Worlds Collide Chapter 8

 
To be summoned to see a warlord is never a good thing. You either did something bad or about to do something bad.

“I’m disappointed in you Warg,” Mowdar the Destroyer addressed Commander Warg.

Mowdar was sprawling on his chair, fully armed, with his sword resting on his leg, and two daggers strapped to his sides. He was surrounded by four of his men, and twice the number outside the hall in case he needed them. He didn’t trust anyone, not even his closest commanders, especially his closest commanders, and Warg was one of them.

“I didn’t know I have angered you.” Warg tried not to apologize.

Warg stood in the middle of the room with his long hair in a ponytail flopping on the sheath of his sword which was strapped to his back. He had a few other weapons hidden underneath his shirt, inside his wool coat, and two little knives tucked in his boots. If a fight was to break out those four guards did not have a chance, of course he would be dead as well, but at least he would take them out with him.

“No, you did not anger me, Warg,” Mowdar explained, “they told me you refused my gift.”

Warg smiled but did not relax his guard until he knew what Mowdar really wanted. Displeasing a vengeful warlord wasn’t too good for your health. He was quick to anger and quick to kill. Warg knew he could not accept Mowdar’s gift of that slave girl. If he wanted a slave girl he would have chosen one himself. She wasn’t a bad pick nor was she tainted or scarred in any way. As a matter of fact she was beautiful; blue eyes, red hair, nice smile, definitely a spy, maybe a killer, probably both. He had to kill a few in his life time who were, and he wasn’t in the mood to sleep with his eyes open even if his cock was being taken care off. In his forties he was getting too old for this sort of thing. Never surrender your neck or dick to the likes of Mowdar or his gifts even if he was your king. Specially if he was your king.

Mowdar was a ruthless ambitious warlord who had risen in the ranks of the Mercs armies by getting rid of his friends before his enemies. Warg knew that. They used to be good friends. Warg and Mowdar grew up together. They ate together, fought together, even fucked together. He knew him rather well, until Mowdar grew too ambitious and started eliminating everyone in his wake. Warg was the last on that long list of friends. Unfortunately Mowdar managed to beat Warg in getting rid of their previous king to take his place. “The strong kill the weak”. This was the Mercs way. It has been for hundreds of years, and will continue to be so for a thousand more. It was just a matter of time until someone else kills Mowdar and ascends the throne himself. Warg wasn’t that one. His days of ascensions were over. He was just happy to die in his sleep a few years from now at the old age of fifty if he manages to survive this meeting. If Warg wasn’t such a great commander and a great leader of men, he would have been dog food years ago. Mowdar needed him and that was why he had been summoned to hear the bad news.

“I’m giving you command of four divisions, almost four hundred men, and I want you to finish off the northern kingdom of Braman. I want their king and everyone in his castle wiped out.”

Warg knew the northern kingdom of Braman very well. For the last year he had led dozens of Mowdar’s men in hundreds of skirmishes into that kingdom. His job was to destroy its border villages, weaken its defenses until it was rip for the kill. This time was finally here, and Mowdar wants his most able commanders to finish the job. King Kerill of the Bramans has retreated to his last stronghold in the northern mountains of Som. He was fucked.

Castle Baraman wasn’t much of a castle. It was a collection of old huts and houses nestled on a mountain top, surrounded by thick wooden pillars that were high enough to act as defense walls. However Braman is one of the old kingdoms of this world. Late King Braman the Bold, the grandfather of the present king established his realm on the ashes of his old foes. He built his castle on top of an abundant spring that fed water to its inhabitants. Water is everything in this arid world. Whomever controls water controls lives. That was how the Bramans managed to survive for three generations, a feat very few rulers had achieved. Unfortunately for the Bramans their days were at their end. Mowdar wants their water and Warg was going to take it from them. They were fucked. Besides, old king Kerill does not have a successor, just a daughter whose chances of becoming a queen was non to nothing. No one in his right mind was going to accept the rule of a woman. Come to think of it, Warg had never heard of any kingdom ruled by a woman out of the hundred or so scattered all over this barren world. There had been a few harlots and snakes in history who managed to rule for a few days until their lovers slit their throats or were fucked in their sleep. He had heard their stories sung by minstrels but he did not believe them. They were just fairy tales dabbled by lying sneaking tricksters with slippery mouths and bad music. He hated minstrels especially those with strumming instruments and hissing pipes. Steel was the only instrument he ever trusted. It never lies.

