Tale of Four

The two danced around one another, Hyman swinging his great sword in smaller arcs, ready to pull it back whenever necessary to block an attack he couldn’t avoid. Aslam moved with grace, his speed supernaturally fast, his feet stuck to the desert sands like it was a flat surface, unhindered by the slipping Hyman had to be wary about. Bringing his sword down in a small opening, Aslam lifted the iron shield and blocked the attack at the final moment, his arm moving so quickly it was like a flash. From it, a large gust of wind blew Hymans’ beard and pushed him back slightly. Staring at Aslam, Hyman burst into laughter, the duel never ceasing as Aslam pressed the attack, looking more like a blur than a person when he did. Yet listening to his instincts and not his eyes, Hyman blocked and avoided each blow, getting minor cuts across his armour, returning in kind when he could.

”I HEARD ABOUT IT!” Hyman screamed, through heavy breaths, talking to himself and Aslam, ”I HEARD FROM RODERICK!” Hyman twisted his sword, blocking an attack. Unsure why, he threw his upper body to the side and saw Aslam’s iron shield fly past, hitting where his head would have been. A strong gust of wind flew from it, blowing back those behind Hyman, making them tumble into the men by their side. ”YOUR SON WAS A TOUGH BASTARD APPARENTLY!” Hyman laughed, stepping back for a moment just so he could take a greedy breath of air, unbothered by the dust he took in with it. Aslam didn’t press, needing his own moment to breathe.

It was a moment, no more than five seconds, they gave one another, before Hyman moved forward, swinging his sword down. Fighting like a dancer rather than a warrior, Aslam stepped to the side so quickly, Hyman could hardly see. The hairs over his body screamed. Knowing he couldn’t step back or block, he let go of Relam Splitter with one hand and threw his arm into the attack. Aslam’s sword cut into his armour, blocked by the chainmail beneath. Kicking forward when Aslam was stuck, his foot collided with his stomach, giving Hyman time to collect himself.

Aslam groaned at the power in the strike and took rapid breaths, lifting his shield at the final moment, with inhumane speed, to block Hyman’s sword. Aslam buckled slightly, gritting his teeth, pushing back Hyman, before taking his stance again. ”Animal,” Aslam said quietly under his breath, and moved. He was quick, blowing up dust as he did, and the wind kicked up whenever he moved. Hyman’s instincts screamed again, and twisting the great sword, he blocked Aslam’s iron shield, pushed back by the weight behind it. From above, the sword fell, and Hyamn tilted his head, the sword trapped in the tusk on his helmet. It was an impossible risk for any man, but Hyman knew he could pull it off with the power in his blood.

’Roderick, you fucking liar. It’s not speed.’ Hyman playfully cursed in his mind, hearing the horn on the side of his helmet fall off and hit the ground below. ’It’s the wind. They control the wind somehow. Of course, they do; the Traveller was always said to appear when the winds were strongest.’

Hyman laughed again and swung his sword, intercepted by Aslam’s shield. Knowing the Lord of the Desert would do that, he let go of his sword with one hand and grabbed the shield. Pulling Aslam forward, the man didn’t expect such a sudden movement and was met with a swift headbutt. Aslam fell backwards, holding himself up before he fell down as Hyman took a step back, dazed by the attack. Looking around, he had only just noticed that a small clearing had been made around the two, as both armies had decided they didn’t wish to be caught up in the duel.

Even with the clearing, the battle raged, fiercer than when it first started, morale high for both sides, seeing both their lords standing on equal footing. The drums of war and the war cries had vanished; only the clashing of steel and screams of men were left to fill the void. Desert and valley soldiers each desperately fought, trying to make the other break first, trying to end the battle before their respective lord died. They fought, trampling the bodies of the fallen; banners of all kinds were lost beneath the bodies and sands; some sections of the line were completely engulfed by dust storms as cavalry charged around close by.

”MEN! DEATH AND GLORY! VICTORY AND DEATH!” Screaming, he charged forward. It had only been three seconds since the headbutt, and seeing Aslam struggle to collect himself, he saw his chance. Swinging the sword from his side, his instincts roared, louder than they ever had before, of certain death. Changing strategy, he surrendered himself to them and twisted his blade to stab it into the ground. Hyman didn’t even see it, only hearing steel collide as Aslam’s sword suddenly appeared and clashed with Realm Splitter.

