Warhorn Read online

  WARHORN

  Sons of Iberia

  A work of historical fiction by

  J. Glenn Bauer

  Copyright © 2013 J. Glenn Bauer

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-10: 1499171811

  ISBN-13: 978-1499171815

  DEDICATION

  I dedicate this book to my wife Mandy and son Joshua.

  Thank you for your unswerving loyalty and belief.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  EPILOGUE

  HISTORICAL NOTE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  MORE BOOKS BY | J. GLENN BAUER

  Maharra – Sons of Iberia

  Gladius Winter – Sons of Iberia

  Your Voice

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Pg 7

  Chapter 1

  Pg 10

  Chapter 2

  Pg 24

  Chapter 3

  Pg 30

  Chapter 4

  Pg 54

  Chapter 5

  Pg 74

  Chapter 6

  Pg 88

  Chapter 7

  Pg 112

  Chapter 8

  Pg 128

  Chapter 9

  Pg 140

  Chapter 10

  Pg 170

  Chapter 11

  Pg 186

  Chapter 12

  Pg 210

  Chapter 13

  Pg 222

  Chapter 14

  Pg 230

  Chapter 15

  Pg 242

  Chapter 16

  Pg 254

  Chapter 17

  Pg 272

  Chapter 18

  Pg 278

  Chapter 19

  Pg 286

  Chapter 20

  Pg 300

  Chapter 21

  Pg 334

  Chapter 22

  Pg 348

  Chapter 23

  Pg 354

  Chapter 24

  Pg 370

  Chapter 25

  Pg 386

  Chapter 26

  Pg 398

  Epilogue

  Pg 434

  PROLOGUE

  SHE WOULD NEED TO MOVE soon despite having just given birth. The mountains were dangerous with winter-hungry wolves. The scent of the afterbirth could easily draw these powerful foes to her newborn. She was young and strong, but would be no match for such a pack.

  She had a more pressing worry though. The sun would rise soon and a greater danger stalked the hills. Warriors had passed within feet of her hiding place as she gave birth. Her golden eyes saw them easily in the dark as they filtered through the rocks and slid downhill into the forest above the valley.

  The lynx could not remain here any longer. Screams echoed through the hills as the warriors began their killing. She gave her two cubs one last lick with her rasping tongue and then soundlessly lifted them both in her powerful jaws. She would seek a new den before daylight.

  CHAPTER 1

  UGAR, THE STONEMASON, put the final seal on the tomb and turned from the granite rock. He eyed the young man sadly, seeing a fierce determination in the set of his shoulders and jaw. He was a good son; it took strength for a man as young as he, to bury parents and brother on the same day. Ugar knew there was no point in trying to talk Caros out of going after the raiders. The warrior code was ingrained into all men of the Bastetani and called strongly for retribution. He hefted his sack of tools onto his shoulder. “It’s all done now son.”

  “Thank you Ugar, it’s a fitting resting place.” Caros swallowed, tightly controlling his emotions. He quickly forced a pouch into Ugar’s reluctant palm. Nodding his thanks, Ugar set off down the rock-strewn track leaving Caros alone to make his farewells. Caros appreciated the stonemason's departure. Now at last the solitude of the high mountainside could perhaps quell the imagined screams and the growls of anger and frustration. Caros stared at the cold, granite tomb face and stretched his hand out to touch the quartz-flecked rock. He bowed his head and breathed in deeply while allowing his mind to focus on the faces of the dead.

  His father Joaquim, straight backed and square shouldered despite his advanced age. His mother Mirand, ever patient and kind, with her long black hair now fading to grey, plaited and tied into the nape of her neck. Ximo, his younger brother, whose massive hands were always doing good deeds and who was to take a wife in the coming summer. These were his family, killed in the past day by raiding Arvenci warriors. Others had died in the raid too. Villagers and farmers cut down violently as the Arvenci poured through the ancient oaks and into the valley where the small village of Orze nestled. His family would have seen the smoke from their home down the valley and guessed at once the cause. While his mother and her maids made for the castro to shelter in that old hill fort, his father and brother would have hastened on horseback to aid the villagers and farmers.

  Caros found their battle broken bodies along the road to the village they had never reached. About them were strewn bodies of the men, women and children of the village. They must have met them as they fled toward the shelter of the castro and here they had died together as the Arvenci overwhelmed them. Without the warriors of the village or the local farmers, Caros knew the castro would hold the Arvenci back only for the time it took a pair of men to scale the walls and open the great gates. He remained astride his horse as he stared numbly at the bodies on the road about him. After long heartbeats, he finally steeled himself and threaded his way through the scattered corpses. The urge to discover the fate of those who had fled to the castro was too powerful to ignore. There would be time to retrieve the dead and build the funeral pyres. Gaining open road, he edged his horse into a steady canter up the narrow trail.

