Avarice Desperation Valley

City of Steel

The following insipid dawn found Renard riding hard, white foam flecking his roan horse's coat, the black forbidding fortress rearing into his sight, squatting like some waiting demon on the arid, saline plains below. As its darkened, unscalable battlements emerged more clearly into view, Renard found himself when greeted with this vision, not so sure that his plan was one of brilliance, but rather one of reckless folly.

He gazed at the somber walls again, his dark eyes seeking and finding many defenders there, arrows poised and he knew he had been seen. So swallowing hard and giving his tired mount one last kick of encouragement he galloped toward the gates, and uncertainty. The dark steel walls towered high above, dwarfing him as he rode toward the gate's massive portals, scores of eyes above watching his every movement. Renard felt very vulnerable indeed, as he reigned in his exhausted horse some twenty feet from the gate, which still remained tightly shut, and dismounted. Then staring up at the defenders on the walls, doing his best to mask any trepidation he felt, Renard summoned all his courage as he called out to those who watched him critically from high above.

"I am Renard son of Stephan, and I have come in peace, bearing an important message for your leader." Half expecting at any moment to feel the answering barb of an arrow in his flesh, or worse still the thought of the mounted flame cannon, its evil blackened snout already angling his way. Its hot kerosene breath like that of some mythical dragon's maw. His statement of intention was met with austere silence from the watchers on high, only the faintest howl of the lifting breeze permeated the tense scene. Renard's nerves were razor edged as he held his hands high in a display of surrender, he hardly dare draw breath, and wondered at the sanity of his plan. Still he had no other choice considering recent events, he had to take his chances.

After agonizing moments came the grating sound of the gate being winched partly open, chain clanking over steel in a metallic scream of protest. Accompanied by a contingent of ten armed soldiers who swiftly converged on the lone man. One prominent amongst them wearing engraved metal plate and full silver chain mail, divesting him of his weapons with brutal efficiency. Still Renard did not dare move lest he be struck down. The same man, who appeared to be the commander then addressed him, the man’s voice grim, his short sword drawn and threatening. "Come peacefully then, if you so much as look like trying anything, you're a dead man." At this Renard felt the encouraging prod of a spear tip rending his heavy brown woolen shirt, piercing the skin beneath, the blood running, tickling his skin under his clothes as he was urged forward into the compound.

Under this aggressive escort he entered the formidable city fort, not at all sure if he had indeed made the right decision, hearing the ominous thud of the immense gates shut behind him, effectively imprisoning him, and he was not at all comfortable with the idea. Renard was conducted in silence toward the fort's central plaza, the hub of the community. A place lined with numerous, bustling, workshops which produced every essential item the city could require. The many artisans and workers paused at their work, to eye the procession suspiciously as they passed on by. Renard had accompanied his father to this place in his youth many times before, mainly to deliver the produce to keep Lothar's peace, and to conduct diplomatic talks. So he had a rough idea of where he was going as he was herded hurriedly by.

They turned a corner and a large dark portal suddenly swallowed the group, as they descended the metal stair case into Lothar's inner sanctum. Here only the elite officers and warriors had their place, and only the most important guests or prisoners were permitted entry to this dark metallic realm. Renard shuddered at the impersonal, oppressive steel walls, and was momentarily blinded as his eyes adjusted to the artificially lit dimness in the tunnels below. His ears assaulted by the hollow ringing of the checker plate floors beneath his escort's trampling boots. The tips of their spears relentlessly prodding him ever forward.

The grid of dim passageways seemed to have no end, and even Renard an expert navigator, began to become disoriented as every passage looked the same to his eyes. Finally they reached an iron bound door, and Renard was pushed into a small furnished room, the light and air somehow directed in from above, comfortable enough though it had the feel of a prison rather than a guest room to the now worried young man. The head soldier stepped in after him, the remainder of his men blocking the doorway behind, and any chance of escape, announcing. "You will wait here, and Lord Lothar's aide will be here to see you shortly. Until then make yourself at home." Before Renard could protest or phrase a reply the gruff man was gone slamming the door with dread finality behind him, locking it as he departed.

