Mark of Chaos Read Online Free Page B

actions. Most more than once. Not a one of them has any doubt of him. You'd best learn to respect your betters quick smart, soldier, or else you will find life very difficult here. Very difficult indeed.'
    Albrecht puffed angrily on his pipe, staring out at the night. 'Sorry sir. I didn't mean nothing by it.' said the young soldier, avoiding the glares he was getting from around the dice table. Albrecht grunted.
    What he had said was true. Stefan, through his actions and strategic decisions on the field of battle had saved his men from certain death time and time again. Certainly, last night in Deep Pass they would all have been massacred if not for the bold strike that the captain had ordered.
    Albrecht remembered back to the first time he had met the captain. He had been dubious of the man at first. Stefan von Kessel had been young then, and no captain. No, he had been a frightened young man in Albrecht's regiment, and his horribly scarred face made him stick out amongst the other fresh-faced recruits. He was quiet and reserved, and far too sensitive for the life of a soldier. Albrecht had ruthlessly hounded him, trying to find if there was hardness at his core. Either he would quit, or he would find the strength within him to become a successful soldier.
    The scars on von Kessel's face were a terrible weight on him then, and Albrecht knew that they were still; although those feelings were hidden deep within the impenetrable barriers that the captain had built over the years. Three lines crossed von Kessel's face, linked by a curving line that arced from above his left eyebrow across his forehead, passing by his right eye and over his right cheekbone, and finishing on his jaw line. These lines were each half an inch thick, and pale on his suntanned face. It was a quarter of a wheel that, had it continued, would have had eight lines bisecting it. It was an evil mark, a mark of bad omen.
    For this reason, the young von Kessel had been ostracized by his peers, and shunned as a bringer of misfortune. None of them, bar Albrecht himself, knew of his cursed heritage. Albrecht hounded von Kessel relentlessly, and finally the day came when the young man had stood up to the sergeant, punching him squarely in the jaw. Albrecht had of course struck back, knocking the young man unconscious. Nevertheless, from that day forth, nobody gave the young man any more grief, and he slowly came out of himself, becoming a comrade in arms with the other soldiers. Although he would always have difficulty expressing himself, and would have no close friends, von Kessel became someone that the other soldiers trusted implicitly, and someone who they came to respect greatly.
    Gradually he had progressed through the ranks until he had, somewhat reluctantly, become captain. Albrecht was not upset to see von Kessel overtake him, for he recognised the brilliance within the younger man, if only he would accept it. No, he was proud to serve the captain, and he loved him like a brother.
    Stefan had said that he owed Gruber for protecting him as a babe. Some protection, thought Albrecht. The fat bastard had been present when the white-hot branding wheel had been pressed to the babe's face. Stefan had been so young and small that only a quarter of the white-hot brand had marked his face. To be raised with such a mark of shame upon his face was no way to grow up. True, Gruber could have had the babe drowned if he had wished it, all because of Stefan's grandfather's treachery, but no one who burned the face of an innocent babe should be seen as a saviour in Albrecht's book.
    He snorted, and took another long pull on his pipe.
    'There ain't no taint in him', Stefan had heard the sergeant say as he had walked away. He prayed that the sergeant was right.
    Hroth slammed his axe into the back of another of the fleeing villagers, and the man fell with a tortured scream. The piteous noise was cut short as he slammed his foot down onto the pathetic Empire man's neck. The