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Chapter I: The Fight

Rain poured down in the dark of the night. The water fell upon the leaves of the trees and dripped onto the earth below. The sound of heavy boots, ringing chainmail, and hooves against the ground mingled with the storm -- a massive horde of soldiers traveling along the road. The men marching up the hill were on the way to battle, and each wore a green and white cloak that hung over his chainmail. Four distinguished knights rode at the head of the formation.

Leading them at the front was Avon, a noble and determined lord riding high and proud upon his steed. In full steel armor, green and white colors adorned the corner of his chest, and he carried his loyal sword in a sheath at his side. He was well-toned from battle and carried an air of experience, though only ordinary in build and stature. Following at his side was Renhard, Avon's most trusted companion, his tan-brown fur glimmering gold in the dim light. He wore a steel cuirass embossed with two steeds rearing up at the center of the armor. Renhard was a renowned swordsman, and his longsword was both well used and meticulously sharpened, baptized in the blood of many foes who sought to challenge him. Like Avon, he carried it in sheath on his left side. There was also Merulf, a battle-wisened knight of calm demeanor whose claymore had shattered many shields. He was an older man, his dark fur complemented by golden eyes -- like the stars gleaming in the night sky. Lastly there was Ivan, a raucous but accomplished halberdier with fur white like winter's snow transitioning to charcoal black along his arms, tail, legs, and the tips of his ears. Together, they made up The Sword and Anvil Order, an order of knights led by Avon and sworn to protect the people of the Rupea Valley. Each had taken an oath that bound them to the chivalry of knighthood. And -- just as many times before -- the four of them were leading their men towards an enemy who had come to threaten their people.

The road spun up the side of a hill, winding through a dense forest. It had been paved long ago but was now reduced to mud, with branches growing into its path in places. Avon ordered the men to set up camp once his convoy was within a clearing near the top of the hill. The men began setting up tents and chopping down trees for a fire. Avon was atop the hill, at the edge of a steeper drop, from which he could view the grasslands in the valley below. The silent silhouette of the Carpathian Mountains lined the dusky horizon. Renhard spotted his commander in the clearing and rode up to join him.

"The men will have a hard time getting a fire going in this rain, and the wagons won't make it up this hill in this mud," Renhard said to Avon, who continued to look out over the grasslands.

"Sir, did you hear me?" Renhard asked as he trotted his horse closer to the commander's. Avon possessed a handsome face, reddish-orange and white with mature, black markings on his muzzle. When he turned to face Renhard, his green eyes glinted in the distant torchlight.

"We'll have no need for fires, my friend" Avon said as he pointed towards the low grasslands before them. Renhard could see motion in a crowd of burning torches in the distance and the chatter of approaching enemies.

"The tribesmen come. Tell them men to ready themselves." Avon continued.

Renhard turned his horse back towards the men and unsheathed his sword. He clanged it loudly upon his shield, then yelled out: "Soldat! Ready yourselves! Vanguard forward! Archers at the middle guard, horses the rear guard!" As he yelled, the men hurried into their formations. They were a small band, only two souls north of two hundred, against over 150 Gazari tribesmen. The Gazari were migrants, and they had traveled a long way to take this fertile land away from its settlers. They were not going to go kindly. Avon turned toward his men and unsheathed his sword.

"My brothers! I promised you all good fortune, and honor -- a chance to defend what we have fought for, what makes us all brothers. There, beyond this hill, lie the men who rape and reave all that we have fought for. Are we just going to let them have it?" He called out, and a moment later his men shouted "No!" in a deep, heavy roar. "Or are we going to be men of the Sword and Brothers of the Anvil, and strike them from our claim?" The men now roared in agreement. Avon held his sword up high toward the dark clouds. "Let Gods of the earth hear our call for glory, let them guide us to victory!" At that moment, Renhard shouted "Barritus!" The men responded to the command with two terse, loud chants, banging their shields in unison. Avon nodded to Renhard.

"Battaile formation!" The men started to run over the crest of the hill, maintaining their configuration. As the infantry entered within range of the tribesmen, they were pelted by large rocks and arrows. Avon shouted, "Shields up!" -- just before a volley of arrows struck against their metal shields, splintering upon impact. Some penetrated through the shield wall, striking five of Avon's men.

