“Retreat!” King Solomon shouted through the whipping winds, raising his Redslayer high into the air. The world was a cold white, covered in snow, but all could see the red of the sword.

Redslayer, the blade which had tasted the blood of the ancient wyrm, Mighty Blaze of the Eastern Desert.

“Retreat!” The call of retreat could barely be heard, but the soldiers could see the path the red blade was taking, and they followed it. A hundred soldiers, each great warriors in their own name, retreated back. Yet, there remained two groups which did not retreat.

“Your Grace, we will watch your back!” John, the youngest of the Royal Guard, exclaimed after his King. His sword shook within his hand, his heart pounding with adrenaline. His eyes were squarely fixed on the creature in the sky.

“Protect your Liege’s back!” shouted the Commander, Roger Whiteblade, remaining at the King’s side as they retreated together.

Five Royal Guards remained beside John, each as young as he, and each as terrified. Their teeth were chattering, but not because of the snow and frost stuck to their brows, but the fear of the wyrm above them.

It was Antalia the Silver, a wicked beast who had already frozen dozens of their brethren during the course of the battle, now standing like ice statues. The myriad of looks of fear belonged in a museum, for who knew that the human face could make so many faces?

Yet they had trained since young for this, the chance of honour and glory. Their shaking swords remained out, ready to stab at the creature when it came too close, and yet it flew off, away from the singing javelins which trailed after it.

The Royal Guard turned to see who it was that dared to throw the javelins at the skywyrm.

Of course, it was them.

Tall and broad, each as strong as two men, they were the savages from the west. For generations their ancestors fought with the civilised people of the Kingdom, and yet, here they stood, side by side with their once most hated enemy.

“The silver wyrm flees!” a savage shouted in their gutteral language. “Chase it! Do not let it escape!”

“The glory will be mine today, Kasomin!” one of the tusked savages cried with glee.

“Shakrat, do not cry when my blade pieces its heart!” The human savage was cackling with joy, the heat of battle clouding his mind as it did all Iyrmen. They had tasted the blood of the dragon, and now it was time to finish it.

The civilised men could not understand the roars of the beastly folk of the west, but watched as they chased the dragon, like children hounding down the last cookie.

“How do they know no fear?” John asked, turning back to Randal, who was standing on snow which was quickly yellowing.

“Fuck if I know, but I ain’t gonna ask them neither!” Randal said, his common birth slipping out in his words. He was one of the very few commoners in the Royal Guard.

“Mind your words, Randal! You’re a Royal Guard!” Kendrick said, sheathing his sword as he watched the wyrm flee. He was the Captain of the small squad, though he was more of a babysitter than anything else. His insides were still cold. ‘Who would have thought my first incursion would have been against a wyrm? Arya bless me.’

Off in the distance, there were still the drakken, who were engaged with the rest of the Iyrmen, though were quickly falling to the savage’s blades. The Royal Guard wasn’t interested in continuing the battle, their role was to make sure nothing continued back for the next short while, though it seemed no drakken was coming their way, not when they had a wall of savages to face. Yet, if the Royal Guard returned too quickly, they would be shamed.

“Let’s hide,” Randal said, motioning his head to the nearby wall, kicking off some piss from his boot.

“Hide? We’re-“

“Royal Guard, I know, but I don’t wanna die today.” Randal shook his head, walking away from Kendrick. “The King’s safe for now, so let’s hold out while we can.” Randal rounded the corner to find one of the savage people of the west. “Holy shit.”

“Mind your-“ Kendrick stopped, looking at the redness around the white snow. “Elaveil’s tits! How can a man bleed so much?” He couldn’t help but curse at the sight before him.

The savage man was tall and broad, as expected, but he was also one of the tusked savages, though he seemed to have some human blood mixed within him. The savage was pale skinned, slightly blue and grey, though it was quickly losing colour. His forehead, which had a tattoo of several moons, was pulsing, barely managing to keep consciousness. The entire area around him was red, tinted with his blood. The savage glared at the six Royal Guards, though his glare was weak, and he was shaking wildly. Not due to fear, for no savage knew fear.

“George, patch the boy up.” Kendrick winced at the sight of the youngster. They were roughly his age, but for some reason, the savage looked to be younger.

“I am no boy,” the savage man said, panting with effort. “I am Akrat, son of-” Akrat fell down onto his face, unconscious.

“He’s a gonner,” Randal said. “I say we bury him.”

“Six Royal Guard burying a savage? How would that look?” Kendrick shook his head. He picked the savage up and carried him towards a nearby building, which had been emptied during the fight. He placed the savage down onto the table, looking down at the half orc. ‘Who’d have thought I would have helped one of your kind out?’

