War

He stood silently over the corpse of the enemy he just slain, its mouth open in a half completed war cry before his sword sliced its chest through the intersections on the armor.
He sighed. The sword and armor so light moments ago, now weighed on him.
Quickly, he turned his face away in distaste. He was a Vörin man, a man of war, and this was war, a time when Vörin men are meant to be at their best, and he was the best.
He looked up to see the crowd of soldiers waiting above; bruised, muddy and bloodied yet elated because they'd won.
Pains weren't remembered when victory was assured.

The custom of the commanders going to give out final judgement to the dredges of war was an untasty affair. None of the commanders liked it, but none detested it as much as Rethor. He was called the Rainbringer for whenever he was in the field it always rained blood.
He was usually left alone because of his viciousness with the blade, a natural disaster is best when there are no liabilities to hinder it.
Just him, his sword, and the men to cut.
Yet he was always somber when he was sent to cut someone who was already dead.
I watched as he effortlessly cut down the remaining soldier. A young lad who looked nineteen. A clean stroke, the finest of death a soldier can have, straight through the heart and lungs, you're already dead before you hit the floor.
Rethor looked as though he might fall too, the boy he just killed was no soldier, he had no will to fight, yet the traditions forced him to die.

Rethor looked at the soldiers and noticed Stenbjorn staring. Stenbjorn alone noticed the hunch off his back, the way he let the sword trail on the floor, he saw and he didn't approve.
He made a show of raising his fist in the air, a symbol of another battle won and a way of raising morale. Still the disapproving face of his brother didn't go away, nor was it overshadowed by the thunderous roars of their celebrating kinsmen.

"You're a soldier, a fighter, a commander and yet you act like death scares you!"
"I'm a killer.. and death doesn't fear me. Making people meet it does."
He looked at me like I'd gone mad. Hell, three weeks ago, if I'd heard what I just said, I feel I would have gone mad.
"Is this about that broad from Drakensund?" He asked softly.
I remembered her white hair, stained red as her blood spilled from her scalp.
"I didn't know she was a woman." I replied.
"She was a warrior."
"She could barely carry her blade."
"She was still a warrior!" Stenbjorn said.
"Listen." He came forward and held my chair.
"I don't know what thoughts you had in your head before when dancing with your blade but this is war."
"War is destroying your enemies, when you're in war, you don't look at gender or age because you should know that if you choose not to kill one, that one wouldn't choose not to kill you."
"Yes she's a woman. We killed her husband, so we should be fully aware that she's ready to kill us."
"Of course the boy today was just a boy, but if we left him the boy would grow. He will remember how we slaughtered his comrades and he'll come for us."
"War is a cycle of hate, Rethor. And the only way to end a cycle is to crush the other."

I rose up from the chair and walked away from him.
"Maybe I don't want to be a part of that life, I choose to step out from the cycle."
He looked at me bewildered then laughed.
"You are mad." He said while laughing in amusement.
"You're Rethor Varghelm. Your face is known along the lands and your name even goes across the seas. The Rainbringer, wanting to run away from war?"
"You are war!" He shouts.
"The chants of your name are the sound that drives our enemies away in fear."
"The sound of your voice is what compels our troops to move."
"The sight of your back gives them confidence that they shan't lose!" He looked at me breathing menacingly after his monologue.
"We are a step away from uniting the lands and building the greatest Vörin empire and I won't allow my talented brother's weak stomach ruin it."
"This was our father's dream and for a time it was yours."
He held my shoulder, softly. "Get yourself together brother. We March at dawn."
"Where are we going?" I asked him.
"Back to the west, back to Drakensund. I've caught wind of a resistance. That Knight broad had a son."
With that he left.

I sat down thinking of what he said, what he didn't say, and what he just commanded.
He was my elder brother and the customs say I must follow him.
It is war. I killed the mother, I should finish the job.
Whatever I told myself seemed to make the task heavier and the thought darker.
And so in the dark the Rainbringer sat in that room quietly, for he had brought rain, and it fell silently from his eyes down to his cheeks.

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