Avarice Desperation Valley

The Dark Wanderer

Aran spent the remainder of that winter honing his riding skills. Fortunately all three of the horses were broken to saddle, and the fierce warrior took to riding them daily, choosing the freshest one to venture far from the camp. Along with Renard’s well trained gelding there was a gray mare sporting Arabic blood who was very spirited, and a large bay hunter. Aran soon discovered the art of riding had some very welcome benefits, covering vast tracts of ground swiftly, discovering many new places that would have been unreachable in a day on foot. In fact he was able to journey so much further than the band had been in many years.

Just after the great conflict Bennett and Sven who had been fast friends prior to the war formed this rabid, mobile band, in order to ensure their survival, retreating to the less contaminated environs of the desert. The cities had fast deteriorated becoming difficult to survive in, disease, and radioactive contamination leveling all who clung to the old ways.

Sven being a trained soldier and Bennett a born leader were magnets to men like Gareth, Will, and many others who were no longer with them today. These like minded souls were very efficient at surviving in the new order. The tight knit band looted and raped to their heart’s content for eighteen months or so but once the vehicles had exhausted the fuel supply and the warriors could plunder no more, raiding on foot had to become a way of life. Aran who was well under twenty then could remember it was a very difficult transition to make. There was much hardship, and infighting. They were very bad times.

Aran looked over his mount’s head and he felt like the king of the world, he had grown accustomed to riding. He knew horses were rare and difficult to keep here, but if the men would encompass horsemanship the new mobility would serve them great advantages. He shook his shaggy head wondering why it had taken him this long to see this himself. In the past few weeks while the weather was cool and kind on the horses, Aran took advantage to scout every direction in a days ride making many pleasing discoveries.

One afternoon he stumbled on an oasis cradled in a rocky fissure otherwise invisible, burgeoning with fresh water fish, and plentiful game, and even better on subsequent outings, sighting various small settlements. The lazy spiraling smoke of their cooking fires giving them away to any passer-by. These he did not approach, but he noted their positions on the far horizon for later reference.

Besides these discoveries Aran learned to use a bow from horseback with frightening proficiency, never would he possess the uncanny skill of Renard, or the excellence of the agile Dwayne, but Aran still managed to bring down a fleeing boar or wild goat with ease. There was fresh game draped over his saddle pommel every evening on his return, easing the camp’s dependence on the dwindling supplies. During those days spent up top Aran still found he was looking for the black horse, eyes searching the far horizon during his travels. But he never sighted the magnificent beast again, however the transformation the animal had wrought in the man was truly significant.

Thus the short desert winter passed. The cold easterlies and blustery south westerlies gave way to a warmer northern breeze. The wild flowers unfurled their last colors going to seed, casting their precious burdens to the wind or sands, that their offspring may again wait out the savage summer heat.

The close knit group of warriors again felt the restlessness of men who had gotten too comfortable with a simple life. They had taken to sitting about the communal fire in the evenings talking of how they might again raid. There were many proposals as varied as the men who formed this band though none were acted on. Aran would listen to this nightly conversation while he ate, and he would often glance at his brother. Aran could tell that Sven no longer felt the need to raid as did all the other men. The unkindest cut had indeed wrought changes in his beloved older brother, and it hurt Aran to see it.

On this particular night after a long ride under the vast blue skies, Aran decided he would have something to add to the recent subject of raiding. The warrior had eaten well and was feeling bold, this was as good a time as any to broach the idea he had been formulating for some weeks. “You all realize we have five good mounts out there going to waste.” The majority of the men laughed at this, all most of them could see when they looked at the animals was easy food. Though not all, Bennett looked up at this comment eyeing every warrior with a warning glance and they quieted.

“Let him speak.” The leader’s voice deeper than the others commanded. Hoping Aran would quite possibly discredit himself publicly. Aran continued.
“I’ve been out there as you know most days riding, you have all noticed I have never returned from a hunt empty handed or with just a meager rabbit.” Aran shot a meaningful glance at Todd knowing that's all he often returned with, if anything. Todd looked away chastened, though he was not alone, game had become so scarce in the immediate vicinity many of the men fared little better at hunting.

