Eryndor Blackthorn stood in front of the city gate. Behind him laid a pile of ruins and smoke from the fire darkening the clouds behind him. His hands still had the dried blood on them as he never cared to wash when he decided to take this step.
He had been warned by a source back then to flee after winning the battle for the throne but he trusted his best friend, the emperor so much that he had exposed the source and the man had been put to death with a treasonous charge.
Perhaps at this point, he was regretting that choice. Or even better, the moment he came back from the fields of Harbentine with his men after the 21 days fast and found his little city in ruins, he realised that something had happened. He ran straight to his home and there he found his wife and two children. The children were already dead but his wife was still struggling with her last breaths as she managed the words.
"Th-the Em-per-ror." Before dying right in his arms.
Nothing had been spared. Not even the livestock. The only thing that roamed around was a brooding hen, clucking noisily on a fence. Her white feathers were stained in blood.
A dejected Eryndor walked outside slowly as he sat down on the stairs, his eyes dropped and his face contorted in anguish. Slowly, his trembling hands came forward as he leaned forward into them, burying his face in his palms. His shoulders shook with vibrations from huge tremors coursing through his veins.
'What have I done? Why did I trust that beguiling bastard so blindly?' He thought to himself.
There were no answers to the questions on his mind. Instead, he was met with the silence so punctuated that only his own ragged breathing dared to interrupt.
A cold sweat broke across his forehead as he muttered. "I should have known better."
Suddenly, there were sounds of footsteps approaching and he looked up. It was his men. They were all coming to him as they formed an arc in his sullied compound. Some of them bore bodies of their loved ones as they felt pain from their loss. Their vicious glares suggested hunger for revenge and the churning marrow movement on their lower jaw suggested the anger they felt. Eryndor did not know whom they were going to direct this anger to. It was almost like he was dealing with unpredictable untamed animals at this point.
They did not cry. These men were seasoned warriors that had fought beside him for well over fifteen years. Instead, they looked at their leader like they were expecting something from him. Their hearts were beating really fast and any louder, it might have created a symphony of sorrow.
Eryndor was faced by deathly looking pairs of eyes that were actually weighing on his soul.
There was quietness for some moments before a man stepped forward.
"Elwyne?" Orin, his brother-in-law asked him.
"Gone. They are gone." Eryndor cried as he sat down on the stairs, unable to face his men as he bore the guilt of everything on his shoulders.
It was his fault.
Clearly, the Emperor had known that he was embarking on his twenty one days fast with his men as was customary every quarter to retain their connection with the spirit world and must have thought they would be doing it in the city. They were not allowed to fight or kill any person during this fast. So, they attacked on the last day when it was expected that he would be weakened by hunger and unable to fight.
But the fields of Harbentine was the place picked for them by the spirit mage and they already ate the previous night when they joyfully celebrated over the boar they slaughtered.
"Who did this, Eryndor?" Orin asked him.
"It was the Emperor." He responded.
"What do we do now?" Athelstan asked him, he still carried his son in his arms.
"Right now, we burn our dead. Because tomorrow, we shall fight till death." Eryndor stated as he rose up, his eyes burning with fierce anger.
And so it was that they all prepared a mass burial for their dead. Burning them in a huge pyre as there was no time. A deep hole had been dug and there everyone was placed. As was the rites of passage, coins were thrown into the fire as everyone said their last prayer
The smell of burning flesh overtook the air but the grief they felt was so much they did not care. They sat by the fire until the morning when they decided it was time to fight.
Eryndor found his armour. It was the very one he had been gifted as the last mage to walk this earth and the battles he had won. With each piece he wore, a wave of guilt struck him as he recalled how his wife used to be the one that would prepare him with lots of kisses.
"Don't worry, Elwyne, I shall avenge you and the children. I know I'm not worthy to be where you are but I promise you, hundreds shall fall for your death." He muttered the promise right before taking up his sword. It was named Tear-bringer.
The familiar weight of the sword in his hands seemed comforting yet ominous. As he slowly unsheathed it, the blade came to life as an eerie blue light illuminated the room which was still dark as it was the early hours of the morning still.
A wave of determination washed over him as he knew what must be done.
The moment they came out of the city and saw their enemy warriors, they already knew this was going to be the very last fight.
Eryndor charged with his men towards the enemies, breaking through their ranks as they fought ensued. Surprisingly, despite their lack of numbers in contrast to the enemy soldiers, Eryndor and his men were able to hold their own. Drawing the battle till the sun was already high in the sky suggesting it was noon.
Those soldiers did not care as they cut down their enemies and soon, their numbers were beginning to match as hundreds of enemy soldiers had fallen and their fully armoured bodies spewing blood from the places they had been struck.
Suddenly, an enemy warrior swung his sword at Eryndor, barely missing his neck as the latter sidestepped tactfully and quickly recovered from the surprise attempt. He quickly swung his sword at the soldier who artfully danced away from his reach, making Eryndor angry at his skills.
'Where is this soldier from?' He thought to himself as he had never seen these movements before.
The soldier tried to retaliate with a quick slash of his sword but it was met by the air as Eryndor dodged. He could tell this person had not been fighting for long as he had let his rage take control.
This left him an opening as he kicked the soldier right on the chest, sending him skidding a couple of feats away and Eryndor prepared to swing for the final blow.
"Please don't kill me, I'm only a child!!!" A young voice cried out as the soldier put forward a defensive palm in front suddenly forcing Eryndor to pause with his sword hanging mid air.
"What did you say?" Eryndor asked.
The soldier was shaking all over like a leaf being blown by a breeze.
"I'm a child. Please. Spare my life." He said again.
"Prove it." Eryndor said.
The soldier withdrew his hand as he shakily started taking off his helmet then drew down the mask that was also covering most of his face.
Eryndor let out a gasp. The boy standing before him was not more than sixteen years and he looked really scared. He glanced around at the reminder of the enemy soldiers that were now huddling together as Eryndor's men cornered them, ready to make the kill.
"We're all children." The young man said.
"Stop!!! They're children!!!" Eryndor yelled at the top of his voice and his men halted.
They demanded that the rest of the enemy soldiers take off their masks and as soon as they did, there were gasps at how young these boys were.
Eryndor turned to the young man in front of him.
"Why are you here?" He demanded.
"We were taken away from our villages the moment we turned thirteen by the Jade Emperor and then trained for three years. We were sent here to kill the one called Eryndor Blackthorn." The young man said.
"I am Eryndor Blackthorn. What is your name?" He asked him.
"It's Ivar." The young man said.
Suddenly, something sailed through the air as the young man's face distorted in shock and pain. But that was not all.
As Eryndor looked down, he saw that the spear had passed through him and had struck him right in the chest. He managed to push the spear out of him and the boy, Ivar, fell to his side.
Eryndor looked up the hill above and he saw the Emperor himself with his right hand raised and a couple of archers ready to shoot their arrows awaiting the signal.
The moment the Emperor put down his hand, night arrows in their hundreds rained down on everyone on the battlefield. Including Eryndor. The rain of arrows did not stop until ten minutes later when everyone was dead.
Eryndor himself laid facing the sky, his eyes still open. Twenty seven arrows had found their way through him and most of all, it was supposed to be his twenty-seventh birthday tomorrow.