The Broken Bow

by C D Beaudin

  More than once.

  Her eyes move as he moves, his stealthy movements below making him look like a serpent, or perhaps more accurately a shadow of one. She barely even notices he’s killing those who are protecting her. She’s just filled to the brim with shame, and that’s why she can’t move, blink, or barely breathe.

  Down below, he lifts his gaze, glancing at her in the window. Their eyes meet for a split second, sending heat into Awyn’s cheeks. She gasps when he winks at her, and she quickly turns away. She shouldn’t be able to see that, but she’s on the first floor of the palace and her eyesight, is well...enhanced.

  Probably an elf thing.

  Earlier, Brega had been distraught over the Last Lieutenants arrival. She had to calm her somehow, so she lied through her teeth. “He wouldn’t really have killed you, Brega. He was just playing with you.”

  While it was a lie…she really hoped he was.

  She closes her eyes, finally able to breathe. The fiery burn drains from her face, the heat fleeing, and her cheeks returning to their normal pleasant chill.

  Awyn jumps as the door opens. “I wasn’t kissing him!” The words blurt out of her mouth in panic before she has a chance to stop them. Mortified, she manages to pry her eyes open to see the very confused Adriel.

  “Uh, right. Well, I just wanted to tell you that lunch is ready.”

  Awyn sighs in relief. “Oh, good.”

  But Adriel is already curious. Her brown eyebrow raises.

  “Who did you kiss?” she asks, suspicion, curiosity, and coy play in her tone and are written across her face.

  “Wh-what? Kiss? Me? N-no, I-I-I just—I didn’t—” Awyn stammers.

  Adriel smiles. “I’m just kidding. Don’t hurt yourself.” She turns, walking out of the room.

  Alone again, Awyn collapses onto her bed, staring at the ceiling. “I’m such an idiot. Why did I kiss that monster?” Her ashamed, anxious feeling relaxes. “Maybe Revera cursed me to kiss my enemies?” She rolls her eyes, scoffing. She can’t even blame Revera for this—something she never thought she could do. Her defeated tone has a hint of longing in it. No. Awyn, if he ever comes into your room again, kill him.

  Who am I kidding? He’s immortal, and he’s not an elf, so I have absolutely no idea how to kill him! She argues.

  But I most certainly cannot kiss him another time.

  She settles on this fact, though, something inside her—a dark, empty part—really, really wants that next time to come.

  Kepp struggles against the Last Lieutenant. Karak’s swordsmanship is outstanding, better than he could ever be. Mind you, this man has been around since the First Age, but that is hardly the point. The point is, Kepp is exhausted, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can fend off Karak. Or cares to.

  In an attempt to end this, Kepp steps forward, stabbing his sword at the immortal. Karak deftly dodges it, retaliating with a slash across Kepp’s chest. He can feel the blood seep through his clothes. It isn’t deep, though.

  He’s starting to regret the decision he made a day or two ago to ditch his armor. It had become heavy, hot, and many other soldiers have done the same thing. But many have lost their lives because of it.

  This battle has gone on longer than most, or else no soldier in their right mind would ever take even a gauntlet off. But the Sanarx haven’t stopped attacking them, and still they come.

  Kepp has killed over two-hundred Tarken and more than one-hundred Sanarx. It’s been a long week and…how many days this battle has lasted, he isn’t sure anymore. He can barely tell when day turns to night, until he can no longer see.

  He can’t tell dusk from dawn.

  “Don’t…you…ever…give up!” Kepp says in between colliding swords and heavy breathing. Karak’s hair is wet, slicked, tousled, and bloody. Kepp is sure he looks no different, except Karak’s expression is deadly and taunting.

  “I would but I have a lady to impress.” Karak attacks, Kepp blocking the double swords, the metal ringing as they separate.

  “What woman in their right mind would care enough for you to impress them?” Kepp jabs, not only with his words but with his sword. He stops talking for a moment, taking a breath.

  Surprisingly to him, Karak does the same. He likes the game. Kepp realizes. An idea pops into his head. “Oh, it’s Revera, isn’t it? Yeah, I thought you two had a thing last time I was at your place.”

