Xxx. Prologue. xxX

A ring of swords thrust in his direction, surrounding him completely and utterly. A trail of dead and dying knights and men at arms. Littering the ground all about him, such was his rage at losing him.

He wanted to continue fighting, he was sure there was someone in the Zhcted army who was up to the challenge of ending him. Perhaps the War Maiden was that warrior. But after the terror he had wreaked on the enemy by himself while all other retreated. Was horrifying. He had lost count of how many he had killed in his berserk rage.

He was fortunate though. He had ordered his own forces into an organised retreat when it happened. A Zhcted short spear. Gods how he now hated that weapon, a light cavalryman from the Zhcted army was looking for a bit of glory. He would commend him for that. But his wide throw had cost him something dearer to him than his own life. The spear that was meant for him, one of the main army leaders under the Prince Regnas himself. Found a target. Not the right one, but a target all the same. The bloody short spear thrown awry had impaled his younger brother in the gut.

His poor baby brother slaughtered by a rogue thrown spear. 'A spear meant for me. I should be dead not him.' Those were the thoughts that raged in his mind. He knew his men would've retrieved Tigrevurmud's body, in fact he was pretty sure before he went into a rage that a wailing Bertrand had caught him before his body truly hit the ground. He felt sorry for the old man, he had been attendant to Tigre since he was six years old. Ten years that man had served his younger brother faithfully.

Glaring at the ring of swords. He looked at the War Maiden that had his grudging respect for pulling off such a victory. The fighting had started in the hour of the wolf naught a few minutes before dawn. The sun now was high in the sky. perhaps midday at the latest. His brother had been dead possibly three hours now.

He had been fighting for the past three hours non-stop. Having ripped the heart out of the light-cavalry Zhcted soldier hadn't abated his anger, rage, war-lust and bloodlust. No, he killed and killed and killed. For every death he caused, was but one more servant for his brother in the afterlife.

The one that had his interest though. Returning his frigid gaze back to the silver haired war maiden. He would admit, she was a beauty. 'Knowing Tigre, he would be absolutely smitten with this one.' she was mounted on white steed that was impressively armoured. He had no doubt his own war horse had retreated back and was probably in Alsace, chasing any mare that would have him.

Glaring at the girl atop her white steed he glowered as she ordered him. "Surrender your sword Sir Knight."

Tightening his grip on Précieuse; a Muozinelian Scimitar that he taken from the corpse of some Muozinel General a two years ago when he was fighting under the kings banner against a Muozinel army that had marched into their lands. It wasn't his most treasured blade, nor his most treasured weapon. No, they were in his tent that was pitched near the Prince's himself. He truly hoped that his two Squires Guy and Reynold, were able to survive and find their ways back to Alsace with all his equipment.

But nevertheless, Précieuse was a prized weapon. But this was not how he would die skewered by a ring of swords. 'I want to pass surrounded by my children, grandchildren and wife.' He would swallow his pride. He was a Vorn. Vorns were; kind, noble, humble, caring, benevolent, frugal. 'I need to live, so that Tigre's memory will live on and so that my house does not die.'

Relaxing his stance, he stabbed his sword into the ground. But he made dam sure to show this Zhcted dog, that he may be bloodied and bruised, but his spirit, his mettle. Was strong and roared like a bon-fire during the mid-winter festivals.

One of the knights tried reaching for his sword. So, he could present it to his leader the War Maiden. Before the man could even touch the hilt of the sword. The knight who was surround spoke. "I wish to know the name of the War Maiden I surrender to."

"Eleonora Viltaria. Yours? Sir Knight." He scowled as the stray thought of her voice sounding like the wind and being able to clear the stench of the blood, shit and piss away. Her eyes were a mysterious crimson hue now that he looked properly a few shades lighter than his own plum red hair.

"Earl Astolfo Vorn. I surrender to you, Lady Eleonora Viltaria." He then noted that the Zhcted knight resumed his movements to retrieve his sword. "I don't know how it is done in Zhcted, but when a distinguished noble surrenders it is the duty of the victorious commander to retrieve the sword not an errand boy. Would you sully my honour further after this defeat?" He questioned as he looked at the War Maiden who had only spoken her name since he had encountered her.

Sheathing her own blade, the War Maiden smiled easily as she halted her mount next to Astolfo and his scimitar Précieuse. Reaching down she picked up his blade. "I wouldn't dream of it."

She then made her horse walk backwards showing her skill as a rider off a little before gazing fondly at Astolfo; his plum red hair pulled back in a braid. Piercing blue eyes that reminded her of a predator. Muscular androgynous build. Admittedly when she first glimpsed this white knight cutting down her own knights like harvest wheat, she believed for a short moment that he was truly a female. But upon further investigation and hearing various reports, one being from a soldier of hers now missing an arm. Stated that the white knight was a highly skilled man that had been wreaking havoc for their army for the past three hours. In that time, he had killed more men than the entirety of the Brunish Army combined.

Admittedly she was upset that she had lost near five hundred men in total with nearly three hundred of them being inflicted by Astolfo himself. But his skill alone and the fact she had been able to capture this dragon of a man alive was reward enough. Now all she had to do, was entice him into joining Zhcted.

Now that she thought about it, compared to many knights he was rather lightly armoured and to an untrained eye his armour looked shabby and of low-quality. That wasn't the case at all. Dare she say that his armour was possibly made by a royal armourer or by someone with equal skill. His armour alone was beautiful, probably worth more than four sets of her knights own armour.

Smiling at the man softly. She couldn't begin to understand the shame of being captured or the toll of this battle in general. "You belong to me now."

! #$%^&*()