Avarice Blacksteel

Aurianne

Carlos lay in his Master’s furs as the fire burned low in the hearth, Raissa must have woken him from his fitful slumber as she dutifully fed the low burning embers in the early hours of dawn. Bennett’s warm bulk was at his back, he still sometimes shuddered when the hateful man touched him, but he had no desire to wear the hood or have his free movement taken away for weeks on end again.

Carlos hated himself wholeheartedly for letting his nemesis finally win against his will, but the years of captivity had worn him down. Suddenly it was easier to comply than fight that which he now reasoned he could not win against.

The warriors had planned to leave this day on their last raid, there would be no further forays until the weather abated, and by what Sven had described, this could be a very long time. Carlos had never applied himself to his schooling, he had spent more time squandering his days in the game arcades and on the beaches, looking at girls, smoking, and hanging with his mates. So he really had no well formed idea of what Sven had been speaking about, as he was sure most here did not. Still the man had been a soldier, he had to know more about war than most, he was not buying the God stuff like some here did. This was a disaster of man’s own making for sure.

Bennett stirred, bringing Carlos back from the landscape of his misspent childhood abruptly. The big man stretched and ran his rough hand along the length of Carlos’ side to his thigh. Fortunately in this public setting Bennett did not flaunt his homosexuality openly, and he had partaken of his carnal desires with his captive but rarely and fleetingly.

Carlos felt the cold length of chain being passed around his throat, the padlock clicked shut. He would remain this way fastened to that immovable boulder just as Renard and Nathan were until his Master returned. He had not even given the thought of escape any place in his mind this time. Where would he run to? There was nowhere to run. He would go on living this half life, until he could live no more.

In less than half an hour the camp’s occupants had all stirred, each warrior making ready to leave. The fire was blazing now, the flames licking high, charring the white stone of the overhanging ceiling. The women prepared and served the food, the cold was already taking its toll on two of the three of Frances’ attendants Sarah and Kate, both looked deathly pale and had chronic coughs. Carlos still had the remains of one as well, it was hard to shake, and for the first time in his young life he felt mortal.

The weather was bleak, but at least there was no wind, not a break in the clouds anywhere or a hint of sun’s radiance. Sven walked towards the horses, they were huddled in a tight circle in the lee side of the valley seeking all the warmth possible. He located Renard's Gelding and began to saddle him, his cold fingers fumbling with the buckles and clasps. Wondering how his Nordic ancestors ever lived in this climate. He was not alone with his thoughts for long, the others too reluctantly leaving the warmth of the cave to saddle their mounts as well.

Thirteen men left the valley that morning, only Raissa and Maya braved the cold to say goodbye, for the first time this camp was left in the hands of only slaves. No easy decision, but the settlement they had marked for destruction was large and would require all the warriors to prove a success. To fail was not an option.

Stark reminders of the deadly weather appeared at every turn. The party did not even have to leave the valley to view the first one; the two feral boys were frozen solid beneath a rock ledge, their lifeless flesh turned a ghastly pallid gray. With no access to fire they had both succumbed swiftly to the elements.
No one would miss them or mourn their loss, they meant little more than scavenging vermin to the warriors here. Aran found himself idly wondering if the wild girl had gone the same way, he had not seen her since the night he had burnt his hand in the fire. His guess was that she had.

Renard watched the men leave and could not believe his good fortune, not one warrior left on guard. Not even Pig, that man had not left the valley on a raid in years. The only souls that remained behind were all prisoners or slaves. Carlos and Nathan both chained as he was, Frances’ three serving women, his lovely Lissa amongst them, Warren, Lucy, Raissa and her baby, lastly Aran’s new woman Maya.

There were so many things that he had witnessed here both as a free man and a captive, that to Renard were just wrong. He longed to be gone from this place and rejoin his father’s civilization and its niceties. Now he had limited time, perhaps no more than five days to attempt to talk them around, or at very least gain his own freedom.

Raissa seemed the logical place to start, she was friendly and open to him, and Renard wasted no time as she brought his much welcomed food. He smiled up at her, putting on his best display of friendliness. The young woman responded in kind, just as he had hoped.

“I’m sorry about Father Andrew.” Renard offered with sincerity.
“Yes, me too.” Raissa answered. “He was a good man. I will miss him, and Marcus too.”

“Yes, I’m sure you will.” Renard added trying to find the tact to lead into what he really wanted to ask, but he needed to start small. He glanced up at Raissa sideways, the boyish look still was there even underneath the unkempt exterior and the dirt. “There wouldn't happen to be some way I could tidy up would there?” He raised his eyebrow, and his boyish brown eyes held a mischievous gleam.

Raissa rose suddenly and he feared she would leave, and that he had blundered his attempt before he had even begun. However that was not the case.