Then the commander yelled -- "Archers!" -- as the bowmen, led by Ivan, lined up in formation behind the infantry. Rain drops beaded and dripped from the pale fur on Ivan's muzzle, his icy blue eyes fixed on the charge of men before him. Ivan unsheathed his sword and looked to Avon, who nodded at him.

"Archers Nock!" Ivan shouted, and the archers nocked their arrows. "draw!" The archers pulled back on the nocking point on their longbows, nearly in unison.

"Loose!" Ivan called out a moment later, raising his sword up high. With that, nearly a hundred arrows could be heard whirring through the wet, evening sky, followed immediately by the sudden sounds of screaming and death as a number of the Gazari were struck down. Avon nodded for another volley and Ivan followed orders. The arrows soared through the dark sky splitting through raindrops as they crashed down upon the tribesmen, piercing their weak armor, injuring many. With another volley, more tribesmen fell. Yet, they were unfazed by the barrage and continued to charge, their battle cries growing nearer with each passing moment.

Avon raised his hand to Renhard, who at that moment yelled, "Vanguard! Charge!" In front of him, the vanguard began to run, advancing towards the enemy. Their heavy steps rumbled the ground. Two armies came crashing together, slowing both charges. The two sides held formation as the slow process of combat began. On both sides, men pushed through enemy lines with spears and swords, killing but a few at a time. Yet, the Gazari had not met the full force of Avon's army. Avon turned towards Merulf, whose black cloak, draped over his armor, matched the ebony fur of his ruff. "Take the horses up to the right and left and flank them. When they are surrounded, we will choke them off."

"And those in the town?" Merulf asked.

"We will deal with the town later. For now we face them here."

Merulf bowed his head and rode off. The cavalry were already split into two groups, each far to the side of the infantry and archers. Merulf led the charge on the right wing. The tribesmen noticed this formation too late. A deep horn bellowed from their rear, sounding a retreat, but by this time many of them were already being cut down, both by Avon's infantry and the flanking cavalry. A large group in the rear made swiftly on horseback to the town they had taken over. Avon took a deep breath and held his sword in front of his face. He soundlessly whispered something to it before kissing the blade. Avon turned towards the Archers.

"Archers to Arms! Join your brothers" The men dropped their bows, unsheathed their swords, and roared as they ran to join the fight.

"Well, enough commanding, let us go be knights," he said to his companions. Then he rode toward the battle with Renhard and Ivan right behind him.

The three them quickly made it to the front line, but many of the Gazari vanguard had been slain and the infantry were much too crowded for them to charge straight through. Unable to fight without trampling his own men, Avon decided to take one unit of the cavalry and head to the townsite up the road. At his side were Ivan and Renhard, followed by Merulf, who led the cavalry. They hastily rode on.

As they entered the town, they were met by intermittent archer fire from the rooftops of houses. Several more of Avon's men fell to the tribe's arrows. Townspeople huddled within their dwellings as if waiting out the fight, and Avon could see a few sets of eyes fearfully watching from the edge of open doorways. Avon decided to dismount his horse, and as did his knights followed him forward through the main road that bifurcated near the center of the village. There, many tribesmen waited with their weapons already drawn, suddenly raging toward them. A large, roaring warrior came rushing at Avon, who quickly cut him down with a swift slice at his abdomen. Renhard blocked the attack of another and countered him with a quickly drawn dagger to the heart. The tribesmen were not well armored, and they wielded old weapons, many of which broke upon first strike of the order's steel broadswords. Others were easily bashed to the ground by the order's shields. Merulf spotted three men approaching Avon and intervened. He used his great sword to block the attack of one's sword, then twisted to his side and swung hard, cutting through two of his foes. One dropped dead immediately, his blood soaking the ground. The other, badly wounded, ran. The last one stood and stared at him with rage, holding an axe in ready position. Merulf drew a breath and swung from his right side. The tribesman blocked the attack and countered with a low hook, his bare fist crashing into Merulf's face. Merulf growled and slammed his large sword at his enemy's blocking axe over and over until the handle cracked. The tribesman was disarmed, and Merulf summarily cut him down with a roaring rage-filled cry. Soon, the blood of the dead painted the muddy streets in crimson; most of it was the tribe's. Ivan finished off the last cavalryman they had spotted, using his halberd to dismount the fleeing tribesmen, who crashed to the ground. Before the Gazari regained composure, Ivan unsheathed his short sword and finished him with a swift stab to the chest.

