by Brian Beam
Buckling my coin purse, I turned to see everyone ready to go. Sal’ had her backpack on over her dirtied blue robe. Til’ now had a sheathed dagger hanging from his belt that he must have had stashed in one of his sacks, making me miss the comfortable presence of the dagger I had lost in my fight with Menar’s men. Max looked as unconcerned as ever, sitting back on his haunches, though after seeing his reaction to Sal’s news about my spell fading, I knew he had to be anxious inside.
“Alright, everyone, let’s go.” I started leading the way with my shortsword clear in its scabbard in case of any surprises. I wanted to wrap my arms around myself with the cold of the rain that was blowing in through the temple’s entrance, but I had to be ready for anything. With Max’s protective spell waning, I didn’t know if Menar could track me or not. If he could, I had to be ready to face him and possibly more eldrhims. The thought gave me an involuntary shudder.
We came up to the broken doorway, rain blowing into my face and drenching me in seconds. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Sal’ stepped up beside me, her light barely able to illuminate more than ten feet ahead of us in the driving rain coming through the trees.
I gripped Sal’s shoulder, giving her a quick smile and then craned around to look at Max through the rain running down into my eyes. “Max, lead the way,” I commanded.
“You won’t have to go far,” a lilting voice from out in the rain called out loudly. I didn’t have to turn back to the dark forest to know Menar was standing before us. When I did turn, I could see a small white light bobbing outside of Sal’s light.
Menar approached, the stone at his neck emitting the white light that I had seen coming towards us and revealing his face. Even with the distance between us, I could still hear the humming it emitted.
As he stepped into the edge of Sal’s light, I could see Menar was a little worse for wear. His face and exposed arms were covered in scrapes, cuts, and bruises. His right eye appeared to be nearly swollen shut, looking like a plum. The scar across his face stood out starkly through the cuts and bruises. His lips were pulled back in a teeth-exposing snarl. It appeared that Max had done quite a number to Menar by bringing that building down on him. I figured that Menar’s magical barrier must have been destroyed by Max’s attack or he wouldn’t have had so many injuries.
Menar reached up behind his neck and pulled a long sword from a baldric he hadn’t been wearing before. He still had his sword from before at his hip, but he did not reach for it. The sword he had unsheathed gave off a strange orange glow that hurt my eyes when I tried to look at it as if I was staring at the sun. I brought a hand up to shield my eyes. Sal’s light was unnoticeable within the orange glow. The sword’s light revealed three dirty men behind him, also with swords bared.
“Hey there, ponytail,” I called out in insult, drawing my sword. “Guys, this is Menar. Good to see you again. Did you do something new to your face?” See, my mouth really does have a mind of its own in situations like this.
Menar’s snarl turned into a confident smirk. “At least you’ll die in good humor, I suppose. Oh, nice shirt by the way.”
I grimaced at the insult even if he sounded ridiculous making it. I couldn’t think of a witty response, so I simply readied my sword. Sal’s hand was in her case, Max was bristling, and Til’ had his dagger in his hand. There was no sign of fear among them.
It was hard to believe that Sal’ and Til’ were prepared to fight for me given the short time we’d been together and the unusual nature of our associations. It was like I had my own little army—Sal’, a mediocre wizard who had set out to slay a dragon only for her plan to fall through and was now searching for something that could redeem her amongst her fellow wizards back in Tahron; Til’ a Kolarin thief who had taken it upon himself to retrieve the Dragon Gem stolen from his people which turned out to be a dragon egg that he did not feel comfortable taking and so had associated himself with my journey since he would not be accepted back in Isaeron; and Max, the secretive little talking magic wizard cat.
I wanted to tell them all to run to safety, not wanting anyone hurt on my account. I could tell from the looks in their eyes that they would not be persuaded from their current course, though. I can’t say that it didn’t feel good inside.
