Tyrant - One

Word Count: 7565

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Wesley stamped his feet to get the blood flowing again. It was cold out this night, and he still had four more hours before he could get back into the warmth of the guard house. He took a few steps out of the shelter to have a look over the battlements and out into the fields beyond. Not that he could see much at night with the rain, but they were required to look anyway. He quickly shuffled back into the shelter where he and two other guards waited. They had lit a fire to provide some warmth, but it wasn’t enough to drive away the chill that wet clothes caused.

They were taking it in turns to take a look into the fields, no one wanting to spend too long out away from their meager shelter. But the officers had been quite strict of late, even with the rain. Only two nights ago another soldier had received twenty lashes for shirking his duties. It had set the others straight though, and with the constant rain and the freezing temperatures there had been no more mistakes.

The reason for this was the news that had come through a week earlier. A horse had been seen galloping towards the gates. A few of the guards had moved towards it to block its way and as it drew near it had stopped. The horse was riderless, and the guards were taking it in when they noticed that it was a messenger’s horse, with their Lords insignia inscribed into the saddle. This had prompted a quick investigation by the officers, and a number of soldiers were sent from the city to search for the rider.

Wesley clapped his hands together. His breath was misting in front of him and the fire really did nothing to stop the chill going right down to the bones. One of the other soldiers, Trevor, was just ducking out of the shelter to take his turn at watching the field. It wouldn’t be too long before all three could head back to the guard house and have a quick drink of whiskey to warm the bones. Even the water in their flasks was turning to ice, and they had to sit them near the fire so they could drink. Trevor returned and shook his head, muttering that he had seen nothing. This was to be expected.

The guards that had been sent out searching for the rider had returned that evening empty handed. This wasn’t surprising, as they weren’t really sure from which way the messenger had travelled. And as they were all sitting around the fire in the guard house, cleaning their equipment, and having a yarn, the officers had entered with their reports about the messenger.

It seemed that a message had been found in the saddle bags, so that even though the rider was nowhere to be found the message still got through. It was the report from first battalion. It seemed they found the remnants of the second battalion who had been stationed near the mountains. The army which had attacked the second battalion was nowhere to be found but had left tracks which the first was now pursuing. The survivors of the second were being sent back to the city to recover.

The soldiers in the guard house all knew this meant one thing. That the rebel army had started to move. Everyone knew where their final destination would be. This very city, where their great Lord resided. As such the generals had ordered that the third battalion be brought back from their outpost to reinforce the fourth battalion who were stationed in the city currently. It was also stated that watches would be doubled and everyone was to be in a state of readiness should the enemy force arrive.

The third soldier was now going to take his turn at having a look. Wesley didn’t know his name. He was from the third battalion, whilst Wesley and Trevor were from the fourth. The battalions didn’t really get along with each other, and they only worked together out of necessity. Each of the generals had their own way of handling their battalions, and the officers below them handled their regiments separately again. So this meant that some regiments were better equipped than others, and some got to travel to a better place.

The men of the third and fourth hadn’t been bloodied in a war yet. But the men of the third had at least had some fighting. They had previously been stationed at an outpost along the coast where they sometimes commandeered merchant vessels to hunt down the pirates that harassed the trading lines. But fighting from ship to ship wasn’t the same as fighting from the top of a wall. And many of them were upset with their command for being reassigned from the temperate coastal weather to the cold and wet weather of the capital city. And this ended with them taking their anger out on the fourth battalion. The officers had already been required to break up several brawls between the two battalions.

Wesley peered through the gloom down the battlements to where others were huddling within their own shelters. He could see them slightly by the light of their fires. They were taking it in turns too. When he looked down the other way he saw them all suddenly snap to attention, and a fourth figure appeared around the fire. The officers were doing their rounds, and would be here soon, and it was nearly his turn to have a look out into the field.

A week ago the remnants of the second had arrived, less than twenty men. The officers asked them about the messenger, discovering that yes, a rider had been sent. This worried the officers, as there had also been no more word from the first battalion. Then it was also discovered that over sixty men had left to seek shelter at the city, but less than twenty had made it. The watches continued at double pace, and riders were sent out to organize for the evacuation of nearby towns and farming villages.