  Karak’s blue eyes narrow. “We did have a thing, but we thought it would be best not to mix business with pleasure.” They clash their swords. “Besides, I was thinking of someone…younger.” Their swords clash again, the metallic ring carrying on the wind.

  “Younger? Did you cast a spell on a girl to make her fall for you? Or did you kidnap one like you did with Brega?” Kepp smiles.

  “I’m offended by the accusation.” Karak’s expression betrays his words. He doesn’t look the least bit offended. “No, this girl hasn’t been cursed.”

  He stops to think for a moment. “Well, not that I know of. She does have a…complicated relationship with Revera, so maybe she is in a trance.”

  Kepp’s eyes widen, but Karak keeps on talking. “But I don’t know why Revera would do that, I mean look at me. A girl doesn’t get over this.” He gestures to himself. “So quickly, or easily, for that matter.”

  Kepp feels furious, but Karak keeps goading. “I could tell you her name of course, but I prefer the guessing game.”

  He looks at Karak like he’s a puppy—a stupid child.

  “Who has black hair, blue eyes, red lips, and just happens to be the main course of Revera’s murderous rage?”

  Kepp lunges at Karak and they hit the ground, Kepp pinning the lieutenant to the dirt.

  Karak laughs, making Kepp even angrier.

  “What did you do to her? Curse her? Force her? Threaten her?”

  “Oh, I threatened her, all right. But she jumped at me anyway.” Karak smirks.

  In Kepp’s fury, he puts his sword to the immortal’s throat.

  “You liar!” he yells, blazing in hot rage.

  Karak snickers, despite the sword to his throat.

  “Why would I lie about something like that? I’m beautiful, Awyn’s beautiful, why not?”

  Kepp presses the sword to Karak’s throat, drawing blood. Karak barely flinches.

  “You touch her, I will make sure you never see another sunrise,” Kepp grinds out and stands, watching as Karak follows his lead.

  “And you aren’t killing me, why?” His expression is blank, but his eyes ask the question, and a million more.

  “Because I haven’t worked out how to yet.” Kepp glares at him, turning away.

  Karak calls out to him. “Maybe Awyn sees something that the rest of you don’t…”

  Kepp looks back at him.

  “Ever think about that?”

  He shakes his head. “There’s no more of you to see.”

  The tall Tarken is putting up a fight. His black armor is strong against Saine’s sword, the blade not scratching him. Saine grits his teeth under the pressure of the Tarken’s mace, fighting the urge for his knees to give out.

  “Were you more pleasant when you were alive?” Saine quips.

  The Tarken glares, and for a moment, his mace relaxes, giving Saine the moment to escape. He pushes up, making the Tarken stumble. In a swift motion he cuts off the Tarken’s legs at the hips.

  Panting, Saine swings his blade over his shoulder. He looks at the shortened creature. “The grave is comfy, you’ll like it,” he taunts the dead body. “I was in one for weeks.”

  Saine jolts, his back arched as he doubles over, hitting the ground hard. His back pounds in terrible pain. What just happened? He feels his back, small holes have punctured his shirt, and into his skin, blood seeping out. A mace? He looks behind him, and a Sanarx towers over him.

  His eyes widen, and he scrambles, desperately trying to get to his feet. The Sanarx is dressed in armor, head to toe. The thick, black metal plates leave no s
kin uncovered, and the helmet on his head leaves his eyes in shadow.

  No sword could help him now. He runs, tripping over a body, his back throbbing in pain. He feels another heavy pound on his shoulder and hears a crack. Crying out, he collapses on the dirt.

  How am I still alive? He moans in pain, not caring, only grateful that he is. Struggling to crawl away, he turns his head to the sun just in time to see the Sanarx lift his mace over his head, ready for a final, fatal blow.

  Saine can’t move anymore. He doesn’t know if his paralysis is from his back wound or fear and exhaustion, but he can't move either way. Someone normal might beg, but no words come to his mind. In fact, all his thoughts have been cleared out, with only an image remaining.

  Adriel.

  Her long, curly, dark brown hair flowing in the wind. Violet eyes that glow in the sunlight and her fair skin that shimmers in the moonlight.

