The Warlord

Chapter 41: Bastian

My men have been dwindled down to virtually nothing. We started twenty strong, riding out of Serestine like the champions we were. Now, only my second-in-command and two others, along with me, remain. It was not the journey out of Serestine, but the blasted forest itself. Eight went mad by the sixth day, raving on and on about voices plaguing their mind. Five were snatched away by mysterious and likely magical means, disappearing without a sound. The other four deserted my party, leaving in the dead of the night, bowing to fear like cowards.

Our supplies grow more and more scarce as each day passes, and I am now relying on luck to get us through these cursed woods. Time seems to flow differently within here; either too fast or too slow, and sometimes at just the right pace. Perhaps years have passed and Serestine is now dead to the world, or maybe only a few minutes have gone by. 

"Any idea where this entrance is, Captain?" My second-in-command, known simply by the codename of Wolf, speaks up by my side.

"No, but keep an eye out. It's the entrance to Hell; it could be anything." Inwardly, I curse at the queen and this doomed mission. Once I get back, I will demand compensation for the comrades that I have lost.

We push forward with guarded, tense silence, each of our senses dialed up and alert. My eyes flick side to side, always searching for something; enemies, resources, the end goal. Several times wisps of light flash between the nest of tree trunks, accompanied by the scent of honeysuckle and tempting laughter. It feels as if the forest is teasing us, giggling at our incompetence and trying to lead us astray. I give a faint growl and turn away, ignoring the wisps. 

"Captain! Up ahead!" One of the remaining members, Vixen, drops her voice to a dangerous hush and points to something in the distance.

I hold up a hand, and everyone halts. There is indeed something further up in front of us, a creature of some sort. It slowly strides towards us, growing closer and closer with each step.

"Captain, what should we do?" Vixen asks, and I can hear uncertainty in her voice. I do not blame her for feeling uneasy; this creature moves with an unnatural grace.

"Steel yourself, Vixen. Wait for my order." She falls silent, but I can feel the anxiety spreading to the other members.

The being is still not close enough for me to make out what it is when it suddenly stops. It raises an arm, and I see a glint of silver. The realization hits me too late, and even though I shout a warning, the weapon is too fast. A simple slice through the neck, and Vixen's headless body crumples to the ground in a pool of blood. Wolf and the other member, Clover, jump back, drawing their swords. Ragnarok panics, whinnying with terror, and I leap off. I cannot stop him from racing away into the woods. First Vixen, and now my horse. This creature will pay dearly.

"Attack!" I know that we are most likely dealing with one of those fabled mythical creatures; elves, fairies, dryads, the likes. But rage and red and fire is all that I can see, and I lead my men forward.

The creature starts racing towards us at an extraordinary speed, and then, in the blink of an eye, it vanishes. My words catch in my mouth and I choke on them from the pure shock, skidding to a halt. It takes me a second or two to whirl around and find the being stooped over Vixen's body, pulling its sword from the ground. It kneels and examines Vixen's head, and up close, I can see that it has a humanoid form. Long, black hair spills from its head, obscuring its face and dripping down over its shoulders. It wears bruised armor over tattered clothing, and yet something is familiar about it. Then, it turns its head around and faces me, and ice cold shock seizes my chest. I am vaguely aware of Wolf and Clover standing behind the being, frozen with fear, their hands trembling. I am vaguely aware that I have faced Heaven's armies, that I have seen soldiers cut down by the behemoths that I fight against, with their glowing halos and holy powers. And yet I have never been more afraid than now, facing the warlord, with her eyes completely black, holding a sword stained in my comrade's blood.

"She was not the target," the warlord says, breaking the silence. There is something wrong with her voice, as if someone bottled up all her emotions and left her devoid of them. She speaks with a ruthless brutality, talking about Vixen as if she was nothing more than a simple mistake. It makes my blood boil, and before I can stop myself, I slash at her, releasing a grieving cry.

She blocks my blow in one sweep, and the sound of metal against metal fills the air as I am forced backwards. How is she this strong? It has been years since I fought with her, but even that amount of time cannot account for this sudden rise in power. I grunt with effort, straining against her might as she forces me backwards, and when I have no where left to step, she pushes me down. I sink to my knees, barely believing what is happening. Is this a dream? Or a trick? Yes, that must be it. This is an illusion, a nasty magic spell that is the forest's doing.

"Use your magic!" I cry out to Wolf and Clover. "This must be some sort of faerie mirage! We can break out of it!"

They heed my words and release their power, flashes of light rippling off of their bodies. I do the same, nearly blinding myself in the process, but it should work. "You are not the warlord," I sneer at the creature in front of me. "You are not even real." I search for the layer of magic that must be in the air, the one that has poisoned our minds with illusions. And I find nothing.

"Wrong," the creature says, continuing to press against my sword. My magic falters as I realize that this is indeed the warlord in front of me, her face inches from mine, blank and inhuman. "Serestinian magic," she observes, her attention flicking towards Wolf and Clover, who are still desperately holding on to their belief in my words.

She suddenly steps away from me, the removal of force shocking me into falling to the side. I hold myself up with my hands, breathing heavily. Paired with the large expenditure of my magic, my lack of strength causes my vision to sink into blurriness. Wolf and Clover have stopped releasing their power, but it is too late; the warlord is already stalking over towards them.

"Stop!" I choke out, but I am useless. I can only watch as she cuts down the last two of my men, dodging their thrusts and parrying their swings with ease. Faster than they can react, she knocks their weapons out of their hands and cuts them down. Then, like she did with Vixen, she examines their faces before standing.

When she walks towards me, I hold my sword up and struggle to my feet. If she decides to fight, it will be the end of me, but I will go down swinging. She stops in front of me; she could easily stab me through the heart and be done with it, but she chooses to halt.

"They were not the target," she says again, in that cruel, robotic voice. Cocking her head to one side, she stares at me, analyzing my features, my face. "You are not the target. Do not get in my way."

When she turns around and begins walking back to where we came from, it takes all of my might to not try and kill her. There is a sadness pouring and swirling inside of me, along with anger and rage. She has humiliated me, pushed me to the point where she could easily cut me down just like my fallen comrades. I stare at their crimson blood that has already started to dry, crusting their wounds and lifeless skin. Remember your duty, Bastian.

"Who is your target?" I call out, taking the risk that she will not harm me if I do not attempt to fight.

She turns back and stares at me with those lightless, black eyes, sending shivers up my spine. "The queen." Then, just like before, she disappears in the blink of an eye, leaving me standing there, a lone wolf surrounded by blood and fallen bodies. I sink to my knees in despair and droop my head, letting the rustle of the forest consume me, letting it laugh at all my flaws and incompetence. Serestine is doomed.