The Princess and Her Rogue

by Sheritta Bitikofer

  After some time spent thrusting his sword from atop his horse, Nate found it difficult to constantly have to switch positions, leaning from side to side. Although the horse gave him the advantage over each fight, he was not used to it.

  “I’m going to dismount! I will continue to follow you!” Nate shouted to Justin and Malcolm. The prince heard him and nodded in approval, but Malcolm continued to fight, unable to think of anything else.

  Nate swiftly jumped from his steed, now at eye level with his opponents. Soldiers in crimson came at him from every side, but Nate blocked and ran through every one of them to keep up with the charging horses. Steel sang as swords collided together with every forceful swing. With every soldier he slew, he gave a yell of rage that swelled from his core. Blood splattered over his armor and against his skin, but he didn’t care.

  When Nate found a moment, he glanced over to his leaders. Malcolm and Justin were still advancing forward, headed for the heart of the battlefield, but Sir Claude was no longer with them. As Nate peered around, he saw the knight had wandered off towards a part of the field that was congested with enemy soldiers. Nate scoffed at Sir Claude’s pride that he would rather seek glory than obey orders.

  Nate continued slashing and hacking his way through regular infantry, finding no challenge in their mediocre skills. All around him, blue soldiers fought with him. Some died, but some even stayed with him into the eye of the storm.

  There, he came against a soldier wielding a flail. The burly man swung it above his head, clothed in hardly any armor with the exception of an iron helmet topped with menacing horns and spikes. Nate smirked at the challenge.

  The rogue ran up to the soldier. The red enemy swung the flail above his head in wide circles, shouting his obscenities at Nate as if he was going to win. The flail’s spiked ball came at Nate, he ducked and let the ball continue on its path. The soldier lost control of his own weapon, the chain wrapped around the man’s neck and Nate ran him through with his sword into pure, fatty flesh, spilling the man’s innards onto the grass.

  Nate leapt over his conquest and hurried to catch up with his king, his sword collecting more and more blood along the way. Adrenaline pumped through his veins like a poisonous liquid, fueling his muscles, fueling his body to go faster, willing it to kill swifter with every swing of his sword. Nate almost lost himself to the rush of the battle, his sword and shield serving as extensions of his arms rather than just mere objects.

  As the rogue cut through the soldiers, he had the pleasure of facing an enemy wielding a double-headed battle-axe.

  Nate stepped forward and let the red soldier swing the axe at him. One, two, three times the enemy tried to chop through Nate’s limps. But each time, Nate blocked the swings with his shield. The force of the blows forced Nate to fall to his knees, but he refused to be beaten.

  He locked the axe head against his shield and pushed with all his might against the enemy. His face wrinkled with rage, teethed bared in an animalistic snarl that seemed to strengthen his resolve to win.

  With a loud cry for victory, Nate swung his sword at the axe handle with so much power that the wooden staff cut in half like a weak reed against the slice of a sickle.

  The enemy soldier glanced at the stick that he was left with as the axe head went flying off, then to Nate and that was the last thing he would see on this green earth. The rogue sliced through the enemy’s throat and continued on.

  On Nate went, killing, stabbing and slashing to stay with the king and prince. Several times, red soldiers tried to sneak up behind him, but every time, one of Kiara’s arrows pierced their neck and stop their ambush. Yes, Kiara watched Nate with undeterred interest from the wall and covered his back as long as there were arrows to shoot.

  But, a sight made Nate freeze in his tracks. It was a soldier with a familiar face. Nate halted his charge and looked off to see someone he didn’t expect to be on this side of the mountains.

  Ian was there, slaughtering with just as much passion as Nate, wearing red and black armor. Anger bubbled within Nate as he came and charged at Ian, who wielded a long spear as his weapon of choice.

  Nate rushed forward and parried the spear away that would have delivered the deathblow to one of his blue comrades. Ian hobbled backwards in shock. The blue soldier, who Nate had protected, picked himself up and ran off to pick a different fight.

  Ian stood with an amused expression before Nate. “I wouldn’t have expected that Malcolm would have hired a mercenary that killed his own men,” Ian said.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to walk away from this battle alive!” Nate growled, dropping his shield and pulling out his father’s dagger.

