Prologue

As the scabbard was left to warm in the absence of the cold steel, he had made his decision. In fact, his decision had been made long ago. He stood across from the man who he would soon kill. The man he had once known as a friend.

His search for the traitor prince was long and fruitless, but its importance urge him on. After scouring a great part of the land, he had returned to the kingdom of Qilverus, his home, with nothing to show but his own two unbloodied hands. He was not received warmly by his king who sent him out again with the threat of death if he were not successful. He remembered the cutting words of his king whom he so greatly admired.

"Shall you fail me again Emiris I will find someone more capable to the task. How valuable is the life of an assassin who cannot even find their target? We may both find out soon enough." The words constantly nagged at him and fed into his every thought.

'Stupid.' He thought to himself. 'How could I be so insolent? How did I expect the king to react when I had returned empty handed? I will do as the king says, find Falthren and take his life. I will prove my worth.' His own self had turned hostile and he left feeling both a new vigour for his quest and a deep frustration with himself. As his night coloured horse stepped out of the castle gates, he knew that the only way he would return would be with blood on his hands. He intended to return.

Emiris left the castle on a new route, one unexpected and untraveled by many of noble birth. Only a few days of travel across the dusty dirt packed paths south of the castle he found a peasant town, small enough that it would be on no map and it would hold no name. Feeling quite hopeless with his new approach, he decided that he had all to gain and not much to lose. Dismounting his pure stallion, an uncommon sight in the poorer lands surrounding the affluent city, he questioned a common man in the town. A farmer by the rugged look of him. Emiris flashed one of many golden coins his pocket at the farmer and he began to answer questions so eagerly it took most of the fun out of it. He asked the farmer about the surrounding villages and their people and, with his turning luck, the farmer was also a trader. He claimed to be the best travelled man in the arable lands, moving to and from villages all across the countryside with wares from his town.

"Now, if you really are as knowledgeable as you say, I may need your direction." Emiris said to the farmer.

"Oh of course, anything sir, anything for that..." The farmer gestured to the coin in his pocket. "Gold." His feeble fingers rolled over one another nervously, his lips were wet with the taste of riches.

"I am looking for a man. He is tall, taller than most any man I have seen, so he must be a giant amongst your simple kind." The farmer seemed not to hear his jape. "He is broad and muscular and has deep green eyes. Quiet and reserved to newcomers. Tell me this man's name and the gold will be yours." The farmer scratched his head dumbly and stared up into the trees. What help would he be? 'Useless' he thought. 'I have truly lost my way if I am reduced to asking commoners.' As Emiris turned to mount his horse the farmer spoke up.

"Yes! Yessir, I do know em'!" He's quite unmistakeable, a mountain of a man. Gregor I believe, not two towns over. Rivenhold is the name of the town, not a days ride. Follow the white river to the south west and you will happen upon the village he calls home."

'He truly does know him, but the name Gregor?' Emiris thought to himself. He would have to take a chance. Was this the simple answer he needs to finally end his journey? "He is a kindly man, elpful' and pleasant. So too is his wife, quite a lovely lady. Beautiful and strong herself!" The farmer paused, fearing he had said too much. "W-Will any arm' come to them? I would feel truly guilty if..." Emiris tossed the golden coin on the ground near the peasant man and took up to his horse, wordlessly cutting through the pathways to the white river with a new energy.

From the farmers directions Emiris was lead to a small village. He arrived at night. He hadn't stopped riding along the riverside for more than a few minutes since the morning he talked to the farmer. His horse heaved and whinnied when he pulled back on its reins, tired and eager for a rest. He hitched the stallion to a tree nearby the unlit pathway to the unfamiliar towns centre. He had ridden past several humble homes on his way to the heart of the village he expected to be Rivenhold. As he passed the houses, people began to emerge and see what the nighttime rider had wanted, each praying that it would not be them he was after. It was rare to have a visitor, even more so at this tired time of night. As Emirir stood near the walkway to the surprisingly built up towns centre, a slight commotion began to stir around him as people scurried out of the dark nervously, some with their torches in hand. As they spotted him he felt the air become thick with fear. Not his, but rather that of the group that now collected around him. A motley group of humans and dwarves began to converge on the main road. They looked at each other, confused and dreary with sleep. As one of the quicker dwarves glimpsed the black leather sheath on his back, whispers of violence began to spread through the group. Some women ushered the children back into their houses and to the safety of the town square.

