The heat of the fire washed over them like a wave. Korrow raised his head, licking the salt off of his lips. He wasn't crying anymore. The young cheetah balanced his body weight on the balls of his feet, turning to look up at Hunter. There were no more signs of anger in him. Hunter patiently waited, not knowing if Korrow would answer his question. To his surprise, he began to speak, turning to gaze at the firelight. Hunter gave him his undivided attention.
"I was too little to remember when my parents fled their village, when the war started. They sought refuge in my grandparent's house, which was this cabin. When they got there, my grandparents got real sick, and even though we cared for them, they died soon after. When he was on his deathbed, my grandpa told my father that the land, the cabin, and everything he could see from it was his from then on, right before he passed away. My dad told me the same thing to me, all the time. He would say, 'Someday, we'll be able to return to the village. But if we don't, when I die, this house will belong to you, son. Take care of it, protect it."
"I was just a kid then, many years ago. My family lived here in place of my grandparents, my father, my mother, and my sister. We were poor, but we survived. My dad was a hunter, and he provided for us. He taught me how to hunt, too. Him and I went hunting all the time. We tended the garden as a family, trying to get enough food to last us each winter. Each year, we worked hard to keep food on the table and live through each day."
His lip quivered as he tried not to cry. His emotional pain was tangible in the small space between them.
"We were hunting, me and my dad. It was really warm that day. We were only gone for a few minutes when I remember hearing a scream, back at the house. My dad ran back to the house to see what was going on. I tried to follow him, but he told me to wait there." He gritted his teeth.
"I wanted to go with, but I obeyed. So much time went by, and he still hadn't come back. I couldn't take it anymore. I went back to the house…"
He faltered, lifting a hand to his eyes, shielding the impending tears from falling.
He did not continue until Hunter spoke. "Korrow…what happened?"
The young cheetah shook his head roughly, one time, as if waking from a trance. He started again, breathing fast, speaking through sobs.
"The front door was wide open. Before I walked in, I could smell blood. When I walked in…my father was laying there… his mouth was open. There was blood all over the floor…my mother was in the back of the room. She was on the floor, facedown in blood. I tried…I…I tried to wake her up, but she wouldn't move. There was a slit across her throat. My sister was lying underneath her. She died, too."
His voice faltered less, appearing stronger than before. His eyes were strangely dry.
"I remember crying, shouting for mother to get up. I felt so helpless. My dad's lips started to move, faintly. I leaned in, trying to hear him, but he made no sound. I still don't know what he said…"
Hunter just sat there, taking everything in. He could not imagine the pain Korrow was going through. It was unbelievable that a kid his age…
He corrected himself. Korrow was not a kid. He was not innocent anymore.
"I buried them in the garden. I wanted so badly to kill myself. I felt like I had nothing to live for anymore. But I couldn't do it."
He shuffled on the dirt, resting on his knees, causing Hunter to let go of him. The young cheetah looked back up at Hunter.
"I didn't know my way back to the village, and so I stayed here. Then I remembered what my dad said to me. He told me to take care of the house, to protect it when he was gone. And that's what I decided to do." He wiped his nose. "And I've been here ever since. I went through hell these last couple of years, but somehow, I survived."
Hunter's shoulders sagged, and his stomach turned into a knot. He felt both pity and admiration for Korrow. Such a small child taking on such huge responsibility…
"Who killed them, Korrow? Who killed your family?"
He shook his head. "I do not know. But I swore that I would find out who, one day."
The cabin was a twisted, smoking ruin now. The flames died down, the smell of ashes and burnt wood permeating the air.
…
The army was making fast progress through the woods. Desraa noticed the edge of the mountain begin to change direction, gradually turning to the east. This meant they were entering the Valley of Avalar.
He smiled inwardly with sadistic pleasure, already imagining the outcome of the battle. His forces would undoubtedly make short work of the village. But, for some reason, knowing this didn't give him the satisfaction he expected it would.
All of it seemed so impersonal. All of his forces would eliminate the village before he could even be a part of the action. He wanted to be a part of the bloodshed; he wanted to cut down his most hated enemies, particularly one cheetah.
Prowlus.
