t hadn't taken long for the village men of the small town Pirage to gather their pitch forks and pikes at the first sounds of the thundering horses. They heard it before they saw it, and the sound had picked the heads of men up from the fields that they worked to maintain under the unrelenting sun.

Up ahead, beyond the horizon, came a line of horses, destriers, and steeds with banners flying high. A man name Halfric pursed his lips and cursed his breath.

"Raiders!" he shouted, as men hurriedly gathered from their huts to congregate as the wave of men approached on horseback.

"Those aren't no Raiders, Halfric. They bear banners and fine mounts. Must be King Norwend's men," came the reply from a man with a sloppy face and mismatched ears.

"Those aren't King Norwend's men, Gerey. Norwend wouldn't send a host of men armed for battle just to visit Pirage."

As men arrived beside Halfric with pikes in hand, the thundering hoofbeats had begun to make the ground quake underfoot. Gerey gulped anxiously. Halfric took half a step back. The sight of men in fully plated bronze armor was unnerving.

The host of men were nearly a hundred men deep and descending the gully towards their homes. Halfric scanned the banners that were hoisted high by their bannermen, but he had not seen the sigil before.

He called to the villagers, "We do not know their intent, but hold your ground, I am sure this is nothing we can't reason out."

Men were shouting at their wives and children to hurry inside as men emerged from huts with fishing spears and rusted pikes. Halfric spit on the ground, tasting the bile at the back of his throat. This could get ugly. These men look like they mean to take our land by force...but for what? They aren't no farmers.

The host had finally descended upon the small host of thirty men. The lead of the group scoffed at the sight, "Bit nervous, are ye?"

"And whose men might you be? Looks as though you've got no business here on these grounds. We serve the lord King Norwend and bend the knee to no one else. Be quick about it if you mean to pass through our village. It's like there's a chance we'll let you through unharmed."

The lead of the host chuckled through his bronze helm. Silver trim was woven intricately about the siding of his helm with a narrow slit unveiling only his eyes and nothing more.

"We haven't come to barter, peasant. I have actually come to occupy this land because my people, well, quick simply they need to eat! And you've got yourself a nice plot of land here. I'll be kind and offer you the hillside for your folk, I just passed through and I saw some wild rabbits roaming the grasses. Might be if your quick about it you'll get yourself some dinner tonight." The lead of the host had a sullen tone about his words.

"I don't think we've met. I am Halfric Torgwell of Sendwind, and protector of this village. Who is it whom I have the pleasure of meeting?"

"I don't like your tone, but I do agree it is time you've met the name of your fate. I am Torval Rainblood of Raideth. And your feet are standing on my grass there, and I don't like that."

Men around Halfric shifted nervously. A man towards the back of his gathered group had sneakily mounted a mare in the nearby stable amidst the talking and took off riding north towards Werving Pass. A man from within Torval's ranks reined his horse out from his line, withdrew an arrow from his quiver, and unleashed the arrow from his curve bow. All eyes followed the arrow's path as it slammed home into the back of the rider, toppling him to the ground on top of his mare who whinnied and stay down.

Torval laughed first, on his lonesome. His men soon followed suit. Halfric found nothing funny about that. Gerey broke bad, spitting as he screamed like a fitful child, "OH COME ON, WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

"You know, I'm glad you asked," said Torval, removing his helm. "It's really quite simply, I would like your men to bend the knee and acknowledge me as King rather than that pathetic jest of a King, Norwend." Torval spit distastefully at the ground in front of him.

"King Norwend will squash your army. A hundred men don't worry him," came Halfric's reply. Another man within the host of villagers exclaimed his agreement, "King Norwend won't stand for this!"

"Funny you mention that coward with such confidence. Not surprised that some foolish peasant's men find our lot so troublesome. Perhaps I should tell you what happened to your king. We laid siege to his castle, took hold of Barley's Keep, raped and pillaged all in sight, but only after we slaughtered the high priests, put the citadel to the torch, and dismembered all who did not manage to escape."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"And...well...wha—what about—about the king?" Gerey was stammering like a child, his nostrils flailing.

Torval snorted and glanced at his men.

"Well, if you really want a story...let's just say it's hard to rule a kingdom without a hand to assist you."

Halfric raised his pike accusingly, "I've heard liars often enough, and you're no different."

Torval dismounted. His brown cape swayed lightly in the wind as he began to walk slowly towards Halfric. He put his hand on the end of his pike and lowered it by force, staring Halfric in the eyes the whole time. Halfric backed down but Torval brought his face so close to his face that Halfric could smell ale.

"Do I look like a man that would lie to peasant-scum?"

His breathing was so forceful Halfric could feel his snorts of breath tickling his eyes. He blinked often as a result, and Torval pushed his own forehead against Halfric and whispered.

