I am sorry for not updating for a week in a stretch. Just that I completed it a week ago and took the time to edit to my fullest.

Toast of Blood

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He was running through the dark forest. There was neither moonshine nor starlight. A black cloak of blindness clothed the woods. If it was that dark, then how was that wild boar charging at him? The boar must have gone crazy that was the only explanation his mind could wrap around despite the chase.

He turned around and took his dagger to kill it. He always had an accurate aim. A dagger never failed him. But today or rather tonight, it did. The knife flew past the wild boar. His sword was laying somewhere deep in the forest. Even if his bow was stringed, his quiver of arrows rested beside his sword.

He cursed. He had completely let his guard down. He was stupid to leave his horse and go out to hunt the wild boar himself. He swirled and started to run again. Whatever force allowed him to see dimly, vanished. He could not even see where he kept his foot. Did he step on a sleeping snake or was it the moss? He could not tell.

Though he could not see, he could hear. He could hear his heavy pant and the growl of the beast. The boar was only a few meters away. It could easily overtake him. With his failing pace, he was sure he was to die.

Moreover, the last thing he wanted to do was to run into a tree and that was exactly what he did. The tree must have been more than a hundred years old, for the width of the tree was about seventy feet. When he tried to run around the tree, his left foot did not cooperate.

The roots of the tree had holes and the criss-cross pattern in which they grew provided a trap for anyone or anything. The web design of the roots caught his foot. He was a few seconds away from his death. He closed his eyes to embrace death with welcoming arms.

He waited for the tusks of the boar to tear his skin. But it never came. Yes, he could smell the foul scent of the beast mixed with the pine. Instead, when he opened his eyes, he felt the creature laying down dead inches away from his feet.

At first, he could see no one. Then how did the beast die? He wondered.

"It is simple, my friend. As much as I did not want to kill it, I had to. If not you would have been dead." He heard a deep baritone of a man....no a boy.

He must have wondered aloud. He blinked twice. He heard the stranger sigh, "Come with me. It looks like you could use some food. The wild beast here will make a good meal."

He then heard the sheathing of a dagger. He decided to speak as he realised the stranger was waiting for a reply. "How is that you can see?"

"So you are not going to thank me? I was expecting one, you know for saving your life," the stranger chuckled. "I can see because... no, don't bleed on it, my friend. Wait here. Since you cannot see, I will bring some light. Do not go seeking for another death wish. I don't think I'll save you again."

With that, his nameless saviour vanished. Before he could even comprehend what was happening, the stranger came with a lit torch in his hand.

He seemed not more than six and ten years. Six years younger than him. He could now see the boy's features. His hair was the colour of mahogany and ebony. His malachite eyes were the depths of the ocean one could not simply reach. His lips supported a smirk.

While the boy was looking at him to reply something, he looked down at the boar. There was not an injury on the beast save for one in the eye. He could see that the boy had killed the boar in one shot. As if that was all it took.

Then he was jealous of the boy. He could kill the boar in the dark with one chance while he could not. He was the one older here, for crying aloud! Then he felt gratitude towards his saviour for saving his miserable life.

"Come on. We need to hurry before it starts raining," the boy said examining the forest.

"Where am I?" he asked at last.

"You do not know where you are? How stupid can you be? This place is the forest of Naurel, otherwise known as woods of the Dead. Of course, you do not know. Else you would not be here," the boy explained.

He had a death wish, did he not? Of all places, he chose to come here. Not even the valiant knights came here.

He then heard the boy ask. "At least tell me where you are from."

"I ran away from Nerehe." As soon as those wretched words left his lips, the boy's features morphed into anger. He must have had an unfortunate encounter there. He continued, "Please do not ask why I escaped from there. I did not have any place in my mind to go. I went where the road took me."

With a hard expression, the boy told him, understanding his situation, "Fine, follow me. My camp is not even a few minutes walk."

When he reached the boy's camp, he was stunned. It was a clearing, and the evidence of overgrown grass said that it was a meadow once. In the middle was something like a bamboo cottage with thatched roof. He saw his horse standing there and hurried towards him.

"Come in. The horses have a shelter." He heard the boy's reply to his unasked question.