”Animal,” Aslam said under his breath again, seeing the action, only able to believe that an animal could react so purely on instinct. Dropping the act of being dazed that he played up, Aslam continued his assault and threw slashes and stabs that were naked to the eye. Hyman stepped back over and over, completely subsummed by what his body told him, not trusting his own eyes anymore, closing them at points to focus on them. His sword blocked what it could, but Aslam only seemed to get faster, the sand around him flying around, him at the centre of the vortex. Hyman laughed; he laughed from the depths of his soul as cuts appeared across his armour. Each strike tested him, pushed his body to its utmost limits, moving before an attack even happened, only knowing he survived when he saw the thin sword appear.

It was pushing past the point of instinct. Hyman moved, quick, quicker than his body looked like it could allow. Aslam was faster yet could never find the opening to deliver the finishing blow, Hyman’s instincts seemingly reaching a state of foresight. Aslam got quicker, his sword, tearing the winds apart, creating a horrid sound as it did, the flickers of sparks following his blade whenever he swung. His shield moved to block every heavy strike, the only thing able to slow him down.

Gusts of strong wind flew around, pushing Hyman, making his already uneven footing worse. Neither could land the killing blow, yet neither refused to break apart. Hyman desperately tried to find the opening, using everything he had, skillfully twirling his massive blade as if it were a stick, blocking everything. Aslam became like the desert itself, never slipping on the uneven ground, carrying the sands with him in every strike. Numerous times, Hyman was forced to close his eyes, yet it made no difference. Aslam grit his teeth. For normal men, the sand he kicked up would be a sure way to win, but Hyman’s eyes were meaningless in the duel, a hindrance if he actually used them.

They moved back and forth, retaking and stealing inches from one another; the cries of battle around didn’t register in their minds. Both wished for nothing more than to step back, to breathe, to let their bodies have a chance at rest, yet the moment one did, it was a death sentence. Neither could break apart, nor could they risk everything. Over and over, they exchanged blows, avoided certain death and scowled at their failure to kill their opponent.

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Roderick led the charge against the right flank, swinging his war axe in a large arc, his grey beard covered in blood. From behind him, the riders followed, colliding with the desert cavalry as they tried to reach the infantry’s flanks. Roderick bellowed with laughter, seeing the dust storm being kicked up in the centre of the infantry lines, already knowing who it was fighting with it.

His axe swung again, impaling deep into another man. Throwing all his weight behind the attack, he dragged the screaming man off his horse and nearly fell when pulled down by the weight, saved only by the man finally coming loose. Breaking past the cavalry, Roderick stared at the enemy flank, peeking behind him and seeing the desert riders circling around, ready to continue chasing them down. The number of men left with him had thinned, but it was still a substantial amount. Seeing the repeated clashes with the desert cavalry getting nowhere, he lifted a hand, signalled for half the cavalry to break off with him towards the desert’s flank, and the rest to continue pestering the desert riders. It was a gamble, a dangerous one, but if effective, it could break the entire right flank.

Leading the assault, the desert reacted quickly, seeing the valley cavalry not break off to engage their own again. A wall formed of those not in the fighting, swords raised to cut those who got close. Roderick didn’t fear, didn’t panic, instead lowering his body and readying his axe. Counting the seconds in his mind, he threw his axe forward, in a large arc, colliding with a shield, breaking it and impaling the man behind. Stuck in the frenzy, the valley soldiers had a boost of morale seeing the Rabid Dog of the Valley charge through the enemy lines and cried out, slaughtering those in front of them with ferocity to help their allies. The Desert Warriors were stuck fighting on two fronts, unable to provide much-needed support to the front line. Roderick’s horse screamed as swords pierced through its body, making it collapse and crush men below. Roderick fell with it.

Groaning when he fell on a sword that cut into his stomach. Not having time to care for the wound, he jumped up and threw mad swings of his axe to create space around himself as his riders all tried to clear a path around where they were. The Desert lines faltered, the flank shook, but Roderick could see it was a drop in the bucket. Gritting his teeth, he continued to madly swing, trying to retreat with the rest of his cavalry, but struggled, finding numerous wounds across his body.

The valley line pushed closer to him and Roderick, and he steeled himself. Seeing the retreat was impossible, he tightened his grip on his axe and held firm. His wounds bled, but he didn’t care. ”DEATH OR GLORY!” Roderick screamed, choking on some of his own blood, as the head of his axe nearly severed a man’s arm off. A sword pierced through his chest, and Roderick screamed before it was drowned out by the gurgling of blood. Grabbing the sword with his bare hand, he pulled it out and went to kill whoever attacked him, failing when another sword cut into his shoulder.

The desert force to his left broke as the Valley line pushed them back, but Roderick knew it was too late. Stumbling forward, he crashed into the ground, forcefully coughing out blood as his body was trampled.