Of Blood and Steel

by Seymour Zeynalli

  The high commander looked at Anzor.

  “My Lord . . .”

  Anzor’s men were tired; they had fought since first daylight, but the battle wasn’t over yet. Anzor unbuckled his elegant sword and walked down the stairs.

  “That’s it, we are all doomed,” said one of the soldiers.

  “You most certainly will be you stay here. Or you can follow me and finish the battle. They want war? Let’s give it to them. Come, lets secure our place in history,” Lord Anzor rallied his men. Anzor led his men towards the battlefield.

  “You’ve heard the Lord! Don’t drop your shields and swords just yet, ladies! Let’s show those Liverian scums a warm Amida greeting!” the head commander said.

  “My hands are sore,” pleaded a soldier laying against the castle walls, barely lifting his shield.

  “You can rest when you are dead!” shouted the high commander.

  “Now go out there and fight!” he continued as he threw the man forward.

  Movement started as the dust cleared and the enemy appeared and started to spill into the city.

  Amidan soldiers met Liverian soldiers and they all clashed at the new opening.

  Balak rushed from the wall and into battle. Body after body piled up on one another as both swords and fists clashed. This was an advantage to the Iron Gates as its fortified design bought them time while they waited for reinforcements.

  The bodies formed a wall, which made it arduous for the enemy to get into the castle, although not impossible. Balak was in the mix of the slaughtering. His face was covered in spatters of blood. He killed soldier after soldier, going through them with his axe. He was pushed from behind mid-sprint and fell to the ground. He was still alive, but he could feel bodies piling up on his back. They were getting heavier and heavier and he struggled to breathe.

  He was getting crushed under the weight when he finally noticed a small opening. He could hear cheering and footsteps pushing in the opposite direction as the allied army arrived, so he pushed towards it and climbed through. He could see a sea of horsemen riding towards the battle and for a few minutes he thought the battle could be won. The Liverian army changed formation, aiming their billhooks and war scythes at the incoming horsemen. What looked like two thousand Amida soldiers clashed in the middle of the open field. The numbers were closer to equal now but it didn’t seem as much as they were expecting.However, the enemy was drawn in the other direction and even though they were unlikely to overcome the huge Liverian army, it was the chance the civilians needed to escape as fewer enemies entered the inner bailey.

  Balak saw some civilians breaking out through gaps and heading towards the mountain path, dropping their luxury items. The soldiers helped them leave but not everyone was leaving. In the distance, Balak watched as the assassin that was searching for Arda entered the inner bailey. Balak knew he had to find her before the assassin did. He rushed to Arda’s room, passing the royal guards before entering the room in a hurry.

  He saw Arda standing still and rushed towards her.

  “Arda! We must go, the assassin is back.”

  But Arda stood without moving. Balak reached Arda and turned her around but she was faceless.

  It caught Balak by surprise and he fell on his arse. A faceless figure of Arda stood motionless before him joined by a figure resembling himself.

  “Balak!” Arda exclaimed.

  “What the fuck is that thing?”

  “Husks. I thought you were the assassin.”

  “Why don’t they have a face?”

  “This is only my third time.”

  “We should leave. The assassin is on his way,” Balak said, opening the door. As he did, he saw the assassin approaching across the long hallway. He swiftly went back in and locked the door.

  “Fuck! He is already here. We must leave, now!”

  “How? This is the only exit.”

  Balak looked through the window and tried to determine if they could jump.

  “Wait. I have an idea,” Arda proclaimed, turning as she looked at the two husks.

  Balak nodded in response. He heard the sounds of metal clashing and said, “Make it quick.”

  He stood and watched as Arda conjured a spell and the two husks passed through the wall. Balak grew impatient as the sounds grew louder but said nothing. He knew Arda needed to concentrate. Arda’s eyes began to glow and she stood still in complete silence, holding the child. Balak heard the assassin easily disarming the guards behind the door. He stood ready to protect Arda and the child when the sounds stopped. He heard footsteps dissolve into the distance. Arda blinked and her eyes returned to normal again.

