by S E Turner
Clebe and Bagwa displayed a strength that had no boundaries—they were still in fighting mode from their days in the arena and remembered the brutality of that harsh regime. Clebe bludgeoned his mace into a soldier who was hanging onto an injured leg. The soldier fell and Bagwa watched his chest cave in under the weight of his horse. Kal had cut down one opponent and was now hacking a pathway for Torré to execute his unfathomable power. The mighty Torré continued to slay men with an agility that belied his heavy build. He was fighting supremely, swinging his sword in tremendous strokes, and even though he was surrounded by the enemy forces, no one seemed able to touch him. The men with spears and lances followed Torré, while Siri and his archers stacked arrows in their sheaths and followed Lace.
Many of the enemy were quick to notice the master with his sword and his accomplices. Some men tried to run, others tried to hide, some fought back, but each was swiftly disposed of. The noise of smashing metal on metal reeled through the battlefield. Razor sharp swords sang out the sound of death as they slashed and sliced through the air, carving the blade into anything that got too close to the proximity of the unforgiving edge. The smell of fear hung heavily as the perpetrators were stripped of flesh and bone in seconds. The smell of blood was worse.
Out on the plain, the fighting went on. As soon as they came within range, the deep vibration of the ballista's-released bow strings was followed by the smooth hiss of darts. And further behind the lines, a range of catapults launched a shower of boulders against the advancing horde. Longbows began to whisper along the defences as flights of arrows took to the sky and curved in flight to unseat the enemy.
The demons ran in all directions like headless chickens, looking for a way through. For an hour, the struggle continued with neither side giving ground, but then the Ataxatan army began to yield.
The General yelled out foul-mouthed obscenities as he watched the massacre of his men. Under the grip of panic, many vomited in the soil. It was like watching day old lambs attacked by a pack of wolves. Those that stood were surrounded on all sides and suffered further casualties in their masses.
The General called for the cavalry to regroup, but they were further beleaguered, having fallen into an explosion of flailing limbs and weapons. It was difficult to keep a steady stance on a patchwork of crumpled corpses. Dainn was locked in a battle with a captain—they leaned on one another for support as they parried each blow. Both were tiring. Vortim Vontiger saw his opportunity and took aim with a spear.
Hali spotted the impending assault and shouted: 'Dainn, look out!' But he had little fight left in him now. Silva saw the minefield unfold in front of him and ran towards the second in command, but something hard hit him on the head, and he slumped to the ground. Vortim's spear realigned its destination, and the weapon left his grasp. It cruised through the air like a missile and hit its target. Dainn collapsed.
Out on the plain, an arrow left the bow of a warrior and hit Vortim full on in the chest. He dropped down, clutching the shaft that was rooted to his heart, and searched with narrow eyes for where the arrow had come. A tall strong woman stood there, ready to fire again if the first had not been fatal. Kal ran in and plunged his dagger into the captain and then rushed to Dainn's side. He was injured and battle weary, but he would survive. Enraged, Kal stormed towards the General's men coming in to finish his comrade off. He swung his sabre into a vicious arc, taking a man's head clean from his shoulders. He then went on to decapitate half a dozen others with the force of his blade. As Vortim Vontiger and the captain died, the strong woman saluted to Kal and Dainn. She turned and carried on with her mission.
Kal had spotted a fallen hero. Amongst the blood and gore, he saw a face that wore the gauze of death. He fell at his side and wept. Namir saw their comrade fall and felt Kal's pain. He was one of their own clan: Kal's closest friend. He immediately thought of Skyrah. He needed to find her. He came out of his vantage point, but through the battle mist and swirling debris, he couldn't make out very much at all. Dust had obscured the sun and turned the air a putrid brown. Looking around him, all he could see were piles of bodies and severed body parts. The fallen lay sprawled across one another, their red stained weapons abandoned around them. The reek of blood and gashed corpses had encouraged the carrion birds to start their feasting, and they got in his line of vision as well. Sweat and dirt ran down his face and collected in wells in the rim of his eyes. Rubbing and blinking made them worse.
