The Ax & Helms

By David Kurtz

Swept up by a swirling storm into a world where time seems to have no meaning.

King Corwan Graham's armored knights and musket-wielding redcoats live under a tenuous truce with King Haldor Eloffson's Viking warriors.

Ivan Volk is the youngest son of an infamous Russian crime lord. He and Special Agent Amber Mcknight, his FBI captor, find themselves in the middle of a century-old feud.

With only a few sparse memories of his past and inexplicably advanced fighting skills, Ivan seeks to discover his true identity in this new world.

Follow Ivan and Agent Mcknight as they encounter new traveling companions, battles with modern and ancient weapons, romance, and a mind manipulating wizard trying to control it all.

Many of the historical references used in this story are based on actual events for those interested in history.

• Language: English
• Publisher: XinXii
• Release date: Aug 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9783689834159

Book preview

525887-the-ax-lores

Lords of Twen Erthe

(Book 1)

The Ax and Helms

David Kurtz

Contents

1 ~ WAKE UP

2 ~ WHO AM I?

3 ~ THROUGH THE WOODS

4 ~ ANOTHER MEMORY

5 ~ THE FARM

6 ~ FLEEING THE FARM

7 ~ TROUBLE ON THE ROAD

8 ~ ISABEL’S STORY

9 ~ BATTLE FOR THE CAVE

10 ~ FRIENDS SWORDS AND HORSES

11 ~ MEILI DE LONG

12 ~ CLAUDIO'S STORY

13 ~ DANES

14 ~ HOSTILITY

15 ~ PANIC

16 ~ BLOOD FEUD

17 ~ AN OLD FRIEND

18 ~ BEFORE WE GO TO WAR

19 ~ THE ROAD TO BATTLE

20 ~ WAR, PROVINCE OF KINGS

21 ~ RISE UP, DESTINY CALLS

22 ~ INSIDE THE KEEP

1 ~ WAKE UP

I remember not remembering. I remember the consuming pain in my head.

I remember hearing a woman yell, Ivan, wake up. We're going to die.

I remember my captor, my accuser, my attacker, and my defender.

They were all the same person.

Ivan… Ivan, wake up.

My head was throbbing with pain, and someone was yelling. I wanted them to stop. Someone started shaking me. Ivan, wake up. We are under attack, and I need you to get in the fight. There are only three of us and about 50 of them. If you don't wake up and help, we are going to die.

Slowly I opened my eyes. Ugh… bright light. Everything was blurry, and another wave of pain pushed through my muddled thoughts. Slowly I focused. A woman was squatting in front of me with my arms clutched tightly in her hands. She was shaking me and yelling, and I wanted her to stop. I was completely disoriented and starting to get angry. I didn't recognize this woman and struggled to understand why she was yelling at me.

Gde ya? My words made sense in my mind, but I could tell she did not understand me. I struggled to gather my thoughts. Taking a deep breath, I tried again, Gde ya… Kto ty?

English Volk.

I groped for the right words. Where I am? Who you are? Everything seemed foggy and distant. I felt disconnected, like I was an outside observer of what was happening all around me. Was I drugged? I brought my hands to my face trying to stop the pounding in my head. A bandage or something was covering a painful bump on the side of my head. My neck hurt, my ribs hurt, and I thought I tasted blood. Dizzy, I wanted to puke.

Deep shit is where we are, so pull it together. We need your help if we’re all going to survive. Gesturing beyond and behind me, the woman said, There’s a bunch of bad guys with guns trying to kill us. Now, unscramble your head and help, or we're all screwed.

The urgency of her words helped me refocus. Rolling my head to my right, I could see that I was leaning up against the side of a car. The front fender was crushed against a large tree right between the front wheel and door. How did we get here? A rifle with green, black, and grey camo stock and a large scope was leaning against the car just beyond my grasp. Somewhere out of my view, I could hear gunfire in short bursts. It came from beyond the front of the vehicle. Looking around, I could see we were on the edge of a forest, and it was bright behind me, an open field perhaps. The air was cool and helped me to clear my head. Still, I had absolutely no recollection of the events that led to this moment.

