The sparring sword fell to the ground with a dull thump.  Dull like it's cracked and untended edge.

"Again, Athos!"

The boy of eight glared at his sparring partner and teacher.

"Why?  You always beat me anyway."

The tall man chuckled and ruffled Athos' mud colored hair with the tip of his blunt blade. 

"You'll never learn like that, you know.  Without a sword in your hand and the determination to knock my ass to the dirt, you're doomed to be a novice forever, little brother."

Athos kept on his glare, but stooped to pick up his sword from it's place on the straw covered floor. 

A bruising rap on his left shoulder had him crying out in indignation and whipping his head up to gape at his older brother.

"What was that for?"

His brother raised his brow innocently.

"Never take your eyes off your enemy, Athos."

"You're an ass, Belen!"

And he charged with a sloppy thrust, which Belen sidestepped, using Athos' momentum to knock the sword from his low guard and send him tumbling to the hard earth, laughing at his little brother's impatience and tiny fury.

"Patience, little brother!  And remember your balance next time!  Keep your guard high and your knees bent!  Again!"

Athos picked himself up and didn't bother brushing the straw from his jerkin, lunging forward again and hacking with all the strength his little arms could muster.

Belen blocked each blow, but gave his little brother the satisfaction of hearing the ringing of iron echo through the courtyard.

A triumphant smile bloomed on the boy's face at every blow, even if every blow was blocked, and Belen laughed.

"You see?" he called above the din.

Despite his wide grin, Athos' face was heavy with concentration, thus his answer did not come.

"All you have to do... is focus!"

Belen dropped his blade and fell to his knees, suffering the smack of the flat-blade against his ribs.

He took it with an exaggerated groan and rolled to the ground, clutching at his side.

"I submit!"

Athos raised the blade again with that same bright smile lighting his face and pretended to hack down with it at his older brother's curled form.

"Mercy, Lord!  I surrender!"

With a peal of laughter and a battle cry, Athos threw himself onto his brother and tugged at his hair, rolling them both across the straw.

And Belen, as he did at the end of every spar with his little brother, begged mercy and fell on his face in a show of submission.

Athos jumped at Belen once again, and just as he went to put his little brother in a hair raising head lock, the horn sounded. 

From the palace.

Belen put Athos down and stared toward the castle walls, all mirth gone from his face.

The horn sounded again and his face went white.

Blood thundered in his ears and he turned to Athos, giving orders that the rushing in his head made it hard to hear.

"Get your horse, little brother.  We're going back early today."

Athos, though he knew something troubled his brother, did not know what it was; fear made him turn and obediently climb onto the saddle of his pony.

Belen, at the post across from Athos' steed, untied his own and swung himself onto her back, tilting his head and gesturing for his little brother to follow him as he set off in a brisk pace back to the palace.

Gods, if he didn't have Athos to worry about, he'd be racing to the castle at full tilt. 

Two blasts.

Holy gods above, if that hadn't happened in ten years.

He had hoped it never would again in his lifetime.

The minutes back to the keep dragged on.

But when they reached the gate, the portcullis rose swiftly and a stable hand hurried forward, taking the reigns of Athos' horse.

Belen looked down from his mount.

"Take the pony directly to the stables, and then have a servant accompany Lord Athos to his chambers.  And keep him there.  Do not let him out of your sight until then."

The stablehand barely had time to nod before Belen urged his horse forward and galloped to the doors of the palace.

He dismounted and strode into the open doors, cloak waving behind him angrily in the wind and turbulence of his stride. 

Through the stone and marble halls he continued, until he reached the doors of the war room. 

With a heave and flexed shoulders, he pushed the mighty golden doors open and walked in, where his father, uncle and cousin were waiting.  He inclined his head to his uncle and cousin, then looked at his father.

"What is the meaning of this, father?  Why have we sounded the horn?"

There was a grim and woeful look in the older man's eyes, that reflected itself in those of his brother, nephew and son. 

