Chapter 1: The Lost Soldiers

A/N: Any views expressed in this work of fiction are purely that of the characters and do not represent the author's own ideals and morals. Thank you.

A red dawn broke over the small valley. Two mountains had formed a basin with a pristine lake in the middle. The only way in and out of the valley was a low mountain pass, one at either end of the valley. The unique fragrance of pine sap flavoured the air, and the thick carpet of needles lying beneath the trees was not an unusual spot for travellers to stop and rest. All around, little mounds and thin rivulets of liquid made it a little hard going, but added to the spectacle and beauty of the place.

But as the sun rose, the grisly remnants of last night were revealed. The mounds became bodies in the twilight; the rivulets became streams of blood, trickling into the reddening waters of the lake. Arrows jutted out of trees, pine sap dripped down sword slashes that had missed their mark and the ground was churned up by the boots of the fighting men.

There were two liveries discernible through the mess of blood and mud.

One was a red silhouette of a horseman on a blue background, the colours of Lithuania. The other was a black Gothic cross on white, the unmistakable badge of the Catholic Church, and the Teutonic Order. Crows had come down to feast on the soft flesh, pecking and hoping between the few wolves that had stolen into the valley, also drawn by the smell of blood.

Around now, a careful listener would have heard the beginnings of hoof beats. Numerous hoof beats. They grew louder and louder, and the wolves, always quick on the uptake, disappeared into the trees, their maws red with blood. the crows took flight. Soon a party of horsemen, wearing the livery of the Teutonic Order, rode into the valley and came to a halt.

"Oh bloody hell." one of them remarked. "There's bugger all left."

One of their number dismounted swiftly. He was dressed differently from the others. While the horsemen wore leather armour and had standard issue swords and shields, this man had the full attire of chain mail, plate arms and plate legs to match. A short white cape was draped over his shoulders, only coming down to the small of his back. His tabard, although it was split down the middle for horse riding, was longer than usual, implying he was more at ease as a foot soldier, than a cavalry man. His helmet was perhaps the most impressive. And fearsome. It was metallic grey, with a matt finish. Two demonic horns curved upwards from the top, solidly riveted in place. There were a few scratches and scrapes on his armour, and a small hole the size of a thumbnail in his tabard that was rimmed with a crusty red-black substance, showing where a past injury had been. A sword hung at his hip and a kite-shield with a black cross in the centre was slung across his back. His name was Talan Gwynek and he was, unmistakably, an elite soldier in the ranks of the Teutonic Order, namely one of the infamous Ritterbruder.

"Alright, get shifted you lot!" he called. "Till, you watch the horses, you bowmen keep an eye on the road. The rest of you are to find our lads and prepare them for transport back to Thron. I need to take a look around." he added, before striding off towards the trees.

"What about the Lithuania's?" the Prussian bowman, and Sergeant, named Till asked.

"Leave them for the wolves." Talan called over his shoulder. He strode into the trees, stepping over bodies of the fallen. He began scouting the edge of the battlefield. By the look of the place, it had been the Lithuania's who had won out.

"Another glorious loss." he muttered to himself. He punched a tree. Damn that blasted Pagan bastard Valadas! The young up-and-coming Lithuanian General was wreaking all sorts of havoc across the river bordering the lands of Lithuania and the Order. He'd been winning skirmishes, not battles, but the skirmishes added up and were a constant source of irritation to the high command, while demoralising the troops in the field.

A slight chill passed over Talan as he began to make his way back to his men. Looking up, he saw the branches of the pine trees had begun waving in the beginnings of a morning breeze. The darkening clouds heralded rain for later. Wonderful! Dragging wagons of corpses back to Thron in the cold mud and rain would definitely improve the mood. Oh wait...

He continued on, estimating the cost of the losses. Eventually, he sighed. There was nothing else here.

He was about to turn and go, when he noticed something on the peripheral of his vision. A dull blue glow throbbed between the trees. Talan drew his sword and stepped cautiously towards the light. He crept closer as quietly as he could and cursed the fact he was in heavy plate and mail. Sneaking and clanking round some rocks, he suddenly emerged in a hidden clearing. There, before him, stood two intricately carved pine columns. But it was what stood in between them that made Talan's jaw drop.

