It rained the day that Taliesin returned to Tristram. He looked up at the grey sky, his dark grey hood nearly a match to the overcast, slipping back a bit. Under him, Archeon, his black stallion, shook his head as the pair continued to plod forward.
Behind him, the remains of the column of troops from Khanduras, ravaged from months of war, from the savage Khazra ambush just days before. He shakes his head, looking back. Of nearly three thousand men, barely three hundred had survived to return from the fighting with Westmarch. Foolish, idiotic, wasteful fighting. Prince Aidan had held them together, by his father's order, even as the brutal campaign dragged on.
Then all word from Tristram went gone silent. No more riders. No more messages. No more ravens. Nothing.
The silence carried on for nearly a week before Aidan began the long retreat. Hundreds died as the Khanduran army took step after step towards home, harried by the battered remnants of the the Westmarch knights and cavalry.
"Sir, scouts just came back," said someone near his elbow, "Should we have them brought straight to you or just the report. "
"Just the report, Markus." Taliesin said quietly. The other man nodded, saluted, and hurried off to obey. Taliesin sighed, and pulled his grey hood back into place against the falling water.
He looked across the dark woods, a slow shiver running over his body. It had been raining since Aidan had been killed. Taliesin closed his eyes against the memory. He and the other other members of the Crown Guard had done their best to shelter him, to protect him, but no matter the skill and expertise of the guard, Fate had other plans for the Prince of Khanduras.
The Khazra, the half-goat, half-man monstrosities that had been a nuisance for the last hundred years and nothing more, had proved to be a much more able threat than anymore realized was possible. As the remnants of the Khanduras army crossed the border into their homelands, just as they had began to relax, to believe they had made it safely home, the horde swept down on them. Not a true horde, perhaps, but nearly a full clan of the creatures. Each sported a black crescent both on their bodies as well as on the standards, like a perverted black moon. And they had swarmed over the survivors of the war with savage abandon.
Including, to the distress and horror of the Crown Guard, Prince Aidan.
Taliesin could see the moment in his mind like it had been polished in crystal and stored so he could relive the failure. He had been in command of the Crown Guard, charged with the safety and well being of the Prince.
The shock of impact as the blade sheared through the haft of the broadaxe, hewing into the foul creatures neck. Dark blood, nearly black, spewed with the from the wound and the Khazra went down with a miserable choked bleating sound. Taliesin spun in place, dropping as he raised his shield, instinct warning him of the impending attack. Training turned the defensive spin into a counter attack, the longsword in his hand lashing out in a low cut.
The shield rang with the blow, running down his arm and into his shoulder, even as his other shuddered then came free. The second attacker howled and dropped, grabbing at it's innards that were very abruptly on the outside.
Taliesin drove a foot of steel through the flailing things eye, ending the creatures existence as he looked around, finally a moment to breath, just as a cry went up.
"The Prince! Healer, to the Prince!"
The words ran ice through his veins as the tried to find where the call had came from. The Khazra charge had separated him from Aidan in the rush before he had been unhorsed, and now he just saw the sea of bodies around him, though no one was within fifteen feet.
He didn't hear the Khazra horns, sounding their retreat but the press nearby lessened as they withdrew. And Taliesin's eyes locked on the fallen form.
He shook himself free of the memory, tucking the cloak around him closer. It was done. The only thing left was to bring the Prince's body home, to find out why Tristram had gone silent.
"It wasn't your fault. "
Taliesin glanced back at the voice of the other rider. Dark brown eyes, dark brown hair, a dark beard, short and well kept. Lucian, his second, his friend and brother by choice, though not blood.
"It's easy to say, not so easy to believe," Taliesin responded, his voice quiet as he scanned the trees. "And the King will not see it that way."
"The King wasn't stable before we left. I'm not sure I'm inclined to abide by any judgements he makes in anger … or madness."
Taliesin started and he looked back. "And those words are treason."
"A sad day when the truth is treason." Lucian shot back, iron in his voice. "Or do you deny that he was dangerous."
Taliesin didn't respond immediately. This whole campaign had been a fools errand, and Westmarch wasn't the enemy, or hadn't been. Now, who knew what the neighboring nation would do. But Lucian was right in that the order to declare war had made no sense. And while it was possible, he mused, that the king had information that Taliesin and even had Aidan had not been privy too, there were too many odd things to completely ignore. "He might be dangerous. But he is still the king."
Lucian's face turned ugly as anger darkened his features. "And if he orders your execution?"
"He won't. At least not immediately." Taliesin said, looking away from the twisted features of his friend. "We have a job to do."
He heard Lucian turn his horse, pounding back down the column, leaving Taliesin alone with his thoughts again. Lucian was a good man, but a hard one. He didn't forgive easily, and his blame of King Leoric was well placed, if he could be honest. Though if it was madness, or a grab for power, or something else, Taliesin didn't know, but it didn't matter. With Aidan dead, Taliesin would be expected to resign, to vanish for his failure. He had no intention of staying after this last task was completed. There wasn't enough to keep him in Tristram, and his name would be shunned for what had happened to Prince Aidan, regardless of the who's fault it was.
It was the Khazra, and I know that. But still . . ..
Hours passed on the ride, and his mood continued to drift lower. The rain showed no sign of abating, and it was starting to get to the point that they would need to find shelter for the night somehow. The scouts had seen nothing, no signs of the Khazra, no signs of pursuit from Westmarch. And still no riders from Khanduras, no messages from home.
Won't be home for long...
Taliesin's thought was cut off by a horn in the distance. He held up a fist, the column rumbling to a slow halt behind him as he scanned the rolling hills and trees ahead of them.
The horn sounded again, and this time, the rattling roar of Khazra battle horns were unmistakable. Lucian's black mare carried him to Taliesin's side, pawing at the earth.
"Light damned beasts..." Lucian muttered, fingering the grip of the hammer at his side.
"Why would they be signaling if we aren't in range? A trap?" Taliesin said quietly.
"Doesn't make sense. Unless they think we are going to run from them."
Taliesin shook his head. That...wasn't it. Then it dawned on him, his eyes going wide. "No...no, they aren't after us. They are attacking Tristram. Lucian, they are attacking the town!"
He turned back, Archeon pranced in place, sensing his master's anxiety and anger as he did.
"Davion, Arkaine, Markus! Form up the column!" Taliesin shouted, even as he loosened the sword at his side.
Lucian hauled the cavalry hammer up, laying it across the saddle. He glanced at his friend. "And if we are riding into the trap?"
"Then we smash it." Taliesin said quietly. "In the most violent manner as possible." He looked into the distance over the hills to where the town would lay.
"How did they get in front of us?" Lucian said, easing his gloves on one by one. "I mean, we should have outpaced them. "
"We are about to find out." Taliesin looked back, eyeing the block of knights behind him. He turned Archeon so he was facing the men. "We are going to ride for the bridge. Infantry will follow as soon as they can. I don't' know what will be there waiting for us, but it won't be friendly!" He called. "This is our home. We defend our home." Taliesin turned, the sword ringing, metal on metal as it slid from it's sheath.
He glanced at the blade, his blade, his fathers blade and uttered the word that would spark it to life. "Astareal."
Blue white fire blazed down the length of the blade, azure sparks sizzling in the falling rain. He brought the blade up, pointing forward as he did, and spurred Archeon forward.
"Advance."
Author Note: Welcome to my interpretation of the first of the events of the Original Diablo game, with a few twists. Updates will be sporadic as I finish them. Hope you all enjoy! Thanks to Lady Amiee Krios for betaing this for me!