The third had arrived the next day, coming from the west, and having no problems. It seemed that all their problems were going to be coming from the east. The watches on the east wall were increased. The third were given one of the barracks and the watches were divided between both battalions.

The day after the third arrived the refugees started to flood in. All the towns and villages in the area had packed what belongings they could and headed for the capital. The guards watching the gate needed to be increased, so that there were no problems with people making their way inside. The generals had decided to give the remaining barracks to the refugees, but soon this was full, and the tide kept coming. The streets were lined with people trying to find a place to stay. And then the rain had started.

Wesley’s ears caught the distinct footsteps of the officer coming towards them. It was his turn to take a look over the field, but he waited till the officer was there. He entered the shelter, and almost in perfect unison the three of them covered their hearts with their fists, giving a small clank from their armour. The officer nodded to them in greeting and said something to the soldier from the third. The officer must have been from the third as well, because they were talking like friends.

He took this time to duck out into the rain and look across the field. His eyes scanned the surroundings. There were trees out there, somewhere in the rain. A little from the city was a forest. It had been cleared though, originally for strategic purposes, but later the area turned into crops. He turned to go back into the shelter when he thought he saw something. He faced the forest and crops again. He leant onto the crenellations to get a better look forwards, wiping his gloved hand over his forehead to clear the water from his eyes.

There it was again. A brief flicker. No more than that. A flicker of light in the distance. But a flicker of light where there should be none. The refugees had stopped coming only days before. And no one knew anything about what had happened to the first battalion. This could only mean one thing, if his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him from the cold.

Moving quickly he ducked back into the shelter. “Captain, sir, I think I see something in the fields.”

The captain stopped his conversation and moved over to Wesley and past him into the rain. Wesley went with him and they both peered over the wall.

“Show me what you saw soldier, and be quick, it’s freezing out,” the captain’s tone was like ice to Wesley, being from different battalions.

Wesley scanned the fields again and thrust his arm forwards to point at the spot where he had seen the flicker. “Out there, a light, can you see it sir?”

“I am not blind,” the captain snapped, “but that could be anyth…” The words froze in the captain’s mouth as more of the lights started to appear at the edge of their vision. They spread out across the fields.

“We must send word to the Generals. This must be the rebel army,” the captain seemed to be in a panic. This obviously wasn’t what he was expecting when he did his rounds this night.

Wesley saluted again and made a dash for the nearest stairs. He needed to get down to the guard house so that messengers could be sent to generals and to the guard parties. All thought of the cold and wet stopped as the adrenalin started to flow. He could see more guards staring out at the field now. This was what they had been watching for. The rebel army was now at the capital city. They were under siege.

And at that point the rain stopped.

-----

Ulfgar surveyed the fields stretching out before him. The night was thick around him, and the ground was slick with rain. He was soaked to the bones as well, but it didn’t stop him going about what he needed to do. He waved his arm forward and more of his soldiers moved out of the forest and into the fields. They started setting up camp with precision from years of training. Latrine trenches were dug, tents were erected, horses picketed and a small wall was constructed from logs around three sides of the encampment.

He walked towards the centre of the camp where his command tent was being erected, torches placed outside so he could see his way in the night. As he reached the entrance he looked left and right along the tree line.

Soldiers were flooding out of it and setting up encampments all along the forest edge. With as much thought to watching the enemy on the walls of the city, as the camp next to them. From necessity they had come together, and they would fight side by side until such a time came as their reason for coming together was defeated. It didn’t make much sense to Ulfgar. He had nothing against these other armies. But they seemed to have something against him.

He entered his tent mulling over the events that had led them all to this point. He dragged the great bear cloak he wore from his shoulders and dropped it on the floor. Water began to pool around it. Someone would be here soon to take it, and dry it for him. And after marching through this rain for so long it would take some time to dry. At least the rain had stopped, and didn’t look like starting again any time soon. This bode well for the coming battle.