A blue circle, hovering a few inches off the ground, swirled and writhed as the light it threw off convulsed and distorted the air around it. Talan felt chills run up and down his spine just by staring at it. He was ... fascinated by the light. Enthralled even. It was incredible! Talan had no idea what it was, but it hummed with energy and barely contained power.

For some inexplicable reason, he felt drawn to it. He reached out a gauntleted fist. The voice of sanity and reason at the back of his head tried to scream at him to run, but it was overruled by an inviting sensation Talan was feeling from the - the - the whatever it was. It couldn't hurt, could it?

And the world crumbled into blue and black, as Talan disappeared in a flash of light.

Talan was travelling, faster than he imagined possible. He could make no move, no sound, only watch, his mind uncomprehending of what was going on. The world disappeared from underneath him, and he was speeding amongst the stars as they flashed past in streaks of blue, white and green. Then suddenly, without warning, the world was rising very quickly to meet him. He was screaming towards the ground faster than light and then everything came back into focus. Talan had just enough time to he was precariously high on a sloped mountain, surrounded by pine trees and a light snow, when he pitched forward and tumbled down the slope. He toppled over a small bank and landed with a crash of heavy armour on a road.

He groaned and gingerly sat up, checking himself for injury. Apart from a few minor scrapes and cuts, and his armour getting a little scuffed and dirty from the earth and snow, he was fine. He stood up shakily and surveyed his surroundings. He was no longer in the clearing. The road he had landed on sloped downwards, following a river that churned over a precipice and poured onto a plain. It snaked its way into the distance, where there stood a huge city, unlike any he'd ever seen before. There was a sudden commotion behind him as several men fell down the steep incline. They tumbled onto the road, piling comically on top of each other. Several of them swore. Others just groaned. One of them was Till, the Sergeant in command of the Prussian Bowmen, who was getting unsteadily to his feet.

"Bugger." he grumbled, patting himself down presumably to check for injury. Satisfied, he looked around and his jaw dropped.

"What the-? The buggery-? Where the hell are we?" he stuttered, staring around in awe.

"I've been wondering the same thing." Talan said, turning back to look out over the plain. Behind him, the men were finally standing, looking around in confusion. Talan snapped his fingers to get their attention.

"Alright, listen up." he ordered. The men shuffled into line.

"I'm just as confused as you are. I don't know what happened, but I suspect Pagan magic did this to us. With that being said, our only option is to find out where we are, and maybe get a message back to the castle at Marienburg. Agreed?"

It wasn't really a debate up for discussion but there was a chorus of "Aye's" and a couple of nodding heads.

"Alright. Let's move out." Talan ordered and the men fell into line and followed Talan's lead.

In his head, Talan summed up his forces. About twenty Prussian bowmen, not the best soldiers, being lightly armoured and not particularly well armed, but still better than most you saw these days. Then there were an equal number of Sword Brethren, tough infantry armed with sword, shield and full chain mail. Reliable as basic infantry. Then there was himself, a Ritterbruder, one of the most feared group of knights in the Baltic states. Nicknamed by their Baltic enemies, and even some Baltic allies, as 'Demon knights' or even 'the Faceless Knights', they had more in common with hell, than with the Word of God Almighty they claimed to spread.

The band of soldiers marched down the road, following it as it curved round and down onto the plain. They looked around uneasily. Talan watched as the city drew near on the his right. It didn't look like any City he'd seen in the Baltic states, with thatched rooves and wooden walls and buildings, but it registered in his mind as 'Pagan'. He turned his attention back to the road. They were passing a roadside farm when there was an almighty bellow from the rocky slope and an impossibly huge man came striding down the slope, running right at them.

No, it was not a man, for he was too big. He stood at the height of three men, with huge muscles, like boulders, running down long arms. Even from here, the stench of sweat and old goat was over-powering.

A mythical Giant.

Talan's mind went into automatic.

"Form up! Bows to the back, swords to the front! Brace!"

The stunned men scrambled into position, the Prussians knocking their bows and drawing the strings taught.

The Giant raised his club as he ran.

"Fire!" Talan roared.

There was the twang of twenty bows and a hiss and zing as arrows passed over head. The arrows lodged themselves in the Giants muscles, staggering him for a moment, before he recovered and continued charging again, more enraged than before.