  “We shall see about that!” Ian shouted, thrusting forward with the spear tip.

  Nate stepped to the side and knocked it away with his sword. He realized that he would still be at a disadvantage, as he was at the decoy camp. But, reason fled in the wake of the pure, unadulterated rage and fury he felt against the man that violated Kiara’s honor. He would win this battle, no matter the costs.

  The gypsy assailed Nate with his spear tip several times, but missed his mark as Nate dodged the pointed steel head.

  Ian finally picked up his spear like it was a sword or club and swung at Nate’s head. Nate blocked, and then slashed for Ian’s throat as an opening appeared to him. But, the blackheart ducked and lost his balance, leaving his backside vulnerable. Nate kicked Ian in the rear, sending the gypsy rolling across the blood stained ground.

  Nate followed him and tried to send a downward strike into Ian’s neck, but Ian recovered too quickly and brought his spear up to catch the blade, then jabbed at Nate’s thigh with the blunted end of his spear handle.

  The rogue fell to the ground just in time to avoid being cut open by a sharp swing. Nate rolled out of the way as Ian followed, stabbing his spear tip into the ground as he went.

  Nate picked himself up to parry a thrust out of the way, and then made to stab Ian in the stomach. His attack was intercepted as Ian grabbed Nate’s wrist, extended his arm and brought his knee up to bruise the rogue’s bicep. Nate was forced to drop his father’s dagger into the grass, but not before sending his fist at Ian’s chest.

  The gypsy staggered backwards and Nate regained his footing to stand against his enemy. The two glared viciously at each other.

  “You’re not all that great of a warrior. No wonder Kiara preferred me over you!” Ian insulted, then twirled his spear above his head to come down on Nate with the tip. Nate gave a wide swing and blocked its path, but he didn’t anticipate the blunted end of the staff to strike him in the cheek.

  Nate stepped backwards a few feet to recover and glowered at Ian with such intense distain, as he had never felt before.

  “You honestly think that Kiara wanted you? She was just trying to make me jealous… I’m sorry to say it worked at the time!”

  Sword and spear clanged and collided against each other in several more exchanges of blows before Nate was caught off guard again by the less deadly end of the staff. He was sent reeling backwards once more by a bruising blow to the shoulder.

  “She did more with me than just dance, you know,” Ian gloated, giving Nate an evil, mischievous glare.

  Nate scowled back and growled within his throat. “From how I saw you that night, you were in worse shape than her!” He swung for the head and missed completely as Ian simply stepped out of the way, lining himself up for a perfect shot. Nate crouched down and sent his armored boot flying up between Ian’s legs. The gypsy groaned and fell to his knees, giving Nate enough time to get out of the way.

  “Oh, still a bit sore there from when she did the same thing?” Nate quipped tauntingly.

  Ian was tired of the insults. With a shout of impotent rage, he thrust his spear forward to catch Nate, but the rogue rolled out of the way just in time. The gypsy recovered and stood up, walking around to his enemy as Nate was in the action of rising from the ground.

  “I’ll see your miserable carcas
s rot on this field!” Ian yelled, running forward with his spear extended. Nate parried it and punched Ian in the face twice. Ian staggered backwards, holding his swollen jaw and bleeding lip. Ian lightly touched his mouth and squinted at the blood it yielded onto his fingertips.

  Ian let out an angry scream and charged forward again, swinging his spear wildly and carelessly for any opening he could find on Nate’s body. The rogue blocked every shot thrown by his enemy, finding it all too easy to avoid his attacks when they were born of rage rather than strategy.

  Nate saw a chance and caught Ian’s arm in a tight grip and twisted it around, lifting the gypsy onto his toes. The spear flew out of Ian’s captured hand and into fray that surrounded them.

  Ian punched Nate firmly in the stomach, sending all of his weight into the blow. Nate cried out at the attack and almost wretched as his grip loosened on everything he held. His sword dropped to the ground between them and the gypsy was able to pull free from the arm lock. Nate staggered backwards, wrapping his arm around his aching belly.