He sat on one of the chairs that had been erected for him on the rug in the centre, and rested his check on his fist, leaning sideways in the chair. He wasn’t rich. Never had been, and never wanted to be. But he made sure he was well supplied. And that his men would never have need of anything else.

He had formed them a few years ago. Trackers and trappers from the mountains they were for the most part, with a few seasoned mercenaries thrown in for good measure. Nothing like the troops of the great Empire Ukaibe who they travelled with. Maybe that was why they were frowned upon by some, their lack of formal military training. The only ones that seemed at ease with them were the pirates of Admiral Solari. They seemed almost as uncomfortable holding a siege as the trackers did.

But they were solid men. Men who wouldn’t run from a fight, and looked after each other. That they were still alive was testament to that. They may now number just over a hundred, with several of those wounded, but the other armies hadn’t fared any better.

Ulfgar rose and walked to the plain table that was part of the sparse furnishings he owned. He grabbed the goblet of warm wine that was sitting there and sipped it slowly whilst tracing his finger over the map that had been provided.

There were six armies in total. Together they had maybe seven hundred men. Not a large number, especially for a siege, but it was all they had left. The armies had been drawn from far and wide. His own force was gathered from the northern mountains, where forests provided an abundance of wildlife whose hides were sought after by the city folk. He was the only one with any formal training amongst them, and had been first choice for command.

The other armies were varied.

There were the pirates commanded by Admiral Solari. A mixture of pirates, renegade navy, and merchant vessel guards. They had proven their worth on the open seas, but had been driven to ground. Now they used their seafaring knowledge to their advantage. Usually the first over the walls on a siege, and their fighting style was suited for very close quarters.

A man by the name of Amatesu led a band of strange warriors from the south. They were jungle folk of whom little was known. They had brought themselves into the rebel alliance as their rivers and jungles had started to be polluted. They had come forth wearing next to nothing. But that had soon changed once they moved into the more temperate climates and had to adjust to the dropping temperatures. They used a strange mix of weapons, blowguns and short bows, to weapons made from stone. They were very effective as scouts though, almost impossible to find when they didn’t want to be found.

Commander Kolyn had a small band of soldiers from his home country of Rivers, who had once inhabited the fertile plains crisscrossed with rivers. He had a large contingent of mounted troops, and a large number of archers. Their armour shone day and night as they polished it often. He had a dislike for the non-military armies to a point of open disgust. But he bottled up his rage well, and worked alongside them in their endeavours.

The fifth commander was called Tyran. He didn’t seem to have a title of any kind, but all his soldiers treated him as if he had noble blood. He had travelled from the great Empire Ukaibe in the east to fight alongside the rebels. His soldiers were the most disciplined of the rebel army; regiments taken straight from the royal army of Ukaibe. They marched in perfect unison, and fought together like a well oiled machine. Their dulled metal and dark blue was a stark contrast to the polished soldiers of Rivers. And Tyran himself was an even greater contrast; his armour died dark grey to make it blend with the shadows.

The last commander of the rebel armies was Grand Marshal West. He didn’t like his title being used, and got snappy if people started to use it around him. He was the greatest tactical mind currently alive though, so everyone forgave him if he got upset once in a while. He was called a deserter by some, a renegade. The men inside the city had posted wanted signs for him, offering large sums of gold for his location. But he had yet to be caught on the back foot.

His men were also renegades. Once proud to wear the colours of those currently lining the walls, they had instead walked away from the bloodshed and joined the rebels. And they trusted West completely, willing to follow him to the ends of the world to see his will done. For a man to hold such admiration and control over soldiers meant he was a great man.

But these last two weren’t with them currently. Oh, their armies were setting up camps just like the others. But Tyran and West were looking for a passage under the city walls and into the palace. Their tents were being set up to make it look like they were here when they weren’t though. It just meant that Ulfgar would have to meet with the other three in the morning to discuss what they were doing.

He cringed as he thought about how that meeting would go without West’s controlling hand. It would be a disaster, but needed to be done none the less. Ulfgar then finished the wine and lay down for a rest as the work continued on around him.

