Tale of Four

Hyman saw out of the corner of his eye. On the right, his forces had managed to break through, pushing the Desert back. Although he wanted to cheer the victory, it was short-lived when the right flank was forced to come to a stop, his men crying out in panic, the words ’dead’ and ’fallen’ echoing across the field. Adding to the injury of one of his commanders dying, a massive force slammed into the right side of his army, making them shake. They held firm for a while, but Hyman knew it was getting dangerous.

Tilting his head to the side, he saw the thin blade cut across and realised he had to pay attention. Even if he was using his instincts to fight over his eyes, it was still dangerous to let his mind wander. Hyman slammed his arm down on the sword, knocking it into the ground, and nearly fell forward with it. Everything in his body hurt. His muscles tore and spasmed, begging to finally be allowed to rest. His head felt as if an ice pick was stabbed through it, having been pushed to its limit after experiencing the feeling of death so many times. Each breath was like breathing in hundreds of shards of glass.

Through it all, his hold on Realm Splitter was firm. Watching Aslam, the unbeatable speed he could hardly keep up with slowed. But through it, his breathing was fine. Hyman tried to understand how his breathing looked fine the entire fight when Aslam had slowed down, and finally, he understood.

’Air. He’s forcefully pushing air into his lungs with that power in his blood. He must breathe, but he can do it far more easily than I.’ Hyman bared his teeth, a bloody grin that was monstrous. Next, he chuckled, blocking another strike aimed for the gap under his armpit. In a battle of attrition he was sure to have won, his body had been trained to withstand damage. He had built his cardio so he could fight from the start of a battle till the end. But in front of Aslam, it was meaningless. One good strike was all it would take to kill Aslam; he knew it, but the man moved too quickly to be caught. When he couldn’t dodge, he was surprisingly strong, able to take a blow with his iron shield and stand firm.

Hyman laughed, bellowed, a tired laugh, but one full of joy. Around him, his men, tired and exhausted, saw it and felt a wave of energy seeing their lord still able to laugh, still fighting to win the battle. With a low cheer, they pushed the desert back slightly, gaining a small amount of ground. Many men had broken already, many fleeing into the desert without a destination in mind, just so they could escape, but enough remained behind, choosing death over cowardice.

Hyman watched Aslam and knew it was a losing battle. He was getting slower, his body unable to move as quickly as his instincts told him to. Winning wasn’t possible with how he was going so far. Blocking a flurry of strikes, Hyman refused to budge and step back, making sure to catch every attack Aslam threw, even if it meant more damage across his armour and body. He needed to bait Aslam in. His opponent was a man who watched everything; he could see openings and bluffs at a moment’s notice, who was quick enough to pull back an attack when the opening was revealed to be a bluff.

Hyman’s smile grew wider than it had at any point in the battle. If Aslam were to see through a fake opening, it would fail. Instead, he would create the conditions where it was real but chosen by him. Each time his instincts flared from Aslam’s attacks, he sectioned them: what screamed of certain death, what screamed that he would be a cripple, what would be a major wound, and what was a light cut to him. All of it was different, and Hyman got used to what was under the fury of attacks until he felt the hairs on his body dance.

An attack that screamed of major danger, an attack aimed for his stomach that would pierce through. Hyman laughed and moved slower than he had been. The thin blade, sharper than any knife on the planet, pierced through the plated metal, through the chainmail, deep into his stomach. Hyman coughed up blood, but grinned and let go of Relam Splitter. Gabbing Aslam’s sword hand, he stared deep into the Lord’s eyes and chuckled as his other hand reached behind his back, grabbing the ornate knife he had won from Roderick.

Looking at Aslam, the fear and dread he expected at having been tricked weren’t there; instead, a sly grin finally revealed emotion on his cold face. Across his body, the hairs danced with ferocity he hadn’t felt the entire fight. His brain screamed at him to turn, run, and never look back. His eyes shook without him wishing to. The most overwhelming feeling of death washed over him, and for the first time in the battle, Hyman felt goosebumps spread across his body as a cold chill hit him.

Hyman didn’t hesitate, pulling the dagger out; he felt something enter his stomach through the hole in his stomach. Hyman knew what it was, having felt it many times when wind hit an open wound. ’He’s forcing air into my body!’