An uneasy quiet fell upon the village center. Victory was within their grasp. The four knights cautiously walked the streets, seeking out more foes while their triumphant infantry began to arrive at the city entrance.

Ivan heard the faint clank of swords in the distance and hurried to investigate, Avon at his side. Ahead, they spotted Jenhil, a young squire to one of the other knights -- who lay dead several yards away. Jenhil was by himself, fighting a larger tribesman. The enemy appeared tall but young. His fur was striped and exotic, unlike most of the Gazari -- something Avon had only seen once before in his life.

Jenhil was too young and weak, struggling to defend himself. Before the knights could reach the isolated squire, he had been disarmed by the foreigner, who pinned him to the ground. They could hear the boy's pleas right before they were silenced by his foe, who sliced his throat asunder. The tribesman then looked up and noticed the men in armor quickly approaching him. All of his allies had died or fled. He dropped his dagger and picked up the squire's sword. He was breathing hard, flushed with adrenaline, looking around at all the men who were approaching him -- then surrounding him.

"You must have big balls picking up our dead friend's sword," Ivan said, looking straight into his eyes with a malign indifference. The tribesman began to shake with nerves, but was not going to let go. Ivan growled and lunged forward. Avon, however, put his hand up. "Stay your weapons, I shall deal with this."

Ivan was visibly frustrated. "Sir, please let me avenge our brothers," he pleaded, but Avon shook his head.

"No, I shall deal with this one."

The other men followed Avon's order and sheathed their weapons. Ivan spat at the ground beside the tribesman's feet and sheathed his weapon last. The tribesman now stared toward Avon, whose sword was still drawn threateningly.

"If you drop your weapon, I will spare your life." Avon spoke with a serious demeanor.

The tribesman did not respond. Instead, he lunged forward towards Avon to see if he would flinch. Avon did not react at all.

"He probably does not speak our language, sir, " Renhard commented.

"Well, I am about to teach him a bit about who we are," Avon replied in an austere tone. Then he lunged back at the tribesman, hitting his sword to the side then striking it out of his hands with apparent ease. The tribesman picked up a hand full of mud and threw it at Avon's face, hitting him square in the forehead. In that moment, he grabbed his dagger off the ground. He barreled toward Avon as the other knights stood and watched -- seeming unconcerned that Avon would lose. Avon struck the small dagger right from the tribesman's hand, the shock causing the tribesman to fall to the ground. The other men laughed and several cheered him on. Avon paced in a circle around him. The young man stood up and snarled, then lunged at Avon without a weapon. Avon quickly dodged his charges and sliced him across the back of the leg, causing him to stumble and fall.

Avon stood over him, yet the man still proceeded to stand once more. Ivan called from behind: "He doesn't learn, sir, just finish him!"

Avon stared at the tribesman's face, determined, but youthful beneath the blood and mud of battle. "He knows this is death. He just does not want to die on his knees. I can respect that." Avon said to his men. "What I cannot respect at all, tribesman, is that one of our comrades was surrendering to your will... and you," he continued with special emphasis, "Cut him down when the battle was over. You deserve this death." Avon now sliced at the unarmed man once more. He made a shallow cut the front part of his knee, and the man leaned forward to grab his wound. That is when Avon struck him in the face with his cold metal gauntlet, then kneed him in the stomach with great force. He threw the tribesman on the ground and proceeded to kick at the side of his neck, causing the man to cough and gag.

The tribesman was resisting no more. Avon kicked him over onto his back, put his boot firmly upon his neck and held the tip of his sword to the tribesman's face. The young, defeated man still tried to resist, trying in vain to push the boot off his neck with both his hands, now weak with fear. Avon gazed down at him sternly. Choking him with his boot, Avon still connected eyes with him as he considered whether or not to spare his life. He saw the rebellion in the young man's eyes fade entirely to fear as his death neared him. Avon sighed and removed his foot from the tribesman's throat. The tribesman coughed on the ground and struggled to catch his breath. "He lives," Avon ordered, wiping the mud off of his face. Ivan looked shocked. Their captive appeared only slightly relieved.

"He lives? After what he did? How is that fair?" he questioned with obvious frustration.