  “It worked.”

  “Great. This will keep him occupied for a while.”

  “Wait!” she exclaimed.

  “I still have to control them.” Arda’s eyes began to glow again and she went back into a trance.

  “Fine,” Balak groaned.

  Balak strapped the child on his chest, covered Arda’s eyes, and lifted her. He carried her down the keep. He carefully sneaked in the shadows to avoid being seen. Balak heard the screams echoing in the hallways. Finally, he made it to the outer walls when Arda snapped out of her trance. She was gasping for air and grabbing her stomach.

  “What’s wrong?” Balak tried to calm Arda down.

  “He stabbed me. I was bleeding,” She panted.

  “Where is he?”

  Arda looked over Balak’s shoulder and towards the top of the keep’s tower.

  Balak looked in the same direction and they saw the assassin staring at them, empty handed.

  “We should move,” Balak suggested

  They vanished into the crowd and pushed their way through the narrow path. Arda was shaking from the cold. Balak pulled his black furs over her maroon cloak and fastened them.

  As they made it to higher ground, Balak glanced back at the Iron Gates. The gates stood strong, but the walls crumbled. The enemy made it past the walls, and black smoke bellowed from the outer bailey and the keep. The screams continued to echo and as fire rampaged through the castle, they witnessed civilians, unarmed, being struck down with swords. Women were thrown to the ground and soldiers climbed on top on them.

  The murder and pillaging continued, even when men and women offered their surrender. No life was spared. Shrieks and blood-curdling screams echoed through the valley.

  “Let’s go, Arda. There’s nothing we can do now,” Balak said.

  Arda clutched her staff tightly.

  There was a rumble as the north wall of the Iron Gates Castle collapsed. By dusk, when the cloud of dust and smoke settled, all that was left of a once impenetrable castle were its Iron Gates.

  — CHAPTER EIGHTEEN —

  Ice and Fire

  The smell of fire was lingering in the air when morning broke. It was thick and pungent. A light breeze blew a dusting of ash overhead. It was a gray day. The smell and the ash weren’t coming from the fire that Balak and Arda had built. They had hidden in a small forest overnight. Arda had brought milk and bread in her satchel and Balak had found an egg that looked like it had been pushed from its nest. He had kept their fire going all through the night and had made a kind of shelter to protect them from the chill that was cutting the air.

  Since leaving The Hollow, it had never been this cold and although the sun was quite high, the sky was hidden by gray and white clouds.

  Arda cooked breakfast in silence.

  Balak knew she hadn’t slept well.

  “Eat, your food is getting cold.”

  “It’s cold already.” She poked at her breakfast and then rubbed her hands together vigorously.

  The two had not rejoined the other survivors. Balak thought that being in a large crowd made it easier for the assassin to locate them. They wanted a quiet place to think, so Balak found them somewhere well-hidden, secluded and peaceful.

  They set off reasonably early and walked through the forest in silence until they reached a small mountain range. They
climbed the lowest one. Balak had never seen a range of mountains so green before. Their white, icy peaks added further to their beauty. It was freezing and the higher they got, the colder it felt.

  When they had climbed around two-thirds of the way up, the path led them over the mountains. They could see for kilometers around and Arda was pleased she didn’t have to carry on to the peak.

  “That’s the Hand of the Fallen, isn’t it?” Arda gasped. It was the first time she’d spoken since breakfast.

  “Yeah.” Balak crouched down and unrolled the map, positioning it so that it lined up with the Hand of the Fallen. He studied it to get his bearings once more.

  “It’s bigger than I imagined. Makes you feel how small we are,” Arda continued.

  Balak pushed up to his feet and shielded his eyes with his palm as he scanned the area. “Makes you believe in the stories of old.”

  Arda curved her lips at one side and half-smiled.

