Prologue

The red and blue carriage bounced violently as it made it’s way toward Dragon’s Beach. The sun was beginning to set, and the princess was losing her patience. “I can never understand why we must travel to these pathetic little villages. I mean, it’s not like those farmers even care that we are there or not,” she whined to her father.

“Tara, I forbid you from speaking of our subjects in that manner,” King Ligerit scolded. “They need to see us so they can feel like they know those who rule them. It also shows them that we care about them.” The King adjusted his decorative, red robes, trying to make his gut less obvious.

The carriage began to came to a hard stop, and without hesitation the nine foot tall grey giant, Welker, squeezed out of the carriage. He made his way around the carriage, “Why have we stopped,” he demanded in his thundering voice.

The driver stared into the woods, scanning for something, “Don’ you ‘ere that?” Welker listened to the woods for a moment. All he could here was the breeze, but then an arrow slammed into his shoulder. The arrow barely bit into his stony shoulder, and was easy to pull out.

“Lay down on the floor, and don’t get up,” Welker shouted into the pair in the carriage, then climbed next to the driver, who was already urging the horses to sprint along the trail. A horn echoed through the forest, and Welker knew they were in for a fight. They rode hard and fast, urging the horses past their limits.

He scanned the forest, unable to see anything or anyone. A arrow sank into the lead horse’s neck, and it continued for a moment longer, then fell the ground lifeless. The other horses tripped on the dead horse, the center beam between horses dug into the dirt, and the carriage flipped. The horses neighed painfully, and two frightened screams rang out from the carriage.

With a grunt, Welker landed solidly on his back, and rolled for several feet. Slowly, he rose to his feet, his back cracking as he did. The carriage was not far away, and he could hear their pained groans. “Are you alive in there?”

The King cracked open the door, “I believe I hurt my wrist, but we are okay,” he said optimistically. Then with a shocked face, he shouted, “There, at the tree line!” Welker turned to see twenty armed men in ragged clothes walked toward them from the woods.

“My Lady, do you have your blade?” Welker asked.

“I always have it with me, just like you asked,” her melodic voice spoke softly.

“Remember your lessons, my Lady,” he said, and then slowly made his way to the large group of men. Drawing his dual xiphos, he shouted, “You have attacked a royal carriage, which is a crime punished by death. If you do not leave now, I will be your executioner.” He drew a line in the dirt, “If you cross this line, your fate is sealed.” He walked a few steps away, and then turned, swords held out wide, “Now, who is the first to die?”

Welker was unsure if he would have been able to kill all of them before they could reach the carriage, but if he could scare them into believing he could, he had a chance. A large, muscular man with shaggy brown hair, armed with an ax, stepped forward. “There is twenty of us, but only one o’ you. Do you really tink that you will win?” Welker took one step forward, and threw one of his swords with every thing he had.

Welker’s sword sang as it flipped through the air towards it’s target. The force behind the sword was enough to bury it hilt deep into the man’s stomach, and knock his off his feet. Laying on his side and trying to pull the sword free, the man screamed in pain. “There is now nineteen of you,” Welker said, and then pointed his sword at the group, slowly shifting his aim from one to the next. “We can stop now, and all you need to do is turn around, and walk away.”

He stopped shifting his focused when he locked eyes with a blonde, tall, scraggly boy, sixteen years old at the most. Welker knew the look in his eye, he had seen it in countless opponents, the boy needed to prove himself. With a cry of rage, the boy charged at Welker. One of then men shouted, calling him back, but he continued his eager charge. Welker watched as the boy crossed the line, and felt pity for him.

As he closed the distance, the boy pulled back the gleaming blade, and swung at Welker with all of his might. Welker lifted his free arm, and blocked the sword with his forearm. The blade barely bit into his skin, a slight sharp pain shot up his arm, and a bead of green rolled down the blade.  He and the boy locked eyes, and the boy had obviously realized his mistake.

“Release the sword boy, and return to your father,” Welker said roughly. “He looks worried,” He nodded his head toward the older man who shared a remarkable resemblance to the boy. 

For a second, it seemed as if the boy was willing to surrender, but then with a roar of defiance, he ripped the sword free, and lunged at Welker’s abdomen. With an effortless, practiced swipe, Welker slapped the sword away, and then smashed the boy in the face with the pommel of his sword.

With a solid crunch, the boy stumbled back, right side of his jaw deformed, and fell limply to the ground. The father started running toward his fallen son, “Jerik!” 

“Stop!” Welker boomed, and the father stopped just short of the line. “Your boy will live, but if you cross that line, you will not be as lucky.” The man looked at him, and then at the boy, obviously debating what he should do. Welker grabbed the boy by his collar, and drug him to his father. As they stood, face to chest, Welker and the man locked eyes, and he could see where Jerik got his fire. 

"Take your boy, and leave. This is only going to get worse." Welker said quietly, eyeing the remainder of the attackers, who did not seem as if they were ready to give up.  The man nodded, lifted the boy into his arms, and then walked away, struggling slightly.

Mercy was not a common thing for Welker, but he understood why the boy was there. He was not fighting for a cause, he had come to prove he was a man. Welker was once the same way, picking a fight with anyone willing to pick up a sword. It continued that way until he was ten, when Zekrai recruited him to join the Red Shields.

A crescendo of battle cries ripped him from his thoughts, and he saw the group charging at him. Gripping his sword with both hands, he braced for a fight.