"I'm going to do the exact same treatment to these people here, except it will be you that I chain up as my pet, and I'll have your hands hanging from my walls. I'll have your wife sent to my brother as a gift to do with as he pleases, and I'll have your men flayed, alive. Or, you can bend the knee, and I'll make our first meeting an act of mercy. Are we clear?"

Halfric swallowed hard and nodded his consent. Torval backed off and Halfric gave a deep exhale.

"So, what's it going to be, peasants? This village is quite pleasant, no reason it shouldn't remain that way." Torval had suddenly turned cheerful despite his dark tone moments earlier.

Halfric signaled for his men to drop their weapons. Dozens of pikes, halberds, and fishing spears clattered to the ground in a heap. Halfric was the first to drop to his knee, bowing his head. The rest followed suit.

Torval looked on, the deep scars on either cheek turning his grim look into a subtle smile.

"Very well, we shall have mercy." Torval turned to mount.

He spoke again as he flung himself up, "But today is not that day."

He withdrew cold steel from his hip and smiled, this time he did not need his scars to do the smiling for him.

Screams that can only be made by a grown man dying filled the gully in a melodious synchronicity, sending shivers that would haunt any man who heard it. Men on horseback swept through the village, slicing the helpless men before they had a chance to run.

"Put it to the torch, treason does not go unpunished."

Men put the huts to the torch, slaying the women and children who dared try to escape their burning huts. Some died inside their huts from the smoke and fire. Others were futile in their attempts to dash away to their freedom.

The last woman had evaded the sword of her perpetrator but was soon to be trampled by three men who had foreseen her escape. Torval shouted to them, demanding that they let her go.

"Let her be. Let her share with the others what happens when you cross paths with the great, the mighty, lord of Raideth and King of the Westlands. I am King Torval Rainblood of Raideth, the first of his name, and soon to be—the King of Modena, the first of his name and first to lay claim to the throne of the realm.

The village was burned to the ground, and all that remained was a haze of black smoke and charred ash and flayed bodies.

By evening, the men in bronze armor were in high spirits as they returned to Barley's keep. The drawbridge came down and the thundering horse of horses came to a halt as they meandered across the moat. Torval glanced down as his horse wandered across the wooden drawbridge. His eyes darted from body to body, countless of them floated through the green waters. Birds pecked at the eyes of the dead who floated on their backs. Torval's skin went cold at one of the corpses. He saw his brother's face, the eyes pecked from their socket. His skin was white as milk and his mouth conorted in horror.

Torval shouted and yanked his reins. His horse neighed wildly and reared. Torval looked again and it was not his brother's body, but some man whom he did not know. Torval heaved a deep breath, drowning out the men around him tending to him. He shook his head and entered the keep.

His brother approached the stairs leading up to the ramparts, a smile on his face. Torval had to shake his head to rid himself of the image that had shaken him up.

"Brother! You are pale as a ghost." Bastu gripped Torval's arms as he dismounted, a lost look still in his eyes.

"Yes, brother, I mean no, yeah. Aye, I am fine. We pillaged the townsfolk that are just beyond that hill. Brought you a gift as well." Torval removed a dismembered hand from his cloak pocket and it brought a smile to Bastu's face.

Bastu took the hand and looked it over front and back. "'The hand of a craftsman, no? It's got the ridges of a man who dealt with iron his whole life."

Torval simply nodded as his men who rode trotted by him to make way for the Great Hall. The smell of roasted onions and garlic were drifting through the yard already.

"What troubles you, brother? You were successful, no?" Bastu's shaggy mane of blonde hair tickled his bright blue eyes.

"I need some mutton." Torval removed his helm and shoved it into his squire's arms and handed the reins off to him. Bastu followed after him.

"Well, what is it now? You said you needed to gauge the fealty of the lords and common folk of Raideth. Where will you go next?"

"Modena," came Torval's reply.

"Modena? What—"

"I mean to march on Modena. In due time, of course. I am taking our best men after a call all of my banners."

"How will you call the banners of men who do not even know they serve you yet?"

"They will know. Soon."

"You are a fool, Torval. We must be grateful with this great land we have inherited."

"We? It was I who laid siege to this castle, and it is I who will lead us into Modena. I mean to claim whatever power is lurking in those lands. You will stay with Barley Keep. I need you in command here." Torval turned to make way for the great hall. He realized how hungry he was now that he could smell the roasted boar.

"Aye...wait up brother. I have one more thing to tell you."

Torval waited with impatient eyes.

"Someone came to the gates when you were gone," said Bastu.

"Who? Tell me."

"Our scout has returned with news of the Magi Temple."

"And?"

"It was destroyed, their members fled. We needn't worry about them Magi wizards."

"Good," replied Torval, "then nothing stops us now."

And with that, the two turned towards the Great Hall to begin their first feast within the walls of Barley Keep.