  A strange sound caught their attention. A huge shadow sailed across the ground, seamlessly and, for only a moment, the place they stood turned black. The shape swooped in circles and caused a light breeze as its wings powered up and down.

  Balak and Arda stood in awe, staring at the beautiful mountain dragon. It opened its wings proudly and glided above their heads, swirling around just once more before flying in another direction.

  “Is that a . . .” Arda asked Balak.

  “Dragon,” Balak finished Arda’s thought.

  “There are said to be only a handful of dragons left. I think that one is called Qaya. I have read about her in my books,” Arda admitted.

  “It must have stayed hidden here all these years. Away from all of the unwanted attention, waiting to outlive us all,” Balak concluded.

  There was a brief silence. Balak and Arda looked again at Qaya before tilting their heads towards the ground. This creature was bold. It was close to extinction, yet it appeared to them. It did not shy away and hide. Giants suffered a similar fate. The conflicts of men stemmed from the arguments of one power-crazed family, warring for overall dominance.

  They watched as the dragon disappeared through the clouds and out of sight before heading back. Arda slowed her pace and stood still. Balak looked back curious and watched.

  “He won’t stop, will he? The assassin, that is,” Arda questioned.

  “No. I have seen the look on his face. That is the face of a man unwilling to stop,” Balak stated.

  “We are not going to Shirak. We are heading west.”

  “What about the child’s destiny?”

  “She might have royal blood in her . . . but she is my child too. And until she is old enough, that’s up to me to decide.”

  Balak nodded. Arda left The Hollow as a girl and was starting to grow into a wise woman.

  “What’s west?”

  “Away from all of this. We are heading to Zagros. Are you with me?”

  “Wherever you go, I follow.”

  “We’ll be there in a week’s time.”

  “Lead us then.”

  As they continued over the mountains, the sky turned bright white. A chilly wind blew gently and bit at their cheeks and fingers. The path led them up a final incline and the wind started to pick up pace. Gentle flakes of snow fluttered down from the sky, but they soon turned into thick snow that beat at their face and bodies.

  Balak and Arda shivered. They could not get warm. Their pace slowed as they waded through the snow and the child began to shiver and whimper. At one point, Arda was almost up to her knees. She used her staff to push through.

  The two pushed on, and as they headed down from the mountains, they were shielded from the snow and the temperature rose a little, but at a very slow pace. At the final lookout point before they left the mountains, Balak pointed out the Crimson Point to Arda. They were almost there.

  They were talking as they approached the foot of the mountain.

  “The Crimson Point is not far away. We should keep going,” Balak said, but Arda stopped suddenly in her tracks. She looked behind them and noticed a murky figure approaching them fast.

  Balak growled. “Not this guy again. We need to move, fast.”

  The forceful winds were slowing them down and the figure was gaining on them. Then Balak turned around and stood still. Arda called out for him.

  “Balak, what are you doing?”

  “Keep going. I will slow him down.”

  Arda started walking closer to Balak.

  “He will kill you.”

  “Arda! Stop. What are you doing?”

  “You can’t stop him . . . at least, not on your own. If we fight together, we have a better chance of defeating him.”

  Balak’s face expressed major concern . . . but upon further thinking, he nodded. “Don’t hold back,” he said.

  “I won’t.”

  Arda quickly unstrapped the sleeping child and placed her by a tree, in her basket.

  They stood and waited for the assassin to get closer. He looked tired but was still marching towards them. Once he was close enough, Arda readied herself with her spear and Balak yanked his double-headed axe from his belt. They marched towards the assassin.

  Balak swung first, but the assassin was fast and anticipated his strike. He ducked and rolled towards Balak, elbowing him in the face. He struck Balak’s wrist, disarming him. Balak threw forward his fist and it crashed into the assassin’s face. He dropped his sword and the blow sent him flying, backwards. He landed next to Arda. He slapped her face, hard, knocking her to the ground.