All could not refute the blond warrior as impetuous as he was, had been the greatest provider here this winter. Bennett sniggered at Todd, and resumed feasting on the tasty haunch of the roast boar, another of Aran’s contributions. “You all speak of raiding and of better things, yet none of you can remove yourselves from the days of the combustion engine. Well, I tell you those days are gone!” The men were silent, they all knew this young man spoke the truth. “If we just sit here the way we are things will get steadily harder. Yes, we live, but really we are just existing. Does anyone here really think that as we are now we can truly hope to raid as successfully as we once did?”

There was no reply, only the crackle of the coals in the hearth, and the hiss of the fat dripping from the carcass of roasted boar into the fire. Aran had expected as much, the words had strong effect giving voice to that which all had harbored within, but had left unspoken. The handsome warrior took in each face, from the putrid countenance of Pig to thoughtful Will, vivid eyes stopping to rest on Bennett. “I think before the summer comes every warrior here should be able to ride.” Some of the men started to laugh, Aran stared them down, and the laughter faded swiftly. “If you think my suggestion is amusing perhaps you will think again? I have been quiet till now, but I have sighted settlements within two days ride of here.”
“You have?” Bennett looked up from his meal hard gaze now fixed on Aran, most interested. The others all muttered in excitement there had not been any news of this nature since the steel fortress, and that failed foray had cost them dearly. Bennett’s full attention was now on Aran and his disclosure, the haunch of meat quite forgotten. The young man did not miss this, he also thought he saw his elder brother sigh, was that disappointment? Whatever it was he was not backing down now.

“If we took advantage of the horses we have, we could take a party of five of us, scout out these settlements more closely, and perhaps it might be possible if we start with the weaker and smaller ones we could take them with only five men, but first you all must learn to ride.” The warriors were with him now, bright eyed and dangerous, alive with the promise of the hunt in a way they had not been for a very long time.

Bennett reclined on his hide covered throne, did this man resent him and wish to make his leadership look lacking in reprisal for the flogging, or was his outburst simply for the betterment of all with no underlying motive? The leader fingered the edge of his dangerously sharp knife thoughtful but silent, astounded at this man who had already proven he had no capacity to lead, deciding to let Aran have free reign to his ideas, come what may.

Selene sat in the darkened mouth of the great cave watching the animated gathering within. Shadows danced on its walls. Aran tall and golden standing in the midst, the fire reflecting off his abundance of precious metal like some warrior king. “It has begun.” She whispered, pleased with her work, smiling and darting away, as always ignored by all.


The warriors, all men of the cities and suburbs used to the dependency on motorcycles and cars had to overcome their unfamiliarity with the horses. The majority of the warriors made the transition clumsily, though a few did become surprisingly adept Bennett included. The bond between man and beast was lost on most of them, and their patience minimal. Still in a very short space of time they felt they had five men who would be capable of raiding on horseback.

The winter had been tough on Carlos, in his sensory deprived state, the inactivity, and the cold nights, they had all been enemies to him. Wearing at him and breaking him down. The loss of his father’s token had demoralized him in ways he had not before fathomed and he realized he had used his father’s gift as a crutch heavily to survive every hardship and challenge he had ever faced since the war. Now in its absence there was nothing to cling to, nothing to prove anyone had ever loved or cared about him at all. The effect that had on Carlos was devastating, he had given up. During early winter he caught a seemingly innocuous cold which had developed in to a deeper chest infection, the young man seized with a wracking cough. Languishing in this poor condition for many weeks, he had at last given up on any form of active resistance.

Bennett would come to him often, and seemed most pleased that at long last the man would no longer pull away from his caress, or show any signs of willful disobedience. At nights the callous leader would use him as he had when he was younger, Carlos finally, placidly accepting Bennett’s will, the big man had won.

