For a city as small as Gulltown, the wooden walls built by Marawan's men were big enough. Marawan climbed the wooden tower and inspected what lay beyond. The outskirts of Gulltown were always green, the trees on each side of the road leading out of the city, the thick bushes, but Marawan's eyes reflected blue, as clear as a sky in a spring morning. The Defiants' army halted fifty yards away from their walls, and they formed into a line. The soldiers did not stir. They were waiting. A voice of someone coming up the stairs came through, and a man joined Marawan and tower watch.
"I'm afraid we have to adjourn your meeting," Lak said, his voice thick.
Marawan grimaced. "I didn't expect they'd come up on us like that."
"They may be slow in their heads, but they're fast at moving."
"They were at our doors, and you were drinking, in the morning," Marawan blurted.
Lak fell silent for a moment and seemed bothered enough to shift his weight from one leg to another. "If I survive this, I'll never drink again," he said nervously.
"No one gives a shit about that. I've told you many times, no more ale. I've told you—"
A man shouting from beyond the wall cut him short. "Where are your cowards?" The Defiant was a wide man, blunt, a thick beard covering his face. He held a long axe in one hand and rested the other inside his blue-sky breeches. The man turned and gestured for two men to follow him, and they stood there, three men to represent their army.
Cowards…His blood will quench Conqueror. It was a tradition in the Islands, and even the tribelands, for many centuries, that before every battle, skirmish, or war starts, the two armies must offer their Braves to fight against each other, a belief that the side with the victorious braves will be the victor at the end of the battle. Marawan cared not for such beliefs, but he always wanted to shut down the fools who took the opportunity for glory.
He turned to leave the tower and ushered Lak to follow him. "Go get Doro and Conser. They'll join me."
"Doro?" Lak asked, confused, as they came and stood by the wall's wooden gate, spiked and manned on both sides. "I'll be going with you."
"You're drunk." Marawan spat, grimacing g.
"Maybe I am, but I can hold my sword. And I can slice those bastards to pieces with a sword in one hand and a jug of ale in the other."
Marawan turned to him. "The next fucking time you drink you better do it secretly, because if I catch you again, I will fucking slice you myself. You'll not go. Doro will." The anger roared inside of him. That's good, fill your rage and pour it on that bastard. He knew he shouldn't be letting his men drink, but he also knew that they would anyway even if he told them so. Next time I'll know better, he told himself. "Now go get me Doro and Conser," he said, then yelling, "and can someone get me my armor." Lak had that look in his face that suggested fear, even when drunk, and Marawan knew him to be fearless when drunk. He turned and went on his way.
Marawan turned to the gate watchers and gestured for them to pull it open. Behind him men were harrying around, readying themselves. The roar of the army before the battle. The clangor of mail and armor, sword and shield, axe and dagger. Those were sounds he loved and loathed at the same time. A soldier ran to him, holding breeches and a dark, red armor in his hands. The paint on the armor was almost gone, beaten and bent with dozens of blows.
Marawan stood tall in front of him and could see the fear in his face. The soldier was young, his face white and smooth, no beard, no scars, nothing but a complexity of fear and confusion; and his hands shook as he tried ever so slightly to put the armor on him.
"Stop," Marawan said. The soldier boy froze and looked up at him. "Do you think I will die out there?"
"I-I-I…" The boy lost his words; all the blood seemed to leave his face.
"I am a Son of the Lineage, a Descendent of the Red King, yeah? But who am I in the battlefield? I am but a man with a sword. Nothing can ensure my survival out there but the sword in my hand." Marawan put a hand on the boy's shoulder, "I'm going out there and I'm afraid to die, and at that I might die, but I'm going anyway, because it is expected of me. I will not tell you to not be afraid, because every man is, but I'll tell you to use that fear inside of you, use it against your enemy." Marawan slapped him gently on the head. The boy looked at him and smiled. "I-I will my lord," he laughed and went straight away to fixing Marawan's armor. His hands stopped shaking. Marawan knew that this was more for him than for his soldier, but it didn't hurt to shake the fear out of his men.
