Aryen I

Atop his destrier, Aryen Diamond cantered through the Blackstone Legion's camp, his injuries still weighing heavily on him even a full day after taking Fort Sigrun and putting down his former comrade in arms, Godric Ambrose. He had a feeling that even if his shoulder were to fully recover from where Godric has stabbed him, the fact that he had been forced to kill a man he had so long seen as a friend would weigh on him until the day he died.

Approaching the makeshift prison his men had set up, he felt the cold stares of the nearly two thousand Union prisoners upon him. Aryen had a feeling there would be survivors on the side of the Union, and knowing that the Blackstone Legion was currently at war with the heathens of the Dawn Empire, Aryen had a feeling Apollyon would need all the Fresh soldiers he could muster. He knew how Apollyon worked, and knew her reputation for recruiting from her enemies. She would lead her forces to crush their enemies, leaving only a small fraction still alive. Then, she would begin recruiting. Those who surrendered without a fight were executed immediately. It was only a sheep that waited for its own slaughter. However, those who stood up to the Legion, who stood up to her, and especially those who fought back, they were something else. Aryen looked down at the ruined remains of his wolf crested great helm that now hung from his horse's saddle. Those who fought back were not willing to simply wait for the headsman to come to them. No, a wolf bites back at any who try to collar it.

As Aryen dismounted to walk among the captured soldiers, some locks of his blond hair fell before his face, the knight brushing them aside with his good arm before looking back up at the prisoners. Many of the vikings looked at him as though he were death himself, come to claim them, while the knights, they looked back in defiance, likely already knowing their fate as many were likely recruited in a similar fashion. What little remained of the Union's samurai allies, those he could find, were silently training their eyes on the ground. They were likely still mourning the death of their leader, the kensei Yuki, that heathen Godric had deigned to take to bed with him. Aryen scoffed at the idea, hoping Godric would be forgiven for that sin. However many samurai kept their eyes on the ground, any others he could see were observing another, a woman bound to a post. The woman was haggard, her black hair a mess, cuts and bruises lining what was likely once a beautiful face, though he knew not if they were given to her during the battle or as a prisoner. She still wore much of her armour, lightweight leather with wooden plates, as well as a coat from her shoulders to her knees, the coat coloured red and white. The question of whether her wounds were sustained in battle or as a prisoner were soon answered, as fragments of a wooden mask lay next to her bound feet. "Your people look to you in their time of need," Aryen commented, gaining the woman's attention. Almond shaped eyes looked up at him, a set of deep brown orbs meeting his blue ones as the Blackstone warden took her chin between his fingers and examined her face closely. "Do they see you as their new pack master, or do they fear you will be executed first?"

The woman said nothing at first merely pulling her face away from his grasp with a jerk, and looking down to her shattered mask. She muttered something in Japanese that Aryen just managed to hear over the noise of the camp.

"You'll have to forgive me," The warden said, brushing his hand off on his bloodstained standards. "I don't speak your language." Aryen turned away from the prisoner camp, though his question was answered. That woman was a wounded dog, but for the moment, she was all the samurai had to look to. It was a shame she might not survive. There is little use for a wounded dog in the wolfpack.

Turning to the rest of the prisoners, Aryen wondered to himself "Just how many wolves wait in the ranks of these wounded dogs." He knew it was only a matter of time before he found out and began the gruesome process of executing the remaining Union members. It was almost tragic, really, but it needed to be done. The Legion needed every man it could get in these times of war. Apollyon had only given him the force she did because the Union was proving such a hassle to Blackstone's forces. Had they been less of a thorn in his master's side, perhaps they might have been spared, but instead they had chosen to make themselves known to her. The Union needed to be put down, and much to Aryen's surprise, it was a hard fought battle. Nearly half of his once ten thousand strong army remained. While he was sure he could press some of Ashfeld and Valkenheim's citizenry into service, those would merely be cannon fodder. Any soldier he could recruit from a group that had caused him such trouble, they would be useful to his cause. The others, it was unfortunate, but they would have to die. They would be too much trouble set free, and he couldn't afford to feed prisoners in such number all the way back to Apollyon's fortress.

