The Northern Cold.

It was called that for a reason; a reason that we were reminded of as the group of us crouched,shivering in the tuffs of fresh powder.

We were cold, there was no denying that, but we were also ready. Ready and waiting for the signal to be given.

Rolling my shoulders slightly, causing chunks of frost to chip off the sides of my shoulder pauldrons, adjusting the plates and the gorget that encircled my throat, I strained my neck to peer over the side of the small cliff that we were stationed at, to get a good look at the path below us.

The rest of my Company and I had been tracking this particular group of bandits for two weeks now, following in the wake of their destructive path. Already, two small Rooks have been pillaged and left in flames, their inhabitants slain or enslaved, as the cut a bloody path through the Black Forest Nidstang.

Finally, through intelligence of some of our best scouts, we managed to judge where their next strike would be, and cut them off at the Stone Pass, before the next Rook could be targeted.

Now, some of the best rangers we had and myself laid await in ambush, ready to butcher these marauding scum. Because that’s what they were.

Scum.

Not worthy to lick the shit off the bottom of my boots.

I turned to look at my comrades on my sides. On each side of me, I was flanked by three other rangers, wrapped in their leather armors and cloaks, swords sharp and poised to strike.
Each had a steely look engraved upon their faces, beaks stern and grimacing, talons at the ready to rip and claw at our enemies.

Above us in the trees, more of our comrades lay in hiding amongst the thick bushels of braches and and twigs, crossbows at the ready to rain down bolts. Once the signal was given by the Commander, they would loose their munitions first, and provide cover whilst we slaughter the survivors.

“Alright lads, ready into your positions,” a voice on my left whispered to the group of us.

Snapping our attention back to acknowledge the Commander, we all tightened our grips on the hilts of our weapons, ready to unsheath them on command.

The Commander, an imposing griffon, clad in imposing plate armor and mail atop his gambeson, cloak faintly fluttering in the forest breeze, clicked his tongue sharply twice, a signal for the archers above to ready themselves.

Faintly, we could hear their bolts being knocked into place, the cranking of the crossbows’ twine lining, and the shuffling of their own armors, before everything went silent again.

“Pay attention laddies, once the bolts are loosed on the targets, count down ten seconds, not a moment sooner or later, then begin the charge,” the Commander said, drawing his long sword from it’s sheath, the blade chipped and worn from constant battling,”remember, no prisoners, keep your heads down, and try your best to keep yourselves alive. These are some of Abinchova’s boys, and they will put up one fuck of a fight.”

A sharp whistle rang through the forest, easily mistaken for a bird call. That was the signal from the advance scouts.
They were coming.

“You ready, Lou?” a voice on my right whispered to me. I nodded, keeping my gaze locked ahead in anticipation.

“I’m always ready, Rush.”

I felt a pat on my shoulder, before hearing a Rush shuffle towards me a little closer.

“Same as always, my brother. Watch my back, and I’ll watch yours, and we’ll be drinking mead back at camp in no time.”

A small smile tugged at my lips, as I returned the pat on the shoulder in acknowledgement.

“Alright lads, draw swords,” the Commander whispered roughly, as we all drew our weapons from our scabbards.

I could feel my heart beginning to beat quickly, my gaze focusing, my breath shuddering, as I positioned my sword.

Through the snowfall, around the bend of the game trail, a troop of bandits began their march, no more then 200 meters away from us. Instead of a loud and rambunctious group of drunks and degenerates, what came through our position was a group of twenty, grim faced and seasoned killers. The lot of were heavily armored, adorned with heavy plates of gray armor, thick and padded gambesons underneath. The lot of them were adorned with pelts and cloaks, suitable for the winter cold of the season, which meant that they were either returning to their camp, or on the way to the next Rook to sack and pillage.

In the back of the troop, walked one stnard carrier, carrying a flag of black, a griffin skull in the middle, with Allerseen wildflowers growing from the sockets, a runic letter A engraved in the forehead.

The standard of the Black Talon Company.

Abinchova’s bandits.

Abinchova’s....

The name lingered in mind for a bit, before I shook my head clear, tensely waiting for the command. Begging for the command.

I wanted to fall upon them with my sword, soaking the ground with their blood.

I wanted to kill them. To kill them all!

The group bandits looked at their surroundings wearily, as if their instincts screamed at them that this would be the perfect place for an ambush, yet still continued to move onward, almost as if against their will.

If only they listened.

As the group grew closer, I turned towards the Commander’s head, and brought my lips to the side of his ear.

“Once the command is given, I will go for the Captain in the front and his guard,” I whispered as quietly as I could,”if the archers don’t get him, it would be wise to butcher the standard bearer first.”

“Yes my prince, the flag would be an excellent gift to the king as well.”

I patted the Commander on the back, as we lifted his head up in preparation.

He gave three, loud audible clicks.

Just three.

That’s all it took for a bloodbath to begin.

Not even a second passed after the click of the Commander’s tongue that bolts of crossbows from both sides of the path flew into the group of bandits below.

Screams of agony followed not long after.

The ten seconds we needed to count seemed to be the longest of my life, as I saw bandit after bandit fell beneath the crossbow bolts. Some were lodged into necks and heads, crimson blood pouring from the wounds, expressions of horror and pain etched on the recipients’ faces.

Others took bolts into the shoulders and torso, wings and legs, causing them to fall to the ground, grasping the protruding objects embedded in their flesh as they yelled.

Ten seconds had passed.

