The Last Ember: A Fealty by Fire Unmade
A second piece written early in the conception of The Last Ember. Meant as a prologue chapter, I wanted to play around with an In Medias Res intro for the story, and through it, try my hand at writing a scene filled with elaborate combat.
Black smoke stung his eyes.
He clenched his teeth to fight back the tears and deflected strike upon strike of the long, broad blade of his hulking adversary. Firmly grasping his bastard sword in both hands, he bent all his strength and attention towards avoiding the massive slab of sharpened steel, which could undoubtedly cut him in half in an instant.
He cleared his mind.
Entering a focused state, his subconscious moulded the ringing of each of the great sword's deflected blows into his mother's voice, her mantra being repeated over and over as he sought a state of calm, deep within.
"The Blade."
"The Arm."
"The Mind."
"The Soul."
He closed his eyes and continued to parry, guiding the motion of his sword purely by instinct. The words seemed to swell with each contact of their blades. He pushed this focus even further as he tried to grasp the essence of the flow of both his and his adversary's movements.
One by one, all the distractions around him faded.
"The Blade.", the screams of his men as they fought, killed and died, dissipated.
"The Arm.", the heat of the flames consuming the houses around them was reduced to that of a mere bonfire.
"The Mind.", his adversary's scowling fangs shifted into his mother's serious, yet gentle face.
"The Soul.", the frightening blade was replaced by her wooden practice sword.
Amidst the chaos, fire and death, his mind found a sense of balance and grasped this strand of hope firmly.
For a singular moment, his worries and sense of duty as a captain in the Royal Army no longer burdened his thoughts.
Thorn opened his eyes, his inner spirit fortified and as steady as it had once been in the snowy fields in front of his childhood home, where his mother had trained him in the arts of the sword and the mind.
He allowed all the noises of battle to flow back into his consciousness in a single instant, and he withstood them, unshaken, as he became rooted in the here and now once again.
The Beast Knight's eyes locked with his, yet finding an opening to launch a successful attack remained difficult, despite his now heightened senses. He had never before fought one of the humanoid beast folk called the Therians, which made it much harder to predict its movements. The enormous individual before him was part of the feline genus called the Khan. He had a pelt white as snow and facial features which reminded Thorn of a panther.
The words that permeated his mind halted their focused rhythm and ushered him on with one final command.
"Now."
This provoked him into seizing this momentum to his advantage. He shifted his weight, spun his blade around into an unorthodox, reverse grip and pressed the offensive in a flurry of one handed blows that followed each other in swift succession.
Overwhelmed by the sudden elevation in the cadence of strikes, the Khan struggled to keep up, and Thorn’s blade finally drew blood.
Enraged even further, the panther let out a bloodcurdling roar. With growing rage burning in his eyes, the beast strained his muscles to bring his blade back as far as possible, expanding the space between the weapon and his foe. A sliver of a second before he would channel all this feverish energy into one massive blow, Thorn noticed the build-up of devastating fury and quickly took a defensive stance. He planted his feet firmly on the ground and placed the flat of his off-hand on the back of his blade, providing extra support and preparing for the coming onslaught just in time as the panther's enormous force hit him. He was sent flying and landed a couple of paces further, tumbling painfully onto the dusty ground. He struggled to get up to one knee and needed a few moments to catch his breath, his sword arm aching from the impact of the blow. He used this moment of small respite to re-assess the situation.
The beastly humanoid's impressive armour protected key parts of his body, with the rest covered by a bright, scarlet-coloured tabard. The blood red created a stark contrast against the tufts of white pelt protruding from occasional tears in the fabric. The careful way in which the apparel's weight was distributed granted the white one an exceptional balance between protection and freedom of movement. Moreover, the cat's emerald green eyes and vertical, slit-formed pupils revealed only the rage which seemed to overwhelm its mind, and nothing more. This lack of precognition of the incoming strikes of the attacker's broad blade, as well as his beastly anger, made it impossible to disengage safely and help Thibalt, who needed to apply all his skill towards fending off three smaller felines.
His friend's characteristic armour had already saved him on many occasions. It was made of polished steel lined with gold and accompanied by a tunic dyed in a deep blue, colours chosen in honour of his house.
The threesome which he faced was clearly attuned to one another's movements, as they took turns throwing blows at the young knight in a flowing pattern which was as much a deadly dance as it was a combat routine.
"Thibalt! Can you handle those three by yourself?", he called out to his brother-in-arms, not sure what he could do to aid him if need be.
"They're fast!", the heavily armoured knight replied, exertion heavy on his breath. "I just need to repel them a little longer!"
He had just finished the grunted sentence when one of the limber Khan jumped at him, thrusting her dagger towards his eye. He braced behind his Spell-carved kite shield just in time. As she landed her feet on it, he pushed her away with all his might, sending her leaping backwards and landing softly on her feet, after which she immediately rushed him again, daggers ready to strike.
"Good, I need to…", the thought was abruptly cut off as the white panther's paw grabbed Thorn by the spaulder, and as a number of the claws dug their way into his skins, puncturing the muscle below, he was lifted off the ground. The beast held his face close to his own, snarling viciously. The size of the Khan's maw startled Thorn. With all the force he could muster, he kicked himself free from the iron grip, the nails in his shoulder tearing muscle and skin as he pushed himself free. Trickles of blood formed puddles in the dirt at his boots.
He felt the battle grow ever more fierce. All around him combatants were dying in the muddy streets. The heat of the conflict was rising alongside that of the quickly spreading flames which consumed more and more of the surrounding village's simple, wooden houses each passing minute.
The resulting smoke cast a blinding veil around them, making it ever harder to keep formation and support one another.
Thibalt, his fellow captain and friend, soon all but faded from Thorn's view. His presence was only still betrayed by the occasional and intensifying flashes of blueish light as he deflected blow after blow with his shield.
If he could find a way to dispatch the Beast Knight he was facing, the Therians' momentum and morale might break.
If not, he feared the battle would be lost and the rage of the Beast Folk would engulf their kingdom.
He charged, and they locked blades once more.
Moments later, he heard the youngest son of house Myrael cry out as a burst of pale blue light penetrated the shroud of smoke.
