Hope Sundered

The battle for Wyndham was just as fierce on the eastern side of the river. Sollin’s militia, augmented by Segatian soldiers, pressed in against the Azrahterans. The city’s eastern gate opened in response, pouring out a mix of guardsmen and volunteers while archers atop the wall continued to pepper the enemy with deadly missiles.

The Nokri rushed across the bridge, claiming ground several feet at a time. They used the Azrahteran uniform to tell friend from foe, though even that proved difficult at times with everyone caked in sloppy wet earth.

Keila followed her army across the bridge like a conquering hero. Sekka and Forizu were on either side of their young queen. The field before her was pure chaos.

Scanning the field, she caught a glimpse of an unbelievably large Azrahteran, taller than any other man on the battlefield. He swung his two-handed sword with ease as he barked orders to the soldiers surrounding him. His commanding presence, coupled with his monstrous stature, made her realize this was the man responsible for destroying her home, her family, her future.

“Him,” she growled, pointing one of her bloody short swords at the giant. She turned to Forizu. “No matter what happens, that man doesn’t leave this battlefield alive. Do you understand me?” Her pale emerald eyes burned with intensity. Her face was streaked with mud and blood, giving her a haunted expression.

“Yes, my queen,” Forizu replied without hesitation, never breaking her gaze.

“Good, then let’s end this.”

Flanked by Sekka and Forizu, she worked her way toward Zordecai, cutting a path through her enemies like a thresher mowing through tall grass. When she broke through, she hesitated, disturbed by the scene before her.

The general placed a firm boot on the head of his latest victim in order to yank his blade out of the dead man’s spine. His savage motion almost ripped the corpse in half. With a satisfied grunt he turned to Keila. Appraising her from head to toe, his gleeful expression turned to profound contempt. “Are the Avelirians so desperate for warriors they’ve added women to their ranks?

“I’m here just for you,” she spat in the common tongue. The words sounded strange in her ears after having spoken so much Nokri. “Yajuel himself sent me to avenge Chastin!”

Zordecai threw his head back and laughed. “So those who fled to the river escaped afterall. Doesn’t matter; I fought the leader of that puny little spit of a town, and he was the best they had. Who do you think you are?”

Her eyes narrowed and her grip around her twin blades tightened. “I’m that man’s daughter.”

Unleashing every ounce of her anger and pain in a single scream, she charged with blades held high. Zordecai took a step forward and swung his great sword across his body with both hands.

At the last moment she tucked her swords in close and dropped well beneath the swing to slide past her enemy. She jumped to her feet and turned, swinging downward into Zordecai’s exposed hip and knee, just as Forizu had taught her.

Zordecai howled in agony from the fresh gashes, but instead of falling he reversed his swing. Keila leapt back in surprise, throwing her swords up just in time to block. Maker’s mercy, he’s fast! The impact knocked her from her feet and sent her weapons spiraling away.

She landed hard on top of one of Zordecai’s earlier victims. The awkward collision blasted the air from her lungs and drew a soft moan from the man beneath her, though she couldn’t hear it amid the din of battle. Both of her short swords were paces away in opposite directions. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

Zordecai gave her a broad, contemptuous smile. “Foolish girl, you’re not the first to underestimate me, and you won't be the last.” He stalked toward her, fury seething out of every pore. Keila lay in the mud, fighting to stay conscious as Zordecai raised his broadsword for the killing blow.

Then Forizu was there, charging in from the side. The nimble huntsman struck fast then darted out of harm’s way. He scored no serious hits, but the distraction gave Keila time to swim to the surface of her dizziness.

Sekka stabbed Zordecai from behind. When the general turned to face the new threat, Forizu attacked again, and when Zordecai returned his interest to the huntsman, Sekka struck once more.

Zordecai tensed and roared like a trapped animal as the two elite Nokri warriors took turns scoring dozens of nonlethal hits, painting his body with his own blood. His steps grew slower, less sure, as he tried in vain to catch his attackers.

He charged Sekka in one last desperate gamble to win. His target backed away but was trapped by the press of battle surrounding them. Sekka was large by Nokri standards, but Zordecai still towered over him. The Azrahteran general bore down on him with a mighty swing.

Sekka locked blades with his opponent and began a contest of pure strength and will. Sekka’s entire body trembled as he strained to keep Zordecai at bay. His feet slid backward, gaining no purchase in the rain-soaked and trampled grass.

