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  A TIME FOR TRUTH

  The Time Warrior Sagas - Book Three

  By

  M. L. Strong

  Chapter One

  Running. It felt like Logan spent a good part of his life these days running away from pain and toward an uncertain fate, but today was different, today he was running to stay alive. He stretched out his long legs and sprinted faster. He suddenly took two short steps to avoid a depression in the ground and then jumped over a large rotten log laying across his path. He needed to pay attention or he’d end up on the ground.

  He heard Dawson’s labored breathing behind him and knew his friend and longtime shield mate was coming close to stopping and standing his ground. Logan ducked under a low hanging branch and slowed down a little.

  Dawson wasn’t a runner, he was a fighter. The big man was over six feet tall and covered in muscles that rippled like a knotted rope. He was a formidable warrior, an expert in a wide range of weapons from many different cultures. His friend didn’t enjoy avoiding a fight when there was a fight to be had.

  Dawson caught up with Logan and ran beside him. Logan pulled the long, wavy dark black hair out of his face and glanced quickly over his shoulder to see how close the mounted warriors were. He was disappointed. The Mongol bastards had closed the distance by half. They were lean, war-tested men who were also adept at hunting wild game to survive. They were now hunting Logan and Dawson.

  Up ahead the newest member of their merry band, Mikhail, was leaping and bounding with ease. He carried the same combat load as Dawson and Logan but he was strong for his size, in a wiry sort of way. His speed came naturally. He was built for running. Mikhail was a fighter too. A veteran of many one on one combat engagements and had a reputation for being someone you could trust when it counted. Dawson didn’t approve of Mikhail’s tactics but he was simply better at putting distance between himself and trouble. A skill Logan and Dawson had failed to master.

  “Enough!” Dawson shouted in English. “I’ve had enough of this bullshit!”

  Dawson slid to an abrupt stop and twirled around. He planted his feet wide and snorted like a crazed animal. Their pursuers were little less than a mile behind them. Dawson could begin to make out their broad ugly faces. The Mongols were coated in animal fat and stunk like hell. If the wind was right you could smell them coming from three hundred yards away.

  Logan heard Dawson curse and also stopped. Pivoting to his right he flexed his lean muscular frame and twisted the ball of his right foot into the ground to test the footing. He saw the Mongols were close and instantly agreed with Dawson. It was time to stop running from these pieces of shit. He put his fingers into his mouth and whistled loudly. Mikhail to pulled up short and spun around.

  “We fight them here!” Logan shouted. Mikhail nodded and trotted back to join his brothers in arms. He peered to his left and right through the trees and low brush, scanning their open flanks for avenues of attack the Mongols might exploit. He also looked for possible escape routes should their battle stand fail to resolve the current dilemma. He was satisfied.

  Logan moved more like a like a dancer than a warrior. At one hundred and eighty-five pounds he was a lethal combination of reach, power, and agility. He and Dawson were best friends and had a long history, even before becoming shield brothers. He trusted Dawson with his life and Dawson was sure Logan had his back in a fight.

  The code of the warrior guild was a part of them, a way of life ingrained through countless hours of brutal combat training and years of combat experience. At twenty-seven years old Logan was only slightly younger than Dawson but he was the sober one of the two. Dawson was impetuous and prone to emotional reactions. They made a good team.

  Logan wasn’t afraid of the Mongols or anyone else and Dawson was of the same mindset. They’d come here to this land to fight and it was time to do just that. The Mongols were good, the best in the Asian and now European continent on horseback. The three friends had been successful for several days picking fights with the Mongol army’s rear guard as it approached Kiev. They sought small encounters, challenging but winnable. And win they did. It was their success that had brought the party of horseman down on them. The Mongols were pissed off.

  At the beginning of their delightful romp, the luck had gone their way for the most part. There were Rus warriors and mercenaries from many lands scattered all over the place. Some of these men were trying to get to Kiev to help defend the city, others were trying to save their own skin, running away, looting as they went, from what many believed was inevitable. The fall of Kiev, capital of the Rus. The year was 1240 and Kiev was about to be sacked by the army of Mongol invaders.