"They have returned for their reward, Belen."

Belen's eyes widened.

"Athos,"  he murmured.

His father bowed his head.

The lord's brother, Belen's uncle, spoke.

"They are marching on the keep on all sides.  From the sea, they have at least 700 ships.  From the plains to our back they have a cavalry of 800 strong.  From the Silver Forests they have an infantry that, from our recent reports, is 10,000 and growing.  all along the treeline to the sea.  We are surrounded."

Belen's eyes studied his uncle.

"And what about the mountains?  The rocky terrain?  How many there?" 

There was a large stretch of land to the east flank of the keep that was miles of uninhabitable mountains and soil so dusty it must've been the crushed limestone. 

Dario shook his head at his nephew. 

"Empty, but the people would die if we attempted to traverse them to evacuate the city.  We either die at the edge of a sword or after weeks of sun, when the lack of food water and shelter drain us."

Belen looked down at the table, with a map of his father's land. 

There had to be some way...

He braced his hands on the table and leaned on locked arms, head low.  

"So we have to fight." 

He raised his head and looked his uncle, cousin and father in the eyes, one at a time.  They simply looked back at him, not debating, not denying his words.  They all knew and had come to terms with a bloody, glorious death. 

Belen was the commander of his father's cavalry, Dario the commander of the infantry.  Both were smaller than the opposing forces. 

He looked at his cousin. 

"How bad is the damage?"

Altair looked down with a grim look on his face and braced his hands on his knees before standing and walking to the table. 

Without a word, he swept half of the figurines of ships away from the mapped harbor.

"That,"  he said, voice rough, "is the damage.  Half our fleet has either been sunk or captured.  The sailors are either dead or deserters.  I have no power to delay an attack on land much longer." 

Belen looked at his cousin.  There was grief there, in his eyes.

As  the commander of the Gaean fleet, Altair knew many of the sailors, many of the captains on those ships which had fallen.  Loyal captains.  And his friends were either already dead or bound for their watery graves by the day's end. 

He did not say a word. 

None of them would.  Because to acknowledge their anguish was to disarm themselves of reason, focus, and above all, impetus. 

Their people were the ones they had vowed to protect, as had every soldier in their service.  And now was not the time to doubt those vows, nor was it the day they would dishonor them. 

To lose their resolve now would be the death of the Gaean people.

So Belen nodded his head and looked up at his cousin, his uncle, and his father, who looked so frail now in his throne.

"Then we will wait as long as we can.  We gather as many forces as possible by nightfall, equip the townsmen with weapons if they are able, and bring all the elderly, women and children inside the citadel.  When they come, and they will come, we will meet them with everything we have."

He turned to his uncle.

"Dario, have your men ready.  They need to be outfitted and armed before the sun sets.  I will do the same with mine.  Every rider will be on his horse outside the gates."

Belen turned to his father, awaiting approval. 

The lord's face looked haggard, but he nodded at his son's words. 

"I will ride out with your cavalry, my son.  This arm can still cut down a few of our old enemies."

Belen smiled grimly and then turned to his Altair, placing his hand on his cousin's shoulder. 

"Altair, I need you to stay with Athos.  There are guards outside of his rooms, but I want the watch doubled.  And I want to know you are by his side, if the time comes that the guards are slain and my brother needs you."  Altair nodded stiffly. 

He cared as much for Athos as Belen did, but to be assigned to guard the child on the eve of a battle such as this hurt his pride and his need for vengeance. 

A thirst for revenge that would likely get him killed in combat.

Dario whirled on his heels and stalked across the hall to the double doors, pushing them open and continuing on to send messengers to the infantry and citizens.
His green cloak flapped behind him, and as the doors closed, a horn sounded.

Not the Gaean horn.

"They're coming sooner than we anticipated. Hurry!"

Belen and Altair raced across the marble floor and after Dario, who must have continued his flight after hearing the horn of the enemy so near.

