The Fallen-Book the First-Chapter Four

Reckoning

The rain had finally abated, and it was a very welcome sight. The clouds overhead slowly dissipated, revealing the golden orbs of twin moons. The gods were watching this night.

Behind him three lines of fifteen soldiers each slogged through the mud. It had risen from their boots to their belts, and covered much of their bodies now, a thick, sticky coating that weighed them down and made each step an individual battle. They were extremely tired, having marched through the day and now through the night. Morning would be coming in just a few hours. At the rear of the columns came a large wagon that held all their supplies. Pulled by two large beasts with powerful legs, it moved slowly through the mud, its broad wheels sinking a few feet into the slime. The animals, though built for this sort of work, were also tired. Their shaggy manes hung down in ragged wisps, caked in brown. Three pronged hooves made to dig into hard, rocky soul of mountainous regions simply sank instantly and only came back up with a squelching effort. It showed in the way they hung their heads, the cropped horns down at the men’s knees.

But it was almost over. They had spied a town up ahead, and within a few minutes would be able to get some rest. Their orders were to continue on to Beldenhove, but it would be a few days before they reached it, and a few more if he had anything to say about it. It angered him how his men were treated like dogs, but, he supposed, the life of a soldier was better than that of a farmer or laborer. Taxed half to death by the Emperor. If only…he shook the thought from his mind. His men needed a boost of morale.

Riding up the rise, he perched there in the saddle, and smiled when he saw the lights of the village. There were quite a few, strange, for such a small place. Perhaps some sort of celebration was in order. If that was the case, there were be even more reason to celebrate when they reached their mark. He turned his beast of burden back to his men and called out to them.

“Ho, not much farther now! Just over this rise waits a warm bed and a cool drink!” From somewhere near the back of the lines came a feeble answer.

“You said that the last time.”

Though the men were in bad spirits, they laughed. It had been an ongoing theme through the night, “Just over the next hill.” “Not much farther now, around the next bend.” After some time it had become naught to them, like crying wolf. This time was for real, though, and they heard it in his voice.

“Ha ha, good joke! But seriously. Heave to it! I promise you on the life of my sister that in a few minutes you will be enjoying the comforts of life indoors!”

“You don’t have a sister.”

Laughs again. He smiled, that would be Baldor, the youngest of the group, but with a fast mind. He had struggled through it physically, but overcame many of the challenges by simply out thinking the other men, and, at times, his superior.

Returning to silence, they forced themselves to trudge ahead with the welcome thought that it was almost over. Once over the rise, their spirits lifted when they did see the town, and their pace quickened.

As they drew nearer, he realized that something was definitely happening, but it was not some celebration of a holiday or anything of the sort. The yelling and cheers that arose were not the happy calls of delighted children, but the obnoxious and harsh cries of men enamored by some sarcastic happening. Most likely it had something to do with a woman. It was not a welcome sound, it meant more work, more time away from sleep. It would mean they would have to quell an angry mob. And, at the sound of it, there were more than a few men down there.

They reached the outskirts of the town, and he stopped his men there. They were tired, and he wished that they could simply stumble into the town and drop down somewhere, but on the Emperor’s orders, they must “present themselves in such a manner as to evoke the deepest feelings of honor and dignity to those citizens that…”

Blah.

Blah.

Blah.

It was all pompous and futile, the people would think little of how they presented themselves, in all honesty. The condition in which they were received would depend on what percentage of their farms and wares were taxed. In most cases, they were not received well, and he supposed that this would be no different. Nevertheless, they could not defy the Emperor. He went through the lines, being sure that each man had scraped as much dirt from his uniform as possible, that his clothing was in order, sword tied tightly. They may be tired, he explained, but they would march down the center street in line, in step, and with eyes facing forward. Once into the town, they would come to attention, and wait for their commander to procure some means of stabling and bedding, as well as food for those that wished it.

At least, that was the plan. But he had faith that all his men would obey him. They had thus far.

All was going as planned. Their armor clanked in unison as they marched down the main street. Ahead of them most of the townsmen were gathered in a large group, huddled around some sort of commotion. They went virtually unnoticed as they filed up to the crowd.