Now the group stood across from Emiris, unprepared, waiting for action. Hungry for a conclusion, they each faced the dizzying possibility of death. In their youth, they were spun tales of a great warriors, driven by glory and vengeance. Many of them had dreamed of taking up adventure, becoming free to the world; a hardened warrior who bowed to no will but their own. As they duelled with sticks and adventured longingly, they imagined conquering impossible feats. Winning riches and fame, love and honour. But as they grew and faced a more humble life their fantasies were quickly dashed. Their sticks were replaced with scythes. A few had the chance to hold knobbly, unbalanced bows, but this was a small town filled with people that had never known an enemy. As the group of them stood armed with only their bare hands, they looked upon a man who held a strong reminder of those tales they had once dreamed of.

Emiris wore little in the way of armour, but looked no less formidable. He was dressed completely in polished black leather and thick dark cloth. A sword belt wrapped around his waist and clung to his torso, hanging tight to his right shoulder. A leather cloak hung on his shoulders, gracefully skirting just past his knees, yielding to his boots which were fitted to his legs with silver buckles. Resting atop his left shoulder was a black leather pauldron, loose and sleek with a subtle inlay of silver that shone ferociously with the moonlight. The leather had the worn embossing of a crescent moon. On his left forearm was a tightly strapped black leather vambrace with a silver stitching that mimicked his shoulder's. Both were gilded with deep scars that yielded a frightening magnificence. In his unarmored hand, an irregular longsword. He held the black leather grip with its pommel that kept a keen edge. The hand guard was short, but flexed to the blades point, resembling the crescent moon that often adorned his armour. The blade itself was no longer than any other sword, but it was made of a fine polished steel which shone with a dark intent. Along the body of the blade danced two lines, intertwining and coming together finally at the tip and the hilt of the blade. The rivets and the viscously sharpened edges allowed the blade to catch the moonlight when pulled from its black sheath. In his armoured left hand he held a dagger in a reverse fashion, the pommel facing the crowd. Its blade held the same embellishment as the longsword, the dancing lines running up its short length. It had no guard and the blade curved sharply to mimic his crescent sigil. He drew his black hood slowly back to his neck to reveal a pale face that shone with the moons luminous brilliance, as if it was the source of the well lit night. His drawn cheeks reflected the soft light like pools of water. Long black hair rested lightly on his thin collarbones, shimmering like the leaves of an aspen in a gentle wind. Emotion was bereft from his gaunt face as his stoic demeanour poured more heavily than anger into the hearts of the bewildered villagers. His grey eyes flickered amongst the crowd, searching. They were shrunk by his gaze. All but one.

The patrons of this modest village had approached tentatively upon the cloaked man's arrival. They had met just outside the village centre, followed by a solid man, hardened by what he knew to be years of training and fighting. Nothing about the man shone. He was caked with sweat and dirt from the day's work. And to think that he had a right to the throne of the king? Thick brown hair protruded from his head and chin. Streaks of grey adorned his head like a crown. His face was chiselled and large, fitting his body. He was strong and ruggedly handsome, not yet old, but what age he had did him kindly, like a rock gathering moss. He wore a rough tunic which revealed his shoulders like two boulders sitting atop a mountain. His callused hands gripped the only weapon in the makeshift group, a massive war hammer that any other in the large group could seldom lift. Carvings of leafed vines climbed up the dark wood shaft. By contrast, the villagers standing around the man were a haggard bunch, equipped with rags, some with large hats of straw which they hadn't yet removed after tending to their days work. The crowd parted for the large man. The group that now stood softly behind him began to shift uncomfortably, whispering just loud enough so that his sharp ears could make out several words of their speech.