"Altair, come with me!"
Taking the stairs three at a time, Belen sprinted to his rooms, those which were beside Athos' own rooms.
He pushed Altair towards his brother's room.
"Guard him with your life, cousin."
And then threw himself into his own rooms, where the horn of the Cavalry lay on a worn desk, beside his sheathed sword which he had been planning on polishing that evening.
He gripped both tightly in his hands, and hesitating for a moment, took his bow and quiver as well.
His spear was in the stables, with his war horse.
Messengers were already spreading the word and gathering soldiers by now, but...
Belen raced to the balcony of his rooms, which overlooked the entirety of the Gaean city and continued until the fog smudged the way.

If his shout could carry, then the horn would most definitely.
Raising it to his lips, he used all his breath to send a mighty call from the horn he had earned at his name day, along with charge of the Gaean cavalry.

The blast rang true and clear once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Four times it called, and a fifth short blast.
They would be here at the gates.
They knew the urgency now.
But Belen's heart thundered and he knew it might not be soon enough. 

Two hours later, the smoke from the gulf was rising and the thump of approaching infantry sounded in the courtyards. 
Dario's voice rang out, giving incoherent orders that echoed horribly in the stone space.
The infantry obeyed, falling into attention, Spears standing tall.
Belen watched from atop his horse, already at the head of 700 hundred cavalrymen, his father armed and by his side.
Each rider had a damning pike in his hand and a long sword at his hip.
Belen had a long bow and a quiver of arrows on his back.

There were men in the infantry that wore ill-fitting armor and shifted uncomfortably. 

Dario had done his duty well, rounding up every ablebodied man to fight from the city.  From the look of some of the men, tanned, salt bleached hair and rough skin, there were fishermen and farmers among them as well.

Silence filled the courtyard and Belen looked out at the infantry from his seat at the gates. 

The cavalry was behind him, and yet even the horses remained silent. 

Dario turned to look at Belen and his father, and Belen found both older men looking to him. 

His stomach was riling but he shoved it down.

He was the lord's son.  Commander of the cavalry and trusted adviser. 

His confidence would feed thousands. 

So he rose his voice.

"Soldiers!"

Every man stood straighter, sat higher on his horse.

"You did not know that you would be here this day, fighting for the man beside you.  We did not know the enemies from the sea would return.  But I am calling you now to fight for your families!"

Silence lay through the courtyard, every man holding his breath.

"I behest you to fight for the men beside you, and their families!  We may go to fight these men in utter futility, but what a glorious death it will be that we did not flee when our country called on us!"

The silence broke as the men beat the hilts of their swords against their round shields once in an echoing din.

"We have a duty to our Mother, and we will fight for her as she sustained us at her breast for so many years!  Raise your swords, Gaeans, and if we go to our deaths then let us not deny the dark god any longer!"

The men beat their shields faster, harder, until their shouts joined the clashing din and reverberated deafeningly.

The enemy horn sounded again, terrifyingly close, and with the sound of roused soldiers in the courtyard, Belen wheeled his horse to see, beyond his cavalry of 700 riders, cresting at the top of the hill nearly a mile towards the bay was a single rider.

Carrying a banner of emerald that flapped angrily in the wind. 

Without turning to look at his father, Belen said in a low voice that died under the cries of his soldiers.

"They are here."

He spurred his horse forward and the ranks of his cavalry split for him and his father to ride to the front.  He raced along the lines of his men, riding back and forth.

"Spears!  Lift your spears!"

As one entity the obeyed his command, heavy riding pikes raised in their hands, ready to drop forward in an offensive or defensive position. 

The front lines of the enemy would break on deadly spear heads and long swords for hours before they made it into the city, where they would run through the narrow gates to slaughter by the infantry. 

"Forward men!"

The riders marched their horses five feet forward.

"Halt!  Close the gates!"

Two soldiers from the infantry rushed forward and pulled the heavy wooden gates closed.

The sound of a heavy wooden bar dropping thudded through the ranks. 

