by Nicole René
Xavier’s eyes reflected the same icy coldness which resided in Tristan’s, locked in a silent battle only between them. Their eyes expressed the things they didn’t dare voice out loud.
The army wasn’t just starting a battle for glory and land.
Tristan broke first, turning around and walking down the hill. Xavier watched him go, following him with eyes that never lost their hardness.
These attacks . . . they were personal.
THE SUN WAS shining bright on the day of the warrior choosing. Leawyn sat next to Xavier in a wooden throne, composed of strips of oak that were fused together. The other tribe leaders and their wives sat alongside Xavier and Leawyn on the flat rock platform that overlooked the designated fighting arena.
The arena was once a grassy plain but had been worn down due to the many years of fighting that caused it to be reduced to nothing more than loose soil. Small boulders on the ground created the circumference of the four large circles that interlinked together. Each tribe had their own circle where the young hopeful warriors would fight against each other until only the strongest few remained. They were tested first on their archery, which had taken place earlier that day. Now it was time to test their swordsmanship.
Leawyn stared at circle that was noticeably empty, and her eyes misted as her heart clenched in sadness. This would be the first warrior choosing the Rhoxolani would not be a part of. Leawyn jerked, startled. She looked down to the hand that had embraced hers. Her eyes shot up and met Xavier’s, who was also looking over at the empty circle where the Rhoxolani should be. Leawyn closed her eyes, taking strength in the small act of comfort. She returned the comforting squeeze he gave her before letting go of his hand.
Both the Siraces and Asori had a fair amount of young hopeful warriors in their rings, to which Leawyn’s eyes scanned over quickly before moving over to the Izayges’s circle. The hopeful warriors wore stoic expressions as they held their weapons in their hands. Each of them looked ready to face real battle, instead of just their fellow tribesmen. Leawyn supposed that going against each other was like going to real battle with the amount of time they trained for this moment. When her eyes landed on a familiar face, Leawyn choked on her surprise. Leawyn smacked Xavier’s arm, making him still. She glared when Xavier slowly looked down to his arm and back to her face, eyebrow raised.
“Why didn’t you tell me Castic was part of the warrior choosing?” she hissed angrily, pointing. Xavier glanced to the ring briefly before meeting her eyes again.
“Why would I need to tell you?”
“Why would you . . .” Leawyn sputtered incredulously, looking at Xavier like he had two heads. “Why wouldn’t you!”
“You seem upset.”
“Of course I’m upset—it’s Castic!”
At Xavier’s blank look, Leawyn huffed and looked back to the ring, a frown wrinkling her smooth features.
Great. Now she was going to be really nervous watching the battles.
Xavier stood to address the young faces that were lined up in their respective rings and the tribes’ people surrounding them.
“A challenge has been made,” Xavier said loudly, his voice strong and clear as it echoed out to the crowd. “Come forth, Cantos of the Siraces, and meet your challenger.”
Leawyn sat higher in her seat, watching as Cantos stepped forward. The crowd parted for him as he made his way to the Izayges ring and met with . . . Tyronian.
Leawyn gasped in shock, her eyes flying over to Namoriee, whose eyes were riveted on the two men, stoic. Leawyn looked to the ring again. Tyronian and Cantos’s chests were bare of armor; the only thing they were equipped with were their weapons and hateful stares.
“It is a fight to the death, to which only one shall be victor.” The words were spoken solemnly, and irrevocability. Xavier sat back down onto his throne, and Leawyn couldn’t understand how he could be so undaunted.
“Xavier . . .” Leawyn whispered shakily, her eyes glued to Tyronian’s form as he and Cantos started to circle each other, sizing each other up.
“You know our laws, Leawyn.”
“But Xavier, it’s—”
“Quiet,” Xavier said, looking over to her. “It is his choice, Leawyn.”
Leawyn’s mouth snapped shut, having nothing to say to that. Xavier was right. She did know their laws, and she knew that challenging a fellow warrior was a rare and grave request that wasn’t made lightly.
There was nothing she could do. Uncaring of how it may look, Leawyn reached over and gripped Xavier’s hand, holding it tightly as she prepared to watch her friend and kin fight for what could possibly be the last time.