  Ian chuckled menacingly and picked up Nate’s sword, testing its weight in his own hand.

  Now defenseless and weaponless, Nate watched for an opening to turn the tide once more. Ian came running forward, sword extended above his head like a madman. Nate ducked out of the way and rolled out of striking range quickly.

  He recovered to his feet as Ian turned and was about to issue another blow. Nate stepped forward, grabbed Ian’s hands that held the sword and used the gypsy’s momentum against him to flip him over his shoulder, putting the sword back in Nate’s possession and Ian sprawled across the grass.

  Tired and weary, Ian stayed on the ground as Nate raised his sword to decapitate the gypsy. Ian sent his foot into Nate’s armored chest. Though it didn’t injure him, the force of the blow sent him tumbling backwards. Nate inwardly cursed the heaviness of the armor that inhibited him from being as agile as he was used to.

  Before he realized it, Ian was running for his lost spear as Nate was pushing himself up onto his knees.

  The two faced each other once more, both armed and both unyielding to the other.

  “If you think you can win this battle, you are a fool!” Ian said.

  The gypsy sent a stabbing attack at his opponent’s face. An idea struck Nate so suddenly that he almost grinned as he snapped his fingers over the wooden staff of the spear and tugged with all the strength he could muster.

  Ian came stumbling forward into his enemy, his own grip still like a vice over his weapon and his body wide open, defenseless. Nate ran his blade through the gypsy’s unarmored belly.

  Ian groaned as blood ran over his lips, eyes wide with pain and shock. Nate viciously twisted the sword in the gypsy’s flesh and stepped up to his ear so that these words would be the last he would hear.

  “This is for Kiara and her honor. Maybe in the next life you’ll think twice about disgracing a lady again.”

  Ian fell down to his knees and breathed his last, his face planted in the soil. Nate drew his sword out with a satisfied sigh. He retrieved his dagger and shield and returned to the battle.

  From a distance, he heard girlish screams coming from the castle walls. Nate looked up to see a band of soldiers, running out of the main entrance to the city, covered in white feathers. He chuckled as he looked up to the ladies that were manning the defense of the gate as they laughed and congratulated each other upon successfully tarring and feathering the intruders. Kiara, too, laughed upon the southern wall.

  The heat of the battle had reached its climax as Malcolm spotted Deceiver in a hallowed part of the field, hardly cluttered with any corpses or soldiers. It was as if Deceiver had been waiting for Malcolm at that very spot, reserving it for them.

  Deceiver was clothed in his animal furs, which were splattered with streaks of crimson blood, and a full suit of black, hellish looking armor that was littered with sharp spikes and intimidating carvings. His eyes blazed with fire, wielding a single long sword.

  Justin and Nate spotted Deceiver and hurried to catch up as their king charged forward. They stayed and watched closely to the fight that would ensue. If Malcolm even looked to be in trouble, they were obligated to step in, regardless of Malcolm’s claim upon Deceiver’s head.

  Malcolm leapt from his horse and approached the man who dared to ruin the peace of his kingdom. The two old men locked glares and circled one another.

  “Ah, you don’t look a day older, Malcolm,” Deceiver chuckled menacingly, swinging his sword beside him casually with one hand.

  Malcolm tossed his shield away and took a tight grip upon his weapon. “Neither have you, Damian. I suspect that phony magician of yours is keeping you young and healthy?”

  “He may have his little parlor tricks, but he has helped me in formulating this plan to take over your kingdom. No doubt that little bratty princess of yours has told you everything.”

  “Actually, your grandson informed me first of your intentions… It seems that betrayal runs in the family.”

  Deceiver snarled and raised his sword at the ready. “Your kingdom shall die with you, old man!”

  “Your rebellion will die before I do!”

  Malcolm stepped forward to slash Deceiver across the shoulder, but he caught the blade with his own and shoved it away. The clang of their metal resonated throughout the battleground. Many stopped their fighting to turn and watch their generals’ battle. Malcolm swung again, Deceiver blocked and swung back. Malcolm parried it, but Deceiver leaned in too closely. The king pushed his shoulder against the tyrant, knocking him off balance.

  “It seems your fighting skills have not improved over the years, Damian.”

