Ralph E. Laitres's Blog

TITLE: Thorgil Bloodaxe: The Vultures of Khurasan
AUTHOR: Ralph E. Laitres
PUBLISHER: FriesenPress
GENRE; Fiction, Fantasy, Sword-&-Sorcery
FORMAT SIZE: 6 X 9
PAGES: 444
FORMATS: Hardcover, paperback, eBook
BOOKCOVER: Pablo Marcos (illustrator), Oscar Gonzalez (colorist)
ILLUSTRATED INSERTS (12): Pablo Marcos

"Thorgil Bloodaxe: The Vultures of Khurasan" can be purchased through the online bookstores:
Amazon, FriesenPress, Barnes&Noble, Books-A-Million (BAM), Walmart

THE VULTURES OF KHURASAN:
In a savage world ruled by the sword, the mercenary leader Thorgil Bloodaxe stands apart, a man feared and respected across all the bloodstained lands from west to east. Well aware of his reputation, it is to Thorgil that the Caliph of Baghdad sends an emissary, his high commander, Rafi ibn Abdallah. The Caliph decides he must end the depredations of the rebel leader Ya’qub and his fanatic followers, the Vultures.

It is said of Thorgil that he has fought in so many battles during his lifetime he cannot remember them all, so what is one more? He does not hesitate to accept the commission and, with his warriors, embarks on a hazardous, bloody journey to the Khurasan Mountains, guided by Rafi…who has a secret plan of his own. Along the way, they draw the ire of the Cilician pirates, who hound them from the port city of Latakiyah in Syria to the foothills in Khurasan. They face treachery, battle, and sorcery even before they face the Vultures themselves in their massive mountain fortress.

The Vultures of Khurasan takes you on a glorious sword-and-sorcery adventure alongside Thorgil and his warriors, with page after page of neverending action, accompanied with illustrations by the renowned artist Pablo Marcos.


Thorgil Bloodaxe: The Vultures of Khurasan

1. The Warning (*Excerpt)

The musical songs of the birds broke off as the stillness of the early morning
was disturbed by the sound of a horse’s iron shod striking upon the ground’s
surface. From the forest emerged a rider; a red-haired, man-giant upon a black warhorse with a striking white mane of hair. Shafts of early morning light slashed through the pine canopy to send splashes of light across the magnificent stallion’s sweaty flanks to the red haired warrior’s menacing-looking
battle axe that was secured in the saddle’s scabbard.

He sat tall with the bearings of a warrior’s confident in the saddle as he
expertly controlled the warhorse to maintain a steady pace. He stayed to the
forest’s edges weaving in and out from between the trees, never leaving the
comfort of the forest’s deep shadows.

The dust-covered rider was a terrible sight to behold when one looked
upon him with his scarred-ruddy face framed by a mane of red hair, and a
broom-like beard that swept across his barrel-like chest whenever he turned
his head left or right.

On his head he wore a battered conical helmet, deeply embossed in rich detail across and around the crown. Over his large frame, he wore a tattered black and gold-bordered wool tunic with stained breeches, and a battle-scarred mail shirt that seemed to threaten to burst at the riveted seams whenever he inflated his massive lungs. A wolf cloak that did little to hide his heavily-muscled body was draped over his shoulders. From a waist belt, a scabbarded sword dangling at his side thwacked his thick thigh with each joust of the horse, and two bearded hand axes and a long double-edged dirk was tucked neatly in his waist belt. Slung over his wide back was a round shield that had seen better days.

The rider was none other than Thorgil Bloodaxe, the youngest son of Ragnarr Sigurdrsson. He was very much accustomed to the weight of the warrior’s war gear upon his body. His life as an outlaw began when he was just eight winters old after being branded a “Holtakari”; a Forestman by the vassal king of Denmark. Thorgil was sentenced to a lifetime of full outlawry for murdering two boys that came from a noble family in Hladir.

The boys’ father, Jarl Vigfuss was from a powerful family of high repute.
The Jarl disliked Thorgil’s family and the killing of his two sons at the hands
of Thorgil was reason enough for him to start a blood-feud against Thorgil’s
family. For four years, the young son of Ragnarr survived as an outlaw in the
vast northern wilderness of Halogaland and Svealand avoiding capture by the
paid men who were sent by the Jarl’s family.

At the age of twelve, Thorgil was found and introduced to the warrior’s life
by Styrbjorn the strong, the leader of the Jomsvikings. He took Thorgil into
the folds of the Jomsborg elite family of mercenaries and introduced him to
the disciplined life of a warrior. That seemed like a lifetime ago to the aged
Viking warrior who was now walking into the winters of his years and making
his meager living as a wandering mercenary.

A low, string of curses escaped his lips as he pulled sharply on his horse’s
reins as if he came upon an invisible wall. The horse reared in retaliation with an angry snort, cleaving the air with its forefront legs. The beast threw its head left and right as it fought against the pressure of the bit in its mouth, but Thorgil kept tension upon the reins, holding the horse’s head erect as he quickly scanned his surroundings as if he was expecting trouble. Trouble that
at the moment he wished he did not have to deal with. For in his saddle bags
he carried six months of pay that he had received for services rendered from
very grateful merchants.

He was not a novice when it came to traveling alone in the Forest of
Vainola, known to be the haunts of reavers, for in truth; many of these outlaw bands would rather avoid crossing paths with the red-haired warrior, giving
him a wide berth. But it seems that some men must learn their life-lessons the
hard way.