Hyman’s large hand came from the side. Not taking any risks, Hyman let go of Aslam’s hand and grabbed his hair, holding it so he couldn’t use his power to quickly move it out of the way. As if realising death was inevitable, Aslam’s eyes turned murderous. From his lips, Hyman spat out blood as his nose became a waterfall. A pain, like none he had ever felt, formed in his stomach. A popping sound erupted next, as one of his organs blew up. Hyman roared through his laughter, the pain mixing with the ecstasy of the thrill, the feeling of death so certain, merging with the brilliance of his opponent.

His blade fell quickly, never losing its strength. Hyman couldn’t be sure if it was his willpower forcing the attack to strike true or the power in his blood that carried it, but he didn’t care, rather feeling the true cause. On his arm, he felt the soft touch of a woman pushing his arm. The pain vanished under her touch, and staring into Aslam’s eyes, he held his head firm and watched as his knife sank into the Lord of the Deserts’ neck. Like a snake that left its poison behind after dying, in his last vestiges of consciousness, the power of wind charged through Hyman’s stomach, rushing through the wound, running around his organs and expanding in whatever way it could.

Hyman fell forward, struggling to keep himself on his feet, but rested his forehead against Aslam’s, still holding him, pushing the knife. The pain came back, worse than ever. Worse than any poison, worse than any injury. He stood for a brief moment, feeling like his organs had been torn out. Blood poured from his mouth and nose, and his grip on Aslam loosened, letting the man fall.

A cheer echoed throughout the valley line as the Desert warriors crumbled, seeing their leader dead. But it was short-lived.

’Rest.’

A sweet voice more real than any around him whispered in his mind as the loving hug from behind wrapped around him once more, and Hyman fell forward, atop Aslam’s body.

----

Amru saw the line shattering for both sides. Seeing his men trying to flee, he already knew what had happened. Gripping the reins hard, he clenched his teeth, nearly giving himself over to the anger and sadness that washed over his body, but stopped himself, remembering who his father was and what he would have done in his situation.

Lifting his hands, he gathered the power of the wind in them and closed his eyes. Atop his horse, he could see everything. He wished he were at the front with his father. He wished he could have seen his battle. He wished he could have helped him so that he would still be alive, but it was all pointless to say that now. His father was dead, and with him the desert was breaking.

He wasn’t Amru Carter anymore, son and heir of the Desert. He was Lord Carter, ruler of the Desert, inheritor to the One Eye Traveller’s will, chosen to lead the clans of the Desert. ”MEN!” Screaming, his voice was carried by the wind; he sent flying across the lines. Grabbing the banner of the Carter family, he held it high and charged forward, followed by his personal guard.

The Banner of the red Shepard flew high. Amru cleared the dust around it with the power of wind so all could see it. ”HOUSE CARTER LIVES! MY FATHER IS DEAD, BUT HIS WILL, HIS SPIRIT, HIS MISSION LIVES WITH ME!” Every cry spread into each man’s ear. Those who fled, those who held, everyone equally heard it, and all turned to see the banner of the red shepherd. ”DO NOT FALTER! DO NOT FEAR!” Seeing the valley men retreating, Amru knew another truth of what happened: ”THE ANIMAL OF THE VALLEY IS DEAD! LORD ALKARIS IS DEAD! SLAIN BY MY FATHER’S HAND!”

His wind carried the words along the Valley forces, those who hadn’t heard the news, shaken by it. ”NO RETREAT! CHASE THEM! CHASE THEM BACK HOME! CHASE THEM SO THEY NEVER WISH TO FACE THE FURY OF THE DESERT AGAIN! BURN THIS MEMORY INTO THEIR MINDS! LET THEM REMEMBER HOW THE SHEPARD SLEW THE GOAT!”

Amur charged forward, taking to the front, holding the banner high. His words had the effect he wanted. The breaking of the Desert forces stopped, and slowly, they turned back to the Valley forces. Those with power to command tried to organise the valley retreat, but it became a mad stampede as men ran, forgetting the injured and friends alike, trying to live. Some chose Death over survival. Screams of ’DEATH OVER GLORY’ sang out from those choosing to die, but it was equally unimportant to Amru, who didn’t stop, pushing his horse to its limits, holding the banner high to keep his men focused on the mission.