  Dawson and Logan joined Mikhail in appraising their tactical situation. A smart warrior looks for tactical advantages in the terrain, especially in the defense. Dawson pointed to a place where a draw narrowed a few yards behind them and to their left before appearing to widen again twenty or thirty yards further on. Logan ran his fingers through his long hair slicking it back and then donned the battered Rus war helmet. He looked over to where Dawson pointed.

  “If we go there,” Dawson said, “we can force them together, narrow their front. Even on horseback only three or four abreast could squirt through that space to attack us.”

  Logan nodded in agreement and started walking in the direction indicated by Dawson. “If we have time to prepare stakes, we could set up a nasty surprise for these little shits!” Logan disliked Mongols almost as much as Dawson hated Romans. The little warriors were nasty and hard to kill. Besides, they usually fought at a distance using their powerful recurved bows. Only cowards fought this way, at least according to Logan’s and Dawson’s warrior code.

  Over the last few days Dawson, Mikhail, and Logan had taken their fair share of battle trophies. They’d been one-sided contests for sure but this time it was a fight for survival and the Mongols closing in on them had the advantage of numbers.

  “I figure they’ll be up our asses in less than five minutes. Got any ideas?” Dawson wasn’t the tactician Logan was. He’d always deferred to his friend’s knack for finding a way to stay alive. Logan was a thinker. His creative mind was filled with training knowledge and hard-core combat experience. He was a decisive man, able to make snap judgments that were usually spot on.

  “We’ll go to the draw, make it tighter with more loose brush and branches. We need to force the little turds to come in straight at us, fight us on ground of our choosing.” Logan turned and ran toward the draw with Dawson close on his heels. Mikhail was close to the opening. He surveyed the surrounding and got to work on dragging material to the gap as Dawson proposed. Dawson and Logan joined him there and got to work.

  The three men searched the surrounding area and dragged all the dead tree branches they could find into position to restrict and shrink the opening to the draw. Logan took out his sword and hacked at the branches until each presented a sharpened tip toward the advancing enemy. The points may not hurt a Mongol warrior encased in light armor but their horses wouldn’t like it at all. Dawson drew his small fighting knife and did the same thing. After a minute or two, the sound of approaching horses caused Logan to look up. “It’s time to party my friends. Positions!”

  Dawson and Mikhail joined Logan to stand three across, shoulder to shoulder blocking the narrow entrance to the draw. They presented a wall of steel and firm resolve to the advancing Mongols. Logan hoped it would be enough. Dawson stomped the ground with his right foot, an old habit formed while fighting in Britain.

  A warrior always needed to know the nature of his ground. A slip in combat was all an adversary needed to finish you off. Logan cleared his mind and focused on the smells and the sounds of the woods all around him. He always calmed down just before a figh
t. He closed his eyes and rapidly ran through all he knew about the way Mongols fought, their individual tactics and weapons usage. When he was completed with this mental preparation, he opened his eyes, he was ready. Next to him, Mikhail rotated his neck and shook his arms slightly to loosen them. Each man’s personal ritual was their way of getting a grip on the finality of combat, and the inevitable adrenalin rush.

  The Mongol leader squeezed his mount using his knees until the horse came to a halt. Forty yards away stood the three Rus warriors. They weren’t hiding but instead, they were daring the Mongols to come and fight them. He shook his head. These Rus were brave but stupid. Each man believed he was a fortress. The Mongols enjoyed fighting these Europeans. They put up a fight, unlike the Muslim peoples in the far south who were just as likely to bribe their way out of danger than face it head-on.