-----

Tyran’s foot slipped as he and West made their way through an abandoned mine. The rain had gotten into the tunnels and many of the passages were slick with water. His hand fell flat on the ground, the small sharp stone stabbing into it, as his reflexes saved him from landing arse first on the mine floor.

He dragged himself back up and cursed. West turned around to see what was happening and Tyran waved for him to continue on into the darkness. As West turned back he massaged his hand quickly before following after.

They had been travelling through this mine for a time now. They hadn’t seen the light of day recently and had lost track of all time. Not that they had seen the light of day with the rain about either, but being able to see the sky at all was more welcome than touching the ceiling a foot above your head.

The mine shafts weren’t the most spacious of places, and Tyran was just glad he wasn’t as tall as the pirate leader. Or he might have had trouble taking this path. And the two of them needed to tread this path for the greater good. They didn’t have too much time. On the second day of the assault on the city they needed to be in place, otherwise their fight would be for naught.

Not many people knew about this mine, being hidden in the forests, but even less knew that the mine came dangerously close to cities underbelly. And it was this knowledge they were hoping to exploit.

Finding the mine had been the most difficult part, but now they were in it and just needed to get to the right spot and wait.

“Do you think Kolyn will accept what the others have to say?” he threw his question forwards to back he was following.

The reply came back, “He will have to. If they don’t work together then they won’t be able to break the walls. They have no siege. So they need to work with what they have. Even so…” the words trailed off.

“At least the others have some brains about them. They don’t care who they work with, as long as the job gets done.”

They travelled on again in silence; West sometimes glancing around just to make sure that Tyran wasn’t falling behind.

After hours more of travel they came to a dead end.

“This is the spot. All we have to do now is wait. They should be in the second day by now. So as soon as we know for sure the fight is going on we will make our entrance.”

“Are you sure West? I mean, all these tunnels look the same, how can you know we came down the right one?”

“Because just before I defected I checked all these tunnels out to see where the breach would come from. Thankfully for us I didn’t have any time to implement my programs to fix the problem.”

The two then sat in silence, slowly chewing on some travel bread. Neither wishing to break the silence for fear of missing their clue that the battle was raging. Without being able to tell the time of day, they could never be sure. But arriving at the wrong moment would spell disaster.

-----

Wesley hunkered down behind one of the crenellations. An arrow bounced off the stone and landed at the bottom of the wall. He looked across at where his friend Trevor had been stationed, a hundred or so feet further along the wall.

As he watched, grappling hooks came sailing over the wall and gripped onto the stone. Some were quickly thrown back over until their officers made them stop. They then waited till some soldiers had started climbing before cutting the ropes. This continued for a few minutes, more arrows slicing the air above him, until he looked up and noticed something strange.

A line of black cloud quickly formed into a spiral. In a section of blue sky where there had been no clouds before. In fact, the whole sky was clear of clouds except where this spiral was. He leant around the crenellation slightly to get a look at what was going on below. An arrow skimmed past his face and he pulled back quickly, and then ducked out quickly for another look.

Directly below the spiral of black cloud was one of the rebel leaders. A pirate, whose raids along the coast had been crippling. The pirate was standing a little way from the wall, archers around him giving him covering fire. He started to bend his knees as if getting into a jumping position. The centre of the spiral of cloud started to dip down as if to touch the pirate. The land around him suddenly buckled and archers were thrown from their feet. The ground seemed to propel the pirate into the air and he almost seemed to fly as he leapt onto the wall.

He landed perfectly on the wall, one knee and a fist resting on the ground, as if he was kneeling before his king. That was, if he believed in the king.

The soldiers around where he landed were knocked from the wall leaving him in a clear space. Grappling hooks leapt the wall behind and gripped tight as his pirate crews started climbing up them to assist him.

