Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Boot Print in Time

Commanding one of Cortez' legions,  Captain Cisaro Longario never dreamed he would experience other worlds ... in the future.

A Novella by Kevin Schmitt

 “Maldicion,” the horseman groaned as his right boot cleared the hind quarters of his battle weary mount.

 Pulled muscles were rare in the nether regions of a cavalryman, but this particular warrior had been reaching too far with his sword. Primarily because the enemy heads were too close to the ground. The young man yanked off his helmet, which along with his stained riding boots were the only belongings that identified him as a Conquistador, albeit a torn and battered one.

 His clothing was made up of dense quilted cotton, courtesy of the people he had been fighting. The material was called lchcahuipilli, and while it was inferior to steel plate armor, it could turn away most obsidian swords or atlatl darts. It was lighter and cooler than chain maille and didn’t rub against the flesh. It also didn’t rust, not that the young nobleman would have to concern himself with that little problem. A gentleman need only keep his beard trimmed and his cock out of reach of any pox infested whores, and as of late, that had been fairly easy to do.

The gore covered Spaniard took a swig f cheap wine from a goat skin then wordlessly nodded to the servant who was never out of calling distance, regardless of the circumstances.
 “Jefa---I am wondering---do you think there are cities in hell?” queried the servant as he slung the goat bag over his chest and shoulder.

 Captain Cisaro Longoria gazed up at the red haze that haloed the nearest wall of the Aztec metropolis. It came from a thousand fires that would illuminate the city until dawn.

 “Oh yes. But that need not concern you my old friend. The Devil would never allow you in. Your farts would be worse than any brimstone smell. Not to mention the rest of you.”

 Old Pedro Gonzales smiled at the joke; anything to divert his attention from the sounds of women shrieking in the distance. Gonzales had long served Cisaro’s father, and in those days he had learned that a city is not simply taken, it is raped, looted and brought down to its lowest possible level of humanity. The Spaniards were taking little joy in that. Their leader, Hernan Cortes had spent the last year recruiting native warriors from the outer regions, and those men were teaching the Spaniards the real meaning of total warfare.

Continue with the following word document:

1 comment: