Taliesin sank the bright burning steel of Astarael into the throat of the wounded Khazra, before stepping past to a clear spot on the bridge in front of Tristram and took a moment to survey the slaughter.
They had taken the Khazra by surprise, the majority of their warband packed onto the bridge or milling near it, and the shock of the knights charge had broken them completely. A few had escaped, fleeing into the trees, but most had been trapped between the towns low wall, the river, and the knights.
They hadn't gone without a cost though. Armored bodies of knights and their mounts lay mixed with the goatmen's fallen, including his own steed. Regret spiked in his heart at that thought; Ascalon had carried him for years, and through the entire bloody campaign in Westmarch. To be so close to home, and die here...then again, Taliesin reasoned, that could be said of every man here.
With a whispered word of power, he extinguished the blue flames of the sword and sheathed it, even as he started across the bridge. The scarred yet still solid oak doors of Tristram creaked in protest as they opened, and a man in mismatched armor stepped through and began to pick to his way to meet him.
"Your timing couldn't be better, lord. I think they might have been able to force the door if you hadn't shown up."
Taliesin waved the salute away that soldier gave him. "At ease, Captain. Where is rest of the guard?"
The militia Captain's face took on a look of profound discomfort. "Ah...gone, milord. I...you didn't receive the messages? We sent five different riders. I thought that was why you had come home..."
Taliesin's tired and sore muscles tensed. "Captain, we haven't received anything from Khanduras for weeks."
The Captain's expression fell. "Milord, the King...the King is dead. The Royal Guard too, almost to a man. We sent messages to Prince Aiden, and to you too milord, asking you to return."
Taliesin felt himself fold in on himself, the exhaustion from the ride, from the battle, from the weeks and weeks on the campaign weighed down on him.
"I think we need to talk in private, Captain, as soon as possible. Let me get my men inside the walls, and we'll convene. "
"Of course, milord." The militia Captain said, deference in his voice. "I'll send out my own to help with the wounded.
Taliesin turned back, looking over the field, the dead and dying. For what they had faced, the casualties had been relatively light. The brightly armored bodies of those few fallen knights were surrounded by the piles of dead Khazra. But they were death's they could not afford. Death's that he could not bear.
Taliesin turned to watch as Lucian picked his way through the bodies to the bridge, his hammer coated with black blood that had just begun to clear away in the rain.
Lucian let his hammers head rest on the stone of the bridge, water running off the cloak and to his feet. "Well? The old bastard going to try and arrest you or not?"
"The King is dead," answered Taliesin as he kept his face blank, his voice flat.
Lucian froze in mid motion of pulling off his gauntlet as he stared at Taliesin, trying to figure out the trick. Taliesin met his eyes and Lucian swore. "What by the Light happened?"
Talie looked away, back over the field and didn't answer the question. "Get the men inside the walls as soon as we have recovered our dead. The militia will be coming out to help as well. Then get the other commanders, and find me."
"The King is dead, and you are stonewalling me why?" Lucian said stepping a little closer, recovering his hammer and holding it loosely at his side.
"The King and the Royal Guard are dead, and I don't have a clue why," Taliesin turned away, striding towards the gates. "But I will."
Taliesin stepped under the gate and into the town he had grown to call home. Tristram had been a farming village before they had come, a quiet town with quiet people, built up around the remains of an old temple to forgotten gods . Taliesin remembered the day he had come to Tristram, though it had been many, many years. He stood, looking down the street, remembering for just a moment when he had first seen it.
"This is a good town, good people. They don't know us yet, or the Light, but they will. We will give it to them Tal."
Taliesin looked up at his father, a gentle man, one of the priesthood who had come from Khejistan with Leoric. He father smiled down at him, full of love and and warmth and peace. Taliesin look up, unable to believe anything could be more powerful than his father.
Taliesin the man shook his head and drove the memory away. That had been a long time ago, and his father had long since joined the ranks of the ancestors. He was in the here and now. Taliesin tucked his cloak around him, closing his eyes a moment to shut the memory away before he stepped forward. He didn't have time for memories of better days. His eyes lighted on the sign, only about thirty paces from the gate: The Tavern of the Rising Sun.
Taliesin felt him mouth curve into a small smile. The Rising Sun had been where his father had spent more time than at the Cathedral, and more than half of the time, where he himself had been allowed to go. Ogden had been the owner for years. He had been young for it, having inherited it from his father, but he knew his business. Taliesin could only guess, but Ogden couldn't be more than a year or three older than he was himself.
