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Blood
Rage
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The castle was in sight; tomorrow they were to lay siege to a Black Fang stronghold.
And Lyn couldn't be happier. Or angrier.
They had been chasing the Black Fang for weeks now, and everywhere they went they had heard stories of their cruelty, their actions. Of how Brendan Reed was no longer the true power behind them. Which was obvious; in the same breath, they spoke of how the Black Fang had once been honorable and just, weeding out royal corruption wherever it reared its ugly head.
No excuse, though, for their more recent actions. No excuse at all! The thought made Lyn's blood boil, and she growled menacingly. In the sleeping bag next to hers, Rebecca heard that growl and shuddered; Lyn had been increasingly moody of late, falling more and more frequently into foul moods when she would hold her sword, the Mani Katti, and mutter to herself. To Rebecca, it seemed that her eyes would turn red at times like this.
The young archer, though skilled, was still just an innocent girl. She knew nothing of what the older girl was going through. Wallace did, though. The old bear had noticed Lyn's behavior a well, and knew it for what it was; Blood Rage. That infamous state of mind that made true Sacaean swordsmen so deadly. Only one thing could ease the torment it wreaked upon the victim's mind and soul: a nice, bloody battle. Tomorrow, they would get one.
Finally, the sun rose. The camp rose with it. Horses and Pegasi were saddled, armor was donned. Swords, axes, bows, and lances were taken up. Books were hastily studied for one last bit of know-how.
The army rose as one and marched forth; at its head were seven people. Three were young lords of Lycia; another was a massive, bald old man wearing incredibly thick armor. The fourth was an inconspicuous young man bearing a small telescope with strange markings, and a small horn slung over his back. There was a black-cloaked man with a dagger and a scar down his face, and a thin, youngish man with gray hair and a kind eye for the beautiful woman striding beside him, carrying a large bow.
The army stopped; the inconspicuous man took his telescope, aimed it at various points and muttered to himself. Then he pointed and gave instructions into a small box in his hand. As he spoke, three huge men with axes stepped forth from the group behind them and stood their ground, two young archers right behind them. Six mounted warriors rode from behind and took their positions; two had swords, two had lances, one had an axe, and the last carried a bow.
Two swordsmen stepped to the rear and took positions around a tent, oddly out of place on a battlefield. The old man up front stepped forward, brandishing his lance and laughing wildly; our heroine, Lyn, stepped with him, her sword singing its battle hymn in her veins, the light of Blood Rage glowing in her eyes.
The inconspicuous man put away his telescope and took his horn to hand. He paused for a second, thinking at that last second that his strategy might not work. One of the Lycian lords, a red-haired man little older than Lyn, clapped him on the shoulder and said a few words.
The man hesitated still, then he shrugged. Finally, he put his horn to his lips and blew, blew for all he was worth. The sound of the horn was loud and long, and it carried far into the snowy day. He sounded it once more, and the army at his back began a chant. He blew again; the chant sped up. Again, and this time the note was higher; his army began stomping their feet. A last sounding, longer, louder, and higher than the others. At the same time the army gave voice to a great cry, and they finally moved forward. Battle was at hand! Woe to the enemy!
Without warning, four wyvern riders swooped down from behind one of the buildings; the two who had been eyeing each other leaped forward, one waving his hands in the air and chanting strange words, while his wife twirled an arrow in her hand and fired at the leading wyvern. It fell to the ground, dead, and crushed it rider, while the other three burned with sacred fire. Another group of riders came forth, and the two warriors ran forth, laughing and yelling as their blood boiled in the heat of battle.
Meanwhile, the scarred man was unlocking a door. It opened, and the bald old man charged forth, laughing and twirling his lance, with Lyn at his side. One foe, his axe dripping an unhealthy green fluid, rushed at Lyn; she easily dodged. Right then, her sword sang louder than ever; its magic activated. Lyn seemed to split and multiply into seven people, all alike, and within seconds the three Black Fang flunkies that hadn't been chopped in half by the flailing blue-clothed dolt were sliced into several ribbons. Coming back together, Lyn sheathed her sword and laughed: but the bloody light did not go out of her eyes.
Elsewhere, the battle was going well. Two of the axe warriors, one a somber, dry-humored man with brown hair and brown clothes, the other a dolt with a loud yell and blue clothes, were easily cutting down the foe; the whole time, the dry one's face never showed any emotion beyond a faintly sarcastic look of distaste. The dolt never stopped laughing or charging, knowing that his friend was watching his back.
The two other lords, fast friends both, were whirling around each other, a duet of death and pain. The scarred man looked on from his fight with an archer and wondered how the smaller of them, a young man with a rapier, managed to avoid the other's axe.
Lyn ran up, still laughing, and stopped to wait for the old man. The two had been friends since the beginning; they planned on going around the world and eliminating every bandit camp they found, once this mess with the Black Fang was over with. They were joined by a pensive young man dressed in orange robes, followed laboriously by a heavily robed man with a monocle, purple hair, and an aura of power about him. One by one, their foes fell beneath their spells and their weapons.
In a building further on, four of the horsemen had gathered. Before them were a heavily armored person and a group of able-looking mercenaries. The older of the paladins, grey-haired and wise, rushed forward to engage them with his axe. He was closely followed by a haphazard rider whose greenish-blue hair fell about his face and obscured his vision; one wondered how he fought with all that hair in the way. While they occupied the foe from the front, the two other riders, green and red, rode around to attack from behind. Sword and lance struck in unison with axe and spear; their foes fell, unable to deal with an attack from two fronts.
Finally, all the minions and flunkies were done in; all the treasure was plundered. All that now stood in their way was a crazed, nameless assassin. They had avoided him until now, for he wielded a Light Brand, a fearsome magic sword. But now, with everybody gathered around, the man with the telescope was issuing a plan.
Suddenly, the Mani Katti sang out in Lyn's heart. The words of the inconspicuous man were lost to her, and without consulting anyone she ran into the building, the splitting and multiplying already beginning. The assassin stared; one person turning into seven? He was still trying to work it out; he hadn't even drawn his Light Brand; when seven swords cut through him, turning him into so much flayed meat.
It was over in three seconds; the day's work was done. Our heroine came away with two things; a new sword, and a peace of mind that she hadn't known in a long time. No doubt the Blood Rage would be back, hopefully in time for the next battle. But until then, Lyn would be content.
End