David Dalglish - The Old Ways

“Damn.”

He thought to put his back to a tree, then realized how foolish an idea that was, given that he faced an opponent who moved through trees as if they were not there. He stood in the open beside his fire and scanned his surroundings. He didn’t see her, but that meant nothing. His instincts told him to flee, but where? If he pressed hard, he might reach the edge of the forest, but what did that gain him? Where might he sleep in safety, assuming she did not ambush him while he stumbled along? Not even castle walls could protect him. No amount of guards might keep her away.

And she was right. No matter how strong he was, he had to sleep eventually.

“Could really use you here, Jerico,” Darius said, settling down beside the fire on his knees. Ashhur would warn him of any danger, he knew, but would it be enough if he were asleep? If only Jerico were there. They could spend the night in shifts, one awake, one asleep. But he was alone, and days away from civilization.

“This isn’t how it should end,” he whispered. It didn’t seem fair. Didn’t seem just. He had but one idea left, and that was to bait Valessa into combat. If he could kill her, assuming she could be killed, then that removed the threat of her ambush. He stood again, lifting his sword above his head.

“Is that it?” he cried to the darkness. “You’re going to run? You’re going to play the coward? What does that prove? You were weaker than me in life, and even with Karak’s strength, you’re weaker now. With every moment you hide, you accept Ashhur’s greatness!”

Darius tensed, expecting her to launch at him with those blasted daggers. But instead, he heard her laughter from amid the trees.

“Do you think I am a fool to be baited?” she asked, momentarily appearing at his right before vanishing. “A child to be made reckless? You bear the gifts of Ashhur, and I of Karak. Your training may be better, your armor superior…but we still bear our gifts. And mine will send you to your grave. Lie down, Darius. Let Ashhur protect you. You’re his beloved, aren’t you? We’ll see how much he cherishes his children…and make no mistake, Darius, you are the last of his children, you and Jerico. For such a victory, I can wait. And wait. Can you?”

Darius swallowed.

“Damn.”

He stabbed his sword into the earth, grabbed its hilt, and knelt before it. He was already tired from the several days’ journey, and the fight with Valessa had only worn him out further. His eyelids felt heavy, worse with each moment now that the excitement of battle was fading. No solutions came to mind, no matter how much he tried to think. Despair threatened him, but he refused it. This was the life he had chosen. When Jerico had offered his hand, and a hope for something better, he’d taken it, and he would not question the decision now.

“You won’t win,” Darius said, closing his eyes and trusting Ashhur to warn him if she were to attack again. “Even if you kill me, you won’t win.”

The night droned on, silent but for the crickets and the rustle of nocturnal birds. He clutched his sword, gripping the hilt hard enough to hurt his hands. He couldn’t sleep. If he made it to daylight, perhaps he would think of something. Retreat back to Kaide? No, they’d only kill him as well. His mind couldn’t focus. Everything about him was too calm, too quiet. Valessa no longer made her presence known, did not speak to him. Part of him wanted to believe she was nothing but an illusion, a terrible dream he’d slipped into as he lay beside the fire.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, he thought. Maybe dying wouldn’t hurt at all.

He slapped himself to push the thoughts away. Another hour passed, dreadful in its tedium. His nerves could no longer take the wait, the constant anticipation of an attack from the shadows. He had no ideas, no solutions. The metal was cool against his skin as he pressed his forehead against the hilt of his sword.

“I have nothing left,” he prayed. “No way to go. What do I do, Ashhur? Tell me, and I’ll do it. Don’t let me die here, not like this. Surely I have something more, something better to achieve. Tell me what to do. Just tell me.”

Expecting nothing, he shuddered when he heard Ashhur’s voice.

Sleep, it said. And he did.

V alessa watched from the branches of a tree, always conscious of where her feet pressed against the bark. She had to keep it solid, lest she fall. The hours passed, but she did not tire. Everywhere within her she felt pain. How could one sleep through that? Several times she thought Darius had lost focus, but knew that damned god of his would warn him of her approach. The last thing she wanted to do was break the monotony, to give his body a bit of danger to wake itself up again.

“It doesn’t matter the wait,” she whispered, watching the way his eyes remained shut for longer with each closing, and how his head drooped ever further. She knew men could stay awake for lengthy periods of time, but it usually involved actual combat, arduous travel, or constant danger. She’d give him nothing. Already she felt foolish for not waiting for him to be asleep before she attacked in the first place, but her pride burned inside her belly. She wanted to prove to Karak she was the superior, and Darius’s challenge had stirred shame and fury. Still, what would it matter if she beat him in combat, or forced a dagger through his eye while he slept? He was a traitor, a coward, and deserved an eternity of torment for his betrayal. What did honor or fairness matter compared to that?

And then his eyes remained closed for too long. Her body tensed, and she clutched the branch with a shadowy hand. Already? He’d fallen asleep already? She’d expected him to last the night, and perhaps much of the following day. How could someone so weak have defeated her?

“Accept this blessing, my glorious Karak,” she whispered, slinking to the ground. She passed over leaves without making a sound. Her daggers shook in her hands, not from fear but from excitement. This was it. A single thrust, and she’d be free of her torment, of a form that knew only cold and agony. Darius’s head dipped lower, his hands still clutching the hilt. His breathing was deep, rhythmic. Forcing herself to be calm, she waited, watched. She would not be tricked, not so close to victory.

But another ten minutes passed, and he did not stir. Lifting her daggers, she stepped into the dim light of his fire. The kill was hers.

And then the sword flared.

The pain overwhelmed her beyond words. She could not even scream. The blue-white light around his blade shone brighter than any torch, any sun, any star. It flooded the forest, washing over it in waves. Valessa tried to flee, but it held her prisoner. The illusion of herself burned away, until she was only darkness, only pain. Her thoughts scrambled as her form weakened with every passing moment. The Abyss awaited her, she knew, and she would go there a failure. Her punishment would be beyond reckoning. That terror gave her strength, and she stepped away, dimly aware of her frantic, jerky movements.

And then the light diminished, became once more the faint glow that barely lit up Darius’s armor. She fell to her hands and knees. It was hard to describe, but her body felt loose, barely hanging together by threads of shadow. Every shift, every twitch, elicited pain far beyond the constant ache she had grown accustomed to. She’d felt the glare of Jerico’s shield as it pressed against her, but this was nothing compared to that. Whatever she’d witnessed, it wasn’t the same. She didn’t want to imagine the torment if she’d been beside the blade when the light erupted.

“Damn you, Darius,” she said, struggling to stand. “You’ll bleed by my hands. Ashhur won’t protect you forever.”