Contest Entries

Masked | Round 6 • Write to Rank 2

Kaza crouched on the ledge overlooking the guards stationed at the posts below, his muscles wound tight. He drummed his fingers silently against the smooth stone and waited for the nod from his friend perched across from him.

Alrid motioned for them to go. They pushed off, dropping down onto two of the six guards. Kaza landed with a thump on top of one of the unsuspecting soldiers, both of them grunting on impact. The crack of the guard's helmet and the clatter of the pike on the floor echoed throughout the tall, empty cavern. Another guard raised his voice, but his alarm was cut off by Alrid's knife.

Kaza winced at the gurgle of blood and the guard hitting the ground, then focused on his other opponents. Alrid was taking care of the other one, and there were three guards felled already. Two for Kaza, then.

A pike swung at his head. He ducked and kicked at the guard's stomach. His boot connected with the hard breastplate, sending a jolt of pain up his leg. He stifled a hiss, remembering how much he hated armor and masks. Unfortunately, the guards wore both.

"Kaza, watch out!" Alrid's shout registered the same time he noticed the flash of a pike from the corner of his eye.

Kaza threw himself back. His heel caught, and he tripped over one of the bodies, landing awkwardly, half-sprawled across the guard. Alrid launched a pike. The point found its mark, sending the guard toppling down. A final slash from Alrid's knife, and he was dead.

Pulling himself off the ground, Kaza cast a glance at the fallen figure. "Alrid, was that necessary?"

Alrid wiped his knife on the edge of one of the guards' cloak. "It was. Besides, is this what I receive in thanks for saving your life?"

Pushing away his queasiness, Kaza shook his head and clapped Alrid's shoulder. "That was ungrateful. Forgive me."

"The throne room is up ahead," Alrid said, shrugging away the apology. "Let's go."

• • •

"Come to kill me, have you?" The voice wasn't what Kaza expected. It was soft, raspy, calm. Its owner, a dark figure with his back to them, stood on the balcony off the throne room. The fortress was carved into the side of a mountain, a stronghold of stone that somehow Kaza and Alrid had managed to breach.

The cloaked figure turned his head, exposing the smooth, black, metal mask covering his face. Kaza had seen others like it, on display in the throne room. "That's what the prophecy says, isn't it?"

Alrid muttered something under his breath while Kaza shifted in discomfort. The confrontation was supposed to end with the Mask defeated. How they would reach that end, he did not know.

"You should have been quieter," the Mask said, turning. "Discretion is not your strong point, I see."

"Look out!" Kaza shoved Alrid down as a spray of objects shot over their heads and lodged in the wood behind them. Heart thumping, Kaza crouched and clutched his weapon, raising his arm when another object—throwing stars?—streaked toward him. It deflected off his blade with a ping, nicking the stone floor.

The Mask strode toward them, cloak fluttering behind, and brandished two long knives. Kaza scrambled to his feet and raised his weapon just in time to block the strike.

Sweat trickling down his face, Kaza defended himself against the Mask's furious onslaught. As metal met metal, Alrid joined in and helped put the Mask on the defensive. Soon they'd backed the ruler to the opening of the balcony.