  “Stay down, girl!” he warned.

  Arda spun her spear and swiped his legs. The assassin fell to the ground but sprung back to his feet.

  Arda rolled away from him and got back up. He walked towards her and she thrust her spear seamlessly, but the assassin ducked and dodged every strike. He raised his leg to kick her away, but she spun and lunged forward, scraping his cheek.

  As she did, he thrust his fist forward and knocked her to the ground once more.

  A speck of blood ran down his cheek. The assassin wiped his face and looked at his hand.

  “All of this for a flesh wound?” he scowled. His attention turned back to Balak.

  The assassin charged back towards Balak before Balak had a chance to pick up his axe. He threw himself at Balak’s middle and took him down by the waist.

  Arda’s eyes widened as she watched the assassin pummel Balak’s face and ribs. He pushed Balak over and pounded him. He jumped to his feet and headed for his sword that lay on the ground.

  He walked again towards Balak and raised his sword above him, waiting to strike. Balak barely moved.

  “Not as tall when you are on your knees,” blurted the assassin.

  Arda clambered to her feet and banged her stick on the ground. As soon as the assassin heard it, he spun around and moved out of the way of her fire blast.

  “Not this time,” he smiled.

  “I wasn’t aiming at you,” she assured him.

  A noise rumbled behind the assassin as a wave of snow dropped from the mountain tops and flooded towards him. It peaked in its height as it waded towards them and snow covered everywhere.

  It was quiet as the snow settled. Everyone had disappeared beneath the white, thick frosting. There were no signs of life.

  — CHAPTER NINETEEN —

  Trailblazer

  A blinding white light warmed Balak’s face and shone through his closed eyes. He blinked and tried to force his eyes open, but he couldn’t bear it. He pulled the blanket over his head and adjusted his eyes.

  “Where am I?” Balak yelled angrily.

  Muffled voices approached but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. He flung off the cover and called out for Arda. He was in a small wooden bedroom.

  The voices got louder and the door creaked open to the tiny room. Balak pointed his eyes in the direction of the door.

  “Ah, you’re awake . . . I mean, you’re up,” a small old man told him. The old man didn�
��t have a single brown hair on his body, all of them had turned grey. He smiled as he approached Balak and he patted his forearm.

  He grabbed the man by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. “Who are you?” Balak winced in pain.

  “Do you always attack people who take care of you? You should rest. You’ve had quite an ordeal.” The man walked over to the bed and leaned over Balak. “I’ll fix you something to eat. You need your strength.”

  The man spoke calmly.

  “Is everything all right, dear?” mumbled a shaky voice.

  “It’s fine. I’m just talking to our friend. The one I was telling you about. You rest now and I’ll fix us something soon.”

  Balak narrowed his eyes and did what the man said.

  “Did you see the girl?”

  “Girl? What girl? There was only you.”

  Balak nodded.

  “I was on my way to back from the Crimson Point. There had been a huge avalanche and I struggled to get my cart over the snow. I found you. I thought you were dead. You were lying on your front, but then I noticed that your shoulders were rising. You were semi-conscious, and I managed to help you to your feet. You collapsed in the back of the wagon. You were freezing. I was hoping you were dead. There is enough meat on you for a whole week.”

  Balak looked at the man with growing suspicion.

  “That was a joke,” chuckled the old man.

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Around three nights.”

  Balak tried to get up. “I need to find the girl.”

  “You’re no good to anyone like that,” the old man told him. “Let me make you something to eat; the soup should be cooked now. Then I’ll help you get back on your feet.”

  He left the room but left the door ajar. Balak didn’t have the strength to get up anyway. He propped himself up a little and looked around the room. His clothes, armor, bag and axe were all propped on the chair.

  The man returned with soup and bread, and a warm drink too.

  “My wife is sleeping,” he told Balak.

  Balak supped the soup. It felt good as it slipped down and warmed his insides. It was the first time he’d felt warm since the Iron Gates.