by T. S. Church
Sulla looked back at his army. Dozens were running now, stripping their armour and discarding their weapons as they fled. It was turning into a rout.
“It is lost to us, Sulla,” one of his bodyguards said, using his name as if he were a common soldier. “Kara-Meir has defeated us!”
He held his anger. He knew no one could reverse the outcome of the battle now. It was better to live than to die.
“Give the order to retreat” he said. After a moment’s hesitation, a messenger left to convey the instruction.
Sulla closed his eyes in anger. He knew the Kinshra ways—as the commander who had planned and executed what had resulted in their greatest defeat for decades, he would be vulnerable to those who sought to remove him. And he knew such an end would not be quick.
He needed a victory.
Theodore rode east toward Kara’s banner. He knew she had deliberately led her soldiers into battle against the largest part of the Kinshra army, to personally slay as many of the enemy as she could.
The squire had ridden for only a minute when he heard the challenge. He pulled his mare up short and looked back to where a Kinshra horseman levelled a bloodied sword at him. Theodore raised his own sword and bowed his head in acknowledgement.
Both horses charged.
Both men yelled.
Theodore had practised for years in the lists of the knights, and he was regarded as one of the finest warriors of his group. But his enemy was a Kinshra officer with years of experience behind him.
As they closed, the squire leaned forward to extend his reach, intending to run his sword through his enemy’s throat. Yet somehow the Kinshra officer parried his blade and delivered a stroke of his own, striking Theodore’s breastplate and knocking him from the saddle. He landed painfully.
Swiftly the squire stood, his breathing tortuous. The blade hadn’t penetrated his armour, but the fall had winded him.
The Kinshra warrior turned his horse slowly, taunting him. The man sheathed his blade and pulled from his belt a morning star. He swung the weapon in slow circles, which became faster as the iron ball pulled at the chain. With another cry, he charged.
Theodore ducked, raising his sword above him at the last moment. He felt the chain grapple his blade and rip it from his hand as the horse rode by, leaving him unarmed.
The Kinshra warrior turned again, swinging his weapon in anticipation. He hurled Theodore’s sword into the earth in contempt.
“Your life is mine to take” the black-armoured warrior said, goading his horse onward.
Theodore jumped to one side as the iron ball swung toward him, missing him by inches. But the Kinshra officer was uncannily calm. He did not bother to turn his horse for another charge.
Down the morning star came again, slamming into Theodore’s back, and knocking him to the ground with a cry. He tasted blood in his mouth.
He knew he did not have the strength to continue. Too weak to move, he could only await the end as he heard his enemy swing the morning star again, leaning down to ensure he had enough reach to deliver a killing blow.
Theodore closed his eyes in prayer, grimly accepting his death.
SEVENTY-FOUR
Castimir saw Theodore collapse under the impact of the morning star. He saw the Kinshra officer lean down and prepare for the killing blow.
He advanced hurling one ball of fire after another to buy his friend a few more seconds.
The Kinshra officer cantered aside quickly, avoiding his magic. Then, faster than Castimir had expected, he galloped forward, swinging his morning star.
Castimir had one chance. If he missed again...
The Kinshra officer was fifteen yards away when he cast his fire strike. The flame exploded in front of the horse, causing it to tumble and sending its rider flying with a yell.
Castimir rode closer as the man struggled to stand.
“This is for my friend!” he called as the tip of his fire staff connected with the runes in his hand. The fireball struck the officer’s breastplate and fire enveloped him. He screamed as his skin blistered underneath his armour. With one hand he tore at his helmet to prevent it from scalding him, whilst with the other he drew his sword.
Gods, the wizard thought, he continues to fight on even though he is suffering terribly.
Castimir cantered away, distancing himself from the screaming man. He had to finish it now, for his enemy would not stop. Coldly, the wizard once more ignited the runes in his hand with the tip of his staff. He gazed toward the flailing man calmly, making sure he could deliver a clean end. Then he hurled his second fire strike, straight into his enemy’s exposed face.