Hugging his horse for the last time, he went inside the cottage for shelter. There were just two makeshift mattresses. One was for the boy, and the other was for his unvisited guest, who happened to be him today. How did the dead boar come here and was boiling? Indeed, the dead cannot walk. The boy was so fast for his own good.

When he looked at the kid, the latter said, "I never got your name. Mine's Trystan."

"I am Aeron."

He hated it when the sun rays fell on him. It happened every single time. Though the rays were warm and not blazing hot, they still had light. Groaning, he opened his eyes. The first thing that came to his vision was the roof of the cave. The frost, which had formed during the night, melted, and it gave the stones a unique wet- blue sandstone colour.

Sitting erect, he saw Trystan seated beside the dying fire. The beads of perspiration on his forehead said what he had been doing. Or it was his sword that was out of its sheath that announced. Or maybe both.

Aeron fought the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes his friend was unbelievable. Nevertheless, he owed his life to Trystan. Six years passed since Trystan saved his life but Aeron remembered it vividly as though it was yesterday.

"Why are you smiling like a lunatic?" asked Trystan.

He did not realise he had been smiling until then. Shaking his head, he got up to wash his face in the cold water. He hated to go a day without bathing but with the temperature of the water here; it made him think twice.

Splashing the water on his face, the hangover of the sleep left in the same path they first came.

"You were practising, weren't you?" accused Aeron.

Trystan just shrugged in response. He was never bothered by the cold.

"There is your much-needed food. Eat that and try not to complain about your stomach on our way," said Trystan after Aeron wore his furs.

It was still cold from yesterday's snow. This made him yearn for a hearth and warm soup, but he had to manage with what he had.

Taking the plate in his bare hand, the warm of the food transferred to his hand. He inhaled deeply. The aroma of the steak was so much better than what he had done yesterday. He should have let Trystan cook last night instead of letting him sleep.

"Have I mentioned that the food you cook is fantastic?" Aeron asked, taking a mouth of his steak.

It was the same steak as the previous day, but today since it was Trystan who prepared and not the other way around, the food was bearable to eat. Absurdly horrible to almost manageable, Trystan deserved some credit.

Aeron saw Trystan's lips rise slightly to the left. Then he sheathed his sword - Raiden. After eating the food, Aeron washed the vessels from the water that was the melting snow above.

Suddenly the entire forest was eerily quiet. The birds, which were humming a while ago, had stopped their tune. The much alive, frozen forest was suddenly dead. Everything was silent. He could only hear the sounds of the inert things of nature, the soft rustle of the leaves and the crackling voice of the fading flames.

"What's wrong, Rys?" he asked.

"I think something is brewing up. Or else it would not be so still like there's no sound in the world," Trystan whispered as if he did not want to disturb the silence of the surrounding.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated just the way Trystan had taught him. Far away, he could hear the whipping of the air. It was so faint that he would have mistaken it for the passing winds.

He did not know what Trystan had heard for he suddenly packed their things onto their horses.

"Get ready," Trystan said, his voice barely audible. Before he could continue, Aeron heard a sharp shriek piercing the still air.

He did not understand what had caused that sound. For no one would come to this interior of the forest. When Aeron had first stepped inside Fangforn, the woods were dead. The moss had grown on the lifeless trees, and he did not find a single footprint of a living creature.

Before he tagged along with Trystan, he had done his share of researching. While doing so, he came to know many trivial things about these mighty woods. Of course, he trusted Trystan, but he was aware that lad would not say everything to him.

Trystan harboured many secrets. Like, yesterday the ways he eluded the question about how he knew the story or how his face did not want Aeron to know how he knew the way in the forest.

Some of the rumours said that these woods were so loyal to snow that they would not allow the sun rays to pass the canopy because they are entitled to an important task of guarding the frost flowers and that a hunter will never go home with an empty hand even if he had the worst aim.

Some said that the rains were given as a bribe to the forest as it was the only time their mighty canopies would bow down and open for the heavenly beings to catch a sight of the beauty the forest hid within itself.

Coming here, all Aeron saw was dejected woods. The places where the rivers once flowed with such force that even rocks and boulders did not stand in their way was now a thin line of water.

