The stars continue to burn as destiny is rewritten… See the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings.
~ * Fury amid the Flames * ~
The dull rings of metal crashing together echoed incessantly through the air, a grisly welcoming for the Grassland messengers as they entered the plains of Amur. Sergeant Jordi winced as the clanging reached his ears. The mallard bowed his head, gripping his wounded side with one hand and his halberd with the other, while Aila abandoned her support of her comrade in favor of her bow.
"We're too late," she lamented, starting toward the sounds of battle.
"Aila, wait! Don't charge in blindly!"
"What else am I supposed to do?!" Aila demanded hotly, whirling around to face the Duck Clan soldier.
The fury lighting her leaf green eyes dimmed somewhat as she beheld the sergeant leaning against the shorter Zexen lad who had joined them during their escape from Vinay de Zexay. Melville looked no more thrilled than the natives to witness soldiers from his country fighting Grassland warriors.
Aila's attention returned to what she could see of the battle before her. This wasn't simply a case of Ironheads versus Karayans, the archer judged; she could make out the naturally larger hulks of Lizard Clan members weaving through the conflict here and there. Of course, that made sense if whatever the Zexens had been planning involved the peace meeting in some manner…
"Aila, the skies…"
She didn't immediately understand what the sergeant was referring to, not until her searching gaze traveled to the western horizon. The sinking sun was painting everything in the fields with warm hues of gold and crimson, the skies deepening into a brilliant canvas of orange and amber -- save for one ugly patch of dark smoke rising in the distance. Thin, twisted plumes of coal spread wispy, skeletal fingers across the rich array, while icy claws constricted around the archer's heart.
"That direction… Karaya?!"
Before the last syllable passed her lips, Aila was already sprinting toward her homeland. Melville's startled cry behind her fell upon deaf ears; her blood roared furiously while pumping through her veins, drowning out all outside noise. She felt more than heard her companions start after her, and offered a prayer to the spirits that they would make it back in time…
~ * ~
On the opposite side of the Amur Plains, far from the battlefield and the returning messengers, Fubar ground to a halt, claws digging into the soil as the griffon suddenly stopped bounding around the fields. His rider peeked curiously around the side of his thick, fluffy neck, absently running one hand through the white mane while wide green eyes sought out the reason for his ride ending so abruptly.
"What is it, Fubar?" Lulu asked.
There was no sign of the pale woman he'd seen on the outskirts of the village earlier, and Lulu wondered if the two visitors who'd been trailing them had scared her off. Or maybe they were a bit more involved with her… he wasn't too fond of the interlopers in either case. He'd been letting Fubar run wild in the hopes of losing them, and the look on his face was decidedly sour when he looked over his shoulder, half-expecting to see one or both waving at him and jogging up, annoyed at the runaround this 'kid' was giving them…
Instead of a pair of annoyed adults, however, Lulu beheld dark tendrils of smoke rising from behind the cliffs that shielded Karaya from view. All thoughts of how irritating those older than him could be fled in the face of those slate-gray clouds. Lulu's breath hitched in his throat; thankfully, he didn't need to give the griffon any command, for Fubar was already wheeling around and charging back toward the village.
Some distance away from them, Ace bent over and cupped his hands over his knees, bracing his legs while panting heavily.
"Damn…bird…is'a damn good runner, isn't he?" he inquired of his companion.
Joker didn't even spare the ruffian so much as a glance or a roll of his dark onyx eyes. His steady gaze remained fixed on the horizon, arms folded behind his back, regarding the thick plumes rising from beyond the cliffs with an unreadable, grim expression.
"That would be the least of our problems right now…" he observed stonily.
~ * ~
The flames were almost beautiful in the way they purged the barbarian village. The scent of burning flesh and blood assailed the knight's nostrils, and he inhaled appreciatively. Ah, the sweet smell of retribution…
The scarlet haze of bloodlust had descended over Borus when he first rode into the village, painting everything in crimson hues. His pupils were dilated to the point that anyone who glimpsed his eyes would only see two glazed panes of amber. His lips were curled back into an animalistic snarl -- worse, for no normal beast takes such perverse pleasure in slaughtering their prey.