Avon turned and glared at Ivan with a silent stare. Ivan nodded his head, suddenly subdued to silence. "I said he lives. I did not say we won't punish him for his crimes." Avon turned to Merulf and the others and ordered them: "Grab him and bring him inside. We shall all get justice, and perhaps enlighten him on who we are," Avon said as Merulf and Renhard grabbed the surrendered tribesman and drug him into a vacant hall.

*Chapter II: Break *

Avon ordered his men to tie the tribesman's hands and feet behind a wooden pillar in the middle of the structure. He unsheathed his sword and put the tip to the tribesman's face once again.

"You -- can you speak?" He asked, glaring into the man's eye. The captive sighed and turned his face away, not responding to Avon.

Ivan snarled, "He asked you a question, answer him!" then abruptly kicked the young tribesman in the side.

Merulf lightly held Ivan back with one of his hands. "He may not speak our tongue. Not so fast, Ivan."

Ivan pushed Merulf back and retorted, "He cut down one of our brothers. He is lucky he still breathes." Ivan then growled irritatedly.

"Enough" Avon said, and the two instantly quit bickering. Avon squatted, lowering himself down to speak eye-level with the tribesman. "I am Sir Avon. Do you have a name?" Still, the captive did not speak.

Renhard looked over the tribesman's collar, upon which a few symbols were written. "I think that might be Greek," He said to Avon, who looked over at it.

"That's not Greek. It could be Coptic."

"A shame your nephew isn't here sir. He has always had an eye for such symbols," Renhard said as he walked off into another room of the dwelling, looking for loot.

Ivan pulled a clay jar from an open wooden cupboard. He looked inside, took a sniff, and then took a generous swig. He whistled to himself before passing the jar to Merulf. "Whooh, strong ale, and not too old either!"

Merulf took a sip, smiled a bit, and nodded at Ivan. "Not bad."

Avon was still determined to get the tribesmen to speak. He grabbed him by the chin and turned his head to face his. He stared at him deeply and slowly said. "Tell me your name, now."

"They call me Bavo," he spoke at last in a disdainful, youthful voice, colored by soft accent.

"Ah, you can speak," the lord replied as he once again placed the blade of his sword to Bavo's neck. "Tell me, Bavo, where is the rest of your tribe going? We know this wasn't it. Where were you going?" He interrogated, calmly but seriously.

Bavo did not answer. He just stared at him for a moment and turned his head. Avon forced his head back to face him aggressively.

"You must tell me. It's your only choice. Otherwise I'll let Ivan here do as he wishes," Avon said, pressing his blade harder upon the young tribesman's neck, until it drew a small bead of blood.

Bavo, thinking he was already a dead man, thought that telling him would not make a difference. For a moment more, he clung to his silence, but his anxiety was apparent in his expression.

"I can tell from your collar that you're not one of them. What do you owe them?" Avon pressed his prisoner further.

At last Bavo spoke again, but he took his time responding. "They tell me nothing. They go south, away from here. I go where they go. I only do what they say." He began to plead in his voice and with his eyes. Avon stood up and shook his head.

"Now do not start the begging, sad stories, and tears. That won't help you. You killed a sword brother; there is a price to be paid," Avon said unforgivingly as he rose and began to walk back towards his men, who were all grinning now in the back of the room.

"Normally, Bavo, we would have killed you. If not kill you, we would have given you over to the Catholics, and let them christen you with their wretched devices. However, I have decided to spare you today. Mercy where none is deserved," Avon continued as his hands reached down to his crotch and began disassembling the armor, mail, and clothing between his legs. "There is still a punishment for your crime. You see, where we come from we have a sort tradition when someone commits a serious crime, but you do not want to take their life... "

His men began setting their weapons down and removing some of their own armor. "It's a punishment designed to break you down, so that you may someday build yourself back up again. My men have been away from their lovers for a very long time. Now, if you want to continue to be you, in the flesh, I suggest you follow every command without question. Do you understand?"

Bavo's eyes were wide, as he was starting to pick up on what was happening. He watched as Avon pulled his half erected cock from his loins, and his other men followed suit. They all approached Bavo as if encircling him. Avon stared down with a slight, confident smile. "Remove his clothes."

Ivan and Renhard began to rip off Bavo's shirt, then his pants, quickly and forcibly. Bavo whimpered quietly as they did. The clothes hurt a bit as they tore against his flesh, but his pride was even more wounded. It was not long before they had him completely nude. He felt exposed, his bare ass against the cold, damp wood of the dwelling. The way they looked down at him gave him a grim feeling. He could sense that they were going to have their way with him, and he felt his body begin to tremble.