In front of him, the gate opened, and the road spread forward, meeting with the blue of the Defiants. The three blue-armored men stood separately, a few feet from each other, waiting. Marawan walked out of the gate as Doro and Conser joined him. They both wore grey armors covering their upper bodies. Marawan had his red armor on top of mail, clanging softly, his sword, Conqueror, sheathed in his back.
Marawan and his two Braves walked together, side by side.
They stood, each opposite to his opponent. Marawan had taken the man in the middle, the one that called, their apparent leader. He looked taller and wider than before from the tower. The armor he wore had three streaks of blue paint from shoulder to waist. The man stood his ground, grinning, slowly tapping his battleaxe on the muddy ground. Marawan diverted his gaze back to his men and their opponents. These should be easily taken down, he thought. His men were fierce and prepared. Conser had done this before, many times, just like Lak and himself; Doro was standing Brave only for the second time. Marawan's decision to leave Lak out was not only for drinking; he also wanted to boost Doro's confidence, and he wanted to make him bolder.
Marawan unsheathed Conqueror and stuck it in the ground, resting both hands on its pommel. "I'm Marawan son of Kairo, Son of the Lineage, Descendant of the Red King, and brother to the Seven. This is Conser," he pointed with his hand to the left, and then: "And this is Doro," to the right. "We are the chosen Braves. Who challenges us?"
The bearded man in the middle stormed into a laugh, more like a bark, low and slow. "You mean brother to the FOUR." He seemed to take pleasure in spelling the last word. The men with him and far behind him broke into derogatory laughter. A faint prickle breathed inside Marawan's stomach, but he deemed himself impervious from derision. He grinned, lightly.
The bearded man continued, his voice low, "I'm Otto, liege to the Bear, Fucker of the Four." The men again burst into laughter, with Otto now barking. "To my right stands Sarso, and to my left Demar. And we challenge you."
The faint prickle grew into a thorn, but Marawan composed himself, grinning still.
Marawan and his men walked to their opponents. The braving rules were simple. Each man fights his opponent, the victor gets to withdraw, and at the end, each army sends men to recover their dead and wounded. Marawan waited for nothing. He swooshed forward with his new sword, cutting at his adversary. Otto met his sword with a raised double-bladed battleaxe, and the steel rang into a song of in the breathing morning. His men on each side followed his movement, and began their dancing with their opponents.
Marawan kept going in with his blows, attacking, drawing back, and then attacking again. Otto was holding himself well with his battleaxe. Marawan tried to cut a swift blow to the side, but Otto met him with his axe, catching the sword in between blades. Marawan faltered, and Otto delt him a blow of his foot in the stomach, crashing him down to the muddy ground. Still axe in hand, Otto jumped at him, full strength, but Marawan met the blow with his sword, and the steel licked each other, producing a melody; he pushed the axe away with all his force and, as he succeeded and tried to get back on his feet, Otto swept at him with the axe, and as Marawan tried to fend the blow, Conqueror flew off his hand.
Otto went down on him, holding the grip of the battleaxe against his throat, and pushed. The sound of steel kissing steel still rung in his ears, now from his left, now from his right, as his men fought for their lives, for their honor, and for a moment, just a tidy moment there, Marawan thought he was going to die. A tinge of fear sparkled inside of him as he held the grip of the battleaxe, trying to push it away, trying to push it upward as Otto gritted his teeth, his face a complexity of satisfaction, anger, anticipation. Everything blurred as the grip tightened on him, and the sound of steel around him surrendered into a thump, thump, thump; the cheering of soldiers from both sides but a wood's bug in a spring day. I will not die today, he told himself, as he remembered the dagger sheathed in his side. He allowed his strangler a moment of victory, the axe's handle pressing tightly now against his throat, as he reached one hand to the dagger.
