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  War

  ISBN # 978-0-85715-847-5

  ©Copyright T.A. Chase 2011

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright December 2011

  Edited by Laura Hulley

  Total-E-Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2011 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-sizzling and a sexometer of 1.

  This story contains 144 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 6 pages.

  The Four Horsemen

  WAR

  T.A. Chase

  Fighting the battle in his own heart, War must find peace before he can find love.

  War destroyed an entire tribe of innocent people when he was human, all because his best friend lied to him. His guilt brings him a destiny he never planned. As the Red Horseman, War spends the centuries creating battles and wars between countries to restore balance in the world. While he accepts the job to atone for his sins, he wishes he didn’t cause men to kill each other. War lives a solitary life, without hope of ever finding forgiveness.

  From the mountains of Afghanistan to the plains of Kansas, and to the steppes of Mongolia, Russell Heinz searches for peace. He’s battling survivor’s guilt after having two members of his army unit die within feet of him. His own mind shuts down, and Russell spends time in a mental ward, dreaming of a man with blood-red hair and all-black eyes. Unsure if the man is real or just a figment of his wounded mind, Russell heads to Mongolia, looking for forgiveness of his own.

  Separately, Russell and War fight their own personal demons. Together, they find peace in a love tested by the fires of battle.

  Dedication

  Thanks to all my readers for supporting me, and encouraging me to keep writing.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Land Rover: Tata Motors

  The Godfather: Paramount Movies

  Prologue

  Standing on the precipice, Baqir stared out of the battlefield with dawning horror. He’d caused all the bloodshed and carnage. An entire tribe had been wiped out because of his arrogance and trust in one man whom he never should have believed.

  “Come to view your handiwork, my chief?”

  He winced as Asad slapped him on the shoulder. All his anger welled up in him and he clenched his hands into fists to keep from grabbing his sword to kill the man who’d been his best friend as well as his trusted advisor.

  “What sort of handiwork is this, Asad?” Baqir waved a hand in the direction of the slaughter. “Why should I be proud of this?”

  “You’ve expanded our territory and taught those bastards not to mess with us.”

  Baqir heard satisfaction in Asad’s voice, causing him to grit his teeth. He’d learnt the truth as he’d held his blade to the throat of the other tribe’s chief. Asad had betrayed him and the knowledge tore him apart inside. He took a deep breath and turned to face the man who’d been his best friend and closest companion since he was born.

  Asad must have sensed something was wrong by the look on Baqir’s face. “What’s wrong, Chief? You should be celebrating your victory. We are stronger now because our enemy is vanquished.”

  “Don’t you mean your enemy?” He folded his arms over his chest and glared at Asad.

  Panic flared in Asad’s eyes for an instant before he schooled his face into a surprised expression.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Asad shifted on his feet.

  “It appears you had a vendetta against the chief of our neighbouring tribe for some imagined slight. You used me to get revenge on them.” Baqir took a step towards Asad. “How could you?”

  Asad shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeated. “Who told you this was just revenge?”

  “I had it from the lips of the chief himself as I held my blade to his throat and took his life.”

  “You’d believe a man about to die—who would say anything to keep you from killing him—over me, a man you’ve known your entire life?” Asad sounded incredulous. “I’m hurt and amazed you’d do that.”

  “Stop it.”

  Baqir struck, wrapping his hand around Asad’s throat and pressing his fingers into his former friend’s neck. Asad struggled, but there was a reason why Baqir was chief and not Asad. Baqir was the strongest and biggest of the warriors, plus he was usually the most level-headed of them. Yet Asad had known all the right buttons to push to get Baqir to declare war on the tribe closest to their territory.

  War had been declared and all the people massacred, except for one young boy. He’d been the only one Baqir’d been able to save once he’d learnt the truth. The boy huddled in the corner of Baqir’s tent, and Baqir could see the fear and rage burning in the boy’s gaze. All of his council would advise him to kill the child or risk being murdered in his sleep. Well, he was willing to take the chance because he’d deserve whatever the boy did to him.

  With a snarl, he shook Asad as the man’s face turned red and he struggled to breath.

  “You did this. You caused me to destroy an entire tribe simply because your pride was injured. None of their women wanted you, so you decided if you couldn’t have them, no one would. Or did you think the council would question my orders and remove me as chief? Do you want to be ruler of the tribe so badly? Why didn’t you challenge me? Were you afraid I’d defeat you, so you did the dishonourable thing by betraying my trust?” He thrust Asad from him, and he stumbled to his knees.

  Asad spat at his feet. “You didn’t have to listen. You were as eager as I was to spill their blood. It didn’t take much urging on my part to get you to declare war on them, Baqir. What does it matter how it happened? They are gone now and you are stronger for it.”