He thought the name, hate and malice festering in his heart. That wretch was going to pay for banishing him. He wanted him to suffer slowly, to torment him until his final breath, to cut him to ribbons with his sword. But there no way to assure that happened. Unless…
He gave a delighted expression, his teeth showing briefly in a toothy smile. He knew just how he was going to get vengeance.
The army emerged from the forest, entering the outer edge of the valley. There was no hope for Avalar now.
…
Hunter and Korrow stood up, surveying the wreckage. Korrow couldn't take his eyes off of the plumes of black smoke that rose from the rubble. All of the furniture had been turned into fodder, and the chimney had fallen onto the rows of trampled plants that used to be the garden. Hunter placed a hand on Korrow's shoulder.
"Leave it behind, Korrow. There's nothing left for you here."
He nodded, almost invisibly. Deep down, he knew Hunter was right. This place had become nothing but a symbol of hardship, misery, and death. He shouldered his bow and quiver, the only things left in his possession, and turned away, following Hunter through the forest.
Silence reined, neither one of them speaking to each other. The smoky scent subsided to fresh air the further they moved away. Korrow could not resist looking back at his old little cabin until it was lost to sight, but not lost to mind.
"What am I going to do now, Hunter?" He scratched his arm nervously. "I don't have anywhere to go. Where am I going to live?"
Hunter flinched as he stepped on a sharp pebble. He stood on one leg as he removed the offending object from the pad of his footpaw.
"I intend to bring you back to the cheetah village, where I'm from. You won't have to live by yourself any longer." He smiled. "I'm sure Prowlus will be interested to hear your story of survival."
Without warning, Hunter stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes stared off into space, deep in thought. A low growl escaped from his throat.
"The grublins…they're, they're heading…" His limbs were paralyzed with fear.
Korrow looked at him, eyebrows raised in puzzlement. "What?"
He shook his head in disbelief, hands turning cold and clammy with fear.
"No… no, no! How could I be so stupid! No!" He kicked a rock into a ditch nearby, furious with himself as he lashed out a fern with his longbow. "They're heading straight for the village! It'll be ruins by sunset!"
"What are…"
Korrow didn't get a chance to say anything further as Hunter ran off, dodging low hanging branches and jumping over logs and fallen trees like a gazelle. Korrow ran after him, trying his hardest not to lose the distressed Avalarian. He dearly hoped Hunter was wrong.
"Wait for me!"
…
Desraa's forces had already made it past the forest and into the valley. They were less than an hour away, and even if they were seen, there was no way the villagers would be able to flee. His cold, murderous heart fluttered with anticipation.
His troops made it across a shallow point in the fast flowing river, and pressed on to the village, which was only two miles away. He was half an hour away from his prize, his revenge. The fingers on his right hand trembled with excitement, his heartbeat quickening as he saw visions of Prowlus, lying helpless at his feet.
Only a little while left to go…
…
Meadow was at work, gathering spices and herbs from the wood close by the village. He cut the top of a rosemary plant with the tiny knife he used just for the occasion, and placed it in a woven reed basket he carried in his left hand. It was full of other herbs as well, thyme, basil, and sage mixed with fresh chives he had plucked from the damp soil. It was a rich flavor combination he planned to use for another rabbit stew. Satisfied his basket was filled, he headed in the other direction, toward the cheetah village.
He didn't have to go far. The wooden fence of the village came into view at the top of the small hill, and he made his way towards it. Enjoying the little breeze in the hot summer's day, he casually glanced behind him, observing the position of the sun in the sky. It was late afternoon, and his shadow stretched to the east, becoming twice his size. As he looked however, something else came into his field of vision, near the horizon. He had to do a double take, seeing an odd line of black move into his view.
At first, he had no idea what it was, but the line got even wider and larger. Soon, he realized it was getting closer…
He wasted no time in bolting back to the village, herbs spilling out of his basket left and right.
"Grublins! Grublins! Sound the alarm!"
Prowlus, who was in the village, twitched his ears as he heard Meadow's distressed shout, faintly. He jogged over to the village entrance, seeing Meadow frantically running toward them. Sure enough, behind him was a big, black wall of advancing figures, crawling over the hilltops like rats. Prowlus yelled as loudly as he could, alerting the village.
