The Great Reaver [Prologue/Closed]

[Sam]

The sound of steel meeting steel resounded back and forth between the hills, the shrieks of steel muffled only by the rows upon rows of trees among them. The convoy at hand was struggling under the pressure of their armoured assailants, the escorts sent to guard it being slaughtered gradually. The elderly gentleman in charge of the wagons and their goods held naught but the reins of his horses, but even those had long since fallen from the grip of his fear struck limbs. The north had been suffering raids in the dozens this year, Wuhuan to the north, Qiang to the west and even the Xianbei of Mongolia, but this attack was different.

This particular convoy was delivering a shipment of provisions and gold to the city of Youzhou, one close to the border and in a position to supply and reward those brave soldiers and generals leading the resistance of China; the convoy was two weeks on the road, and clsoe to making a pitstop at Julu when they were beset on the highway by hostile armed soldiers. The delivery was not a small one and was covered by a thousand armed men to ensure it reached the frontline safely, but now, far from the safety of any city walls and under attack, it seemed a futile precaution.

The old man looked in anxiety about himself, battle was raging all around. Why am I here? Why does this have to happen to me? Why did I agree to this? He sobbed weakly, thinking of his family back in Shangdang, he was a simple farmer, and had contributed more than enough of his stock in his last delivery, in gratitude the governor of Shangdang had sent him along with the convoy to deliver the goods to Youzhou, intending for the governor to reward him amply for his contribution. He had no son, only two daughters, so had been compelled to make the trip himself. Why didn't I refuse? Why didn't I just refuse?

The ring of defenders was slowly being dwindled down and the encirclement drew tighter and tighter as the number of defending men decreased, government soldiers dropping in heaps as friends defended one another and died in each other's arms. The old farmer, petrified thought back to only a few moments prior. "Surrender the cargo, and live to serve me. Refuse, and you die." The leader of these outlaws had said simply, and plainly, promise in his voice. He meant it. The officer in charge of the armed escort had flatly refused him branding him a rebel and traitor, and a short powerful laugh of disdain had been the bandit's only response. A laugh that shattered any hope the old man had, his voice had caught in his throat, unable to say a word for himself. The outlaw's halberd had waved his men forward, all of them ever so eager to carry out his bidding.

The commanding officer of the defenders had wandered off from the side of the old man a few minutes earlier and had not returned since, nor could he be made out amongst the sea of metal around the cargo wagons. It wasn't long until the defenders began to lose their nerve and started throwing down their arms in surrender. So few are left. The bandit leader emerged once again, unharmed, a bloody halberd in his hand and a human head across his lap. He wore a set of rich black armour and a long cloak, the old man noticed. He flung the dead limb to the floor before the defeated soldiers. It was their commander. "He put up a shit enough fight, for one who spoke so boldly. You all did better and look where you are now." The old man held his gaze down, praying that by some chance not to be noticed.

"Those who yielded are free to go. I only kill men who have a blade in their hand." The old man looked up from under his brow he caught the name on the man's banner above him. "King Bai". That doesn't ring any bells, there are no kings this far inlad but those of the middle kingdoms. "Take the cargo." The old man grimaced, but he held his gaze down, happy to be alive at least. He was hauled down from the wagon and set on his feet by a bandit soldier. So well armed, these are no bandits. Their armour was well-kept and they were all well armed, but some, one-in-ten perhaps, wore black armour, those all-mounted with helmets that hid their faces. Demons. They always seemed close, nearby to the bandit, no, King Bai, perhaps some kind of honour guard ...for a king. The bandits dispersed slowly like a shadow retreating from a changing angle of light with all of their wagons in tow. Their leader lingered a moment as his men dispersed, "Go home to your families, and tell them of how fortunately you yielded today." The huge man in black paused for a moment gazing upon all those listening. "Hebei belongs to me now, the north deserves a better leader. Tell your fellow man, hinder me and die." His voice is powerful and commanding, he's a general. The leader turned his horse and gradually disappeared among his men.

To the old man, it was all like a passing dream, he seemed to awake, to find a field of broken men, bloody grass strewn with bodies of the slain, they were all his own escorts on inspection. Were only we killed? The old man found that hard to believe. They must have carried off their dead. Yes, that's it. As he was gazing around, a soldier, who had appeared to have taken charge said to the remains, some eighty or ninety men, "We should go back to Shangdong, there is no point in going to Youzhou now." The assemblage voiced agreement in unison and much to the dismay of the old farmer's legs, they began to walk. Home. My family. I can see it all again. Tears of depression filled his eyes as he walked seemingly alone back to Shangdang. He had failed them all. He would tell them how King Bai made him fail.