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Three horsemen, wearing the Queen’s Wolf and Axe, slowly rode through the field, the morning patrol for the town’s meager garrison. As they neared the farmer, their raucous laughter became audible, most likely at some bawdy tale or another. They drew past the man as he bent to pick up a stack of wheat to set in a nearby wheelbarrow. Instead of lifting the wheat when he straightened, he took up the scythe in his hands, and spinning on his heel, turned about and swung the farming implement, cutting off one of the rear legs of the rearmost horse. Before the falling rider could even curse, the farmer had dropped the scythe and buried the blade of a sword in the mans throat.
The entire field went silent as the peasants quietly fled in fear of what was coming. The only noises were the high keening of of a wounded animal, and the soft whisper of steel against leather as the two remaining knights dismounted and advanced…
****
Nine years had passed since that fateful day. It had taken him nearly two years to get back the use of his left arm. Two years! Since then all he had done was train himself, body and mind. He would right this country, by himself if he had to. For Honor. For Duty. For Nobility. But also…for Vengeance. By his hand, the honor of Euralia would be restored…
****
The two knights advanced as one, swinging both high and low, knowing he couldn’t block both blows. He didn’t try, fluidly moving backwards out of their reach and darting to the side. Striking out before the other knight could maneuver into position, he hammered the man’s blade aside with repeated strikes before tearing through the mans chest with his blade.
The last knight made a desperate lunge, trying to impale the farmer before he could recover, but he was too late. A simple sidestep and flick of the wrist later, and the knight was kneeling in the muck, sobbing and holding the stump where his right hand had previously occupied. Turning around, the farmer knelt down and slit the throat of the horse he had wounded. Turning back to the sobbing knight, Shalinoc knelt down in front of him and removed his wide brimmed hat and gave him an icy smile.
"Tell your…queen" Shalinoc spat the word "that the past has come for her." With those words, he turned, mounted one of the knight’s horses, and galloped off into the dawn.
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It sucks, I typed it in a hurry. If you don’t understand it, read the prologue.