"Grublins! We're under attack! To arms men, to arms!"
The villagers saw their chief, arms waving wildly, shouting the alert. Pushed into action, they scurried to a fro, gathering an assortment of weapons.
Meadow ran past the chief, back to his own hut. Prowlus drew his sword, preparing for action. The vile creatures poured over the crest of the hill, nearing the river. They were running now, beginning to cross the brook off in the distance. It would be only a minute until they poured into the village, making short work of the village.
Meadow came back out with a long, wooden stave, a wooden bauble at the end, filled with iron spikes. It was called a morning star, a fierce weapon in the hands of an experienced warrior. Meadow was one such warrior.
Dozens of cheetahs rallied at the spot where the chief stood, arrows notched on bowstrings and clubs and swords at the ready. Prowlus stood at the head of them all, visibly shaking in fear. His men wouldn't last against a force of this size. Where had they come from?
A few hundred meters turned into less than two hundred. He could see the eyes of the ghoulish vermin as they were almost upon them.
"Archers at the ready," Prowlus commanded. His pitiful force drew back the arrows on their bowstrings, aiming at a slight angle at the advancing army.
He raised his sword high, waiting until the enemy was in range. His heart thumped like a drum, readying himself for the final battle of his life. The sheer number of them was unnerving to everybody there. They all knew this would be their last few breaths on earth. Many of them scuffled their feet, about to flee, but Prowlus halted them.
"It's too late to run! Hold your ground, brave Avalarians! Hold your ground!"
One hundred meters… ninety…eighty…seventy…sixty…fifty…
They stopped.
Prowlus would have given the order to fire had it not been for this. Something stepped out of the crowd, shouldering his way through them. He took ten paces forward, exposing himself to the party of cheetahs. Prowlus saw him, and stepped forward.
"Well, Desraa, I never thought I'd see you again!" He called out. "I thought I had banished you from these lands!"
"So you did…chief." He spat with contempt lacing his words. "How does it feel, knowing you and your whole village is going to perish before sunset?"
Prowlus signaled his archers, curling his lip in disgust. "How about I fill you with arrows? Archers!" They all lowered their bows, taking aim at Desraa.
Surprisingly, the cheetah shook his head slowly, raising his arm in response. The distinctive sound of metal sliding against metal and the stretching of bowstrings became evident.
"If you do that, then I'll have my crossbowmen pepper your group with arrows until you look like pincushions. Your choice, Prowlus."
Prowlus cursed inwardly. "Well, what difference does it make? You said my men were going to die anyway!"
Desraa felt this flash of reason hit him in the chest. Prowlus was right. There was no reason not to kill him right here and now. Luckily for him, his quick wit saved his life.
"But your men may not die, Prowlus. There is another way to settle this. I have a score to settle with you, and to be quite frank, I am not interested in the rest of your rabble."
Prowlus growled. "What are you saying, Desraa?"
"You and I, Prowlus. A duel to the death. Let's settle this permanently." He said, his voice as cold as ice.
The Avalarian Chief thought for a second, still making his decision. To turn down Desraa's challenge would make him a coward. Nonetheless, he asked, "What happens if I win?"
Desraa had an answer ready. "If you win, my forces will give you a day's head start to flee. We will not attack you until sunrise. And if I win…"
He paused, smirking. "Then you will all be slaughtered on the spot."
"And how do I know your promise will be kept?" Prowlus inquired, wary. Desraa put his fist on his heart.
"You have my honor, Prowlus. Some of my men are intelligent enough to keep a promise, I assure you. If I should fall, they know what to do."
Prowlus, upon hearing this, nodded his head. "Very well, then. I agree to your terms. We shall duel. But understand, if there is foul play, my men will put arrows in you faster than you can blink."
Desraa nodded his head as well, drawing his sword. "No foul play. Face me, Prowlus." He twirled the sword skillfully.
Prowlus nodded, but took a step back. "Allow me to consult with one of my men before we begin."
Desraa licked his dry lips, lowering his sword. "Of course. Take your time," he said with a berating tone.
