From the Edge of a Sword - by Jimmy Griffith (SKIB!)
- My sword tore through space in a downward semicircle over my head. I anticipated the bite of metal on metal. There was only time enough for a single wave of blood to pump through the muscles in my arms before I made contact. My diaphragm forced all the air out of my lungs. His sword was beaten down by the force of my swing and thrown from his hands into a bed of meadow grass at our feet.
- Gunley glanced at his weapon. His head still low, he muttered, “I thought that I would have grey hair before you could disarm me.” His eyes rose, seeking my reaction. I let a smile crease the corners of my lips, and looked casually away towards the forest and the swirls of clouds looming above. The cold season was not far off, and I could feel the air beginning to stir. I brought my gaze back down to match Gunley’s.
- “It’s a shame you were so easily defeated by an amateur.” I laughed now; it felt good, and it felt like he was my friend.
- “You,” he started as he took up his sword, “got lucky, and you know it.” He pointed the blade in my direction, before sheathing it gracefully at his side. I had so much respect for him. I was young, impressionable, and alone. Gunley was my mentor assigned by the high council, and he was all I had.
- We hiked back towards Bellogar on an abandoned trade route; there was hardly any time for commerce with the war raging all over the continent. Gunley seemed preoccupied with something; he was staring into the woods, his lips were pressed tightly together, and his expression was tense. He nearly tripped over a rock; I let out a chuckle and he smiled at me. He tilted his head back to observe the sky, and after a couple of seconds he asked, “Do you ever wonder at the clouds? The formations in the sky are so drastically different from day to day and season to season… every time I look up, there’s something new to take in. They intensify my moods and help me to remember moments, and …”
- “Whoa there, friend, you sure have gotten emotional all of the sudden. What’s on your mind?” I stopped watching my footsteps to make eye contact with him as I spoke. He was internally debating a response and in frustration had begun kicking the dirt as we walked. “And now, you’re dragging your feet, eh?”
- “You know, I really like you, Rion. You’ve come along way these past couple years. I am proud of you.” He stopped walking, so I stopped and turned to face him.
- “Thanks,” was all I could think to say. I heard a low rumble in the distance, “There’s a storm over the horizon. I felt the wind start to pick up earlier.” Then I saw dust billow up ahead of us from around a bend in the trail; the noise I had heard was not thunder. Four horses were galloping towards us, and through the dust I could see the tabard of Montfale over the breastplate of each rider. The very symbol of that despised kingdom was enough to ignite hatred in any Bellogarian. My heart was beating in my throat, and I choked out a single mumbled word, “Run.”
- Gunley had turned to face the incoming threat. He drew his sword. Its pristine blade reflected the grey sky like a mirror. I noticed it had begun to rain, and I could feel each cold drop seep through my flimsy armor and tunic. Gunley wasn’t budging, there was no escape.
- “Go,” he told me, “I’ll slow them down.” The riders were within fifty paces of us now, and they started to charge.
- “I’m not leaving. They’ll kill you.”
- “Don’t worry about me, now go!” I wasn’t going anywhere. I unsheathed my sword. The front rider pointed his polearm at Gunley. Their steeds forged on unyieldingly through the rain and mud. My legs were shaking with anticipation. I didn’t think that this would be the end. Why did I still have so much hope in such a dire situation? Perhaps Gunley’s confidence was reassuring. The rain was pouring down in sheets. I wasn’t sure if it was my heart pounding or the deafening roar of the horses charge, but it was the only sound I could hear.
- The riders were upon us. Gunley jumped to the left and caught the front horsemen in the stomach with his sword. I swung at the next rider, and our swords clashed bitterly. The momentum of the collision set me off balance, and before I could defend myself, I was speared in the shoulder by one of the back riders. A hoof from a rearing horse smashed my jaw and twisted my head to the side. Pain rippled through my body, and I felt the force of another blow land on my chest. I was thrown into the trunk of a tree and I slouched at its base as I slowly lost consciousness. I saw the sleek black bodies of the horses. I saw weapons, and heard metallic explosions of blades grating on armor. I heard Gunley roaring with anger. I saw him fall in a puddle of rain and blood. Red, black, and then… nothing.
* * *
- I heard crows cawing from somewhere above in a nearby tree. I fought to open my eyelids. Night had come and gone; the sun had risen and was shining in my eyes, but as I tried to shift to avoid the imposing brightness, I was painfully reminded of the spear that had pierced my left shoulder. “Gunley!” I yelled. I heard the crows scatter, disturbed by my shout. He was not where I saw him fall, and nowhere in sight. I yelled again, but the only response I received was my own echo from the forest. The sting in my shoulder drew my attention again. I swatted the flies off the wound and examined the dried blood and torn flesh. I attempted to move my left arm and shuddered at the sharpening pain. After bandaging the wound the best I could with tattered pieces of my tunic, I slowly lifted myself up on the tree against which I had been thrown.
- I felt light-headed and weak due to my bleeding shoulder and the trauma of the skirmish, but I managed to investigate the area. The blood-stained trail was covered in the hoof prints of the horses, and it was clear that they had continued to head south, away from Bellogar. I looked to the opposite side of the trail, and there in the short brush laid Gunley’s canteen. His father had given it to him many years ago, just before he was killed in the prison riot. I scooped it up and examined the mud and blood caked onto its metal exterior. There was a smudge of four fingers streaking across one side. I pulled out the cork, emptied what was left into my mouth, swished it around and swallowed. My sword was stolen, my armor was nearly ruined, and my spirit was crushed.
- I started back towards Bellogar; Gunley had been taken prisoner, and they were far gone by now. There was no use tracking them. I felt entirely worthless. If only I had kept my balance, or been quicker with my sword, I could’ve saved Gunley. If I had trained more diligently… if I had had more courage, I know I could’ve done something differently. My sense of regret was far worse than any of the wounds I had received. Why had they left me behind? Did they really think I would die there, or were they simply being merciful? Perhaps they wanted me to bring back news of the attack as a sort of fear tactic. My thoughts became scattered and unorganized. I trudged northward slowly. I couldn’t get the image of Gunley falling under their weapons out of my mind. I had grown weary after two hours of hiking, when my foot slid under a root, and I fell forward onto my knees. My vision blurred. The sky spun above me as the forest folded in overhead, and consciousness again escaped me.
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let me know if you find any blatant grammatical errors
and if yall like it ill post more as i write