“Oh how thoughtless of me, I should have thought of it before.” Raissa looked flustered and hurried away to bring Renard the makings of a shave and a wash. He was glad of a shave how long had it been? It had been many months even his shoulder length hair always so neatly cut, was to his mid back, and most unruly. Raissa obligingly cut it for him and helped him trim his beard as well, it was wonderful to at last be free of the dreadful itch.

“That's much better, thank you.” Renard remarked as he looked into the cracked mirror at his old tidy self. Raissa just smiled in acknowledgment. Renard sighed, it was pointless hedging around the subject deciding he might as well just ask outright. He swallowed somewhat nervously and he said in no more than a whisper. “Do you know where Bennett keeps the keys?”

Raissa’s hand went to her mouth, and she got swiftly to her feet smoothing down her crumpled skirt and hurried away. Renard’s eyes searched after her but she did not meet them, pretending not to see him and choosing to be engrossed in her baby for the remainder of the day. He had not won at least this time or had he? The girl in her haste had left the straight blade and the bowl behind, and Renard thanked his lord for simple mercies and pocketed the useful windfall.

It was different without the men in some ways, freer but more frightening. There would be no one capable to defend them if attackers came, that thought was on everyone’s mind. That night all the occupants sat close to the crackling fire, they were free to speak as they wished and for a long time no one knew what to say.

Carlos ate until he was uncomfortably full, ashamed at his close cropped hair, the blanket over his head in an attempt to hide what everyone already knew.
Nathan sat on his own bundled in the oversized coat. He really did not communicate or seek the company of others, and most found him equally unpleasant to be near, it did not help he could not speak his contorted mind.

Lucy and Warren were as always affectionate and cheerful, they sat close, a blanket over both their shoulder’s sharing their banter and warmth. Raissa and Maya and the other three women were with them, and Renard sat alone and pondered how he was going to make his escape?


The men rode hard all day. There was no letting up on the pace. They could afford little time out in the elements unprotected. This would be the one last raid before they moved the horses to the oasis in the vain hope of saving them. The animals would not last much longer. The diet of twigs and sparse leaves had left them looking poorly, coats lusterless, frames gaunt.

All felt the undercurrent of unspoken fear, even the bravest souls. The twilight of the days no longer allowing any greenery to grow, and the severe cold destroying any that did exist, sheathing everything in black ice. The snow had subsided, leaving a dark world of frost, a world with no change but from twilight to darkness, it was as though mother nature herself had been broken, and abandoned the planet to other more sinister forces.

This would be their most ambitious raid yet. Aran had spotted this settlement months before, and had watched it carefully from afar on many occasions. All felt it too large to chance an attack until they had reached full strength. With the advance of the cold it had to be now or never.

Fortunately it was well within a day’s ride to the southwest, screened by trees to three sides with a small eroded creek bed on the other. They reached their destination without incident well before the dark drew in. Deciding to stay for a time in the circle of warm horses on the far side of the trees until they were almost ready to move. It was the best strategy they knew of to evade the intense cold; intending to approach from the most heavily wooded side once the occupants were asleep.


Selecting the strongest horse, Bennett had gone on ahead to advance scout the settlement. He hunched down against a bank of accumulated snow using the time and failing daylight to fully assess his quarry. There were ten ramshackle homes in the center of the compound, many of substantial size, and a large two story utilitarian buildings possibly a barn, surrounded by a palisade fence some six feet in height. The wood shaved to points about its top. It served a dual purpose, defense against attackers, and a safe place to corral livestock.

He could sight some of the older children bringing in the animals across the creek, mostly cattle and some sheep for the night. Bennett lowered his body further to the frigid earth, they did not need to see him, it was cold and most uncomfortable, it would take all his effort to wait this out.

There were many people in this place, fifty perhaps? He had counted some ten able bodied men, who would have to be taken out swiftly. Though they had all agreed they would keep one this time as difficult as that might be, to replace Marcus.

Taking a rebellious and vengeful male slave was always a large risk. Still it would be good sport breaking him of his bad habits until he became a placid beast of burden. There would be little else to occupy his time with if what Sven said was true about the weather. The worst news was there were dogs here, and not just one, there were many. Gaining the compound by surprise was going to be tough.


On the verges of darkness the warriors crept through the trees, soundlessly taking up positions all about the perimeter. It would be a bitterly cold wait. The evening settled about them like a black blanket, if only it had been as warm.

Hypothermia was the enemy. Sven blew into his frigid hands, his teeth were chattering and he was afraid someone might hear him, he did not want to be here. He could just make out his brother doing the same, and envied the fur cape his woman had crafted, wishing Raissa had been so handy. He hoped Bennett would give the signal soon.

Aran squatted on stiff knees, he shifted his weight restlessly trying to make minimal noise, his sword arm ached with the cold. He rubbed at it under his cape, learning from his last almost fatal experience he had equipped a machete as well as his trusty poignard this time. The wind was rising, if they did not move soon they would surely freeze, he pulled the furred hood of his cape further over his face and sat out the frigid misery stoic as any elite forces soldier.