Slowly, and with a difficulty he refused to show signs of, Aryen hauled himself back onto his horse, his wound from his fight with Godric weighing down on him more than his entire suit of armour. He and Godric had fought together for quite some time, it still felt strange knowing that the lawbringer was now dead, and by his hand no less. It hurt him, but he knew it had to be done. The people of Ashfeld had been through so much, surviving in the blasted landscape that was their homeland. Ashfeld's citizens constantly worried about slipping into one of the many volcanic crevices that lined the country, worried that one day, an eruption would occur, wiping them out like the hand of the almighty God above. When the viking heathens would come and raid their lands, those fears of the end times only grew stronger. Even as legions of knights battled valiantly to drive back the heathen attacks, there were still many of the faithful in Ashfeld who wondered if the end was nigh. Aryen himself had once nearly succumbed to this fear when he arrived home in his village and found his father and younger brother murdered in a viking raid. He had held his gravely wounded mother in his arms as she stammered a tale of vikings descending on the village like a horde of locusts, burning and slaughtering any who didn't flee. His father had been cut down in battle as he fought, the warden dying to the sword of a warlord driven through his stomach. Left to bleed out, he could do nothing as he watched his younger son Aedan take a thrown axe to the back and fall dead to the ground. Aryen could only guess that when his father bled out, it had been a mercy.

It was the Blackstone Legion that turned that opinion around. When the Legion drove the vikings out of Ashfeld, Aryen and Godric were at the front of the army, fighting side by side as they pushed back the horde of northmen. At first it was simple, driving the barbarians out of Ashfeld's lands and back to where they came from. But Apollyon's vision did not end there. No, after the vikings were driven from their kingdom, she pushed further, driving a sword deep into the heart of Valkenheim. Initially, Godric and Aryen had been happy to go along with Apollyon on this mission. The two of them had fought in the once great Oaken Legion, one of the northern most Legions in Ashfeld, and thus, one of the kingdom's first lines of defense. Of course, they had been happy to join Blackstone when the offer was made to them. It was a chance at not only joining something greater than themselves, but also, for Aryen, a chance to avenge what he had lost. Leaving the Oaken Legion, the two were surprised at just how many of their fellow knights had followed them. Of course, it was not a shock when Arthur and Layla, Godric's second and his childhood friend followed him, but when the entire battalion that served under the lawbringer followed him to the Blackstone Legion, that was a surprise even to him. With so many soldiers behind them and a mighty warlord ahead, the Blackstone Legion marched into Valkenheim.

Snow had already begun falling, but with the leadership of Holden Cross and Apollyon, the Legion broke the Viking lines of defense and crashed down on their food stores like a tidal wave. Within a day their grain was burned, leaving only scraps behind. Apollyon knew that with the vikings' savage nature, the barbarians would be too busy killing one another to raid. And she was right. In the next five years, Ashfeld saw nearly no raids, with only the occasional warband even crossing the border into Ashfeld. However, over those years, the Blackstone Legion had slowly begun to lose its outposts in Valkenheim. They eventually dwindled to the point where a single viking warlord was able to liberate the vikings' last stronghold and drive the Blackstones out of their lands. Apollyon had already made plans to lead the vikings away from Ashfeld, baiting them into raiding the samurai, but that didn't stop the Legion from wondering just who had been raiding their outposts. Survivors had reported being attacked in the middle of the night, seeing soldiers in purple and black garb slaughtering their comrades before they called for a retreat. But purple and black weren't the colours of any known viking clans, and the vikings still looked at the Blackstones like a dog looked at the man who kicked it. It didn't take long before the Warborn Union was discovered, a group of Blackstone survivors escaping a raided fort to report that they had been attacked by a union of knights and vikings led by a warlord and a lawbringer, a lawbringer matching the description of Godric Ambrose whose battalion had supposedly been killed by viking raids in their retreat from Valkenheim.

Upon hearing this news, Aryen had immediately summoned his lieutenant, a lawbringer by the name of Sir Richard, and both had gathered their armies, assembling a massive force of ten thousand men. Their enthusiasm had gained them the attention of Apollyon herself who had given them praise for their attitude. "Wolves do not underestimate their prey, Sir Diamond." The Blackstone warlord had declared. "Deal with this Union quickly and return to deal with the samurai. If everything goes as planned, they will be at our gates in a month's time."