The portcullis lowered in front of the gate with a metallic groan and the scrape of chains on chains.

Belen, his father and their cavalry were trapped on the battle field.
The horn blew again, and the emerald banner was high.

Silence grew deafening.
Belen raised his pike and fell back into the front lines of his men, lining up the point of his spear with the rest of them.
His father was in the back, waiting with his sword drawn for the coming brawl.

Belen looked to his left for a moment at the helmed head beside him.
Eyes peered out that belonged to his second in command.
Belen grinned grimly at his friend.
"Are you ready?"
His second glanced at him, returning his grin with a feral baring of teeth.
"Ready to spill demon blood."
Belen clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder.
"Don't die," he said.
A snort was his response.
"If I do you won't be alive to know."
Belen let out a bark of laughter that died in his throat when he looked back to the lone rider on the hill crest.

One rider had become five hundred at least and growing.

The battle was not coming.

It was upon them.
"Brace, men! Hold them back!"
Each man brought himself low on his horse, pike still extended in a shining coat of death.

A quiet shout rang out from the hill in a terrible language, and the lone rider's sword flashed in the air as he brought it down.

And as the enemy cavalry charged, Belen lowered his helmet onto his head, and drew an arrow back into his bow.

The first flew and a horse and rider tumbled to the earth, trampled by his companions.

"Stand steady men!! And let our arrows fly!"
...
Altair paced the floor of Athos' room, the boy himself sitting on his lofty bed.
He should be out there.
He should be fighting alongside his father and cousin and uncle, avenging his men.
He should have been on the fucking boats in the harbor.
But one glance at his little cousin stayed his rage.

He would give his life to protect Athos.
He's promised Belen.

It had been five hours since the fighting had begun.
The din was fading now, but neither Athos nor Altair dared to hope.
A mighty clamor drove Altair to the balcony window that had been locked off, making his pursuit futile.

Silence followed.
The clash of sword on sword was done.

Altair vaguely heard Athos ask
"What is happening?"
His voice quavered. The fear in his eyes was raw and wild.

"Hush, Athos,". He murmured, distracted and listening.

Waiting.

He had a foreboding feeling that the silence was not the end, rather the calm before the storm.

The dread in his gut warned him it would be a storm from Tartarus itself.

"Altair?"
Athos' voice cracked.

Altair turned from the window, opening his mouth to comfort his cousin. But there was a bang on the doors and Athos jumped.

Altair drew his sword and another thus rattled the doors.

"Lord Altair!"

Through the door came the voice of one of the guards assigned to protect the young lord.

"Lord Altair we must leave!  They've breached the gates!"

A horrible scream echoed from outside the window.
Inhuman, agonizing.

"My lord please open the doors!  We must leave!"

Altair sprinted to the doors, sliding on the slick marble and slamming into them before flinging them open. 

"Athos come!"

The boy was frozen on his bed, huddled and shaking. 

The same scream erupted again, louder and ear splitting. 

Altair's head throbbed and he fought the urge to run to the window.

He could see the recognition in Athos' eyes as well.
"Athos..." his voice cracked as another cry of unimaginable pain plagued the rooms. 

Athos' eyes widened as it finally set in that the screams belonged to Belen.
His beloved brother.

Bellows of agony rang one after another, sounds that neither of them had thought capable of spilling from Belen's throat, but recognizable enough that Altair forced himself to shove down any thought of his cousin and friend.

"Come on," he grunted, and slung Athos over his shoulder. The boy shrieked and screamed foul things at him, pounding his fists against Altair's shoulders.

He ignored them.
"Lead the way,". He told the guard tightly, barely audible over the horrible screaming.

Constant.

They had lost.

But Altair and Athos has lost so much more than their lives, as they snuck beneath the keep to a secret place in the stables, Athos still sobbing against Altair's back and continuing his assault on his back.

They had lost so much more than their own lives, which meant next to nothing to them.

They had lost their families.

They had lost their home.

They had lost their world.