Prowlus did not turn his back as he walked backwards, noting the fear on his men's faces. It was an almost impossible situation they were in, but they would fight until the inevitable end. His thoughts drifted on Hunter, who still hadn't returned. Through his despair, he saw a light. At least Hunter might still survive.
He found Meadow in the crowd, hands gripping the fearsome looking weapon until his knuckles turned white. The chief to him in a whisper, trying to keep their conversation private from the rest of his men.
"I don't trust Desraa to keep his promise. Prepare yourselves for battle, no matter the outcome of the duel." He placed a hand on his shoulder. "In these last hours, you are the new chief of this village. If Desraa keeps his promise, lead them to the best of your ability to Warfang. If he does not, or if I should fall, lead these brave Avalarians into battle. Fight hard, for Avalar!"
Meadow couldn't have said anything at that moment. His chief had gone from a stubborn fool to a hero in just one year. His words instilled new life in the humble cheetah. Nodding his head, he went on the verge of tears. Prowlus grabbed his shoulder tightly, boring into his eyes with his own. "Do you understand me, Meadow?"
He bobbed his head up and down, still slightly unsure of himself. "Y…yes, chief. I understand."
Prowlus patted his shoulder one last time. Saying nothing else, he rotated, facing Desraa, who had already walked to the center of the field. The hiss of metal against leather was followed by the swishing of Prowlus's sword as he swung it experimentally. He went out into the field of combat, keeping his sword raised. He reached the center of the field, getting close enough to his enemy so that both of their noses were almost touching.
"Shall we fight?" Desraa asked casually. Prowlus nodded.
"We shall," he declared, adopting a fighter's stance, shoulders broad and bent at the knees, stepping back several paces. Desraa did likewise, not seeming nervous in the slightest as he held his sword with one hand, keeping the point aimed at Prowlus. They circled each other, Prowlus narrowing his eyes slightly as he sought an opening in Desraa's defense. One mistake could mean death for either combatant. Neither of them made a move…
With a loud roar, Prowlus leapt forward, his swordblade becoming a glittering arc in the sunlight.
Desraa brought his sword into a diagonal block, feeling the metallic clang as it made contact with his own blade. Prowlus hacked frantically at Desraa's sword in an attempt to disarm him. When this did not work, Prowlus swung horizontally as Desraa's torso. He neatly dodged the attack, and Prowlus only hit thin air. Desraa counterattacked, lunging forward with his sword. The Chief saw this motion and barely managed to swing his blade in defense as Desraa's swordpoint zoomed towards him. The parry knocked Desraa's sword aside, but only for a moment. He found himself desperately trying to ward off the swordpoint, which came within a hairsbreadth from piercing his flesh. He did a circular parry, and twirled to the right, letting the momentum of his body carry the sword forward.
He cleaved only the air, the ominous swish of his blade as it sliced the air the only result of his attack. Desraa had already stepped to the left, his blade held almost lazily in his hand. He looked confidently at the panting cheetah.
"Try again, Prowlus." He flicked the bladetip at him menacingly, grinning with pleasure. The chief held his sword out with both hands, examining Desraa's stance. He crouched, holding the sword straight out with both hands. Desraa scoffed lightly, taking a running step forward, whipping his sword down at Prowlus's head. The blade hit the chief's sword directly in the center as he blocked the strike, feeling the intense vibrations move down his arm. Desraa dragged the edge of his sword down the length of the opposing blade, hissing loudly as it raked across the metal. Prowlus rose from his crouch, swinging at Desraa's exposed neck.
The grublin commander saw the oncoming sword and dipped down, feeling the air whoosh past him as Prowlus's sword moved past. Flexing his leg muscles, Desraa shot forward, bulling into his opponent with his shoulder.
Prowlus cried out, careening backwards as he fought for balance. He fell to the earth, nearly landing onto his swordblade. Instinctively, he rolled onto his back, slashing at his assailant.
He wasn't there.
Desraa stood almost three meters away. Prowlus pushed himself up with his left arm, scrambling on all fours to get up. Desraa laughed evilly.