“You’ll have to take on all of us, you Delvrish-blooded pig,” Til’ fearlessly taunted. I had never heard of Delvrish before. I later discovered that Delvrish is the Kolarin god of mud. Yeah, apparently the Kolari have their own set of gods. I guess having a god of mud is no more absurd than a god of pottery or livestock.
“Bring it,” Sal’ snarled, raising her free hand, palm out, towards Menar. Her hand had a yellow aura around it.
And as if that was the invitation Menar was waiting for, with a smirk and three miscreant sword bearers, he brought it.
Chapter 13
Losses and Gains
To this day, I find it hard to make myself recollect the battle with Menar which led to one of the greatest pains I have ever endured. Still, it was an important piece of my journey, so I feel it must be told.
Now, a smart man—make that, a smart warrior—would have gone after the three men in tattered rags, leaving the real threat of the man leading the group to the wizards who had an edge on him. However, Menar represented Raijom’s desire to see me dead. Well, supposedly. I guess there was still no definite proof that Raijom was behind the recent attempts on my life. Still, I trusted Max’s hunch. To the point, Menar—in my eyes—represented that desire which had also brought eldrhims after me and had led to Max almost dying. Needless to say, I was a little biased by this and charged headstrong after the muscular man.
With a scream, I brought my shortsword down at him. Menar coolly blocked my attack with his own slightly curved sword, orange sparks flying from the impact. Menar casually spun his glowing sword into an attack of his own which I barely deflected to the side with another shower of sparks. I found myself wishing I had asked Sal’ if she could tell what kind of magic was on his sword before I had launched my attack. But as they say, foresight is blind.
Menar’s strength outmatched mine tenfold, so I had to focus on sliding his attacks away from me. If I let his attacks come straight down onto me, he could easily break away my defense and go in for the kill. I was definitely out of my league.
We exchanged blows for a couple of exhausting minutes, my feet constantly shifting from defensive to offensive stances, throwing myself forward for attacks and stepping back in defense.
I angled my sword to turn aside one of his powerful attacks and was thrown off balance. Instead of trying to regain my balance and give Menar an opening in my defense, I let my body fall to the ground and slammed my sword’s pommel into the side of his knee as I did so. I didn’t have the leverage I needed for my attack to be a crippling blow, but Menar screamed in pain and dropped down onto his knees. If his magical protection was still active, my dropping him to the ground proved that by now it was essentially useless.
I sprung back to my feet and stabbed my sword towards the shoulder of his sword arm, hoping to put it out of the fight. As if my attack were only a minor annoyance, he pushed it aside with the bracer on his other arm and stabbed his sword towards me. Without time to bring my own sword down to block his attack, I attempted to jump back. I was too late to avoid his stab, but was able to limit it to only piercing a half-inch into the flesh of my abdomen. I screamed out in excruciating pain as the tip of his sword slid out and I landed from my evasive maneuver.
I solidified a defensive stance with my sword angled from hip to opposite shoulder. I could feel the warm trickle of my blood running down the left side of my stomach against the cold dampness of my skin. The exertion from our fight had broken my forehead into a sweat which the rain was kind enough to wash stingingly into my eyes.
Menar was back on his feet as if I hadn’t injured his knee. His eyes burned with murderous fury, his arm muscles bulged as he gripped his sword tightly, and his chest heaved from our fight.
> I was only faintly aware of the battle in the background. Sal’ and Til’ had taken their fight to the three minor thugs. Sal’ had two of them down with her magic somehow. Til’ had his man lying prone on the ground with Til’ on his back punching the apparently unarmed man repeatedly as the main tried vainly to pull himself away. It was almost comical to see the grown man trying so desperately to pull himself away from the diminutive Kolarin.
I tightened my grip on my sword as Menar and I stared each other down. We were both just daring the other to launch the next attack. Menar was as good—if not better—than I was with a sword. His speed was not sacrificed by his size or his strength. That gave him the edge. Plus, he was after me with murder in mind. I had no desire to take another life unless there was no other way. That gave him an advantage as well. His way required much less distractive thinking. I was going to need help.
