The Rokkoh Adventures

Rokkoh and the Princess, Chapter 10

For but a moment, only for a second, there is darkness. An eternal black. Neither hot nor cold. Weightless. Silent. A void. I cannot tell if I am asleep or dead. But for all there is not, there is one thing. Overwhelming in the dark, suffocating in it, is the utter fucking dread. Of what or whom, I do not know. A presence surrounds me in the nothingness. Something gigantic, but solitary. The fear intensifies. I feel small, insignificant, like a bug. My tiny heart beats in my tiny chest, a vigorous and rapid rhythm. The weight comes then, immense and crushing. The half giant's laughter harmonizes with the melody of my broken bones.

Light pours into the cabin of the carriage through the open door. The brightness is too much for my waking eyes; I shield them from the sting with my arm. Across from me, lying on the cushion with a permanent smile and glossy eyes, is Borso. The dark marbles, in contrast to the pleasant look on his little face, panic with an endless silent scream. The shrieking hits my ears then, the pure terror reverberating the high tone within my skull. It cuts off.

The sunlight swallows me whole as I land on the dirt of the road. Torvald in his regular spot is slumped over to the side, eyes closed but breathing. The humongous horse rests on the ground, a crimson glistening amongst the chestnut on its right side. Bushes rustle in the forest to the south. Lavender reveals herself in a vicious anger. My free hand reaches out, palm facing the trees.

"Undva delo iche quercho," the words come low and animalistic.

The simple spell only takes a single utterance, my eyes drawn to the space between two of the tall oaks. I set off in a sprint, focused with deadly aim on where my guided instincts lead me. The surrounding greenery blurs with my haste. Six figures come into view far ahead. They break through the sea of bark and foliage, entering a clearing. At the opposite edge, they slow to a stop. They turn and face me as I breach the edge. From left to right stand a male elf, four human men, and a lone bearded dwarf. The man nearest the elf carries something bundled in a white blanket. They all watch me from one hundred yards.

The elf, his elegant silvery blond hair tied into a tight knot like the half-giant's, says something to his neighbor. I can't make out the words from my distance, nor can I read the elf's thin lips. The man, with slicked back hair and a wicked grin, turns and disappears into the words. Blood boils in my veins as the echoes of her horror fill in my mind. The elf's mouth moves again while his eyes remain on me. A carefree hand motions to me. Twins of dark skin, their black hair and beards both short, advance with puny iron swords drawn. Determination pinches their faces into identical scowls.

My vocal cords rattle harsh and deafening. My eyes widen, crazed and violent, as I charge. The left twin slows in his steps, that look of grit loosening into a thinly veiled fear. The other, however, presses on undaunted. We meet in the middle of the clearing. The poor fool's swordarm does not get the chance to strike. Lavender plunges into his chest, piercing the leather of his vest on his back. He sucks in a half-breath, unable to keep it for long. He chokes on it as a sturdy kick releases him from Lavender's embrace. Warm droplets of sanguine catch on my face.

The twin, face full of that fantastic fucking fear, watches his brother gasp for air that does not come. In a sweet moment of regained courage, he gives his own battlecry. I oblige and continue forward. His sword rises high and comes down for me. My left hand leaves Lavender for a moment, deflecting my foe's blade with the steel of my armguard. My foot finds his delicates in a powerful strike. He doubles over, a stream of vomit spewing from his maw. My hand returns to my lady. She separates his head from his shoulders in an easy slice.

Furious blue eyes focus on the elf as his mouth moves again. He speaks low, the coward. The final man comes to me, thirty yards from his leader. Bigger than the others, he matches me in height and brawn. Sun-kissed skin and hair the color of the sun, I could have been him in another life. We could have been brothers. Yet we stand in a clearing, enemies. His sword smashes against my breastplate, knocking me back a step. For all his strength, he has poor form; he allows his sword to drop to his side as a proud, unearned sense of victory glints in eyes. Lavender tickles his left knee, meeting the other on its playful journey. He loses his footing and crumbles to the ground. He soaks the grass in a terrible red as he reaches fruitlessly for his severed shins. Part of me wants to end his suffering, be merciful to the man I could have been. I press on.