  “What does it matter?” Baqir drew his sword and placed the tip of it to Asad’s throat. “Because I know what else you planned to do. You planned on killing me in the heat of battle and taking my place as chief. You knew you’d never best me in a one-on-one challenge, so you’d stab me in the back to become what you were never meant to be.”

  “Yes.”

  Something broke inside Baqir’s heart and the guilt of all he’d done crushed him at Asad’s confession.

  “You never should have been chief. It was my position by birthright. My father was chief. Yours was just a lowly warrior. You have no right to claim what is rightfully mine.” Jealousy burned in his former best friend’s eyes. “I did all of this merely for a chance to kill you during battle, but it’s like the gods protect you. Now you’ll kill me as well, adding my body to the piles of others at the bottom of the
cliff. Do it. Thrust your blade deep in my chest, but you’ll always see my face before you like this, and you’ll be haunted by all those you killed, because of a lie.”

  Baqir didn’t need to hear any more. With a quick thrust and twist, he sliced Asad’s throat open, and watched as the man who’d once meant more to him than his own family crumbled to the ground, blood pouring from the wound.

  The rest of the council came running to him, exclaiming in shock. Baqir didn’t have to explain his actions. Being chief meant he had the power of life or death over all of them. Yet they all knew something drastic must have happened, because Baqir wasn’t the kind of man to kill without cause.

  “Asad lied to take us to war with the Behinti. I had his confession and performed his execution. Dump his body over the edge of the cliff. He deserves no honour, but make sure his wives and children are taken care of. They aren’t to blame for his betrayal.”

  He walked away, unable to watch the disposal of Asad’s body. No funeral pyre meant Asad’s soul would wander the earth for eternity. As far as Baqir was concerned, it was a fitting end to a traitor and a liar.

  Later that night, after all the wounded had been treated and the dead burned, Baqir retired to his tent, heart heavy for the enormous loss suffered not only by his tribe, but by the Behinti as well. He’d been relieved to discover that more than one boy had survived the massacre. Several boys and women had hidden while the battle raged. Baqir sent them on their way, away from his village. He could offer them nothing except a little food.

  He undressed and crawled into his bed, covered only to the waist with a light blanket. Pillowing his head on his arms, he stared up at the ceiling of his tent. It wasn’t like he hadn’t fought in battles before or gone to war with other tribes. It certainly wasn’t like he’d never killed another person before either, but to do it because of lies and deceit was something he’d never thought he’d do. Almost an entire tribe, plus his best friend, had fallen to his sword and ignorance.

  So many clues had told him Asad was jealous, yet he’d chosen to ignore them because Asad was his friend. How could he have suspected the lengths Asad would go to in an effort to kill him? Guilt washed over him. He had fallen for all of it and deserved anything fate decided to deliver to him.

  He didn’t know at what time he had fallen asleep, but it was pitch black the next time he opened his eyes. Lying on his side, he closed his eyes again and listened, trying to figure out where the noise that had woken him up was coming from. A rustle of a foot over the rug alerted him to the presence of someone else in the room.

  Revenge would come that night. Good. He didn’t want to live with the guilt of knowing how many lives he’d destroyed because of the jealousy of one man. Baqir wouldn’t stop whoever came to plunge the knife in, though he could if he wanted to. No one had ever got the better of him in battle or one on one combat.

  The first blow of the knife drew a gasp from him and he rolled to face his attacker, even though he didn’t plan on defending himself. As the knife came down to bury itself in his chest, he met the rage-filled eyes of the young boy he’d let go earlier in the day.

  Yes, this was the one he’d thought would come after him. The chief’s youngest son had been too young to head into battle like his brothers, so he’d watched them cut down by the fury of Baqir’s men. Extracting revenge against the man he knew to be responsible was the warrior’s way.

  Baqir held his arms open, neither blocking nor rolling away from the killing strikes. After the third thrust, when he realised Baqir wasn’t fighting back, the boy pulled away, and in the low firelight, Baqir saw surprise and confusion shining in the boy’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Baqir admitted, as his blood dripped through the blankets and onto the sand under him.

  “Doesn’t matter,” the boy said, his hand trembling while it held the knife. “You killed my family. Murdered my tribe for no reason except ambition and pride.”

  “I know. Nothing will bring them back and I won’t ask forgiveness for what I did. There’s nothing to take away my guilt, but maybe my death will help you find a way to move on from this.”

  “I’ll never forget.”

  “I know. Now you better get out of here. You don’t want them to find you here when my body is discovered.” His voice lowered as he slowly began to lose strength.

  “Why didn’t you fight back?” The boy eased away towards the back of the tent.

