Free Rise of the Red Harbinger by Khalid Uddin Page A

his head faced the oncoming soldiers, despite the cloud of dust, dirt, and rocks that they were kicking up. Marshall could only pray that the soldiers were more focused on where they were going than on the ground.
    The soldiers were not as organized as he originally supposed, at least not in their appearance. They maintained no consistency of armor or uniform, and bore no sigil. No flags of any sort. Their skin colors and features bore no similarities to the races of Ashur. If they did fight for Jahmash, they had to have been taken from various nations and walks of life. But which nations? They maintained the visages of desperate soldiers. They were here to fight, kill, and destroy. They were savage, bloodthirsty. Marshall did not need to understand their tongue to know that they fought without honor or mercy. He could see them waving severed heads as they ran past. Their boots trampled. Crushed Marshall’s right hand. Kicked his head. He exhaled the beginning of a groan, then stifled it immediately. One soldier stopped to find the source and Marshall held his breath. Keep going. Keep going! Marshall fixed his stare. The soldier yelled and shook the severed arm he carried, and then marched on.
    They must still be destroying the other end of the village.
    Marshall waited for several moments after they had all gone by, then looked around and immediately lifted his arm from the body next to him. His arm was covered in blood and fragments of bone and skin.
    A fallen tree lay only a few dozen feet away. Marshall scampered to it and lay down within the thick branches. As excessive as the destruction was, it would actually be a boon, providing ample shelter for hiding. The elder Taurani always preached that the best warriors knew how to use their surroundings to an advantage. An injured or unarmed fighter could defeat an armed fighter in any battle if he knew how to employ his environment.
    Resting within the dense brush of the dead tree, Marshall wiped his arm against the bark. It was disrespectful to disturb the dead. The only time it was allowed was when one was preparing the body for its last ceremonies. He felt shame in having those remains on his skin. As he smeared the blood away, Marshall thought he could hear a faint sound in the rubble on the other side of the road.
    He poked his head over the trunk of the tree, noticing two giant heaps that had been houses earlier this morning. A figure crawled between them. It slowly grew closer and closer and Marshall could see it was one of his people, covered in Taurani markings, but also covered in blood, ash, hay, house debris, and bodily remains. The person wore leather armor. He must have come from the stable and armory that had once stood at the northern side of their village. As the figure lifted his head Marshall identified him. His cleanly shaved head bore the two customary stripes of Taurani, except his extended all the way to the back of his neck. Aric, one of the Tower Guards whose post was at the northeastern tower. He was also the youngest-ever Tower Guard, because of his keen eyesight and fighting ability. He was only a year younger than Marshall, but Tower Guards normally ranged between the ages of twenty-two to twenty-seven, because it was generally agreed that they needed considerable fighting and hunting experience to train their eyes.
    Marshall hated him. Aric had taken a fancy to one of his sisters, Esha, and Marshall did not find Aric fit for her. Besides, Esha never shut up about the greatness of Aric and his accomplishments. Marshall was so tired of hearing about the boy being great at this and the best at that.
    Marshall cast his thoughts aside. Now was not the time for petty squabbles, yet he found it difficult to let that hatred go. But he needed help and if Aric was uninjured, he could be a great asset. Marshall glimpsed Aric looking toward the tree, but hesitated to signal him. Images of Aric and Esha flooded his mind and disdain coursed through him. Of all