Ayé, j'ai re-terminé le prologue, en espérant que cela vous plaise.
On a summer night : Prologue
It was dark on the plains now. The sound of shattered steal and dying men had subsided, and everything felt peaceful and calm again. The bright moon was the only source of light in the battlefield, shedding its rays on the sea of bodies laying scattered on the grass, all of them dressed in blue and blood.
Macerio himself looked more and more like a corpse, his exhaustion etched on his face. «The world has gone mad», he thought. Flies were already swarming, circling around the bodies of the fallen. At dawn people would join the flies, searching for weapons and jewels to turn into money in a town nearby.
To think that the most celebrated company of mercenaries should end this way...
That the death of one man could change the world he lived in...
How did it come to this ? Two days ago, Macerio was feasting with his men, celebrating the news of their renewed contract with Duke Renfrew and his promotion to Lieutenant. He had worked so hard to get to this position. His pride. Now he could not care less. The commander was dead and the captains were killing each other, the men accusing one another of the crime. The truth was that they were all too eager for power and control, that they had all dreamed of this day were they might reach the top of the ladder and lead the whole company. They were all responsible, each and everyone of them. Except maybe Zahakir.
Zahakir was an anomaly, the last true Wolf as Macerio saw him. But even a man like this could not hope to keep the world from falling apart, when madness had come to rule the mind of men.
Macerio waved the thought away. The Blue Wolves may very well be destroyed, but he was still alive, and if he wished to survive he had to kill one more of his own. Or he would fall, joining his friends as food for the birds of the plains.
The gash on his leg was worrying him, though. If it was infected, he would never make it to the closest town. He had to finish this, and fast. He took a firm grip on the hilt of his sword, resolute.
The pikeman was circling around him, waiting for the right time to push his advantage. Macerio thrust his sword straight to his head, and missed him by a hair. His single-handed blade almost slipped from his hand as he tried to recover his balance. His opponent was standing still, breathing heavily, right hand at the butt of his pike, left hand stretched out as a pivot point for the move to come. Macerio drew a long breath, knowing that the next pass would likely be the last.
The pikeman suddenly thrust his long weapon forward, first with both hands, pushing on his right foot, then released his left hand to allow the point to pierce as far as possible. Macerio’s shield shattered with the impact, the swordsman rolling to the ground, his left wrist broken. Moaning and dizzy, resisting the urge to threw up, he finally managed to rise to his feet. The pikeman was laying face down in the grass, struggling for consciousness, having broken several ribs in the shock.
Macerio barely managed to walk to him before falling on his knees, blood trickling from his wound. The pikeman was looking away, resignation in his face. « Finish me, Lieutenant. I deserve it. », he said in a whisper.
Macerio lifted his sword with both hands, preparing to deliver the deadly blow, and screamed at the pain in his wrist. « Fuck it. I don’t have time for this. »
He painfully sheathed his sword and began running awkwardly toward the woods, hoping to get some distance between him and the corpses before dawn.
« Where are you going ? », said a voice at his back. A voice he knew so well.
Macerio’s heart missed a beat and his legs stopped. He looked at the sky, tears coming to his eyes. Then, slowly muttering to himself : « Oh no, not him. God, not him. »
As drops of rain started falling from the dark-blue sky, the voice of Zahakir Kamran rose again.
« You won’t find shelter in the woods, if that’s what you seek. You will find it nowhere, marked as you are. A Wolf belongs to a pack. You can’t survive on your own. »
Macerio swallowed hard, not daring to look behind. Eyes and mind racing, he realized the pikeman had lost consciousness. He envied him.
« There is no pack, Captain, not anymore. Just wolves killing wolves. Are you here to kill me ? »
The rain intensified, the swollen drops beating his face hard in the raising wind.
Zahakir laughed. « My job is to kill traitors, not cowards. Goro is not far and I want his head. Yours may wait. Anyway, if you want to die so much, you will have plenty of chances in the coming days. Farewell, we won’t meet again. »
Macerio turned in astonishment, only to see the shadow of the man, already far, running in the rain through the blood-soaked battle-field.
***
In the pitch-black night and with the rain falling so hard, the bright moon was as much a help as a threat, its light revealing the shadows of friends and enemies alike. Goro sighed. « Shut up I said ! I don’t want us to be heard or seen so close to this butchery. And keep walking ! »
But no one would listen to Goro, the Traitor and Murderer. At this rate, he would soon lose the loyalty of the last of his men. Why did it turn that way ?
The coup has been carefully planned for months. The words of the messenger had been crystal clear : « We can’t afford to have the Wolves running between our legs when we strike the first blow. You must put an end to this. The time for planning is passed, you must act now. Tadji dies tonight.»
Slicing his throat in his sleep had been too easy. After the last spasm, Goro had withdrawn in his mind, wondering why the man had frightened him and the men for so long. He was flesh and bones, like anyone else. And now he was dead.
The warning has been given very soon after Goro had managed to slip away from the camp. After that, everything was a blur. And blood. And death.
Goro kept loosing himself in his thoughts, while his men talked and laughed to push back the night and the visions of death and bloodshed that would not let go of them.
They did not notice him until they heard Mathim scream, his eyes looking in horror at his neatly severed arm. By then it was to late. The razor-sharp double-edged sword gutted the first of the twins, who fell in the arms of his horror-struck brother. A brother who lost his head half a second later, shedding blood on Goro’s sea blue dress.
Zahakir Kamran stood still while the remaining mercenaries were making the smartest and most important decision of their lives. They flew, leaving their captain to handle the demon he had unleashed on the burning plains.
Zahakir was watching the blood on his sword being slowly washed by the rain.
« So this is what you want, Zahakir ? After all these years fighting side by side ! »
« Goro, my quarry. Why did you do this to yourself ? The Order can’t save you here. »
« Tadji’s death was inevitable. Even if I had not taken the matter in hands, someone else would have. There is no place for The Blue Wolves in this time !»
Zahakir spat. « Please, don’t waste your breath. Not that it will matter for much longer. »
Goro unsheathed, his moist hands shaking on the hilt of his rapier. « So be it. »
The clash of the blades sent waves of pain throughout Goro’s body, forcing him to retreat, muscles numb with pain.
Zahakir smiled, his eyes narrowed.
Goro charged, sword pointed forward, screaming in the night. Zahakir dodged, adding a deep cut to Goro’s leg, just above the knee. Goro tried a desperate sequence, hacking, cutting and thrusting. Zahakir parried, blocked and dodged each blow, never missing a step.
The two swords locked once again, Goro using all of his strength to prevent Zahakir from throwing him to the ground. His sword broke before its owner, sending the two men rolling together in the mud. Goro was dead before touching the ground, Zahakir’s blade deeply buried in his stomach. Panting, Zahakir paused to look at the young face before disengaging his sword from the warm body.
« Lived in the mud. Died in the mud. »
Zahakir stood up and gave a last look at the still eyes of his once brother-at-arms. After a minute, he left the body behind him to start a long walk toward the mountains. And complete his duty.
« What a shitty weather. »