"Within five minutes we all will be dead", said Laban, the slightly dark-skinned leader of their small pack while clutching to his bronze khopesh, his southern sickle sword.

They were a group of five standing maybe 100 meters away from the southern bank of the river Amrahe, which was the border between the old kingdoms of Aermorik and Svearik. Between the river and them was a little swampy area on their right-hand side, behind them empty grassy plains with some light hills. And in front of them they could see a bunch of chariots approaching. There was so much dust in the air that they estimated these people had come at them with at least a half dozen chariots. One of them bore an unfamiliar flag on a pole. They were alarmed but of course did not panic. They were experienced and war-torn soldiers. It wasn’t the first time they were outnumbered and if they survived it for sure would not have been the last time.

At least the flag was unknown to Mabon, who in these kinds of situations would look to the sky in search of the light of the stars to gain a hint on how to deal with the scenario. But as the sun was at its highest point, he couldn’t see any stars and as a result didn’t receive any blessings from his goddess Arianrhod.

"Why are you sure they are hostile?", Mabon asked. His friend Brendan nodded at his question, obviously having the same thought crossing his mind.

Laban gritted his teeth together. “You landlubbers from the East don’t know, but this is a flag I know from some really nasty sea-people. They don’t take prisoners and if they do its just for sacrifices or to sell them as slaves.”

Brendan shrugged his broad shoulders and said: "We can hide in this little swampy area. The chariots can’t follow us in here…"

"...but their arrows can, you fool! How in hell could you survive as a scout and assassin if you suggest childish shit like that!" Laban disrupted him in a condescending way and darted malignant glances that could have melted ice. "Stalking in the shadows is not the solution for everything, above all not in a swamp!" Brendan took Laban’s word like a man, yet Mabon was sure that he would complain later to him about the pack leader’s way of talking to him. Knowing how cocky Brendan could be, he might have actually just made a joke to diffuse the tense situation a little bit.

But for now, it wasn’t the right time to argue, for the foe was approaching quickly. There were light chariots made in the style of the Khem-Urians in the south. Two horses, a light wagon made of wood and leather, an armored driver and archer on the chariot and a lightly armored foot-soldier, running behind the chariot to help protect the wagon and its crew. These running soldiers were usually armed with a small shield and a spear and at times javelins, so that they could hit their foes at distance and running. The unease of the pack grew. They had not expected such a powerful enemy. The five of them knew they could never stand up against such a hostile group with bows, javelins, armor and three times their number. Now they had to be quick and smart, because an open battle would have taken a bad outcome.

The dust cloud and the chariots came closer and closer – they were quickly running out of time and had to decide how the get out of this potentially deadly mess. Laban looked around and seemingly thought about a plan to escape. He was great in working out emergency plans when the need was dire. The soldiers saw that he was thinking hard, and no one dared to interrupt him.

Then he burst out: "Run! Back from where we came!", he shouted and dashed off. And trusting their leader all of them turned around on their heels and started running away from the chariots. They were just thinking to survive. And any smart soldier loving his life knew when he had to run.

Laban was running ahead always keeping to the left-hand side. It quickly became clear that he aimed at heading towards the river taking the shortest route while still staying clear of the swampy area. When Mabon looked behind him, he could see Dil-Shad – the only girl in their group in charge of taking care for the wounded – lagging somewhat behind.

Mabon felt pity for her. He was taller than Dil-Shad, but shorter in stature then the other men and therefore the slowest runner aside from Dil-Shad. Mabon heard Dil-Shad heavily breathing and puffing and grew more and more anxious. “What if she cannot make it? Are we going to let her die in battle – or worse?” Thinking so, he intuitively fell behind to run next to Dil-Shad, who looked thankful to the pretty magician from the deserted hills of northeastern Kom-Brogi.

The sound of horses and chariots and the intangible shouts of their crews were drawing ever closer. They had run maybe half the way towards the river when Mabon stepped onto a piece of ground that initially looked safe to step on but actually was muddy swamp. He tried to pull his foot out of the mudhole, which only let to his second foot also starting to slightly sink into the wet ground around the hole. While he was still cursing at his own misfortune, he was suddenly tackled from behind by Dil-Shad. Maybe her idea had been to push him out of the hole by charging him from behind.

However, this eventually only led Dil-Shad to bumping into him and then being send into the air over his left shoulder by her own speed. Screaming she plunged to the ground with a hard hit, then there was silence. While he was still trying to push himself out of the mudhole, he grabbed Dil-Shad by the hip and shook her heavily, because she wasn’t moving anymore. But Mabon didn’t realize for how long exactly: Was it a minute or at least only a couple of seconds? Mabon had seemingly lost all sense of time. His head burned while he was struggling to get his foot out of the hole.

"I am ok, thank you", said Dil-Shad with pain in her broken voice. "Or at least I think so." She rubbed her right arm on which she had fallen covering her face. Had she landed on her face the pack could presumably have collected her brain in pieces from the ground. Mabon sighted in relief and tried to smile on the young woman that had saved his life after more than one battle. Was there a slight sizzle of affection in the air?

"If you guys want to play kinky games you should get a nice room in an inn. I don’t think a swamp with cold-blooded chariot warriors on our heels is the right place but correct me if I am mistaken. I am always delighted to learn", scoffed a cynical voice that could only belong to Brendan.

He must have noticed their plight and had come back for them. He was a renowned scout, archer and knife-in-the-dark, but his cheeky, bigmouthed character would cost his life eventually. If it wasn’t for the foe, Mabon would have hit Brendan in the face to get satisfaction. Brendan often badgered Dil-Shad out of nowhere, and Mabon hated it, although he had known his fellow Kom-Broghian for almost ten years now and had fought uncounted battles at his side. Brendan was always loyal and reliable and had risked his life more than once for his brothers (and sister) in arms. But still Brendan lost no opportunity to make an inappropriate remark.