George, the medic of the group, tore apart the savage’s furs to reveal a chiselled physique. “By the gods! What a specimen!” His eyes lit up with delight.

Kendrick smacked George across the back of his head. “Stop being so queer and get to work. You can touch him all you want once you patch him up.”

“Hey, Charles, pass me the good wine.” George started to get right down to business.

“The good wine? Why do you want the good wine?” Charles pulled his cloak over his wine skin, the one which he kept his good wine within. If he was going to die, he was going to make sure he had a good drink before he the gods took him.

“I know you haven’t watered it down, that’s why! Now pass it over!” George held out his hand, wiggling his fingers expectantly.

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Charles looked to Kendrick with his pleading eyes, but Kendrick just nodded his head. “This savage better pay me back, otherwise I’ll gut him,” he grumbled, relinquishing his good wine. A little part of his soul died as he did.

“You’ll be glad,” Kendrick said. “My father once told me that a savage always pays back his debts.”

“It’s true,” Randal said, nodding his head. “My uncle once helped an Iyrman in the wild. He was all bleeding and dying, though he uncle didn’t tell me what he was bleeding to. Anyway, the Iyrman came back half a year later, handing a magical sword.”

“Enough with your tall tales, Randal.” Kendrick shook his head. “I remember you told me that you once fought a Vulfaire alone for your training, but it was just a dire wolf, and we were there with you! What’s with you commoners and your stories?”

“Iyrmen tell stories too,” Randal said. “They don’t lie, and I’m not lying neither!” Randal unsheathed his sword, revealing the patterns on the hilt. “This is the sword that the Iyrman gave.”

Kendrick glanced at the sword, which held the same patterns he had seen on the Iyrman’s weapons, the mix of triangles and runes all over their hilts. It was indeed magical, for he recalled that the blade had been alight during the battle against the wyrm. The only other person with a magical sword was he, the Captain of the Newbloods. He had wondered how Randal had brought a magical sword, but he hadn’t asked. It was best not to ask questions if one wanted to stay a Captain. “If your uncle was the one to receive the sword, how did it come to your possession?” Still, his curiosity got the best of him.

“Uncle had no kids, and I always made sure to give him me biccies when I was a boy. He said I could have it when he was dying from the black disease. That’s how I became a Royal Guard, you know? When I started growing larger than other boys, I had to have my sword at my side, otherwise I’d get troubled by the guards since I was so big and wasn’t carrying no weapon. I got seen by a knight, and he saw the pattern. First he thought I was a savage, but he said I was too stupid to be a savage, but I was as strong as one.”

“I heard that you were scouted by a knight, but I never knew that’s how you managed to catch his attention. A magical swo- by the gods, will someone start a fire? It’s f-freezing in here!” Kendrick wrapped his cloak around himself, feeling the chill set into his bones.

Timothy shut the door, slinking back into the shadows, where they had been the entire time. Timothy exchanged a look with Johnathan, who returned to keeping an eye out the window, peeking through the curtains.

“Is he gonna live?” Randal asked, looking at the Iyrman.

“Is he going to live,” Kendrick corrected.

“That’s what I’m askin’.”

“Asking.”

“Yeah, tha’s right.”

“…”

“Will you two shut up?” George grumbled, trying to deal with the savage’s wounds. “Randal, your sword can catch fire, can’t it?”

“Tha’s right.”

“Bring it over here.”

“Hold on a second! It’s me sword! I’m not givin’ it to you!”

“I need you to ignite it.”

“Oh,” he said. “I can do that.” Randal muttered a word in the savage language, which sounded like gobbledygook, and the sword was set afire. The light revealed his tanned skin and his fiery red locks under his helmet.

“It always impresses me,” Charles said, taking a sip of his not so good wine. “Shame it’s with an idiot like you.”

“Don’t drink on the job,” Kendrick said, rubbing his forehead.

“We’re done with our job.” Charles sipped at his wine skin again.

“I told-“

“Shut your mouths!” George shouted, grabbing Randal’s wrist suddenly.

“Hey, what are y-“

George pulled the sword to the savage’s wounds and set the hot steel against it. His body did not shudder, though the flesh burnt together. The sickening smell caused Charles and George to pull away, and Timothy and John were glad they were so far away.

“Kyak! Kak!” Randal gagged, almost throwing up. ‘I can’t wet myself and sick out too!’

“You could have warned us,” Kendrick said, holding his cloak up over his face.

“You wouldn’t shut the fuck up.” George shook his head, barely managing to keep his breakfast.