Bennett who was closest to the palisade fence strained into the dark, he could hear an animal of some description approaching in the snow. He could just make out in the gloom the rough outline of a large shaggy dog, head down on the scent of something.

Instinctively he flattened his body even closer to the frozen earth to evade detection, wishing he had a bow at his disposal. He glanced across at Gareth he too had seen the animal and was likewise pressed flat to the ground.

The dog ran in wider and wider circles, muzzle to the ground, its great paws crunching on the ice. It stopped abruptly, sniffing at the snow in a frenzy then raised its head scenting the air, they had been spotted. The wolfhound stood motionless before emitting a booming bark followed by a strangled yelp as Dwayne's arrow pierced it clean through. No one moved or barely breathed, all eyes on the fence and the dead hound, the arrow shaft protruding from it in a tell tale giveaway of foul play.

The fur clad man opened the rough hewn gate and stepped cautiously outside the compound’s bounds, flaming torch in hand. “What is it boy?” He called to the dark of the forest a twinge of uncertainty evident in his voice, the torch guttered in the strong wind and almost went out, the denuded trees rasped against one another in an eerie scream.

This is not what Bennett had hoped for, the village was far from asleep but they would have to move now. He loosed his twin machete's from their scabbards and rose from cover, his men catching this followed suit.

“You there boy?” The man called again, hearing a twig break in the forest close by, waving the torch further into the black. He jumped as he was greeted with the sight of Bennett and his iron blades, they cut though his neck decapitating him almost instantly, his headless body fell to the earth with a dull thud.

The warriors poured into the almost deserted compound. The press of milling animals making progress difficult and targets hard to hit. Dwayne shot a man carrying an armful of fire wood before he could shout a warning, but another man who had been relieving himself in the shadows raised the alarm before he could be silenced. The warriors spread out, making for hard targets, heading to the individual houses.

By now the settlement was aware of the intruders, and the race was on to gain the residences and finish the strong within them swiftly before they could rally any mode of organized defense.

Thirteen men against fifty souls left little room for error, but they were experienced at this type of warfare. Every warrior had clear orders, eliminate all threats, spare interesting or valuable captives, and try if possible to not burn any structure before its contents could be ransacked.

Sven and Aran had elected to attack one of the larger homes between them, the door had been barred and no amount of force was about to budge it. They would have to gain access by another method. The windows were similarly shuttered with sturdy wooden planks, but the weakness in this structure’s defense lie in its roof.

The two men effortlessly gained the top of the low slung building, they could witness the carnage already taking place in the compound below. Guns were being discharged, the warriors were sparing no effort in this conquest. The assorted mismatched materials that kept the weather out easily came away, pried loose by the tip of the handy machete.

As the piece of corrugated iron jimmied upwards the roof seemed to explode beneath them, the brothers rolled sideways reflexively.

Aran the first to recover his composure crawled on his belly towards the gaping entry point. He could see the tell tale shot holes in the tin, he was lucky not to have been hit. The man had already reloaded and was standing steady in the face of danger below, his face grim, ready to die to protect his loved ones.

Sven had not been quite so lucky. He had been caught by some of the stray shot in the upper arm; however nothing that would cause him serious damage. He also gazed down and was suddenly sickened by what he was doing. He could see the huddle of frightened faces half illuminated in the yellow lamp light below, just children, and in front of them their desperate parents defending their own.

Now he had a family it was hard to fully justify these actions, bile rose in his throat. This was not war, this was outright murder his conscience raged. He swallowed and fought the sensation down. This is about survival he reasoned, trying to account for his actions, and spur himself forward. His family's existence bought by the fate of others in this new age of blood and fire, and that was how one survived. There was no other way, or was there?

Aran made the next decision for him, tearing Sven from his reluctant state. His younger brother leaping through the gaping roof mindless of the shotgun. Sven followed suit knocking the woman aside as Aran wrested the loaded weapon from the man, not before it discharged into his defenseless children.

The scene erupted into panicked chaos, Aran dispatching the man in sight of his wailing and injured family, tossing Sven the gun and the precious twelve gauge cartridges. He was like a bloodthirsty dervish with no compulsion, finishing the wounded screaming innocents with no more than a deft knife stroke.

Sven, trained soldier that he was, no longer had any nerve for this. His brother seemed not to notice his hesitation in the least, this scene painted before him was a tableau from hell.

Sven closed his eyes and swallowed hard, opening them again he saw Aran pause at the woman knotting his hand in her ample brown hair. He pulled her upright from the hard packed dirt floor. With her husband and children dead she had no more fight left in her. She was still comely with milky skin and long brown hair that tumbled to her thickening waist.

Sven fingered the well worn stock of the shotgun, and decided he would leave his brother to do as he pleased, he wanted to see no more. Out into the courtyard he went to yet more carnage, he had already decided this would be his last raid whatever the ramifications would be.


He should not have tarried here with the assault far from won, but the battle as always had aroused his ever pressing lust. Aran had mistaken Sven’s hurried exit for a simple desire to not see that which he was no longer capable of.