The force of the blow bent metal already softened by heat, tearing flesh and cracking bone. The Kinshra officer fell backward without a cry.
Castimir gazed at the body, feeling neither triumph nor shame. Then he rode toward Theodore, who was slowly staggering to his feet.
“Kara! I must find Kara,” the squire gasped.
“Then you must follow me, Theo” the wizard replied. “But Kara might not listen to anything you have to say, for she is enraged, cutting unarmed men down before her.”
“What I must say to her will curb her anger” Theodore said through teeth gritted against the pain. “Come, lead me to her.”
To Kara, it seemed as if this moment was everything she had lived for. Her life had been ruined by the Kinshra and she had vowed to destroy them. It was simple justice. As she exacted her terrible revenge, she imagined she could smell the burning smoke of her village and hear the cries of her neighbours.
She never hesitated, sundering their blades as if the Kinshra fought with mere toys. She tripped an enemy onto his back and dispatched him with a swift stab of her blade.
She had just beheaded a dying man, her eyes already looking to her next enemy, when a familiar voice carried through the red haze. Theodore.
“Kara! Enough of this” he said. “Our victory is complete. But a friend has fallen. Even now, in his last moments, he wishes to speak with you.”
Kara noticed how pale Theodore looked, and she knew instinctively that he had been injured. The squire saw her concern and waved his hand dismissively.
“It is Bhuler,” he explained. “I shall take you to him.”
Commander Blenheim looked to her in concern. It was she who had commanded them so far, inspiring them in a way he could never have done.
“Continue the fight, commander,” she instructed. “Push the Kinshra into the wall and crush them!” Then she climbed up behind Theodore, placing her arms loosely about his waist. Despite her delicacy, the squire grimaced from the pain of his injuries.
Gar’rth and Doric followed also, the dwarf leaping up onto Castimir’s horse while the werewolf ran behind.
“They are coming, old friend” Sir Vyvin’s words were faint and far away and Bhuler knew his end was imminent.
“Have I done ill, Sir Vyvin?” he asked with a painful sigh. “Have I condemned us all?”
“You commanded us as no other could have, my friend,” the knight said earnestly. “This is your day, a triumphant day for our order and for all who would call themselves free. Your sacrifice will never be forgotten.” Sir Vyvin held Bhuler’s hand and wept, his tears falling on his stained breastplate.
“Tell Sir Amik that I am sorry for what I have done.” the valet whispered.
But Sir Vyvin calmed him.
“Do not speak, Bhuler, Knight of Falador. Save your strength, for Kara is here.”
Kara dropped to the ground at a run, unclasping her helmet and discarding her sword and shield, the battle forgotten. She looked to Sir Vyvin first.
“It is Bhuler in Sir Amik’s armour” he explained. “The men do not yet know, although we can tell them now. You can open his visor if you wish, Kara-Meir.”
Kara did so, raising it as gently as possible. When she saw her friend’s pale face she sobbed.
“Do not cry, Kara,” Bhuler said, reaching up with one hand and wiping away her te
ars. “You have made us all so very proud, for you have saved us.”
“I cannot lose you too, Bhuler!” she said through gasping sobs. “Master Phyllis is gone, and if you go also I will not have anyone left.” Her face rested on his chest.
Bhuler breathed deeply.
“You are not alone, Kara. Falador owes everything to you. You have your friends—Theodore and Gar’rth, Doric and Castimir, and that crazy old alchemist...” Then his voice changed, and his eyes grew serious.
“You must promise me something, Kara.”
Kara nodded.
“You must promise to let go of your anger. You cannot be angry all your life. It will destroy you in the end. Promise me that, Kara, so I can die in peace.”
“It is not something I can promise!” She wept, for she did not want to disappoint the man who had offered her friendship when she had needed it most.
“Then you must learn to forgive. You must let go of your hate and accept your history. Promise me you will do it, Kara!”