"You're going to have to do much better than that." He lurched forward, not giving Prowlus any warning. The battered chief saw the movement out of the corner of his eye, and swung in a wide arc, catching Desraa's blade in midair. He brought Desraa's blade down to the ground, a soft thud heard as both of their swordpoints buried themselves in the dirt. Desraa, his sword trapped, threw a backhanded punch at Prowlus. It impacted squarely on the center of his cheek, and Prowlus yelled out in pain as he fell, seeing stars. He tore the sword out of the ground with him, freeing Desraa's own blade. The evil cheetah plucked it out of the ground coolly, spitting on Prowlus's fallen form. The chief stumbled, dizzy from the blow he had been dealt. He regained his composure, seeing Desraa directly in front of him, his sword once again held loosely at his side. The grublins watched the fight with glee, giggling insanely at the outmatched Prowlus that was weakly trying to stand.
The Avalarians watched their leader dolefully as Desraa toyed with him, knocking him to the ground. Meadow felt anger build up inside of him, the veins in his neck bulging. Gliding to the front of the group, he clutched his weapon tightly in his hand. His nostrils inflated as he exhaled violently through his nose. Desraa wasn't even trying.
Desraa looked down the field, enjoying the Chief's pain as he used the tip of his sword to prop himself up. Already tiring out, Prowlus gasped for air. Desraa advanced, whirling his sword in a figure eight motion as he approached. The blade became indistinguishable as the speed increased. Prowlus backed away, pointing his blade straight out, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The distance shortened more and more until Prowlus made a quick thrust at Desraa's chest.
Clang!
The force of the blow knocked Prowlus's sword down, leaving his chest exposed. He brought up the blade just in time to block Desraa's counterattack, the lightning quick slash knocking his blade to the side. Prowlus turned with the hit, cat rolling away. Desraa anticipated this move, and stretched out the swordblade, cutting a gash in Prowlus's side. Sitting up from the roll, he placed a hand on his wound. Warm, sticky blood ran over his fingers and shirt, running down his leg. Ignoring the injury, he faced Desraa, who was nonchalantly moving toward him.
"I can't tell you how fun it is to watch you suffer." He laughed wickedly, wiping the blood on his sword on the grass. Prowlus, his arms tensed and his mind still alert sprang up, rushing unexpectedly at his most hated foe. Desraa waited until the last possible second, right when Prowlus slashed at his neck, to make his move. Ducking, he held his sword overhead diagonally, feeling the blade clash against it, the momentum carrying it down the length of his sword until it sank into the ground. Desraa slid forward, flicking his sword at Prowlus as he skimmed past.
Prowlus inhaled sharply as he felt the cold metal slice his side, spattering droplets of blood onto the grass. He fell onto his hands and knees, the pain lancing up his side and neck. Blood seeped into his clothes like water. He looked over his shoulder, exhausted and dizzy from the loss of blood. The grublin army cheered for their leader, while the top of the hill remained still and silent. Desraa indicated the crowd of cheetahs with his sword, blood dripping from the edge and onto the field.
"You have failed them, Prowlus. How does it feel, knowing that your men must despise you in your final moments? How does it feel, knowing that their blood is on your hands?"
Prowlus, following the direction of his adversary's sword, peered up at his men. They were the picture of despair, gazing at their Chief with grave expressions of sorrow.
He could even see Meadow at the front of the group, his mouth moving obscurely. He examined the movement reading his lips.
Get up.
Fire coursed through his veins, newfound energy swelling inside of him. He grabbed his sword with both hands, gripping it like a vise. Twisting around, he gave a mighty shout, whirling his sword aloft.
"Avalaaaaaar!"
Desraa parted his lips into a smile. He dodged the attack with ease, tapping his blade onto the oncoming sword in a parry, causing Prowlus to stumble. Desraa rapped Prowlus's neck one time with his open hand, stopping him on the spot. He shot right past him as he held his sword in a downward stabbing motion, plunging it into Prowlus's back.
Prowlus could not cry out in pain as he stared down, his head hanging down to look at the swordblade that seemed to grow out of his chest. He felt his muscles relax, and he dropped his sword as his fingers lost their strength. The grublins seemed to be miles away as they squealed in approval.
