Usurper of Fire

“Bandits!” a man shouted at the top of his lungs.

Darion awoke from his bed of sand. The sun had just barely set. The people scrambled around, as he took a long gulp of water.

“Women and children to the center!” he ordered. “Scouts, hold positions! Fighting men, assemble to the north gate!”

He also ran toward the north gate, which was just a rope wall with a small opening to pass through. The wall only partially stretched around the town, but he hoped they would funnel through the door.

“How many?” he yelled.

“At least fifteen approach!” a watcher called.

He wished he had time to build an overlook tower. In the setting sun, he could only see silhouettes approaching over the dunes.

“Hold position!”

Only nine men were grouped by the gate. No sign of Decan. That coward.

The one advantage they had was position. No sooner than the thought soothed him, did he see flaming arrows shoot toward the town. The arrows crashed around the fence, some connecting and setting the ropes ablaze. Darion watched his men grow timid. He had wasted all his efforts on the wall and now it was falling apart in a fire that lit their encampment in an orange glow.

“What do we do?” one of his men called out.

The only thing he could think to do was the unexpected. Perhaps he had read that somewhere.

“Charge!” Darion screamed, unsheathed his sword, and ran out to meet the attackers.

He wasn’t sure if the men would follow him, but what other choice did he have?

As he approached the attackers, he held his father’s necklace that was around his neck and whispered, “Guide me, Father.”

Swords clashed with the first enemy he reached. The loud clang of swords meeting echoed by his men meeting with others around him. A smile took over his face.

He parried several blows, but his form was off from lack of recent practice. He lost his footing with every parry and found it impossible to counter-attack. One blow sent his back to the ground. As he looked up, his attacker raised his sword to pierce through his chest. Yet as the blade came down, he held up his hand, catching the blade through his palm.

Pain and fear filled him, and then he felt something else. His body warmed with ecstasy. The hairs on his arms vibrated in anticipation. The world slowed around him, and his father’s words echoed in his head.

“That moment, when you decide to fight or flee, that is where our power comes from.”

Father?

As his attacker freed his sword from his hand, he swung his sword at the attacker’s legs, cutting them off below the knees. The attacker’s body fell to the ground, and he pierced his heart.

The battle kept moving in slow motion, yet he found his movements were unhindered. He stood, and looked around, watching the sparks light off the steel clashing, dancing in the night. He saw the shadows the embers cast as they passed by flesh.

A pressure poked his back, and he turned to see a man attempting to push a wooden spear into him. He turned out of the way, sliced the spear in half, and delivered a strike to the spearman’s neck. He could have even sliced the blood that floated from the wound.

As he ran through the attacking party, he delivered blow after blow. His sword moved through them with such ease. A thrill overcame him, and he wondered if his father had felt the same ecstasy, the same weightlessness. Although from his own lips his father would have said killing was the worst thing a man could do. He wondered if his father had lied.

Darion carried on, striking down as many as he could. After a few of the men fell, the enemies found themselves turning to watch him. His men used the distraction to create mortal wounds. He jumped toward the last group of enemies and unleashed a singular spinning blow, cutting through their vital areas. When the four men dropped to the ground, a hand grabbed his shoulder, and he turned around, prepared to strike.

“Sir!” his comrade said, his voice drawn out. “Sir, it’s me!”

The passing of time made sense once more. His men just stared at him in disbelief.

“How…You fought like, Ducian.”

His face covered in blood, Darion didn’t have time to explain as screams and metal clashing echoed from the other side of the camp. “Defend the camp!” He raised his sword and ran toward the noise.

The men roared and charged behind him, unable to keep up, but followed all the same. Darion jumped onto a nearby roof, surprising even himself, and looked around the town for gleaming weapons in the night. Two battles taking place at the southwest and southeast sides.

He pointed at the closest man. “You, take the lead! Go southwest!” As they did, he headed in the other direction.

He punched his wound as he approached the battle. He swung through these men just as easily as the others. Pausing, he looked around to see how many allies were with him, but only found one–who was about to be cut down. He charged. When he went to pierce his enemy’s chest, the enemy parried his blade.

Darion retreated and studied the enemy from several paces away.

He had a thin mustache above his smiling lips. “First time crossing blades with an anguar?” Anguars were rare, exceptional warriors who exceeded human limitations. Their speed was unmatched. The longer a battle was, the stronger they became. Ducian, his father, was the last known anguar. But he had died during the great war.

“And your last time,” Darion replied.