Cantos attacked first. With a loud cry, he swung his sword up in a high arc, causing Tyronian to bend his arm to parry and shove Cantos away from him.
And thus the battle began. The clang of steel meeting steel echoed as Leawyn watched with bated breath the two solid warriors fight against each other. The men of the two tribes were yelling, cheering their tribesman on as they fought. Tyronian and Cantos seemed evenly matched. With each jab, swing, and strike Cantos made against Tyronian, Tyronian would match with his own in equal fervor. It seemed like ages that they battled, and Leawyn grew more and more fearful.
“He’s done,” Xavier said suddenly, his voice smug with humor. Leawyn glanced at him from the corner of her eye, too concerned to take her eyes off the battling men.
“What?”
“Cantos,” Xavier explained. “Tyronian is done playing with him. He’s going to end it.”
Leawyn looked to Xavier, perplexed.
“What are you talking abou—” A loud cheer cut her off, and her eyes instantly whipped back to the battle. It was then Leawyn understood what Xavier had meant.
For it seemed that Cantos was no longer evenly matched. Leawyn sat up higher in her eat, watching in amazement as Tyronian seemed to come to life with his attacks. They were swift, powerful, and unrelenting. Cantos was barely able to block the blows in time.
Leawyn watched as Tyronian shot his arm forward, his blade whistling as he whipped around to face Cantos.
Cantos only had a moment to watch his sword flying out of his grasp before his body jolted, pain etched on his face. He looked up at Tyronian, his expression glazed with stunned disbelief at the sword that was now protruding from his chest. Tyronian’s grip on his sword’s hilt twisted. The awful sound of flesh tearing and blood squishing together permeated the air.
Tyronian’s shadow fell upon his opponent, and Cantos looked up at him, dazed.
The cheering stopped. The battle was over and thus no longer exciting. The only thing left was to claim victory.
Leawyn flinched, turning away. The sure thump of Cantos’s decapitated head splitting the silence. The head bounced once when it met the soil, rolling before it settled.
Tyronian bent at the waist, snatching the head up by the hair and raising it high. His scream of triumph was drowned out by the audience’s.
Leawyn sagged in relief, sitting back in her chair. Xavier met her gaze, and she smiled back at him when he grinned at her.
Xavier stood when Tyronian came to him, head still firmly gripped in his hand. Xavier slapped Tyronian’s arm in a job well done before allowing him to pass so Tyronian may present his prize to Kisias, who somberly accepted it.
Xavier waited until the crowd settled before he addressed them again. “Tyronian of the Izayges has defeated his foe, and in such, claims victory!”
The Izayges side roared with their approval, and Leawyn could admit she found their good spirit contagious. “If there are others who wish to challenge, speak now,” Xavier commanded. It was silent, no one really expecting anyone to challenge.
“Let us start—”
“I challenge Xavier to the right of chief.”
Leawyn gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. She stood slowly, her steps unsteady. She watched as the form of Xavier’s brother pushed through the parting crowd and made his way to the center of the Izayges ring.
Shocked murmurs broke out. Never in Samaritan history had there been a challenge for chief, much less between brothers.
“I challenge Xavier, Chief of the Izayges, for the right of chief of the tribe,” Tristan called out again, his voice matching his stoic demeanor.
Leawyn appeared at Xavier’s side, watching as Tyronian marched up to Tristan and spoke to him quickly and quietly. Tyronian grabbed Tristan’s arm, his voice rising. Tristan shrugged out of his hold. “You can’t stop me,” Tristan said before pushing past him and staring up at Xavier
“I challenge Xavier, Chief of Izayges,” Tristan repeated, speaking directly to Xavier.
“Why are you doing this?” Leawyn whispered numbly, her eyes filling with tears. Tristan cut his gaze to Leawyn, causing her to inhale sharply as he did. His eyes were clear and remorseless. He turned his attention back to Xavier.
“Do you accept?”
Xavier’s eyes met Tristan’s, an unspoken war raging between them. Xavier broke first, turning to look at Leawyn, whose tears instantly spilled over. Xavier didn’t have to say it. She knew what his answer would be.