Aran pressed the frightened woman to the floor tearing open the bodice of her dress, the thick fabric rending loudly, even over the sounds of chaos outside. He pressed his weight on top of her frantically loosening his belt with one hand whilst holding her with the other. Seeking the swift release of pleasure she could offer him.

The woman did not fight him, she lay rigid on her back, her eyes to the ceiling, tears staining her cheeks in silent defeat. Aran used her without compassion, the act brief and brutal. Once the urgency of his lust was sated his razor edged dagger ensured she joined her loved ones.


Bennett had chosen his mark, the man they would capture. He appeared to be the blacksmith of the village. Not young nor old, he was big, strong and possessed a skill as well that might prove useful, a perfect slave.

The problem was it was startlingly obvious this man was prepared to die rather than be taken alive. He had rallied many of the villagers to him, and they had fortified their position in the building that housed the forge. Worse still it was a strong building with very few windows or access points and it contained many weapons, or objects that could be used as such.

Aran stood in the doorway buttoning his clothes and adjusting his weapons belt, he tossed the voluminous fur cape back from his shoulders; he was at last warm and it felt good.

He could see most of the focus had now turned toward the solid smith's building toward the rear of the village. Bodies littered the hard, cold soil, and Aran was surprised to see one of them was none other than Angus.

He paused and got down on one knee, the man was irrefutably dead, arrow through the heart. He looked up to hear another arrow intended for him pass close by, the wind on his cheek. He saw his assailant nocking yet another deadly missile outlined in shadow on the roof.

Aran rolled and not a moment too soon, the quivering shaft hitting the ground where he had been just precious seconds before. He sought the cover of a wooden water trough, and drew his own bow. However he was no match for this sharpshooter, none of his arrows striking home. More shafts thudded into the trough’s well worn sides just inches from his head in reply.

Gareth, Dwayne and Bennett had taken shelter behind a heavy dray just beyond the smithy, they saw Clint take a hit in the leg and fall, the next missile ending his struggles completely. The three men looked at one another, whoever it was on the roof had to be taken out swiftly.

Dwayne who was a very accurate shot began to pepper the roof in return, but in the dark and the mounting smoke they were unsure if they had hit the archer, or if he had merely changed position?

Aran used Dwayne’s distraction to get closer to the building and inside of firing range. He covered the ground with powerful strides his cape billowing out behind him, seeking the protection of a small out building that had been a poultry barn. From here he had a good view of the battle zone.

The smith was dimly illuminated, and he could make out many figures between the slatted boards, to his reckoning most were only women and children and a few elderly. Yet they were putting up a brave fight. He had not seen this kind of fierce resistance for a very long time.

It was then he caught sight of the archer and he balked, the deadly shot had been none other than a woman; and no ordinary woman, a young and beautiful one. She had left the roof and was inside with the only remaining able bodied male, the blacksmith, it seemed the two of them were directing the defense.

Aran got down on his belly, and edged closer until he was right against the wall of the solid building. She was only feet from him, confident and strong, waist girded with a dagger in her belt and the longbow and the quiver of deadly arrows on her back.

He had never seen a woman like her. She was tall, almost as tall as he was, and dressed like a warrior in a combination of chain mail and light armor. The hardened leather bodice clung enticingly to her well made body, her leather skirt short like a Roman legionnaire as to not hinder movement, her stance and her frame belied strength few women could ever attain. She was talking to the smith and directing the frightened villagers in a calm tone, there was no mistaking this woman was every bit the warrior Aran was.

Bennett had decided that the acquisition of a single male slave was not worth losing any more men over, and he gave orders to torch the structure, and cut down the remaining inhabitants as they fled. To sit here and attempt to breach this strong defense they would only end up as fodder for the well placed volleys of arrows now being fired from the chinks in the building.

Todd had managed to re light some of the extinguished torches, and passed them about to the close by men. They all broke from cover at once risking the retaliatory rain of arrows to gain the walls of the building.

Bennett smirked in cruel glee as he sighted the large store of hay in the adjoining lean-to. Gareth was there right by his leader’s side, and they lit the bone dry tinder together standing back as the intense flames engulfed the contents of the building rapidly spiraling high into the sky.

Will and Pig had managed at great personal risk to push a cart in front of the outward opening door thus blocking off the exit completely. As the fires took hold the rain of arrows subsided, the defenders realized they were trapped in the inferno with no escape.

Aurianne despaired as she had gained her vantage point on the roof far too late to prevent the cart from sealing off the only portal of possible escape from the flames, now she was torn. She had not sighted her mother and feared for her safety, yet she had a duty to try to rescue those trapped below while there was still time.

Her hesitation was brief, she knew her mother would have wanted her to save those below, they were her friends, her life.

She ducked back through the broken roof into the loft, it was already stifling here and the acrid smoke was tainting the air. From somewhere below her she could hear a solid thumping against the wood of the building, an axe perhaps?