The long dark nights of winter’s passing had been most traumatic for Raissa, by day the dutiful wife of Sven and caring mother to Eirik, always where she was needed to silently serve. However the nights saw her in the brutal embrace of Sven’s brother, she dreaded this frequent union, feared it even. The girl had thought to thwart her circumstance by lingering in the cave late, even this subtle form of resistance to her husband’s will was wrested from her. As the coals burned down in the hearth and the meal was long done Sven would take her by the arm and escort her to the cabin, and Aran would be waiting for her in the furs. Raissa knew better than to fight or make a scene, but the tears she could not stifle. This terrible menage a trois Sven did not speak of it, as though it did not exist, all she could be thankful for was no child had quickened in her as yet.

*****

As in Bennett’s Valley, winter was a time of quiet in the steel fortress. The dead had been long buried, and life had gone on in their passing. A sense of order had been restored, and Lord Lothar had appeared to his concerned people atop his battlements in a carefully orchestrated public address, further easing mounting fears that his health was deteriorating and he was no longer fit to rule.

Victor Krosse had been working diligently behind the scenes, the dark shadow pulling the strings mostly unnoticed. There was some unease however as it was common knowledge that the fortress was no longer receiving tithes from Stephan’s settlement as per the long standing treaty. It would mean war then. This was only mildly alarming to the inhabitants, there were many reasons for this. When Lothar had first founded this place just before the war he had the foresight to construct and fill vast underground warehouses burgeoning with all kinds of consumables, and the military action to the south had now further swelled their supplies. There was also little chance such a well fortified city could be invaded least of all by a handful of farmers. For this military stronghold there would be ample time to deal with Stephan’s recalcitrant and foolhardy embargoes later.

As the unease amongst the population died away Victor found he had more time to resume his old routines and continue his experiments. The search for a suitable replacement bride for his Lord was still in full swing. Many scattered settlements existed to the south and new captives were brought before his dour Lord regularly. Still the stubborn man had not settled on any of the women no matter how beautiful and unspoiled they appeared. Krosse was wise enough to see military men needed action, and the exercise was a much embraced morale boost for the soldiers not to mention very profitable. There were many single men within the fort all glad at the opportunity to have a chance at a pretty woman and some fine wares.

Thus far no men had been taken or spared on these campaigns in the south, and it was after midnight when Victor was disturbed by a knock on his door. He sent his slave girl out of sight, she was his and only his, and strode toward the door wondering what nature of an issue would be pressing enough to merit his attention this late in the evening?

It was Captain Greyson, the newly appointed replacement for the late Captain Harris. The battle scarred veteran Krosse’s man, unlike his predecessor. The Captain formed a tight salute Krosse eyeing him coldly from the doorway to his darkened sanctum. “What is it?” Krosse shot at the mean looking man, his tone brittle.
“I believe we have something very interesting for you Sir?” His reply very matter of fact, this hard bully of a man did not flinch at his commander’s acidic overtones.
“In what way?” Krosse replied in no mood for games.
“I think it best if you take a look for yourself.” Captain Greyson answered.
“Very well.” Krosse sighed resigned, turning the large iron key with a loud rasp in the lock and departed behind the Captain toward the prison.

Victor was met by the head of the fourth detachment, a very capable soldier in the field Major Hawkins. An otherwise unremarkable looking man of average height, solid build and rugged appearance. In his early to mid thirties sporting close cropped brown hair and clean shaven. Again he was saluted by the man, Krosse calling him to ease. “So what do you have for me Major?” Suddenly very interested, as this particular soldier had brought him some very worthwhile subjects to experiment on in the past.
“Well..." The man paused. "It is a most unusual story General Sir, and we really do not understand what we saw when we invaded this last village...”
“Quit talking in riddles Major!” Krosse snapped eager to cut to the chase.
“Yes, Sir, perhaps it would be better if I just showed you.”
“Very well.” Krosse assented and followed the man into the cells.