Darion charged and traded blows with the smiling man. Three other enemies joined. In between attacks, he swung and stabbed at the others until only the two anguars remained. They held an attack pose.

“Name’s Tuka,” the smiling man said, bowing. His voice was scratchy. “And you’re Ducian’s boy I presume?”

“Well, at least you know who’s about to kill you.” Darion said.

Tuka laughed and held his sword arm out.

“We shall see.”

Darion swung at him. He dodged and blocked the blows with grace. Darion kept the onslaught up without gaining a single blow before he was kicked in his stomach. Darion fell backwards, struggling to catch his breath.

“You’re shit,” Tuka said. “Not surprising really. You never had the chance for a proper tutor after all.” He removed his robe. Underneath he only wore a leather thong with leather straps in a cross pattern on his torso.

Darion gagged at the sight of the old man’s decrepit body and revealing outfit.

“I think you might be off your rocker, old man. You attack my camp to offer me tutelage. Is that it?”

“Mostly for supplies, but yes the thought had crossed my mind.” He placed a hand on his hip and let his gut bulge out.

“Why do you think I would train with you after all this?!” Darion shouted, pointing at the chaos behind him.

“You’re welcome for awakening your powers, my ungrateful apprentice. Now be a good boy and choose to come back with me to my cave and I’ll show you what it really means to be one of the chosen. You’ll have to take your licks as all young ones do, but in a few years time, we’ll be ready to rule over this world…together.” He clenched his fist.

“That sounds…awful. I’m afraid I’ll have to refuse your boring offer.”

Tuka rushed him and placed the tip of his steel at his neck.

“I’d like to reword my choice, please.” Darion muttered.

“It’s a certainty disguised as a choice. I didn’t want to seem too forceful. Then again there is a certain thrill to holding your life in my hands.”

Darion stood frozen. Any movement could be instant death.

He lowered his weapon and sheathed it. “Of course, I will give you some time to decide. An easy decision as far as I’m concerned but a big one nonetheless.” He put his robe back on and kicked a pile of sand into the air, creating a smoke screen. “One week Darion,” he whispered before he vanished into the night.

In the distance, his men cheered.

“Strange times.” he muttered.

All the events from the evening raced through his mind. His people had thought the anguars were long dead. Tonight, there were two clashing swords. Often he dreamed of following in his father’s footsteps. Now that dream has merged with reality. However, could he trust this Tuka?

As he pondered, his name echoed from the distance. He composed himself and ran toward the voices. When he found his soldiers, they cheered his name and thumped their fists on their chest. His eyes widened and his hands trembled to see how happy they were to see him. He thought of his father and his stoic stare, and tried it on for size.

“Impressive showing at the gate,” one of the men said as the cheering halted. “Haven’t seen any of our kind fight like that since…”

“I know. Thank you, friend.” He shook hands with the men who approached him.

“What do we do now?” another man asked.

“Account for the dead and wounded, keep the guard doubled, and put out any fires still raging.” He turned toward the center of town. “I’ll check on the women and children.”

The men nodded and turned to their duties.

As Darion walked toward the shelter, anxiety seared his chest. He hastened his pace, escalating to a full-on sprint. Once he reached the shelter, he slammed the door open and looked inside. Women and children filled the space, tears and fear upon their faces. Toonda was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is Toonda?” he asked the crowd.

No one answered.

“Where is she?!” he screamed.

“A man…took her,” one of the women cried between her tears. She pointed toward a piece of paper stabbed into the wall with a dagger.

Darion walked over and read it. One week. Tuska Point. Alone. Bring a pipe. He ripped the paper down and removed the dagger. A familiar but forgotten feeling overtook him.

Glowing wings.

He clenched his teeth so hard he thought they might turn to dust in his mouth.

Toonda's husband ran through the door, panting heavily. He looked around the room for a moment and fell to his knees.

“No, no, no, no!” He roared his pain.

After a moment, he stood and charged Darion, grabbing him and holding him against the wall. Darion’s feet hovered above the ground. “You were supposed to protect all of them!” He yelled, spit flying from his rabid mouth.

Darion stayed limp as he was repeatedly slammed into the wall. After several attacks, Doban lowered him and placed his head on his chest.

“We’ll get her back, Doban,” he said. “I’d die a thousand times over to get her back.”

“No, Darion, you don’t get to die. We’ll save her, and then you’ll do what she’s been asking of you all these years."

Darion dressed himself in his father’s stance and stare.