  Perhaps she’s watching over me…or asked her mother to.

  The Sanarx brings down his mace, and Saine prepares himself for the blow.

  He closes his eyes.

  But nothing comes. There is no pain, no aching. No darkness overcoming him.

  No death.

  He forces his eyes open, and what he sees is as shocking as the mace had been to his back.

  Eldowyn stands there, beside the body of the Sanarx, the beast’s head on the other side of him. His sword drips with the dark blood, staining the snow below. The elf looks down at him, his face in shadow as the sun is behind him.

  “Eldowyn?” The name feels foreign on Saine’s tongue, he never thought he’d ever see his friend’s brother again. “How?” Saine grasps the elf’s extended hand, pulling him up.

  “Nice to see you too,” Eldowyn says, surprising Saine with a hint of a smile.

  Saine is speechless.

  “The how is…a long story.”

  Saine smiles, laughing in relief. He pulls the elf into a hug, something Eldowyn is clearly not used to. Saine pulls away, his face feels stretched from the relieved smile plastered across it.

  “Eldowyn. I never thought I’d see you again.”

  “Yeah, well, me either.” His eyebrow twitches to the sky. “How are you still alive? We thought Revera had killed you.”

  Saine winces at the memory of the hole. “That’s a long story.”

  Eldowyn’s hint of a smile turns into a real one.

  “You’ll have to tell it to me sometime. In the meantime, do you have any idea the whereabouts of a certain elf?” Eldowyn asks, probably ready to look for his brother.

  Saine wishes he could tell him exactly where Kepp is, but he can’t.

  “I think he was by the east gate, last time I saw him.”

  Eldowyn nods and hurries off to find his twin.

  It wasn’t exactly a lie. Saine remembers seeing Kepp at the east gate.

  Though, that was a day ago.

  “Eldowyn, give me my bow back!” Kepp reached for the weapon, but Eldowyn kept it above his head, out of his twin’s reach. “Come on.”

  “I’m a better bowman. This should be mine.” Eldowyn smiled in smug victory as Kepp snarled at him.

  “Aren’t we a bit old for these games, El?”

  Eldowyn’s arm dropped back to his side. His gaze was steel as it drove into his brother’s eyes. “Didn’t I tell you to stop calling me that?”

  “Since when do I listen to you?”

  “I’m the oldest!”

  “Oh, lucky you!”

  Eldowyn dropped the bow and went to punch him but a voice stopped them.

  “Really? If you boys are going to fight, do it where elves can’t see you.”

  They turned at the voice and saw Adriel, looking grown-up with her hand on her hip and hair braided to her waist.

  “Adriel.” Eldowyn backed away from his brother. “When did you get here?”

  “An hour ago. Now why are you two fighting?”

  “He took my bow,” Kepp grumbled.

  “Well, give it back.”

  Eldowyn rolled his eyes and shoved it into Kepp’s chest. His younger twin hesitantly took it.

  “Next time I won’t be the one to catch you two in the throes. Better hope it isn’t Grandfather.” Adriel left after cocking her brow and pursing her lips in a smirk.

  “She would probably love it if Grandfather had caught us,” Kepp pondered.

  Kepp and Eldowyn looked at each other.

  “I hate her,” Eldowyn stated. “After twelve years of life…I hate her.”

  “She’s older than us.”

  “I was talking about me you clotpole!” Eldowyn stormed off.

  It seems like every memory of he and his brother was shrouded in discord.

  Searching for Kepp became fruitless a while ago. Eldowyn has searched all the houses, killed a few soldiers in the meantime. The battle should be over within another day or two. From what he can tell, the Kahzacorian army is starting to thin.

  The Rohidian army even more so. The soldiers are tired and their hope to defeat this enemy is wearing as thin as their army. Many of them have taken off their armor, for reasons Eldowyn can’t quite understand, but every so often he’ll pass a soldier whose eyes dart wildly.

  The battle must have started a while ago. Soldiers aren’t often known to go insane unless they are low on water, food, and sleep, or they’ve been fighting for days on end. After a while, the sight of blood and spilled guts and severed heads can torment a soul, or in some cases, numb it.

