Their clashing was a dance of lighting and thunder. In the moonless night, their swords illuminated the battlefield with every strike. Men stopped their meaningless battles and stared on as the two leaders decided the war between one another. It was like a dream, a dance of fury amidst the corpses of a thousand slain soldiers.

Excerpt from The Traitor’s Uprising, written by Wiser Sonatan Mulja, Year 217, Third Age.

Prologue

Ethel steadily made his way through the black, putrid streets of Nokoroy. The pirate city had a bad enough reputation to scare away any common citizen. But not Ethel. He was filled to the brim with energy, anxious to finally set his grand plan into motion after years of planning.

Trailing him were three of his best Enhancers. Not that he needed them, he was capable enough to handle any threat thrown at him, but people needed to know what he was bringing to the table. They needed a show of strength.

Once or twice ignorant pirates, either drunk or stupidly brave, had tried to stop them in the streets thinking they could take advantage of newcomers to the city. They had tried. None of them had succeeded.

Upwards they went, scaling the darkened slopes of Mount Raeyner on which the city had been rebuilt after being buried under ashes and lava over six hundred years ago. Superstitious pirates had attributed the volcanic eruption as a sign from some long forgotten Sea God, punishing them for being ashore too long. Others thought the disaster to just be a natural occurrence.

They were all fools, Ethel thought, frustration building up inside him. If only they had known all those centuries ago.

They finally made it to the upper part of the city, wooden barracks and taverns making way for their stone counterparts. Here, the smell that had been lingering in the lower city somewhat lessened. The men in the street regarded them with suspicion. Only the crews belonging to one of the ten pirate lords who ruled the city were allowed this high up.

“What is your business here,” one of them came forward. “You do not bare the mark of one of the captains.”

In response, Ethel grabbed the men by the throat and crushed it before he even realized what was going on. Unable to scream, the man toppled over in pain trying to breath. All around them, the other pirates brandished their blades and knives, some even readying bows.

“My name is Ethel Hallwell,” he said softly. The surrounding crowd looked around nervously as they could hear his voice clear as day despite the distance. “If you do not wish to die yet, sheet your weapons and bring me to the council.”

Ethel had learned from experience that rationally speaking and remaining calm in dire situations always made men doubt. It somehow made you seem all the more dangerous the less dangerous you looked and sounded. Moments passed and some of the men hesitantly lowered their weapons. Ethel looked around. Twelve in total still pointed their blades at them. Twelve dead men.

“You know what to do,” he instructed to his men behind him. He didn’t need to see their nods to know they would obey his command.

Ethel put his hand on his sword and readied himself. With a warm feeling of strength and excitement, the power rose inside his body and spread to every little corner. Oh how he loved this feeling, knowing that the rush of battle was about to consume him. How he became something more than ordinary men.

His left hand tightened on his pommel, but Ethel did not draw his sword. Instead, he challenged the four men in front of him to meet him. Behind, he heard the sounds of fighting as his men took care of the other eight.

Two of the four charged at him, bare steel slashing towards him through the air. He bent through his knees and firmly set his feet in the ground. The power surged through him and his legs exploded, propelling him forward at an inhuman speed. He launched directly in between his two assailants. In the half a second it took him to pass the two men, he punched both with his right hand where their hearts would be.

He landed softly ten feet further. As he came to a stop, left hand still on the pummel of his sword, his two attackers fell face-first on the ground. They would not rise again. Neither would the eight others who had been taken down by his men in a matter of seconds.

“Now, is there anyone else planning on dying today?” A hushed silence fell over the street. The two others who had kept their swords drawn hastily sheeted them and fled into the crowd that had gathered.

“Good. Then can someone tell me where I can find the council.”

Nobody answered.

“Fine,” Ethel sighed and he readied a knife. With another sudden acceleration he jumped to his side and plunged the metal in the throat of a random bystander. Ignoring the tiny spatters of blood that found its way onto his face, he faced the crowd again.

“Once again. Where can I find the council?”

“The council is here,” a sudden voice came and the crowd parted ways, allowing a gathering of weary looking pirates to pass through. “My name is Aramos,” the leader, an old and grey man, said. “What is your business with the council that it is worth killing over?”

Ethel smiled for the first time today. “My business is killing, old man. And you’re my first customer.” He retracted the knife from the man’s throat and flung it towards Aramos. It sunk into the man’s head right between the eyes.

This time he roared.

“My name is Ethel Hallwell!” his voice cracked louder than thunder as Aramos’ men charged towards him. “And I bring you war!”