Animals kill to satisfy hunger. The Swordsman of Rage was killing to satisfy his own pressing desire for revenge.
All rational thought had fled from his mind. All that remained -- all that mattered -- was making the savages suffer. To pay for the deaths of good Zexen soldiers. To pay for the betrayal at the treatise signing.
The thatched roofs and woven decorations the Karayans so favored were easy to set alight. Wood and weave burned quickly, but did not quench his thirst for vengeance nearly so well as the sight of blood seeping from barbarian bodies. How nice the villagers were for obliging him by fleeing their flaming huts right into the sweeping arc of his sword. He hadn't expected such courtesy from savages.
Not all were nearly so polite, of course. Some tried to fight back using spears, bows, swords, whatever they could get their hands on. It hardly mattered. All fell to his sword soon enough.
"Lulu! Where are you?!"
The scream of a female not yet in her death throes caught Borus's attention, and his head snapped upright, no longer interested in observing the feeble struggles of the man last skewered upon his blade. Amber eyes narrowed as they beheld a portly woman in a bloodstained leather dress scrambling along the corpse-crowded ground. Her head whipped from side to side, frantic eyes darting about in search of somebody.
A disgusted grunt issued from the knight. (Barbarian bitch.) Effortlessly pulling his sword out of his last victim, Borus spurred his charger forward, closing the gap between them.
Just as he bore down upon her, the woman turned. He got the barest glimpse of her face -- her clear eyes widening, pupils shrinking, lips parting to give rise to a startled, horrified shriek -- before his blade cleaved down through them. A wet gurgle was his reward, and Borus watched her slump to the ground, adding another crimson stain to the already sullied dirt.
"MOM?!"
Again Borus pivoted at the sound of the bereaved shriek; this time through the red haze he beheld the figure of a small boy staring at the fallen figure. His lips pulled back farther into a disdainful snarl, and he yanked at his mount's reins, forcing the charger to step upon and over the woman's crumpled body.
Then the child's disbelieving scream was overpowered by a monstrous howling, and a blaze of feathers and claws burst through the embers.
"KUUUUUUUEEEEEEEEEE!!!" bellowed the beast barreling toward him.
Borus yanked his sword up, but didn't interpose it between himself and the flying terror in time. Talons locked round his blade, gripping the steel so tightly the creature was practically driving the edge deeper into its own claws. But that sharp blockade did nothing to impede the beast's rear paws from swinging up and raking against his chestplate.
It was more than enough to drive the knight off his mount. The charger bucked violently when the familiar weight of his rider was suddenly removed from his back; that and the winged terror brushing narrowly overhead was enough to spook the steed sufficiently. The stallion let out a high-pitched ninny before galloping off. In its haste, the runaway nearly plowed over a pair of refugees near the entrance of one of the burning huts. The female gripped the hilt of her sword, but a light touch at her wrist from her male companion stayed her hand. The two chose to take advantage of the knight's distraction to slip away into the concealing chaos erupting around them.
There was little Borus could have done to stop them had he even noticed their presence. The creature's claws drove into his chest, bending the tempered steel of his armor so violently it buckled and caved underneath the force. Jagged metal sliced into the decorative robes underneath as easily as the flesh that followed. Blood welled to fill the gashes immediately, seeping out past the steel shreds.
Borus cared little for the pain. More pressing was the fierce desire to continue his own vengeful rampage -- How DARE this creature interfere?! It was every bit the monster these barbarians were, and would be dealt with as such…
Rather than attempt to wrench his sword free, Borus pushed back into the beast, forcing the blade forward by inches. Finally, the pain slicing through its talons was too much for the winged monster to bear and it released its grip rather than lose its front claws. Borus immediately drove forward, and ivory feathers rained down as his blade lanced up and out across its chest.
The griffon screeched, rearing, tearing at the knight with its talons. The Swordsman of Rage was forced backwards, giving up ground inch by bloody inch, maneuvered by the shrieking, slicing beast toward the flat stone at the village's edge.