The pirate lord stood slowly and drew out his cutlasses. The spiral of cloud stayed above him. Following his movements. Soldiers rushed at him, trying to force him from the walls, but the speed of his two swords saw more than a few of them plummet to their deaths. And before too long his pirate crew was atop the wall and fighting beside. He dropped back and slowly the cloud above him dispersed. Wesley could see him panting with exertion.

But this was too far away for Wesley to worry about. More soldiers were on their way to attempt to drive them back. A cry went up from near Wesley.

“They are coming for the gate!”

He raised himself over the wall and swung his bow quickly into position and fired. After he fired he watched as his arrow sunk into a wooden wall that was slowly but surely moving towards the gate. It didn’t seem like your regular ram. He couldn’t see any wheels below the wall, nor hundreds of feet. And out of bow range he noticed cavalry massing for a charge, as if they expected something to happen.
As suddenly as before clouds started appearing in the sky. This time, above the gates. He looked again; the wooden wall was still a bit away from the gates. He shouted to those waiting at the base of the walls.

“Gather what you can and block the gates! Bring the wagons across,” he gestured wildly at some empty wagons that were waiting to take the dead and injured away.
Once everyone had started to move, gathering different things to barricade the gate with, he started to gather some of his fellow soldiers and run down to stand behind the gate and await the arrival. Within moments wagons had been brought before the gates and twenty or so bowmen were standing behind the gates with bows drawn awaiting the cavalry charge that was sure to come when the gates were breached.

-----

Ulfgar walked casually behind the wooden wall that was being pushed towards the gates. A few arrows had pierced through it, but no one had really fired upon it. He was sure they were surprised. It didn’t exactly look like your standard breaching equipment. But then again, nothing had been standard about this war. Just before he had watched as Admiral Solari had leapt from the edge of bow range to suddenly be standing on the wall.

The sound of hooves drew his attention for a few moments as Commander Kolyn prepared his cavalry to charge into the breach he made.

The wall rolled on until they were under the shadow of the gates. He looked up at the gate, and then his eyes crept up higher until he saw the spiral of black cloud above him. He had been drawing on the power as he had walked. He wasn’t quite ready though, and would need a few more moments.

The soldiers that were with him tilted the wall upwards to protect them from anything being dropped on them. And then Ulfgar walked forwards to face the gate. He ran a hand through his bushy red beard as he considered what he was about to do. He dropped his heavy cloak onto the ground and kicked it a little out of the way.
He placed his feet shoulder width apart on the ground and bent his knees. Ulfgar put his left hand palm outwards onto the wood of the gate, getting a feel for it. Then he placed his right hand next to his left as a fist and focused. He felt the ground shift a little as he drew from the natural energy around him. A ripple went through the earth much as when a stone was dropped in a pond. The soldiers held the wall firm though; they didn’t want Ulfgar getting attacked now.

Ulfgar drew his right arm back. He knew that above him the centre of the cloud had started to come down towards him. It always happened like this, as if to signify what was happening.

His fist flashed forwards and he let out a mighty grunt.

When his fist struck the gate a ripple went through the gate, visible on both sides of it. Wesley watched in horror as the whole gate seemed to shake for a few moments before both the gate and the wagons before it suddenly exploded into the town. Splinters of wood the length of his arm were suddenly flying through the air. No one had any real time to react, most of them were caught in a shocked state as they watched the might of their empire buckle.

A piece of wood flew at Wesley and caught him in the shoulder, digging itself deep. The speed with which he was hit forced him to spin around and then he collapsed, the piece of wood protruding through his shoulder and out his back. He lay on the ground, another body fell on top of him, and his blood was pooling around him, mixed with that of the others.

His vision blurred as he started to drift into unconsciousness. The dust around the gate began to clear, and the last thing Wesley could see as he passed into the next world was a bear of a man standing in the gateway, clapping his hands together to dust them off, then slowly turning to walk to one side. After that it turned black.

Ulfgar moved off to the side and leaned against the wall. The use of so much energy made him feel depleted. A thunder started, he looked where he had come from and watched as the cavalry of Commander Kolyn thundered past his vision. His part was done now; the others just had to finish off their parts.

