Hope Sundered

Losigalender watched the Azrahterans advance on the beach from every angle. He and the remaining villagers were now trapped. The burning homes in the background added haunting silhouettes to the invaders. Their steps were slow but confident as they moved in to tighten their noose.

This is a nightmare. The Azrahterans had trampled under foot everything he held dear in one gruesome night. They even snatched the hope of his daughter’s escape from him at the last moment. Despite all of his planning and praying he’d been helpless, just like the night his beloved Ginica had been taken from him.

Lark and the last three archers turned to address the Azrahterans disembarking on the beach behind them. Half were shot down as they climbed from their boats, but the rest made dry ground once the dwindling supply of arrows were exhausted. Even so, the archers abandoned their bows for blades and put an end to the flanking advance.

“What do we do now?” Lark asked with an audible tremble as he rejoined Losigalender.

Losigalender sighed. “I don’t know.” His tone was laden with despair and woven with apology. “But I’d like to kill him before I die.” He pointed his short sword at Zordecai, whose head and shoulders were visible above the rest of his swarming minions as he strode closer.

“I’ve never seen anyone so big,” Lark said. “Not even at the tournament.”

“He’s intimidating for sure, but he’s still just a man.” Losigalender tightened his grip on his hilt and marched with grim determination to meet his adversary. Two soldiers charged him, one after the other, but he dispatched both with ease.

By now Zordecai had taken notice. Stepping forward from the ring of soldiers, he drew his two-handed broadsword and beckoned Chastin’s would-be champion with an eager smile. Losigalender closed the remaining distance to the colossal commander in a suicidal charge with his blade held aloft and a cry of pure hatred.

Their swords rang out above the din, though the impact with the general’s immense weapon caused Losigalender to stagger back a step. His arm throbbed and threatened to go numb, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins refused to acknowledge the pain.

“Is that the best you can do?” Zordecai taunted. “My men want a good show.” Some of the soldiers behind him laughed and added their own jeers.

“Why are you here?” Losigalender asked.

Zordecai spread his arms out wide. “Isn’t it obvious? We’ve come to rule!” In response his soldiers cheered and thrust their weapons in the air.

The reckless red haze of Losigalender’s fury began to ebb. He circled his enemy with caution, affording the respect needed to remain in the fight. He measured his next attack carefully as he looked for a weakness in the larger fighter.

I’ll only get one shot to avenge her, he reminded himself. So much had been taken from him; the time had come to take something back.

A zealous Azrahteran crept up behind Losigalender, dagger poised at the ready, but Zordecai bellowed for the man to back off like a feral beast protecting its meal. The soldier shrunk back in terror and disappeared into the ranks of spectators.

Losigalender looked at the general with open confusion.

“I know you lead these people,” Zordecai explained. “You’re pathetic, but you’re my kill.”

As they crossed blades again a commotion drew Losigalender’s attention to the east. Over the heads of Azrahteran soldiers he caught a glimpse of uniformed men on horseback, plowing through the enemy ranks in a tight wedge formation. Any who failed to dive out of the way were mercilessly trampled as the fierce riders cleaved a path toward him.

Noticing that Zordecai had also been distracted, Losigalender seized the opportunity and drove his blade into the general’s side. Zordecai howled in agony, reacting with a backhand so powerful it launched his opponent into the air. Losigalender landed several feet away, sprawled out on his back with the wind blasted from his lungs.

Zordecai pulled the slender short sword from his midsection and tossed the weapon away. Growling, he stalked toward Losigalender, still lying prone in the dirt. “You’ll beg me for death before I’m finished with you!”

But the horsemen barreled through Zordecai’s men with alarming momentum, interrupting his retribution. They encircled the survivors, providing a barrier of respite while fending off those who dared to venture too close.

Losigalender regained his senses and staggered to his feet, expecting to be dead by now. He could already feel the bruise swelling on the side of his face. He looked around and saw he was surrounded, this time by a different group of soldiers.

“Take my hand!” the rider said with arm outstretched. His stern blue eyes darted back and forth, evaluating his enemy. He was tall and broad, with wavy brown hair. The colorful braids around his shoulder told the stories of past services.

“Who are you?” Losigalender croaked, tasting blood with each word.

“No time. We need to ride, now!”

Losigalender complied, calling for Lark and the other Chastinites to do the same. By now Zordecai’s soldiers had recovered from the disruption and pressed in, driven by their general’s maniacal shrieks. With no one still breathing left behind, the cavaliers turned and headed south along the lake’s edge at full stride, not daring to look back.

Losigalender and his escort were among the last to depart, leaving Zordecai and his men among the smoldering ruins of Chastin. Only twenty-one villagers escaped on horseback, but less than half of the two hundred Azrahterans who’d come to Chastin remained.

“Who are you?” Losigalender asked again, shouting to be heard over the rushing wind and thundering hooves.

“Endari of Wyndham,” the man answered over his shoulder.

Losigalender’s anguish and relief poured forth in sobs wracking his body. He knew that name belonged to the capital’s famous dueling champion and Captain of the Guard. His message had reached the patriarch. Perhaps hope remained for the rest of Aveliria.

As they galloped away, the invaders took up a raucous victory cheer. The haunting sound of wild shouting echoed throughout the trees, chasing them from the once peaceful forest like a howling specter of death.