As if that thought had been a beacon, Max was at my side. “Step back,” Max instructed. I didn’t move, though. There would be no backing away from this fight. That is, until a gust of wind that felt like a blow from a charging horse threw me to my back a pace behind the cat. Max usually had a way of getting what he wanted.
“So, the good wizard has come to play,” Menar chuckled with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. His sword’s light, along with the light from the stone at his neck made his half-smiling face look as eerie as an eldrhim.
“Menar, you have to see that Raijom is wrong. He has instructed you to kill someone completely innocent. Korin has done absolutely nothing. The Menar I remember would never do something like this,” Max called to him, his fur plastered to his body as the rain pelted him.
I had painfully risen to my feet by this time and just stared agape at the two of them. Max did know for sure that Menar had been charged to kill me by Raijom.
“It’s not about what he has done, but what he will do if I don’t stop him,” Menar replied coldly.
Behind Menar, I saw Til’ approaching with his dagger. The thug he had been fighting must have escaped into the darkness of the woods. Sal’ was approaching from the opposite side, her hand in her wicker case. Her two thugs also appeared to be gone. I apparently not only had my own little army, but quite an effective one. Menar couldn’t take on all of us, even if he did still have any remnant of that magical barrier to protect him.
“Stop with your self-righteous justification. This is about right and wrong; something you used to take seriously. What has Raijom done to your mind?” Max’s voice was colder than I had ever heard it. I only wished I understood what they were talking about.
Menar started towards Max with his sword raised and murder in his eyes. Max began emanating a white glow. Then everything happened way too quickly.
Sal’ was still only beginning to scream “No,” as silver lightning came crashing down towards a smiling Menar. Instead of hitting Menar, the silver lightning streaked directly into his glowing sword, the light around us increasing to almost blinding levels before reflecting back out towards Max.
I let out a scream of my own as Max’s body literally lifted into the air and flew out into the darkness behind me. Before I could comprehend what was happening, Til’ leapt for Menar with his dagger blade raised. Menar lifted his leg out in a side kick almost as if it was only an afterthought. His booted foot slammed into Til’s face with a sickening crunch and Til’ crumpled limply onto the ground.
Sal’ stepped forward, but I threw up my free hand towards her and screamed, “Stop. Go find Max. Menar’s mine.” I was concerned for her safety, but mostly I was filled with rage towards the man before me. I was only briefly aware of Sal’ running off into the trees with her glowing silver light hovering over her head.
My vision went red in my anger. My breathing quickened and my pulse sped. Who did this man think he was? He had hurt—maybe even killed—two people that did not deserve to be hurt all because of me. One of those had been my best friend.
My grip tightened on my sword, my knuckles cracking and fingers trembling with fury. My muscles burned from the tension. My morals could go straight to Rizear’s domain. I wanted Menar dead before he could hurt anyone else that I cared about. I had done nothing to this man and yet he wanted me dead for something that I was prophesized to do. I hoped with all my heart that the prophecy said I would kill Menar. Whether it did or not, I wanted his blood.
“Are you finally ready to die?” Menar dropped one of his legs back and held his sword upright from his waist, readying for the attack I was about to bring down on him.
“One of needs to be ready,” I growled through clenched teeth.
Casting aside any thoughts of my training with Chasus, I abandoned form and launched into a reckless assault. I leapt forward and brought my sword down with all my strength towards Menar. He may have been stronger than me, but my rage-fueled strength knocked his sword to the side and I brought a foot up to kick him in the stomach. Menar had not been ready for the brash maneuver and doubled over, staggering back a step.
I didn’t let up and brought my sword down in a slash towards his neck. Menar sloppily parried my attack and tried a two-handed riposte, stabbing his gleaming blade towards my stomach. I stepped to the side and brought my sword hand into a nose-breaking punch to his face. Menar staggered back yet again, bringing a hand to his bloody nose in disbelief. His eyes narrowed, and with a scream, he advanced in a charge.
