Night crept upon the village like a foreboding shadow. Cool evening respite no longer followed the day's labor. War threats had robbed Gwen's village of its blissful tranquility for more than a fortnight. Marauders and their trained wolves haunted the fields and valleys, stalking citizens and paladins of The Holy Order. The struggle to secure peace had shifted north of Razor Valley to engulf the farming village of Canton.
Gwen huddled with her aunt and uncle in the stone cellar of their small cottage. Ravenous growls and banging preceded splintering wood as marauder wolves tore into their home. The two Devil Beasts could smell fear. Their heavy steps bounded to the cellar door before they threw their large bodies against it. A terrible crash preceded screams and yelping as the wolves burst into the cellar. Gwen's uncle charged the massive animals with his heavy shovel. They dived for him with fangs bared. Terrified screams pierced the night as the wolves ripped the man's arms from his body and slammed his bloody torso to the floor.
Gwen feared all was lost until a shadow darkened the doorway. A flash of steel proceeded yelps and snarls as a paladin's double ax severed a wolf's head from its body. Gwen clutched her elderly aunt as the old woman fainted in her arms. Another flash of steel and a spray of blood saw the second wolf headless. The cellar fell silent as dark blood spread across the floor. Gwen was reeling and on the edge of faint as she gazed at her blood-spattered savior. The tall man removed his silver helmet, allowing the light from the doorway to catch his youthful face. Short-cropped blond hair adorned his head over a handsome, brooding brow. The sigil of The Holy Order was clearly visible on his tunic and vambrace. The ornate cross within a watchful eye was a symbol of hope and fear across the land.
"He's too young to be a paladin," Gwen thought. Her terrorized mind needed to focus on something besides the expanding blood around her.
Suddenly, a crash from above alerted them to more danger. An instant later, three more Devil Beasts darted through the cellar door. Gwen shrieked as the paladin let out a battle cry and lifted his ax. The animals descended on the hero as he swung his blood-slicked weapon. A heavy, fur-covered body was flung into the corner, knocking Gwen and her aunt hard against the stone wall. Blissful silence and darkness followed.
Aron screamed as the last standing wolf, a monster of an animal, clamped onto his shoulder and neck. Using its massive body as leverage, it wrenched the paladin backward onto the floor. Aron's chain mail caught in the monster's teeth, preventing the wolf from tearing his throat out. Aron screamed again to rally his strength as he hauled his ax up with one hand and hacked into the wolf's back. It yelped against the blood-soaked wound on Aron's neck, but it didn't let go. The wolf growled in defiance as Aron wrenched his ax from its shoulder blade. The paladin's vision was blurring in spite of his battle rush. He screamed one last time and swung his ax over his shoulder, severing the wolf's spine. A harsh grunt preceded the relaxing of the wolf's death grip on his neck.
Aron groaned as he lay in a pool of blood and gore. The cellar was stifling from the heat of the five dead wolves around him. His vision cleared once the wolf's jaw relaxed the pressure on his throat. He could feel his own blood dripping in hot streams around its teeth. He took a moment to collect himself before he pried the beast's fangs out of his flesh. Its teeth were jammed into the bent rings of his chain mail shirt. He couldn't pry it loose in his injured state, and he couldn't sit up with the weight of the wolf holding him down. He grumbled a curse and began the painstaking process of removing his breastplate, vambraces, and chain mail so he could sit up.
He felt a sense of urgency to check on the family he had tried to save. He feared the worst from the dead silence in the cellar. Once he was free of his armor, he removed his blood-soaked linen shirt and tore it into strips. He carefully tied the cloth over his neck and under the opposite arm, creating enough pressure to staunch his dripping wound. His chain mail prevented a life-threatening injury.
He looked in the corner as he tied off his bandage and gasped at the beautiful face resting unconscious against the fur of a dead wolf. The young woman had long dark hair and light olive skin. Blood was dripping from a gash on her temple where her head hit the wall. The flush of color in her cheeks announced her survival. An elderly woman was lying next to her. Her skin was deathly pale as her eyes gazed lifelessly towards the ceiling.
"Divine help us," Aron groaned as he pulled himself to his feet and staggered over to the maiden.
He touched her warm neck and confirmed a heartbeat. Then he heaved the massive wolf carcass off her legs and carefully gathered her in his arms. Her dress and legs were drenched in putrid gore from the wolf's stomach wound. He carried her out of the blood-drenched cellar and propped her on a bench in the kitchen. He bit his lip as he stripped her. He was thankful for the horrible smell at that moment. It prevented inappropriate thoughts from pushing into his young mind, but his body automatically responded to certain sights. He was a Paladin of The Holy Order, not a nurse, but war doesn't discern the best person for its chaotic tasks. He wasn't about to put the young woman to bed smelling of wolf excrement. She would thank him for it later. He hoped.
He gathered a pitcher of water and a bar of soap from the kitchen. His skin was flushed, and his heart was pounding as he washed her beautiful legs. He had never seen a naked woman before, and he definitely never touched one. He feared what his general would say if he saw him at that moment, but he knew he was doing right by the poor woman. He failed to save her family, and he was disgusted at himself for it. He patted her dry with a towel before he carried her into a small bedroom in the back of the cottage. He tucked her under a blanket in a small feather bed before he returned to the cellar to recover her family.
Aron's stomach churned and his head felt dizzy as he pieced together what was left of Gwen's elderly uncle. Her aunt had died of a heart attack after witnessing her husband's abrupt dismemberment. He placed the bodies on the lawn, covered them with hay and firewood, and lit the funeral pyres. He built similar fires with the wolf carcasses. He skinned two of the wolves and laid their handsome pelts out to dry. They would make excellent winter cloaks. Aron knew the smoke and fire would summon his comrades to the scene and scare off any more predators in the area. His horse bolted after the second wave of wolves attacked. He didn't hold it against the poor beast. He was stuck at Gwen's rural farm on the outskirts of Canton until help arrived.
He used the last of his energy to clean the gore out of the cellar. He disposed of the worst of it in the fire to prevent an unbearable smell by morning. Then he staggered back to the kitchen to clean himself up. He cleaned his armor first and laid it on the lawn to dry. Then he scrubbed himself and tended his wound. He felt better after a wash and a drink of water. He sat on the porch and leaned against the banister to watch the funeral fires. He fell out of the waking world at some point. His exhaustion finally defeated him.
Aron was startled awake at dawn by a heart-wrenching cry from inside the house. Gwen was awake, and she remembered what happened. He had heard similar wails of grief and terror in the ransacked villages south of Razor Valley. Aron scrambled to his feet in spite of the painful protest of his injuries and ran into the house. He found Gwen kneeling naked on the floor. Her slender frame was racked with sobs. Her dark hair was a mess and hanging in her face. She looked at him in fear as tears streamed from her large hazel eyes. The pitiful sight of her pierced Aron's heart with tremendous grief. He stepped over to her and knelt on the floor so he could steady her by her shoulders. She was shaking like a leaf in a storm.