Forizu leapt in, embedding both of his daggers in his adversary’s back. Zordecai grunted, coughed up blood, and staggered a step, but somehow maintained his standoff with Sekka.

Zordecai bellowed in defiance, and with a final surge he pushed Sekka into the mud. The respite gave him enough time to turn and swing a backhand punch at his other attacker.

With his daggers firmly embedded beneath each of Zordecai’s shoulder blades, Forizu could only lift his arms to block the savage swipe. The blow sent him sprawling to his back, out of reach to further help his Ronos.

Zordecai returned his attention to Sekka, who had yet to recover his balance, and pressed his advantage with a violent diagonal slash. Sekka lifted his blade to deflect the attack, but the impact ripped the weapon from his now-slick grasp.

Zordecai lunged forward. With his free hand, he caught Sekka by the throat and hoisted the Nokri warrior up to the tips of his toes. Now on her feet, Keila screamed in denial, frozen in place by heartbreak and rage.

Zordecai began to squeeze, denying Sekka much needed breaths of air as he struggled to break free. Zordecai looked over to Keila and smiled, bearing blood-soaked teeth. His eyes were wild with insanity, and his grip remained strong on his prisoner.

And then an arrow appeared, lodging itself in Zordecai’s neck and tore the gruesome smirk from his lips. His left arm went limp and he released Sekka. His legs buckled, and he dropped to his knees.

Keila looked around for a weapon and noticed a two-headed battle axe in the hand of the body she had landed on. She yanked it free and staggered over to where Zordecai was now hunched over, struggling for breath, refusing to accept the inevitable.

Keila hoisted the axe in both hands. Then, with a primal shout, she brought it down with all her strength. Zordecai’s head fell to the ground, severed cleanly from his neck. His body toppled forward and sunk into the bloody mire.

The Azrahterans who witnessed the spectacle froze in disbelief. Their god had fallen, and with him the notion they too were unbeatable. All desire to conquer Aveliria fled. Fear and despair smoldered into panic, which soon ignited. Moments later the flame of chaos sprung to life across the battlefield. Countless Azrahterans were trampled to death by their own comrades in the ensuing exodus.

“For you, Father,” Keila whispered to the sky, its parting clouds now fully spent of their precipitation. Fresh tears cut deep channels through the grime coating her cheeks. She turned her attention to Sekka, who was finding his feet with Forizu’s assistance. She was at their side in an instant, ignoring the battle still raging all around her.

“Victory for you, my queen,” Forizu said with a heavy sigh.

“Victory for us,” she corrected, casting one last look at the broken body of her nemesis. “For all of us.”

“Excuse me,” said an awkward voice behind them. Keila turned to see a short stocky man covered in mud. His bearded face was swollen and bleeding. “Can I have my axe back?”

“Are you from Wyndham?” she asked, once more switching back to Aveliria’s common language.

“No, I’m the captain of the Port H militia. My name is Sollin. And you are…?”

“I am Keila, daughter of Ginica, Queen of the Nokri,” she announced as she handed Sollin his axe.

“Oh! Well then, it’s an honor to meet you, um, Princess Keila,” he replied with a quick, awkward bow. Then with a nod and a heft of his magnificent weapon, he charged off to chase down those attempting to escape.

“We should do the same,” Sekka said to her, handing her his sword. She eyed his neck with concern but knew he was right; the fight wasn’t over yet. Sekka scooped up Zordecai’s two-handed broadsword, claiming it as his own, while Forizu extracted his daggers.

Just then two Nokri women approached them, swords in hand. Smears of blood streaked their faces and clothes and their long braids were matted down their backs.

“Don’t you dare take another step without me!” the shorter one cried in between heavy breaths.

“Mother!” Keila exclaimed, rushing to her side.

Ginica waved away her daughter’s fears. “I’m fine, my Keila. Besides, you look worse. It’s a good thing there’s a river nearby.” She looked around and nodded with satisfaction, quite pleased with her people. Flashing a grin at Keila, she took a deep breath and yelled, “We are Nokri!”

Her declaration rang out like a battle cry. Those within earshot echoed the sentiment, reigniting their enthusiasm and bolstering their courage. Keila joined in, her heart swelling with pride. She’d asked Yajuel for an army, and he’d given her the mighty warriors of the Southern Wilds. Furthermore, he’d given her a new family, those who’d fight and die with her to the very end. She felt invincible.

“Together now,” Ginica said, placing her free hand on Keila’s shoulder. And with that, mother, daughter, and son led their people in the final rout of the Azrahteran army.