“Halt!” He cried, and his men stopped immediately, crashing their feet down in unison. The noise stirred the townspeople, and a frightened rush spread across them like wildfire.

The Empire?

Here?

Why?

- - - - -

Things were not going well, not at all. He could be wrong, but that was the impression he got as the larger than life fist slammed into his face. He felt his nose crunch a little beneath it and the blood began to flow. And he thought the other man had iron fists?

Staggering backwards, he wiped the tears from his eyes so he could see. Just in time to dodge another lightning strike. He had only been hit twice, and had dealt ten times as many blows on the other man, but, though he was much quicker, his quick hits did little to phase the beast. On the other hand, the man’s knotted shoulders drove his appendage through Aven’s face like a rock through glass, shattering his constitution. No, it was not going well, and would not end well, most likely.

The man took another fake jab then connected to hard hits to his ribs. Aven winced, and ducked beneath a heavy swing meant to be the last. The man overshot, and took a half step to steady himself. Stepping inside it, Aven pummeled him with a quick succession of devastating blows to sides and underarms. He wasn’t going to do much damage, but hopefully he could tire the man’s muscles. Then again…. The man head butted him violently and Aven staggered backwards once again to the edge of the circle. The man stood back. He was a beast, of that there was no doubt, and proud as a lion, but he had honor, and would not do anything cheap. If a man retreated, you let him.

Aven shook his head and slapped his face.

What was he doing? Or rather, what was he not doing? The realization hit him, if he didn’t get in the game now, he would be shoveling crap for the next week. He didn’t have a week to spend doing such a thing, and he couldn’t risk in any case. The daunting task ahead of him caused him to be overwhelmed. But he had been through such situations before. Calming his mind, he stepped forward again.

The man wasted no time in unleashing on him. Without time to react his lip was split and a tooth nearly knocked out, but he stayed standing, and blocked the man’s next blow outside, crashing his forearm down on the man’s wrist, an extremely painful blow for the beast. A slight flicker showed in his determined face, but faded quickly and was replaced with an angry scowl. His next punch was far harder than any before, and it nearly clocked Aven, sending him to the ground almost instantly. His head rang like a bell, chiming in rhythm with the crowds jeers. His vision was a bit cloudy, probably from the mud, and he struggled to his feet again.

The beast knocked him down again, driving the air from his body.

Aven gasped and sucked in air and mud alike, coughing it back up. His body was very sore, and it took everything he could muster just to rise back to his feet. His legs shook and nearly gave out. He dodged one punch, then another, two to the beasts jaw, one to the shoulder, then he was down again.

How much more could he take? The abuse was killing him. He contemplated giving up and slapped the ground, spraying mud on the crowd.

The pain.

He cursed his friend, he cursed himself, he cursed the town and everyone in it.

One drunk leaned over and spat in his face, “That’s it, cwy! Ha ha ha, cwy like a bwaby!”

Everything stopped.

The world around disappeared as a memory flash through his mind. That same voice, that same call aimed at his heart. He had been knocked down, once, quite some time ago. The boy had been much larger than him. He was to afraid to get back up. The boy kicked him in the face, spat, laughed, and walked off with the friends. His nose had been broken, but that pain was nothing compared to how his heart felt. The humiliation of being a coward.

There was a flash in his eyes, a bright blue spark that lasted only for a second and was sen by no one. His arms went under him, and he raised himself up. The crowd was surprised, but was grateful that the show was not over. The beast, too, was surprised. This outsider was tougher than he looked. He would make it quick, no more of these games, he had been humiliated enough.

