The Winter Queen of Havenshire

Prologue

The dark clouds slowly dissipated. Bodies lay everywhere across the battlefield. Only a few survived. Those few would likely soon join the other dead.

"Captain, are you okay?"

The young captain sat in the midst of the corpses and mud, weary from battle. He looked up at the soldier talking to him. Like himself, the soldier was caked in blood and mud.

"How many are left?"

The Captain pulled out a cloth and wiped his blade clean while he waited for an answer.

"Twelve for you to command, Captain."

The Captain nodded. It was Corban that spoke to him. He was a good man. They had trained together. They bled together. They were brothers in battle.

When the rains started, he counseled the general to pull back and battle another day. There were no advantages in this battle. Rain only slowed down the armored soldiers. The mud made it tricky to march. When the lightning flashed, the armored soldiers became easy pickings for whatever gods ruled the sky.

The cowardly general quickly called for the armored troops to retreat, but ordered the common foot soldiers to march on to be slaughtered by the Black Death and his army. The Captain could not, would not, let his men die without a chance to survive. They were his men. He would die by their side.

The rains poured. They fought the battle fiercely. Despite the odds, he had men that survived. To him, it was a small victory, but the Black Death and his armored soldiers had not fought either.

The Black Death would come. He would kill every living soul left on this battlefield that did not belong to him. Their time was short.

"Any horses, Corban?"

"Not enough for all of us to escape," he replied.

"Like our general, the Black Death pulled back his armored soldiers," the Captain said.

He pointed to the sky.

"The sky is clearing, and the day is near its end. The Black Death will soon come to make sure that all his enemies on this battlefield are dead."

"What do we do, Captain?"

The Captain rose to his feet. He scanned the field. There was no place to hide. They could not run. They had to fight. They would probably die.

He looked at his men, at least what was left of them. So much wasted life because of an incompetent commander, one of too many. They were willing to fight. They would die for him because they knew he would do the same for them.

Their lord had charged all those in command to learn everything they could about the Black Death. He was paired with his son, Mal. They studied and learned. They knew everything that was known about him. A part of him wished Mal was here to take charge. Politics always came first.

He sighed. The burden of leadership was heavy and lonely. They were done. The Black Death knew it. This was about theatrics. This was about the message the Black Death wanted to send.

"He'll come alone," the Captain said. A plan formed in his mind.

"Why? He can easily kill us."

"He'll want to bloody his sword. Besides, the terrain is bad. He won't want to risk a loss due to accident. One man. One Sword. That's why we'll survive."

He looked across the field once more. There was some place to hide. The Captain smiled. They might survive after all.

Time passed.