  The morning sun painted the old, wooden palisade walls above the valley in stark relief. His eyes remained fixed on the walls as he rode, but never once did he see movement. No indication that anyone watched from within the palisade. An ill sign. The lip of the rock outcrop on which the castro was built, hid the gates from view so he could not see if they were open. Cautiously he scanned the track ahead and the wild places about him. The Arvenci could still easily be skulking among the ravines and gaunt thorn bush if they had failed to gain the fort. Slipping an iron-headed javelin from a quiver of four he balanced the weapon on his right hand before riding forward again. Everyday objects lay scattered along the trail. A shawl, a torn sandal, a smashed clay jug and worse still as he gained the slope, the bloodied and disfigured body of a woman. He registered the mutilated corpse while continuing to sweep the hillside for threats.

  The top of the gates became visible and as he had feared, they hung open. He reined in his horse and in that moment Caros knew with certainty that his mother too, was dead. A crushing ache of loss at the death of these good people forced the air from his chest and his spear arm fell to his side. Fighting the grief, he sought instead the power of his parents, his people, the Bastetani. He stared long at the walls, the hillside below him and the body on the trail. Anger threaded through his veins, his brea
th growing tight as he recognized the dead woman as one of his mother’s maids. With his eyes jumping from shadowy rock to rustling undergrowth, he rode on up the trail that switched back towards the castro. Caros swiveled his neck, keeping the ominously hanging gates in sight until he was below the walls and heading at them directly. The palisade above him, as tall as two men, was deserted. No watching faces, no sound, but the sound of carrion birds. Upon reaching the gates, he edged his mare warily through them.

  The interior of the castro was open to the sky, allowing carrion birds to alight within the walls. He pulled up, confronted with a heaving carpet of vultures and crows. Wings spread wide, they tore into the swollen flesh of the dead which were strewn haphazardly over the ground. The presence of the birds feasting so freely convinced Caros that the killers were no longer here. Since discovering the butchered villagers on the road, a part of him had known that without men present to hold off the attackers, the castro would not keep the women safe. If his mother had reached the walls, she too would be among the dead.

  He hesitated at the gates, it seemed the castro was no place for the living to dare encroach upon. Those birds nearest the gates stared briefly at him down their gore-encrusted beaks before continuing to feed. The stench of the place caused his horse to stamp in agitation while her skin shuddered and tail lashed at the clouds of flies. Easing her with his deep voice, he dismounted and tied her to the gate. The birds sprang resentfully away from him as he approached, protesting with raucous cries. He stepped carefully between the torn remains, the stone and dirt thick with blood. His footing was precarious on the slick gore and bird shit. He decided to circle along the walls where it seemed the butchery had been less. Not more than forty paces from him was a small lean-to built of timber and attached to the outer wall. The thatched roof was stove in and the fallen thatch stuck up into the air around the tops of the walls. Something heavy had crunched through that roof, probably a body of one of the few defenders. Reaching the doorway, he peered into the shadowy interior. In its center, lay a large body still untouched by the carrion birds. Caros recognized the person who lay there. This had been Olia, the largest woman in the whole village by a considerable amount. Her immense girth was made even more so by the swelling of death. Had she been thrown from the wall? What manner of men had done this? Caros had always liked the generous and merry woman who never missed an opportunity to throw her wobbly arms into the air and bray in hilarity. Never again would she laugh so.

  Stepping away from the lean-to, Caros stared blankly across the horrifying scenes of butchery in the castro. Suddenly overwhelmed by disgust, he stamped his feet, waved his arms he shouted. “Away! Fly you bastards, away!” Like an oily, black cloud, the birds had slowly taken to the wing. “Away!” he yelled again, feeling good to vent some of his tension on them. Weaving through the bodies lying singly and in pathetic little groups, he at last sank to his knees beside yet another body. Miraculously his mother’s eyes still remained. Fumbling, he unclipped the copper brooch at his throat drew his cloak across her body. Then he closed her eyes and lifted her head to his lap.

  They found him there when the shadows were almost at their shortest. Forty Bastetani warriors from up and down the valleys had congregated at the gates beside his horse and watched as their chief strode to the kneeling figure near the center of the castro. Chief Alugra approached Caros warily, noting the javelin and falcata laying either side of the young man.

  “Son? I know you don't I?” the chief asked quietly. Caros stirred and lifted his face to the chief. Alugra felt a wave of sympathy as he saw the loss etched into the young man’s face. “Your mother?”

  Caros nodded once and then looked about as though surprised at the other bodies. He barely remembered finding her and couldn't say how long he had held her body.

  “I am Alugra. My men will...” he paused unsure how to word his thoughts, “We'll take these people back to the village. There are others coming to help. Come out of here with me, it is not good for you here.”

