Of Blood and Steel

by Seymour Zeynalli

  The nart made shrieking sounds and writhed as it tried to stomp Balak with one of its large heavy feet. Balak rolled from side to side. He was able to disorientate the nart and quickly scramble to his feet.

  Arda moved out of sight beneath a fallen tree but positioned herself so she could still see the battle unfold.

  The nart swung a large wooden club at Balak. It was the size of half a tree and Balak had to move closer to the nart to avoid it. Balak charged forward again, wielding his axe above his head. He jumped and sliced the nart’s exposed knee. Its eyes widened and shrieked.

  “Inəm krət te!”

  Dark red blood spilled from its knee and the nart hammered the ground next to Balak. Balak continued his attack and this time with another swipe, he severed the back of the leg.

  The nart stumbled as its leg buckled. It landed down on one knee with a thud and Balak continued to dodge its attacks while striking back at the nart’s hefty limb. It twisted furiously, swiping at Balak, but he moved swiftly, anticipating the nart’s next strike.

  Balak jumped onto the nart’s damaged leg and pummelled its other knee, slicing open an old wound and pushing his blade in deeper. The nart tried to get back to its feet, but it could not bear weight.

  Balak hacked at its lower back, through its torn leather tunic. He was unrelenting with every blow. In this frenzied attack, blood spattered his face as he struck the nart’s spine, causing it to fall forward with an earth-shattering boom.

  Balak ran along the nart’s back and continued to slash furiously. Arda’s eyes filled up and she could take it no longer. She scrambled out of hiding and ran over to the nart, just as Balak raised his axe above its head.

  “Balak. Stop!” she yelled.

  The nart groaned and she looked into its eyes, but Arda was too late. Balak pounded down his fatal shot, at the back of the skull. The nart wailed and coughed out blood. Large droplets sprayed Arda as its eyes became lifeless.

  Balak jumped down from the nart.

  “Did it hurt you?” he asked as he looked Arda up and down.

  “It’s not my blood,” she snapped. “There was no reason to kill this nart.”

  “No reason to . . . is this how you’re thanking me? Maybe I should have let it step on your thin skull, so you learned some gratitude!”

  “It was not looking for a fight.” Arda turned her back and started walking away.

  “It didn’t look that way.”

  “It was trying to say something. They are far more intelligent than you think. Who knows what those other men did to anger it?”

  “Be quiet.” He listened cautiously as the faint sound of a longsword brushing against the earth was closing on them.

  “Has it ever occurred to you that they might even have their own language? Their tongue and culture pre-dates our own.”

  Balak shook his head.

  “Arda! Quiet. More are coming.”

  “How many?”

  “Just one.”

  “Oh no, not him,” she quietly whimpered.

  Balak’s attention was drawn away from Arda and towards a hooded figure just ahead of them. Arda spotted him and stopped abruptly.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” a deep voice croaked.

  “Who’s that?” Balak whispered to Arda. But Arda didn’t answer.

  “What do you want?” Balak asked the man.

  The man was wearing black breaches and leather boots. He swung open his cloak and flashed a large heavy longsword that was tucked in his belt, along with an array of silver daggers and knives. He slowly pulled down his hood.

  He was short, and cleanly shaven with thick, slovenly, long brown hair. He was broad across the shoulders and his voice sounded older than his years.

  “I’ve been searching for you for some time.”

  Arda took a step back, behind Balak.

  “He is here for us,” Arda gasped.

  “This is one man. There is nothing to fear.” Balak pushed her further back with his arm. “Is he a man from the camp, too? You can explain later.”

  “You’ve hidden yourself well,” the man said.

  Balak held his axe over his shoulder and stood in a fighting stance. The man pointed his sword towards Balak and advanced towards him. His cloak slipped from his shoulders and onto the ground.

  Arda hung back as Balak stood facing his enemy, ready to strike. Balak towered above the man, but he wasn’t about to underestimate him. After all, the nart was much bigger than Balak and yet, he defeated it. The man cocked his head and leered towards Arda.

  “After I’ve killed you, just know that I’ll kill your little lady friend here too.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first to fail.”

  “You seem to underestimate me. I am not like the others. Her head is real pretty. Shame it won’t be attached for much longer.”

  “Allow me to prove you wrong.”

  The man frowned and narrowed both his lips and eyebrows. He was swift and handled his sword with ease, turning it easily as if it were part of his hand. He poked his longsword towards Balak, and Balak jumped back, dodging its point. He spun and moved towards Balak who caught the blade with his axe.

  They used their strength to push against the force of the weapons, but in strength, they appear to be well-matched. The man quickly spun in the other direction. He dropped to the ground and swiped his leg at Balak’s feet.

  Balak anticipated this move, and hopped over the swinging leg, but the assassin jolted forward to swap legs and swiped in the other direction. He sent Balak crashing to the ground.

  “You are slow, old man. Age has made you sloppy,” the assassin grinned.

  Balak growled and rolled backwards. He caught another blow with his axe as he pushed to his feet and forced the assassin to move backward.

  The assassin bent his knees and drew his sword up to his shoulder.