The woman shook me again. Volk, you're drifting… tune it in.

I'm trying, I snapped. Just then, a distant voice shouted something, and there was the sound of gunfire, a lot of gunfire. They all fired simultaneously, oddly in unison. I immediately felt several heavy thuds against the vehicle serving as my backrest. Glass shattered behind me while other shots sizzled through the air over and around the car. A couple rounds hit the ground towards the back of the vehicle while others smacked against trees in the woods around us. The woman in front of me reflexively ducked her head slightly in reaction to the barrage. She looked at me again and was about to speak but then paused. Everything had gone quiet, even the gunfire at the front of the car.

Andy, she half gasped. Keeping her head down, she shuffled in a low crouch toward the front of the car. With practiced precision, the woman drew her pistol from a holster on her upper thigh. Stopping behind the tree, she peered around the front of the car. Shit shit shit, she said as she crouched down. Andy, can you hear me?

I'm hit… bad, an unseen male responded weakly.

The woman returned her pistol to the holster and came back toward me. Squatting down in front of me, she grabbed me by the shirt with her right hand and pointed to the rifle. She put her face right in front of mine and threatened, Listen to me. I'm going to remove your handcuffs now. You need to take that gun and get in this fight. If you turn on us or try to run, I swear to God I will shoot you myself. Do you understand what I'm saying?

I painfully nodded. For the first time, I realized that my hands were shackled in front of me. How is it that I didn’t notice this before? I lifted up my wrists and wondered why I was wearing handcuffs. What had I done? She roughly grabbed the steel bracelets between my wrists and held them firmly. Reaching into a small pocket on her left sleeve, she pulled out a key. She hesitated momentarily, looking uneasy about freeing me. As soon as my hands were free from the bracelets, she moved back quickly, like she feared I would attack her. After a brief pause, she returned the key to her sleeve pocket, slid the handcuffs into a pouch on her belt, and drew her gun again. Pointing the weapon in my direction, she moved toward the rifle. She grabbed it and pressed it toward me. There was a small black bag on the ground behind the gun that she picked up and tossed at my feet. You've only got thirty rounds, so use them wisely.

I took the rifle from her and studied it. It felt familiar, comfortable in my hands. It was a bolt action gun with a tactical scope mounted to a rail on top. Was I a soldier? Were we in a war? What the hell is happening here? I stared blankly at the gun. My cloudy mind tried to remember how everything worked. Pulling the bolt back partway, I could see a round was already chambered.

What the hell, Volk? You point that end towards the bad guys and pull the trigger. It’s not rocket science, she said with urgent frustration.

Again, I heard a distant shout. I couldn't make out exactly what was said, but it sounded like ‘bay-nets… no, bayonets.’ Crap. I suddenly had a bad feeling this was going to get really ugly. My instinct to protect myself started kicking in, and I forced myself to move with a sudden sense of urgency.

Pressing the rifle butt on the ground, I pulled myself up to one knee. My head reeled. I almost blacked out again and put my hand down to keep from falling. Nausea churned my guts, and I was sure I was going to puke, but the sensation passed. The throbbing in my head increased with every movement, but in desperation, I kept moving. I looked left. Behind the car was tall grass and the ground rose to a small berm. A thick trunk tree jutted upward from the mound about fifteen feet away and looked like it would provide good cover. Since the front of the car had already proved unlucky for someone, I headed for the tree.

Where the hell do you think you're going? She demanded.

Over there. Better cover, I managed to grunt. Go take care of your friend. I'll do my best to help. After uttering some unintelligible curse, she started backing away from me toward the front of the car.

Crouching low and using the grass and berm for cover, I clambered and half-crawled to the tree. I felt sluggish at first, but the adrenaline and circumstances were apparently beginning to suppress my languor. When I got to the tree, I discovered that a couple of boulders afforded additional protection on the other side. Looking through the scope and adjusting the focus and magnification, I had my first glimpse of attackers. There were three rows of men. Each wore white pants, a white shirt, and a bright red coat. They all wore wide black hats, and each had a long rifle with a long thin blade mounted at the end of the muzzle. All wore a backpack and had other miscellaneous gear hanging from their belts. I counted fifteen men in the front row, but the two rows behind them had fewer. I could see the bodies of others behind them lying motionless on the ground. Next to them sat a man on horseback. He was dressed similar to the others, but he had a sword in his hand and wore a tall black hat. As I watched, the man on horseback extended his sword towards the car and spoke in a loud commanding voice. Ranks advance.

