Chilled mud splattered against Azoloth’s face, the mud intermingled with tears which cascaded down his cheeks. It caked his dark shoulder length hair and turned his blue and white tunic a dirty brown. Lightning flashed, and the air trembled with thunder, which seemed to happen at the same time. The wind, rain, and hail washed the distant sound of battle away. The horse trough he hid under protected him from the worst of it, but he could not stay here long. Sir Gregory was dead, or soon would be, and he had ordered Azoloth to flee the keep. He took a deep breath, which brought in the mingled scents of rain, blood, and dirt. In the distance came a scream of pain as some poor bastard’s life came to an abrupt end. The night, which was normally lit by the moon, was now almost pitch black with the fury of the storm.

Azoloth tensed his body as the sound of heavy boots against cobblestone approached. There was no doubt in his mind that the soldier’s to whom those boots belonged sought to find and execute any surviving members of Sir Gregory’s household, which would also include him. His fingers curled, digging into the mud in anger and shame. He felt like a coward hiding from these men under this trough when he should have stood by Sir Gregory’s side, dying with a sword in his hand instead of running. However, he was just a lowly squire, and his Knight Commander had given him a direct order to flee. His entire body tensed as his heart pounded in his chest. He was on the verge of panic from the feelings of helpless rage that flowed through him. He knew panic would only lead to his death. His resolve strengthened like temped metal as he decided. He closed his eyes and took several long, deep breaths. He would find the reason behind the Queen’s betrayal of the Knighthood. For King, for country, and most of all for Sir Gregory.

With his decision set firmly in his mind, Azoloth hardened his heart. He swallowed back the tears and buried the pain as deep within his soul as he could. There was no place for that type of weakness within this new world he found himself in. Better to let that hot childish fury cool to an icy rage, that cold rage would serve him better. A reckoning was coming, and he swore to himself and whatever powers might be listening, he would move heaven and earth to see this through. Calmer now, he opened his eyes and peered into the darkness.

One of the first lessons Sir Gregory had taught Azoloth echoed in his mind. Three things you must trust in and care for above all else. The horse on which you ride, the beast who guards your sleep, and the weapon hanging at your side. His sword, 38 inches of polished War Steel, hung at his hip as befit a squire. The lesson to always carry his sword on his person had literally been beaten into him. The sword was the birthright of every freeman, but beyond that, a knight of the realm must always be ready to defend both the realm and himself. That meant he just needed Stravos and Crimson.

His hand unconsciously slid down and grasped the hilt of his sword. Stravos and Crimson belonged to Sir Gregory. They were to become Azoloth's next year at his knighting ceremony. Now that day would never come. Azoloth had spent the last 4 years training Stravos from a colt and the last 2 years training Crimson from a pup. He had been told that raising them himself would help forge the bond between them, and he understood it now. Even had he been able to escape without them, he could not bring himself to leave them behind, nor would they ever abandon him.

From where he hid, Azoloth could see the gates that lead out of the keep because at least 20 men at arms, with torches, swarmed the area. The portcullis stood wide open, which explained why it was guarded by so many soldiers. It appeared as if some of them were trying to repair the mechanism to lower the portcullis. A grim smile spread across Azoloth’s lips. It appeared as if one of the Keep’s valiant defenders had destroyed the mechanism once it was clear the keep had fallen; his actions prevented the enemy from trapping everyone inside. One final act of defiance before death, he thought as his eyes looked at the body of a guardsman which lay next to the mechanism, a glass flask still held in his hand. They had pierced the body with over a dozen crossbow bolts. Yet it gave him a chance. If he could just get to Stravos and Crimson, he might be able to escape.

Soon Azoloth found his hand forced, two enemy soldiers stomped by his hiding spot. They each wore the gold and blue of the kingdom’s troops and carried long steel tipped spears. Their voices carried over the wind as they had to yell to hear each other.

“We need to kill all the war hounds and war horses,” the first man said.

“Seems like a waste,” the second man responded.

“Naw, those beasts are trained by the Knights to only obey their masters. They won’t be good for nought but supplies for the peasants with their masters dead,” the first man responded.

“Lets get it done then, dirty business this,” the second man said as they walked by.

* * * * *

They pushed the doors to the kennels open and all the dogs looked up eagerly. They were restless due to the storm raging outside and the scent of blood in the air. Perked ears lowered and bass growls filled the room and two unfamiliar men stepped inside.

“Whelp, better get to it,” said one man as he stepped up to the closest kennel. He looked down at the growling war hound inside, he raised the spear up. The spear angled down, thrust at the dog in the cage with a practiced motion. However, the job would not be that easy. These were no small lap dogs, and this job would not be that easy. Each of the dogs was a trained war hound weighing at least 150 lbs. Trained in combat since he was a puppy, the hound lept to the side and grabbed the wooden shaft of the spear in his powerful jaws. The dog flexed powerful jaw and shook his head back and forth as he growled. A sharp cracking sound was coming from the shaft of the spear.

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“Oh, get yer arse over here and help me with this mutt! We’ll need to do them one at a time,” the same man yelled to his companion. He grunted and huffed as he struggled to get his spear back and keep the hound occupied for his partner. Where was that asshole he wondered. Then he felt it, a powerful arm wrapped around his throat and squeezed so he could not cry out. His hand released the spear and dropped to his sword hilt. That was a mistake for the butt of the spear, now free, slammed into his cheek and carved a bloody path up to his eye. Yet whoever stood behind him held him, still not giving him the chance to escape. The next and final sensation felt was that of a dagger. Cold steel pressed just under where the arm held his throat and the sharp blade cut into flesh. The world faded to darkness.

