Read Bane of the Blade :: Chapter 2, The Hawk and The Boar

The boy watched on, bewildered by the sight in front of his eyes and still stunned by the beating he just took. The white flames now transformed, their appearance that of liquid marble, as they completely swallowed the officer. The man's shrieks dulled into an incoherent series of gasps and sputterings until it ceased altogether.

He had little time to be relieved or think on any of this before a chorus of angry voices and heavy footsteps caught his attention. He noticed the officer's dull green blade on the ground just in front of him, just as a dark figure was approaching in a full on charge.

The boy grabbed the sword and swung blindly. The blade struck and effortlessly cleaved through the attacker at their midriff. Screaming, the boy now advanced on other figures who were swarming around him. He did not know where the memories suddenly came from, but his body remembered. The way to move with the blade, how to parry, how to dodge, and how to retaliate against his attackers.

Those were not the memories of the boy nor the man, rather, of a third entity, not human and completely unfamiliar to him. And in addition to the memories of the blade, it held more, a secret power. And those memories became more and more insistent as the boy cut through his assaulters.

Use it.

DO IT!

Until a roar in his mind left him dazed and he took a flat of a blade into his ribs. But the boy could not care less about the blade that just hit him. The roar left his mind in agony as a blazing ember had awoken within.

Stumbling back a few steps, his hand rose on its own and with an impatient wave, more shimmering white flames sprouted around him. The blaze rose into a forest of spikes, impaling and driving away the soldiers who opposed him.

With the area around him clear, the boy finally found time to pause and recuperate. More importantly, the blazing ember in his mind had calmed. But the sight beyond his shield of flames was not encouraging. More soldiers had gathered, different from those he had struck down. Among them, two figures stood out.

One was a woman, the other a man, and both carried animal figures on their armour. The woman's pauldron was modelled after the head of a hawk, while the man's face was concealed by a full helm in the shape of a boar's head. And even though the armor they wore was ornate, it was obvious that those two had been on the front lines of this battle.

The leather and cloth pieces adorning their armour were frayed and tattered, there were visible notches on the metal left behind by unsuccessful weapons that had opposed them, and the blood spatters on them had barely dried.

"Boy! This city has fallen, your duty to it has ended!" The woman shouted imperiously.

The boy could not answer, his mind was furiously working overtime to find the right words, yet they eluded him.

"He is not a citizen!" One of the soldiers that had been with the red cloaked officer shouted in anger. "The Crimson Mane claimed him as a battle-slave!"

"And where is he then?" The woman with the hawk regalia demanded.

"The brat..." The soldier began but stopped. Following that statement, an odd silence settled on the street. Every soldier gathered here now threw sideways glances at their comrade, as if unsure as to what to do now.

While the boy was aware that something bizarre was happening, his gaze still jumped from one soldier to another without rest. Constantly trying to figure out a way to escape. His back was against the wall of the same building he had been thrown against, and his efforts to fight his way out seemed to have been fruitless. The two-dozen corpses around him a mere pittance of the force that surrounded him.

"I thought as much." The man with the boar-helmet suddenly sighed. "Nevertheless, the path has been laid before us. We must follow it until the end."

Saying that, the man began removing bits of his armour. The helmet and all that covered his upper body were taken off. Underneath was a gracefully aging man. While his hair and beard were grey, there was a determined spark in his eyes.

The boy shifted on his feet as the sight of this man made him uneasy. The word 'warrior' came to mind without any doubts. The man with the boar regalia had been on the front lines for years, decades perhaps. It was apparent in his movement, his physique and most of all in the unwavering stare that now measured the boy from top to bottom.

"Will you submit, boy?" The man growled.

Unable to voice anything coherent, the boy merely grabbed the fallen officer's blade in two hands and readied himself. Though, as he did, something made him shake his head. To which the man replied with a nod.

"They call me Toldarad. The boar of the season unending."

"Nair." The boy stammered.

The man charged, and the boy attempted to meet his attack. A blade against fists should have given him the edge, but in the back of his mind the boy had realised all his attempts would be futile. The man came through the white flames, unscathed, dodged the boy's swing and a stab with ease and the last thing the boy saw was a fist headed for his stomach. Nauseating pain ripped through the boy and a flash of light gave way to darkness.