A Field For Wolves

Chapter 1

The aftermath of the battle saw the bloodied fields of the slain in droves. The longsword of Captain Dowvyn dripped with crimson while its grip remained in my hand, firm, stiff, cold. The gray sky above began to rumble with heavy beds as we rummaged through the corpses. We counted our fallen and tallied our losses while I returned to the body of our dead captain.

I looked down to his armour, his colours, his sigil and crest. I looked to his scabbard and turned to my longsword. The blade looked plain and unfamiliar, yet it held something more. Power, strength, control. I could feel it with every second that passed as I held the sword, yet I did not know what to do with it. I removed the scabbard from his waist and sheathed my longsword into its place. Would it be mine? Or is it still his? The leather grip looked brown as did the scabbard. No symbols could identify that it otherwise to belonged to him, but I could not take the risk. I would refit the coverings another time. It was mine. I would make it so.

A voice then called to me. "Harkon."

I turned my head and found one of the men from the infantry approach. I lowered my head and gave a nod.

"Edgar," I greeted.

"Is he dead?" he asked.

"Yes. Horse fell and bashed his head in."

"Hmm..." Edgar sighed for a moment and crouched down to examine him. "Remove his armour. We'll bury him here along with the others. We can't carry the dead back. Too far, too many."

"How many did we lose?"

"Three thousand," he said coldly. "Around three thousand. We're still counting. Only a few hundred remain. The other captains also died. The other armies are gone though. Our men are all that's left."

He then stood up and dusted his hands. "If you're gonna rob him, don't take anything with any sigils or markings. You'll get caught, but... We probably won't get paid after such losses. Still, I saw how you fought as did everyone else. Take what you can. You deserve something at least."

"Thank you, Edgar," I replied.

"Don't thank me yet. We're not out of this until we get back home," he said.

I scoffed to myself and looked to the corpse at my feet. My eyes drifted back to the blade at my hip. Edgar did not notice. Then again, he probably was not looking for it. I took a deep breath and let out a sigh. I needed to bury this secret, but the dead man intrigued me. Who was Dowvyn? How did he get this sword? What is it exactly? Questions that should be answered, but lie dead with the knight. Regardless, I owe him the right to a decent burial.

Hours passed as we gathered the dead, stockpiled on their equipment, and buried them in a ditch. I buried Dowvyn under a tree, but made sure to remove his armour and clothes. We folded up the clothes of the dead nobles and kept the armour of the knights. The rest was stashed into the wagons along with the extra swords. Some removed the crests and dressed the plates onto their bodies. Many of them were prepared for a fight on the way back, an ambush or a second attack to stop us from regrouping, but matters of leadership plagued them.

"Francis!"

"Just pick one of the sergeants!"

"No! It should be you, Marcus! You have a way with words."

"I'm not speaking to the King!"

I stood by the side as they argued. My helm in hand while I chewed on some bread. Edgar then walked up to me.

"Confused?" he asked and I nodded.

"What's going on? Why are they arguing about this? Shouldn't it be obvious? Command goes to Sergeant Hector," I replied.