She made for the trap door to the smithy below only to be greeted by a blast of red hot flames like dragon’s breath. She dropped the door swiftly, embers flew, already igniting on the traces of dry straw in the loft. There was no way back down to the floor below, but she had to help Darius.

Clamoring back out onto the roof she could see the knot of men to the front of the building, their evil visages illuminated by the blaze that was fast consuming the lean-to and the rear of the building.

There were other fires as well, slower to ignite, licking at the walls now in various places. She could hear the trapped citizens below and the persistent thud of what she deemed an axe splintering wood, Darius had not given up just yet, and neither would she.

The warrior woman decided a lone arrow would do little good even if she could dispatch the men out front, she was running out of time to move the cart from the front doors. Perhaps she could just kill their leader? The ensuing chaos may just buy her time for a chance at the cart? She notched an arrow fairly sure the large black leather clad savage with the shaven head was the mark she sought, and aimed with great care.

Loud splintering of wood on the far side of the structure inadvertently saved Bennett's life, the arrow narrowly missing him as he and his rabid men sped toward the harried defenders as they spewed forth from the building.

It was too late, Aurianne saw the men cut the survivors down. Darius in their forefront swinging his great axe in defiance until the last. She was a good shot but she was not prepared to fire into the crowd and down any of her own, the confusion and the heavy smoke making targets even for a good archer all but impossible.

She leapt from the building and fell hard, fortunately she was unhurt, only a little bruised, she had done her best, and her attention now turned to her mother. Sprinting across the darkened compound her red hair flying, to their small home huddled back near the woods.

Aran was the only man there who had noticed her exodus. The battle was almost over, he could see they had finally subdued the blacksmith netting him and wresting the axe from his bloodied hands. He would be taken alive after all.

The men had gone into clean up mode hacking at anyone who still moved to quiet the cries of the dying. The lofty building was now well ablaze it would be a pity none of them would be acquiring the treasures housed within, but the cost had already been too high.

The impetuous warrior tracked after the fleeing woman into the unknown dark leaving his comrades to their dirty work.

Aurianne ran swiftly like a gazelle, even in the dark she knew the way, the fire blazing bright behind her as the roof groaned and collapsed inward on the great building, shooting thousands of sparks high into the sky. Her home stood apart from the others, set back into the woods. A narrow well trodden path lead up to the small wooden building, and if she had hoped her mother’s home had been overlooked the open door told her otherwise.

She pulled her knife from her belt, insides sick with what she was afraid she may find. The meager building was only one large room, she and her mother had shared this place for the last seven years of their lives. She peered inside the door, the lamp was still lit, her mother’s weaving loom lay fallen across the floor, signs of a struggle.

“Mother?” She called, softly at first. There was no sound, she crossed the threshold into the room her pale gray-blue eyes searching, her well formed lips quivering. “Mother?” She said again this time a bit louder. There were soft footsteps behind her and she turned with a sharp intake of breath, her knuckles white on the haft of her blade.........

“Oh Worgen it's only you.” Aurianne all but gasped, relieved it was just her faithful dog appearing like a black shadow from outside. There was the faintest noise from the rear of the room and Aurianne wasted no time going towards it whatever she may face.

“Mi Amor?” Her mother weakly used her pet name from her crumpled position on the floor on the far side of the bed.
“Oh Mother!” Aurianne rushed to her, overjoyed her mother was still alive and attempted to help the woman to her feet, they did not have much time and must flee from here immediately.

Nervously she looked back through the open door toward the center of the village, she could hear the raucous shouts of the invaders and see and smell the burning building. That's when she noticed the large spreading crimson stain on her mother’s dress. Aurianne wanted to cry helpless tears at that moment, but she steeled herself, tears would do little to help her survive the situation, there would be time for crying later. Worgen nuzzled the stricken woman sensing her predicament.

“Come Mother we must leave, let me look at you?” Aurianne was faced with a severe abdominal wound, her mother had been shot, and she had no idea how she would treat it. All they could do was attempt to stem the bleeding and get away from here to try to deal with it later once they had reached safety.

Aurianne hurriedly gathered up warm clothes, and stuffed anything of import into saddle bags. Time was of the essence, but there was no point fleeing into the frigid wastes ill prepared.

Fortunately Aurianne’s mare was still saddled and standing patiently outside. She had come in from hunting late only to see the battle erupt as she had rushed to attend. “Come Mother we must go.” Aurianne coaxed, trying to sound calm when all she wanted to do was hurry away. Her mother took a deep breath and stood, it seemed to take all the woman’s effort.

“There is one thing you must bring. It’s under the bed.” Her mother said huskily trying to manage her pain, holding the bed frame for support. Aurianne did as she was bid, though she really did not deem it wise to linger any further in this place.

She felt below the pallet and hesitated as her hand encountered a large, heavy, cloth wrapped item. She had been expecting some kind of small keepsake, and was not ready for an object of this size and weight.