Brendan looked into Mabon’s face and saw his anger. But instead of adding another not so charming comment he grabbed Mabon under his arms and pulled him with pure force out of the mud. The sound of chariots was now very close. They actually could have already been within shooting range, however some of the dead looking swampy trees should still be blocking the foes sight. "Run, Mabon!", yelled Brendan at his friend while he was helping Dil-Shad getting up. Again, the warrior spared another comment.

Mabon collected all what was left of his power and ran towards the river. It was only 30 Meters away now. He saw Reza, a swarthy far-off cousin of Laban, already jumping into the river. Laban turned around at that moment and yelled towards them: "By the great devil Sahddad! What the fuck are you guys doing!"

Laban knew he had to go last. He was the trusted leader of the pack and could not leave one of his soldiers behind. If he had jumped with Mabon, Brendan and Dil-Shad still on land behind him, it would have damaged his authority and respect among his men.

As soon as Mabon had reached the riverbank, he jumped without hesitation into the river, although he knew swimming in rivers was actually more dangerous than many people thought.

Laban, waving his powerful arms, yelled at him: "Get as fast as you can to the other riverbank. Best if you can do it as long as the swamp to the left is protecting you from the chariot archers!" Now Mabon better understood Laban’s plan and started swimming, when an arrow hit the water beside him... “They are close, and they will not hesitate to shoot us in the water”, he thought and gave pace. Behind him he heard more splashes into the river assuming that Brendan and Dil-Shad and finally Laban now had jumped into the river.

He heard the chariots stop and the charioteers shot arrows and rude words in their crude language towards them. Laban, swimming like the devil, still yelled something back in his dark and brutally sounding Khem-Urian language. Mabon guessed it had something to do with their mothers and/or their lack of manly size, as it was characteristic for Laban, who usually saved his insults for Mabon and Brendan.

Especially Brendan was Laban’s favorite addressee for insults, calling him often “night-creeper”, “shady weasel”, or even “potato-head” referring to his origin in the far west of Kom-Broghi. For the people in this bitterly poor region potatoes were basic foods, and around 15 years ago many western Kom-Broghians died due to the great potato famine. The complete potato harvest of that year was infested by vermin, so many families starved miserably to death. Brendan normally swallowed everything with a grin and made a naughty reply but reacted most sensitively to any references to this great disaster, so beside Laban no one dared to make any jokes about potatoes or that specific event, were they as innocent as a children’s’ game. And even Laban knew when it was the wrong time to pull the string with Brendan, who had killed three large mercenaries in cold blood with his knife in a pub after they had told him to “go and fuck his sister in the potato heaven of Kom-Broghi” without saying anything. Ever since all of them were alert not to step into Brendan’s ring of fire. Even Mabon accounted his old friend willing to slaughter them all for being mocked about the catastrophe that had killed every one of his large family except him.

But it wasn’t the right time to think about past events. Still the arrows splashed into the water, and Mabon was just desperately trying to stay afloat and swimming towards the other side of the river only thinking of how to survive this mess.

After some struggle he managed to get on the other side of the river Amrahe. Reza was already standing on the bank wet from head to toe and helped him out.

"Are you wounded, Mabon?", he asked.

Mabon denied with a head shake and looked toward the river where he saw that Laban was getting out of the river a few meters downstream. Dil-Shad and Brendan had drifted much farther down the river but were seemingly not in trouble. Brendan even still had the power to stick out the tongue at Mabon, grinning like a menace child and waving his arms like he was dabbling in the shallow waters of a gentle lake on a friendly day.

“From time to time I think that he has lost his mind”, Mabon wondered about Brendan’s behavior. “I must talk to him, before he will get in real trouble.” But for now, he was glad that Dil-Shad and Brendan were alive and coming closer to them in the fast-flowing water.

On the other side of the river, he could see the chariots far away surrounded by clouds of dust. All he could recognize were a green banner and the strange helmets of the chariot crews with several small horns protruding from them. “Who are these people?”, Mabon asked himself. As far as he could tell they were not native to Aermorik or any other place he knew of. Yet they were driving around here like they were owning the place. Standing and watching, Mabon took by chance a sight at their leader. Laban, who was clenching his fists and biting his teeth, looked grimly to the other shore. He was angry and obviously thinking how to pay back to the enemy the way he tensed his strong body and narrowed his eyes to a slit.

Laban was infamous for his vengefulness and unforgiveness, and Mabon had known that for some years now. Not only once Laban had put them into danger to satisfy his hunger for revenge. But when they helped Dil-Shad and Brendan out off the water, Mabon forgot about his sorrows about Laban’s character, and together they left the shore of the river to find a place for rest and camping at night.

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Hi everybody, thank you for reading the first chapter of our historic/Low Fantasy novel, we hope you liked it! Why is it “we” and not “I”? We are two hard working people with full time jobs/businesses that always wanted to write something but alone we couldn’t find the time. One of us is the plot writer, the other (who by the way is a professor for communication and holds a doctoral degree in German literature) acts as editor and writer for details, fluff and atmosphere.

Now that we have teamed up this way, we should not only be able to give you one to two chapters a week, but also produce the chapters without too many mistakes (though we are no English native speakers, so have mercy on us).

Please bookmark our novel and look forward to more adventures of Laban, Mabon, Brendan and the others in this Fantasy Bronze Age Story!