Only a few figures were stumbling around in the battlefield now; abandoned screaming horses were fleeing the flats while others waited on the perimeter.
He was using up precious minutes observing the scene and was relying on his leopard spirit to guard him, but he still needed to know where Skyrah was. Had the General taken her already? The blood curdling thought horrified him. Please no, not again . That madman would surely not be so forgiving this time. Her life was in absolute danger. A silence descended as he looked through the haze for the General and for Skyrah.
But time stands still for no one. The General had spotted the stillness of his prey. Now, that's what he have been waiting for: an error of judgement. Their leader, and object of Skyrah's desire, was so engrossed elsewhere that he couldn’t even see him standing here.
Namir's frantic eyes were avoiding the General's direction and did not notice him getting ready for the assault. The General prepared for an ambush. It was now predator and prey. He was going to take this opportunity. The hunter slowly reached for his axe, his eyes locked on the vulnerable unsuspecting victim. With cunning perseverance and without arousing suspicion, he withdrew his weapon. Calmly and carefully, he raised the murderous blade. The victim was the perfect target; his eyes were focused elsewhere. The predator kept the prey in sight, and with acute precision, took aim with the hatchet. He exerted a strong force and sent it flying through the air towards the heart of its intended victim.
The axe penetrated through the brume with a mission to sever its target in two. The momentum of the flying weapon was caught in Namir's peripheral vision, but it was too late. The axe was faster than his reflexes. His life flashed before him and everything that might have been. Everything that his father had taught him, everything that he had been through, everything that Norg and Ronu had drummed into him: never become a target, never take your mind off the task. Think, feel and survive. He knew that he had let them all down, he had let himself down, but mostly, he had let Skyrah down. The gilt handle of the axe was all that could be seen as it impaled him on the unforgiving steel, and he sank to the ground.
Chapter Forty-Two
Skyrah had taken Meteor to safety with the other horses and came back on the field to see Namir fall. She ran to him, frantic, crying and screaming out loud.
'No!' She heard her own voice ringing in the mayhem, the haunting sound trailing off into the distance. The mist and silence hung over him and slowly wrapped itself around the gilt handle. Her own heart was aching. She felt his pain. The fighting was over. A few enemy soldiers remained stumbling in the background, but the rest had been slaughtered. She fell to his side and her tears mixed with the sweat that saturated his broken body. His red stained hauberk and blood splattered weapons were evidence of the battle he had fought. He was pale and weak and dying. Now the silence had gone, and instead, a voice was in the air, as clear as glass, as bodiless as an echo.
She cried out. 'I'm so sorry, Namir. I let you down. It is my fault that you lie here like this. I have killed you because I didn't stay in your sight. '
He looked at the beautiful face that he had loved for so many years. 'At least it's your face that I see before I die.' He groaned in agony and arched his back.
'I love you, Namir. I have always loved you.' She sobbed onto the mail shirt covering his chest. 'From the days you sat helping me tearing up leaves and plants for my mother, I loved you then.'
His eyes were closed, but he managed a smile as he recollected those days—those carefree moments when they had so much fun and couldn't i
magine the many battles and challenges that lay ahead of them. He drifted off into another place where he had his imaginary conversation with her.
'When faced with so much despair and destruction, it's only then that you realise what is really important.'
'And what is really important to you?'
'You are, Skyrah. You are the most important entity in my life. The thought of you kept me strong for all those months in the dormitory. And amongst all the brutality and butchering, you were my shining star, you were my hope, my reason to live. But my biggest fear was not the battles or the monsters I faced. I feared that you would never know how I felt about you—that I love you so very much and I want to be yours forever.'
He drifted in and out of consciousness. He could feel her holding his hand, he could hear her telling him that she loved him, he could even smell her sweet aroma amongst all the blood and death. He saw another place where a fresh new sheet was draped over a peaceful land, where pockets of plants gleamed like jewels on green silk. Amethyst lavender, emerald ferns, ruby roses, and sapphire bluebells were bathed in the brilliant sunlight. The sun kissed a brook, and the gilded water danced with a thousand diamonds scattered on its shimmering outer dermis.