  An ax flies through the air in front of Eldowyn. He watches as it cuts into the head of a Tarken, the beast falling to the ground. A dwarf hurries over to it, grabbing the handle, hoisting it over his shoulder.

  “Hagard, thank the Spirits you’re all right,” Eldowyn says. He isn’t about to lose another friend within the span of a day.

  “Oi, laddie. Enough wish-wash, let’s cut us off some heads!” he shouts, running off into the crowd.

  Eldowyn stands there, brows furrowed.

  “Wish-wash—what?” he mumbles quietly. Sometimes that dwarf makes no sense, and that’s when he is sober.

  Eldowyn takes a deep breath, trying to get the memory of seeing Aradon fall, and being helpless as he died out of his mind. He pushes the thought that his little brother may be lying somewhere among the corpses, also dead.

  There is no time for worrying. Now is the time to fight.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The day is cold. A blizzard came in late last night, the snow freezing, so it’s easy to step on. A cold wind washes through, chilling the faces and bodies of the tired soldiers. The sky is gray, with no sun to be seen, and the cold air makes breathing hard and painful.

  Even the Sanarx seem to be slower today. If it’s from the cold or fatigue, Kepp can’t decide. But it makes it easier to fight them. Most of the Tarken have died, only few remain, and the Rohidian army is down to only the best fighters that have managed to stay alive—not many.

  The Sanarx have shrunk immensely as well, instead of their thousands upon thousands, they might have only a little more than the Rohidians.

  Kepp hasn’t seen Karak in a while. Maybe he scared him off. He scoffs at the thought, knowing that would never happen. Perhaps he’s dead. Another foolish thought.

  The elf turns as he hears breathing behind him. He swings his sword, stopping just in time to recognize Saine.

  “Hey, I’m on your side,” he jokes.

  Kepp rolls his eyes, relaxing his sword.

  “Well, next time don’t breathe so loudly. I thought you were a Sanarx.”

  “I’m too beautiful to be a Sanarx.” Saine preens. “Anyway, your brother is here.”

  Kepp’s sword lands on the ground with a thump. He stares at his friend, wondering if he heard him correctly.

  “What?” he says, breathlessly.

  “Eldowyn is here. Fighting. I think there was that dwarf with him.”

  Kepp exhales in relief and amazement. He can hardly believe it. His brother is here.


  “Was he looking for me?” he asks.

  Saine nods. “Yes, I told him I saw you by the east gate. But I have no idea where he is now.”

  Kepp bends down, grabbing his sword. “I need to find him,” he says, but before he can run off, Saine catches his arm.

  “No, wait. I can’t have you distracted. You need to stay alert, and most importantly, you need to stay alive.”

  Kepp looks at Saine in surprise, hiding the anger. Saine must understand that he can’t just pretend his brother isn’t here.

  The brother he tried to kill.

  He needs to apologize. What if he never gets that chance?

  “Just let me go with you,” Saine says, probably knowing Kepp won’t back down.

  Kepp nods, and they set off to look for Eldowyn but with no luck—it’s as if he’s just vanished. There hasn’t even been the slightest hint he might be here, other than the conversation Saine had with him. Kepp still believes Saine, but he’s distraught. What if his brother is lying dead somewhere, snow covering his body?

  They may never find him under all this snow.

  Under all the bodies.

  Awyn walks through the halls, her feet bare and the silk of her red dress at her ankles. Her hair is loosely tied up by a red ribbon, strands of black curls framing her face. Walking slowly, she looks around the palace, even though she’s already seen everything there is to see, but sitting in her room has become tedious, and she’s restless.

  Adriel walks up beside her, brown hair tied in a braid. She looks pretty in her white dress with the purple silk sash running down to her ankles and touching her leather sandals.

  “I see you are barefoot once again. May I ask why?”

  “Shoes are uncomfortable,” Awyn answers frankly.

  This is what they’ve resorted to. Talking about shoes. They’re both so bored, so restless, they would do anything to be fighting alongside the men they love.

  Awyn sighs. “I want to be down there!” She leans against the emerald wall. “But I’m such a damsel. I could never wield a sword.” She mocks the men. She’s fought before, and she’s good at it.