Lulu stared, eyes wide, pupils shrunk down, breathing fast and hitched. Though the boy gripped his dagger so hard color drained from his knuckles, he did not attack. Fubar's frenzied assault was leaving no opening for him to charge into the battle -- there was no guarantee the griffon's wild slashes wouldn't find marks in his own skin as well.
And… blindly charging in wouldn't bring Luce back. Nothing would.
Unbidden Lulu's eyes traveled to the slumped figure of his mother. From his angle he could barely see what remained of her face -- never again would a welcoming smile spread over those mangled features. Never again would he see her proud eyes light up with joy.
His stomach lurched, nearly driving the boy to his knees. A hysterical whimper issued from his mouth. Lulu gripped his dagger's hilt so tightly his knuckles were almost pale as parchment, as if it were the only link between him and reality.
He didn't see the ironheads creeping up behind him, only heard the shinkt of steel being slid from its sheath.
"Die, barbarian!" one of the soldiers snarled as he lunged at the boy from behind, his buddy at his heels, both leading with their swords.
Lulu spun around, a scream bubbling on his lips, whipping his dagger out to meet the soldiers' charge. The leader of the duo fell first, toppling to the ground with a wet gurgle. Lulu blinked: he didn't even remember striking.
The second continued his charge only to jerk to a halt a second later, sputtering and half-spinning in place as his body jerked. This gave Lulu time to see the bolt jutting out of his throat before the ironhead collapsed beside his partner.
Whirling about, Lulu gasped as his disbelieving gaze fell upon the most likely source of his salvation. The figure standing amidst the flames was so pale he could be mistaken for a ghost were it not for the fact that ghosts don't typically haul around heavy weaponry. The dusty blue jacket covering his slender frame seemed more attuned with a spirit of ice or water than one standing calmly surrounded by blazing death. Lowering the sights of his weapon a hairsbreadth, the stranger -- Lulu recognized him as one of the visitors now -- seemed to nod in his direction. Though he couldn't tell if the man spoke to him or not -- or even if his lips moved at all -- Lulu somehow understood what he was trying to communicate to him.
(Come…)
He hesitated briefly, casting a torn glance back to where Fubar still grappled with the murderous knight. Then his gaze fell upon the crumpled corpse of his mother, and Lulu choked, spun on his heel, and dashed toward the pale stranger. Tears and ashes burned his eyes, forcing him to squeeze them almost completely shut. Thankfully his strange savior's blue attire was fairly easy to pick out amid the swirls of red and black the rest of his village became engulfed in, though it was taking all his reverses of strength to keep up with the pace the other set.
Fubar failed to notice his young friend's departure, caught up as he was in tearing the invader apart. The ironhead's stiff shell was proving difficult to deal with; an unarmored foe would have already been dismembered by the furious griffon by now.
Ironically, however, now the knight's protection was proving a downside for the Swordsman of Rage as well. Fubar's slashes drove the shredded pieces of metal into the wounds he'd managed to inflict, keeping them open and gouging deeper as he ravaged the intruder. What was supposed to be defensive was giving Borus's assailant a bit of an extra offensive edge.
This didn't register in either combatant's crazed mind, however: both were entirely focused on the matter of survival at hand. The ivory feathers being ripped from the griffon's chest were now spotted with red, blood originating from both bodies.
Still, it was clear Fubar had the advantage. Borus had long been backed into a corner, his back braced against the unyielding surface of the stone near the rear of the village. Every breath sent pangs through his chest where steel drove into open wounds. The crimson haze of bloodlust was replaced by fog of a different sort, blackness impeding on the edges of his vision.
The cornered swordsman lashed out again, his blade biting into the griffon's stained chest feathers. Fubar abruptly reared, catching him off guard, and talons sliced across his gauntlet-clad hand. His sword clattered to the ground. Another screech tore from the griffon's lungs before his beak lanced down, ready to find its mark in his victim's forehead.
Borus didn't bother closing his eyes. The darkness hampering the corners of his vision was spreading quickly enough.
Another unholy shriek tore through the air, a howl of insufferable pain. Fubar's neck snapped back and the griffon recoiled, shaking his head violently in an attempt to dislodge the pointy missile jutting from just above his left eye. Not only were his efforts futile, but the clanking of iron rapidly approaching informed him that more of the intruders had arrived. There was no way he could fight them off in his condition, so with a final, enraged cry he spread his wings and exploded into the air.