A swift movement and the dagger swept through chain mail and soft flesh, the blood flowed hot and red. The Defiant man grumbled in pain, and his grip on the axe's handle loosened, allowing Marawan a breath. And with that, he forced the man off of him, and rolled in the mud, looking for Conqueror. The sword lay in its place, covered in mud, its ruby now not so red. As Marawan held it in his hand, the fear left his body, and his ears came back to life. The sound of the cheering lowered now, as the fighting seemed to reach its end. He looked around him, checking his men. Conser was focused, dealing blow after blow at his enemy. Doro, on his other side, was heavily wounded, but so was his opponent. They were both tired, the way they fought with their swords. Marawan turned back to his challenger, who was now standing, one hand holding the battleaxe, the other pushing against the wound, the blood flowing into chainmail and armor, red covering blue, dripping down in the mud.
Otto lost much of his energy, the way he was moving. Marawan charged again and again, his blows met with the blades of the battleaxe, but each blow found the man weaker. Marawan circled around him after each blow, confusing him, consuming energy from him as he followed him with the heavy axe. Marawan dashed forward after making sure he had the winning ground, he forced his sword to one side, steel kissing steel, then the other. Otto, seeming tired of his strategy of defense, tried to force an attack, bringing the axe, with a heavy, swift force, to Marawan's neck. Marawan ducked in time, missing it by an inch, and with that, he drove Conqueror forward, with all his force. Conqueror had taken him by the heart, and he fell on his knees, dropping his battleaxe. Marawan took his sword out, and blood flowed on the man's chest, armor, chain mail, covering his whole body.
The cheering now died, and silence reigned but for the clanking of swords of the remaining Braves. Marawan's heart beat out of his chest. The excitement and the fear of killing a man. He stood there looking at Otto, and the man laughed, blood spilling out of his mouth.
"I don't mind dying after… after killing one of you rats," he said, grinding his teeth, laughing, blood still flowing from his mouth, heart, all over his body. Marawan felt his throat tighten at hearing that, his heart a roaring rage. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out.
"That's right," Otto blurted, coughing blood. "I've killed one of your brothers, and he cried for his life at the very end." His laughter mixed with coughing.
Marawan felt his feet cold and numb, almost betraying him. A pit of rage grew in his stomach, and it climbed up to his throat, and he wanted to scream. I'll kill you, he thought. He raised Conqueror in the air. I'll kill you all. And, with a swift swoosh he struck at the Defiant's neck. His head came rolling down in the mud. Marawan stood there, his body numb to everything, the sounds of triumph behind him sounded very distant. I will kill all of you bastards, he thought, looking at the army in front of him.
In his anger he almost forgot about his men. Coming back to his senses, he looked around him. Conser had also won, with a few blood stains on him that seemed not fatal. Doro, on the other hand, struggled hard, his sword was lost in the mud, and his challenger coming at him eagerly, angrily. Marawan had almost joined in and helped him, but he restrained himself. There was no honor in that. Doro was trying his best to avoid the sword, trying to find his, his face horrorstricken. But Marawan knew even if he found his sword, he would not win. Doro's challenger found him in the chest, the steel licked through him, and Doro gasped.
The Defiant's brave laughed and raised his sword in the air, until he turned to the battlefield. His laugh now silenced. Marawan gazed at him, and the man stumbled backwards, as if afraid he will be slain. He kept going backwards and, ten yards away, he turned and ran toward his army. You run now, little bastard, but I'll find you. Marawan went to Doro, now lying in the mud. He held him in his arms, his eyes cold and empty of life, staring at the sky.
"I wanted to give you some confidence," Marawan said. "I'm sorry." Regret filled him, and he remembered, again, why he hated to kill and to fight.
"It's not your fault, my lord," Conser said apologetically, his hand rested on Marawan's shoulder.
It is and it isn't, Marawan wanted to say. The gate of the city opened, and his men came to them. Marawan stood and faced the Defiant army. If it had been his choice, he would have left all of this, and gone east, far away from all the warring and the killing.
But the choice was not his, and now he had a mission to accomplish.