I Mourn Alone

​

People came to my clearing. They had little, most had nothing, The land was fertile, the game plentiful, the river clean.

We prospered.

***

Those of the Bhranna Valley screamed their hatred as they charged from the forest, wooden swords waving. They were so many. More than a hundred.

Four brandished stone knives and ran to meet them, to save their loved ones who vanished amongst the trees. Four with the courage of dozens and the strength of scores.

The attackers killed three.

When I tore the throat from the last of those from the valley, I called my kin from the shadows and we mourned together.

The Bhranna Valley burned to cinders.

***

The Harrow Horde stormed from the trees, a thousand on horseback with long spears and wide shields.

Eleven stood against them. Eleven with rage upon the edges of our stone swords.

We spread out, creating the thinnest of walls between those come to kill us and our people. Our families.

Ten fell to sharp tips and trampling hooves.

When I killed the last of the Horde, I looked to the tents which were my home. I looked to my wife, my children, the baker, the sheep woman. To all.

They were dead.

I mourned alone, in silence.

The Harrow became a land of salt and ash.

***

People, again, came to my land. They wore scraps I couldn't call rags. They staggered, stumbled, and crawling. They begged for food, for shelter, for anything.

"My people," I said, and guided them to the clearing.

***

The Crimson Crow marched an army against us. Rank after rank of tall and strong warriors in heavy armour. The force stood wider than our village. They bristled with steel, points and edges held high. Flames sprouted from the blades when they charged.

Seventeen of us halted the charge and fought a hundred times our number.

Sixteen were run through by burning steel and left in the bloody dirt.

When I killed the last of them, I looked to the thin wooden walls.

They were sound. My people lived.

We mourned together.

The Crimson Lands became a desert.

***

Word reached me of the Blooded Glory approaching. Thousands with spear, sword, and bow.

I left my people and rode to the pass in the barren Bhranna Valley. Grey and empty, I could almost see the far entrance. Ten could hold against a legion here.

On arriving, I removed the saddle, set my mount free, and stood to face those who came to destroy my people.

When they saw me defending, alone, they laughed and sneered. They fired arrows, marched columns, and charged horses against me.

When I killed the last of them, I looked upon the field of corpses and did not mourn.

The Lake of Glory bloomed red with the blood of my enemies.

***

The Golden One walked.

People followed, but it was no army. There were no blades or shields among them, no bows or mounts.

His armour, at midday, shone as if containing the sun.

His eyes, beneath a golden helm, were a blue to scorn the beautiful sky.

He was taller than any other, the strongest ever.

He moved as a mountain cat: lithe, sleek, deadly.

I walked from the gates to meet him, shield on arm and sword in hand.

"You've finally learned," I said when close enough to be heard. "One is strength."

He attacked without reply, sword a blurring smear as it came from left and right, from high and low. Each thrust blindingly fast, each slash from an unexpected angle. Kicks joined the battle, then knees, then elbows.

"You fight for your people," I said, slipping around his blade then batting it aside. "To save them from evil." His swipe tore a chunk from my shield. I tossed the remains at his face and drew a second sword. "To save them from me."

"You are brave," I roared and the near overwhelming glory in his eyes grew to staggering heights. "You are a hero!"

"Show me your people's strength." Such was his speed I needed both swords to keep his from scratching my armour. "Show me the power they give you."

Thousands watched us fight, those who had walked with The Golden One mixing with those who had watched him come among us.

"Show me!"

I blocked a blazingly fast thrust with one sword and hacked his shield with the other. This time, I put force into the blow.

My blade split his shield down the middle; the halves fell to either side. His hand struck the ground. Blood fanned the air from the ragged end of his forearm.

"Me?" I asked, shrugging his falling weapon aside then taking his other hand off. "I like killing you stupid bastards."

I stepped close, my nose almost touching his, and drove my blade through the armour protecting his belly. His eyes bulged, his lips gawped.

I leaned forward and sank my teeth into his cheek, tearing a mouthful free with a crimson spray and gulping it down.

"Your flesh is so sweet."