  Baqir blinked and it was like he needed to focus all his attention on lifting his eyelids again. “You have every right to hate me. My guilt weighs heavy on my shoulders.”

  “You let me kill you.” The realisation shone in the boy’s eyes.

  Nodding, Baqir lifted his hand and pointed to the tent. “You need to leave or they will catch you and kill you as well. It’s not worth it.”

  His cough sounded wet and thick. The kid must have punctured a lung, considering how difficult it had become to breathe. His chest constricted and his heartbeat slowed as more of his blood fell to the ground.

  When he managed to clear his mind enough to think, Baqir noticed the boy was gone. The knife rested not far from where he lay dying. He listened intently, but didn’t hear anyone calling an alarm. Good. Hopefully, the kid had made it out of the camp without being discovered.

  He knew no one would find him until the morning. When he’d gone to bed, he’d told his guards not to bother him until first light, so unless he cried out, no one would enter his tent. Baqir wasn’t going to cry for help. He wanted it to be over. In some ways, fighting and death were all he knew, but it got tiring to always battle for every inch of ground and respect he gained.

  Baqir shivered as he grew colder from blood loss. He gritted his teeth to keep from shouting out. If he waited long enough, nothing would be able to save him.

  Blackness dotted his vision and he let his eyes close. He drifted along until he slipped under and lost consciousness.

  “Open your eyes.”

  Baqir frowned and forced his eyes open. Blinking, he stared up into the face of a pale-haired man. Something about the man’s eyes bothered him. He studied the stranger until he realised the man’s eyes were pure black, with no white or pupils.

  “Who are you? Where are we?”

  After sitting up, Baqir glanced around, trying to place the barren landscape. It didn’t look anything like the desert he’d grown up in and ruled until his death.

  “Wait a minute. Didn’t I die? Did someone save me?”

  “Get up.”

  Stiffening, Baqir glared at him. “Who are you to tell me what to do?”

  “I’m Death and you are War.”

  “War? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “There are four of us and we keep the balance between good and evil. If the world becomes unbalanced, we must step in to even it out. I am Death. I’m the last defence against the end of the world. Pestilence is the first line, with you and Famine coming along after him. We can only hope mortals listen before I arrive.”

  The stranger grabbed Baqir’s arm and yanked him to his feet. Baqir stumbled, but managed to right himself before he landed on his face. He touched his hand to his chest and pulled it back. No sign of blood anywhere.

  “Was it just a dream?”

  Death shook his head. “No. A boy whose tribe you massacred really murdered you in your tent. I need you to come with me.”

  The pale-haired man gestured to where a red stallion stood, pawing the ground. “He is yours. Come with me and I will show you what you need to do.”

  “I’m not going with you.” Baqir dug his heels in and shook his head.

  “You don’t have a choice. Not any more. You made it when you allowed the kid to plunge his knife into your chest without fighting back. The moment you chose to sacrifice yourself because of your guilt, your path as War was destined. You caused a war that destroyed almost an entire tribe, so your penitence is to create more bloodshed in the hope some mortal will gain the wisdom to end the fighting
.”

  “I still do not wish to go with you. I understood his need for revenge. I destroyed his tribe because a person I thought I knew betrayed me.” Baqir shrugged. “I probably would have done the same if it was my tribe massacred.”

  “Hmmm.” Death didn’t look concerned either way.

  Baqir growled as Death grabbed his arm and dragged him over to the stallion. He struggled, but the man’s grip tightened enough that he almost cut off Baqir’s circulation. His mount turned his head to look at him and Baqir gasped.

  As if the blood-red colour of the horse’s coat wasn’t clue enough, the blood-red eyes told him the creature wasn’t a normal horse. Reaching out, Baqir rested his hand on the stallion’s shoulder. An electric shock raced through him and the horse snorted as though he felt it as well.

  “Get on. We have things to do and I don’t have much time to get you up to speed.” Death tossed him a sheath with the hilt of a dagger sticking out of it. “This is your tool from now on.”

  Dazed, Baqir climbed aboard the horse and settled into the saddle. The moment his butt hit the leather, Death nudged his pale horse and they leapt into action. He gasped as he saw the cliff they were racing towards without any hint of stopping.

  “What the hell…?” he shouted as the horses jumped off the edge.

  A clap of thunder and a flash of lightning blinded Baqir, and all went black around him.

  Centuries had gone by and Baqir had slowly forgotten most of the life he led before he’d died. Oh, he remembered what he’d done to deserve the hell he lived in now, but he didn’t remember faces or names. He went by the title War, since he was the Red Horseman. So many wars and battles. So many mortals dead because of greed or revenge.