“Sir, there are a few hundred people camped outside the castle walls,” Toraq said. “What should we do?” Warg’s second in command asked.

“Kill them of course,” Warg replied without hesitation.

Toraq had been a Merc for many years yet he still did not understand the intricacies of being a Merc commander. He was too soft. Fortunately for Toraq, Warg liked him. He had chosen him to be his second in command on many occasions. However this mission was way over his head. Warg could have chosen his second from a few of the seasoned warriors in his army, however he wanted someone who would not stab him in the back before this was over. Toraq was still young for such kind of betrayal. He still needed Warg’s protection as well as his reputation to move up the Mercs ladder. That is until he was confident enough to step on the corps of his commander, if he manages to survive this siege.

Even though King Kerill had less than half the number of Warg’s soldiers, however his army was fortified behind thick walls overlooking an open wide valley. More so they had the high ground while Wargs Mercs were at a disadvantage. This was going to be a bloody siege, and a very costly endeavor. But that did not matter. Cost was but the normal price of war and Warg was prepared to pay it.

Before battle could begin Warg had to get rid of those tents and everyone living in them outside the walls of castle Braman. The people who occupied those ramshackle dwellings were men, women and children seeking refuge at the castle. Unfortunately the fort was at full capacity and could not afford to let in more mouths to feed. These people thought they would be protected by their king. They were wrong. They impeded Warg’s soldiers who tried to reach the castle and climb its walls. Most were killed because of their stupidity.

For days the war raged on. Hundreds died on both sides. Dozens of Merc soldiers tried to climb those high walls, using ladders, ropes, and scaffolding’s only to be repelled by the Bramans. Eventually they were going to succeed and they were going to enter the castle and kill everyone inside. It was a matter of time. Warg sat outside his tent, drinking a bitter sweat ale, overlooking his men as they climbed and died beneath the walls of that doomed castle.....SUDDENLY ....

“COMMANDER, COMMANDER,” Toraq shouted, “COMMANDER WARG HAS BEEN POISONED....”

Warg woke up to find himself lying half naked on a sleeping mattress in his small tent. He was drenched in sweat and still dizzy from last night. The ale must have been very bad. He put on his clothes, strapped on his leather armor, carried his sword, and went outside. He could hear his Mercs still trying to breach the walls of Braman Castle with no success. Toraq was outside with his men as they watched the fight impending.

Toraq turned around and hurried toward his commander. “You are up?” he asked in a surprised but relieved voice, “we thought we lost you.”

“I was just sleeping for a couple of hours.”

“Sir. You were sleeping for three days.” Toraq corrected. “I had a few men stationed outside your tent to look after you. We almost lost hope you would ever wake up.”

“THREE DAYS?” Warg exclaimed. The ale must have been much worse than he thought. He was still feeling riled, stomach rumbling, but worst of all he was rattled by those nightmares he saw during his long sleep. But that was not the time to dwell on those. He still had a job to do.

“We have lost more than a hundred men so far,” Toraq gave Warg his report on the progress of the siege. “Unfortunately we still have not breached their walls. They are proving to be more stubborn then we thought.”

By this rate Warg was going to loose more than half his army before this was over. Another solution had to be found. “Pull the men away from the walls Toraq. I’m going to try to negotiate a deal or a truce if I can,” Warg explained his plan to his senior lieutenants. “And bring me a white flag and a Horaq. I’ll be going to see king Kerill myself.” Warg added.

If Warg wasn’t one of the most experienced commanders for a thousand leagues his lieutenants would have laughed at his suggestions. They have never heard of anyone trying to negotiate a truce in their lifetime. This was never ever done before. War was fought to the death and until the end. Victory was to those who prevailed. Peace, Truce, Treaties... those were hollow words for the weak and Warg was definitely not one of them. He must have something up his sleeve. Non of his senior soldiers dared to laugh or even argue with his plan except young Toraq.

“But Sir, this is a suicide mission,” Toraq interjected. No one added anything else. They left Toraq to take the brunt of Warg’s anger. “And why the hell do you need a white flag for?” The second in command asked further.

Warg was adamant. It was futile to loose all these men if another way could be found. He had a gut feeling this could work. “Maybe it is a suicide mission, but if it succeed then no one needs to die,” he was surprised he was even thinking of it, but he knew what he had to do, “I need the white flag to show the Bramans I’m coming in peace,” Warg explained.