So in such a tedious place, who would come and most of all why would they scream? He saw Trystan mounting his horse, and he followed suit. He let Trystan guide the way. He seemed to know these woods like the back of his hands.

Upon reaching the vicinity where the sound erupted, they got off their horses. Stealthily hiding behind the dry bushes, what they saw was not what they expected or wanted to see.

One of them held the banner of Lavatia, a silver trident with a silver serpent coiling around it in a black field. The soldiers of Lavatia were stupid, so stupid that they did not even bother to see these two assassins hiding so visibly.

Aeron beheld an image of a young boy of eight or nine summers laying on the cold ground, his cheeks kissing the snow dressed earth while his eyes were closed being in an everlasting slumber. Not to mention the three silver arrows that were pierced on his back. His feet and hands were shackled. The boy had been a prisoner.

The soldiers had the nerve to laugh after butchering such a young boy.

His blood boiled seeing such an image. He wanted to come out of his hiding place and kill them, but Trystan motioned him to keep still, reading his facial expression. Aeron could not believe how Trystan was holding up.

His friend was a feral beast under the unusual calm mien he wore. He knew how much Trystan despised Lavatia though he did not know the exact reason why. Just upon seeing those killers, Trystan's eyes were shards of ice.

Their eyes met for a second, and they thought the same thing. Those soldiers will not return home. Though this was not their assignment, their master never punished as long as they did not leave a trail. And just like that – even though Aeron had a fair warning, Trystan wore his assassin aura.

Taking his dagger, Aeron aimed at one of the soldier's neck, but before he could release his blade, Rys' found its mark. Giving his friend a blank look, he came out of the hiding place. About ten of them stood in the clearing, and upon seeing them, they charged together, like a herd of bulls.

While five surrounded him, the rest went for Trystan. Knowing that his friend was much better than he was, he was aware that he did not have any reason to worry. Then he drew Falak out. This sword was with him, years beyond one could count.

Out of the five, one was an archer, three were with swords, and the last was with a mace. The archer went a little back to get a better aim and the other four advanced.

First one was the fellow with the mace. He came forward with brute force, just the way the raw strength his weapon represented. Luckily enough, he was able to hold his ground. Aeron also had the build for power and force. Therefore, he knew how this weakling was going to attack him.

Missing an aim in the leg, he spun around and struck him. Though it was strong, Aeron knew that he had only managed to dislocate the shoulder blade. As always Aeron's first blow or kill was weak. Only after at least of two minutes in the fight did he get the flow of it.

Slowly the rhythm of the battle flowed in his weapon-wielding left arm. As if Falak had a mind of its own, he fought like a true master. Not only did he effectively block the swords and the occasional mace but also the arrows the archer aimed at maiming him.

One of the soldiers with the sword slashed his back. He was not even older than Trystan.

Aeron growled, "This fight is already unfair, five against one. And now you dare attack from the back?"

At times, Aeron did forget that he was an assassin. But what he learnt when he was young was what that prevailed in his later life. Old habits die hard.

If his fighting skills had not scared those puny militias, his eyes certainly did with the matchless fire that kindled behind them.

Without waiting for a response, he thrust his sword straight into that lad's neck. Instead of feeling guilty that he had killed someone as young as the soldier, he felt an odd sense of joy singing in his blood. Aeron had never intended to kill, just to hurt. This delight made him forget the slash in the back and his motives. In the place of minor weak blows that were meant to wound, took deathblows.

From his peripheral vision, he saw the archer wisely taking many steps back, and the hand that held the bow was quivering. In spite of knowing the change in Aeron's strikes, they refused to back away.

Next to the lad, fell dead was the one with the mace. His death was by his hands. When he spun his stick around to give Aeron a blow, well to do him a free job of crushing his jaws, Aeron's instincts got better of him. Instead of standing there, all he did was to duck. The momentum in which the mace flew, went in a complete circle and landed on the owner's left jaw and neck.

With only two swords left, it was an easy job for Aeron. Grabbing the sword from the dead soldier's hands, he continued fighting. Metal clashed against metal and warmth of exhaustion was burning in his arms by now. He knew that he had to end that dance right then.

