By Rose de Sharon
Disclaimer: the same as before
Chapter 3
(Princess Yasmina's POW)
Mika'il pushes me out of the way and I found myself on the ground once more. The two swords clash together in a loud metallic clang and I could swear some sparks flew in the air when the weapons collided. Mika'il fights with all his might, giving De Châtillon no chances and no pity as the red monster is a formidable foe as well as a sword-master.
Fear seizes my heart again, but this time it is for Mika'il: who will win this mounted duel, the dark-haired angel or the red-manned demon? De Châtillon's face grimaces as he realizes Mika'il is a bigger challenge for a monster used to slaughter helpless women and children! The fight is terrible and between the swishing of swords, the shock sounds, the grunts and yells, I pray Allah to give my defendant strength and victory.
The swords cross once again and the warriors are almost face-to-face. I can see De Châtillon's getting worried: Mika'il has God on his side and he's gaining the upper hand. The Prince's rage is no match against a valorous fighter; he is getting tired from the battle, as his opponent is much younger and stronger as he is. De Châtillon is holding his sword with only his right hand now; his other arm is falling to his side…
… No!
De Châtillon has drawn a small dagger from his belt and he had stabbed Mika'il on the side!
I watch horrified as the dark-haired warrior yell in agony, blood maculating his shirt!
De Châtillon roars in triumph… I cry in anguish…
… But Mika'il has grabbed his sword with his two hands and he stabs De Châtillon's in the throat with the hilt!
The Prince's cry of glory ends in a gurgle of blood: the hilt has buried itself in his throat and his eyes are so widened he looks like a fish out of the water. A fountain of blood is running down his white Templar's cloth and in an instant, I cannot make out the red cross sewed on it! He finds enough strength to push himself free from the hilt's death strike and he kicks his horse savagely to flee the battleground, hastily using the cloth as a makeshift bandage. Run away coward, murderer! May Allah sentence you to an eternity of torment in Hell!
I am ecstatic, horrified, revengeful, a mix of emotions roaming in my mind and my heart. I feel like running after the demon-spawn and screaming vengeance, but a soft sound pierces through my fury state…