-----

The ground around West and Tyran thundered. Dust fell from the ceiling and small pieces of rock pummeled them.

“That must be what we were waiting for,” West spoke quietly to Tyran, as if afraid he might drop more of the ground on top of them. He glanced over at Tyran who was looking at the ceiling with his mouth slightly agape.

Tyran closed his mouth and gave a little swallow. “Ok then, we had better do our bit.” He drew out his longsword and moved back a little bit to give West room.
West faced the wall at the end of the tunnel and placed his hands palm down onto the surface, one atop the others. His eyes closed as he concentrated on what he was doing. Small ripples appeared in the surface of the rock, moving out from his hands. The ground started to rumble as ripples started to flow from his feet, less frequent but stronger than the ones from his hands.

As the rumbling began to grow in intensity West started to pull his hands apart, sliding them in opposite directions across the rock. More dust fell as the rock seemed to be pulled apart by his hands, creating a path into whatever lay beyond.
West continued to move his hands apart, his body trembling, until there was just enough room for Tyran to squeeze through. Then he slumped to one side, and rolled a bit to give Tyran more room. West was panting hard with the exertion and his hands were still trembling. But even so he slowly began to draw his own sword. It wouldn’t take him long to recover, but Tyran still needed to buy him a little time.
Tyran rushed through the gap that had just been created and was glad when his foot struck hewn stone on the other side of the cloud of dust. He moved forwards into the room with his sword held before him. But there was no one about. He listened for a moment but couldn’t hear any sounds. He called softly for West to come through.

West had regained much of his composure and was walking normally. But he was still having some difficulty holding his sword above the ground, and the tip of it dragged behind him. But this was what happened when one managed to draw so much energy from his surroundings. And what West had achieved wasn’t a simple parlour trick.

Tyran looked at where they were and was glad to see a plethora of large barrels, each easily the size of a man when it lay on its side. Most had corks lodged in them, but some had small wooden taps so that the wine could be taken from them.

“West, you’re brilliant. This is better than I had expected,” he whispered across at West.

“I was a little out in my calculations, but this may prove beneficial,” West walked forwards a bit, then waved his free hand at where some stairs rose to a door, “and that my friend, would be the way to the kitchen. And from there it’s through the dining hall and onto the throne room.”

West started to walk off towards the stairs, but Tyran quickly put himself first. He took the steps quickly, kicked open the door, and moved into the next room. It was indeed the kitchen. It seemed empty at first, but then he noticed half a dozen or so cooks hiding beneath tables, arms over their heads, not looking anywhere.

The shaking must have frightened them to no end, with the war raging outside as well. He was surprised they had decided to stay. But then, there wasn’t really anywhere to go. He ignored them though; they weren’t going to cause anyone any trouble. And he moved on.

The dining room was empty save for the table and chairs. They didn’t stay long and just rushed through to the next door.

They stopped before the next set of doors. Tyran leant against one side whilst West leant against the other. West raised his sword to signify that he was ready to go in. Tyran looked him over carefully though. It would be wise to go in when he still needed time to recover. But West seemed fine. So together they threw open the double doors to reveal what lay beyond.

The throne room was a large affair. A raised dais held the large throne, and a red and gold carpet led from the throne, down the stairs that rose towards it and along the floor until it came to the huge doors that granted access to the main courtyard.
The doors they came through were on the side walls, behind the throne. And two large flags blocked views from either side to the throne. So slowly the two of them made their way across the floor, swords drawn, till they could clearly see the figure seated in the throne.

“Finally…” the figure sighed a little, “I have been waiting for the two of you for some time now.” The figure stood slowly.

A sudden rage filled Tyran. All he could see was red. “I am going to kill you Zorq! For everything you have done!” He screamed at the figure and tried to rush him, but a hand from West dragged him back.

“Tyran, now is not the time to act on emotions. We need clear heads.”

Tyran’s rage began to subside.

“Come now gentlemen. You both know no one calls me Zorq anymore. Here they call me GOD!” A small rumble, the man known as Zorq’s arms went into the air, and suddenly light filled the throne room as torches were lit all around.