Victor strode across the tiled floor toward his new quarry, his foot falls echoing in the sterile environment. The prisoner not at all what he was expecting. The man was unnervingly calm, standing motionless and meeting Victor’s studying gaze with an equally assessing one of his own. He was slightly under six foot, slender and graceful, standing proud, his manner most imperious. He was of in indeterminable age, Krosse guessing him to be in his mid twenties, with black unreadable eyes and long wavy blue black hair that reached his lower back. The self assured man wore the ragged remnants of what had once been a very fine velvet robe of the most royal shade of purple.

Victor felt something dark cross his soul and he shivered as he paced the floor along the length of the shining steel bars so he might view his prisoner better. The exotic captive’s eyes never left him, nor did he utter a word, only the faintest essence of a self assured smile, Victor found he was unconsciously reaching for the comfort of his taser. There was indeed something out of place about this man, the Major had done well to not waste him along with all the others. Krosse turned away beckoning to Major Hawkins to attend him in a more private setting.

There was an officer’s lounge located just off the hallway close to the prison, Krosse deciding to take his discussion there. He called for wine for himself and the Major it was already after one a.m., dismissed the attendant and the few soldiers who had been lounging and talking there. Smoke hung heavy in the cloistered over warm room, Victor did not remove his trench coat, pale visage stark against the black he wore. He motioned the Major to an overstuffed well worn leather chair, the man sat, Victor emulated him in the matching one opposite. Black gloved hand reaching for the ruby colored wine in the fine crystal.

As yet no words had been exchanged, the Major reaching into his coat pocket and placing a small well made blade of the most unusual blackish metal on the table next to the decanter. It was so small it was perhaps no more than a letter opener. Krosse eyed the curious little blade, but made no move to retrieve it from the table. “So tell me what happened?”

“Well, Sir.” The major took a long drink from the sparkling glass and resumed, lighting a cigarette. “It was most uncanny. We had subdued the settlement and he was the last one left standing. I had ordered my men to cut him down and he appeared to trace a circle on the earth with that blade as my men advanced. If I had not seen the flames erupt from nothingness with my own eyes I would never have believed it. Perhaps it was some kind of simple trickery, but we could find no evidence of it, if it truly was. He did not fight us in the physical sense and after we took this...” Gesturing toward the ornate dagger. “He appeared to have no powers at all. He was most placid, cooperative even, he revealed his name was Kario and told us he had no family in the village we attacked, but was merely passing through.” Krosse knew the Major to be a no nonsense leader, he listened to the account with great interest into the early hours of the morning, determined to plumb the depths of this unusual captive.

The next morning after very little sleep Victor Krosse attended to his Lord’s constant medical needs, updating Lothar on the situations of the day and anything that needed further addressing before departing to the prison. He spent the morning assessing this most strange man, who appeared agitated he had been detained, but very articulate and polite showing no display of aggression. Again he mirrored the Major’s story, saying he had nothing to do with the settlement they had plundered, but was merely passing through, though he seemed very vague of his purpose.

Krosse then extracted the exotically wrought blade from his coat pocket and his prisoner’s desire to reclaim it was most apparent. “This is yours I believe.” Krosse inquired.
“Yes, Sir it is.” Kario answered. “Perhaps Sir I could just have it and be on my way. I have no desire to be of any trouble.” Krosse fought hard to suppress a laugh, but a slight cruel smile did form on his thin lips.
“I don't think so...” Lingering over his words and fingering the fine blade. “I believe you will be here a while yet and we have lots to discuss?”

Victor did not deem it wise to return the blade to the strange man, even though he was burning to see the merit of the Major’s tale for himself. It would have to wait. The Doctor would have to find a very controlled way of achieving this, and would start to ply the man with chloral hydrate to dampen his seemingly very strong mind. Krosse could all but feel the unbridled mental energy his captive exuded, electing to move him from the prison to Victor’s very private facility which for some time had stood unoccupied, where he could be examined with more thoroughness.