Vilkacis English Version

Chapter 3 The Brotherhood of the Sword

Chapter 3 The Brotherhood of the Sword

Anno Domini 1236 Aizkraukle Region, Terra Mariana (Latvia)

The soldiers' boots reverberated with a deafening thumping noise over the plains as they marched over the plains. The Livonian Brothers of the Sword, the dreadful Christ Knights, had arrived to Aizkraukle to conquer and defeat pagans in the name of God. The chains and the iron armors clanged to provoke a sonorous echo that clashed on the rampart's wall above the hill. Black stallions galloped at a rhythmical pace and the hooves hammered, orchestrating into a fearful melody the presence of the Christian conquerors.

Positioned behind a small fortress' walls, the zemgale warriors, members of the Semigallian tribes, sheltered from both the enemy and the freezing cold. One of the most cruel gelid winter whipped the region devastating crops and fields. It seemed that the lights in the sky had brought with them disgrace to the previous of Riga after all.

Some Norse Vikings and members of other tribes inhabitants of the golf shores had joined the zemgale villagers, but it was not enough. Hunger and disease that came as a consequence of the inclement winter weather had decimated the population in the region. The weak and famishing villagers, unprovided of an adequate armament, horses or provisions, had become an easy target for the Christian Knights and their leader, Master Volkwin. Therefore, the Brothers of the Sword advanced effortlessly into the central region of Terra Mariana slaughtering and burning entire dells and villages on their quest for domination in the Baltic lands. Now they aimed for the territories affluent of the Rīdzene and Daugava rivers.

Less than a mile away, the Christ Knights marched up and down the hills in a synchronized pace. In the distance, they waved the white and red blazonry with the emblem of the Catholic cross high above their crests and gripped silvery swords that shone reflecting the dim light of the sun in that cloudy day. Snow drizzled from the gray skies and the weary soldiers trembled both from cold and fear, nevertheless they decided to fight and protect their lands, women and children from the evil hand of an inclement and cruel enemy. Scarcely armed with rustic spears and swords, rakes and sickles, they awaited behind the walls ready to fight in an obviously uneven conflict.

And the cry of war was heard, loud, impressive, from the side of the Brotherhood. The Christian soldiers advanced, now that the army was getting closer, in a rapid speed. From the fortress built in stone and wood, the arrows were shot, aiming to hurt at least a few of the bulkily armored knights. Some of them fell, but it wasn't enough to cause any harm. A minute after, the enemy knocked right on the rampart's door at the top of the hill that became smaller in comparison to the huge threat that represented the attack of the Livonian Order.

The enormous gate fell making a thundering noise, thrown down by an enemy ready to plunk and crush. Inside the fortification it all soon turned into holocaust as the Zemgales were shortly massacred. The grayish stoned floor covered with white snow was stained with the blood of those that fought for the freedom of their lands. One by one the locals were exterminated. The cries of those badly hurt and fallen villagers echoed on the walls of the fortress. The Christ knights would take over the last bastion on the Aizkraukle hill, in the same way they had conquered the rest of Riga.

But something strange happened. A group of slender and gorgeous men and women appeared standing above the walls. They were about twelve and were barely dressed in ragged clothes and animal skin. They wore no coats, cloaks or shoes to protect themselves from the tempestuous and freezing weather. Some of them shirtless and the women in torn short dresses revealed their perfectly carved bodies that seemed to be unaffected by the gelid gusts. The presence of those persons was enough to provoke that most of the men fighting stop to stare at them with curiosity.

Who are they?

How did they got up the wall without being noticed?

How could they stand the inclement weather without being appropriated dressed?

The group of men and women observed the scene that took place in the fortress. Their yellowish amber eyes glistened like flickering stars amongst the intensified snow storm and the dark stoned walls.

One of the villagers stared fixedly to one of the strange women. She was a stunning blonde woman dressed in a worn out brown leather short dress, revealing an athletic but feminine body. She glowed down an empathic gaze to the man that looking at her. She tilted her beautiful face and studied the villager, an old man holding a harpoon.

"Mila." The man whispered with a hint of longing pain in his hoarse voice.

"Father." Uttered the woman in a murmur.

She turned to face the man to her sides who without pronouncing a single word, seemed to communicate. He only nodded.

The group of men and women above the wall jumped to the floor, landing straightened up with grace. The stone floor quaked and cracked under their feet. They gnarled and growled like wild beasts. Every men stepped back fearful. One by one, the twelve impromptu visitors transformed into enormous wolf-like creatures.

"Vilkacis!" Someone shouted.

And so the battle began.