Transforming Power

Elyia Kaelksin

The sword was getting heavy in my hand. My body was so weary. My head was throbbing, my mind mostly numb, unable to focus on anything but survival— unwilling to process how many Araenians there were, and how few of my countrymen were left.

I grasped my sword with both hands and threw all my weight behind a blow that buried my blade deep into the shoulder of my opponent. He howled in pain. I yanked my blade backward. Thrust. The tip of my sword buried itself just above his collarbone. Blood burbled out of his mouth, and he fell to the ground heavily. I straightened my shoulders, refusing to so much as glance at his lifeless face again, and quickly surveyed my surroundings.

Horan, the king— my king— was on his black war horse, brandishing his sword high above his head and shouting encouragements to the men around him. I couldn't hear what he was saying over the loud clanging of the battle raging on around me. He was too far away— a good two or three sprints.

A glimpse of a movement over my shoulder. I transferred my blade to my left hand and whirled around, aiming for the soldier's neck. His blade stopped mine short. I quickly pulled my blade away and sank into a defensive stance. The man drew himself up to his full height. I wasn't a short person— I was tall, even, for a woman—yet he still seemed to loom head and shoulders over me.

He stepped forward, leaving no holes in his defense as he carefully made a cautious pass at my head. I stepped to the side, easily deflecting the blow, refusing to let any weakness show. Refusing to make an easy target of myself. I made a gentle thrust toward his left side. He easily deflected the blow, shifting his weight, barely turning away from me. It was all I needed.

As quickly as I could I whirled around him, swinging my blade at the back of his leg. He wasn't expecting it. My blade sliced cleanly through the flesh at the back of his knee and he fell forward, howling in pain. I let the momentum carry me around until I was standing over him. I leaned forward and yanked his chin up with my left hand. I made a clean slit all the way across his throat with my sword, then stepped back as he fell the rest of the way to the ground, his body limp. Two more Araenians dead.

I looked up again, at the battle. King Horan wasn't in a good position. He had many Arenians around his warhorse, but very few of his own soldiers. I started toward him, carefully making my way down the gradual, rocky incline. His horse reared. The King started to fall. My already brisk pace sped up. The loose rocks under foot shifted. I slid. I slipped. I fell. 

I pushed myself nearly back to my feet, cursing, when an Araenian with green eyes was suddenly in front of me. He straddled my legs and brought his sword down on me. I rolled to the side as quickly as I could. He caught my foot between his. I swung my sword at his legs as hard as I could. The soldier blocked. 

I looked to my king. The horse reared again. 

"Buzz off, you lumpish whoreson." I snarled at the soldier standing over me. He suddenly stopped the next blow he'd readied. 

"You're a girl."

"Your mother's a girl." I kicked him in the kneecap, not caring that my response didn't make any sense. I needed to get to King Horan. If he died, there was no point in even trying to fend the Araenians off. They weren't going to give us any peace until they'd taken our country to add to their empire, and I didn't have faith that any in line for the throne were able to keep the country intact. 

I rolled to my feet, punching the man in the throat. He stumbled backward. I didn't bother pursuing him. I started running back where my king was, just as his horse reared once more. King Horan fell to the ground as an archer, sprung up from seemingly nowhere, sent a bolt through his shoulder. 

I sprinted as fast as I could, the noise of the battle suddenly nothing more than overlapping cacophony beating in my ears, the fear in my chest dissipating to nothing but worry as I dodged blades and leapt over corpses, suddenly not caring about anything but reaching my king. The King needed me; I'd defend him, or die trying.

Drystian Teliora

The smell of blood lingered in the air. I took a deep breath as I looked across the battlefield— the land that would soon be mine. All that was left to do was conquer the petty little king who ruled over it now, cast him in prison to rot until he died, and I'd add yet another country to my kingdom.

I grinned as I surveyed the battle. Most of the Kyzians were already dead, or dying. None were fleeing. I snorted as I watched them, one by one being skewered on the end of my soldiers' blades, too prideful to accept when they were offered a way out from certain death. Most countries I warred with were at least intelligent enough to realize my power, and realize their own danger. These fools didn't seem to care. They rallied and fought and refused to surrender, even when they were surrounded and had no chance of fighting their way to freedom.

Someone sprinting across the battlefield drew my eye. A deserter? Finally? I trailed the soldier—an officer, from the looks of his uniform—with my eyes, watching as he ducked under the blades of my men and maneuvered around the corpses of both my men and his countrymen. The cowards that tried to run were more amusing. I saved them, made sure they didn't die, then threw them into the prison with the surviving warriors from their country. That death was more amusing to watch.

It didn't take long to realize that this soldier wasn't running away, though. Rather, he was heading straight for the heart of the battle, fighting his way into the center until he neared his king. He tore through my soldiers' defenses, making it look disgustingly easy. I narrowed my eyes as I watched his method. He didn't have anything near a conventional style, and I didn't recognize his stroke-combinations from any of the great swordsmen I'd studied.

He'd be the last to die, if I could keep him from throwing himself onto one of my men's blades. I wanted to know who he studied under, and how he'd mastered the strokes he used. I couldn't see much of his face, but judging from the slenderness of his body, not yet filled out with a man's form, I figured he must still be a boy, probably not even fully come to age.