  Attacks were exchanged and blocked by both until Deceiver stepped in to strike Malcolm with the hilt of his sword.

  The king grunted in pain and staggered back, holding his aching jaw.

  “And you’ve gotten slow,” Deceiver remarked.

  Malcolm sneered and readied his sword again.

  As their swords clashed, the king took the chance and stepped in to grab Deceiver’s wrist, thinking to tear the weapon from his enemy’s hand.

  Deceiver brought his foot up and kicked Malcolm to the ground. The king groaned and held his stomach as he fell, but kept himself alert as Deceiver came down with his sword to strike.

  Malcolm blocked, their swords pushing against each other in a stalemate as the king rose to his feet. The two glared and snarled at each other like old dogs, both angry and vengeful against the other.

  “As long as I have anything to say about it, you will not sit on my throne,” Malcolm mumbled as he and Deceiver were face-to-face, their swords locked and gritting between them.

  Deceiver roared in fury, grabbed Malcolm’s wrist and threw the king over his shoulder with unforeseen might, ripping the sword from the king’s hand. Deceiver swiftly came up and slashed at Malcolm’s arm, spilling his royal blood onto the grass.

  Malcolm cried out in pain and tried to back away from Deceiver as he approached, two swords gripped in his fists. The heel of Malcolm’s boots slipped on the dampened ground, resisting his retreat.

  Deceiver kicked Malcolm in the face, sending him flat on his back and pressed his heavy boot into the king’s chest, pinning him down. Deceiver let the two blades cross over Malcolm’s white fleshy neck like a pair of scissors over a feeble and frayed piece of thread.

  Just as Deceiver was about to slice into Malcolm’s throat, Nate came running in and tackled his grandfather to the ground, the two swords went flying out of Deceiver’s grasp.

  Malcolm gathered his sword and shield and was ushered off the field by witnessing soldiers for his wounds to be treated, himself growing dizzy from the lose of blood. Curses stopped at his mouth at the thought that Deceiver had almost bested him, but pride rose in his heart at the surety that he would be avenged.

  Nate straddled over the Deceiver’s abdomen, throwing punch after punch into the false king’s face until Deceiver came to himself and kicked
the boy off of him. Nate went rolling out of range and sprang up, a new vigor for the fight spurred within him. Deceiver wiped a bit of blood from his face and looked up at the defiant boy.

  “So, you think you can defeat me too, huh?” Deceiver questioned, picking up an abandoned battle-axe that lay near him. “You will die just as easily as the rest of them.”

  Deceiver came running forward, battle-axe raised high above him. Nate lifted his shield to deflect it. The evil, false king hacked away at Nate’s shield as if he were a tree trunk that refused to yield to his axe blade.

  With each repeated blow, Nate found himself falling backwards and onto his knees, marveling that such an old man could hit so hard.

  The enemy came at him again to hack at Nate’s body, but Nate managed to knock the axe out of the way with his battered shield once more and sent his foot into Deceiver’s hip, pushing him away.

  Nate hopped up and stood at the ready as Deceiver recovered and came to chop into the rogue’s side. He switched into his offensive stance and both blocked and returned each of the Deceiver’s swings. No matter how much force he pulled into his blows or how fast he could make them, none hit their mark upon Deceiver’s body. The two seemed equally matched.

  As one more strike came down upon him, Nate lifted both his sword and shield to block it and the two stood there, weapons intertwined.

  “You’re not bad, Nathaniel… It’s a shame, you could have been great fighting at my side,” Deceiver murmured.

  “I will never serve a false king!” Nate spat at his enemy disdainfully.

  Nate cast the axe head to the side and sent his shield smashing into Deceiver’s face, the first attack to hit home.

  The old man staggered backwards, holding his broken nose. Nate stomped on the pole of the axe, snapping it out of the old man’s clutch and brought his sword down to slay him once and for all.

  But, Deceiver recovered all too quickly and grabbed the boy’s wrist, sending two harsh punches to Nate’s stomach. After the second one, Nate brought his boot up and pushed Deceiver away. The man fell down flat on his back as Nate charged forward with his sword raised in attack.