  The Mongol leader’s name was Atul and he was young but like all the men in this army, he was experienced. Atul squinted his eyes and looked for the position of the sun. Then he looked at the draw again, this time ignoring the three armed men. The draw was a good defensive position and he gained respect for the men ready to defend it with their lives. It would be a short fight, Atul’s men were vicious and exceptionally skilled at killing. These Rus were dead, they just didn’t know it yet.

  Atul considered splitting his group of ten warriors and sending half around to the opposite side of the draw. This would allow them to attack the Rus warriors from front and back. After thinking about it he decided this scum didn’t justify such caution. The Rus typically armed their farmers and merchants, put them in chain mail, and sent them out to the slaughter. The way was clear, it was time to attack!

  Atul grunted to his second in command and the warrior nodded in response. He spoke few words but his men were already anticipated the attack. Five men separated from the group, the second in command taking the lead. Atul watched for a moment then turned his attention to the future. He and his men had been ranging across the countryside for too long. They must get back to the main army or miss the spoils when Kiev was sacked.

  Logan watched the Mongols split into two groups. He was happy to see their leader was underestimating the three time warriors. Dawson and Mikhail could handle the five approaching warriors all by themselves. The Mongol leader had made a critical mistake.

  “Dawson, Mikhail! Step forward and shift to your right. I’ll move left. We need to kill these guys fast and then get back into the draw. The second group won’t make the same mistake once they watch their friends die.”

  Without a word, Dawson and Mikhail shifted over and Logan did the same, taking a position just in front of the draw and slightly to the left of his shield brothers. Logan almost forgot something important. “If these little shits rein up and start using their bows get back into the protection of the draw.”

  Dawson grunted then began to taunt the Mongols. Brave men didn’t kill their enemies at a distance, that is, not when they’ve been challenged personally. The Mongols were surprised by the taunts and their faces showed it. They were also surprised that Dawson’s flow of insults was delivered in their native language and it was delivered flawlessly. The admiration ended as they absorbed the meaning of the words and their faces darkened. The second in command kicked his heels into the flanks of his horse and screamed a war cry, leaping forward and charging at the three warriors. He was quickly closing the few remaining yards between the two groups.

  Mikhail calmly watched the Mongol’s charge and waited patiently until the man was within twenty yards before drawing and then flicking a double-edged throwing knife at the Mongol’s face. He didn’t wait to see the result of his handiwork but instead stepped further to the right and threw a second knife. The Mongol’s second in command felt the first knife hit his throat with a punch and barely noticed as it exited the back of his neck. He looked at Mikhail in surprise as he slid off the small horse less than ten yards away from Mikhail, blood gurgling out between his fingers.

  The second knife struck a Mongol in the eye. With one pull he removed the blade, tossed it aside and aimed a vicious sword stroke at Mikhail. Mikhail ducked just barely avoiding decapitation. Dawson moved quickly, stepping right and burying his spear deep into the wounded Mongol’s ribs. With a vicious twist, he pulled his spear out and spun around to engage a third warrior bearing down on him fast.

  Logan stood his ground until the last possible second and then ducked left while slashing his sword across the rider’s right leg. Even the famous Mongol horsemen of the steppes would have difficulty controlling his mount with only one leg. Blood spurted in all directions as the leg dangled loosely, only a few tendons preventing the appendage from dropping to the ground.

  The fifth Mongol rider swung wide to Logan’s left before turning in to attack. Logan sheathed his sword and stepped back to where he’d thrust his spear into the ground. He needed a little distance to finish these two. Logan backed up some more until he was in the notch created by the draw’s steep walls and the brush the time warriors had piled up. The legless Mongol had regained his composure and was attempting to use the whip as a tourniquet. He was losing blood fast and it was a race to see if his fingers could move fast enough to get the tourniquet in position.

  Logan ignored the legless warrior and focused all his attention on the fifth man. The Mongol was slowing down, wary of the narrow gap and perplexed by Logan’s lack of fear. Mongols were not used to losing. These men were not acting like the Rus they’d encountered over the last few months.