The lot of us sprang from our crouching posistions and prepared to charge.

“No mercy, lads! Kill them all!”

We all yelled as loudly we could, leaping over brush and rocks in our way, as we surged forward with ungodly hate in our hearts. We were all war weary, and yet still bloodthirsty, our swords and axes and daggers and Spears gleaming in the winter sun’s light, another volley of crossbow bolts slamming into the group before we reached them.

Time seemed to slow before I reached their captain, a mean looking griffon with three crossbow bolts sticking from his shoulder pauldrons, as I swung my sword towards his head.

I could see the look in his eyes shift from a snarl of rage and fury, into that of mortification and despair. He knew he couldn’t shift his body fast enough to block my impending blow, that he couldn’t duck his head quickly enough, as he was burdened by all the heavy plate he wearing.

He knew, in that moment, that his death was imminent.

And just like that, time seemed to speed up again, as my sword sunk into his neck, cutting through flesh, sinew, and bone, before ripping itself through the other side, sending his head sailing off into the shrubbery and his limp body crumpling to the ground.

Catching my thrust before over extending my reach, I flipped my sword back upwards, stabbing one of the captain’s guards through the belly, pulling it out and finishing him with a slash through the neck.

All around me, the chaos of battle rang through
The forest, and the once white, snow covered ground was stained red with blood and dirt. By the time the archers had finished their volley and we arrived into combat position, their numbers had already been crippled.

The yells and frantic cries of the bandits were drowned out by the shouting of our rangers, and the clamor of steel against steel. Towards the back of the group, I saw the Commander thrust his sword into the standard bearer’s chest and rip the flag from his claws.

Turning back into the fray, I parried the sword strikes of another bandit before shoving him with my armored shoulder, throwing him off balance. Before he could right himself, Rush swooped down with his war axe, smashing it into his skull.

“You owe one for that!” He yelled, trying to yank his axe from the top of the bandit’s, as another one lifted his sword above Rush’s head from behind.

As quickly as I could, I threw my sword at the bandit, piercing his stomach as he fell to the ground. Leaping over bodies on the ground, I ran towards my sword, pulling it from the bandit, as I brought it back down into his chest, confirming the kill.

“Now we’re even!” I yelled back at Rush, pulling him back to his paws, as the two of us leapt into the fray once more.

We brandished our weapons, cutting down the closest enemies we could find, as we lost ourselves into the lust of battle.

I didn’t even know when the fighiting stopped.

The battlefield slowly became quieter and quieter, as the screams of the bandits devolved into gurgles and death gasps, until the forest became quiet and still, save for the ragged breaths of the soldeirs and I.

The hazy world around me slowly began to become clear again, my eyes beginning to refocus, as I beheld the scene before me.

Their was blood. Blood everywhere.

It stained the forest floors, the trunks of the trees, splattered on the bushes, and all over ourselves. I turned down, looking at my hands, seeing the color red all over my gloves and arm greaves, and dripping from my blade. Reaching up, I touched my face, and felt it stained and running there, as well.

This wasn’t battle, this was a massacre.

“Is everybody alright!” I heard the Commander yell, as he stomped up to the head of the battlefield, his armor clanking, he himself blood drenched.

A chorus of affirmatives greeted him, as well as several groans from the floor. He looked towards us, sheathing his bloody sword, and removing the helmet from his head, allowing his black feathered head to breath.

“Alright lads, let’s get our wounded up and tended too, and begin torching these scums’ bodies. I’ll need a few volunteers up with me to scout ahead to see if their camp is nearby, and if we got the numbers to hit it now.”

At once, Rush and I, as well as another ranger, stepped forward in front of the Commmnader, as he nodded his head.

“Aye, this’ll do,” he muttered, almost to himself, as he cleared his throat,”Alright, I’ll take these three with me, the rest of you lot finish up here, and await the signal again. If ya hear nothing in an hours time, return to camp and prepare yourselves. Understood?”

“Understood, sir!”

“Good, Good,” the Commander stated, reaching beneath his breast plate and pulling forth a clean cloth, offering it to myself.

“Thanks, Owens,” I said, taking the cloth, rubbing the blood from my face, passing it onto to Rush.

“Of course, my prince,” he replied, adjusting the belt along his waist,”bloody good work, as usually. The Rangers are good to have you.”

“What about me, sir? No love shown my way?” Rush asked, pushing past me in jest, his trademark cocky smile plastered on his face.

“Rush, your lucky the Unprince here saved your sorry arse, again,” The Commander grumbled, shoving him back into place,” I don’t know how you put up with this idiot, sometimes, Milord.”

I patted Rush on the top of his head,”what can I say, Owens, he’s my idiot.”

That elicited a laugh from the Commander and the other Ranger, Cormac.

“Well, boys, let’s ready up and take a little stroll through the woods, see if we can find that little ol’ camp of theirs’, and see if anymore killing needs to be done today.”

On that note, the four of us readied our weapons and gear, adjusting the cloaks over our shoulders, and walked off the path into the Nidstang trees, eager to see if the day would get bloodier then it already had.

Author's Note

well, this is the rewrite of one of my first fics on this site that I posted years ago. The plot has changed that it will work around the underlying narrative of my other two stories. I will be updating all three of these stories at different times, but timeline wise, In the Kingdom of the Blind is a prequel to Black Tar and this story. More updates for the other stories coming soon! If you like it, please favorite it and comment, let me know how it turns out, and like always, don’t be afraid to point out my shitty grammar!