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CHAPTER ONE: THE SLAUGHTER
1485
The Zangerberths and the Hilanders were at war again. The seventh in a series of many, if ones memory served him right. They say the deadliest battles in history had been fought between the two sides. Blood baths. After a conquest, no sign of a whole village would be left, burnt to the ground. Another page ripped out of history. The village elder would be hung by the feet with a cut in the neck to run him dry of his blood. Lesson be learnt. Wombs cut out of women as they screamed in agony so they could not conceive their own kind again. Noone knew mercy, noone knew sympathy; it was an age old rivalry that would come to an end once the other side was wiped off from the face of the earth. Thousands washed the battle grounds with their blood over the years, but an end to the war was far from near.
After the small village of Tuhymon, the one furthest up the mountains, was demolished by the Zangerberths, only two survived. Azarel and his youngest grandson, Zas were fortunate enough to be out at the distance, but yet unfortunate enough to witness their village burn with their own eyes. Zas only 2 at that time cried for his mother, but Azarel covered his mouth with his hand, and ran as far and as fast as his old legs could take him. Out of breath and out of strength, he stopped almost at the foot of the mountain. He looked back just to see the smoke rising up from the top of the hill. His eyes filled with tears as the thought of his family being slaughtered by his sworn enemies crossed his mind. He was helpless. All that he was left with now was his heart filled with revenge and an orphan grandson.
Several days passed. Night fell. Azarel rarely dropped his guard. But that night, he did. As the two of them slept unaware under the oak tree, they were spotted by a group of Zangerberth guards as they rode past them. Azarel sat up with a startle as the hoofs hit the ground and without looking back to his death, he grabbed his child by the arm and started running like the devil was after him for vengeance. It was too late. It was impossible for him to outrun the guards. They caught up to him in no time and he was kicked down to the ground. Zas fell down and started to cry. It was the end of the road for the last Tuhymon Hilander survivors.
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CHAPTER TWO: THE HILANDER WHO LED TO VICTORY
He had cried; for days. He had cried till his eyes were red and then he cried some more. He did not know how he managed to overcome the guard and claim his sword, he did not know how he managed to counter the remaining three guards and cut the head of two of them with single lashes and pierce the chest of the fourth one before he slaughtered the first one with his own sword, but he did know that he was too late. Out of the only two things left in his life, he had witnessed one of them die. As he was held down by two of the guards, he witnessed his youngest grandchild being decapitated. They laughed with no sympathy. “Another bastard Hilander who won’t live to raise a sword against us” one of them laughed as he spoke to the others. Azarel struggled and shouted but was of no use. He was too late to win in his struggle. He held the child in his arms as he wept. He dug him a small grave. He could not contain his hatred. It was too much for him. He had sworn to kill every last one of the Zangerberths before he passed on to the next life.
He rode hundreds of miles before he reached Southastern, the homeland of the Hilanders. He made his way to the palace, almost out of life. It took him several days to recover. He could not comprehend how many days, or weeks it had taken him to get to Southastern. When he was strong enough to walk on his feet, he was presented before the king. Azarel narrated the unfortunate events he had witnessed and requested to be put in the army of the king. His wish was granted.
1498
His vengeance was strong as iron. His services were remarkable. It wasn’t long before he was made advisor to the king and the next to be. Another vicious battle. This time the Zangerberths attacking Southastern. The Hilanders proved victorious but at the price of their vigilant king. It was a moment of sorrow for the whole country. But had it not been the immaculate guidance of the king’s trusty advisor, there was a fair chance the Hilanders would have lost their sovereignty along with their king in that battle. Unanimously Azarel was crowned the king of Southastern.