  Dawson and Mikhail shifted toward Logan and that distracted the fifth Mongol just enough for Logan to seize the moment. His spear flashed through the air and hit the fifth Mongol so hard he flew off the horse and landed with a thump on the ground. Dawson didn’t see or didn’t care about the spear sticking halfway through the Mongol. He wasn’t dead until Dawson said so. With a loud bellowing war cry, Dawson jammed his spear into the man’s lower jaw and pushed until it entered the brain. The Mongol was officially dead.

  Atul watched in amusement as his men attacked the Rus, that is until he saw the first man fall. It only lasted sixty seconds but the three Rus had killed all five of his warriors without being scratched themselves. These men were not Rus. The Rus fought poorly and died like cattle. Who were these men? Mercenaries raised by the Rus to help fight the Mongols? An elite unit held back until now to fight the Mongol army?

  Atul saw the three strangers reassemble and stand in the opening to the draw. Relaxed, not even breathing heavy after the exertion of killing his men. Atul considered his options. He could lead a second attack and he might even win, but at what cost? Or he could return to the army and participate in the sack of Kiev. Atul was young but he possessed wisdom beyond his years and held a pragmatic view of the world. With a sharp command, he turned his horse around and trotted away, his four remaining men following close behind.

  Logan and his friends watched in puzzlement as the Mongols turned and rode away. “A trick, you think?” Mikhail pondered.

  “Must be a trick, Dawson chimed in. Pushing his long brown hair out of his eyes. “Mongols don’t run away.” Dawson was an imposing warrior, tall and heavily muscled with wide shoulders and a deep powerful chest. He had about thirty pounds on Logan but he was still quick with a blade and even more deadly with a thrusting spear. A seasoned time traveler, he and Logan had been shield mates for over five years.

  Logan watched and made his own assessment. “Well, I don’t care if they’re leaving or attacking with a different game plan. I say we get the hell out of here and put some distance between us and those greasy midgets!”

  Dawson grunted in agreement as he turned back toward the draw. Mikhail joined him tossing a suggestion over his shoulder at Logan. “Maybe it’s time we steal some fucking horses. This jogging shit is getting old!”

  Logan laughed as he took one last look at the Mongols disappearing in the distance. Horses would be nice he agreed, but maybe it was time to head home instead. They’d risked capture an
d near death too many times these last few days. He was all for a good time but eventually, the odds were going to catch up with them.

  “Time to go home,” Logan said.

  Dawson stopped and turned back in protest to Logan’s decision but realized his childhood friend and longtime shield mate was right. Mikhail looked back over his shoulder and saw the other two men were not following him into the draw.

  “Hey, what’s up?” He asked.

  “Logan’s had enough!” Dawson responded.

  “We’ve been here long enough, Mikhail,” Logan answered. “Let’s find a clearing and punch out of this place.”

  Mikhail was happy either way. The younger of the three, he was a former time technician befriended by Logan and Dawson after he helped them with one of their early exploits. He’d risked his job and maybe jail time but he was good and hadn’t been caught. In return for his help, Logan had promised to train him to become a time warrior. That was a few years back now. Mikhail was a proven fighter and a veteran of over twelve, time trips. While slight of build, he was deadly fast and with Logan and Dawson’s tutoring had become a top warrior in the guild.

  “Whatever you say, boss! Just happy to be along for the ride.” Mikhail started scanning the terrain for an area open enough to facilitate their departure. The trio was well aware that the Mongols would win this fight. They’d sack Kiev and the Rus would mark this year, 1240, as the beginning of a great nation, forged in defeat the Rus, proud descendants of the Vikings, would go on to create the Russian nation while the Mongols would fade into history. Mikhail knew the history because he, like the other two time warriors, had received the data download through a portal just behind his right ear.

  “How about that spot?” Dawson was pointing north. Logan and Mikhail stopped looking and evaluated Dawson’s find.

  “That’ll do,” Logan said.

  “Plenty of room to bounce out,” Mikhail added.