I sprang into an advance of my own. Menar swung his blade with both hands, staring hatred at me as he screamed a guttural curse that I couldn’t make out. Instead of meeting the attack or even attempting to parry, I dropped into a slide on the muddy ground and slid under his arm, twisting into a crouch as I went past him. I brought my sword up and slashed through the triceps of his sword arm.
Menar howled in pain, but kept a grip on his sword. He fell to the ground in a slide as he tried to stop his charge and landed on his ass. It was nice to know that I wasn’t the only one who ever did that. At the time, though, I didn’t even think about it. I just thought about wanting Menar dead. I wasn’t going to allow this man to hurt me or my friends for such a stupid reason anymore. I may have had trouble justifying my killing of Menar’s lackey, but in my heart, I knew that Menar needed to be killed. He deserved it. If he continued living, he would keep coming after me. Raijom would use him and the eldrhims against me over and over until I was dead, even if that involved destroying everything that I cared about. One of us had to die to end that cycle.
I sprang to my feet. After regaining my traction on the wet ground, I charged after the downed man. I thrust my sword downward to stab into his chest to end the fight, but Menar found the strength to deflect my attack with a bracer and roll away from me. He rose to his feet and resumed his attack with much more agility than I thought possible for someone draining so much blood from an arm that had been split open.
Time blurred as our swords repeatedly clashed in a shower of sparks. We were both fully invested in the fight, raining blow after blow on the other, taking small wounds as we did. His sword created a small gash along my forearm. Mine pierced his leather armor, stabbing shallowly into his stomach. Several more small wounds were inflicted on each of us, but we both fought on, ignoring the pain.
The rain had slowed at some point, but water droplets still trickled down on us from the leaves above. We both fought for purchase on the slippery ground. The fight seemed unending.
Finally, we both broke away from our assaults, dropping into defensive stances. My lungs burned as I desperately gulped in all the air I could as I stared him down. My mouth and throat burned from thirst. Every one of my muscles felt like iron weights, threatening to pull me down. Sweat trickled into my wounds, burning like flames.
Menar seemed just as out of breath, drawing in breaths through his mouth since his nose was a ruined mess. Blood poured from his nose and also down his right arm. The rain diluted it to a light pink that ran down his skin. As he stood there staring me down, I could tell that his skin was ashen. Maybe
if I could just stay alive long enough, he would bleed out. Given how evenly matched we appeared to be, that was starting to look like the only way to win.
But then, Menar did something I didn’t expect. With a bloody-toothed grin, he drew the sword at his hip with his left hand while sheathing the glowing sword into the sheath at his back with his right. The world became darkness. The pale moonlight didn’t help as my eyes frantically darted around, not adjusting well from the sudden plunge into blackness.
My breathing sped even more to the point of thinking I might hyperventilate. I stood as still as I possibly could, trying not to make a sound so I could hear what Menar was doing. I could hear him slowly stepping in a half-circle around me, his breathing as ragged as mine. Neither of us had any way to hide our breathing in our weary condition.
A simple grunt and a stomping foot drop were the only warnings I had of Menar’s sudden lunge at me. Wondering if he could see any better than me, I jumped to the side hoping that he would run right by me. To my disappointment, he had had his arm stretched out and it caught my neck, sending me crashing to the ground.
I drew in a ragged breath, thankfully able to do so. Menar hadn’t crushed my windpipe, though the pain could have fooled me to believe otherwise. I attempted to jump up, but a large foot came crashing down onto my right arm and I could feel a bone in my forearm snap. My sword dropped from my fingers as I screamed what little air was in my lungs out into the night.
Golden orange light slowly fell over me like a sunrise as Menar slowly drew the sword from his back. He kicked my sword away and brought his foot up onto my chest to hold me down. He brought his two swords into an “X” and lowered the open end between them down to my neck. One quick movement on Menar’s part would test my ability to live without a head. I didn’t want to know how well I’d do with that test.
“Why?” I asked through a jaw clenched in pain, my teeth grinding to the point that I thought they might chip.