The small piece of warmth he felt at the memories of his father, of his childhood flickered and died as thunder pealed through the air, and he started forward again heading to the Rising Sun, and pausing under small overhang just outside the door. He looked back at the gates of Tristram.
When they had arrived in Tristram, the town had been just a small farming town, a collection of houses and small shops that kept the farmers working. The blacksmith did a brisk business, the inn and tavern kept them entertained, but for all that, Tristram lived up to the reputation of being a quiet and simple place. The King and his crusaders had changed that.
They had a arrived at the outskirts of the town, set up camp, and begun to immediately lay claim to the old ruined monastery. They had rebuilt it, returning it to much of it's former glory, though who the glory belonged to could be debated. And the town of Tristram had grown from a small farming village to a bustling town. It was still a small town in many ways, even after nearly 15 years, but Tristram now sported a low wall, a small church, devoted to the Light of Zakarum of course, double the shops it had previously, and customers to match. King Leoric's arrival had been awkward, but it had benefitted the town. Now, he could only wonder if their arrival could be called a blessing or a curse.
He shook his head. He needed to focus on the here and now. Taliesin pulled his hood back and pushed open the door of the Rising Sun.
Every seat in the common room had a member of the town in it, and even several more standing at the bar and near the hearth, speaking in hushed tones. The second he entered, every eye seemed to fasten to him, and the room fell silent. He hesitated, feeling abruptly like a deer that had just sensed a predator, unsure where to hide or run. He pushed the feeling away and shrugged his cloak off, the thick cloth dripping and hung it near the fire to dry before he turned his back on most of the room without a word, and turned to face the familiar face of Odgen at the bar.
"Welcome home, Lord Usher," Ogden said quietly, "were it in better times. "
"Were it that, indeed," Taliesin pulled the armored gloves from his hands before leaning on the bar, "I'll need the use of your backroom, if you don't mind. I need to have a conversation with the Captain, and my own men. You are welcome to join us as well."
"I suspect I better. I'll be fending off customers with a cudgel either way, might as well have something to tell them."
Taliesin nodded and dropped several heavy silver coins on the counter. "Anything hot to eat, and a red wine please. I'll take the in back."
"I'll bring them right back," Ogden said with a nod, bustling to do just that. Taliesin turned and followed him before stepping into the back room and turning to immediately shut the door behind him. For a moment he closed his eyes, leaning against it like townsfolk would come and break it down.
And maybe they will, when they find out Aiden is dead.
He shook his head and stepped forward to the table, dropping the mailed gloves to the table with a thump that resounded through the room. The not quite empty room. Nearly invisible in the back corner, nearly as far from the light as possible, sat the grey shrouded form of an old man. For just a moment, the pipe in his mouth lit up his features, catching long angular features, highlighting them in smoke and shadow. Taliesin stared at the figure a moment before lowering his eyes in respect for the old historian, even as the slightly raspy voice began to speak.
"Captain Taliesin Usher, son of Medron Usher. Captain of the Princes Royal Guard, Knight of the Order of the Sword, and bearer of Astarael. And now, I think, the Protector of the Realm."
The words sent chills down Taliesin's spine, "I am not the Protector of the Realm. With the King dead, that responsibility would fall to Lachdanan."
"Who is also dead. And Albrecht is missing. And, as it is you I am speaking to, and not Prince Aiden…..I gather he has fallen as well."
Taliesin hesitated before speaking quietly, almost too low to hear. "Three days ago. Ambushed by the Khazra," He looked over at the old man, "What happened here?"
Cain slumped a bit. "I had hoped I was wrong. As for what happened….well….perhaps we should wait a moment longer. It's a tale I would rather only have to relate once, and I am sure you will want your commanders present to hear it."
Taliesin walked around the table, unbuckling his scabbard belt and he leaned against the chair nearest to Cain. "Deckard. Friend of my father. I have less than three hundred men left in my command. I need to be able to look at my captains, and tell them I can figure this out. If it is as you say, then I need to know. What happened to the King?"
"Treachery and Madness," Cain murmured, then sighed, shaking his head as he leaned back into his seat. He puffed the pipe a few more times before he finally answered.. "I suppose you are right. Sit, and listen. This could take a small while."