“No,” Leawyn whispered through trembling lips, shaking her head. Xavier held her eyes as he said the words that would change everything.
“I accept.”
“XAVIER, YOU CAN’T do this.” Leawyn gripped his arm, trying to hold him to her. Xavier turned to face Leawyn fully. Her eyes were distraught, tear tracks already showing on her cheeks. She was looking at him with such desperation and grief that it made Xavier’s own heart clench in the unfamiliar way only Leawyn seemed to make him feel.
“You know our laws, Leawyn,” Xavier said gently, knowing she didn’t truly need another reminder. Leawyn gripped his arm tighter, her clutch desperate. She moved closer to him, her head tilting back in order to meet his eyes.
“Please don’t do this.” Her knuckles turned white with her grip. “You don’t know what you’re doing, what you’re opening yourself up to.” Leawyn searched his eyes, pleading.
“He’s your brother, Xavier. Please, I don’t . . .” Leawyn paused, looking down and swallowing against the emotion choking her. Xavier tipped her chin up with his finger, forcing her to meet his eyes.
“You don’t, what?” Xavier prompted.
“I don’t—” Leawyn exhaled shakily. “I don’t want to lose you. Not now. Not when I feel like I’m finally starting to find you.”
Xavier reached up, wiping the tear that fell away from her cheek. “You won’t,” Xavier promised softly.
He gripped her cheeks with both hands, Leawyn’s hands flying up to grip his wrists. Xavier could feel her hand shaking as he turned her head, urging her to reach up to meet his kiss. She opened her mouth, and Xavier could taste the salt of her tears as his tongue lightly brushed against her own.
The kiss was tender, but searing. Xavier could taste her fear and desperation. Finally, Xavier pulled back, staring into her watery gaze for a moment before he turned and tugged out of Leawyn’s grasp.
Xavier met Tristan in the middle of the ring, facing him calmly.
“Last chance to back out of this, little brother.”
Tristan smirked, his answer clear when all he didw as unsheathe his sword. Xavier’s gaze narrowed, but he followed suit and unsheathed his as well.
There was no build up. No need to prolong the fight, testing to find out their strengths and weaknesses. They knew exactly what kind of warriors they were, and they had no weakness.
Like two bears, they charged each other, sparks flying when their blades met.
Leawyn felt sick, her stomach revolting at what she was watching. Xavier and Tristan’s movements were so fast, it was hard to keep up. Unlike Cantos and Tyronian’s fight, Xavier and Tristan’s battle was almost graceful. It was a dangerous dance between two predators, both equally skilled in the art of killing and swordplay.
It was a battle that would be told for centuries, the day the greatest warrior in their history fought against his own brother.
Tristan attacked first, swinging his sword wide. Xavier jerked back, ducking against another attack. Xavier pressed forward, making a sweep for Tristan’s stomach. Tristan jumped away, just as quickly pushing forward and swinging his sword overhead and down towards Xavier’s neck. Xavier spun, his sword already up to block Tristan’s next blow.
Their movements were fast, with no hesitation in their attacks. They met each other with speed, force, and precision. Tristan attacked again, his wrist flicking out his sword and coming at Xavier in a blur. Xavier blocked, pushing Tristan back, but Tristan was quick in his retaliation. He swung around, slashing at Xavier’s neck. Xavier deflected, but Tristan pushed forward, putting on more pressure. Their swords shook and wavered, each gaining and losing ground. Tristan swung, his fist colliding with Xavier’s jaw and knocking him sideways.
“Oh, Gods,” Leawyn breathed in horror, watching as Tristan slashed at Xavier’s exposed back. Xavier narrowly avoided the strike, whirling around and bringing his sword up.
Xavier pushed Tristan back with enough force to make him stumble. Xavier advanced, and gripping his sword with both hands, he swung wide and low. The blade caught Tristan’s feet, and with a yell, Xavier swung up, sweeping Tristan off his feet and landing him on his back.
Leawyn shot up from her seat as Xavier advanced, his sword held lightly at his side. Xavier lashed out, slashing at Tristan and cutting across his forearm, drawing first blood. Tristan hissed, yanking his arm back.