He saw a pair of eagles come into view turning on seraph wings. He flew to join them. It felt good to be with them, to be free and unleashed, to peel back the tired look from his beaten face. And as his spirit awoke, and his soul became alive. His exhausted body felt uplifted and a gentle breeze brushed his face. It stroked his torso and curled around him; he felt strong again in its grasp. It began to pick up pace. It was getting stronger and harder, while he was getting colder, so terribly cold. The wind was taking him away, the eagles were carrying him, but he now felt as if he was drowning. He couldn't hear her anymore, he couldn't breathe, he had no control over his soul now, he was screaming in his head. 'No, I am not ready to go yet. I don't want to leave her. I can't leave her. Please not now!' His breathing was getting more laboured. He was struggling.
She was holding his hand, willing the life he so desperately needed. 'Don't leave me, Namir. Please don't leave me. You are strong, you are the leopard, you are my leopard.' She cried into his saturated hair. But the wound was too great. All she could do was hold him as his life ebbed away.
The huge towering figure of death hung over their sanctuary and cast a sinister dark eclipse. A gloved hand reached down for her and yanked her off her beloved.
'Lovers always make mistakes,' the General hissed into her ear. 'I saw him looking for you, and as he went down in death, I knew you would run to him: the handsome young man with the kingdom at his feet. But alas, look at him now. Not much good to anyone, is he?' He curved a sinister smile and licked her face. 'Still taste nice, even though you are a filthy savage covered in his blood.'
'Get off me, you monster.' She struggled to get away.
'Now, now, I thought we were friends.'
'Never!' She bit into his arm.
The General looked at his bleeding limb in disbelief and hoisted the kicking, screaming girl over his shoulder. But Lyall came out of nowhere, charging and howling like a wolf. The General dropped Skyrah to the ground. A trickle of blood ran down her head as she hit the hilt of the axe that protruded like a hideous flag of honour from Namir's corpse. The General didn't have time to check on her lifeless body. His attention was on Lyall. 'Now here comes the other one. This won't take me long, either.'
'You bastard! You absolute bastard!' yelled Lyall, running in with his sword. He was beyond contempt; he was beyond reasoning. Roaring his rage and his grief, Lyall drove forward, sweeping aside all before him with the swinging arc of the sword he'd taken from Dainn's injured side.
The last Ataxatan soldiers fought with ferocity but fell to Lyall's weapon until at last he was fighting hand to hand with the General: the only man standing of the entire invading army, and the man he despised most in the whole subject kingdoms.
The mighty wolf inside him howled and launched again and again for the attack. 'You killed my mother and my father, and now you've killed my brother and the girl he loved.'
'What are you talking about, you demented savage?'
The General swept back his red cloak to reveal the Seal of Kings. He adjusted his gold helmet and held aloft a razor-sharp sword that was bloodied with the deaths of many young men. And then Lyall saw it: the wolf's head on the hilt. He could even see the name 'Canagan ' inscribed on the cross guard.
'You thieving, murdering parasite. You absolute scum of the earth. I am not a savage. You are the only deviant here. I am King Lyall of Durundal, and I have been waiting a long time for this day.' He ripped open his shirt to reveal his scar. 'Remember this? You did this to me when I was fourteen years old. But now I am a man, and I will get my revenge.'
The General felt the scar on his temple. 'Yes, I remember you, the frightened little boy in pyjamas and a shawl. I thought you were dead alongside that wretched mother of yours, but now I can finish what I started.'
He raised his sword to take off Lyall's head, but the boy crouched low and narrowly avoided the brutal blade.
'The Seal that you wear is not yours. It was not the Emperor's to give away. And that sword...'
The General cut short his words. 'Well, whose is it then?'
The ogre was tiring of the boy's voice and continued to cut the air near his neck to end the ranting. A sweep nicked Lyall's ear. The boy parried with his nemesis, locking the fiend's blade into his own hilt, then he threw back his head and gave a long howl that stirred all his pent-up emotions.