  Caros blinked and inclined his head. “I will take my mother. My father and brother are on the village road. I must take them home.” Wearily he slipped an arm under his mother’s knees and rose slowly, lest the robe slide away to reveal her nakedness.

  Alugra said nothing as he had seen death like this before. A survivor’s reactions could be so different from one to the next, so he was just thankful the young man was not aggressive. He gestured to his waiting warriors who began filing into the castro to begin the task they dreaded.

  Caros took no notice of them as he strode to his mount. He laid his mother's body over the horse that stamped restlessly and then swung up to sit behind the body. He swung the horse away then paused, looking back. Alugra was watching him. “Thank you for coming. I am Caros. My father was Joaquim, my mother Mirand and my brother Ximo. What news of the raiders?”

  Alugra lifted a hand, “Greetings Caros. The raiders are Arvenci, their main body has driven south although some have scattered. We caught a few, drew their tongues from their throats. We will do what we must here and then go after the rest.” Caros stared at Alugra for so long the chief wondered if he had heard him at all.

  Finally, his lips twisted into a semblance of a smile and he replied, “Thank you. That you have exacted retribution gives me a measure of comfort. For that I am grateful.”

  Caros took his mother’s body back to the family home. He was surprised to see that much of it still stood although the Arvenci had half-heartedly tried to torch the buildings. Caros rode his horse up to the front door that hung smashed on its hinges. He gently lifted his mother’s body and cradling her in his arms strode indoors. The air reeked of smoke and ash, but the kitchen was practically undamaged. The Arvenci had done him a favor in clearing the pantry of victuals. Caros laid his mother’s body on the floor of the dark room. He would need to move swiftly now to fetch his father and brother.

  It took him till sunset to fetch their bodies from the road where they had fallen. With their bodies draped over the horse, he was forced to lead it back to the family home on foot. When he arrived back, he started at the sight of a woman running toward him from the house. With a sob she fell against him, burying her face in his chest. He sat her down and asked gently. “Julene, what are you doing here? Are your family hurt?” She was the daughter of their neighbour and betrothed to his brother. Julene was a pretty girl who matched Ximo’s bright mood with her own joyful demeanour, although that was not present now. Her eyes were red and swollen and her face blotched. She had clearly not slept since the day before. She worked her fingers and took a hiccupping breath. She looked chilled, her dress torn and muddied. Caros pulled her close to comfort her.

  “They passed right by our home, Caros. They must not have known we were there for they came before our fires were lit or the cock had begun to crow. We only knew they had come when those fleeing from them stopped to tell us well after we had woken and eaten. Father found their tracks. They were so close that a single murmur or cry while we were asleep would have alerted them.”

  Her face paled and her breath came fast and shallow. Caros held her and shushed her the way a father would a frightened child. “Endovex shielded you and you are safe as is your family. Did your father try to take shelter at the castro?”

  She shook her head. “Brent said they were between the castro and us. He said we would be better off hiding in the high forest and led us into the hills. Many others did the same.”

  Caros said nothing about what had happened at the castro. He rose tiredly and walked to the well. Once again the Arvenci had not wreaked as much havoc as they could have for the water was untainted. No butchered animal heads or innards polluted the water. He took the bucket to the girl and told her to take it to the kitchen. She took the container wordlessly and as she passed the mare, looked mournfully at the two bodies draped over its back. He went in search of linen from the sleeping quarters. The damage was worse here as a raider had set fire to the bedding in the master
room and the rest of the rooms had suffered similarly. However he managed to find enough to wrap all three bodies. He did this quickly in the semi-dark of the pantry, just the flickering of the hearth fire he had instructed Julene to light, giving illumination.

  Back at the well, he drew more water and dragged off his tunic. A good dousing of cold water helped clear his head and with the sun just set, the evening breeze quickly made him shiver. He would need to cremate his family and entomb the ashes the next day. His father had long ago prepared a tomb up in the hills, converted from an old disused mine, but he would need a stonemason to close the tomb and put the necessary seal and mark on the door. It was likely others would need the stonemason’s hand too, although many of the poorer people would simply inter their dead in the ground. He drew another bucket of water and sloped it over his head and chest then used his tunic to dry himself. Indoors he found clean breeches and a serviceable tunic and pulled them on. He planned to ride to the stonemason that same evening and secure his services for the morning. Once his family was entombed, he could find Alugra and help hunt the remaining Arvenci raiders.

  In the kitchen he found Julene sitting close to the fire. “I am going to see Ugar, the old stonemason.”

  She drew her stare from the fire, “Now? It’s dark already.”

  “I hope not to be too long. You are welcome to remain here or if you wish I will take you home.” He liked Julene, but right now he needed time alone to sort things out.

  She surprised him, “You want to put your family to rest. I understand, but there are things that need to be done first.”

  She clearly meant the preparation of the bodies for the pyre and then entombing. Caros had shied away from the thought, but knew these things needed to be done.