Demon Heart | Prince of the Barren Sands Volume 1

Chapter 7 (Part 3 of 3)

The blood stains pooled under the dead bodies laying upon the sands of Barrens. And the broken bodies of the dead told the story of the merciless battle that had been waged. The feast laid out would summon more Black Rohs from their burrows once sunset came, and another course or two would be added before then.

Prince Relastin cleaved down on a Warrior of Isol who stood as no match against him. Even with a full dose of Rage burning in his enemy's eyes he could not match the prince's natural skill with a blade.

The prince hadn't taken one of his own yet, opting instead to save it. He didn't need it. Not against these inferior specimens. Not one of them could stand up to him as a man. A man who stood menacingly before them and without partaking of the enhancements available to him.

Another fell at the razor-sharp edge of the prince's blade. Then another. And another. And yet another. All screamed, realizing their end had come, and that they were on the losing end of this battle.

While the prince was not alone on the field of battle, it probably seemed like it at times to the enemy before him.

The stories to be told of the battle won this day would be exaggerated to state how Prince Relastin of Ison single-handedly defeated the hordes of Isol. When asked if such were true, not a man among his soldiers would disagree. And there would be not one enemy left to contradict the official account.

Slaughtering a path through his foes, Prince Relastin laid eyes on the only man he cared to find and the one he would make an example of.

His brother was a strong fighter. Capable in his own right. But one thing was for certain, if it weren't for the nearly two dozen men surrounding him, fending off Ison's swarming warriors, he'd have already fallen.

But Prince Relastin's men knew better than to kill the prince. That honor could only be done by one man. And the prince's arrival set the time for that glorious event as now.

A gleaming axe in each hand, the invading prince barked orders at his own royal guards, commanding them how to die for him. And die they did. One by one, they were falling. The herd was being culled.

Prince Relastin charged in, breaking his vial of rage and inhaling it as muscular legs tensed and propelled him. By the time he reached the wall of flesh protecting his brother, the vapors were thrusting his body to greater heights of fury and murderous rage. Even two or three on one, they stood no chance against him.

Each one of the enemy fell by a precise stroke of his sword. And when the guards were no more, Prince Relastin's men backed away and allowed the princes in their distinct royal colored urks to square off against one another. Alone.

Prince Relastin pointed at his brother with the tip of his sword. "Prince Kolad, Son of Abran, I challenge you."

"You violate the Decrees, brother!" The tone in the other prince's voice quavered. "My men and I were withdrawing, and you attacked us! I demand—"

"You demand nothing of me." Prince Relastin was defiant and unwilling to hear anything that his brother had to say. "No matter how many pleas you hurl at me, no matter how much you beg, I will grant you no quarter. Your continued attacks upon Ison distract our warriors from their duty in the Abyss. The demons must be kept at bay and culled. Yet here my army is called out to the Barrens to deal with the likes of you. You are a traitor to all of Imeron. And as such, you shall be given a traitor's death."

"Father will not stand for this! You will be stripped of your princehood for this highest of dishonor!" Prince Kolad's words and the accompanying plea hidden behind it was about as effective as talking to a deaf man.

"Dishonor? I know not of what you speak. You attacked our lands. We met you upon the sands of battle. And you chose not to withdraw, but fight to the end."

"Lies! When witness is given—"

"Witness by who, brother?" Prince Relastin motioned to the men, his men, watching and Prince Kolad's remaining men falling in the distance. "Your men are either dead or soon to be dead. Just as you will be. My men are loyal. They will not speak any ill of me or my action this day."

Prince Kolad bared his teeth. "The truth always bubbles to the surface, brother. You know this to be true. Even now it struggles to be heard. The lies you tell of today will join the lies of the past. Prince Zar will see to it! He will see that all is known!"

"I knew you were in league with Prince Zar." Ison's sovereign smiled and the affirmation. "Something in my bones told me. And now you've confirmed it."

"Prince Zar, even as we speak, makes progress towards the Gates. He will reach them soon!"

"Prince Zar will not make the Gates before I do." Prince Relastin shook his head. "Such cannot be allowed if the glory of Imeron is to continue."

"You are afraid of him, brother." Prince Kolad taunted. "And well you should be. You are no match for him."

"If he were half the man he claimed to be, he would come and fight me himself. Not send others to do his filthiest of work."

Resigned to the fact that he couldn't talk his way out of this situation, Prince Kolad gripped his pair of twin axes tightly and braced for battle. "If I die today, I die today knowing that soon the lies will end."

"You will die today so that the truth with reign," Prince Relastin countered the boast of his brother.

The posturing ended, and the princes joined in battle. Sword crossed axe time and again while the sands of the Barrens shifted under their feet in a dance of warriors.

Even if it looked as though they may have been evenly matched to common onlookers, to those knowledgeable and witnessing the display, it was clear Prince Relastin was quickly subduing his opponent and breaking down his defense. Every strike and parry Prince Kolad leveled was exactly what and where his brother, a far superior warrior, wanted it to be.

Showing his opponent that he could control his every move was as insulting as any words that could have been spoken between them. And when it became clear that Prince Kolad knew he was beaten, that was when Prince Relastin ended it.

With a downward stroke, he forced his brother's axes out of their defensive guard. Bringing his sword back, muscles full of Rage, Prince Relastin cleaved clean through the opposing prince's neck. As the disembodied head sailed off its shoulders through the air, the force of the blow careened the body in the same general direction. When both pieces of the defeated prince fell, they did so in the most undignified of manners.

Ison's warriors erupted immediately into a triumphant cheer that resounded upon the desert.

Prince Relastin, with calm befitting a warrior who understood his superiority without having to be told, fetched the face of his brother still sporting its stunned expression. He held it up before his men and they cheered louder.

"Let this day be the day where all know that Ison shall never fall!" He shook the head by its hair without a care for who it once belonged to. "And that I, and I alone, will ascend to the High Throne of Imeron. All shall bow before Prince Relastin, Son of King Arban, and true heir to the High Throne!"

As he lowered his trophy, and his men cheered louder, one of his lieutenants, a hearty and masculine specimen approached wearing his green urk. "My prince," he bowed upon the bloodied sands. "Shall I dispatch a rider ahead of us back to Ison so that they may prepare a feast in your honor?"

Prince Relastin looked to the west. "I think," he paused. "Yes. I think before that, we shall march on Isol. To return their prince to them. And show them what happens when they cross Ison and think to challenge my right to rule."