'They both belonged to my father, the king you massacred at Castle Dru four years ago. They belonged to the people who you burned and hacked to death, and now they belong to me, the rightful heir and lord of Castle Dru, and all it surrounds.'
'Is that so?' seethed the maniac, lowering his face until he was eye to eye with Lyall, and spitting with venom. 'Well let me tell you this, young man. Your father screamed like a girl when I plunged my dagger into his heart and ripped the Seal from his neck, and now I'm going to relish on your screams for mercy.'
The General smirked.
Lyall flew into a rage and danced around him, attacking and thrusting, desperate to get an advantage, trying to get his blade somewhere, anywhere into the devil's putrid skin.
'And if you really are a king, then there's no room for both of us in my kingdom, now is there?'
Lyall was too wound up to focus. He was not engaging accurately, and his rage had rendered him weak. He was wasting energy and waning.
The General's fighting skills were superb, and he quickly tired of the inexperienced lad. He found an open channel and thrust the hilt of the sword into Lyall's head. The boy dropped his weapon and felt something warm running down his face. He looked at his bloodied hands, and as he fell onto his knees, he looked in disbelief at his attacker.
'How has this happened?' he thought. 'How on earth can this have happened? I am about to die at this monster's hand with my father's sword.'
The General threw back his head and laughed. 'You were never a match for me, boy, king or no king. This Seal will stay with me forever and give me protection as I slaughter the rest of your people with this rather magnificent sword.'
Lyall slumped. He had failed. He had let everyone down. He dropped to the ground. His body rolled over.
'And do you know what is so ironic, little boy?' The General goaded as he licked the blade. 'You are right. This sword is the one I stole from your father, and now it will send you to join him.'
A sickening smirk spread across his face as he raised the weapon.
But behind him a figure stirred.
Skyrah opened her eyes to see Lyall fall. Her hare totem called out to her. 'Get up, Skyrah, get up now. You have to save Lyall.' She reached out to Namir's lifeless body, and with a force that came from her totem, sucked the axe from its resting place. There was a fine spray of red dust around her, a remnant of the wrath that had preceded it. She had to keep shiftin
g her weight to steady herself. Bloodied and weak, she dragged herself up and called out to the General.
'Oh, Domitrius, I have something for you.'
He turned awkwardly, hardly believing what he had heard behind him. He thought she was a supernatural apparition, standing there before him. He dropped his sword in shock. The surprise rendered him stationary. She had her one and only chance now. Without thinking of the danger, she charged towards him and plunged the blade into his chest.
He grasped it with both hands. 'I was trying to help you,' he cried out piteously.
'Help me?' her eyes narrowed.
'I am the angel of the gods, sent to cleanse and rid the kingdoms of savages and scum.'
She looked at him in disbelief: a madman deranged with greed and power.
'Skyrah help me, please. It will be just you and me, and we can leave all these worthless souls behind us. You are not like them.' He staggered back, losing blood, holding onto the weapon as Namir's blood mixed with his own.
'What? Do you really think I would abandon my family, my lifeblood, those I love, for a madman like you?'
'Skyrah, I am not a madman. I do not kill for pleasure. There is a higher purpose at play, I am the tool to bring justice to our kingdoms.'
'No, Domitrius, I am the tool to bring justice to our kingdoms.' She took the dagger from her boot and thrust it deeper into his heart.
Within seconds, a ghostly cavalry from the jaws of hell raged around him in a frenzied feast, pawing at him, tugging at him, ripping the life from his core, and shredding it before his very eyes. The chaos and torment was thrice the scale of any battle he had fought, and it seemed that every tortured soul he had ever taken was clawing back at him. Skyrah put her hands up to block the screams. Lyall shielded the glare. The General reached out with frantic arms, his eyes wild with panic and fear. It was a pitiful last attempt for redemption. But no one came. He had sealed his fate long ago. The screams eventually died down. The cavalry dispersed. No one would mourn this tyrant.