A pair of pale, cold eyes watched the beast fade into the fire-stained skies. Their owner then turned his icy gaze upon the slumped figure of the Swordsman of Rage. A grimace pursed already thin lips together, and then the knight lowered the sights of his bow and turned to the anxious guards milling around his horse and fallen comrade.
"Remove Sir Borus from this place at once," he commanded in a tight, clipped tone. Guiding his steed around, he continued, "I will inform Lady Chris of these developments immediately. See to it Sir Borus is transported back to Brass Castle right away!"
"Yes, Sir Roland!" several of the soldiers chorused, offering the elven knight a quick salute before hurrying about their duties.
Roland didn't acknowledge their response. The archer spurred his mount back toward the gates of the village, knowing that was where his commander had been waiting for their plan to bear results.
~ * ~
A terrible sense of unease had settled over Chris the moment she entered Karaya Village and started making her way slowly along the burning huts. Salome, Roland and Borus had all departed, assaulting the settlement from separate sides to minimize the chances of direct confrontation with the fleeing villagers. After all, the object of the plan was to stop the slaughter of their soldiers back at the ill-fated treatise meeting, not add to the carnage with innocent blood.
Still… it seemed quite odd that she had yet to see even a single civilian evacuating the torched land. The only sign of Karayan life Chris had witnessed was the sole body of a guard lying near the gates.
That alone saddened the Silver Maiden, somehow. Was she being foolish to hope that there would be a minimum of causalities for the villagers? No… there was a difference between killing somebody armed and ready to fight and people who were merely going about their everyday lives.
(Salome's plan will work. I only hope our men understand the need to refrain from attacking anyone in anger. Vengeance is better earned on the battlefield than with the blood of innocents…)
Her sweeping, searching gaze fell upon something that immediately destroyed that line of thought. Louis looked up in concern as his commander reined her snow-white charger to a dead halt before the doorway of one of the larger huts. Greedy flames lapped the air from the thatched roof already; surely it would not be long before the entire building was engulfed.
"My lady?" he inquired softly, catching the odd expression on her face.
"This armor… this coat of arms…" she murmured under her breath; it was unclear to Louis if she was responding to him or speaking more to herself. "Can it be… my dear father's?"
Startled, Louis followed her stare to where a beaten, battered, rusty chestplate rested in the scorched grass and dirt. Although he was sadly unfamiliar with the meaning of the symbols etched into the aged metal, the squire knew that all high-ranking knights beyond a certain rank were issued special, custom-made suits of armor. So if Lady Chris really believed this could belong to Sir Wyatt, then…
"I'd know this battle gear anywhere," Chris murmured, confirming his suspicions. "It IS my father's! Does that mean that he was killed by a Karayan… here on this land? How can that be? If someone here dishonored him…"
She closed her eyes, shaking her head slowly, while Louis looked on awkwardly. The squire wished for some gift with words, so that he might think of something to say to his lady to soothe her pain… Then her eyes reopened, and his breath caught in his throat.
Those cold lavender panes… somehow they didn't resemble the ones he recalled her having at all. They were far too frigid, too uncaring.
"This village… We'll be better off with it gone," she muttered in an icy tone that matched her new demeanor, if not the one Louis was familiar with.
Before he could fully process this change in his commander's behavior, the squire heard the familiar wail of something slicing through the air. His eyes widened as he spotted the cause, and he cried out, "Be careful, my lady!"
Chris snapped to attention just as the missile glided past her face, so close that she could almost see the notches in the shaft. Her steed shied back, whickering, and the Silver Maiden turned to see the archer nock another arrow into her bow. The Karayan girl's face was twisted into an enraged snarl, and Chris realized with a start that something about her seemed familiar, though the reason why she didn't immediately register.
"You bitch!" the girl raged, green eyes ablaze. "You'll pay for this!!"
Her second arrow lanced toward her target's throat, and Chris parried it with the flat of her sword. An animalistic snarl ripped from the Karayan's lungs as she yanked a dagger from her belt and lunged. Louis cried out in alarm, and Chris hastily interposed her mount between her squire and the charging maiden, bringing up her own blade in reply.