“PEACE?! WHY?” Toraq curiously asked. The other lieutenants almost chocked as well. They had never heard of a peace before let alone a white flag. Heck no one has ever heard of a white flag. What was it used for? Warg was either delirious after he lost consciousness or he was up to something. Either way his plan was madness. If he wanted to get himself killed who were they to stop him.

“Just get me the white flag Toraq, anything white,” Warg wasn’t in the mood to argue any further. He didn’t even know how to explain this. He just knew it had to be done. “And if I’m not back in a week then you are in command of this army Toraq. You can do whatever you want.”

The next morning Warg was sitting on his six legged Horaq in front of the iron gate of Castle Braman holding a wooden pole with a little white sheet attached to the top. He didn’t carry any weapons. If the Bramans wanted him dead those weapons would be of little use. Minutes later he was forcefully escorted in shackles into king Kerill meeting hall. He started to think maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

“I come in peace,” Warg said and the whole court erupted in laughter.

King Kerill was no where to be seen. His daughter was sitting on her father’s throne surrounded by her guards and a bunch of civilians advisors. She was a young princes, sharp eyed, strong jaw line with long hair braided down to her waist. He had heard she was a beautiful woman but those tales did not do her justice. She was impeccable.

“My name is Warg son of Sawara. I am the General Commander of that army outside your walls and I want to speak to king Kerill,” Warg introduced himself. “As I said, I come in peace,” Warg repeated his intention once again only this time no one laughed.

“We know who you are Commander,” princes Bria said, “my father is dead because of you. He was shot by one of your arrows two days ago and you are going to pay for his death.”

Warg woke up to find himself in a cold dungeon. His feet were almost touching the floor but his hands were tied in a rope stretched tight to the ceiling. His arm muscles ached to numbness. After that brief meeting with princess Bria he was almost beaten to death until he lost consciousness. That definitely was not the plan he had in mind. He could taste his blood in his mouth. He was stripped naked and strung up in this cellar. Looking at his body he could see it was covered with bruises and cuts, but he did not feel anything seriously broken. Well, at least he was not dead... yet.

Suddenly the door to the cell squeaked open and princess Bria walked inside. She was carrying a whip in one hand and knife in another. She stood in front of him and looked him in the eye. Theoretically she was now the queen of the Bramans after her father was killed or until someone kills her and claims the throne. However seeing that there was an army intending on eliminating whomever sits on that throne, no one in his right mind was going to attempt such a coup. She was dead anyways.

“Why are you here Warg?”

“I told you I come in peace.”

“You’re full of shit,” resting her knife on his dangling sack right between his two balls. “Are you going to tell me why you’re really here or do I have to start slicing?” In this world a man was measured by his steal and by his girth. Loosing his cock or balls was worse than death itself. She knew where and how to threaten a man. It didn’t work.

“I swear I come in peace.”

That made her more furious, so she used what was in her other hand. A woman whipping a man was unheard off in this world. A woman would never dare raise her hand on a man even if she was a queen. Specially if she was a queen. She needed his protection in order to survive. A woman’s body, her life, even her children were not her own. That was the law of the land and everyone abided by it. That was how the world had survived in this harsh and hostile environment. The female was always in need of the stronger male and was always afraid of his wrath. When Bria raised her whip to strike, Warg was surprised. She whipped him on his back, on his ass, on his chest...every where. She was trying to unload her anger and rage on her fathers killer. Even though she inflicted some measurable pain with each hit, her arm wasn’t strong enough to leave permanent scars on his skin. However he felt his skin burning with every sting she left behind. What made things even worse was his cock’s reaction to her torture. He did not know being whipped by a beautiful woman would be so pleasurable. Definitely the ale. Each time she hit harder his cock grew larger and she grew madder. After a few minutes she got tired and threw the leather whip away as sweat trickled down her face.

“DID YOU COME TO GLOAT YOU SON OF A BITCH?” as she grabbed hold of his mane and pulled as hard as she could.

“No. I come in peace.”

“Eeeerrrgggggg.”


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“I am starting to have second thought about this Warg.” the young female Bore was surprised, “at first I did not like him, but now I don’t know...”

“Yes it is confusing. He must have gained some knowledge and behavioral treats from his other Nexus counterparts. Very interesting.”

“Yes but what is he going to do about it, that is if he manages to survive getting whipped by princes Bria,” the female Bore was excited to see this unfold.

“Wait, little one,” the older Bore replied. “just wait and see.”