Kara looked suddenly at the faces of her friends and she knew then what they had each seen in her on the battlefield—the hatred that had driven her to cut down any man who stood before her.
“Very well, Bhuler” she said, turning back to him. “I promise. I shall do it for your sake.”
And with her oath given, Bhuler died.
Sir Vyvin raised the broken banner and rammed it into the ground at Bhuler’s side. All about him knights and peons watched in reverence, for the fighting on the field was over and the few remaining Kinshra were fleeing.
“Here fell Bhuler, Knight of Falador, hero of the city” he said loudly enough that all could hear. “May his name be spoken with honour by all men!”
From the circle of onlookers, men beat their swords against their shields and shouted his name. But Kara hadn’t moved. Her head lay rested against the valet’s chest as if she expected him to wake.
Then from the city it came, rolling like a thunder clap. Another cry, a second name that the men and women of the city called out in celebration. It was the name of the one person who had saved them all, the name of the girl who had inspired them and who was touched by the gods.
“Kara-Meir! Kara-Meir!” the voices shouted, thousands strong.
The cry was echoed by the dwarf warriors who had followed her and by the Imperial Guard who had ridden into battle at her side. It was her name they cried, for she was the saviour of Asgarnia and they owed everything to her.
“Kara-Meir!” the cry continued, echoing across the plain.
As Kara heard it, she stood, not knowing what to do.
Theodore picked up her sword and presented it to her.
“They honour you, Kara.”
But Kara-Meir said nothing.
She climbed onto the nearest horse and raised her sword in salute, noting how the citizens from the wall responded to her with another shout.
“What are you doing, Kara?” Theodore asked nervously.
“Pass me my helmet and my shield, Theodore. I am going to find the one man who started all this bloodshed. I am going to make sure he doesn’t do it again.”
Theodore did as she asked and then clambered awkwardly atop his own mare. Castimir exchanged a worried look with the squire as Gar’rth and Doric mounted their horses behind the two friends.
“I am going after Sulla” Kara said, goading her horse to the northeast.
SEVENTY-FIVE
Despite the distance, Sulla heard the cries from the wall as the citizens of Falador taunted him with the name of the girl who had haunted his nightmares
Kara-Meir!
The shouting drew the attention of the fleeing army as it marched north. They turned their heads south with a nervousness that Sulla knew marked them as broken men.
But as he looked over his defeated army, he noticed thirty horsemen riding toward him, asking questions as they neared. Men answered with raised arms, pointing to his location.
“They are asking directions” one of his officers muttered. “What do they want, Sulla?” The man spoke without respect.
As they rode closer, Sulla saw Kara-Meir at their head. He knew exactly what they were searching for.
“They’ve come for me,” he said.
The Kinshra soldiers had no will left to fight and none dared to prevent Kara from galloping past them. Their cowardice angered him, and yet he felt suddenly afraid of her.
Who are you Kara-Meir? he wondered to himself, noting how his men, his very bodyguard, had edged their horses away from him. Why do you pursue me so? No one would help him in this fight.
The woman finally halted before him, raising her visor as she pulled on the reins of her steed.
“Your men are free to go, Sulla, as long as they promise never to enter Asgarnia again. Also, they are to harm no person in their retreat.” As she spoke, she drew her sword slowly.
Sulla didn’t move. “That is very generous of you, Kara-Meir,” he said, his voice sarcastic despite the fear that clawed at him. “And what is to become of me?”
“We have a history, Sulla, you and I. Today that history shall end.” Kara dismounted, her sword levelled in his direction.
“You are challenging me? In front of my army?” He laughed incredulously, attempting to appear brave. But he knew from the worried looks of his men that his bravado had failed.
They doubt me! My own men doubt me!
“Your army is free to go provided they abide by the rules I have set them,” she replied. “You, however, are not.”
Sulla looked at his men and noted how none of them would return his gaze. Then he turned back to face his challenger.
