A Shadow Among Legions by S.A. Klopfenstein (reading like a writer TXT) 📕

Thrain's regiment became a perfect machine, cogs and wheels moving in precise order through the woods, and Darien led them, the General at his side.

There was a moment, the briefest moment, when he considered the possibility he could save the village of Harrivral, his Klavash people. Only he knew exactly where it lay, where the small trodden path winded between the meadow of boulders and then snaked between the kissing cliffs. He could lead the regiment too far east, maybe even have them stumble upon a small settlement, where they might slaughter a family or two, maybe it would even be the little girl's and boy's true family. All of Harrivral need not die.

But that would compromise the mission, his purpose, his comrades.

No...

Darien let the thought slip past unknown. Forgotten as though it had never entered his mind. He found the hunter's path within a few minutes. The first outlying settlement lay past the boulder field, a small mountain farm in a clearing. Thrain sent Jujen and three others to deal with the farmers, and Darien was relieved to be rid of the boy's idiocy.

Darien led the remaining troops down the path, between the cliffs, and down into the Harrivral valley.

The Klavash were a peaceful people. They had been caught in the middle of many wars between Osha and Morgath, and the people of Nunanka, who had populated the region of Morgath before it had been a kingdom, and before Osha had been a kingdom, when the gods were good and the peace was true.

It was raw, hard country that tested the limits of a people. The Klavash lived in the mountains, facing the harsh winters and short growing seasons, because they longed for peace and loved nature. They had a respect for the land. They grieved over needless death. They were Darien's people.

Yet, it was fitting his first mission should be among his own. His final test.

The cry Darien heard after Jujen fired upon the children had been no war cry, as it turned out. Perhaps it was a morning hail, or the glee of a successful hunt. But the people of Harrivral had mustered no army to face the approaching horde. They were going about their morning as usual when the Shadows arrived.

Thrain's regiment stole silently from the woods, descending upon the village from all sides without warning.

The General did not leave Darien's side. It was Darien, Thrain, Valeria, Hollas, and Uraa. They entered the village from the south in single file, slinking behind thatch-roofed buildings.

The first to oppose them was a boy of fifteen, his long hair pulled back and tied up in a small bun. Darien knew the boy had just come of age. Boys let their hair down until the day they turned fifteen, and became a man grown. Filled with a thirst for honor, filled with a love for family and loyalty to his kinsmen. Of course, this boy was the first to face the invaders.

And he would be the first brave one to fall.

As the Klavash boy approached, Thrain stepped back, as though declaring it Darien's opportunity to prove himself once and for all. The final test.

Darien lunged forward, unsheathing his sword with a flourish. The Klavash boy was armed with a crude hunting blade, a jagged work of the mountains. The boy brandished it boldly, crying for the god Umpala to curse the horde of Shadows.

The blade was out of his hand with a pair of thunderous blows and the boy—the brave defender of his kinsmen, the man grown—was on his back, grimacing, his fingers bleeding.

It was at this moment, Thrain caught Darien's eye, and nodded, his eyes cold and heartless.

The final test.

Darien did not hesitate. He plunged the blade into the boy's chest. He felt the blow as though his own hand had entered the boy's flesh, as though his sword was part of his arm, attached by tendons and muscle, the blood pumping from his heart filling the sword with strength and precision. He sensed the pierce of skin, the crunch of ribs, the tearing of organs, and the grinding thud as his blade struck the ground beneath the boy's body. He felt the life leave the boy in a shudder of rasping breath and a final bray of curses.

Darien would not remember the others so vividly.

But this was his first.

The first kill.

The final test.

Darien—the lone Klavash spared in the raid that slaughtered his family—had lost himself at last. Darien had become the chancellor's hands and feet, his boots on the ground, the blade in his hand.

A Shadow among Legions.

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