The Brush Tiger of Derven Ch. 26-27

A note from After Dusk:

All right readers, you spoke, I listened. No one was pleased with the previous ending of this story, so I had the Mods delete it and I started to rewrite it. Be careful what you wish for, though, because we might not end up with the same happy ending as before...

If you don't recall, this picks up just before Mora runs off into the Battle. Her father has just died after telling her the secret of the immortals and she went to Sceadu to find Rick's tavern empty. She tells Officer Jackson to return to the public road and gather their waiting militia and join her in the Meadow.

There will be a few more bits to this story to come, so keep an eye out.

-AD

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CHAPTER 26: DEATH

The small town soon disappears into the darkness of the night. Greystar, stretched as far as he can, runs faster than the wind. He senses Mora's urgency; it seems as if he is just as worried. She recalls the ride in the carriage took a few hours at a slow walking pace; with Greystar moving like a ghost in the night, it should only take half an hour. She carefully unclips her helmet and pulls it over her head. She worries for her friends, for her country, for Sceadu, about the unnecessary deaths of the unknowingly controlled Alumenian army, that Jackson will not reach them in time—but most of all, she worries that she will never again see Rick.

The sounds of battle, metal on metal, metal on bone, screams and cries of rage cut through the silent black night when they draw near. She barely manages to slow Greystar down, forcing him into a quick trot. The forests that encompass the road butting up to the Meadow are littered with dark lumps; by the dim moonlight she can barely distinguish the dead bodies everywhere, across the path, mixed into the trees, haphazardly strewn, the warmth of life already melted away as they now lie cold with the passage of time. The air is thick with the iron stench of blood seeping into the earth.

Greystar halts suddenly, rearing up with an angry whiny; two men with raised swords stop her on the road. She has never seen them before but knows from their largely muscled bodies donned in black with worn leather armor and almost glowing green eyes that they are border wardens.

"Who goes there!" Demands a deep, harsh voice.

Mora gets Greystar to calm down, though he angrily paws at the dirt; her voice is firm and confident, commanding their compliance even though deep down her heart races and anxiety eats away at her insides, "I am Queen Namora of Derven. Please, lower your swords and let me pass. My militia is on their way by this road—they will be here in a few hours."

The larger of the two men steps closer, taking in her entire stature; seeing the tall helmet crown on her head, he sheathes his sword, "My apologies, Queen Namora. Queen Sheynne and Advisor Kelvin are just ahead." He steps to the side, as does the other guard, to let her pass, "We will send someone to meet up with your militia and hasten their arrival."

Greystar huffs at them before trotting forward; he comes to a reluctant halt next to Advisor Kelvin, who sits atop a large black steed, his attention focused on the Meadow before him. He barely glances at Mora when she speaks, "Where is Prince Varicken?"

Shaking his head, his keen eyes are still on the battle, "Out there somewhere—I lost sight of him after the ambush."

"What happened?" She demands.

"We barely had notice that King Irron was preparing to invade Sceadu; word got out quickly and we made it here. I gave the command to hide in the woods—as soon as his soldiers set foot on Sceaduian land, we slaughtered them. It was quick and clean, they didn't stand a chance." He shifts angrily in his saddle.

Queen Sheynne's voice comes drifting from his other side, though smooth the words are laced with venom, "Unfortunately it was barely a quarter of his army. As soon as the first wave was down, a second moved forward and our men ran out to meet them in the Meadow."

Her eyes have adjusted to the darkness quite well and with the moonlight, she can discern most of what is going on. On the far side of the Meadow she sees roughly half of the second wave of Alumenian soldiers; though they are dressed in gold, in the darkness it shines a dull white. They are barely being held off by a line of Geofen men protecting their King, his teal colored armor appearing grey.

Laid out before her are clusters of Sceaduian men, donned in all black. The large men fight against the Alumenians, their rage evident through their angry cries. Though they are brutally effective in their tactics, throwing punches as much as using their swords, their fighting style seems unrefined when compared with the precision and synchronized movements of the men in white. The Alumenians move with a chilling grace, each unit fighting as a single force against their foes; it is all the Sceaduians can do to hold them at bay.

