I, Eternity

First era Echo: What Hate Does to You

The dawn of the next morning saw nothing unusual. The slaves were already on the fields, along with the first shift of guardsmer. As was the plan, they were to wait until the sun was fully risen to begin their uprising. Leon poked the cattle with a stick, looking constantly to the east as the light began to gather and the stars began to fade.

The guard had a simple bronze knife. For his height it was a dagger, but for one of Leon's size it was a short sword. It was simple, undecorated, and almost blunt. More something to scare the slaves with than to use in combat. Leon's eye didn't know that yet, but it would come to learn these things. So he didn't expect his first kill to be so easy.

Once the sun rose fully, he dropped to the ground, as though he'd tripped on a rock a snake hole. The guard walked quickly over, raising his whip.

"Get up you mannish scum!" He yelled in the slaver tongue just as Leon leapt at him with a rock in his hand. The elf dropped his whip in surprise as he recoiled, but he was too late. The rock collided with the side of his head as Leon shouted in the secret language of his own people. He kept hitting the guard's head with a rock, long after he had died, even when there wasn't much head to hit.

He stood up, already covered with the blood and gore, grabbing the knife. He raised it over his head and shouted as loud as he could, the war cry of the unchained beast inside him wracking his body as it spread over the field, and he ran towards the nearest living guard, who had drawn his own mace.

Leon jumped again, taking a hit with the hilt of the mace as he got in close. His side ached, but he didn't notice. He dug the knife into the guard's neck hard, then ripped it out sideways as he roared madly. By now, some of the other slaves had begun to fight, some using rocks, others using rakes or hoes or stolen weapons. Ten guards lay dead, to three dead slaves.

No, Leon thought. Not slaves any longer, not ever again.

"Come on!" he shouted in the secret slave language. "To the city!"

They charged, some more men joining them. The Kothringi next to Leon died of an arrow in his throat, but he kept charging. Another arrow nicked his shoulder, and he felt waves of heat as spells began to rain down on the charging mob, but it was getting bigger as his blood-lust and hatred infected them. They began running through the gates before they could close, and Leon began cutting down even more of them. Another large group came in another gate, and the elves in the streets began to run as they became red rivers.

Leon looked to the other group, and saw Perrif holding a sword, also of bronze but more decorated and slightly longer than his, and she cut down elves with the same wild abandon as he did. They locked eyes and flashed horrible smiles at each other across the field.

A spellcaster, in robes and with magic beads in his hair, was throwing death from his position behind a shield wall of mer. He and Perrif ran at them from their respective groups. She cut at anyone who dared approach her, wading death. Leon's knife escaped him, but he grabbed a pike and threw it, taking a slightly longer bronze sword from a guard he killed. He jumped, with the strong legs born of walking the fields all day, and cut down. An elf's head split open like a melon and he ran over the body, digging his heel into the chest, as he continued to run towards the mage. He grabbed a shield off the ground and blocked three incoming arrows by accident.

They reached the elves at the same time. He bashed forward with his new shield, and by luck caught the shaft of one of the arrows in one of their eyes. He threw the shield aside and cut down a second. Perrif slashed at the mage, but at the last second one of his beads flashed and her blade turned into the ground. She brought it up as Leon killed another of his mer, but again the bead flashed and the blade was turned aside.

They both snarled and ran at him again, slashing. The mage's barrier turned their weapons aside, and in a bout of rage and frustration, Leon punched with his left hand. The blow connected as Perrif's blade turned aside again. They both understood, and picked up rocks quickly as he charged as spell. Perrif hit him first, in the jaw, then leon hit him in the nose, the blow to the temple from Perrif killed him before he could unleash his magic.

After killing the spellcaster, Leon and Perrif led their groups in different directions. They didn't speak. Now was no longer the time for words. Eventually, they encountered another group of Ayleids. The two armies clashed as Leon's war-cry shook the whole area. At first, it went well. They began pushing the elves back towards the manor. Then the tide began to turn.

Behind them, a horn blared. Some of them looked to see fully armored mer, marching in formation, with spears and the standard of the Ayleidoon flying, armor glinting, and beaded warlocks readying spells.

The first wave slaughtered the rear of Leon's horde. Divided and pincered in, they began to thin. Leon looked around. He wanted to kill them all. He knew if he died here he wouldn't see the end of the war, whatever that was, so he began to look around.

A warehouse door stood open. He shouted for his men to retreat into it. As soon as the last one was in, he closed the door and collapsed several crates in front of it. He had bought them time, but now they were trapped.