The Bloodaxe’s hand instinctively went to the haft of his battle axe as he caught the distinct sound of a horse’s high-pitched cry, which in turn was
answered by several others, and the steady, heavy plodding of shodded hooves
striking the ground as an unknown group of riders moved along Thorgil’s flank just out of sight. For days, the red-haired warrior had the sinking feeling
that he was being trailed, but night after night they kept their distance and
were soon forgotten. Now they have made their presence boldly known. They
no longer kept their distance or held their noise discipline in check. At length, rounding a sharp bend, Thorgil came to a narrow path in the forest which was blocked by several grim-faced horsemen who glared at him with sullen faces.

“Damn reavers.” Thorgil muttered into his beard as the riders surrounded
him. He brushed some of the road dirt from his clothing and combed his
fingers through his beard as he glared at the horsemen.

“Bloodaxe, you are a very foolish man. Your tracks were not difficult to
find or follow,” said a grim-face warrior who Thorgil took to be the leader of the band. He was a powerful-looking man with a pantherish muscular body.

“You have me at a disadvantage, for I know you not, but yet, you are
familiar with me.” Thorgil growled as he looked about him. The thought went through his head that these men were not reavers, but bounty-hunters who were sent to collect on the numerous bounties that have been placed on his head.
“I am Hygelak. You murdered my brother Haethcyn.”

“Well Hygelak, I have no need to hide my tracks or to fear any who may
have come across them. As for your brother, I am still at a lost.” Thorgil shot back. His beard bristled at each word. He breathed a sigh of relief as he realized that the men were not professional bounty-hunters.

“My brother was murdered by you in the den of Heidabyr’s wharf district. I was told you back-stabbed him after he bested you in a fight.” Hygelak added
as he glared at the Viking warrior.

Thorgil curbed the curt reply that trembled on his lips as his face turned
crimson with rage that swept over him, but he quickly ignored the remark,
regained his composure as he looked about at the men who surrounded him. He was greatly outnumbered and at a disadvantage at the moment. What he
needed was to keep the reavers preoccupied with talk till he could find his opening to gain the advantage.

“I must confess that I am still at a lost. Many men challenge me in hopes of
making a name for themselves. As for a warrior named Haethcyn besting me in a fight, that would be something I would not have forgotten. Wouldn’t you
agree with me on that?” Thorgil replied

One warrior fearlessly advanced and allowed his horse to forcibly bump
the Bloodaxe’s warhorse, which caused the great steed to spin wildly in a defensive move.

“Hey scar-face, I like your horse. I say give me your horse and I won’t hurt
you too bad,” demanded the warrior who bumped Thorgil.

This brought about a loud din of laughter and mirth from the others who
also demanded that the Bloodaxe surrender his axe and even his thick red
beard. Thorgil’s bush covered face split from ear to ear as he joined those
around him in the laughter.

“Oh my friends, my horse and weapons I need for my journey, for there
are many brigands and reavers in these regions who would take advantage of
one who is unarmed and on foot.” Thorgil beamed a smile at the horsemen surrounding him, causing the long scar on his face to cringle and turn an
angry red color. “As for my beard… well my friend, it helps to hide my ugly
face.” His tone was edged with sarcasm. “Now, the axe is meant for my hands and my hands only, besides you would be like a newborn struggling to lift a twig if you tried to wield my axe.”

“Old man, I am not your friend you motherless-cur.” Shot back a warrior
with a dark moustache that hung down to his chest, who found no humor in
Thorgil’s words. “I will enjoy wiping that stupid grin from your face as I take
your right hand and your head just because it pleases me.”

Without a word, Thorgil charged his great warhorse into the horse rider
who threatened to take his head, sending the surprised warrior sprawling to
the ground. The Bloodaxe’s dark steed reared up on its hind legs flaying the air with its forelegs then in a blinding flash, brought them down upon the stunned warrior’s unprotected head. A wet, sickening sound was heard as the
man’s head was crushed and split-open like an over-ripped melon by the warhorse’s iron-shodded hooves.

Thorgil glared at the remaining horse riders from under his heavy, thick
brows. A broad smile split his face from ear to ear as he wheeled his horse
about pulling his axe and sword from their sheaths.

“Come dogs, you thought to have cornered yourselves a weak prey, but instead it is you who are to be the prey. Give my regards to Loki’s daughter.”

With a sharp kick of his heels into the horse’s flanks, the large Viking charged into the group of wide-eyed horse riders. His axe and sword now firmly in hand, was a blinding blur of blue steel that dealt death to his right and left. The warrior’s fighting madness was upon him. A red mist clouded his vision as he time after time beat back the surrounding warriors who pressed hard upon him. One warrior’s blade shot out from the crowd, the point struck Thorgil’s side but failed to pierce the mail shirt. With an angry roar, Thorgil
lashed out with a backhand strike with his sword, opening the warrior’s midsection from one side to the other.

The Bloodaxe’s offensive onslaught was brutal and merciless, never once
did he let up with his vicious slaughter. Whenever a warrior would turn aside his axe, a swift and prompt assault of his sword would follow with deadly results. In short time, the forest path and surrounding area was littered with the bodies of the reavers. Dismounting, Thorgil walked over to where the one called Hygelak was bleeding from numerous wounds. With a string of vile curses spouting from his lips the large Viking lifted the leader of the group off his feet and drove him against a tree with a bone-shattering force that brought out a painful cry from the man’s bloodied lips.

“You have chosen a fool’s errant by thinking you could avenge your brother’s
death by accosting me with a rabble band of half-wits and ruffians.”

“Nay, I have accomplished what was asked of me, for it seems you have more enemies than you can count.” Grimaced Hygelak as a wave of pain wracked his broken body.

“Who has charged you to hunt me down?” Thorgil roared as his patience waned, a wave of anger rose up deep from inside of him.