In the distance, across the public road Mora can make out two men on top of horses surrounded by a large group of dull white soldiers standing at the ready; her blood boils within her, knowing that Irron is within her sights but unobtainable. Her sharp eyes scan the field, desperately searching for Rick and their cluster of friends; she knows she must kill Irron but she needs a competent group around her in order to reach him. As the seconds tick by into minutes, more and more bodies drop to the ground and no longer rise. Adrenaline courses through her, her fire burning hot inside of her to the point where her hands start to tremble and sweat against the leather of the reins. It takes all she has to try to plan her attack wisely, instead of throwing caution to the wind and rushing into battle.

The faint change in the darkness, the gradual lightening of the night as the moon makes it sullen path across the sky is the only cue of the passing of time. Merely hours before dawn, the brightening of its approach makes it easier for her to see the horror before her. Now able to distinguish the colors, a chill crawls down her spine as she sees the hundreds of men left fighting on the field—a clear majority of them are in gold.

The men in teal seem to be struggling their best to stave off exhaustion, each swinging and thrashing now with the sole intention to kill; though they took out the line that was descending on the Geofen King-King Wallace—so that they could fight alongside their allies in black, another wave of gold appeared in front of them as Irron's third line of soldiers advanced to the fight. No matter how many Alumenians they cut down, more step over the dead bodies to continue the attack. The Sceaduian screams of rage almost echo across the field, their ferocity and indignation reminds her of the stories of her ancestors, before Derven learned to control their anger with selflessness. She watches their brutish tactics slowly descend into savagery, as weapons are lost or broken, creatures of the darkness give into their animalistic disposition and start using their hands, fists crushing faces, necks snapped like wood, arms almost ripped clean from bodies by sheer rage.

A startled cry catches in her throat when she spots Prince Philip in his teal armor, roughly half way between her and Irron. A golden man fiercely stabs him in the leg, causing the Prince to crash down into to the ground. Mora restrains the urge to run to his aid, as she knows she will not make it in time and also that once she enters the battle, she will never retreat. She feels her body tense when the attacker raises his sword high above his head, tip aimed at Philip's torso; bracing herself to watch the death of the Prince, she is stunned when the Alumenian is cut down from behind. As the gold clad body staggers to the side, one swift swipe of Dell's sword decapitates the man. Eric quickly rushes to Philip's side, leaning over to place his mouth on the wound. Though she knows exactly what he is doing, she worries that the Prince will not. As the thought occurs to her, she frantically glances up and sees Irron observing the same scene from his station on the other side of the public road. He sits up tensely on his horse, when Prince Philip rises to his feet, being flanked by the three Wardens as they make their way back to a larger group of Sceaduian men.

Irron gives no verbal command—even if he did, there would be no way that his men could hear it—instead, she watches on in horror as a dozen soldiers in gold descend upon the group. Eric is quickly separated but instead of being killed, he is disarmed and dragged by four men across the battle field, away from his kinsmen. Mora's eyes grow wide when the Warden is brought before Irron. The King dismounts, shouting at Eric; the Warden struggles before he is brought down to his knees, his hands hastily held behind his back. Eric tries to get free but a man grabs a handful of his hair and pulls his head back while another soldier slices his own arm open, letting the blood flow into the Warden's mouth.

Her heart sinks when Eric stops struggling; he rises to his feet of his own volition. Irron removes his useless arm from his cloak, threading it through the shirt and tearing off the bandage to expose bare damaged flesh. The Warden willingly leans forward, pressing his lips to the wound. In moments, Irron flexes his sword arm, stretching and rolling it out. The cold smile that crosses his lips is visible; he points his hand out towards King Wallace and without hesitation, Eric heads in that direction.

Before she can react, she is startled by Kelvin's battle cry, "Sceduians—drink!" His command is repeated by others across the field.

"No!" She screams out in horror when she sees them follow his command, throats behind slashed and blood flowing into the mouths of those wearing black.

"They must regain their strength," Kelvin snarls at her, until the confusion crosses his face as the creatures of darkness slowly stop fighting, releasing the dead bodies to the ground. As one, they turn and start fighting their kinsmen alongside those in gold.

Mora hears the pounding of hooves behind her, Jackson comes skidding to a halt next to Greystar.