They were about a hundred yards away from us. As one, the three rows of men pressed forward, not running but in some manner of well-practiced march. With growing clarity, I nestled myself down between the tree and the rock. I aligned the crosshairs on the center of one of the red-coated men. Exhaling slowly, I gently squeezed the trigger. The gun fired, a man fell, and the acrid scent of gun smoke assaulted my senses. Pain from the recoil ripped through my head. I pulled away from the scope and briefly closed my eyes to let the pain dissipate. When I could again reopen my eyes, I pulled back on the bolt. A brass shell ejected from the side of the gun, bouncing off the rock next to me. Still cloudy, I looked down at the empty shell. Curious, I picked it up to examine it. Stamped into the back of the warm brass was the tiny inscription .300 WIN MAG. Somehow that seemed significant to me, but I couldn't remember why at the moment. I urged myself to focus on the task at hand.

Casting aside the shell, I looked back through the scope. Their ranks had stopped advancing, looking around uncertainly for the new shooter. Once again, I took a deep breath, and aligned the crosshairs on another man, slowly exhaling as I squeezed the trigger. There was more pain as the gun jolted against my shoulder, and I saw another man fall. Blinking a few times, I pulled back the bolt and repeated the same sequence of actions again and again and again. More men fell as my efficiency improved with every shot, and I somehow blocked out the pain. By my fifth shot, the soldiers seemed to be losing their resolve. The man on the horse started shouting again and pointing his sword in my direction. As one, the entire front row simultaneously changed their orientation to face me and leveled their rifles in my direction. Choosing not to give in to fear, I squeezed off two more shots, dropping two more men before ducking behind the tree and pressing myself to the ground.

Again the synchronized report of their muskets broke the silence in the field as they fired in unison. Several shots hit the tree I hid behind, and another hit one of the rocks next to me. I heard other rounds sizzle past me, some hitting trees in the woods directly behind me. Then I heard the sounds of a different gun firing. It was coming from the angry woman at the front of the car. I rolled back up to my firing position and looked through the scope. The field around the soldiers was filled with a cloud of white smoke from their guns. The woman was proving to be quite efficient with her shooting as well. Few remained standing in the front row. At the leader’s command, the second row stepped forward and leveled their rifles at the woman. This is madness. We had decimated one-third of their ranks. Why were they just standing out in the open like that? Glancing toward the car, I could see the woman retreating back to more secure cover as they fired. Flame and a white cloud erupted from their guns in unison. The woman was not yet entirely behind cover, and I saw her go down under the hail of fire. The man on the horse ordered them to reload.

I went back to work… aim, squeeze, fire, chamber another round, repeat… again and again. With every shot, another soldier fell. The man on the horse again pointed his sword in my direction and started to yell. Okay, I'm done with you, I said aloud, though I knew he could never hear me. Centering the crosshairs on him, I squeezed the trigger. He was a more challenging target. His horse was stepping back and forth in a heightened state of battle-driven excitement. Steadying my aim, I took the shot, and it connected. He lurched backward out of the saddle and hit the ground. That was all it took. The remaining troops began to break and run. That's it, run away. No one else needs to die today. Two soldiers stopped to try and aid their fallen leader, so I fired again, intentionally missing at their feet. They both backed away from the man. One ran immediately. The remaining man took one last glance in my direction with contempt or curiosity; I couldn’t tell which. Then he too ran off after his companions. None of the others looked back, nor did they stop running.

Getting up from my position, I hurried back to where the woman had fallen. I had a sudden sense of panic, fearing the loss of the one person who could help me understand what was happening and how I got here. I hastily leaned the rifle back where it stood before being thrust in my face a few minutes earlier. When I arrived at her side, I found her alive and awake. She brought her hand up to her chest. For the first time, I noticed that she was wearing a bulletproof vest that now had a tear in the material. Rolling up on her side, she let out a sound that was half grunt, half moan. She looked up at me wide-eyed and said, What’s our status, Volk?