"Will he fight?..."

"What of Gregor's wife? His...?"

Gregor. Emiris had expected as much from his size. It had been years, but this was not a man that would be easily forgotten. And the name Gregor? Emiris wondered how many times prince Folthren had evaded him with his little disguise.

'And his wife is here too? The God's look upon me with favour.' He thought, with a small smile appearing menacingly out of the corner of his thin lips.

In a sweeping voice, the man who called himself Gregor asked a simple question.

"What is it you want?" A deafening silence once again filled the air. The large man grew restless, his voice growing alongside his visible anger. "I will not ask again, why are you here?" Folthren growled at him. The ground beneath them shook under the weight of his words and pine needles flickered nervously high up in the surrounding trees. Another silence. Folthren's anger lost some of its heat and he seemed to grow solemn. The prince knew what he wanted. The large man hefted his massive hammer into the air with a single arm and rested it upon his right shoulder. "I don't want it. I am no threat. Leave me here in peace." Even his murmur carried ripples through the still air. Folthren gazed at him with familiar, warm green eyes. Emiris knew that Folthren understood his purpose. He must fulfill it for the true king, no matter the slight pity that itched the back of his mind. The two men stepped towards each other with a shared understanding.

Emiris' soft step turned into a lightning fast lunge in an instant. He drew his sword from its sheath and bared its edge to Folthren, hoping to catch him off guard and be done with this encounter as soon as possible, but he knew that the prince wouldn't make it that easy for him. Folthren dodged backwards with a speed unknown to a man of his size. As Folthren stepped onto his back leg, he bounded forward with his great strength, swinging his massive hammer with both arms. Emiris tried to parry the massive weapon, but the force of the hammer almost knocked his sword out of his hands. He gripped tight to his sword and the blow let a harsh ring loose through his arm. As Emiris stood dazed and shocked from the hit, Folthren charged again, throwing him back onto the ground. Folthren wound his hammer up high above his head and brought it down with such a speed and force that Emiris' thin black leather would have done nothing to protect him. But he didn't wear the leather for such obvious protection. He regained his sense in enough time to roll away from the blow and find his feet. The hammer drove deep into the ground making a crater in the soft earth. With his guarded left hand he rushed forward into Folthren who was still pulling his hammer from the deep earth. Emiris sliced in a wicked upwards motion pushing his fist to the sky just a few inches from Folthren's arm. If he had not been holding the dagger, Folthren would have been uninjured by the blow. Instead, the sharply honed edge found its way through the thick muscle of Folthren's forearm, letting loose a bright ribbon of blood, beautiful and dark in the torchlight. A gasp came from the crowd which surrounded them like a fighting pit. It was a gasp of horror and dismay, for, unlike any fight Emiris a been a part of, they were all cheering for the other man's victory and hoping desperately for his defeat. His death.

A deep groan came from Folthren that sounded like old trees creaking in the wind. His arm recoiled at the pain and he staggered back, still holding his hammer. Emiris rushed towards him once more knowing that agility was on his side. Sheathing his dagger, he held his longsword with both hands preparing for a conclusive sweep across the large man's throat. He could almost see the blood spurting from Folthren's open neck. His eyes would go dull and his head would fall limp. It was something he had seen many times, but now his confident mind got ahead of itself. Folthren twisted his body backwards and lurched to the opposite direction of the blades swing. A moment later, a crushing force landed on Emiris' side sending him off of his feet in the direction of the blow. Folthren had swung his hammer with his one good arm low into Emiris's body, just escaping his line of sight. As Emiris clattered to the ground his sword fell out of his hands landing near Folthren's feet. He kicked it away a short distance.

"Leave." Folthren said in that same low grumble of a voice.