"Subdue any who attack you—do not kill anyone!" She barely manages to shout orders to him before digging her heel into Greystar's side; the beast leaps forward, ready to get into the thick of it.

"Protect the Queen!" Jackson screams as the Dervens break out into the field after her.

The remaining soldiers in teal and unswayed in black flock towards the sea of red pouring into the Meadow to regroup, but Mora doesn't look back—she knows the only way to put an end to this is to kill Irron.

Greystar's large body crashes carelessly into soldiers, their swords doing nothing to his armor as he plows his way across the Meadow in a direct path to the King. The horse is dead set on his purpose, almost oblivious to the noise of the raging war around him just as Mora is—neither of them see the man clad in gold on top of a steed until he darts into their path. Greystar slams into the side of the horse, killing it instantly but sending both beasts crashing to the ground, throwing Mora from his back and forward. She barely has time to tuck her frame inward before she hits the ground hard. The air is violently forced from her lungs and she struggles to gasp in a breath, rolling onto her hands and knees. Pushing through the pain she stumbles to her feet, seeing Irron merely yards away from her within the safety of his surrounding guards, a wicked smile on his cold, handsome face.

She screams in fury, forcing her body forward, knowing she will kill her way to him if she has to; she starts running as fast as she can, drawing her sword when a man steps into her path. Mora skids to a halt, her entire being is instantly frozen, her heart feeling as if it is crushed under the weight of sorrow when she gazes upon the familiar face of Rick—but instead of beautiful, kind blue eyes staring back at her, she sees by the same dark, lifeless eyes of the Alumenian soldiers. Her worst fears have come true.

There is no smile for her, no love, absolutely no recognition on his face. His massive body starts towards her, his sword raised high above his head. She barely has time to plant her feet and bring her sword up in defense when his comes slamming down with brute force. His strike pushes her back as she struggles to get her feet set against his weight. Rick raises his foot and kicks her harshly in the stomach, sending her tumbling to the ground. Mora manages to roll out of the way when his blade swings down and digs into the grass in her wake.

She swings as hard as she can at him, using the flat side of her blade, careful not to cut any flesh but he continues to come at her with all of the strength and malice he can muster. She tries to get away from him, to duck and roll out of the path of his weapon, to get to Irron before Rick can get to her but each time he descends upon her, determined to end her life.

Her fear and anger mix deep within her, burning to the surface so quickly she feels like she is on fire. A sharp hit with the blunt end of her sword hilt manages to disarm Rick but it barely fazes him as he pummels her with fists, punching her stomach and hitting her arms when she protects her head. She fights back but her hits, no matter how well they are placed, do nothing to him. Mora panics, worried that she won't be able to do anything less than take his life in order to stop him.

Behind her she hears an enraged cry, instantly recognizing the voices of Amyee and Cari approaching her. Determinedly, she starts punching and kicking Rick backward as hard as she can so that she can regroup with her friends. She barely turns away from him to retreat when he rips her mother's knife off of her and stabs Mora in the leg with it. Mora cries out, the pain fueling her rage; she punches him square in the face, hard enough that she knows she has broken a few of her fingers.

He stumbles back a few steps, dazed. It gives her just enough time to pull the knife out of her thigh but when he comes at her again, she is forced to drop it to defend herself. She feels his fists bruising her skin beneath the armor. Like a skilled fighter, he does the same thing that she would and hits the knife wound—the pain searing through her leg brings her to her knees. Amyee and Cari arrive, viciously descending upon Rick.

"Do not kill him!" Mora screams.

The women don't hesitate at her command but continue to fight him while she struggles to her feet. Mora hastily pulls her helmet off while the women attack and evade his swings; seeing an opening when Rick's back is turned to her, holding it in both hands she swings her helmet upward as hard as she can, crashing it into the base of his skull, the metal hitting with a sickening crack as his body almost instantly goes limp and drops to the ground. She spares a glance down at Rick, seeing blood matting his blonde hair but thankful to find his chest still rising and falling.

The guards around Irron flock to the three women, though the men in gold merely separate Amyee and Cari away from Mora, fighting them off to the side as they clear a path for the King to approach. He walks confidently forward, an amused, satisfied smirk on his face, his left hand on his right shoulder as he rolls it around, continuing to stretch the soreness out of it.