About half are down in the field, including the guy on the horse. The rest of them ran away.

Good, she grunted and began to sit up. I reached out to help her. She flinched and scrambled back away from me, pushing herself up to a sitting position. Reaching down and hovering her hand over her holstered pistol, she watched me with an intense glare. I stopped and retracted my hand. We both looked down at her rifle on the ground. It was closer to me than it was to her. With tension in her voice, she asked, What are you going to do, Volk?

Look, I said, taking a step back, if I had plans to harm you, I wouldn’t have put down the gun you gave me. My original plan was to help you because I thought you were hurt. Since that doesn’t seem to be something you are interested in, why don’t we go try and help your friend, I suggested. You said his name is Andy, right?

She looked at me long and hard. Clearly, she neither liked nor trusted me, but I had no idea why. Then again, I had no idea why I woke up in handcuffs. I had no idea why I knew exactly how to take down all those guys in red coats, yet I can’t even remember my own name or how I got here. I looked her in the eyes and said, Okay, I get it, you don’t like me, you don’t trust me, but you are not giving me much reason to trust you either. Why don’t we agree to a truce and figure out what is happening here? In the meantime, let’s try and help your friend.

She took a long and slow exhale, and her shoulders visibly relaxed. Her gaze dropped to the ground. We can’t help Andy. He’s dead. She glanced up at me again, He took one in the leg. It severed the artery, and I couldn’t stop the bleeding.

I’m sorry, I said.

You’re sorry? Sorry? What the hell do you care if another cop dies? He was nothing to you. You didn’t even know him. He was taking you to jail. Emotion and adrenaline were causing her to escalate from cautiousness to agitated aggression quickly. Don’t ask me to believe you are sorry.

I was at a loss for how to respond, so I didn’t bother trying. As adrenaline waned, my head started to hurt again. I looked out over the field. There were a lot of bodies out there, and many of them were because of me. Looking off in the direction of their retreat, it occurred to me that they could, no, probably would be back. Taking a deep breath, I turned to the woman again and said, Listen, there is something you need to know. I don’t know who you are, I don’t know your name, and I don’t know your friend over there. I honestly can’t remember anything before all the shooting began. At the moment, I can’t even remember my own name. It would seem that I have done something that would cause you to not trust me. Maybe I have done something horrible before today. When I look over that field and see the bodies, I believe I am certainly capable of it, but at the moment, I can’t remember anything. Her expression told me that my words were fueling her anger. This much I do know. We hurt those guys, and I’m betting they will be back with more soldiers and more guns. I think we need to gather up what we can and get out of here.

It was her turn for silence. She looked at me for what seemed like a long time. Unconsciously biting her bottom lip, her eyes flitted back and forth and up and down. She looked out to the field and then back to the bandage at the side of my head. Finally, she sighed and said, I don’t know what game you’re playing, Volk, but I do agree that we probably don’t have much time before reinforcements arrive. She looked at her partner lying in the grass. I need to figure out what we do with him and take stock of our resources. You sit over there where I can keep an eye on you.

I had too many questions. There was no way I was going to go sit by a tree, listening to her attitude and abuse. Ignoring her demand, I turned and started to walk out to the field and the fallen troops.

In an authoritative tone, she challenged, Where the hell do you think you’re going now?

I’m going to go look for answers in that field. Take care of your friend.

Stop. She put her hand on the holstered pistol. I mean it. I’m not letting you get away.

With a heavy sigh, I said, Go ahead and shoot me. Then when those guys with the red coats come back, you can face them alone, but if you are going to shoot me, you’re going have to shoot me in the back. Then I turned again and started to walk toward the fallen soldiers. I had no intention of stopping, turning around, or discussing it further.