Pushing one of the two, into a tree, Aeron took this opportunity of a fair combat, and he gave all he had. Faking a left, he spun right and thrust his right arm forward, blocking a blow. Sweat drops collected above his eyes.

Suddenly he dropped the sword that was not his. Stunned by his move, a surprise came upon his opponent's face. Taking full advantage, Aeron took out his dagger that he hid in his sleeves. Before the soldier could realise what he should do, the knife flew freely from Aeron's hand and stuck him in the abdomen, the dagger finding its mark. The edge of his blades was sharp enough to pierce the metal breastplate.

As an assassin, he knew his chances. Aeron had coated that dagger with poison, the second it touched the skin, the person in contact would die.

The soldier whom he had knocked out by the tree was standing behind him. His feet were wobbling, and his stance was weak. Despite his condition, he was there to fight him. Aeron appreciated his bravery, but not enough to forgive him. How can people after doing wrong, defend themselves as if they are the innocent ones?

Like a confident predator that has trapped its prey, Aeron walked towards him. All the adrenaline flowing in his veins reached its intensity and then started to die rapidly. Only then, the burning sensation in his back made itself known with thick liquid rolling down and all the minor bruises began to make his movements stiff.

Despite that, he raised Falak and delivered a defeating blow. His opponent had crumbled to his knees, yet he held his ground, defending himself with his sword.

"You think you are doing the right job by killing us? Then you are wrong. The boy deserved to die," he said with a shaky laugh.

Aeron thundered, "He deserved to die?"

When the soldier had nothing to reply, he flung the sword out of his hands and neatly sliced his head.

Turning back, he saw Trystan fighting the last one with six dead around him. That excuse of a human did not even break a sweat nor was a wound visible. Something was nagging him inside; he saw the soldier who had stepped away from him, the archer, was notching an arrow that was aimed at Trystan.

Rys was no doubt trained to dodge that missile, but his instincts told him that Trystan would not. Calculating the speed of the arrow, he hurled himself between his friend and the shaft. As expected, the missile pierced Aeron's lungs. With blurry eyes, he saw a dagger soaring past him effectively ending the archer's life. It all happened so fast.

"Aeron!" Trystan cried and reached him before his head hit the ground. Rys cursed as he broke the arrow near his chest. Cradling Aeron's face, Trystan broke the mighty banners of Lavatia and used the flag as a binding cloth for covering his wound.

"You stupid friend, why did you do that? I would have very well taken care of it."

"Well, I'm glad to be of service," Aeron coughed. His breath was getting shallow. How much more time did he have?

"Nasik! Ragnak!" Trystan called out.

Their horses came towards them, galloping at full speed. Reaching their destination the two horses neighed with concern. Aeron could see his blood staining the snow on the ground. It was a beautiful sight. The two colours went very well together. Then the black spots began to cover his vision.

"Keep your eyes open. And take in deep and fast breaths. Whatever happens, keep breathing! It will hurt like hell but bear with it," Trystan ordered.

To reply to his order Aeron mustered his leaving strength to give a faint smile. When Trystan mounted him on his horse, he lost all his reasons to live. The pain was unbearable, it travelled from its origin to all the places that injured nerve and blood vessel went.

At his friend's command, the two horses began to race to the city they had intended to come. "Acracia has got the best of healers. I will take you to the best of them. You won't die on my watch." Trystan vowed.

He could not help it. He unconsciously fell on his horse. The last thing he felt was speed in which they were travelling, and the last thing he saw was the blurry motion of the silver trees, before doing what Trystan exactly told him not to do. Aeron blacked out. And his final thought? He did not wish it to be forever.

Note:

Raiden (Trystan's sword) means thunder and lightning.

  Falak(Aeron's sword) means heaven.  

I am planning to write a novella of Trystan and Aeron's assassin days. It is going to be called, 'Ode of Spring'. Leave your thoughts below!

Hey, guys! Thank you for sticking till my book came to 300+ reads. Do not forget or hesitate to say if I had gone wrong anywhere. Feel free to tell what you think of my story so far. It helps me to update faster. And for the casting, I've decided not to put up anyone; I want you guys to imagine them. That's the best way. Make me smile by clicking the little star on the bottom your page. As always, you're awesome!

-QUILL