Prologue-1
1398 Words
PROLOGUE
The sands of the Venada desert stretched out to the horizon, endless.
For tens of miles, nothing but dunes could be seen. Nothing could be heard. Other than a faded stone road that led on for miles towards nowhere, all that remained were the hills of sand, the sun’s unending glare and the occasional scorpion scuttling along minding its own business. A bird of prey flew high above, looking down on the world below.
All was calm.
All was still.
And then, as if revealed from the fanged mouth of hell, chaos spread.
“For the Clan of the Great Lupine!”
“Look out! Incoming!”
“Help! Apothecary! Apothecary!”
“I’ll kill you all! I’ll slaughter you!”
Dozens of soldiers tumbled down the side of a sand dune, knocked away by the combat raging around them. Ictharr steeds, wolves, hounds and felines rolled to the bottom while yelling out, weapons flying from their paws.
Arthur Sedrid, helmet flying off, grunted as he arrived at the bottom of the slope in a heap.
Dazed, he pushed himself up on to all fours. He had rolled down into a depression between two dunes, coming to rest at the base of the first and left metres away from the base of the second. Sand clung to his fur and slipped through into his armour, making the Krosguard suit far from comfortable.
But, as he stood, he knew that was the least of his worries.
Soldiers screamed from all around him. Allied and enemy ranks blurred into one mess, losing all semblance of cohesion and unity. Opulusian legionnaires tackled felines with short swords and daggers, struggling against them and kicking sand into the air. Royal Order knights bellowed orders in New Opulusian to their soldiers, trying to rebuild their formation. Wolves wielded their swords and shields, turning on the enemy and swinging at them with snarls and growls. Others took their chances with their maws, flinging themselves at the enemies and sinking their fangs into their throats.
He looked around, drawing his sword.
His ictharr was nowhere to be seen.
“Reginald? Reginald!”
A battle cry sounded from behind and, before he could turn, someone tackled him to the ground. His sword fell from his gauntleted paw and landed in the sand, out of his reach.
A paw wrapped in leather straps grabbed his shoulder and wrenched him on to his back. Arthur saw a hooded Silverclaw soldier straddling him, one paw holding him down while the other yanked a curved dagger from his belt and raised the blade. With a cry of Sikkharan he stabbed the blade down at Arthur, thrusting it at his throat. His paw flew up and caught the attacker’s wrist, resisting with all his power.
“Reginald! Reginald, help!”
There was no sign of him.
The soldier applied greater pressure, forcing the dagger down as hard as he could. Arthur struggled, growling and snarling, before he overpowered the soldier. He pushed his arm away and punched him across the face, his metal paw sending the soldier stumbling to one side. Arthur scrambled to his hind paws and scooped up his longsword, turning around as the soldier charged him again shouting in Sikkharan.
He lunged, stabbing forwards. Arthur darted to the right and, with one swift move, slashed downwards. The blade tore through the metal cuirass and the dark desert clothing beneath, drawing blood. The soldier yelped and fell on to his side, hurrying back to his hind paws, but Arthur stopped him rising. He thrust his sword down into the soldier’s side, penetrating the cuirass and summoning a wail of pain. He pulled his sword out and turned, blood staining the blade.
Two Silverclaw soldiers rushed forwards, both wielding steel Kabar sabres. Arthur twirled his sword on either side of him, taking up face-on stance.
“Come on, then! Kill me!”
One stepped forward, Kabar sabre swinging back, but came no closer.
A streak of grey shot out in front of Arthur and, with a snarl, tackled the soldier. He stood no chance against the ictharr, who sank his fangs into the screaming Silverclaw warrior and shook his head wildly. The second soldier staggered back in shock, cursing in Sikkharan as she watched the beast tear her comrade’s neck apart.
Arthur seized the moment. He charged forwards and swung with his sword, cutting downwards as he moved. The soldier came to her senses and evaded the swing, slashing through the air with her nimble sabre. Arthur deflected the attack, stepping back. Lunging, the soldier swung for his throat. Arthur darted right and swung at her stomach as she attacked, the broadside of his blade striking the cuirass with a clang. The force brought the enemy to a stop, knocking her to his knees.
Arthur raised his sword and swung at the Silverclaw warrior’s side, cutting into her ribs. She gurgled, going taut with pain, before the wolf kicked her off the blade and left her corpse bleeding in the sand.
Arthur turned.
“Reginald, Reginald! Are you OK?”
His steed turned away from the bloodied corpse of the soldier, crimson droplets falling from the darkened fur around his maw. He growled in the affirmative, ignoring the peripheral s***h across his right flank, and rallied to his master.
“I can always rely on you.”
“Come on then! I’m right here!”
Both his and Reginald’s ears stood in response to the familiar voice. He turned to see a hulking white-fronted brown wolf fending off a trio of Silverclaw soldiers, blood dribbling from the stump of his left ear. His dented helmet and two Opulusian legionnaires lay dead at his hind paws, slain by feline blades. One attacked and the lupine warrior knocked away the swing with his shield, kicking his adversary into the sand with a growl.
“That’s the best you got?”
Arthur sprinted towards his comrade, Reginald bounding beside him. He barged past the warring canines, lupines and felines, focused on the brown wolf. Slashing with his sword as he went, his blade cut through the side of a soldier’s neck. The soldier gargled and choked, dropping his sabre and clutching his bleeding throat as he slumped to the ground. A fellow soldier turned to avenge his dying comrade but met the sharp fangs of Reginald, wailing in pain as he was torn to shreds.
The brown wolf dispatched the third, stabbing her in the stomach and knocking her down with his shield.
He looked at Arthur, panting with tongue hanging from his maw.
“Thanks, Arthur… I thought I was a goner.”
“Your ear, Duncan.”
Either delirious from the pain or the adrenaline, the wounded Duncan just scoffed.
“At least it’s not my head.”
Arthur looked around for an apothecary, scanning the dunes above and the chaos below him, but saw no available wolves to aid his friend.
“I’ll get you help.”
“I’m okay Arthur.”
“Apothecary! Apothe‒”
A mighty howl sounded from above, one that he recognised immediately. It cut through the battle like a blade through flesh, drowning out the deafening sounds of war all around him. He cast his gaze up to the dune.
On its peak stood Winter Baron Elias Sedrid, mounted on his trusted ictharr. Krosguard armour clung to his body, the resilient plating and extra chainmail layer beneath the suit providing excellent protection against blade and arrow. He slashed away at three Silverclaw soldiers, sending their corpses rolling down the slope into the depression. The winged Winter Baron helmet sat upon his head, a combat version that came with a protective metal mask covering the snout and face. He thrust the banner of the Clan of the Great Lupine into the air in triumph.
“Victory shall be ours! Fight on! Fight on!”
This rallying cry summoned strength to the wolves and hounds battling the enemy, driving them to victory in the brutal conflict. Arthur looked around him and saw the Silverclaw soldiers beginning to retreat up the opposite dune, leaving behind their dead comrades.
And then he saw him.
Among the retreating ranks scrambling up the dune, one feline was aiming a crossbow. He knelt and brought the weapon up to his shoulder, closing one eye and pressing a gloved digit of his paw against the trigger.
Too far away to intervene, Arthur could only warn his father.
“Dad, look out!”
The Winter Baron heard the despairing cry of his son and -immediately - found him among the chaos. He saw his son standing there, blood dripping from his sword and spattered over his armour.
He noticed the crossbow aiming at him too late.
Arthur Sedrid’s soul was cleaved in two as the crossbow bolt whizzed up the slope and struck his father in the right eye.
Elias Sedrid slumped down from the saddle and fell, disappearing in silence.
- Writer