They could see him clearly now. He looked fairly normal to them. There was nothing distinguishing about him. Nothing that would mark him out in a crowd. Except of course for the crown atop his head, and the large crimson cloak he wore. A sword sat at his hip, and they could see a breastplate under the cloak.

“You are God to no man Zorq,” West kept his composure as he talked, and started to slowly make his way forwards, stopping short of the stairs, “what you have done makes you more a devil than a god. And we will see you die so that others may live.”

Tyran came up beside West. Both held their swords in front of them, ready to use them at a whim.

“Is that any way to treat your betters?” Zorq gave a little laugh. “First you tear a hole in the side of my palace. Then you come running in here and make accusations. And then you say you will kill me? Either you are fools, or you under estimate me.”

Zorq unclipped a buckle on the cloak and twisted it to be around in front of him. He folded it and placed it on the seat of the throne. He then removed the crown and placed that atop the cloak.

“If it’s a fight you want,” he drew the sword at his side, “then allow me to accommodate you!”

One of Zorq’s arms flung forwards with speed. Ripples of power shot along the stairs. Then something lifted West from the ground and took him high into the room and threw him against the wall. Like a rag doll West fell from the ceiling and crashed onto the polished floor.

Tyran watched in horror as blood began to pool around West’s head. His friend didn’t move. He turned back to face Zorq in time to see his second arm flung forwards.

But Tyran reacted quickly enough and his sword sliced down with power and the energy went by on either side of him.

“That is enough Sir Tyran. I do not wish to destroy my fair palace.”

Tyran glanced around. Bits of stone around himself and Zorq had been torn from the ground as the energy had flowed through them. And behind him one of the doors had been blown from it’s hinges as the energy had struck it.

“Lets us fight like gentlemen. Man to GOD!”

With this last comment Zorq leapt from the stairs at where Tyran was standing. He came towards Tyran with his sword held above his in two hands. But Tyran’s sword came up quickly to block the blow. The force sent waves through Tyran’s arms, and Zorq was now standing right before him. Quickly he rolled to one side as another swing crashed into the ground where he had been moments before.

Tyran stood. There was a few yards between them now, and they were both on even ground. Neither wanted to make a move now that no one held an advantage. As such they just stood facing each other in the light of the torches.

With adrenalin pumping through his veins Tyran couldn’t hold himself back for long and made the first move. He rushed forwards, his sword flashing from either side. Zorq’s sword rose to block every attack Tyran made. And as quickly as he was on the attack, suddenly the table had been turned and Tyran was trying to bring his sword around to block.

They pushed back and forth across the floor for a few moments, trading attack a few times, before Tyran found himself being forced towards the ground. His was forced onto his knees, and his sword knocked from his grasp. He wasn’t inexperienced, but the fight had taken its toll on him.

Zorq raised his sword above his head in both arms to make the killing blow. But as the sword came down Tyran brought his arms up in a rush of energy.

Zorq forced what energy he could into the blade, but it was deflected slightly and struck Tyran in the shoulder between the plates of his armour. It drove deep and cut the muscle to the bone before also breaking his collarbone. The energy from Tyran continued up though, and struck Zorq fully in the chest. He was flung into the air, losing his grip on his sword. He landed roughly, the wind knocked from him, his head striking the hard floor.

Tyran fell forwards, and then brought his left arm up to drag the sword from his right shoulder. He stood slowly, his right arm hanging limply by his side, and his left gripping Zorq’s blade. He walked purposefully over to where Zorq lay in a heap. Each step sending waves of pain through his shoulder. He came up behind Zorq and pushed him onto his back with his foot.

Zorq’s breath was coming raggedly. He must have ribs broken. Tyran placed one of his booted feet on the side of Zorq’s face and pushed down with as much pressure as he could. Zorq’s eyes flew open with the new pain, but he could do nothing to move, his muscles did not want to react. Tyran brought Zorq’s own sword about and placed the point on Zorq’s throat.

Zorq’s eyes suddenly gleamed. And he whispered to Tyran his last words through his squashed face.