* * *

As I approached the field, there was an unnatural stillness in the air. Motionless soldiers lay strewn across a small patch of trampled grass. I quickly surveyed the area. The first couple of soldiers I encountered appeared to be dead. Then I found a man barely alive. His shirt was bloody, and there was a hole in the red coat where he had been shot. Pallidly, he looked up at me with glassy eyes. He appeared afraid when I approached him, like I was his harbinger of imminent death. I knelt next to him. He was awkwardly sprawled across his backpack. He had a knife at his belt, and I slid it out of the sheath. It was an excellent knife with a large blade and a well-made wood handle. The kind of knife someone who appreciated nice things would own. It seemed out of place for a common soldier. He opened his eyes wide with fear when I drew the knife, and he let out a weak sound that was probably meant to be a plea for mercy. I held up my hand in a gesture to calm his fear. Slicing through the straps of his backpack, I gently maneuver it out from under him. As I pulled it away with one hand, I set his head on the ground with the other hand. He relaxed with a heavy exhalation and looked at me again with relief and perhaps gratitude. He calmed still more. His lips moved, silently speaking unintelligible words, and then he died. The look of peace on his face at the final moment burned into my mind.

I glanced over my shoulder to make sure his comrades were not returning and then turned my attention to his pack to see if he had anything we could use. There was a rolled-up blanket strapped to the top. Looking around, all the soldier’s packs had a similar configuration. I removed the lashings that secured the bedroll and opened the top flap. Inside there was a single deep compartment. At the top was a greasy-looking cloth sack. It contained a large piece of bread with a hard crust, some apples, and potatoes. There was also some dried meat wrapped in a separate cloth. Under the food was a brass container. It appeared to be filled with water. I smelled it and then took a small sip from the container. It was clean tasting, so I took a deeper drink to wash the taste of blood and gunpowder smoke out of my mouth. For the most part, the rest of the pack was filled with personal items like clothes, a bar of soap, a straight razor with a carved handle, and a towel that appeared well used.

There was something else inside the pack. It was long, spanning the entire length of the main compartment, and wrapped in a cloth tightly tied with a cord. It looked like everything in the bag was arranged around it for padding and protection. Curious, I eased it out. Using the soldier's knife, I cut the cords binding the cloth. I unwrapped a magnificently crafted ax with a tied-on leather cover to protect both blade and the one carrying it. It was impossibly light in weight and seemingly perfectly balanced. The beautifully grained hardwood handle was about eighteen inches long, with leather wrapping covering the bottom two-thirds. A leather cord looped through the bottom of the handle and was big enough to fit around my wrist. The ax head was curved nicely from just above the top of the blade down toward the handle. The blade’s edge was about eight inches, including the beard. Opposite the ax head was an angular flattened hammerhead, making the weapon look deadly regardless of the side used to strike. It appeared to have been forged from high-grade metal and had artistic symbols worked into the sides. Like the rifle, it instinctively felt like it belonged in my hands. It was a truly magnificent weapon.

The silence was broken by the snort of a horse standing about thirty feet from where I knelt. I removed the knife sheath from the soldier’s belt, replaced the knife in the sheath, and then set it on top of the rolled blanket next to the ax. Reaching in the bag, I pulled out an apple and began to walk toward the horse, scanning for survivors as I went. None showed any visible signs of life. Then I noticed the fallen officer lying in the tall grass as I neared the horse, and he was still alive. The right side of his shirt was soaked in blood at the chest. His left arm was bent awkwardly, indicating that it was clearly broken. When he noticed my approach, his countenance took on a mix of apprehension and an apparent resolve to defend himself. He labored to bring his hand to a flintlock pistol holstered on his right hip. His arm was trembling from pain and with the exertion. When I approached him, he started breathing more rapidly and harshly coughing. A few droplets of foamy blood speckled his lips. Still, he forced himself to move, willing his right hand to draw the pistol. I knelt next to him just as the muzzle of the gun was clearing the edge of the holster. His hand and arm were shaking involuntarily. Putting my hand on top of his, I easily slid the gun out of his weak fingers. I shook my head and said, Relax, I’m not going to strike down a wounded and defenseless man.

With a labored voice, he asked, Who are you? He coughed again, producing more blood on his lips. Where are you from?

I honestly don’t know; I can’t remember anything. He looked at my head, and I raised my hand to touch the bandage almost unconsciously. He slightly nodded his understanding.