History wrote itself. Hilanders under the exemplary leadership of their new king defeated the Zangerberths once too often to conquer Northasten, the homeland of the Zangerberths. It was a moment of pride, a moment Azarel had waited a lifetime for. It was the moment he had sworn about. Drenched in Zangerberth blood, with little strength in his body and his heart content, he climbed up on the previously Zangerberth owned fort and looked down as his army finished off the remaining survivors in the battlefield. It was the moment of truth. All he could see was the red that covered the ground and the soldiers. The stench of blood made him feel alive. He held his sword in one hand and the head of the Zangerberth king in the other and let out a roar of victory. His roar was matched by hundreds of his men. He had never heard a sound so sweet in his life. “This is for you Zas” he said to himself.
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CHAPTER TWO: THE ZANGERBERTH WHO LED TO VICTORY
He stood there crying. The last image he remembered was his grandfather being decapitated by the soldiers. “Let the young bastard live, he won’t survive the wolves even one day. I wish him a much more torturous death than from the blow of my steel” the soldier said as he kicked Zas to the ground and rode away in the forest. For the first time in his life he was alone. Like the innocent child that he was, he started walking deeper into the forest, crying helplessly. Three days later a young woman found a child sleeping under a bush, bruised and limp, only a necklace hung around his neck that read “Zas”. She brought the child home and showed him to her husband. Soon the news of the child spread throughout the village and everyone came to see him. “Poor child, one can only wonder how long he was in the forest” “He looks like the devil’s child, throw him away!” “He looks like one of us.”
The woman did not pay much attention to the villagers’ thoughts and adopted the child to join her family of five. It took several days before the child was of health again. The child was raised and educated in the village of Kosanvy. He was a sharp boy, eager to learn. He grew up to be a strong young man. He was never told the truth about his entrance into his new family; “For the best of him” his father would always say to his wife. His father had taught him well; how to fight, how to survive. The skills he was much aware of being an ex-soldier in the army of the king, the king of Northastern.
Throughout his childhood he was fed stories about the battles between the Hilanders and the Zangerberths, many times stories twisted and exaggerated to fit their own requirement. As he grew older, he grew a lust for the battles aswell, battles against the Hilanders so one day he could also be remembered along with the other brave Zangerberth soldiers. When he was of age, he told his father that he was leaving Kosanvy for Northastern to join the army of the king. That was a proud day for his father. He traveled many a mile to reach Northastern. He soon recruited in the army and like his father had taught him, he excelled quick. He was promoted on a regular basis, battle after battle, lives after lives. Soon he was the General to the King of Northastern. It was written in history that General Zas was one of the most successful leaders of his time. He had led the king’s army many a times against the Hilanders. But he was not satisfied. To be not just amongst the best soldiers, but to be the best, he had to do more than just win battles; he had to win the war.
1498
An extensive and strategic war plan was made and presented to the king. The king approved highly of it and gave General Zas all that he asked for. Well equipped and longing for glory in their hearts, the soldiers led by General Zas marched out of Northastern; headed to Southastern. It took them several weeks before they finally reached their destination. It was exactly what they had hoped for. Noone in the whole of Southastern had ever dreamt that the Zangerberths could actually march with their army directly to the homeland of the Hilanders hoping to conquer it. But it soon became a reality as the Zangerberths engulfed the city from all four corners, narrowing in on their enemies like a flock of eagles diving for their preys. It was a deadly battle. Probably the worst in the history of the Hilander-Zangerberth battles. The city was in chaos. Women ran for their children, men ran for cover; everyone knew they wouldn’t live to see the light of another day. It was not long before the soldiers were ankle deep in thick red blood. As steel ate steel, a stab, a blow, a personal victory; slowly but surely the Zangerberth strategy started to prove fruitful. As night fell, a handful of Hilander soldiers still breathed, down on their knees and begging for mercy. Zas made his way to the top of the fortress and looked down towards the battlefield. It was hard to make out who was alive and who wasn’t as everything hid behind a red veil. He had made his king proud, and most of all, he had made his father proud. There was no question that that day the world had seen the greatest victory there was ever to be. With a sword in one hand and the head of the Southastern king in the other, he let out a roar of victory which was matched by his fellow soldiers. It was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. “I was born a Zangerberth and I will die a Zangerberth!” he shouted as his army raised their swords in appraisal.