Aryen and Richard had crossed the border into Valkenheim with their combined army just as the Samurai were first appearing in Ashfeld. Hearing news of the invasion, Aryen had pressed the army into a forced march to Fort Sigrun, their finest peacekeeper, a woman by the name of Soleil tracking the purple and black garbed Union soldiers to the ancient fortress within a matter of days. The cover of darkness hid the Union when they attacked, but moving an entire army undetected was nigh impossible. Once their location was known, it had only been a matter of days until Aryen had marched the army right to their door. The rest, as they said, was history, and the warden felt no glory after this battle. His once best friend was now dead by his hand, having made his final stand in battle.

Looking down at the gladius held at his hip, Aryen drew the blade. Though it had been cleaned immediately after the battle, this was still the blade that had spilled his friend's blood. It seemed no matter how many times he cleaned the blade, he could still see spots of his friend's blood on the otherwise immaculate sword. With a heavy sigh, Aryen sheathed the gladius at his hip. Taking a deep breath, Aryen resigned himself to reality. Godric was dead, and there was nothing he could do to change that. All he could do was return to leading his army, ensuring the survival of his pack in the war. There was still a ways to go in the march back to Ashfeld, and the war was likely still raging even as his army made camp.

"Aryen."

The warden was shaken from his thoughts at the sound of his name. Looking down from his horse, Aryen was met with the aged face of Richard, the older man standing in his full armour, helmet clutched under his arm. The man looked like he had been through war, having shaved his head, a fine stubble growing on his face and scalp, one brown eye gleaming with intellect while the other was scratched out. To this day, Aryen still did not know just what had happened to the old man, as he always refused to speak on the subject of his missing eye. His loyalty, however, was unquestionable, the old lawbringer serving Aryen and the Blackstones with gusto, following the warden wherever he went. "Richard, my friend, you have news."

"Aye, my lord." Richard said with a nod. "Soleil just returned from scouting the Via Ferros. She found our resupply convoy. It seems they were attacked."

Aryen's sapphire eyes narrowed. "What?"

The old knight nodded grimly. "She was unable to investigate, but it seems the entire convoy was slaughtered near to a man. Servants, drivers, even the wardens assigned to guard the convoy were all found dead."

"And the supplies?"

Richard frowned. "The supplies were largely left. Soleil reports that aside from being bloodied by the bodies of the dead, the supplies seemed untouched. That's not all, my lord, she found a survivor."

"Only one survivor?" Aryen demanded.

"Aye, only one." The lawbringer nodded. "A young boy, likely just out of pagedom, shaken to the core. From Soleil's report, she found him huddled under a tree, covered in the blood of his allies and raving about the screams and roars."

Aryen bit his lip in thought. "Screams and roars?"

Richard nodded again. "Those were his words. The moment Soleil arrived he ran into the snow covered woods. I'm sorry, my lord, we were unable to question him."

Aryen scratched his chin and frowned. The loss of the supply convoy would hit his army hard, but if what the scout had said was true, then it could still be recovered. But if what the survivor had said was true, then something had killed their soldiers. With the rations they currently had, the army could survive until they just reached Ashfeld, so long as they strictly rationed out their food, possibly making it further if they took levies from villages. That was a risk as well though, as who knew what had hit the convoy and where they might be hiding. Or what allies they might have.

No, the convoy would need to be investigated, recovered if possible. "Richard, gather the scout you sent to investigate the convoy and a few other men, the best you can gather. I want that convoy found and cleared. If you find whoever or whatever attacked the convoy, bring them back to our camp."

"You won't be joining, Aryen?" Richard asked.

The warden shook his head. "I'm no use to you in my state. And besides, there's still something I need to do."

"I won't keep you then, commander." The lawbringer replied with a nod, replacing the helm on his head. "The convoy should be about a day's march up the road. Once it's clear, I'll return to the camp. Then we can get the convoy moving and leave this frozen waste."

Aryen nodded, a gesture Richard returned before taking his leave. The mounted warden continued his trek through the camp. He had originally planned to do what came next on his own, but with the attack on the convoy, he decided he would need some reinforcements of his own. Not too many, he still wanted to move quickly, perhaps a pair of conquerors.

With only a few men, it would be only a short way to For Sigrun to pay his respects.

oxoxoxo

The continuation of this chapter as Richard and his band investigate the convoy is in Undaed15's story, "The Man of Plagues" and while you can still understand this story well enough if you don't read that, it's still a good read and definitely worth your time.

Also, on an unrelated note, for my fellow knights reading this story, I made it into Marco Yolo's newest knight propaganda video, "The Spoopy Crusade" so definitely check that out too.