A sword usually finds reasons to be swung, if not at the deserving then at the meek.
~ Ahilya, Queen of the Rising, when passing judgement on the traitors to the crown and dismissing fair trial.
Rolan
Rolan flanked the skiem as it tried to take a swing at a soldier before it was done charging and missing.
Its head was cleanly severed by his sword.
Its hairy, fat head rolled on the leaves, leaving a trail of sizzling, corrupted blood.
The soldier nodded to him, a tad too deeply to only be acknowledgment and not gratitude.
Rolan tapped his shoulder and gestured to move towards the fights yet to end.
Skiem were the easier of the monsters bred by the night as far as monsters went.
Sure, they had great strength behind the slimy swath of brown fur, and their unblinking, protruded eyes were a thing of abject terror.
But they were just that.
One can consider them a breed of beasts particularly hard to kill.
But therein lay the problem.
They were hard enough to kill that one was warranted a party of five for safe measure, and they had met a group of them.
If not for Sir Ravis taking charge almost immediately and cleanly carving the monsters into isolated killing fields, it would've cost them blood.
Rolan flicked a glance at the defensive ring around the carriage and joined the fray with a grunt.
He baited one and fell in a roll, feeling death pass him by an inch.
He turned to mount an attack, but the foul creature was already facing him, and with a spear jutting out of its chest, it fell too.
Sir Ravis nodded to him from his horse.
Rolan sat with his back to a tree, watching soldiers clean up the clearing.
The fight was just over and he was trying to catch his breath.
A few scouts rushed back, reporting to Sir Ravis.
The boy peeked out of the colored glass windows on the carriage again.
Rolan felt his frustration mount and looked away.
Tall trees around the clearing made sure that light was valued, so the corpses of the monsters were hauled away to the vertiginous slope on the left.
The boy, Malay Bellerophon now, was just a boy when he came one night to live with them.
Rolan knew that Lady Eir would never be the same after young lord Fahir died, but the night the black-haired, dark-eyed boy came to them, she got worse.
He saw the lord and the lady argue several times.
When Rolan and the young lord were boys, they used to play at her feet.
She was sunshine, morning prayers, and the sweet offerings given back to them after the prayers.
The lilting songs of virtue sang in worship for the Chained Lord or one of the gods.
Mama, woman of heaping bundles, rolling sweat that she was, and her days of hauling and hollering and heaving all the heavy and low—amidst it all, she was a woman of faith.
She used to usher him into Lady's prayer hall, called Lady Eir blessed by Lyra and Solarian.
But she lost all the light, and fell her voice in the blights as heavens when the corpse of the young lord and the old one came together.
When the boy came to live with them, Rolan saw this scrounging child with dead eyes and didn't like him.
When he got the Bellerophon name, Rolan didn't like him; couldn't he even bring a name with him?
When young lord Fahir was alive, and they used to play and train together, Lady Eir called him like her own child.
A ruckus awoke him from his reverie, and he saw Sento and Waladi arguing about something.
With a sigh, he shook his head and headed towards them.
"So what... Are we moving now? And what of it? Would it kill us to profit some from it?"
"Oi, Sento, what's the matter?" Rolan asked, and steeled himself for their bickering.
Before Sento could say anything, Waladi jumped towards him with a red face and started pointing furiously towards Sento and the edge of the slope.
"Can't we harvest the skiem while we're here? These fools keep throwing out resources.
Do you know the financial situation?
Tell him, Rolan. Tell him to get some soldiers to at least pilfer the monster cores."
"Take it to Sir Ravis," was all Rolan said when he caught movement from the corners of his eyes.
The defensive circle around the carriage was relaxed after the fight, but a squad was still covering the carriage.
The soldiers moved to make way for the boy, and Rolan frowned.
Before moving towards him, he patted Waladi to move towards Sir Ravis, who was taking reports from the scouts.
Rolan's frown darkened his face and he tried to curb anger and distaste from showing.
"What are you doing out? Your safety is at risk out here and you'll just make an already bothersome journey..."
He didn't say anything else, but took a deep breath.
There was a tautness in his voice that shouldn't be taken up with the young lord of the house, that he wouldn't have taken up with lord Fahir ever.
Although this wasn't lord Fahir, Rolan wouldn't forget himself.
Malay
A city of gold, nestled in radiant glory, resplendent and sprawling across the crimson sky marred with reckless azure streaks.
The long bridge leading to the city, supported on clouds, was filled with the conqueror's army.
The plaza that opened to the main bridge was filled with celestial beings with white wings and golden light.
And facing them was the conqueror.
His red cloak to match the blood on his hands and the air of red death around him that the conquest had borne him.
In contrast to the godlike beings of the city, their golden light and their city of gold in the clouds, the conqueror was unashamedly mortal.
His rugged face, with a week-old stubble, his sideburns with a smattering of gray in them.
He spat to the side as a solemn death hymn rose from the city of gods; the very act felt profane and a sacrilege.
A towering, murderous air blew, the pure white wings unfolded, and divine judgment rose to mete out.
The gods were fury and the world couldn't bear it.
Streaks of death ran rampant in the sky and the firmament broke in jagged pieces.
One of the gods waved his hand and a blinding light brought the world down to its knees.
The conqueror looked at the gods with disdain, and a flicker of rage finally crept up to his laid-back face.
He lifted his dull iron sword and swung.
The gods bled and the ichor burned the clouds.
The sky trembled with his bestial roar and I woke up.
One of the skiem roared again and tried charging towards my carriage, and was intercepted by Rolan.
The man spun around the monster with seeming ease until a spear dealt death to the beast.
A line of charred spears swept the clearing, and the carcasses of the skiem were hauled aside.
I was still lost to the visceral deaths of the godlike beings from my dreams, and the smoke of the burning city of gods clung to my breaths.
I felt suffocated, and walked out of the carriage.
This recurring dream.
I tried to talk about this dream with Lyra once, but she shut me up with some fear and meaning that I didn't understand.
As I threaded my way out to the murky day, misty almost, through the dappled lights from the deep shadows of the trees, the soldiers tried keeping to a somewhat defensive structure on my back.
I kicked a blood-stained, dried leaf and it lodged itself into the heaps on the sides of the trail.
The overturned soil, and crushed dried leaves with patterns of blood, were telltale of the swiftness of the battle.
"What are you doing out?" I heard Rolan.
"Your safety is at risk out here and you'll just make an already bothersome journey..." Rolan said, making his way towards me.
I looked at the man.
Rolan had never deigned to hide his disdain towards me.
I thought it best not to answer, or I'll anger him further, but anger usually comes from within.
Rolan didn't say anything else, but his face twitched in effort.
"Maybe he took my silence as an affront too?"
Thinking that, I sighed.
"I'll go inside," was all I said and started to walk towards the carriage.
Right at that moment, we heard a clatter in the distance.
Sir Ravis looked at the scout that just rushed towards him.
The resting soldiers slowly rose in alarm too.
Sir Ravis talked to the scout for a moment and shouted for them to get ready.
Sappers dug in mobile, makeshift palisades with haste as the soldiers converged towards the carriage.
By the time I was hastily ushered into the carriage by Ponya, most of the camp was already roused.
We waited in tense silence as the vanguard took position, some of the heavies flanking in their rough armor, and sappers prepared the ground.
I looked on with interest.
But there was no fear.
After some time of tense apprehension, we saw lumbering shadows moving about in the nestles of the forests.