Into the Heart of the Storm [slash]

Part One

The white and silver banners of Idris stood proudly against the violet and red tones of a dusky sky. It had been a fierce battle, lasting for days, but at last the army of Idris had won. The surviving soldiers of Elatha had sunk to their knees and let go of their swords, axes, and lances in defeat as the sun was about to vanish behind the horizon

Lorcan, captain of the 8th Idrisan infantry unit, trudged over the bloodied grass of the hills that had become a battlefield, looking for wounded subordinates. Although a fierce joy filled his heart at the prospect of having taken part in the victory of his country, the losses had been great. Already he had found thirteen men of his unit with unseeing eyes and fatal wounds in their chests and bellies.

Here and there lay a surviving enemy soldier, and Lorcan paused to tell him that he would be taken care of. Queen Gweneira of Idris had all her soldiers take a solemn oath never to harm a defenceless man, and she would appreciate the prisoners for bargaining with the king of Elatha.

Lorcan sighed, stepping over another fallen soldier and looking up at the beautiful evening sky. He was tired after the long fight, so naturally his musings gravitated to a more pleasant subject than the death surrounding him.

Automatically, the captain's thoughts drifted from his noble and brave queen to her youngest son. Prince Aileas was the leader of the Idrisan army and had been the deciding factor in this battle. His valor and wise tactics had brought them to victory many times before as well.

Ever since he had seen the prince two years ago for the first time, Lorcan had been captivated. Queen Gweneira's youngest son had just turned twenty, taking command over the army from his older brother, who had been seriously wounded and would never be able to fight again. The prince had called for a muster to speak to his men for the first time, and the captain clearly remembered how the sunlight had gleamed on the blood-red hair, the shimmering silver armor and the white coat bearing the silver crest of Idris. On his snowy white horse, the prince had looked like a demigod out of legends.

Of course there had been doubts whether such a young and inexperienced man could lead an army, but a few weeks later there had been an attack from invading northern tribes in league with Elatha. The prince had ridden in the front line, his sword cutting through his enemies like lightning. Without hesitation, he had taken on the enemy tribe leader, a bear of a man, twice his size, and defeated him in a whirlwind of white and silver, all the while ignoring his own grave injury.

Since then, Prince Aileas had never been called by his name or title again. Friend and foe alike reverently spoke of him from that day on as General Whitestorm.

Lorcan crouched down next to another fallen soldier. It was a very young man who had joined his unit just a few weeks ago. The captain remembered him proudly telling the others about his betrothed back at his home village.

"May your soul find rest in the halls of the gods," he murmured, closing the soulless eyes and praying that he wouldn't find any more familiar faces among the dead today.

A noise made Lorcan look up. There were other men scouting the hills for survivors, of course, but none of them where near him. It was the distinguished drumming of hooves on the wet grass, he realized, and seconds later a familiar white stallion came into sight. General Whitestorm's formerly spotless armor and coat was now splattered with blood, and even the horse had bloody hooves as if it had trampled down some enemies. Lorcan had no doubt the fierce stallion had taken down some Elathan soldiers all by himself.

The captain got up to bow to his general when the horse halted only a few steps in front of him. He had never come near the general in all these two years, only admiring him from afar during muster. Now was his chance to look into the face that had been a blur until now.