The Long March home

Note: Image associated is from Ironage.media, specifically their writing prompt 'The Trek'

Dunstan unslung his pack as the sun faded behind the Northern Range, feeling its last kiss as the cool of dusk settled in. He could finally see the Tower of Arnsigilde, piercing the very clouds, a silent challenge to the mountains’ domination of the sky.

Even though a day’s hard march still sat before him, he was comforted by the sight of home. He thought about the town about the Tower’s base, the people he had sworn to fight, kill, and even die for. He felt the now familiar weight of the sword spear that still sat on his back, still smelt the battle that had raged around him a week ago. A battle he alone had survived, something that he now knew was not intended by the Wise Wizards of the Tower, and certainly not after what he learned.

He stared hard at the Tower, and comfort twisted into hatred as he did. The Wizards had to pay for their treachery, for the friends he’d lost, the friends he’d killed. When the army had left to confront the “threat”, all of them were eager to protect their families, and many had sworn love for their sweethearts. All for a sick game concocted by the Wizards, the same game they could always be found playing, but now the pieces were the young townsmen.

As the sun fell beneath the horizon, Dunstan screamed bloody murder at the Tower, picked up his pack, and marched to carry out his threat.