(She's blinded by her rage,) a part of her noted dispassionately. (She's leaving herself wide open. One slash at the right angle could split that scrawny waist in two.)
Without even thinking about it Chris raised her sword up in preparation to do just that. It would be easy enough to follow through; a single stroke to finish her assailant off was perhaps the most merciful method to use.
"Aila, don't!!!"
The scream shattered Chris's concentration completely. The voice was that of a child, but more immediately surprising to the Silver Maiden was the fact that her gaze shifted to its source and was riveted upon him. The child was supporting a Duck Clan soldier, one that appeared badly wounded at that, but…
He was unmistakably Zexen.
The boy was clad in brightly colored cotton clothes instead of woven leather. His eyes were wide circles of clear tan in a pale white face. And the way he stared at Chris, horror and fear clashing with long-ingrained respect and worship was like an ice-cold splash in the face for the female knight.
Her downward slash slipped, going shallower and longer than she had intended. The Karayan girl -- Aila -- shrieked as the heated metal sliced across the front of her tunic, a pained howl of torment as she crashed onto her back.
"Aila!" the boy screamed again.
He and the mallard stumbled forward, while Chris stared down at the gasping archer. Thankfully, the cut was mostly superficial; judging from the way the Zexen child dropped by her side and started pouring a vial of hastily opened medicine onto the wound she would be receiving enough treatment to ensure that perhaps not even a scar would form.
(If I'd finished that strike the way I'd intended, no amount of healing could save her…)
Chris felt her stomach lurch at the concept. She felt Louis brace himself against the flank of her steed with one hand, staring at the collapsed girl and her friends.
She wanted to ask the Zexen lad's name, but the awkward words froze in her constricted throat. The child's clear brown eyes were filled with enough conflict already, and Chris sensed any questions she longed to ask would only complicate matters further.
The wounded Duck Clan soldier was regarding her warily, gripping his weapon with both hands. As if he would really be able to prevent her from killing the lot of them if she chose to attack. But it was not for his sake that she stayed her hand.
All Chris wished to do at that moment was to leave. To put the burning village behind her and return to… the Amur Plains, Brass Castle, anywhere but here.
Her salvation finally came in the form of two of her comrades riding up behind her. The tactician and the archer were flanked by several foot soldiers, and she turned at once to face them, doing her best to act as if there wasn't a couple of badly wounded Grasslanders and a Zexen child kneeling behind her.
"Lady Chris, we must depart. Things have gone terribly awry," Salome reported.
(You didn't need to mention that, Salome, I already know,) Chris mused bitterly. However, the captain merely nodded and assented, "Agreed. Let us depart at once."
"It is in our best interests to return to Brass Castle as quickly as possible," added Roland. "It seems that Borus ran afoul of one of the Karayan's special defenses. He was badly wounded before assistance arrived."
Chris felt her blood run a little colder at that blunt report. (Borus…?)
"Let us make haste, Captain," prompted Salome.
She nodded again, almost mechanically, and urged her mount forward. However, she couldn't restrain herself from looking one more time over her shoulder at the trio they were leaving behind. The Zexen child finally looked up from his fallen companion, and Chris immediately averted her eyes slightly, unable to meet his tortured gaze completely.
"I am sorry… child," she murmured softly.
Then the Silver Maiden turned completely away and rode off into the flames, flanked by two of her loyal knights. Melville stared after her, ashes and soot stinging his misty tan eyes, feeling something deep inside crumble and wither along with the smoldering remains of Karaya Village surrounding him.
Aila groaned, commanding his full attention once more. The lad's hands trembled as he pulled the stopper from another vial of medicine and started slathering it over the long, thin gash stretching across her bared stomach again. Jordi leaned against the shaft of his halberd, bracing the weapon in the dust, head bowed, eyes nearly closed. The sergeant couldn't bear the pitiful sight anymore.
Karaya Village was dying. His second home… the only home Aila had ever known… was turning to ashes before their very eyes. This was not the homecoming they had hoped for…