(This is a sample chapter of my book that I plan to release in spring of 2025 on kindle. It is still in editing so what is here is subject to change.)
As I prowl the streets of Erilmore, I'll make him pay, that son of a whore. He may not know or recognize me, But I've been told where he will be. The shadows of night, a clock on me, As through the city’s alleys I flee. Sir Baldwin stumbles, pub’s revelry, Into the alley for me to see. I’ll have him for the family he’s taken from me. He trips and falls, too drunk to stand, I walk over and offer my hand. The knight thanks me for the assistance I give, But he won’t thank me when he no longer lives. I speak to the knight to assuage his fright. "Noble sir knight if you would not mind I’ve a tale if you’re so inclined?" Sir Baldwin nods in his drunken state, Giving me permission to elaborate. "The old have plenty through time's dance, While youth, yet to make, wait for a chance. Soldiers claim to have none, the story they’ve spun, As slaves make one for the freedom they run. Knights of Ernul, told by their king, 'Blood will be spilled this night, By my right. Destroy the village, people, and its land. Leave nothing for the enemy command.' "The knights had claimed it was out of their hands. 'It is not our fault we were given such commands.' Remorseful or not, I did not care, and neither did the fires they used to burn my parents bare. My sisters and brothers: their screeches and wails. It was the worst sound that made me go pale. Only me and the youngest saw the next day. With my brother, the baby, I scurried away." The knight’s face changes at pace with my words and the slow realization of what he just heard. He steps back and trips, Falling on his hip. With a stutter in his speech, The knight squeaks. "From which village do you hail, That you would weave such a mournful tale?" I pay no mind to the knight, Soon my identity will be brought to light. "Hidden in the woods, I sought a means to play. A way by which to forget yesterday. With my brother's screams, there would be no way. In the woods an elderly man did meander, hearing my brother he took a gander. Through the trees, he followed the sound, To find us lads on the forest grounds. The man weak, wrinkled, and bent over more, On our faces; he'd seen the pains of war. Citing the dark nobles as wicked evermore. "He said, 'Their hearts were darker than their skin. For that alone, they should be thrown off a cliff's end. The traitors are worse, For the power they thirst. Their forebears, for who ambition made blind, Sold ours, their own kind, into this wicked bind. For naught but titles and rights, they traded away, Their own in a plight, a debt we cannot pay. They demanded we forsake our past days, And shun our gods in their steadfast gaze. "'They urge our hymns to their singular Lord, In exchange, they offer promises assured. We were bestowed the lowly title of serf, To till the soil, endure toil, and devoid of mirth. Rearing Beasts, yet mired in the dung, Assigned to farm, our fate tightly strung. Decline brought flames, a death so dire, Burning for resistance, their ruthless pyre. Our blood they craved, a thirst unsated, Branding us 'savage,' a label we hated.' "I think now his words were that of a foolish brute. Perhaps he simply sought to loot. I cared not for the past and why the knights were there. I cared only for those that burned my parents bare. I asked the old man, 'Can justice be found For those that had such suffering abound?' He said. 'If you follow me, you will see that day. Those knights who hurt you will be child's play.' "Fire shone forth from his hand with no wood. I thought he would burn, or he should, But no pain or distress, As the fire sat there at rest. I asked with fear. 'What is this that you have done To become a burning one?' "He replied, With such great pride. 'I've made a sacrifice to Lan For the fires that emit from my hand. If you give blood to the gods of old, You too will receive power untold. Come with me and bring your brother too; He will be needed for what you must do.' "With pain in my heart and tears in my eyes, A most shrill cry left my lips for those that had died. A mother, a father, three brothers, and two sisters. Their cries taint my dreams. Can this man relieve me of their screams? "I followed the man into his den, And brought my brother within. I would learn his ways with Lan, To attain the justice in his hand. A justice, hot, that brought pain. A shadow of my feeling that would not wane. "On the fifth day, my brother fell ill, Letting out a cough both sickly and shrill. To the elder, at his knees, I fell. Begging him to save my brother from that hell. 'Such power I'm afraid I lack, The abilities of Lan are made for the attack. Give the boy three days, and hopefully this will pass,' Yet the chill persisted, worsening quite fast. With the elder's admission, a dire foresight. 'I fear he won’t survive the night.' His words ran through my core. My heart fell onto the floor. "He then said. 'I feel I must say, His life need not be wasted this day. Enter my den and grab a scroll, Mark its symbol in this dirt hole.' In confusion, as I cope, I obey the elder with the faintest hope. Maybe my brother will survive. With that man's help, my brother may even thrive. "Quickly, I entered his den, I grabbed a scroll, 1 of 4 within. I scrawled the image into the dirt, In the hope he would cure my brother's hurt. The elder placed the babe within, Handed me a knife, and said this then. 'If you want the power to make those knights pay, This, I'm afraid, is the only way. Feel no guilt for what you must do. You had no choice of that, I assure you.' "Horror and despair, an atmosphere unfair, As my heart-wrenching sniffs echoed in the air. Gripped by anguish, grappling with the rifts, My soul besieged by sorrow's haunting whiffs. I knew what he said was true, And by it I knew what I had to do. I raised the knife into the air, With tears, I knew the world was unfair. Into his small chest, my anguish pressed, A moment's pain, a heart's behest. His blood and my tears filled the mark in the dirt. In the end, all I had left was the hurt. "The old man approached with a mouth out of step with his words. 'That poison was far too quick and absurd. No matter, now I have another tool To bring the blacks the fate they rue.' Anger and fury possessed my hand. I used that same knife to finish that man. It was that day that the rhyming began. A constant reminder of the blood on my hands. "Eight winters have passed, each one a bitter taste, Yet the twelve that came before, a time I’d rather embrace. At a time when the screaming chorus went unheard, And the term kinslayer would have been an inaccurate word." The knight says. "I was but a boy, as were you. I could not tell them what they should do." I reply. "Do you think I do not know, Of what you said in the pub 2 hours ago? You there, with such great pride, Boasting of a chevauchee where so many died. I'll ask you this one question: you need not fret. If you answer right, you're free of any debt. "The old have plenty through time's dance, While youth, yet to make, wait for a chance. Soldiers claim to have none, the story they’ve spun, As slaves make one for the freedom they run. Of what, do I speak?" The knight answers: "Shoes! Through time's vast expanse, Old souls adorned, in many a dance, Youth's steps may yet be unspun, Soldier's valor, battles won, shoes undone, For the slave, fleet feet, freedom's chance." "Of all the things that you could have said, That is the dumbest one that will leave you dead. Worry not, Sir Baldwin, you may be the first, but you won't be the last. Your allies in the raid will meet you quite fast." My knife is dragged across his neck. So much bleeding started from such a small peck. An ignoble end with so much blood and drool. I'll steal all his clothes to show the world he was a fool.