I moved slightly closer, as I watched him get the attention of Kyzian soldiers fighting around him— many men well into their careers, some with white beards— all of whom listened as he shouted directions to them and instantly obeyed. He moved them into a position that showed the experience of many years of study.

I sheathed my sword, having plenty of my soldiers between me and the nearest Kyzian soldiers, and crossed my arms to watch as the young Kyzian knelt by his king. He yanked a dagger out of seemingly thin air, and slit the fabric of his tunic, right by the shoulder seam. He tore the bright blue fabric—the only indication of his rank—without hesitation and then broke off the arrow. The king writhed.

The young officer slid his arm under the king's shoulders and lifted him with a gentleness I never would've expected from a man who showed such fierceness moments before. I grunted, trying to decide what to make of the boy. He carefully wrapped the fabric from his own tunic around the small stub of the arrow shaft still in his king's chest, seeming to do his best to slow the flow of blood.

The circle of men fighting around them was getting smaller. The number of Kyzians between my army and their king was dwindling. The boy stroked the king’s cheek tenderly, intently focused on alleviating as much of his king’s burden as possible. I frowned. I’d never seen a man stroke another man’s cheek like this boy was doing to his king. Is that a woman? The thought seemed ridiculous.

There was little chance any woman could be as skilled as this officer was with a blade. Yet, it that thought seemed less ridiculous than trying to reconcile why the king was allowing one of his male officers fret over him like a mother hen.

Before I could consider the thought fully, however, the officer looked up and, with every speck of the hardness he had moments before, snarled something at one of the Kyzian soldiers. The man answered something. I had no idea what, but it was obviously the wrong response. The young officer was on his feet in an instant.

The other soldier was much taller than the officer, but he still cowered as the officer grabbed his shoulders and jerked him around. A few moments later the soldier was shouting directions to the only other two Kyzians still alive and nearby. They formed a loose circle.

The officer whirled around on one of my soldiers, killing him within moments of engaging him. I moved slightly closer, feeling my mood sour slightly as the officer killed two more of my men. The two Kyzians fighting on the other side of their king died almost simultaneously, as my troops pressed them hard with an attack. One of my younger officers stepped forward and lifted his blade high over his head, preparing the death blow against the Kyzian king that would make him famous.

The young Kyzian officer whirled around. I crossed my arms once more, waiting to see whether my soldier or Horan’s would win. I had little on the line. If the young Kyzian won, I’d lose an officer that was barely past boyhood. If he lost, the Kyzians would lose a king.

Elyia Kaelksin

I lunged forward just as the soldier’s blade descended on my king. Not even bothering to use my sword to fend off his attack, I drove my shoulder into the young brunette's abdomen, which he’d left unprotected in a prideful decision not to wear armor, making him bend double in pain.

I spun around, quick as a flash, my blade cleaving his head from his shoulders. I swallowed hard as I heard the sickening snap of his bone breaking, but decidedly refused to look at him as I spun on my heel and immediately engaged in a fight with a second soldier, forcing myself not to think about anything but my adversary in front of me. I knew better than to look back.

If I looked back, into the faces of any of the men I’d killed, my stupid, womanly instincts would come out. Rather than seeing an Araenian soldier, I’d see a brother, a father, a son. I didn’t have time for that.

I slit redhead's throat; whirled around and struck another soldier with a series of blows so fierce he stumble backward, his green eyes wide and shocked. I whirled back around, killing a soldier that had big hairy arms, wounding another that had a broad chest— focused on nothing but my mission: protecting my king.

I spun around as a tall soldier stepped close to my king, swinging my blade as hard as I could at his partially armored chest. A sharp pain ran up my arms, jarring my entire body as my blade hit the cold steel of the his sword. The man grabbed my shoulder as our blades locked. I instantly turned away, looking up into his face as I started to step back. Kyrev’s face was dirt smeared and speckled with blood, but he forced a partial grin as he looked down at me. “What? Can’t reach my throat, Shorty?”

I snorted, carefully hiding how relieved his presence made me. “Watch the right flank.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, even though he outranked me, and turned his back to me to engage with an Araenian soldier. I turned to the left as a second Araenian, a skinny boy with a flushed red face, advanced. 

Kyrev and I fought together several more minutes, watching each other’s backs, carefully keeping the Araenians away from the king. My soldiers were doing their best to break through the ring of Araenian soldiers that accumulated around Kyrev, King Horan, and I, but they were severely outnumbered. It seemed like three came to take the place of each soldier we killed.

The Araenians got between Kyrev and me. I moved closer to the king, straddling his legs as I realized that there was no chance of fighting my way to the king’s safety. The ring of soldiers was even thicker. My footmen, strewn across the hillside, were far sparser—several, I noticed, were standing in the center of rings similar to the one I stood in, looking at men every bit as mean and ugly as the Araenians surrounding me.

There was only one thing left that I could do. I took a step back so that I was more fully shielding the king with my body from the archers moving into position. I took a deep breath, preparing myself for whatever came after death, disgusted at how tight my chest felt. Stop being a coward.

An Araenian officer stepped forward, his dark brown hair sticking out in all directions. He had the air of a man with great authority behind him. He looked at me contemptuously, then spoke, his words heavily accented. “Surrender, or you will die.”

I lifted my chin defiantly, willing my arms to stop trembling with exhaustion, slightly raising my blade. This is the man who’s going to be the end of me. I got a strange feeling in my stomach, but forced it down as some of my courage returned. “I’m not dead, yet.”