Asgoleth the Warrior - By Bill Kirkwood Page 0,21

last rays of the sinking sun encarmined the silvered helmets and glittering sword blades of the Akonites as they strode arrogantly, drunk on victory and looted wine, through the streets of Torr. Fires glowed in the gloom of night, the flames reflecting redly from the swinging blades that rose and fell to chop out cowering victims lives.

The air was heavy with the acrid odours of smoke and blood and the cruel laughter of the Akonite warriors and above the laughter screams of pain and despair rang out as the women of Torr were ravished by their brutal, drunken conquerors.

The old, the sick and the wounded were put mercilessly to the sword. All others were sent to join the ever growing ranks of the enslaved who were being herded together in what had been the market square. Here they lay, moaning in their fear and despair, under the cold, pitiless eyes of their Akonite guards.

The long bloody night continued and while the city and her people writhed in their agonies, Demos sat upon the throne of Torr and savoured the taste of victory. His cold, dark eyes surveyed the looted riches that lay in piled heaps before him. Gold and silver and casks full of gems met his gaze and he stroked his beard in satisfaction. Among the riches were the ladies of the Torran court kneeling in front of their new master. Their fine gowns were gone, torn brutally from their bodies by rough hands. All that adorned them now were silver slave collars around their slim necks. Demos grinned as he listened to their sobs of shame and humiliation. Then his eyes fell upon his men and his grin grew broader still. Many of them bore the marks of battle and in their eyes burned the unspoken question. Why had he not used the magical power of his ring against the Torrans? It was a measure of his powers over them that none of them dared to ask the question aloud. Let them wonder, he thought, he had his reasons.

He had discovered that the use of the ring left him drained and exhausted. After the destruction of Fort Kronos he had almost collapsed from fatigue. Why should he put himself through such discomfort when he had an entire army at his command? He was their master, with the power of life and death over them all. If any of them should doubt that then he would use his power and they would die.

He leaned back and looked upon the spoils of war and he smiled again. Victory was his but still he required one more thing to make it complete, the secret of the Heart of Ra’s hiding place. Only when he had wrested that knowledge from the princess Amira would he know that he had truly won.

As yet she had not been found but it was only a matter of time until she was. A thousand pieces of gold had been offered to the man who brought her to him. As he had known it would, the promise of such wealth ensured that no stone would be left unturned in the search for her.

Thus he was not surprised when, a short time later, the doors of the throne room opened and a soldier entered carrying a struggling, spitting, Amira. The bloody condition of the man showed that her capture had not been easy. His helmet was gone and clumps of hair had been torn from his head. His face bore the marks of her long fingernails and blood dripped freely from a deep wound in his arm where her slim bladed dagger had struck home.

The soldier set the princess down before Demos and had to duck swiftly to avoid another slashing swipe from her nails. Two guards stepped forward and held her arms in a firm grip and her captor backed off quickly. Demos laughed and threw the soldier the promised bag of gold and dismissed him. The man grinned as he caught the heavy bag, then bowed quickly and left, glad to be free of the Torran she devil Amira.

Silence gripped the assembled Akonites as they gazed upon the princess. Her gown had been ripped during her struggles and tantalising glimpses of soft white flesh showed through the rents. Her long, black hair hung in disarray and her magnificent green eyes blazed with anger and hatred as she glared at Demos sitting upon her father’s throne.

Demos smiled coldly at her as she stood, haughty and defiant before