Leawyn didn’t see an end. They were too skilled, too practiced. The clangs of steel were so consistent it blended into one sound. But then, things changed; it happened so quickly.
Tristan struck downward. Xavier deflected, elbow pointing out with his down-strike. Xavier used interlocking blades to his advantage, moving them in a circle, wrist flicking. Tristan’s sword went flying. Xavier brought his blade up, slashing Tristan across the face.
Leawyn stumbled forward, everything seeming to move in slow motion.
Tristan looked up as his brother approached. Blood streamed down and hindered his vision in his left eye. The ragged column from Tristan’s left temple down to mid-cheek was filled with blood, the skin no longer there. He was defeated.
“You never should have challenged me, baby brother,” Xavier told him, glaring down at him. “Now, I have to kill the only relative I have left. Why?” Xavier asked. “Why did you challenge?”
Tristan raised his chin, sneering. “Because you’re weak. You lost your way. Blinded by your obsession.” Tristan spat blood at Xavier’s feet. He looked up at him, his smile bloody and scornful. “She’ll always hate you. You’re chasing a dream, Xavier.”
Xavier’s knuckles turned white around his sword hilt. He slowly moved it so it hovered at the side of Tristan’s neck.
“Farewell, brother.”
Xavier raised his sword high, about to deliver the killing blow.
“No!”
Xavier stumbled forward, barely catching himself in time so he didn’t slice Leawyn in half. She had caught his wrist with both hands.
“Leawyn, what—”
“You can’t kill him!” Leawyn cried, pushing Xavier’s hand down. Xavier tore himself out of her grasp, rounding on her with anger.
“You care for him? You would risk your life for him? Answer me!” Xavier growled, his voice dripping with jealously.
“No!” Leawyn cried, shoving him back hard enough so she stood between him and Tristan. “I care for you!”
“Then get out of my way,” Xavier growled, reaching to shove her aside. Leawyn resisted, pushing him back again. “If you kill him, you’ll never forgive yourself. His death will haunt you, and you’ll never come back. I can’t let you kill him.”
Xavier stared at Leawyn in shock. Her eyes were vivid blue, made brighter with the glistening tears in her eyes. Her expression was intense, compressed with pain and some other emotion Xavier couldn’t pinpoint. He shook his head, hefting his sword higher in his hand.
&n
bsp; “You know our laws. I have to do it.”
“You don’t,” Leawyn beseeched, near tears. “Change the rules. Banish him. Let him live the life of exile. You don’t have to kill him, Xavier.”
Xavier held her gaze for a long time, searching for answers in her blue eyes. He glanced down at Tristan, who was staring at Leawyn like he couldn’t quite believe she was really there. Xavier looked around him, at all the eyes staring at him. They were waiting for him to uphold tradition.
Xavier looked to Leawyn again. She gazed at him as if she saw something in him. A lightness. She looked at him as if he wasn’t a monster. She had faith he would make the right decision. She was protecting him. Trying to save his soul from the torment of killing someone he loved.
He didn’t want to let her down.
Leawyn recoiled at the scream of frustration and anger Xavier let out, slamming his sword in the ground. She sobbed in relief, willingly moving out of the way as Xavier stormed over to her.
“You can never come back,” Xavier growled down at Tristan, wrenching his sword up and sheathing it.
“Tristan of the Izayges is exiled. Any who try to stop his escape will answer to me,” Xavier yelled, turning in a circle so everyone met eyes with him. Xavier grabbed Leawyn around the wrist, tugging her along with him.
“Tyronian, take my place,” Xavier ordered darkly as he passed him.
Xavier didn’t look back to see if Tyronian followed his orders. He never once turned around when Tristan was hauled to his feet and escorted away.
Xavier didn’t look back. Not once.
IT WAS STRANGE to be walking through the camp and not seeing a single person. Not that it was surprising; they were all witnessing the Choosing. Leawyn glanced at her husband, trying to get a read on his mood.
He was still dragging her behind him, his steps quick—almost urgent. His guard was up, his emotionless mask in place. She couldn’t get a read on how mad he was, which made her nervous. It never boded well for Leawyn when he was mad at her.