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Niall stood at the crest of the hill. The air ruffled his shorn blonde hair. He scratched his beard, still finding clumps of dried blood entwined in the thick hairs. His body was muscular yet lean, for it had been a long time since he had eaten well. His horse was as dark as midnight and huffed.

“Easy girl, we’ll get there soon. Ye will hae yer belly filled,” he said, patting the horse’s flank.

“I cannae wait for that either,” Drew said, sharp teeth showing through a wide smile. His hair was slick with sweat, and he wiped the straggling locks back with one swift movement. Flanking them were Niall’s other men, a band of wandering warriors who called the Highlands their home, who moved from forest to valley to mountain and back again, never settling in one place until now.

Niall breathed in the cool air of the forest and narrowed his eyes, gazing down at the unsuspecting village below.

“Think they’ll give us a warm welcome?” Drew asked, his words riding a chuckle.

“I dinnae imagine sae, but it doesnae bother me what kind of welcome they give us. That place is mine by rights, and I will hae them obey me,” Niall said, his voice as cold as stone.

“Sae this is where our wandering days end. I’ll be sad tae see them gae. It will nae be the same nae sleeping under the stars any longer,” Drew said.

“I’m sure ye can make a bed for yerself in the stables with the horses,” Niall said wryly. This brought a curse and a sharp laugh from Drew before Niall continued, “But we hae suffered tae many losses. We hae spent enough time out there. It’s time tae return home,” he said.

Emotion welled inside him as he thought about all he had suffered over the years, how a long time ago he had ridden away with a band of warriors to make his way in the world. Now he found himself back here, and it had cost him everything. A dark shadow fell over his face as he thought about all the people he had lost over the years, including the most recent death, his brother Fraser.

* * *

“It’s ye?!” Fraser had asked, surprise etched upon his face. Niall had ridden down to the middle of the battle to face the leader of the enemy, a man he knew as his half brother, Fraser, a man whose face he had not laid eyes upon for a number of years. Fraser’s shock turned to surprise and then delight. He dropped his sword and walked up to Niall, slapping his shoulder.

“I heard rumors of a clan wandering around the wildlands. I always thought it might be ye, although I worried ye haed met death a long time agae,” Fraser said. “I’ll be… Ye give a man a scare. Why are ye out here threatening these villages? Why nae come back and find shelter under my roof?” Fraser asked.

It was a worthy question and one that deserved an answer. Niall remained stoic. His heart was cold, for he was resolute in what he needed to do. His hand drifted across to the hilt of his sword, and his fingers curled around the handle.

“Because there is nae enough room for all of us,” Niall said.

Fraser laughed. It was a hearty laugh. Niall remembered that he had always been one to enjoy a good laugh. Life was never anything to be taken seriously for Fraser. It had all come easily to him, perhaps because he was the younger of the two siblings and because he hadn’t had to watch his mother die only to be replaced quickly with another woman as though she had been nothing special. Their father had been many things, and Niall saw so much of that man in Fraser, so much that he knew killing him would be like killing their father.

“I’m sure we could hae found the room. Come on now, call off this attack, and we’ll gae back tae the village and share stories over a drink. I bet ye hae plenty tae tell. Ye must hae been all around the Highlands. I’ve a fair few I can tell as well. Ye may nae believe it, but I’m married now,” Fraser said.

Niall pitied whichever woman had suffered the poor fate of being his wife.

“I’m sure it’s suiting ye well,” Niall said.

“Aye…” Fraser glanced around the battlefield. Realization was slowly creeping in. “Well, are ye nae gaeing tae call off yer attack?” he asked again.

Niall remained silent. He swallowed a lump that had appeared in his throat, reminding himself to stay true to his vows.

Fraser stiffened. The grass in the field was already soaked with the blood of his men. Lives had been lost, and they continued to be lost while the half brothers had their conversation.

“Niall…” he said; this time, his tone was wary. He shifted his stance to one of defense and drew his sword. “What is gaeing on here?”

“I’ve returned home tae claim my birthright. The village is mine,” he said, his voice oddly calm amid the raging emotion that stormed within.

Fraser shook his head. “Ye left. I inherited the village from Father. If ye want tae fight me for it, ye can, but I will nae hold back. I am nae afraid tae kill ye.”

“I know, but I’m nae afraid either. I hae seen things far more frightening than ye, Fraser. I would ask ye tae lay down yer sword, but I know ye will nae.”

“Just as ye will nae,” Fraser said.

Both men were prideful and stubborn. Niall hated himself for it as it was the worst of his father, and he did not want to be anything like that man, but he couldn’t change what could not be changed. All traces of friendliness and familiarity vanished from Fraser’s face as he prepared himself for battle. It was something that Niall had prepared to do for a long time now. He prayed that the gods would forgive him for slaying his kin, but there was no other way. It was time for him to return, and Fraser would always stand in his way.

The battle was furious. Fraser attacked first, as he had done when they were younger. Niall was glad to see that things hadn’t changed. Fraser was a bloodthirsty man and always tried to end duels as quickly as possible, overwhelming his opponent with brute force. It often worked as most people were unprepared for the rageful flurry of blows, but Niall was. He remained calm and focused on his half-brother’s hands rather than the whirling sword that moved so swiftly through the air it was little more than a blur. Reverberations ran down Niall’s arm as their swords clashed, but his grip remained strong. The muscles in his arms and the core of his body were knotted tight and taut, not giving Fraser an inch.

Fraser paused for a moment, stunned that Niall had managed to withstand his onslaught. His brow crinkled, and Niall knew he had him. Most of Fraser’s fights never reached this point because the majority of his opponents could not withstand the force of his blows. Now it was Niall’s turn to fight back. He thrust and parried, taking advantage of the energy he had stored while Fraser had been unleashing all his strength. Niall was now twisting around him, fleet of foot. He twisted his wrists, and Fraser had to spin around. He was always half a step behind, half a second too slow, and it was only a matter of time before Niall made the stroke that finally counted.