"I can't. It is your life or mine, and I bow to the *true* king." Emiris said, spitting his words at Folthren like venom. He still lay on the ground, his free hand clutching his side where a blunt pain was swelling.

'The blow must have broken my ribs' he thought to himself as he pressed through the pain to stand.

"Darius, please. We were once..."

"That is not my name!" He shouted at Folthren, his mouth foaming with anger. "Not anymore. You do not know the man I have become."

"Maybe I don't. If it must be this way, let's end this." Folthren said. Emiris had always hated him for being so composed, so proper. It was a trait he had never learned. If he had knocked Folthren to the ground his life would have been gone in that instant, but here he stood, alive only at Folthren's mercy.

'The fool. He would pay for such a mistake. What good did his grace do him now?' He thought in passing, but his mind was back to where he would place the point of his dagger.

He eyed Folthren's left arm eagerly. It was a deep red, slick with the same blood that he had left on the dagger. It was a fatal wound for anyone who wielded a two-handed war hammer, but for Folthren's massive size it would only prove to slow him down. He could still carry the massive weapon in one hand. Emiris knew what he had to do. Folthren charged with all of his might, swinging once again at his injured ribcage. The swing was high and Emiris instinctively rolled underneath the hammer. The air was excited through his long black hair as the wooden handle graced the space just above his head. He steadied himself on the other side with a lunge that sent a spear of pain up his injured ribcage. The massive one handed swing left Falthren off balance. The hammer's speed sent it whipping around his body, stopping only at the force of the ground nearly one full turn around him. Falthren was quick to recover, but desperation lead his next attack. He let the hammer rest only for a second and then made the same swing in the opposite direction.

'You fool.' Emiris thought to himself, and the somber flash of green in Falthren's eyes reflected a similar thought. This swing was low and Emiris jumped over it. The handle caught his right foot in the air sending him to the ground on one knee, but pain felt like a far away thing to him now and he let up with his trained muscles. Falthren revealed his left side to him. The hammer was buried again into the ground opposite him, but it might as well have been miles away. Falthren's left arm was weak and that is where Emiris stood.

As Emiris danced around Falthren's slow left arm, he jutted the dagger out to his own arm's extent. It's curved blade hugged Falthren's thick neck like a tight necklace. Not allowing Falthren a moment to realize his death, he pulled his arm with a familiar pressure across the vulnerable skin. Now he could picture Falthren's death with certainty. He knew the delicate way in which his dagger slid through skin. The ease that it crept eagerly across a waiting neck and the fall of blood that followed, sapping the life quickly from its foe in a glorious display of mortality. Without stopping Emiris walked towards his sword that lay dusty on the unpacked earth. He knocked it against his boots and wiped the blood from the silver dagger, taking his time to make sure that both weapons were clean. He sheathed the dagger and turned around, sword in hand, to face the dying man. He hadn't heard the familiar thump of knees on the ground that he expected, but it came soon enough. The massive man collapsed to his knees, a light cloud of dust surrounded his legs. Falthren's deep green eyes looked into his in a way he had never seen. A desperation coloured his face, one of defeat. Falthren had failed to protect himself, but more importantly Emiris knew, his wife. Falthren's lips were painted ruby red as he spoke silent words to him.

"Please." Falthren's lips moved wordlessly. Emiris granted him a wordless response. He lifted his sword with both hands and swept it through air, then flesh, then air once again.

"I'm sorry old friend." Emiris said in a whisper to himself.

Emiris had expected more reaction from the crowd, but all he received was a deep silence. He sensed the dread he had caused the people. The fear, sadness, and anger was palpable. He knew that death at the hand of a sword was not an easy thing to see, especially for the first time, but he was happy to introduce them. Suddenly, a woman's cry came bounding off of the trees shrill and desperate. Even with the thick layers of people standing around him she managed to push through them with ease, tossing a few to the ground in her wake. When she entered the clearing, she stopped abruptly and stared at Falthren's headless body which had now toppled onto the ground. Tears quickly fell down her cheeks. Her long brown hair was tied into a tight braid that rested on her back and the bob of hair framed her powerful face. Plump lips rested above her sharp chin which lead into a similar jaw. Her cheekbones protruded aggressively from her face. Her limbs were long and powerful erupting through her rough spun tunic. A small black mark decorated the outside of her left eye. Both of her eyes were a soft brown, marbled with tears that flowed gently onto her glowing copper skin. Her eyes now looked into Emiris with a complete anger and the water seemed to boil on her sharp cheeks.

