A muffled cry came from somewhere behind him. Turning around, Ash froze, perplexed. Surrounded by soldiers was a group of about thirty tied-up women. They were all beaten and bruised, bloodied clothes tattered, and hair ripped out of carefully tied buns and braids. It was an ugly sight.

“What’s going on there?” he asked, pointing at the group with his staff.

“Loot.” Racker smiled a predatory grin. “If we get bored with them, we’ll kill them.”

“We’re running out of food, Racker...”

“We lost a lot of people, almost three hundred...”

“You know a lot of Words, how about you learn what ‘economy’ means, hm?”

“Ah, but general,” Racker replied with a smile and winked. “We thought of you, too, don’t you worry.”

Racker whistled sharply. The soldiers parted and someone pushed forth a young woman. Her clothes were intact and relatively clean. She seemed all right, save for her bruised lip. No older than fifteen, she radiated youthful beauty. Her pale skin was slightly red from the frost, and her eyes, framed by lush hair, glared at him.

“We’ve saved the best for you!” someone laughed. Others joined him, nudging each other, and cracking jokes. The girl tried to break free from her bonds but to no avail. Hatred in her glare only grew.

“Racker,” Ash whispered.

“What?” he asked, beckoning the solider to bring the girl closer. “If you don’t like her, you can pick any other. But that’d be rude to the boys. They wanted to touch your gift so badly, but they restrained themselves because they respect you.”

Ash looked at him.

“Come on! Everyone knows that the prettiest woman goes to the leader.”

“That’s not the problem!” Ash hissed. “What am I supposed to do? Kill her on my own?”

Racker choked. If he could’ve rolled his eyes any further back, he was sure that he would’ve been able to see into his own skull.

“What do you mean you don’t know what to do? Use her!”

“Use... her?”

“Well, yes... Use her,” he whispered, wiggling his eyebrows and shaking his hips.

Ash looked at him in confusion. He had seen those motions before, but he had no clue what Racker was on about.

“Rape her,” he whispered at last.

“...so, kill her?” Ash said, lifting his staff, but Racker stopped him.

“Were you hit on the head as a child?”

“Not that I know.”

Racker was silent for a moment.

“Have you ever been with a woman?” he finally asked.

“I’ve talked to them before, yes.”

“Did you ever sleep with a woman?”

“Sleep? In the same bed?”

“Yes?”

“Why would’ve I done that?”

Racker stepped back and covered his face with his hands, trying to contain his laughter. Ash scratched the top of his head, not understanding what was being asked of him.

“Seems to me that they taught you to shit in the palace,” Racker muttered. “Time for a new lesson, general. One about how to become a real man.”

“Is this really necessary? I’m tired.” Ash didn’t like learning. Never did and never would.

Racker gave him a stern look.

“All right, all right... What should I do?”

The girl hissed, threatening to bite off something if he so much as dared undo his belt buckle. The full threat was, luckily for Ash, drowned in the laughter of the soldiers.

“You use what only a man has got on her,” Racker said, barely able to contain his laughter.

“Scum!” Ash shouted, realizing what was going on. “Who has got the most tongues?!”

Five minutes later, seven men were standing in front of him. Each had five bloodied tongues attached to their straps. Ash wagered that there were about the maximum one could get; there was three and a half thousand of them against a handful of villagers after all.

“The woman is all yours,” he said.

The men looked at each other and smiled, licking their lips.

“But if you’re not back in time for the departure, I won’t hesitate to blow your heads off!”

“Yes, sir!”

“No! No!” the girl screamed. “Please! Please, don’t!”

But her pleas fell on deaf ears.

Grabbing her by the arms, the soldiers dragged her to one of the few houses that remained standing. The silence that fell was soon disturbed by her cries and screams. Ash looked at the sky, wondering just what was it that Racker wanted to teach him.

But he’d leave that for later. Right now, he had to focus on the next step of his plan.

“Scum! Our enemies litter the ground! Take their heads and place them on our banners! Let everyone know that we’re a force to be reckoned with!”

Even the flags of the Legion were made of wood and rags. They truly had nothing other than that what nature had given them.

Turning his gaze toward the sky, Ash ignored the sounds of bodies being decapitated, Racker cracking jokes, women screaming, and his men laughing.

Snowflakes danced in the air, whirling around his head and hands.

Ash had always admired the snowfall.

The young man liked everything that was beautiful.