  “I told you that you underestimated me,” he taunted. “Don’t worry, I’ll have fun with the girl before I dispose of her.” His smiled at Balak and tilted his head.

  “Would you shut the fuck up!” Balak screamed.

  Balak threw his axe against the assassin’s sword, hard. The weapons locked together and both fighters again pushed. The assassin again broke the stalemate, but this time he spun away from Balak before charging back in. He swiped his blade across Balak’s chest, slicing across his tunic. The fabric instantly became soaked in blood and Balak groaned.

  The assassin dove in and drove the butt of his longsword into Balak’s head, forcing him to stumble. The assassin increased his attack and ascended on Balak, punching his clenched fist into Balak’s jaw, before slicing across his stomach with his longsword.

  Balak still stayed on his feet but was noticeably weakened.

  “You are no match for me, old man. You belong in your grave, left to rot.” The assassin looked Balak right in the eye and smirked.

  Balak jabbed his axe forward and struck a blow to the assassin’s gut. The man doubled over and took a few steps away from Balak. They duelled again, circling each other and clashing together sword and axe. They matched each other’s blows, but the assassin moved faster and struck harder.

  He drove his foot into Balak’s knee and there was a loud crack.

  “Argh!” Balak snarled, losing his balance.

  The assassin thumped the side of his head and Balak stumbled to the ground. He crawled on all fours, and pushed himself up to his knees, but the assassin was on him, pounding him with a right hook in the eye. He jumped back and swiped at his arm with his sword and Balak dropped his axe as he toppled forward on his face.

  Arda cried out.

  The assassin looked at her and smiled.

  “He deserves this,” he told her as he held his sword at his side, ready to swing for Balak’s neck.

  Arda clutched her spear and ran towards him. The assassin dropped Balak and grabbed Arda’s spear under his arm. Her feet lifted into the air before she let go and flopped to the floor. He whacked the spear down
and hit Arda in the nose. She squeaked as blood dripped down her nose. Balak swung a fist into the assassin’s side, causing him to drop the spear. He doubled over, winded.

  “Run, Arda, go and take the child,” he yelled.

  “Not without you.”

  “You have to leave. Keep the child safe. Go now. I’ll hold him off.”

  Arda grabbed her spear and disappeared into the forest with the child.

  The stranger was angry, and he rose to his feet. They started battling again, but Balak grew weary. The stranger battered the back of Balak’s head again and again.

  Arda watched from behind a nearby boulder. The child began to squirm and cry. Arda looked down at the child. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” She closed her eyes and clasped her staff hard. The assassin rose and stood over Balak, wielding his sword above his neck, waiting to strike.

  Balak looked up at the sun. Its beautiful rays beamed down on his face and warmed him in his final moments. He took a deep breath as the assassin swung back his sword. Balak was ready to meet his end when suddenly, a huge fireball fired the assassin backward into the forest.

  Balak scrambled to his feet.

  “Who did that?”

  As he looked around, Arda stood with her feet sunk into the ground and her hands tightly wrapped around her spear. She slowly lifted her head with glowing eyes and a single drop of blood running down her left nose.

  She rushed towards Balak.

  “Balak, get up, we have to go. We have to go, now!” She helped him up.

  “How did you . . .”

  “Now is not the time. We have to go!” Arda instructed.

  Balak’s arm was over Arda and he was stumbling, slow on his feet.

  “You were a mage all along?” He pushed her away and stumbled.

  “Stop being so damn stubborn and let me help you.”

  Quickly, an orange glow followed them through the forest and the smoke was getting thicker.

  “Look, I don’t know how long we have, the assassin could already be after us,” she told him.

  “Get off me, fuck off.” He pushed her away.

  “Get up, come on.” She grabbed his arm and yanked. Balak went along until they arrived at the edge of the stream.

  “Great, a waterfall . . . we are trapped,” Balak sighed before resting on the grass for a moment.

  “The fire is getting closer. Can you swim?” she asked him.

  Balak clutched his ribs with his right arm and peered over the edge.

  “Are you mad? We wouldn’t survive,” he protested.

  “We have no choice.”

  Arda walked to the water’s edge and watched it disappear in the distance. She followed the stream along. The fast-flowing water got louder. She stared at the water.

  There was a rustling in the trees, and she could see the figure of the assassin moving towards them.

  “Balak, I am sorry,” she said.

  “For lying to me about being a mage?”

  “That too . . . but mostly for this,” Arda said as she pushed Balak on the chest knocking, him off the cliff and into the waterfall. Arda wrapped an arm over the child and she closely followed.

  — CHAPTER THIRTEEN —

  The Mystic Forest

  The water was still rushing when Arda gasped to get some air. She took a deep breath before she looked around to find Balak and the child. She saw them on the shore to her left. She forced herself towards them.

  “Balak!” Arda screamed as she extended her arm to him.

  Balak grabbed her arm and lifted her out of the water.

  “Thank you, Bal . . .” Her words were interrupted as Balak pushed her back under the water. She struggled for a few seconds before Balak lifted her to get air.

  “Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn’t do the assassin a favour and kill you myself?”

