CHAPTER 2

Draxz

Looking down from his massive mount, he surveyed another village that had been ravaged and burned. Draxz sat back in his saddle, and growled in frustration. He was bred for battle and his muscled form along with his black armor told the story of a thousand battles.

“Be easy brother. Your time will come.” A noble voice said from his side. Draxz’s yellow eye glanced to his right as Goren rode up beside him followed by Rurak.

“This is the last village along the road to Lasteel.” Goren continued.

Draxz judged his brothers atop their mounts. Their machikero’s thick hides lacked any scars. Their many horns protruded from their head, un marked and capped with jeweled gold and silver. Looking down to his own, he scratched the gray notched ear by his hand. His friend was battered and scarred as him, killing as many if not more that his own axe had. Admiring his mount’s battle scars and nicked horns, only one was tipped in sharp steel where it had broken in battle. Like himself, his beast’s armor lacked polish. Instead, grooves and shallow cuts lined the heavy plates. Sounds of hooves to his left caused Draxz’s ear to flick. Turning his head, his left eye, milky white, with a scar from his eye brow to his snout could only make out vague shadows of movement. One of his generals joined his side with a yawn.

This is not a skirmish, or a battle, this is a slaughter. Draxz thought.

The death of lesser beings did not bother him, it was the lack of resistance. His wolf legion held the true enemy, to the north, at bay from over running Kreet. If the wolf plague slipped past his defenses, to the humans, there would be rivers of blood. Then, his legion of outcasts, would be shown as the true warriors of the realm.

“Draxz!” A deep commanding voice said snapping him from his thoughts.

“Brother.” Draxz growled out in a gravel voice.

“How many of your legion are with us?” King Rurak asked with a sigh, having to repeat himself.

“Fifty.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Fifty? You were only to bring ten.” Goren said with a sneer.

“Must have heard you wrong.” Draxz shrugged, his unoiled metal creaking in protest.

“My king, I strongly recommend, the wolf legion be held, in reserve.” Goren said looking to Rurak.

Draxz watched his brothers have a conversation between themselves, their voices a whisper his ears could not understand.

Rurak, King of Kreet, held the crown that was denied to Draxz. Goren, the youngest of the three, the king’s honor guard. Draxz forced down his resentment that sat uneasily within his chest.

“When we reach the gates of Lasteel, the wolf legion will be among the first pure bloods to enter the city.” Rurak said at last, glancing from Goren to Draxz.

“This is a mistake.” Goren spat.

“We raid in celebration, and to remind the humans of when our father ruled.” Draxz said with a grin that revealed his pointed teeth.

“We shall return with the riches they hide. It will be a warning to the other human cities who have chosen to test our patience.” Rurak said.

Goren sat in silence, his face the emotionless mask Draxz was familiar with.

Draxz sat in his saddle as the army marched. The land had changed since he was a small bull. The trees were tall, as if to touch the clouds as they floated past. The expansion of the human cities changed that. Now, only young trees lined the main road.

As Draxz’s father aged, his raids to cull the humans lessened, allowing the humans to expand and grow more confident. Draxz was his axe and the first to spill blood for his armies. It had consumed him and with it the pleasures of taking what he wished. He had given in to his primal ways, with it came the untapped potential of his battle vigor, but the lust of blood and dominance of his prey had been overbearing. His lust for the human women had become his focus. Raiding villages became more about ravaging than pillaging. His legion followed his lead, giving themselves fully as he had, to their primal desires.

“You’re a disgraceful, dark stain upon the Aesturion blood line.”

His father’s growling, angry, cold words, shivered through him, cutting deeper than any fang, claw, or blade. He was the first Asterion to join the Wolf Legion, the dark shadow of the minotaur. His people, his brother’s people, no longer acknowledge him. He had become less in their eyes. Once, the prized prince of Kreet, now the general of a legion of the undesired and shamed.

The irony, he laughed to himself, weakening the growing frustration. He stole a glance to Goren who received updates from his scouts.

“If only they knew. Lasteel was where you consorted with a human woman, in celebration of Goren’s birth.” Draxz whispered to himself, only his generals with their sharp hearing able to understand his growled-out words. All three snickered. They were the three who guarded his father’s naked form, while he made a human woman his plaything.

It was after that night; his father’s wrath fell upon him and his loyal legion. Once back in their mountain city, with the spoils of their raids, Draxz and his legionaries were stripped of their rank and clan. The legion was thrown into the wastelands to the north with the outcasts to hold the line against the endless hordes of lycanthropes.