She gazed at her mother questioningly as the cloth fell away to reveal a spectacular two handed sword. The pommel was wrapped in finely scaled twin dragons, and there were stones of inky black, others grey opaque pearls, seemingly full of trapped polluted water, the metal of an other worldly luster, an indescribable black steel.

Aurianne was dumbstruck and although she could use a short sword and a pike proficiently, she hefted the massive weapon and its substantial weight wobbled with uncertainty in her hands.

“It was your Father’s. I’ve kept it all these years, you must take it.” Aurianne sensed the sincerity of her Mother’s request, but it seemed crazy to her to bring this massive weapon, valuable looking though it was, that she stood no hope of using in any circumstance. A simple pitch fork would have served her better.

“Come Mother we must leave.” She said, firmly guiding her to the door, and the waiting chestnut mare who stood beyond. She lifted her mother into the saddle the woman swayed uncertainly, Aurianne was afraid she would fall, bending down to retrieve the cumbersome sword.

Worgen uttered a low threatening growl. Aurianne’s skin prickled though she was not cold. The next she knew, her faithful hound all teeth and claws had launched himself at the golden warrior who appeared from the tree line.

Reflexively she grasped the great sword, its crimson wrappings falling away; exposing the blade which appeared as hardened water. Iridescent color rippling, the broadsword wobbled even though it was clasped firmly in both her hands. It was heavy and unwieldy, and she had no idea how she intended to use it.

Aran was completely unaware of black dog. He had only eyes for the two beautiful women, obviously mother and daughter as they sought to flee. He smiled, the expression more of a grimace than a smile, as he saw the female as strong as she was grasp the sword unsteadily in both her hands. Knowing instinctively she had no idea how to use it, but the dog was suddenly on him and going for his throat, and it was no small animal to be easily brushed aside. The loyal beast was an easy one hundred and fifty pounds of hard muscle.

Aran felt its fetid breath as the dog’s white teeth sought his jugular as it would a prey animal, at the same moment the woman was advancing on him. He tore at the canine blindly with his poignard trying to disembowel the animal and not to fall.

It bit him deeply on the forearm as he tried to fend it away from his vulnerable throat, but his keen double sided blade found its mark and the beast tumbled from him still growling into the dark, even in its death throes.

The woman halted seeing her canine companion fall in battle. The light from the distant blaze sparkling on the warrior’s great cache of gold and jewels that adorned his personage, and his thick mane of wheaten hair.

He confidently advanced toward her. Aurianne felt fear, she knew this man could, and would kill her, and her mother thereafter. She could not allow this to happen.

She heard her mare Isabou paw impatiently at the earth, but she dare not look away from the advancing savage before her. He was a fearsome sight, large, tightly muscled, and battle scarred. She could see the tell tale white lines of his old injuries even by the thin light of the oil lamp slanting through the doorway. This man and the others with him knew how to kill if they knew nothing else.

Aran walked right up to the sharp tip of her blade in a gesture of nonchalant arrogance, never taking his eyes off her face for a moment. Daring her to try to run him through. He felt the prick of the weapon on his stomach, looking down only for a moment. However that moment was just long enough to form his undoing........

His head reeled as he comprehended in the dim light that the weapon in her hands was the same said weapon of his dreaming, and all he could think was I have to have it this time...

Aurianne saw her chance and flung the heavy blade with all her power at the man’s head. Its heavy pommel struck him hard in the temple as intended, and he fell with a grunt to the hard trodden path. The sword skittered across the packed earth to rest beside him. She did not wait to witness the ramifications of her decision, turning and vaulting on to the back of her strong horse, galloping away into the dark cold wastes.


Sven’s heart skipped a beat when he found Aran laying face down on the path way, next to him a great broadsword of exceptional workmanship, with no real clue whom had lain the warrior low. He scouted the area and saw prints of what was either a youth or maybe a woman who had departed on a very large horse.

He stumbled over the dead black dog in the low lying brush which only added more mystery to the puzzle. Aran when he woke would have much explaining to do, and so would he if Bennett had realized that Sven had been absent from the majority of the battle.

Sven brought Aran back to the center of the compound along with the valuable blade. He had lain his brother down near the fire covering him with his rabbit fur cape, and presented the beautiful weapon to Bennett.

The large man sat on a sawn off log with the formidable sixteen pound, four foot weapon perched across his knees. All the men crowded about him to get a glimpse of what must truly be one of the greatest treasures they had ever come by.

Bennett rose and took the blade in his strong hands, it was a demanding task even for one as strong as himself to hold it aloft. He could swing a machete with artful style, but he had no such poise with this large heavy blade.

The men passed the weapon about amongst themselves all eager to test their prowess, not one warrior there could do the sword justice, some could barely swing the blade even in two hands. It was a beautiful prize, but as it had little use it was soon forgotten and cast aside in favor of other more everyday items.