  “You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t intervene,” she gasped.

  “You pushed me to my death,” he roared.

  “I was trying to save you, you dumb brute!”

  He pushed her back under the water, this time for a little longer. Arda tried to feel the surface and grabbed a small rock. As soon as Balak lifted her back up again, she hit him across the face with all the force she had gathered, sending him far enough away to allow her to get on the surface. They both lay on the ground trying to gather their strength before Balak broke the silence.

  “How do I know you aren’t using me to help you? Am I even here on my own volition?”

  “You wish to leave, then go!”

  “Who is he, anyway?” Balak questioned Arda as he got up and extended his hand to her.

  “I don’t know. I just saw him looking for me in The Hollow,” she replied as she grabbed Balak’s hand.

  “Looking for you? What would he want with you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You should’ve told me.”

  “If I did, you would have never agreed.”

  “There is more that you are not telling me. Who are you really, Arda? What’s going on? Why would the . . . ah!” Balak looked at the child and went silent. “So, the troops . . .”

  “The child. Did you steal it?”

  “What? No. No, I wouldn’t even . . .”

  “Then whose is it?”

  Arda lowered her head.

  “The king’s. She’s the king’s child and has the rightful claim to the throne.”

  “Is she yours?”

  Arda looks at the ground.

  “Arda. Is the child yours?”

  Arda gently lifted her head with tears rushing though her eyes. The answer Balak was seeking was written all over her face.

  “Don’t make me say it,” she begged.

  For a split second, Balak’s arms lifted to give Arda a comforting hug. But his anger got the better of him. He passed her by and coldly left her to weep alone. Arda took the child from the sling and sobbed while she dried and changed her.

  “I’ll honor my word. We’ll still travel to the Iron Gates and I will protect you and the child. But once we’re there, our arrangement is over.”

  Arda continued sobbing.

  “And one more thing . . . There is no more “us” anymore, there is just you and I.”

  “So where are we now?” Arda asked as she washed the tears from her face.

  Balak looked around, unable to pinpoint their exact location. He hesitantly spoke, “The Mystic Forest.”

  They followed the path for a while in silence, while taking in their surroundings. Suddenly, Balak and Arda paused, with their mouths agape. Beams of sunlight shone through the leaves and formed all different colours.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Arda gasped.

  The leaves on the trees were bright green and all the trees that bordered the forest were dusted in cobalt blue and turquoise. The dust shimmered in the sunlight and reflected on the pink swirls that hung from some branches.

  They walked closer and Balak stopped suddenly. He held out his arm to stop Arda.

  “By the Maker,” he whispered. He pointed his finger over to the forest. “Look over there.”

  Arda could make out two brown eyes with sapphire pupils. She refocussed her eyes and could make out the shape of a sturdy creature with four legs. It was broad at the front and so vibrant. Its head was round in shape and it started to unfold its ears, like petals, blooming from a flower. As they drew closer, they noticed another two creatures, then two more, then a whole pack. It unfolded several smaller petal shapes in oranges, blues and greens. Two sharp black horns were uncovered, just above his long nose.

  “Are those its ears?” Arda asked.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Balak answered.

  “It looks like some kind of bison. But its head . . . it’s-”

  “I know . . . weird.”

  “I was going to say beautiful,” she said.

  The animals moved quietly and slowly, but soon started to pick up pace. A black and grey figure slinked through the grass b
efore them, making a run towards the pack. It was a cat-like creature that pounced from the long grass and took out the creature at the back of the pack. The bison-like creature bucked and wailed as it was clawed and torn apart by sharp, long teeth. The rest of the pack ran until they could be seen no more.

  Arda looked away and they pushed on, creeping through the trees in awe of the forest’s beauty. The blue and pink dust was not dry but was fresh like morning dew. Orange and lilac buds bloomed, forming an archway entrance to the forest.

  As they passed underneath, they could smell a gentle aroma of sweet honey. Arda reached out and touched a bud with her delicate finger. Her finger slipped right off its cold, smooth shape.

  Balak and Arda pushed deeper into the forest. They could no longer see the outside world. They could hear the twittering of birds and the chattering of animals surrounding them.

  The shrubs and bushes heightened around their path as they headed further into the thicket. They passed by leaves that were almost as big as Arda.

  The path narrowed and Balak pulled up his tunic to prevent the overwhelming scent of the overgrown yellow orchids from catching his throat. Their fragrance was sickly-sweet, with a hint of spice that caught the back of his throat.

  Arda started to slow as the child grew heavy. They had been walking for several hours but the beauty of the forest ignited their curiosity.

  “We should stop and make camp,” she told Balak.

  “I’m looking for a safe place. We have no idea what lurks here.”

  They heard running water as the path started to open out and there was a small patch of grass, by a pool with a small waterfall. The water from the fall frothed white as it splashed into the bright blue pool. The grass started off green but the closer you got to the water, the bluer it became.

  “We’ll set up camp by those trees,” Balak instructed.

  He walked over and started to make a kind of shelter with a blanket and some low-hanging tree branches. He then threw over some of the huge green leaves.

  “We should stay well hidden,” he told Arda.