"How could you!" She said as she tilted into a sprint towards him. Emiris swung his sword sharply and carelessly through the air expecting a quick fight, but she ducked into a slide underneath the blade and twisted her leg sharply into his, tripping him to the ground. He hit the dirt with his ribs. Sharp pain replaced the blunt soreness and he winced as he was reminded of his wound. Without missing a step, she was up on her feet again flying down towards him with a hard fist. It connected sharply with his nose sending a blinding shock up though his head. He felt blood rush out of his nostrils, hot and slick running down his face. She was on top of him now and another fist was falling towards him. Emiris wrenched his head to the side and it connected with the ground. He grabbed her outstretched arm and twisted it until she recoiled her head in pain and let out a shriek. He twisted her body off of his with all of his force and now he lay on top of her. She struggled violently and it took all of his strength to restrain her.

He reached behind him and felt the handle of his dagger. As he pulled it from its sheath, he was sent into the air, flying off of her by a strong force.

"Don't yeh' hurt er'!" Emiris regained his foothold slowly, clutching his side and looked down at a dwarf that stood across from him, overtop his dagger and in front of the woman. Emiris hadn't had the chance to catch his looks except for his identifiable size and thick beard before he removed his sword from its sheath and buried it deep into the dwarf's shoulder. The dwarf went sputtering to the ground, dying quickly and painfully. Another gasp erupted from the crowd that tasted of mourning.

"Medlar!" The woman shouted, rushing to his side. The dwarf's eyes were closed by the time she reached him. Without pause Emiris lifted his blade into the air and swung it down again in her direction, more powerfully this time. She moved quickly enough to avoid a killing blow, but the blade caught her in the leg. She cried out, instinctively reaching towards the gaping wound. She struggled away towards, crawling desperately towards Falthren's body. She reached out a weak hand and placed it on top Falthren's lifeless one. She laid her head on his back and looked up at Emiris.

"Kill me." She said to him. He agreed. As the sword found her heart, she died quickly next to her husband.

The crowd of farmers had already begun to thin already and at her death the rest cowered back to the safety of the village centre. There was no one left to protect them so they ran for fear, but they didn't need protection. He had gotten what he had come for. Emiris knelt down in a comfortable silence and grabbed his dagger from the ground to cut a silvery broach from the woman's long braid. He took it and placed it delicately into a pocket. He looked closer at Falthren's massive hands, nearly the size of his face. A golden ring adorned Falthren's finger large finger. The tree on the ring was a revered symbol and it would serve as great evidence for the king of Falthren's defeat, but Emiris decided he would keep the ring for himself. The king would be happy with his word and unwashed hands as evidence of Falthren's death. Emiris gave a final look at the bodies on the ground, the powerful man that lay headless and his wife that continued to bleed slowly from the hole in her heart. Emiris closed his eyes to the scene and turned away. He had done what his king asked. That was enough. As he walked back to his horse he lifted his cloak and shirt revealing a purple bruise the size of a war hammer that only a dead man could wield. He thought that it was ample evidence. No man had ever walked away from Falthren's war hammer alive and Emiris felt both proud and disgusted that he was the one to do it.

Emiris walked the short way back to his horse and struggled up onto the saddle, his body aching at the touch of the hard leather. He kicked the black horse into a trot and felt a biting pain up his body at every following step. It would be a long and painful ride, but his job was done. The king would be happy and Emiris was the one to put his greatest threat to rest. Finally, he was done. Finally he could see his family.