Aran came to an hour or so later spitting blood, he squinted at the large bonfire grateful for its warmth, but not grateful for the hurt the light brought to his head. He lay back down when he realized he was safe in the company of the men and fell into a deep sleep.


Aurianne rode through the dark and the cold, holding her ailing mother steady in the saddle. She knew exactly where she was headed, the shelter of the oasis was her best bet.

Even in this dark featureless landscape she knew her way, though the absence of stars made it more difficult to navigate. She had traveled this very same route for years, and knew its every subtle landmark.

Perhaps she should have just run the man through she pondered, and really should she have left such a fine weapon behind? No, she did the right thing she reasoned, her actions had bought them their safety. No weapon, no matter how fine was worth a life, even one of her Father’s.

She relived the vivid images of the last of the battle over and over during her long ride, her mother slumped before her clearly in acute pain, falling in and out of consciousness.

Poor Darius, he had been the true father to her in her life. She had never even met the man her mother spoke of as her real father. She had hoped against hope that Darius had somehow survived. She mourned for those whom she had seen fall, her beloved Worgen as well.

It was breaking dawn as she rode into the mouth of the oasis’s sheltered clearing, not that one could tell with the endless impermeable cloud cover. The cold had destroyed and disfigured here too, the tops of the ancient palms dead, the stumps standing tall like posts. However the waters from deep inside the earth had helped maintain a small micro climate, and the surroundings of the sheltered nook had fared better than the windswept areas above.

She urged her sturdy mare onward to the rear of the quiet pool, past the bubbling fissure, and on to the cozy cave perched above the still waters.

She was exhausted, but there was still much to do. She lowered her mother from the saddle, unrolling the bedding she had brought and proceeded to make her mother both warm and comfortable. The wound was still steadily seeping blood, Aurianne did not know what to do except to let her mother rest a while.

That done she unsaddled her faithful mare and freed her to graze and drink her fill. Aurianne had frequented this cave often enough on her many hunting expeditions, and she had already made the cave here, her home away from home. What better place to bring her mother to than this, they would be safe here, and she could think what to do.


It was decided that the men would stay the next day, to rest and recuperate. The raid though a success, had not come without considerable cost, four of their number dead.

After the somber lighting of the funeral pyres that served to remind all the living of their mortality, there was much plunder to be sorted through, the task would take the better part of a day. The weather was holding, and they would be just as warm here as elsewhere, there was no hurry to leave.

Darius sat bound in iron chains, chains he had crafted himself. Head lowered. In the midst of the activity. Clothes torn and bloodied, his skin scoured and weeping. Shaggy brown hair caressed by the cold wind blew across his face. His eyes were closed, he found he could not look upon the charred remains of his world. All that was good, all his community had worked for, grown from hardship and nothingness over the years, gone.....decimated, and now he was a slave.

Had Aurianne escaped he wondered, or did she die a brave death, as he knew she would? He seemed to be one of only three captives, why had they chosen to take him alive, what use would he serve? He failed to understand.

He liked to believe Aurianne, the daughter of his heart, had indeed escaped. That idea would give him the strength to continue, no matter how awful his future. However bleak thoughts assailed him, he had borne witness to these men wasting most of the women here, all but two of the young women.

His body slumped beneath the burden of pain and sadness. One of the savages struck him unkindly as he passed on by, and sniggered at his plight. He winced, but did not retaliate, for Darius was a placid man. Well placid mostly, but even he had his limits.

Sven was standing at the edge of the houses alone. He could hear the men commenting on the treasures they came across even from here. He turned his head suddenly to see Bennett close behind him, the demeanor of his leader told him his absence last night had been duly noted. The air hung heavy with traces of blue wood smoke from the still smoldering fires, the patches of white snow were tainted gray with it.

Sven cast his gray eyes to the ground, his shoulders slumped forward, hands hitched in his weapons belt. “So where were you most of last night?” Bennett goaded. Sven was silent, he would not rise to the bait, he knew better than to provoke his old friend, if indeed he still was an ally.

“Lost your nerve, have you?” Bennett chuckled. Sven had nothing to say in his defense, he swallowed and continued to gaze at the ground. It was an uneasy silence that ensued, Bennett at his back, Sven uncertain just what the often violent man might do.

“I’ve been watching you for some time. I think I understand, but I also think you should step down. I do not think war is in your heart anymore.” A heavy hand went to his shoulder before Bennett finally walked away. In those few words Sven felt both absolved of his desertion, and in the same stroke like a lowly, beaten dog.


It became painfully obvious to Aurianne later that following day that her mother’s injuries were beyond her powers to treat. Even under the best of circumstances a good surgeon would have found the prognosis at best, bleak.

The abdominal wound was a slow, and sure kill, and the young woman sat by helplessly with a heavy heart. She had no recourse but make her dear mother comfortable until her time came. Aurianne put on a brave face, she would not let her mother’s last hours be marred by her own tears.