“Mind your words, medic!” Kendrick snapped. He was sick and tired of people disrespecting him. Even if they were the youngest of the Royal Guard, they needed to act like they belonged. He recalled how that bastard Roger would constantly talk down to him.

“Don’t forget who outranks you when it comes to medicinal procedures!” George snapped back at Kendrick, glaring at him with daggers in his gaze.

Kendrick sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Sorry, George.” He hadn’t mean to snap at George, who was typically the best out of the lot, other than perhaps Johnathan, who was always willing to show off in front of the King.

“The dragon has gotten into our heads,” Randal said. “We’re all snappy today. Gotta be careful with that sorta thing.”

“That may be the smartest thing you’ve ever said,” Kendrick said, staring at the red haired commoner.

“Second smartest thing,” Randal said. “I also said we should hide.”

“Right.”

The six men remained within the building, bunching up together, though one would be on trekking outside, wrapped in several of the Royal Guard’s cloaks. The savage had his clothing and his blanket, which would just about keep him warm enough, though they had also set a small fire in the fire pit. They didn’t allow it to get too large, just small embers which filled the tiny room. This had been drilled into them during their training.

When morning came, Akrat awoke. His eyes flashed open to stare up at the dark roof up ahead, the morning light barely peeking through the snow and into the building through the curtains. He sat up, though instantly regretted it as he grunted.

“Easy there. You’ll open up your wounds again.” George said, glancing over to the savage man. “Akrat, wasn’t it?”

“Akrat, son of Ikrat,” the half orc grunted with only the slightest accent.

“Do you savage men get hungry?” George asked, breaking some rations and handing it over. It was a hard biscuit, and there were also some dried fruits.

“Iyrman,” Akrat corrected.

“What?”

“I am Iyrman. Not savage man.”

“Right. Do you Iyrmen get hungry?”

Akrat snatched the food. “Yes,” he said, before wolfing it down in two bites.

“Drink?” Charles asked from next to the fire place. He held out the last bit of his not so good wine, which he had filled with snow to make it last a little longer. However, it was barely any good now, so he no longer wanted it.

Akrat nodded, and caught the wine skin before drinking it down. It was cool, which wasn’t preferred, but he didn’t care. It was barely as good as the tavern piss that the Iyrmen usually bought. ‘Why do they like things that taste so bland?’

“You’re a hungry fella, ain’t you?” Randal said, hidden in his cloak. “Me ma always said I was a hungry bastard after a nip.”

Akrat looked at Randal, glanced down towards the sword at his side, but then turned to George. “What did he say?”

“Nothing important.”

“Oi.” Randal frowned.

“I am Akrat, son of Ikrat. I thank you, men of Blackwater.” Akrat stared at the three, raising his hands together in respect.

“We’ll take your thanks,” George said.

“I never would have guessed that you would speak our language better than some of us,” Charles said, looking to his red haired companion.

“Oi.”

“We are taught when young,” Akrat said. “We must speak the language, since we are allies.”

“Allies?” George asked, finishing his biscuit. “You’re part of the Kingdom, just like any one of us. We have a duty to help each other out, hence why we saved you.”

“No,” Akrat said. “We Iyrmen are free. We are not part of Blackwater, and you are not part of the Iyr.”

“Those are treasonous words,” George said, reaching down to his side. Akrat did not react as the medic brought out some dried fruit, offering some to the Iyrman, who accepted some.

“These are the words of the First Treaty of the Iyr and Blackwater.” Akrat ate the dried fruit, then glanced down at his wounds.

“I’ve never heard of that,” George said, biting into some more of his dried fruit.

The door opened and Kendrick stepped inside with a featherless bird of the Snowlands. He saw Akrat with a sword in his hand, drawn in his direction. “You finally woke up, I see,” he said, dropping the dead bird. “Charles, Timothy managed to find something for you to cook.”

“Damn, how does the bastard do it?” Charles shook his head, before grabbing the featherless bird and cutting into it so he could part it properly to cook.

“Slept well?” Kendrick asked, taking his seat beside the fire.

“It was fine.”

“Well, we’ll be heading back soon,” Kendrick said, having a nibble on his rations. “We’ll head back to the fort, then we can each see our families.”

“I must slay a wyrm for my family,” Akrat said, thinking about his older brother.

“You’re going to slay a wyrm?” Kendrick chuckled. “You and what army?”

“You,” Akrat said.

The six Royal Guard stared at Akrat, blinking at him. Timothy and John had just stepped inside when he had said that.

“What did he just say?” a feminine voice cut through the air. Akrat turned to Timothy, who had remained in the shadows. Timothy only spoke once a day, and it seemed she had chosen now to speak up.

“Timothy’s a girl?” Randal gasped.