The Elitra: Book One

Chapter One

The battleground was littered with red. Everywhere one looked they saw the color. The sticky substance coated the ground, broken silver pieces, rocks, broken trees, the ground, bodies. It covered everything the eye could see.

Screams split the air, horrifying sounds that echoed and rolled with the hills. The battle wouldn't last much longer. There were very few of the Sil Army left.

The Thracian's had won this one.

Faelin stood at the top of a hillcrest overlooking the remains of the battle. He watched as three of his soldiers grabbed the Sil Emperor, having found him and his last guard running for the cover of trees. But they had caught him and were in motion of bringing him to Faelin. He would then present him to his commanding officer and lord over all the others that he and his warriors had captured the enemy king.

He looked down at himself, the dark red that had dried and crusted over his copper plates. A serious cleaning would have to go into it that night to ensure none of the residue blood was left. He wanted it to shine like the light of an orange sun.

For he was the Copper Hawk after all, and he had to uphold the Bronze name. Faelin turned and started down the hill to meet the enemy king. He had a hand to the hilt of his five-foot blade, keeping it in place from slapping against his legs. It always annoyed him and it had quickly became second nature after having started out with his sword training when he had been much, much younger.

He picked his way down, careful to not twist an ankle. Much of the terrain now was destroyed, the fighting having taken its toll on the land. They would have to put the Sils to work to fix the mess rendered.

Finally Faelin found the flat of ground once again and he stopped and waited. The emperor was only feet in front of him.

He stared down at the older face, the couple purple bruises on his cheeks and chin. Dark crusted red was splashed across him as well. A long splattering the more eye catching was from his broken nose where he must have been punched. It looked twisted and shattered. It was already forming a bluish tint.

Faelin looked down at the emperor's attire, his blue and grey steel armor plates with his royal house crest of three roses. Red ruined the beautiful artwork of the white and blue roses, the colors of his house splayed across his chest in full view. The armor plates on his left side had been crushed and broken, an opening to a vital part of the man.

Faelin could easily slip a simple knife under the man's arm through the broken part of his suit and the man wouldn't be a worry anymore. But he didn't know what his commander had in store for the emperor. He would probably live out his days in a dungeon or a camp of laborious work.

Emperor Meeon. The man had a kind, fatherly face with intelligent eyes and a sprinkling of grey in his dark hair. He was on the leaner side for an average king as most always just sat and ate. This one looked as if he could still fight his fair share of fights, barehanded.

But it didn't matter what the king looked like or how Faelin thought of him if he spared a thought. The emperor was his prisoner, and therefore no longer a king in title.

Faelin's gaze flicked to the top of a hill ridge. He watched a contingent of what he counted fifteen men on horse back ride down a group of enemy soldiers trying to escape the fate. The horses trampled them under foot and then Faelin didn't see anymore silhouettes of enemy soldiers.

He crossed his arms across his chest and looked around. He was searching more for a thought in his mind than looking for something out on the land. He did wonder what would happen to the king. He hadn't done anything wrong except be a king of a weak nation.