The remainder of that day as the men collected and packed the spoils for travel on one of the carts. Aran was for the most part ill. Sven informed him he had a mild case of concussion, and he was good for little more than sitting by the fire miserable and dizzy hunched under his cape. Even the water he drank he could not hold down, and food was out of the question.

By evening he felt a little better, and through the haze he suddenly remembered the sword. The surrounds of the campfire were noisy to his aching head, the men had kept a couple of the women alive for some sport. One of them thin as a rake, the other quite voluptuous. Aran could hear the fiendish cackle of Pig’s laughter as he passed by, seeking out his elder brother who was sitting away from the others.

Sven shot Aran a reserved smile, the gesture spoke volumes to Aran seeing his older brother was plainly no longer happy here and with this life they had chosen. However he would not raise the matter, as far as the younger man was concerned there was no better alternative. He could hardly see Sven as a simple farmer as these people here had been, the idea seemed ludicrous.

“Feeling better?” Sven offered.
“Yeah much.” Aran answered though the dog bite beneath the bandage was paining him, infection had set in. He rubbed at it absently as he squatted down beside his brother.

“What happened out there last night?” Sven questioned carefully. Yes, he was more cautious now, the way he handled the other men, especially his hot headed brother. He was uncertain if it was the experience of age, or his condition that caused him to be so. So for that reason he did not look at Aran directly, instead his sights were trained far out on the horizon across the eroded creek bed.

Aran was glad of it, his brother who knew him all too well, had he been paying closer attention, would have picked up on the half truth.
“Oh........Er some guy and his dog jumped me. I think he escaped.” There was no way he was letting anyone know, even his own brother he had been bested by a woman, the shame was too great.
“Hum?...... Happens, brother.......you were lucky, he could have run you through with that blade he left behind.” Was all Sven offered in reply.

Aran’s heart quickened at the mention of the coveted object, so it was here then she had not taken it. “The sword, it’s here?”
“Yep, over in the weapons pile I believe, nice thing but not much use really...” He was about to go on but his brother had already darted away.

The cache of weapons were all leaning against the ox cart, there were a great many of them. Shot guns, rifles, simply crafted swords, daggers and the like.

The men had already chosen any weapons that had appealed to them earlier in the day, those remaining would be added to the surplus ones in the storage container once they reached home.

In the bad light Aran searched, he fought down his nausea, and there in the centre of the pile it was. Graceful, gleaming, specter of death, a deliverer of souls. He touched the pommel drawing a sharp breath, slowly he withdrew it from the pile of ordinary, everyday things. He felt its weight, he felt its power, and at last it was all his.

*****

For three days Renard had attempted to exhort his companions to choose the path of freedom. He had begged, he had pleaded, he had argued reason, even tried to use fear. Incredulously none of his approaches had moved a single soul. All he had were words of persuasion and every day he used them in the vague hope someone would break, this day was no exception.

“They will return soon, we can all be long gone! He urged in frustration. My father will protect you, he is a good kind man. He has some three hundred people in his settlement. They have food, warm houses, and will welcome all of you.

Raissa, this is no place for you or your baby.” He implored. Raissa looked at him but did not answer, she would not be the one to blame for his escape. She was not about to leave this warm cave, or a group of men whom she knew could protect her, in exchange the frigid wastes and promises of a place she had never sighted.

“Oh shut it.” Warren intervened, annoyed at Renard’s constant sermon. “If I was going to escape from here I certainly wouldn’t run to some patch of farmland to be butchered by the next raiding party to happen along. I’d be holed up in one of those missile silos I told you about. Hell, I still have the key!” He tugged at the piece of square green plastic on the cord about his neck and waved it about.

“Stop!” Lucy shouted. “It's dangerous talk Warren. I will hear of it no more.” Warren as though bitten by Lucy’s words, tucked his no longer secret prize away into his patched shirt and went quiet.

Nathan, pale skin, and even paler hair, a stark contrast to his dark coat looked at Warren and sneered, green eyes taunting. Carlos on the other hand didn't care, it seemed foolish to run in this weather, eight days on foot one would never make it. He pulled his blanket over his head, obscuring his face in shadow and lost himself in the hypnotic dance of the flames.

Sarah and Kate had become most ill, too ill to even focus on the conversation. They had taken to their beds, the only sign they lived was a loud cough on occasion coming from beneath the furs.

Lissa was shell shocked that this man had been the Renard of her teenage musings, the lost son of their leader and she wondered why she had not seen this plainly before? She wanted in her heart to help him, but she too was sure they would perish. Eight days was just too long in the elements, if only they had some horses she may have felt different.

Maya, who was usually a kind soul, held an open dislike for Renard, and she looked at him poisonously as she sat cross legged by the fire, sewing a hide shirt for her love. She would not face another uncertain upheaval, her parents loss still remaining brightly fresh in her mind. There would be no way she was betraying her man, or leaving, and she was determined she would not let anyone else here be poisoned by Renard’s words either.