"Swords! Break ranks and flank! Archers, fire at will!"

Talan and the Sword Brethren spread out in a loose semi-circle, as the archers let loose another round of arrows. Suddenly, the Giant was upon them, and Talan found himself diving aside as the Giant swung a huge over-head blow at him.

Talan felt the ground shake as the club impacted with the earth where he had been only a second ago. He rolled over and ducked under the Giants second swing. He drove his sword into the unprotected thigh, before tearing away again, knowing not to push his luck. The Giant gave a deafening bellow of pain and succeeded in clipping Talans back with his club, hurling Talan face-first into the dirt.

He landed with a crash several metres away, winded. The air had been driven out of his lungs by the blow and what little was left had been forced out by the impact. His right shoulder was on fire and he struggled to breath.

"Bastard!" he heard someone, possibly Till roar. There was an answering bellow and a horrible tearing noise, followed by an agonized scream that set Talan's teeth on edge. He forced himself to his feet and a growl rose in his throat. He staggered towards the rampaging giant, before turning that into a stride and then a sprint.

Unnoticed by the gargantuan being, he dashed round the Giants flank and leaped as high as his armour would let him, which wasn't very high, and swung his sword upwards and drove it into the Giant's ribs. The weight of Talans body and armour coupled with the sudden attack made the Giant stagger and fall.

"Get it!" Talan bellowed.

The Sword Brethren charged, closely followed by the bowmen, who had drawn long daggers from their belts.

They hacked and slashed at the fallen Giant who, despite being down, tried to knock the men away. Suddenly, Till appeared out of nowhere and drove his dagger into the Giants eye. There was a bellow and the Giants arm shot out and knocked Till away, throwing him across the road to come down heavily in the grass, where he lay unmoving. Seeing this, Talan roared in anger and drove his sword into the Giants jugular where, with a dying rumble, the Giant lay still. Talan dropped his sword and leaned on his knees, breathing hard. Then, recovering his breath, he looked around at the carnage.

The battle had taken them away from the road. Stray arrows littered the ground, and there was blood covering the grass and rocks. The only casualty, apart form Till was one of the Sword Brethren, who'd had his arm torn off. By the look of it, he'd never hold a weapon again. His fellow soldiers were doing their best to bandage the bleeding, by tearing strips of cloth from their tabards, and console their distressed comrade. Several of the bowmen carried Till back to the group and he was leaning against a rock, still unconscious.

"Sir!" one of the soldiers called, his voice carrying a hint of warning.

Talan turned in the direction the man pointed and saw two men and a woman coming down the road towards them.

"Bugger." Talan muttered. He picked up his sword and sheathed it, before signalling to several of his men to follow. In light of the situation, he placed one hand firmly on the hilt of his sword as he walked. He observed the approaching group as they neared.

The two men looked like mercenaries, with their own custom armour. However, their manner and the way they walked showed they were not your everyday sell-sword, but looked more like they wrote the book of swordsmanship themselves. One carried a huge steel two-handeder while the other had a simple sword and buckler. They were unmistakably twins.

The woman was the most surprising. And infuriating. And, Talan noted to his distaste, really alluring, although that may have had more to do with the fact that she did not wear a dress, but instead wore armour. High boots, leather jerkin and grey-green face-paint. Worse still, she wore no sleeved garment leaving her arms bare, and between the tops of her boots and the armour on her thighs, she wore nothing, showing off her legs. She was improperly dressed for a decent Christian, so she was no doubt a Pagan, as were probably the twins. He strode up to them, glaring.

The woman kept her face expressionless, but Talan could see a certain spark in her eyes. She didn't know what to make of Talan or his soldiers but she was inclining towards the negative side of things.

"Yes?" Talan snapped. "I've got wounded to tend to, so this had better be good."

"Who are you?" the woman asked bluntly, returning Talan's icy manner.

Suddenly, there were a few wolf-whistles from the men watching the group. A look crossed the woman's face that made Talan grip his sword hilt tighter. The look suggested someone was going to be hurt. Seriously.

"Why are your men acting like that?" the woman said. Talan could have sworn the temperature in the air dropped a few degrees.

"Where we come from, you are . . . improperly dressed." he sneered, as if it were her fault. Well, technically, it was. The temperature dropped by a few more degrees.