Renard slumped down on to the small bed, running his long graceful fingers through his mop of wavy, dark hair, trying to alleviate the stress he felt, resigned to his fate at Lothar's hands. He fretted that he still had no idea of the situation here, or indeed whether the Wolf Lord still lived. Then there was the pressing matter of Frances. One month of rations Bennett had said, and already more than two weeks had gone by. He had to find her soon, he just had to. A feeling of helpless panic rising in him at the thought of his sister, all alone, imprisoned in the dark, helpless and afraid, and he had to fight to push it aside. All his plans depended on his staying cool and dignified, and he would do just that. So Renard spent the next many hours alone, alternatively pacing the confines of the small room or laying on the bed, occasionally drifting off to sleep and into troubled dreams. Still no one came.


Renard must have dozed off, only to be abruptly awakened by the grating of a key in the lock, and to see the steel door swinging wide on its hinges. He was greeted with the sight of several servants bearing platters of delicious smelling food and a decanter of red wine which they hurriedly set down on the small wooden table and retreated just as swiftly. They were accompanied by an officious looking well groomed man, aged somewhere in his mid fifty’s. He was of smallish wiry build, no more than five foot six, and grey haired, which was close cropped. He was clean shaven and dressed in somber well fitting, black attire, with narrow severe features. However in this rather austere package Renard noted, this man's eyes were the most incredible vivid blue he had ever seen, and sparkled with evil intensity.

Something about this sharp man warned Renard to be ever careful, though he knew not what it was exactly. Then he spoke, a Germanic accent tingeing his clipped voice.
"Allow me to introduce myself, I am Doctor Victor Krosse, Lord Lothar's aide, and he is extremely sorry that he has been unable to see you, Lord Renard."

Renard pulled himself to standing, hoping to intimidate the short man with all of his six foot height. If it had that effect Krosse did not show it, but beckoned Renard to sit and eat with him at the table, adding offhandedly.
"We have much to discuss it seems?"

Renard countered before he could think clearly. "What I have to say I wish to convey to Lord Lothar's ears alone." Renard stated firmly, holding his ground, declining to be seated. At once regretting being so hasty to reply to this dangerously clever man. Krosse's vital blue eyes betraying at once to the perceptive Renard, that Krosse was a man very unused to not getting his own way in an instant. Though he gave no other outward signs of his annoyance as the severe man ignored the tone of his guest and proceeded quite unruffled, availing himself of the delicious meal.

"Come, come, patience my Lord Renard," The title rolled sarcastically off his tongue, as he continued to speak, unperturbed and in control. "As of this moment in time Lord Lothar is quite indisposed. He lies in a drug induced coma, in the infirmary, gravely ill I might add, and until such a time as he awakens, I rule here in his stead. So my Lord anything of importance you have to say would be best conveyed to me." With that he flashed Renard a forced smile. It was plain that this irksome, thorough man was enjoying this at Renard's expense.

Reluctantly Renard sat himself down, not so foolish to believe he would have an easy time working his way past this cunning and clever man, and not desiring to look impetuous or stupid either. Though his mind was in turmoil, and very unsure just how he should proceed, Renard was well aware that time was running out. So he sat, and helped himself to the repast on the table, true he was hungry and very thirsty after his tiring journey, but he moved with deliberate leisure, wishing to buy some time as he weighed up all the options, so painfully few before him it would seem. Worse still he did not like or trust this man, but could not see a way past him either. Krosse's vibrant gaze bored into him as he ate, assessing, probing, filling the young man with a sense of unease. It was obvious this unnerving, sharp witted man was waiting for him to speak his mind.

Renard drained his wine to lend him courage, deciding that he had his head in the noose already and would have to take a chance as he committed himself to words. "We also find ourselves in a difficult position." His voice sounded hollow and small in the face of Krosse's stare. Clearing his throat the young man continued, trying to maintain his veneer of haughty coolness as Krosse refilled the glasses. "You see our lands have been invaded, my family taken hostage by the same man who decimated your knights in the pass, and it is this very same man who has your Lord's bride."