“One of you will try and become like me. I know they will...” Zorq’s words were cut off as Tyran leant on the sword and drove it through Zorq’s neck.

Tyran sighed with relief as the life blood flowed from Zorq’s neck and his eyes glazed over with the familiar death glare. He released the sword he was holding and let it fall to the ground, tearing up Zorq’s neck some more.

He turned to where West lay on the ground and shuffled over to him. Halfway there he collapsed from the pain and had to drag himself the rest of the way. But he finally got there. He felt West’s neck for a pulse and gave a sigh of relief as he found one. West was still alive.

He leant his back against the wall and dragged West’s head onto his lap. At that moment a number of the soldiers under the command of Amatesu entered and quickly secured the palace. Amatesu himself followed shortly behind and noticed the two men leaning against the wall in obvious pain.

He ordered a stretcher be brought so they could be taken back to their tents. Tyran didn’t see any of the trip back, because as soon as he was on the stretcher he collapsed into unconsciousness, letting the waves of black overtake him.

-----

Commander Kolyn thundered through the gates of the city along with his remaining cavalry. The area beyond the gates was a mess, bodies littering the ground, and rubble piled here and there. The horses slowed as some of them had difficulty with their footing. A few arrows struck armour as the men on the walls turned to fire back at the destroyed gates. A stray arrow struck the horse of the rider in front of Kolyn and it reared, tossing its rider to the ground. Kolyn stayed focused though, and guided his horse to the safety of the street beyond.

Once his troops began gathering in the wide boulevard that led from the gates to the palace they started to head off at a trot. As they made towards the palace they ignored the huddled masses that looked at them through windows and peered around corners.

Amatesu moved purposefully towards the gate. He and his troops hadn’t taken part yet, leaving the majority of the fighting to the more disciplined troops, who were used to attacking large fortresses. But as the horsemen cleared the gate he and his troops made their way into the city.

They crept cautiously, staying well back from the horse riders. Moving in between piles of rubble and dead bodies they made their way into the main boulevard, and then spread out. Amatesu and a few of his men moved further down the street and lost sight of the others. They looked around and singled out a likely building.

They moved up to what appeared to be a large workshop and peered through the windows. As they figured a large number of people were gathered inside, huddled in the corners and clinging to each other, afraid for what might happen to them.
Amatesu went to the door and threw it open. Screams rang out and the sound of shifting could be heard as they tried to hide even further. His soldiers ducked through the open door and moved out in a small semi-circle, obsidian axes at the ready. He then entered.

“Please, do not be afraid,” he held his hands forwards, palms open and pointing downwards, trying for calm, “we are not here to harm you.”

A woman who was clutching at her children burst out crying and held them closer. And at the other side of the room a young boy stood up. Not quite old enough to join the army but old enough to swing a sword, one of which he was holding in a white knuckled grip.

“Then why?” He asked through tears, “Why are you attacking us?” He sniffed a little, and looked across at the people held by fear.

The boy then swung the sword over his shoulder and started charging towards Amatesu. One of Amatesu’s men stepped forwards, axe raised, to strike the boy down, but quickly stepped back from a slight look from Amatesu. The boy closed on Amatesu, who hadn’t drawn any weapons.

The sword flashed in a high arch and stopped jarringly as Amatesu’s hand flashed up and grabbed the blade. The boy’s hands held onto the hilt for a while longer before his white knuckled grip gave way and he collapsed to his knees in tears. Blood ran down Amatesu’s arm, he hadn’t drawn from the power to stop the blow, and it had cut him quite deeply. But he wouldn’t let it show. He just tossed the sword to one side and put a hand on the boy’s head.

“Please, do not fight back. We just wish for you to follow us out to the fields. You will be looked after. And we have plenty of food for everyone.”

Amatesu stepped away from the door and the people slowly started to rise and shuffle out, followed closely by his soldiers. They would take them out to a section the others had set aside. But Amatesu stayed behind, shaking his head.
A tear rolled down his cheek as he thought about what had gone on in this war.