Mora forces herself to turn away from him, scrambling painfully with her injured leg to frantically search the ground for the knife, spotting it only a few feet away. She wraps her shaking hands around the hilt, forcing Rick from her thoughts, forcing her father from her thoughts, closing out the sounds and images of the battle around her. She gathers up her anger, shaping it into a cohesive ball in her chest, planting her legs under her while she rises and turns around. She draws in a deep breath, staring Irron in the eyes. He never stops moving towards her, only paces away from the unconscious body of Rick.

Drawing the knife behind her, every fiber of every muscle tenses when she winds up to swing her arm forward, forcing all of her strength into one throw because she knows she will not need another one. Her arm glides past her head when the horror unfolds before her eyes but as she is already mid-swing, she is unable to stop the blade, slick with her blood, from sliding easily past her finger tips while Rick rises to his feet, his body blocking the path to Irron's heart.

She feels the whoosh of air rush into her lungs, her mouth opens, her throat constricting to scream but nothing comes out. Each second lasts a lifetime in her anguish as she watches the knife spin forward through the air before it slams into Rick's chest. She watches the black voids of his eyes turn to that impossible blue as the knife pierces him through his heart and buries itself up to the hilt. He staggers forward a few steps, reaching out to her.

"No," she tries to yell but it only comes out as a whisper.

Rick falls forward and by the time he hits the ground, the light is gone from his eyes. The sounds, the smells and the reality of battle crashes down on her, overwhelming her. She scrambles towards him, thrashing wildly to reach him before it is too late. She slaps his face, she calls his name, she screams at him but he doesn't respond. Mora pulls the dagger out of his chest and shakes him again. There is no movement other than the blood pouring from his wound. Her eyes cloud over with tears. She can't think, she can't move, she can't feel anything other than loss.

The air is forced out of her lungs and she can feel several of her ribs crack under the drastic force of Irron's steel boot when he kicks her in the side, her body tumbling down to the ground. She wheezes, struggling to breathe, trying to focus through her blurry vision. Mora attempts to get up but the ground keeps tilting under her. She claws at the now sticky, red grass, trying to make everything hold still. Her hand touches the knife—she wraps it around the hilt, feeling the still warm mixture of her and Rick's blood ooze between her fingers. Managing to force herself up on her knees, she has to keep her hands on the ground in front of her so she doesn't fall over.

Irron's heel pushes against her, throwing her balance off again; as she crashes onto her back, her right elbow buckles and is pinned down behind her but still she clutches the knife tightly in her hand. The world swimming in her vision begins to slow down and focus. Mora looks up, seeing King Irron standing over her. The sneer on his face makes her blood boil, which only makes her head pound more.

"Now, that's poetic justice if you ask me," he kneels over her, one leg on either side of her waist, a proud smug smile on his face when he crosses his arms over his chest, "This isn't quite how I imagined this battle going, but honestly this is far better. Not only did I get the pleasure of witnessing Varicken's death, you're still alive. I must say, Namora, you are far, far more than I ever thought you would be. Your constant fighting against me, your stubbornness, your spirit, mmm," he clicks his tongue against his teeth, his eyes wandering over the hate in her face, "At first I was merely going to kill you and now, oh, how I would love to break you old fashioned way instead...but it is probably best to do this quickly," he pulls the burwood knife from his belt, raising it to his left forearm. "I'd hate for the strength of Derven to die on this field before I take you as my wife and our countries are united under me."

He slices a short but deep gash into his skin. Sheathing the knife, he roughly grabs Mora's chin to force her mouth open before pressing the wound to her lips. Though she struggles, he keeps a crushing grip on her, his arms tight against his side, his weight forcing her body into the ground. It takes all she has to stop fighting him, choking down the warm blood that fills her mouth, opening it wider so that he can see she takes it willingly. As his grip loosens and his body relaxes, she leans up into him. He smiles approvingly down at her, not realizing that she lifts herself up enough to free her arm. She doesn't have much strength left, but she knows that it won't take a lot of effort; stretching her arm out wide she swings it towards him, her mother's knife slams into his chest, easily piercing through his ribs and straight into his heart. His smile fades while his mind tries to process what just happen.