* * * * *

Azoloth angled the body so as his dagger cut the throat, the spray of hot blood coated a nearby wall and not the hound. Azoloth let the body fall to the ground and knelt down to clean his dagger off on the man’s tunic. Standing, he looked at the door as it opened again and two more men entered. The men froze for a second as they looked over the room. They saw a young man in armor and two of their fellows dead, both with slit throats. That split second of hesitation was one too long. Azoloth did not hesitate. He flicked open the latch to the nearest two cages. Two massive war hounds burst from their cages and, ignoring Azoloth, rush to the two new soldiers. Both men tried to bring their spears to bear on the rushing beasts, but there was no time. In seconds, they buried both men under the rushing fur and fangs of the pack, their screams filling the air. Azoloth, in the meantime, had finished freeing the hounds, around 30 in total.

Despite what the crown soldiers had thought, the hounds would obey those other than their masters. They just had to know and trust them. They well knew Azoloth and would follow his direction.

Azoloth Freed Crimson last and gave a sharp whistle to prevent his hound from partaking in the bloody feast with the others. Crimson bound over to his master. Azoloth reached down and ruffled the dog’s shaggy head. The war hounds were Caucasian Shepherd. They were huge and powerful beasts, but very loyal. The peasants did not keep them because the dogs were known to kill and eat small animals, cows, horses, and sometimes people.

Crimson heeled his Azoloth as they left the warmth and security of the kennels for the dark, stormy night. Though he had not called them, many other war hounds noticed their pack leader leaving and left off the bodies to follow. As Azoloth had feared, other teams of men were dispatched to the stables. Already they were slaughtering the warhorses. Like the hounds, the horses knew battle and already some stallions were hammering their hooves against the doors to their stalls trying to get free.

Azoloth brought his hand up into the air, gave a sharp whistle, and brought his hand down in a chopping motion. It surprised him when not just Crimson but at least 25 other hounds bolted into the barn and attacked the soldiers. It did not take long for the hounds to tear the handful of soldiers apart. Azoloth went from stall to stall, freeing all the Warhorses that still lived.

Stravos was the last horse freed, and Azoloth brought him over to be saddled. The storm raging outside had muffled the sounds of battle enough no aid came to the soldiers the hounds slaughtered. This gave Azoloth some time. He tossed a blanket over Stravos and then grabbed his saddle, fastening it on the horse. Then he grabbed several pre-filled saddle bags and attached them to the saddle. They always kept everything in a state of readiness in case the Knights were called out at the last minute. This meant that within five minutes, Azoloth had Stravos saddled and tacked. Crimson was also wearing his leather armor. Azoloth even found his heater shield from training earlier that day. The stable boy was supposed to have taken all of his gear to his room, yet it looked like they missed this. Azoloth almost chuckled to himself, thinking under any other circumstances he would have been cussing out the stable boy instead of silently thanking him for his oversight.

* * * * *

Azoloth was as ready as he could get. He mounted Stravos and drew his Falcion, then he let out a sharp whistle. Crimson and all the hounds milling around the barn came to instant attention. Azoloth must have looked like a demon from hell coming out of the stormy night with how the men at arms guarding the gate recoiled from him. He sat on a massive black warhorse, pitch black Brigandine armor with black War Steel fasteners, and his dark hair left only the paleness of his face to be illuminated by the torches. His face was twisted into a look of rage and hatred as a war cry left his lips. His long black War Steel Falcion came down as he yelled and pointed at the men at arms before him. More than 25 crimson and black war hounds boiled from around Stravos and surged for the soldiers.

Once more, the sounds of battle filled the air of the keep. This time, the sound was of deep growls and screams as the company of soldiers fought the over 25 war hounds. Outnumbered by the hounds, the soldiers relied on the reach of their weapons and heavy shields to even the odds.

Stravos’s hooves sparked against the cobblestone road. Azoloth urged Stravos to a gallop, and they surged past the battling war hounds and soldiers. Sword in hand, he drew his arm back and with a single deft motion, he brought the blade's edge down into a man’s neck. Blood fountained into the air and the shield he held was dropped. The opening allowed one of the war hounds to leap through latching onto another mans arm. Then they were past and headed towards the keep entrance. Only a hand full of guards remained at the gate, the rest were busy behind him.

Two of the soldiers at the gate held pikes. The other three had drawn long swords. Azoloth leaned forward and swept aside the pike and Stravos veered into the owner of said pike, blood spurting across the path as the steel clad hooves tore him apart. The second man with a pike had his eyes on Azoloth and Stravos, and was bringing his pike down when Crimson hit him full force, knocking him into two of the men behind him. Massive jaws opened and tore out the man’s throat before Crimson darted away. The fifth and final guard brought his sword down, but the leather armor Azoloth wore and the awkward angle of the blow were enough to turn it aside as they rushed out into the night.

Screams of pain, fear, and fury followed them as they vanished into the darkness. Azoloth had no doubt search parties would be dispatched to locate them. He was not concerned, though; he knew these lands for miles around. As he rode, the silvery moon slipped from behind a cloud, its silvery glow once more falling across the world. He realized it had stopped raining during his escape. The relaxing peace of night surrounding him, Azoloth headed towards the nearby village that lay just east of Candlecove Keep.