Part 1

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They were finally home, back to their lives, to the way everything used to be. But he did not feel the joy he had expected to feel when he got there. No. His life would never be the same anymore.

Something had changed in him. He had certainly lost something, or rather someone. He could feel the rage invading his mind at the memory. They were home, but his brother wasn't.

As he breathed in the cool morning air, he could not help but remember when they left side by side on their horses. He never thought he would come back alone, and it was their fault. He wanted to go back there and slaughter them all for taking his brother from him.

"He is dead and nothing can bring him back," his father had said, "You would do well to remember your place and obey your king."

Maybe nothing could bring him back, but he could at least avenge him. It would certainly make him feel better. He gripped the rein of his horse hard, harder.

Thoughts of going back and taking his rage on them swirled in his mind. Maybe he could convince the king. Maybe he would allow him to take a small group of the best warriors and kill as much as he could of them. How good it would feel to take out his rage on them! The fools.

The streets were quiet. As they trudged on their horses, the people stood there lining the streets. Only not cheering their returned soldiers. They each put a fisted hand on their hearts and raised another to the sky, a sign of honouring their dead.

They were not happy, and they should not be. He felt what they felt. They should not have left the battlefield until they had had their victory. They should have burned them all.

His anger was rising again, but all in vain. He nudged his horse forward to where the King was riding. Foolish of him, yes. He should have been more patient, he knew, especially after he angered the King and he ordered him to ride in the back. But he could not wait.

"Your Majesty," he called as he neared the King, bowing his head slightly when the King looked his way. "Can I have a word, please?"

"Ah, Khaldarr," he addressed him without looking at him, still staring straight ahead. "I believe I told you to ride in the back," he said with patience as if talking to a child who would not obey.

It triggered something in Khaldarr.

"Yes, your Majesty. But I was hoping you could listen to me on this," he said as formally as he could muster.

"And what could possibly be so important that you could not obey your King's orders?" the King asked, his thin, breathy voice sounding weary, exhausted.

"Your Majesty, as you can see the people are not happy with the outcome of the war. They want revenge. And we can give them that," he explained, hoping his King would finally understand.

"Yes, we can most certainly give them that." As the King said that, Khaldarr felt hopeful that his King would finally listen.

But his next words crushed that hope.

"And then what?" he asked. "We would lose more soldiers and we would gain nothing. We would start another war, one that we are not sure we could win. And the dead would still be dead. There is nothing I could do about the death of your brother, Khaldarr. Only honour his memory as best I could. And you should do the same. Let his soul rest." His tone was final.

"And what about his wife?" Khaldarr asked, not helping the angry hiss in his voice. "What about his child? The child he did not get to see or hold. What am I supposed to tell them? He is dead and I did not avenge him. I simply ran away with my new King?" His voice turned into a growl at the last sentence and the disrespect in his words was obvious for all.

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