“Very well, Kara-Meir. I shall fight you.” With a sudden yell, he kicked his spurs into his horse’s flank, attempting to run her down before she had time to dodge.
But she jumped aside, her sword flashing as she drew it across the animal’s flank. She severed the leather straps that held Sulla’s saddle in place, tipping him off the horse’s back and onto the soft grass.
“You’re pathetic,” Kara spat, marching around him. “To think anyone ever feared you...”
Sulla laughed again as he stood.
“Sir Amik did” he replied defiantly. “When I killed him.”
“I have news for you, Sulla—Sir Amik is not dead. The man you killed was not even a knight! He was Sir Amik’s valet” As she spoke, she remembered what Bhuler had made her promise.
After Sulla, Bhuler, she thought. That is my promise to you. Before there could be forgiveness, she had to fulfil a pledge she had made to herself and her family years ago, on an island in a frozen lake.
Sulla shouted, his sword cutting down with a speed that caught Kara by surprise. Her shield parried the blade, but her arm was jarred painfully by the force of the blow. She backed away. He was a better fighter than she had imagined, moving quicker than she would have thought possible in his black armour. She could not afford to relax her guard even for a second.
“I will kill you. Here, today, this is where you die,” he growled behind his visor, his sword swinging forward.
Instinctively, Kara swung her shield to intercept his blow, but as she did so she knew she had made a mistake. As she raised her shield her view was obscured and Sulla sidestepped, moving behind her and drawing a dagger from his belt.
He drew his arm toward her throat. But at the same time she kicked at him with her boot, using his body to push herself away, falling forward as she did so, losing her balance.
Sulla laughed. She had barely escaped him and her desperate attempt had made her look weak.
“Look at her run!” he shouted to his men, and some of the Kinshra started to smile. Slowly, they were getting their confidence back.
“Get up, Kara!” Castimir shouted. He had his hand on Gar’rth’s shoulder to stop him interfering. If he did then the Kinshra would turn on them, and they were still outnumbered. This was a fight between their chosen champions, representatives of their gods on earth. No one dared i
nterfere.
As Kara stood, a pain tore at her calf and her leg faltered. She staggered suddenly, hearing Gar’rth’s cry of warning too late to avoid Sulla’s thrown knife. In agony, her leg gave way and she fell to one knee.
She opened her visor to gasp for air as the Kinshra lord strode forward, swatting aside her sword with his own and stepping in close to her. With a vicious snarl he punched her once, twice, then a third time, each blow directed into her unprotected face.
Kara fell to the earth.
Sulla kicked her in the ribs as he stepped over her with total disdain.
“This is your captain?” he said loudly, stepping directly in front of Theodore. “This is the one who was supposed to defend you? She is just a girl! She is no warrior.”
The Kinshra lord turned to look down at her.
“She is not without her charms, however. No wonder Sir Amik kept her at the castle.” He turned to his men, raising his arms to encourage their laughter.
Kara wiped the blood from her face as she stood again, the knife still lodged in her leg.
Sulla spun and rushed toward her. His sword hissed through the air, aimed for her neck. But at the last moment came the sound of steel shattering on adamant as Kara parried his blow.
“I have killed many of your men today, Sulla,” she said, her voice unnaturally calm. “You will be no different.”
Sulla leapt back, out of Kara’s reach, as she moved to the offensive. One of the Kinshra officers hurled his sword into the circle of men and Sulla seized it without ever taking his eye off her.
“I shall break any weapon you care to wield, Sulla.” She lunged at him, eager to shatter his second weapon and to beat down his spirit.
Kara pressed him, hoping that his heavier armour would tire him out. She did not merely wish to kill Sulla—she wanted to destroy him in front of his men, to ensure that from that day forth, whenever his name was spoken it was spoken with contempt.
Then she saw her opening. Sulla’s defence was repetitive,predictable, his sword parrying hers at an eccentric angle to prevent it from breaking. He did it again and again, and instead of backing away he stood his ground.