Desraa relished the moment, a hiss escaping from between his teeth as he yanked the sword out of Prowlus's back viciously. The Chief gasped in agony, blood dribbling out of his mouth as he coughed blood onto his shirt. Desraa sneered, and then placed the edge of the sword on the back of Prowlus's knees, dragging it across the skin and muscle. The half dead cheetah crumpled to the ground, no longer able to stand. He swayed back and forth, about to fall down until Desraa's hand grabbed his shoulder, holding him up. He placed the flat of the blade on Prowlus's collarbone as the defeated cheetah's head lolled to one side.
Meadow gave a strangled sob as Desraa raised his sword behind his head, the blade glinting in the sunlight. He brandished his weapon, preparing for the inevitable battle.
Desraa paused only one moment before he swung.
Prowlus's headless carcass remained upright as his head rolled down the field, coming to rest at the foot of a goblin at the front ranks. Meadow looked away, feeling nauseous as he retreated back a pace, urging his fellow warriors to action as he remembered his Chief's final wish.
"Archers to the ready! Raise your bows, now!"
Desraa kicked the headless body over, noticing the flurry of movement from the top of the hill. He immediately took flight, knowing what that meant. He shouted to his anxious troops, who were raising their weapons eagerly.
"Kill them all! Destroy the village!"
They needed no second bidding. Squealing with murderous delight, they charged, enveloping their leader and covering him from any arrows
The villagers shook with fear as the thundering mass raced up the hill. Meadow, took full charge, yelling, "Fire at will!"
Arrows poured forth from desperate bows. The projectiles hissed like snakes as they found their marks, felling many. They fired in a steady stream until Meadow waved his weapon in the air back and forth, his cries almost lost over the sound of the fast approaching wall.
"Fall back! Fight them in the village!"
Desraa stayed behind with fourscore crossbowmen, watching the villagers flee to temporary safety. He shouted to his crossbowmen, "Raise!"
They followed his command, aiming at the backs of the cheetahs.
"Fire!"
The dull smack of the cords as they launched the little arrows across the field was heard all the way up the hill. Meadow gritted his teeth, bracing himself.
The arrows fell like rain onto the retreating forces. Screams tore themselves from the throats of over half of them as they fell, their lives snuffed out like candles.
Meadow grunted as an arrow hit him in the back, followed by another one in his arm. Practically feeling the breath of the grublins on his neck, he turned to face the enemy, not caring about the pain. He looked at his feet to see his brethren, lying slain and critically wounded. Blood seeped into his eyes, turning them red with fury. Ripping out the arrow from his arm and hurling it at the enemy, he threw himself at the oncoming enemies, laughing like a madbeast. The pitiful few that remained followed Meadow into the fray, bravely bellowing their last warcries.
Meadow, covered in his own blood, battered away at the enemies around him ferociously, oblivious to his wounds. He swung with such force that the shaft of the weapon split in half. Nonetheless, he clubbed left and right with the broken side, little more than a stick as he was lost to sight under the mob of grublins.
He gave one last warcry to the setting sun.
"For Avalaaaaaaaar!"
….
Hunter's feet slammed into the ground like twin pistons as he booked it across the field, following the pressed down and trampled grass. Korrow could barely keep up, his lungs screaming for oxygen as he mindlessly fumbled on, his clothing sticking to him from the sweat.
As he pressed doggedly on, Hunter saw something that made his blood turn into ice.
Smoke.
"No…" he sputtered, his eyes watering. "No…"
He hit the crest of a tall hill, sliding to a halt. His village, framed by the sunset, burned.
He wailed, casting his bow to the ground and burying his head in his arms.
"No!"
…
Author's Note: So, I guess this was a rather eventfull chapter. To be honest, I felt genuinely depressed as I wrote this. At first, I was all gung-ho about making this scene, but after I wrote it, I almost felt bad. I tried to make Desraa as evil as I could, and I think I succeeded. 0_0 In fact, at this point, I'm considering changing the rating to M, because there's gonna be a lot of violence in the future, too.
Anyway, please, read and review! Let me know if there's something you don't like, or if there's something I can work on! Or else, just to say "hi" or something like that.