…Spears and Shields Laid Down
The Black Shadow awoke lying face down in the woods. He spat leaves and twigs as he came to his senses. “What happened?” he muttered as he positioned his arms to pick himself up off the ground. A sharp pain shot through his right leg. He glanced back to see the broken shaft of an arrow sticking out of his upper thigh. He had to give the King’s archers credit. It would take a keen eye to hit a target that could move the way The Black Shadow could or maybe it was sheer luck. A Black Shadow could bend time and space. They were skilled in ancient arts that were thought to be lost. To an enemy, they seemed to appear and disappear into thin air.
The Black Shadow removed the arrow shaft from his leg and drug himself up against a tree. For all their mystical abilities, they had not been able to master the art of healing. The ancient scrolls told of ones who could do such things, but those techniques had been lost long ago. He looked around to get his bearings. He was amazed to find himself not far from the encampment at all. Surely the King’s archers had searched for him. He had heard stories of Black Shadow fighters who just disappeared when they were wounded in battle, never to be seen again. Maybe this had happened to him? This would explain why the King’s men could not locate him. It really didn’t matter. His wounds were severe. He was in no shape to fight. He had to get clear of the encampment and find somewhere to mend. He thought back to the battlefield. None of the Black Shadow Brotherhood survived except him. Accomplishing his mission to kill the King was not going to be easy now, but he would do so. A Black Shadow never missed his mark. Slowly, he crept his way deeper into the woods. He was surprised to make it to the safety of the mountains without being seen.
Back at the encampment, the Warrior and his brother, met with their father, The King. The youngest son relived the tail of the battle up until the point where his elder sibling had arrived. The King was relieved that both his sons were back at the encampment, alive. The King ordered the guard to be doubled around the perimeter. Nothing was to get into the camp that night.
Night fell. A nervous tension could be felt throughout the encampment. Whispers and rumors filled the air as the soft light of the moon lit the trees over head. The Warrior and his brother had left their father’s side to plan their next move. Strategy would be key, if they were to overtake their enemy. They looked over the available men. They were the most elite of the King’s armies. Their black cloaked enemy would not fair well in their next meeting. For now, however, it was time for the Warrior to rest. His sibling agreed to stand watch as there was little sleep in him after the day’s events.
The Warrior awoke to the clambering of shields and sabers. He sat up and began to dress just as his brother bolted into the tent. “Come quickly, my brother!” The two of them ran directly to the Kings tent. There in the middle of his bed, lay the King, motionless. A look of fear etched firmly on his face. It was clear that he was dead. His Chief Guard was examining the area. Nothing appeared out of place. There was no sign of a struggle, no wound, or any indication that a weapon had been used. The guard bowed before the Warrior. “Sire, there is no indication that anyone was here. We had men all around the tent. No one could have gotten in or out without us noticing. There is no sign of a struggle. There was only a scream… and the expression on his fa…” The Warrior raised his hand to cut the guard off mid-word. He need not be reminded of the look on his father’s face. The Warrior knew who had done this without question. Only the Black Devils, who had slaughtered his brother’s troops, possessed such stealth.
They returned to the land of their fathers to bury the King. His people had turned out from all across the land to view him as he lay in State. The Warrior sat deep in thought after the funeral. “How could anyone have survived that massacre?” he thought to himself. His brother had survived. Maybe someone else had managed to slip off as he did in the early moments of the battle. Or maybe, the attacker from earlier was still in the area. The archers did believe they had wounded him badly. What abilities did these Black Devils possess that they could rise from the grave?
As the Warrior continued to contemplate his father’s fate, his younger sibling sat down beside him. The Warrior startled. Had he been so deep in thought that he had not heard him approach? “My brother,” the younger man said. “You are now the King. Should you not take Father’s place?” The Warrior had not thought about his status as Heir to the Throne, nor did he want to right now. He had to find the Black Devils and finish them off. “I can not assume the throne this day, my young brother. There is much to be done in the field.” They both sat quietly for a moment.
A messenger broke the silence as he threw open the heavy door. “Sire! I have news! We have located the encampment of the Black Devils themselves.” The Warrior rose to his feet. “Assemble the legions. I want all those trained for battle ready by nightfall. We will give them a taste of their own medicine.” He turned to his sibling. “You must stay here, for if I fall you will need to take your place on the Throne in my stead.” “But brother, if you go to avenge our father’s death, then I wish to come along.” The Warrior knew that he could not let this young lad go. He had managed to avoid the fate of the others once. He would not be so fortunate the next time.
The legions rode long and hard toward the Devil’s encampment. They reached the encampment while the moon shown bright across the plain. There would be no stopping them. The legions had been ordered to attack as soon as they were assembled and leave no person alive. They attacked quickly and as silently as 300 men on horseback could. They entered the village unopposed. There wasn’t a soul left anywhere. The men spread out, scouring every building and cubbyhole. No one was found. No one that was alive. Whole families lie slaughtered in their houses, most of them wearing the black cloaks seen at the massacre some weeks before. They were in the right place, but they were unlikely to get any satisfaction here.
The Warrior entered a large temple at the end of the main thorough-fair. This was obviously a place of great importance. Teachings were scribed on the columns and walls. Markings on the floor indicated that many had trained here. In front of the Warrior, on an adorned throne, stood a lone figure, his saber stuck in the chest of another Black Devil who appeared to be wearing a bandage on his right leg. “We do not tolerate the weak for we are the Black Shadow!” The Warrior approached the bottom of the stairs leading to the throne and matched his gaze. “You are alone Black Shadow. Your people are all dead.” The Black Shadow removed his saber from its target and leaped to the floor, landing square on his feet in front of the Warrior. “I know the status of my people for it was I who killed them all.” The Black Shadow boasted. “I am the most powerful of the Black Shadow, and now… your kingdom too is mine!” With that he thrust his saber into the Warriors armor. It pierced as though the armor were made of so much meadow grass. The Warrior felt the life ebb from him. As he fell to his knees, he reached for his masked opponents face. As the mask tore away, the Warrior gasped at the sight. He knew this face all too well. It was the face of his younger brother. In his fleeting moments, it all made sense. His brother catching him off guard with his stealth, not once, but twice. That was how his brother had survived. How his father had been killed without anyone noticing. How he himself had been so willingly lead into this trap. The Black Shadow let out a maniacal laugh as his brother fell into lifelessness. HE was now King and The Black Shadow would reign.