Altair mounted his horse, anchoring his little cousin down in front of him.

They rode away to the sound of Belen's screams.

To the laughter of the enemy soldiers at his agony.

He knew he shouldn't look back.

He knew that if he did, he would never unsee it in his dreams, in every waking hour.

But Altair looked back anyway, catching a glimpse of the courtyard where they had lost everything.

There was his cousin, bloodied beyond recognition, shirt torn from his body with whips and chains, chained and fingers bent in wrong angles.

His skin hung from him in strips.

His eyes...
They had taken his eyes and nailed them to his palms.

Just a moment. That was all Altair had looked before spurring his horse forward in a furious gallop.

And in that moment, Athos had looked and seen everything.

His brother, the best warrior in the six seas, broken and whimpering and begging for death.

Athos vomited over the side of the horse,and then went limp.

...

A dark haired warrior stood in the middle of a blood soaked battle field, his hardened men behind him.

There were only a few of them,but between themselves they had slaughtered thousands of men.

The warrior, their leader, stepped forward, boots sinking into red mud and crushing dead hands.

He walked towards an older man whom his men had chained to a post.

The young warrior, face dripping with the blood of the dead called behind him
"Altair!"

An older warrior, with a face similar to the leader's stepped forward and dropped a leather whip tipped in iron claws into the young warrior's waiting hand.

But he did not step back.  He stayed beside his leader, eyes dark and full of hate. 

The man who was chained jerked at his bindings, his breath turning shrill and rapid.  Fear showed in the whites of his rolling eyes.

But the young warrior did not raise his whip, nor did he even raise his voice.

He knelt before his prisoner, and with a soft voice asked
"Do you know who I am?"

He unsheathed a hunting knife from his hip and cut a slow, red line into the man's flesh.

He groaned at the pain.
"No!"
The young warrior nodded, and stopped the blade's path.

"You wouldn't recognize my face, I suppose.  I never looked much like my brother.  Surely you remember him."

Sheathing the knife, he pressed his finger into the gash he'd left on his prisoner's arm, tearing the flesh into a wider wound.

The man shrieked.  Poor pain tolerance for an executioner.

He told him as much.

"Please," he whispered.  "Please don't hurt me."

The young warrior grinned. 
Behind him, Altair bared his teeth.

"Since you don't seem to remember me or my brother, perhaps our names will jog your memory."

His hand shot forward and gripped the man around his throat, tight enough to choke him but not so much that the lack of oxygen would stunt his attention.

"My name," he hisses, "is Athos of the Gaean peoples.  My brother, his name was Belen Longspear."

In a flash Athos gripped his dagger and plunged it into the man's thigh, never once releasing him.

The howl of pain was cut short in his tightened throat.

"Twelve years ago, you strapped my brother, the most honorable man in the southern seas to a post and tortured him to death.  For days. 
Any longer and he would've died of infection.  Isn't that right, Feren?"
The fear in Feren the Executioner's eyes was wild.

"The boy..."
Athos laughed, a growling sort of darkness that made Feren flinch.
"Yes, the boy.  The boy you and your murderous comrades were sent to collect all those years ago."

He leaned in close to Feren's ear and whispered
"I'm going to kill you just as slowly as you killed my brother you son of a whore.  Let's see how loud you squeal."

A shudder went through Feren as Athos sat back on his heels.

But just as swiftly, his fear became a defiant, putrid thing.

"I remember how loudly your Brother shrieked at the first cut of my blade.  He was a girl even before we cut off his manhood,". He sneered, voice raw.

With a roar, Athos ripped the knife down, tearing the flesh from Feren's groin to his knee in one sudden movement.

Feren screamed as Athos stood once more, whip in hand.

"You'll know what that feels like soon enough, punisher.  I'm the executioner now."

And the whip fell, tearing flesh from the body of the man who had taken everything.

Altair watched, a grim and macabre joy running through his veins.

And when Feren's blood splattered onto his face, he smiled.