Avon and Renhard approached him first. Avon had his warm, erect cock in his hand, and he laid it across the top of Bavo's muzzle. Bavo could smell their flesh, a strong smell collected from the battle and the journey they were on. It made his stomach turn. They both let their cocks rub and set on Bavo's recoiling face. Avon held the base of his dick and put the tip against Bavo's closed lips, trying to push inward. Bavo picked up on what they wanted, and he reluctantly opened his mouth, letting the head of Avon's cock slide in against his tongue. Suddenly, Merulf strongly planted his boot to the back of Bavo's head, pushing him forward on Avon's full shaft. The hard, dark cock slid deep down his throat, making him gag. Bavo noticed that Avon's flesh tasted salty, somewhat like he expected. He had never had another man's penis in his mouth.

He knew what they wanted, though. He had heard of people sucking on them. He began to suck as well as he could. Avon whispered, "There you go," his hand grasping the back of Bavo's head firmly. As he began thrusting his hips back and forth, his cock rubbed against Bavo's warm, wet tongue. For a moment, he increased the pace of his stride, beginning to breed Bavo's mouth. He then pulled his cock from Bavo's panting muzzle, still holding the back of the captive's head. "Get him in position," Avon ordered as his men quickly untied him and forced him to bend over, re-tying his hands closer to the ground. His back side was now completely exposed. Bavo's tail curled down over his hole, but Avon firmly pulled it away. Avon grabbed his rump, his gauntlets spreading the prisoner's cheeks roughly. He spit upon his anus, then rubbed it in with two of his cold, metal fingers. Avon forcibly pushed the two metal digits into Bavo's hole. Bavo cried out as his back arched up, and he began to try to pull away with what force that remained in him. The other men became aggressive. Ivan held him in place as Avon continued to finger him. Merulf said nothing, but gazed with lust at the young tribesman, his cock throbbing in his hand.

"My brothers I think we have a virgin here" Avon said, pulling his fingers out. He spit upon his own hand and rubbed his cock, then began rubbing it along the crack of Bavo's ass. A moment later, Ivan reached underneath the captive and pinched his nipples, pulling down on them vigorously. Bavo whimpered aloud, pounding the floor once with his left hand. Ivan went to put his cock into Bavo's mouth, but Bavo refused, biting his lips tightly shut. Ivan struck Bavo on the side of the face. When the prisoner whimpered, Ivan forced his mouth open with his fingers. He immediately shoved his cock in and began thrusting into his mouth.

Avon enjoyed the sight of his men getting what they wanted. He looked down at Bavo's tight asshole. He knew that this would hurt him, and a part of him was happy to take his virginity. He was not going to go softly. He pushed his cock into the anus. Though it resisted for a moment, he pressed forward anyway until his full length was buried inside Bavo's rear, all the way down to his heavy, yearning sac. He pulled his shaft outward most of the way again, then abruptly pushed back in. Bavo's ass was tight and warm, pulsating in protest to this new experience. Bavo whined out in pain once more, with the cock in his mouth muffling his voice.

Avon slowly slid his throbbing dick out of Bavo's ass once again as Ivan pressed himself deeper into his muzzle. For a long moment, he couldn't breathe at all from the thick erection down his throat. Ivan grunted and retreated his cock, dropping his balls atop Bavo's head once more and giving the captive a moment to catch his breath and collect himself. Ivan's male scent was heavy on the air. Only a moment later, however, he felt Ivan's hand opening his muzzle again. This time, he did not resist. Suddenly, he felt a thick wet liquid burst from Ivan's tip. It was warm and a bit salty. It coated Bavo's mouth and a some spilled out onto his lips. Ivan pulled out and aggressively grabbed him by his hair. "Swallow it," he directed. Bavo looked up at him with scared eyes, and swallowed obediently. The captive felt the flat side of Avon's sword slap against the side of his ass. He turned his head to glance back over his shoulder, Ivan's rich semen still dripping from the edge of his maw. Scarcely a second later, Ivan's hand quickly forced his head forward again, and he could feel Avon's cock head once again split into his tight hole. Bavo hung his head for a moment, breathing deeply as a small drop of Ivan's cum dripped onto the wooden floor. His hole still burned with a sharp pain from the penetration.

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