Aye, I’ve ne’er seen a carriage like yours, he smiled and then let out a couple more wheezing coughs, wincing from the pain. Where are your horses?

We have none. I was actually hoping I could borrow yours.

He looked at the horse sadly, I think he and I have taken our last ride together. George is his name, he rasped. I named him after our true king, King George William Frederick. He is a good horse from the stables of the king himself. I’ve never ridden his equal. Sadly, he has had a hard life in the rough hands of king Corwan's stable masters. He will need someone to look after him now. Again his body was racked with a hard cough.

Promising to look after his horse, I studied the man’s face as he calmed down again. He was mature with a leathery weathered face and a mostly gray beard matching the hair on his head. The officer seemed to be slipping away when he suddenly opened his eyes and asked, The storm… Were you carried here by the storm? Do you remember the storm?

I’m sorry, I don’t remember anything, I said in frustration, apologizing for my lack of memory.

He gazed off in the distance. We were escorting captured ships from Mona Passage. We were off the shore of Newfoundland… a storm came out of nowhere and hit the fleet. Everyone ended up here, ships, sailors, soldiers, men and women along the coast… It was so long ago. He started drifting off, and he became even more distant. Back then, we fought the French, and now…. He again started coughing, more violently this time. When he settled down again, he lifted his trembling right hand seeking to make contact. I reached out and grasped his hand. Vikings, was all he said, and then he was gone.

On the ground next to the fallen man was his sword. Picking it up, it too felt right in my hand. I moved and manipulated it with skill and practiced ease for a few seconds. When I stopped my imaginary swordplay, I examined the weapon. It had a somewhat broad and slightly curved blade. The length of the blade was sharp on one edge ending in a strong point. About a third of the top of the blade also held an edge. The handle appeared to be an extension of the blade overlaid with brass and leather. There was a brass guard around the handle that looked as though it would protect the hand of the one who wielded it. I removed the belt and sheath from the officer and re-sheathed the sword. Laying it down, I stood and again turned my attention to the horse named George. He was dark brown with a black mane and tail. His forehead had a white patch, barely larger than my thumb and shaped like a diamond.

George was standing a short distance away. I approached him with the apple in hand. Hello, George. Then, taking a bite of the apple, I held it out to him with an open hand. George took a step toward me and snorted. It’s okay big fella; I’m not going to hurt you. As a matter of fact, I think I really need your help. George gazed at me with deep brown eyes and then took a few more steps toward me, so I approached him slowly with the apple extended. He sniffed it once and then took it in his mouth. Like that? I think I can find you more, I said as I stepped closer and let him sniff my hand. Putting my other hand on his jawline, I looked at him eye to eye. He sniffed me and then pushed me to the side lightly with his head and approached his fallen rider. George stood over the lifeless officer, examining him. Gently, I laid my hand on his broad shoulder, petting him while he processed what had happened. I looked George over from where I stood. He was a powerful well-muscled horse, obviously bred for soldiering. Finally, he lifted his giant head up and slowly swung it towards me. He studied me for a moment and then pressed his head against me, bumping me in the chest a couple times. He pushed me a little with each nudge. I put a hand on each side of his head, looked him in the eye, and said, So what do you say, big guy, shall we travel together? He snorted again and then bobbed his head once. I picked up the officer’s sheathed sword and then took George’s reins in my hand. I led him back to where I had opened the first soldier’s pack, and he followed without resistance.

Keeping an eye on the surrounding tree lines for the return of the soldiers, I made quick work of opening packs and sorting gear. Most of the fallen I searched had at least some small stash of coins, the pittance wages of soldiers. As expected, the officer carried more. George stood by and watched as I gathered things I thought we might need to survive. I collected items like food, canteens, a couple knives, tomahawks, powder horns, some soap, blankets, a length of rope, and a small shovel that I thought might come in handy for taking care of the woman’s fallen friend. When I had finished my scavenging, I awarded George’s patience with another apple and a couple of carrots from the soldier’s food, which he enjoyed. After loading gear in two empty packs, I turned and looked again at the fallen men in the field. It felt like such a waste having to shoot them down as we did. I didn’t even know them or why they