Krosse appeared to be interested in this, though he remained silent letting his guest relate all of his tale without interruption. Renard proceeded nervously. "As you already realize they are vicious fighters, well versed in the art of guerrilla warfare. They are well armed, and unless we can eliminate them I fear they will destroy us both. They have cut your supply lines, and intend to starve you out. They will come soon and lay siege to your walls, and without the fuel supplies from my father's lands just how long could you last here?"

"Point taken Lord Renard," Krosse interjected leaning forward. "So who is this enemy then, and what does he want?"
"His name is Wezley Bennett, he has been hunting the wastes for years, getting ever cleverer and stronger, and what he wants is this city to rule as his own?"

If Krosse was at all worried by this he did not appear so, adding. "So you say this War Lord Bennett has your sister, is she still worth rescuing now after all this time?" Renard winced at the mercenary implications of the statement, coming from this man who sat so coolly across the table from him, sipping on his wine, before he had the nerve to reply.

"Indeed she is.... Still, how would I put it...... Very much intact. Bennett values her as a hostage, his bargaining chip with your Lord." Renard went on, uneasily telling this callous, calculating man all he had learned of Bennett's operations and weaknesses, of his time spent amongst his horde, of the dire situation back at home, and the possibility that his imprisoned sister would soon run out of time. Imploring him to join forces whilst either side was still strong enough to achieve victory.

That explained he then detailed his plan, the one he had discussed in the wine cellar with his father two nights back, the plan he had hoped to sell to Lothar. The plan that would finish the threat of Bennett once and for all.

"Do go on," Krosse encouraged, his intense piercing eyes galvanizing in Renard ever larger feelings of mistrust.
"We must make it seem to Bennett when he arrives that the city is in chaos, that there are riots and civil disobedience. That Lothar is either dead or near enough to it. I know Bennett well, this will make him bold, he desires nothing more than this city and its prizes, he will be drawn in to the trap. We must tempt him to strike, and we will do so by way of a military uprising.

You will send Bennett a messenger, someone experienced and preferably hardened by war, a man who will not be easily intimidated, someone he will believe. The chosen man will tell him that they have had enough. That a faction of soldiers are ready behind him to take over, but to do so they need more men, and they would willingly serve him as the new leader if they were victorious. He will detail his plan to Bennett, telling him that when his men take the watch that evening they will open the gates allowing him easy access, and disable the flame cannon.

If we do our little charade convincingly, Bennett will hopefully take the bait, and mobilize his entire army, but at the last moment my father's troops which form the bulk of the army will not join the fight. They have already one amongst them who leads them, my man Dale and he knows of the plan. He will pull his forces back, leaving Bennett and his twenty or so men trapped within the city gates to be done with as Lord Lothar pleases."

Krosse for the most part sat and nodded, examining Renard minutely all the while and saying little, as the meal was consumed. Renard liking not at all this man's seeming interrogation. Finally Krosse rose from the table, flashing Renard another of his false smiles and adding as he made for the door. "I will speak with Lord Lothar of your plan, it does indeed have some merit, and we shall also discuss how wise it would be to release you to search for his bride at this juncture. We will call for you soon Lord Renard." With this empty assurance Krosse left the room, Renard again alone to contemplate his troubles.


It was a full day and night later after his conversation with Krosse that the armed escort arrived at his door. "You are to accompany us at once." The gruff soldier said, and Renard was ushered before them into the confusing maze of reverberating passages to he knew not where. He did not have long to wonder as he entered what was obviously a hospital, though the theme of cold hard steel still abounded, and Renard could not help feeling surprised, awestruck even at the equipment housed within, all fully maintained and operational, and marveled at the vision of this man. He had little time to ponder these wonders as he was hurried by and directed into a smaller room off to left hand side, a recovery ward.

Lothar sat propped up on a sea of pillows in the bed, his mangled, lower body covered with a blanket. The man's dark eyes engaging those of his visitor at once, though no smile crossed his grave countenance. The ever present Krosse was standing at his side clever and dangerous looking, and again Renard the son of a farmer wondered if he was playing out of his league. However the game had begun and the next roll of the dice was not his to make. "Greetings Renard." Lothar managed to get out, though it was obvious that the conversation was going to be an effort for him this day.

