Beyond the Rabbit Hole

When You Dig One Grave. . .

The streets wet with the cry of crimson tears. With every man that fell, five more would follow. . . until an army of two thousand dwindled to a hundred and the men who swept the streets enchained left stained upon the bricks their freedom. In the eye of the carnage, like a tornado barreling through a farmstead, a man of broken body yet steel of mind swept away the Talonguards with a maelstrom of desperate fury. Another thrust of the blade, and a cry that followed. A sweep of the neck, and another foe silenced. So fell each man who would challenge a tempest and the legacy of corpses left in its wake.

Alyss and Morgyn refused to look away, though their hearts throbbed with frustration. They gripped each other's hand as they followed the battle down the street from the sidelines.

To be human is to fight every day for the right to your own life. Simply living does not qualify. The new warmth of our flesh was not enough. We were arrogant, trying to mediate a battle that was not ours when we hadn't yet won our own.

Nkanyezi bore through the Talonguards one body at a time. The comrades of the deceased watched in horror as their brothers were run through. Those paralyzed by fear only joined their brothers sooner. The ones with more sense chose easier opponents among the surviving prisoners following in Nkanyezi's wake, inspired by his path of carnage. Few of the soldiers left their mark upon the Bull. The blood that spilled forth was no different than that of any other men, yet through the pain and the slaughter, he carried on. But even the most talented of soldiers could not take on an army on their own. As the remaining prisoners funneled in to cover his back, the more of them died. Eventually, Nkanyezi had to cleave through the enemies in front of him, while the enemies behind spilled more of his blood little by little.

His blade found the openings in each Talonguard's armor as if he had known their structure better than his own body. Each kill was swift until the very end, when a light shone through the fog of war, and Nkanyezi found himself on the other side of the front line.

Then, their eyes met.

Atop his wing-adorned steed, Isaaik watched with a look of disdain as his men were cut down in front of him. Hareson and his cavalry successfully entrapped the remaining prisoners. The battle was over, yet the numbness in his leg still lingered – an echo of the previous war.

Nkanyezi stared at the Lord Commander and time seemed to slow. His emotions raging more than his remaining energy could express, he closed his eyes and thought of home. Younger days flashed in his mind: the jeering of other children, his insecurities at his own size—they seemed the world to him then. He remembered his mother's warmth and consolation. She taught him it was okay to be soft. She taught him that he was no less for it, and that he should embrace it. She fostered kindness and compassion in his heart. Perhaps things would have turned out differently had I listened. Was my sacrifice. . . worth anything at all? Then, a different scene flashed before his eyes—the one man he could call an equal. Sanele, my friend. If you made it out alive, then-

A whistle cut through the raging wind, and breath escaped from Nkanyezi's lips. Through his bloodied vision, a fading darkness encroached, yet he could make out the feather of a bolt sticking out of his chest.

"Just kill him and be done with it," Meier scoffed. His crossbow pointed directly at the Bull, yet its chamber was empty. "I don't see Sanele anywhere. He may have taken a horse to escape. Lord Commander, your orders?"

Isaaik took a deep breath, yet it caught in his throat. No matter how much he tried to forget the pain he felt that day, his body remembered.

Nkanyezi's eyes widened, and like his friend's name passed upon the enemy's lips, his friend's words passed through his mind. . .