"I see." the woman said stiffly.

Behind her, the twins tightened their grip on their weapons. Talan's men, seeing this, did the same.

The tensions were rising. They remained like this for several seconds. Duty towards his men made Talan speak first.

"As I said, I've got wounded men to tend to. State your business or leave." Talan said frostily.

There was a slight scrape of weapons. The twins had started to draw their swords.

"Keep talking like that and you won't have any." the one with the two-handed sword rumbled. His deep voice held a promise of future pain.

"Talking like what?" Talan said slowly, keeping the frosty tone.

"Like we are beneath you." the woman growled.

Talan returned her glare.

"You are a woman, so I'd say you are." he snapped.

The blow was sharp and painful. Talan was spun around and fell to one knee. His hand flew to his face and came away with blood on it. The twins started forward, but there were several creaks of bows under tension. The archers were taking aim.

Talan stood up, visibly shaking with anger.

"Sword Brethren." he snarled. It was almost a whisper, but there was a scrape as swords were drawn. The Brethren took a defensive position, forming a shield wall.

A low growl, that could not possibly have been made by anything human, began in the woman's throat. One of the twins stepped forward hurriedly and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Not here!" he hissed, and gestured towards the walls of the City. On the ramparts, people were watching. Among them were guards. They had bows. They'd drawn them. Talan turned his attention back to the trio and noticed that there was a large group of guards coming up the road as well.

"Bugger." he muttered. Louder he called "Sheath your weapons." It was either that or fight a very one-sided battle. Reluctantly, the soldiers lowered their bows and sheathed their blades.

Talan turned back to the woman, glowered at her and got an equally haughty stare back before he turned to address the newcomers.

"Will my men be able to enter the city?" he asked.

"That remains to be seen." said an authoritative voice. Talan saw that amongst the group of guards was a man who wore a golden circlet and fine robes, indicating his status as Lord. He stood and observed Talan's men for a short time. Eventually he spoke.

"Since you have wounded men, it would shame our city if we were to refuse you. I will give you access to my City, but once your men are healed you will leave." The lord's tone made it clear that there would be no arguments.

"I wouldn't have it any other way." Talan said coolly, casting a side-ways glance at the red-haired woman. The Lord noticed this.

"And one more thing." he said sharply. Talan turned back to him.

"If you, or your men, cause any trouble, you will bear the . . . consequences." There was considerable emphasis in the Lord's words. With the final threat hanging in the air, the Lord nodded to his men, who turned around and marched away. The trio of mercenaries followed them. The woman turned to look back, gave Talan a scathing look, before something one of her companions said made her turn away.

Talan let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before opening them again.

"The audacity of that woman!" he snarled, kicking a random stone lying in the road. The soldiers kept quiet. They knew better than to interrupt Talan when he was in a mood. An awkward moment of silence passed, unnoticed by Talan, before his fists unclenched.

"Carry the injured between yourselves. As much as I hate to do it, we have to go into the city." he said.

Aela was beside herself. That man! She turned and gave him a look that promised future pain if they ever crossed paths again. He simply stood there, a livid red mark where she had slapped him and a slight trickle of blood on his mouth.

"Ignore him Aela." Vilkas cautioned. She rounded on him and scowled.

"Did you hear the way he spoke!" she snapped. Vilkas nodded gravely.

"I did. But you also heard that he's not from around here. His accent is unusual. I've never seen the symbol on his armour before. And he'd just been flung several metres by a Giant." Aela glowered at her fellow Companion.

"Don't take his side!" she snapped.

"I'm not." he said. "I'm saying we should be careful. I fear one misplaced word or deed and the streets will run with blood, and not necessarily theirs. You need to calm down. Where has the patient huntress gone to?"

Aela bit back her retort. He was right, of course. Those soldiers were definitely not from around here. Still, there was no call for the contempt.

"Fine. As long as they stay out of my way." she growled.

Farkas took a deep breath. The other two looked at him. He was slow in thinking, but that didn't stop him from giving insightful comments.

"This will be interesting." he said.

With that thought in mind, they entered the city of Whiterun.

A/N: An interesting beginning, hopefully. As I said at the beginning, I apologise for any offence this, and most likely future chapters, have brought/will bring. Please leave some constructive criticism or ideas, but it's not necessary.