"Greetings my Lord." Renard replied careful to show the appropriate deference to this powerful man who now pulled all the strings.
"My aide has informed me of your situation, and I have decided that your plan has some merit, though I am concerned......" Here Lothar paused to catch his breath and manage his pain before continuing. "Concerned about you and your father's motives?" Renard just stood meeting the man's eyes, for he dare not show any signs of weakness or hesitancy, he was also acutely aware that Krosse was analyzing him as well.

He maintained his silence, letting Lothar continue. "If what you say is true, and I see no evidence to suggest otherwise. I know your father all too well, war is not his way. I cannot believe that he would be capable of hiring men such as these you speak of. So what I propose is this....." Lothar's voice trailed off into a savage bout of coughing, Krosse handing him a glass of water. Lothar an unhealthy sheen of sweat beading his brow was after some moments finally able to continue. "You Renard, will remain here within these walls as my 'guest’ until I have this Bennett and his men. Only then will I let you go to locate my bride, only then."

Renard did not like this outcome one bit, but was wise enough to realize that an argument with this man would gain him nothing. All he could hope was his idea would be implemented and Bennett would be lured into the trap with all swiftness, so he could be on his way. "I understand my Lord." He added with respect.
"One thing?"
"Yes, my Lord?"
"If you are tricking me, you and all your family will die horribly. That I promise." With this pronouncement the audience was over, and with an authoritative nod of dismissal from Lothar, Renard was escorted from the room, and back to the confines of his cell. Helpless to effect any of his plans until further notice, and blind to the events occurring above.


Bennett sat still as stone absorbing the scene below him, he had arrived with the dawn and this time had made no effort to conceal his presence from Lothar's men down below. He wanted them to see his strength and be demoralized by it, and the sight that greeted his eyes on his arrival he found truly gratifying. Lazy black smoke drifted skyward from deep within the fort's walls, and the occasional sporadic sounds of unrest and riot drifted up to him from below. These signs drove Bennett's interests like that of the predator he was, he was almost at the conclusion of the hunt. Jaws closing at last on his exhausted prey. Experience telling him it would not be long before he wore his quarry down, and this prize would be his as he had promised all those months ago.

He would be ready, his army assembled and waiting for the moment to strike, swelled by the ranks of Stephan's men, and provisioned by the old farmer also, he could afford to sit, and wait. His wounds were healing well, the worst of the pain gone now. As were those sustained by his men, and in a few days they would be at their full strength ready once more to plunge headlong into the fray.

In spite of all the good omens Bennett still had unsolved things on his mind, he had noticed the desertion of his prize archer Renard the next day after the battle, this unexplained event greatly troubled him. He could not guess at a motive for the man's behavior, and it seemed clear to Bennett now in hindsight that the arrow so near its mark had been intended for him, and no misfire. He rubbed the healing wound, the red scar ugly and livid on his bull neck, dwelling on the near miss as he had many times since that day, wishing he had known more about Renard, his background, his agenda, admonishing himself privately for being played the fool.

*****

Three calm, very frosty evenings ensued as Bennett and his force waited, camped on the rocky slopes littered with ironstone scree and spiky grasses. Followed by as many fine, clear, sun filled days. Still the fires burned and the inhabitants appeared to riot within the fortresses walls. This night the blazes were very visible, and extensive within the compound as the men sat around their cooking fires engaged in the evening meal. They ate well, supplied with an abundance of good food and wine from Stephan's farm lands, and all the warriors were in high spirits, sensing they were very near to their goal.

Bennett sitting with Nathan, his slight rag clad form ever close by, looked up suddenly from his meal detecting a commotion within the camp. At once spotting the bear like Sven coming toward him purposely through the crowd, herding an unfamiliar man before him with the tip of his blade.
"He says he has a message for you." Sven related, as he pushed the man to his knees roughly before his immense leader.
Bennett took a lengthy assessing look at the man kneeling before him in the dust, he was hard, strongly built, somewhat battle scarred and did not appear unduly afraid as his eyes met Bennett's levelly. "Speak then, and quickly." Bennett commanded in a powerful voice.

