Finding Love's Vengeance

He had done it. He had done something he could never imagine himself doing. But he had. Something so terrible, so unnatural that he still had trouble accepting the reality of it.
He knew he had, it couldn’t have been a dream it was too real, he watched it happening as though he left his body and looked down upon himself. He saw the determination and rage burning in his eyes as he advanced down the dark corridor. He could feel himself getting closer; he knew he had to be close. His heart was beating to the sound of no drum; it was sporadic. He knew this was something he had to do for love and for justice. He couldn’t let this go on any longer; five years of searching had brought him to this point.
His rage was swirling through his body. He withdrew his scimitar and quickened his pace. Close now, very close. He was almost at the door; he would soon have his vengeance. He burst through the door and there he was, the man who had eluded him, the man who burned his home, and the man who killed his wife. He stared deeply into the man's eyes; his rage was uncontrollable. All the pain he had experienced, all the pain this man had caused was flying through him. His blade was shaking whether from the thirst of battle or the tension in the hand holding it no one knew.
“Do you know who I am? I s’pose you wouldn’t; I wasn’t their when you burnt my home, killed my wife and unborn child,” he said. The man only stared at him for what seemed like hours slowly sliding his hand toward the sword at his side. He was given no time; when finally the man had drawn his sword the arm holding it was hacked off with a swipe of silver. A scream, a hideous scream, rang throughout the room. He wasn’t about fighting fair, not anymore, this man deserved no quarter; he would offer none. His blood lust not yet filled he brought his scimitar down upon the man's other arm bringing an even louder scream and a more massive flow of blood upon the floor. He looked down into the cowering mans eyes and he saw the fear, the agony but his anger was only pushing him further, he wouldn’t stop until the eyes had no more light behind them until he no longer had the ability to cry out. Two more swipes, two more screams, two more thuds. Only a torso remained of the man, he was satisfied and exhausted; the man could lay there and die drowning in his own blood. He leaned down and cleaned his scimitar on the man's clothes.
“My name is Balder. You killed my wife and son. I leave you to die,” said the man sheathing his scimitar.
Balder turned and strode towards the door.
“My.....men will....will...find...find...you,” the man breathed; last words.
Balder had done what he set out to do. He had no time to think, he had to get out of the fortress quickly before guards arrived. He bolted through the corridor and down the spiral staircase, so long it descended; it seemed forever. The descent finally ended in front of a large oak door. Balder went through the door out into the cool night air. He looked around and saw all the carnage he had caused, all the lives he had taken to kill this one man and avenge his one love. Bodies lay scattered all over the now red courtyard.
“How could I have done this,” thought Balder?
He staggered toward his horse, a great black stallion it was, and lifted himself into the saddle. He started his horse at a dismally slow walk toward the gate; he sat loosely atop his mount. He could still hear the agony fluctuating through the man's reverberating cry; he could still see the light beginning to fade behind his eyes. The floor that was once beautiful oak was now stained red and burnt in his mind.
“I’m a good man”, he said out loud. “I did what anyone would have done in my situation. I am not a murderer simply the magistrate that brings the law to everyone’s door. I’m a good man.”
He continued his saunter and then he realized he didn’t know where he was going.
“What am I to do now?” he thought “I’ve devoted the last five years of my life to hunting him. I scarcely know how to rejoin the world.”
He glanced over the horizon and pointed his horse to the wood to the east. A small wood it was but it would provide descent enough cover and shelter. He dismounted at the edge of the forest and tethered his horse to a low hanging branch nearby. He looked in at the wood and noticed that it was in perfect rows; giant redwoods, they were, each planted about a meter apart.
“He must have loved these woods,” thought Balder. “Great work it would have taken to align these trees.”
He stood gazing into the seemingly never ending forest. Silent he was, as was the forest. He dropped himself at the trunk of the closest tree and began to weep. An army of thoughts rushed through him pounding at the mental gates of his mind.
“If only I had been there, I wouldn’t have just murdered a man, a lord no less,” he thought “No, no even if I had been there surely I couldn’t have beaten them all; I am just one man. I have killed a man though, if I am caught for this surely I will be hung. It no longer matters though, I am not afraid of dying; death would only bring me to her, my Seanna, oh how I miss her.”
He let the tree fully support him and fell into a dream. But what he dreamed was not a fictional happening of chivalrous knights or dragons. His dream was something from his past, the very thing that drove him for five years. I shall tell you his story. The story of how his wife, and his one true love, was murdered. I shall tell you of Balder’s five year search to find her killer; I shall tell you how he found love’s vengeance.