Soul Fire

Soul Fire - Chapter 30

"It is the same, just like before. Why do they come for me? What have I done?"

Dathion could not prevent the edge of fear stealing into his voice. Beside him, Jerodai sagged, the boy's uncertainty a mirror of Dathion's. To his left, Ellishan dropped his hand to his sword.

"No, Dathion, it's not. This time you hold the Sword of Llanos, and, more importantly, you have me."

The unsheathing of Malithas's sword allowed Dathion to draw a deep, settling breath.

"And a real warrior."

Salidon reached under his cloak to press a bolt to the shaft of his crossbow.

"We fight here, in the middle of the road?"

Malithas considered Dathion, a small smirk stealing onto his lips.

"The best place to be surrounded, Dathion."

"Why? This is madness!"

His instructor merely winked.

"Do not keep your eyes fixed on the road in front of you, Dathion, for it holds few surprises. Instead, be aware of what is less obvious. From these places, your true plans will come."

Malithas seemed unwilling to move forward.

"So, you want to be surrounded?"

At that moment, Dathion's attention became distracted by movement, something to his left then right. He jerked his head to identify the origins, but only shadows and buildings were there.

"No, Dathion, not us ... them."

Salidon had finished reloading. He fired at their foes as Malithas finished his statement. The men raised their swords in front of their faces. Dathion thought it a curious reaction, as though a line of steel just a few inches wide and four feet long could protect them like a shield, or armor.

It couldn't.

The shedding of blood no longer struck horror, or even roused curiosity. In the lingering darkness of night, he did not see the red liquid blossom from the chest of the man Salidon shot, though he knew it must have. Now, blood just represented a peril or inconvenience, to nauseate with its clinging sweetness, or become slippery underfoot - a peril to avoid in battle.

Moments ago, it had given a dead man life.

The men charged. Malithas calmly stepped forth. His sword twirled in his hand, alive - never still. Dathion couldn't remember taking action, but into his hand sprang the Sword of Llanos. He dared to look down at the rune-inscribed blade. The second time he brandished the sword felt somehow different. When he had wielded the sword in the snow-swept peaks of the Cerdic homeland, his enemies could not withstand him. 

Now, it felt mundane.

He called to his power. The dream-like song slid into his grasp and he willed the sword into flame. Dathion dropped his eyes to the blade, waiting for golden fire roar from the metal.

Instead, it slumbered.

Dathion glanced up, confused. He waited for the onrushing attackers to reach him. True to the words of Malithas, it was not entirely unexpected when another group of shadows stepped onto the road, flanking and trailing the men who faced them. Even in the dim glimpses of light, Dathion imagined he saw arms moving. Some of their enemies arched their backs mid-stride, dropping swords to reach behind them, staggering, clutching, falling to their knees then forward onto their faces. Their foes started to slow, breaking their throng. They were the ones surrounded, not the Asillians. More men swarmed from the gaps between houses. Like rabid animals they leaped and hacked, stabbing with long knives.