"My name is Captain Harris Sir." The man stated flatly. Bennett eyed him coldly as his men gathered around him in a formidable knot, all present hopeful of some sport at the expense of this rash intruder. Harris to his credit kept on, steely exterior masking any traces of fear, for he was a trained soldier, he had a job to do and he knew he had to make this interview believable.

"I come with a proposal Sir." Attempting and succeeding to appeal to Bennett's vanity by using a title of respect and inclining his head to his superior before he continued. "As you can already see the situation within the city grows more intolerable by the day, the people riot, food is short, and our leader is on his death bed. His successor is an unpopular man, his surgeon Victor Krosse, yet he clings to power. At this time he still has the balance of the military behind him, but there are those amongst us that would welcome a better leader. We are soldiers, we care not who we fight for, we only ask to be led by one we choose and can respect. "Harris then paused allowing the leather clad giant sitting before him time to take in all he said, and assess the effect his words were having on the now hushed gathering.

Bennett carefully looked at the man and finally he spoke. "I take it you are asking for my leadership and assistance?"
"Yes, Sir I am?" Harris replied, hoping Bennett had taken the bait. "With the addition of your army Sir we would easily make short work of Krosse and his followers. I head the foot soldiers, some fifty men, thirty of which are loyal to my cause and can be trusted." Bennett turned to Nathan, the boy ever in the big man's shadow, waiting, eager to serve.
"Get our guest some food and wine, I would be interested to hear more of what he has to say." Nathan hurried away to do as he was bid.

Harris felt the worst of his nervousness wash away as Bennett urged him to sit and join him by the fire for further talks. It appeared to the veteran soldier that Bennett had taken the bait. Though Harris when he accepted the risky mission had known that he could have just as easily been cruelly interrogated or killed on sight.

However someone had to volunteer and he had done so without hesitation, to fail was something he did not dare contemplate as there was too much at stake. All Harris had to do now was play this subterfuge carefully and Bennett and his dangerous rabble would be drawn into the trap. So he sat, ate, and drank amongst the group of intimidating warriors, detailing his plans long into the early hours. To finally slip back within the fort's walls as the first faint glow of dawn graced the eastern skyline.


Bennett came toward Nathan, a length of chain in his powerful hand, and although the big man's actions seemed casual enough the lad sensed that something bad was about to happen. He had been on edge all day as the camp was dismantled around him, without quite knowing the reason for his dread. Fear drove him then, and against his better reason, he dove swiftly to one side and made to flee the camp, and his Master.

Bennett lunged for Nathan grabbing nothing but air, quickly recovering his balance with a warrior's grace that belied his immense bulk and stature, sprinting after the boy. The chase was short lived as Bennett rapidly gained ground, and in the space of a few heartbeats Bennett was on top of Nathan, pushing him with great force to the sand. Winding the slight, terrified boy severely with his almost three hundred pounds of unbridled power.

Bennett was angry at being disobeyed, and grabbed Nathan roughly by his now unruly, and lengthy, light blond hair, pulling him to his feet. The boy cowered, fearful of the punishment for which he had only seconds to wait to be administered. It came as a powerful stinging slap to the face which brought tears to his jade colored eyes. "Come when I say!" Bennett roared, slapping him hard yet again, bringing forth more silent tears and redness to Nathan's usually pale cheeks.

Hand in hair the unfortunate Nathan was escorted back to the now mostly demolished campsite, as the men readied themselves for the final assault that this evening would invariably bring. Bennett chaining the lad to the base of a large immovable boulder, and fastening the other end tightly around Nathan's smallish neck with a large padlock.

This accomplished Bennett promptly walked away to be amongst his men, and delegate his final instructions before the evening’s work began. Giving no thought at all to the terrified Nathan's misery, and quite impervious to the boy's hurt green eyes, glittering with daggers of dark betrayal. Nathan was numb, hardly believing that his Master valued him so little, that he would be left behind to be claimed by the victors, if at all. As he stared after his protector and Lord's retreating back, getting no satisfaction from the sight.