Free From the Wood, Yet Slave to the Heart

A warg howled in pain as an arrow pierced it through the heart before Colin could stab it. He looked in the direction it had come from, nodded a quick thanks, and returned his sights to the battle that waged all around him. He tried not to look down so much, as he had grown queasy moments earlier when he had seen the torso of one of his men. The legs were nowhere near him.

Colin stabbed a warg that leapt at him through the heart, then pointed his sword at the ground long enough for the already dead, larger-than-a-normal-wolf, wolf, to fall off. He didn’t have time to feel remorse as he swung his sword up and nearly beheaded the Theroan Minotaur. It moved at just the right time, and Colin’s sword merely cut it from the torso to the cheek bone. This ignited the minotaur’s fury, and Colin barely parried the blow of the large sword. As the minotaur pulled back to swing again, Colin used the opening to truly lop off its head.

The king flinched in disgust at the blood that landed on his cheek, but he could do nothing about it until this battle was won.

Noticing a soldier of his had been unhorsed nearby, the steed’s eyes wide and fearful as she lay on her side, writhing and foaming at the mouth, Colin turned that way. Blood poured freely from the horse’s neck. Letting his already raw throat release another battlecry, Colin approached the minotaur about to kill his soldier from behind and stabbed him through the heart. Blood sprayed toward the soldier who had fallen, but he moved out of the way before he could be soaked by it.

“I am in your debt, Your Majesty!” he cried, bowing before quickly retrieving his sword from the ground. Colin stood over him, protecting him while he wiped the minotaur’s blood from the hilt.

“Get on,” Colin decided as he lopped the head from an attacking warg with one stroke.

“Majesty?” The young soldier asked - for he was young, or he would not have taken the time in the midst of battle to bow to his king.

“Get on behind me. You have no horse - it will be easier this way.”

“Won’t your horse tire quicker, Majesty?” the youth asked, eyes widened.

“Beelzebub has carried two before,” Colin said sharply. “Get on. That’s an order from your king, soldier.”

“Yes, sir!”

Colin parried a swipe from another warg as the soldier scrambled on the horse behind him.

“Make sure to watch out from behind as well. Don’t let your guard down,” Colin instructed as the youth - probably about Raya’s age, to tell the truth - readied his sword. Colin wheeled Beelzebub around and charged at a group of three Peroan minotaurs that had circled a group of six men. “Be ready!” Colin called to his companion as he hacked at one of them, cleaving the minotaur’s head in two, causing blood to spew out as he fell. The other two turned on him with ugly grimacing features as they raised their axe and swords - meaning, one had an axe and the other had two swords.

The boy behind him made swift work of the one with the axe, stabbing him through the heart while his attention was on Colin. Two of the six men behind the remaining minotaur skewered him with their spears, the shaft of one breaking in the process of the minotaur falling. He drew his sword, nodded to his king, and they all turned to face the next group - three wargs, a Peroan minotaur, and seven Theroan minotaurs.

The battle lasted another hour, and the stench of blood and death was upon the clearing. Colin sent the boy, who was looking sick, back to the castle with Beelzebub, to clean and groom the horse and feed him. Colin himself began assisting his men, pulling their own fallen closer to Sheri, the city, and helping drag minotaurs and wargs to the pile farther out, where, although he didn’t like the prospect of it, they would be burned.

All in all, the losses of his army weren’t very high, even for as many as they were up against. The odds had not been in their favor, but for killing over five hundred minotaurs and three hundred wargs, losing ninety-four men was good. Not good, but better than losing more. They had fared well for all it was worth.

It was nightfall by the time that Tessalyn muttered a few words and ignited the bodies of the enemies in their funeral pyre. The next day would be the time to bury their men, already lain in their coffins and identified by weeping family or friends.

“Majesty,” a voice called to Colin as he walked back to the castle, slightly behind most of the men. He turned to see Ysid approaching, with three people behind him.

“Yes?”

“The young Arlester was injured,” he said lowly when he reached Colin, glancing back at the two who were supporting the boy. “They said he fought valiantly for one his age and size. Took down about fifty on his own…and that was with fletching new arrows in between. A warg snuck up on him, pulled him from the tree he was in by the leg. It’s in pretty bad shape, but he took out the warg before the others could even nock an arrow with a dagger he had in his boot. I…I think he needs the palace infirmary. The others will be full, and he needs the attention soon or I fear he’ll lose the leg.”

“He’ll get the attention he needs,” Colin said, looking at the men who had reached him. “Come,” he told them. “I’ll take you to the palace infirmary. If it would be all right with you, I would also send for the rest of your family and ask that you take your dinner with me tonight. I would like to hear about Carson’s feats,” he smiled gently at the boy, who grimaced in pain as he limped, but grinned back up at him.

“We would be honored,” grunted Cain, one of Carson’s supporters and his father.

“Ysid? Would you send for them? I can take them to the infirmary.” They had reached the city gates and entered.

“Yes,” Ysid saluted before finding a messenger nearby and giving him instructions to fetch the entire Arlester family.