An Epic Odyssey: Heirs (Illustrated)

Chapter 15

Eyes of a curious golden color. A cold and murderous look. Long hair, black as night. A gigantic bloody scythe in hand. Turning around, they saw this Elven standing menacingly behind them.

Haldor Balrik couldn't believe what he was seeing, or rather who he was seeing. Those eyes. He had seen those eyes hundred times.

His Nattar, from his childhood, had taken him and his Hanno under his guardianship. They were his only grandchildren, sons of his only daughter. He supported him when he discovered his love for the sacred art of healing from a very young age.

His Nattar, despite being quiet and reserved, always showed kindness, tenderness and gentleness to them. His first memory of him was of an older man, but still vigorous, with his hair black as night, beginning to whiten with threads of silver, with his ever-smiling golden gaze.

His Nattar was the first one to tell them the tale of the Three Heroes. He read it to them every night, and each time he told a new fact to make the Tale mor exciting. But now he realized that these added facts were actually events that he remembered in his dreams.

His Nattar was by his side the day he was honorably awarded his title as Healer, as he was by his Hanno's side when he joined King Dahedon's personal Guard.

His Nattar was proud and rejuvenated the day his brother and the wife of his, Princess Arella, presented his son Halden to him. "This is my spitting image and likeness," he had said. And he was right. His Indyo* had inherited the same hair and eyes, eyes he had never seen again until now.

When those two golden orbs landed on his, the recognition was immediate.

"Arella was right!" Was what he thought at that moment.

--It's you!-- were his last words. He didn't even have time to understand what was going to happen.

Medeck, Willhané and Obren did not have time to react. In a blink of an eye MeSaar Balrik lay dead on the ground.

--Give me the book and I promise your death will be just as quick.-- the Elven said.

The three of them already knew who was the one was in front of them.

--Murderer!!-- Willhané shouted, taking bow and arrow to aim at him. She was face to face the assassin of her Attar.

--You are the murderer of Arboleda.-- Medeck said, taking his Wand-- You are Black Sun.

Obren brought his hand to the hilt of his sword.

That clear sign of threat from the three of them meant nothing to Black Sun. Unfazed, he ran his gaze over each of them.

--I have not come for acquaintance. Just for the book.

--Where are the prisoners of Arboleda?!-- Willhané exclaimed, tightening his bow even more-- What you have done to them? Answer!!

--Hand over the book now or you won't get the mercy I've offered you.

--Over our dead bodies you will get it!-- Obren said menacingly, fully drawing his sword.

--Good.-- Black Sun said quietly.-- So be it.

Willhané fired accurately two of her arrows, but with a nimble swing of the scythe, Black Sun snapped them at inches from his face, blocking Obren's sword blow and dodging Medeck's attacks.

He was too fast for them. His movements were quick, agile, and graceful. It was as if he was performing a strange dance with the scythe. Not a blow had been dealt him, while he certainly cut them with the sharp edge of his weapon but not fatally. He wanted to take his time. Make them see that anything they did would be useless to defeat him, and thus they would despair.