Stepping up to him, the man dealt another harsh blow to Aven’s jaw, and he nearly went down, staggering to the right. The next punch came in from that side, and Aven dropped below it, pulled his legs underneath him and lunged. The man was caught off guard and unbalanced. He went to the ground and Aven drove him into it. Reaching for him, the man caught only air as Aven rolled away and leapt to his feet. He changed tactics. He couldn’t stand there and let the large man beat him down, so he began to dance around, spinning the man in circles. He grew frustrated as he continually missed, and Aven dealt blow after blow to him. The man charged him and they locked arms in a stand off. Attempting to throw him, the men pulled back and launched Aven over his head, but Aven’s grip did not relinquish and as he went down he ripped the man backwards. The two of them slammed into the mud, but he had been prepared for it and rolled to the side. The man stumbled to his feet, it being the first time there was no air in his lungs. Aven did not waste any time. The man wanting a boxing match, he would defy him.

Feinting the punch, spun and launched his foot into the air. It collided violently with the man’s leg, nearly knocking him to the ground, and he was forced to take a step back.

Right over the rope.

The crowd hushed for a moment, and the beast realized what had happened. He hung his head for a moment, a bit confused. This had never happened before. In the twenty seven years he had lived here! He was outraged, but he had stepped out of the line, and he would pay the punishment. The received blow would be nothing, a fly’s bite, perhaps, but the humiliation of being the first one to do so? It was almost to much to bare. He stood up straight, and presented himself.

Aven watched him for a moment, then shook his head.

“I won’t do it. Continue the fight.” Was all he said.

What?

Unheard of. No one in their right mind would decline. Then again, perhaps his mind was a bit skewed. He had taken abuse after abuse from a bull, and continued to rise. This man was insane. And suddenly, the tides turned. Quite a few of the men, who were not intoxicated, had realized the honor that he was bestowing on their comrade. One stepped up to the beast.

“Arsten, it should end. Allow him to go on his way, if he wishes.”

The man was surprised to hear this. Call it a draw? What? How could he, the man’s defeat was imminent, obviously. He was just taking it to easy, a few more moments and the man would be done. Give it up? Why?

“Please, Arsten, I urge you to take my counsel. He is a good man, you can see that. He has proven himself worthy, just let him go.”

Arsten contemplated for a moment, then looked up with fire in his eyes.

“No! Do not tempt me so, I will win this fight!” He yelled and stepped forward. The townsman moved in front of him.

“Listen to me! What more do you have to prove? You have all ready won, there is no need to continue.” Arsten did not listen, and began to move forward again. The townsman stopped him cold with icy words that blasted his heart. “Or is it your petty pride and stupidity that you must protect?”

The crowd fell quiet once again. Arsten’s face was stuck in a contorted grimace, twitching slightly. A deep growl began to emanate from his chest, escalating quickly to a violent roar. Without word or sign he spun on his heels, and slammed his fist down on Aven’s temple. The blow was one of massive proportions, and Aven hit the ground hard. It should have ended there, the strike was powerful enough to kill Tarkin. But, unbelievably, Aven spun on the ground, and came back up, launching himself at the man. He and Arsten went to the ground.

Aven’s eyes glowed with a strong blue light that illuminated his face. The blood that ran down his forehead and dripped off his nose shone an eerie purple. Arsten was not one to be scared of much, but this new insanity frightened him to the core. With inhuman strength, Aven stood, lifted Arsten off the ground, sent him sprawling over his head. Arsten rose to his feet, trying to prepare himself for the next onslaught, but he was to slow. Aven slapped his arms out of the way and began to deal blow after blow after blow, one directly after the other as fast as one could see them. His fists were a blur, a whirlwind in the night, and they connected with sickening crunches. Artsen began to back up and Aven pressed forward.

It ended with one last strike. Aven launched himself into the air, spun, and drove his foot into Arsten’s chest. The kick seemed to explode with a shatter of sparks, arching through the air and fizzling as they went.

Aven landed on his feet, at the ready, prepared for more. His chest rose and fell in a labored manner.

Arsten collapsed in an unconscious heap.

Silence.

For a moment.

Then the crowd cheered and rushed to Aven. Men slapped him on the back. Others watched in rapture. Who was this man? Almost instantly he had gone from an outsider to some sort of idol. To win a match was something to be honored for. To defeat Arsten?

Godlike.

Then, through the din came a piercing cry.

“Halt!”

All eyes turned to see where it had come from. They were greeted by a clenched fist on a white field, fluttering against the dark backdrop of the sky.