Chapter XXXIX - Death

*grin*

That's really all I have to say about this chapter.

~Emily "Firebrand"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The eastern horizon was still dark when Zoe left her tent. Turning, she crouched down beside Brac, who acknowledged her with a faint nicker. She smiled softly. “You’re improving,” she encouraged him. A nicker was not much, but at least it meant he recognized her again. Two days ago he had been fighting a fever and she could have sworn he was delirious for he had been more hostile to her presence than anything else. “It’s good to have you back,” she whispered in his ear, stroking his cheek. Quickly checking his bandage, she was satisfied to see it was clean and no pus had appeared around the edges of the wound. Thank You, Deus.

“I’m leaving you in Shyla’s care again,” she told Brac in a soft voice.

He exhaled slowly and seemed to focus his dark gaze on her face.

“It’ll be okay,” she soothed. “You know she’ll take care of you. And I’ll be careful today. We’re doing something different you know. Tancred told me of it late last night. We’ll be surprising the Elangsians by riding from the west down upon their unprotected flank.”

She mulled over the idea again, as she had for the majority of the night. Despite her lack of sleep, adrenaline kept her mental faculties sharp. It’s a good idea, whoever came up with it, she decided. Tancred had not mentioned who originally proposed it during the conference with King Jaeger and his men. Something about the stealth that would be required on such a venture excited her. I’ve had enough of the clashes in the middle of the field, where nobody really wins and more men are butchered than I can even comprehend.

Zoe bowed her head for a moment, her hand stilling its movement. Memories from the battle constantly assaulted her. She had killed more people in the last three days than she ever had. It’s necessary to fight for Aerilya, I know, I know. But at the same time...why? It’s wastefulness of human life. Deus must love the Elangsians as much as he loves the Aerilyans. Might he be weeping over the bloodbath that has occurred these days?

And yet, how much more had He wept when he saw the wanton slaughter of women and children in that first Aerilyan village that started the whole war off? Tyrannical rulers had to be disposed of, lest there be more spilling of innocent blood, and Brastus Alustate of Elangsia was definitely one of the worst. Heartless, cruel, and utterly driven by lust for more power. He had to be taken down.

Deus, show Your mercy to Aerilya today. Please, let us triumph at last over Brastus and his kind. I pray that peace will come to these lands that have been so destroyed by turmoil. I do not ask for protection over myself, just for protection over my friends and companions.

Silently Zoe waited in the chill of early morning; armor covered her limbs, her hand rested on Brac’s jaw, and her head remained bowed. She sought the face of Deus, hoping to feel a blessing, a confirmation—something.

Look to the sky-blue tent, Zoe.

Startled, she raised her head. She could have sworn a tangible voice had murmured the odd phrase in her ear, yet there was no one around her. That left only one other alternative, but Zoe could make no sense of it.

“Deus?” she whispered. “The sky-blue tent? I don’t understand.”

Nothing was heard but the deep sigh of the early morning breeze as it fingered through the brittle autumn leaves of Mairbrac not far beyond where she crouched.

With one last caress across Brac’s cheek, Zoe stood to her feet and walked to the middle of the camp. Deus’s instruction still made no sense; but she would keep it in her mind and heart as she rode out. Perhaps later something would clarify the command. Until then, Zoe could only wait and trust.

è è è è è è è è è

Tancred swung up on Chale and rode past the lines of cavalry that sat upon their pawing, snorting steeds. The pale gray of the eastern sky told him that morning was over an hour away, yet already the five hundred knights and cavalry from had been sent from Aerilya’s main camp to Tancred. It was well, for Tancred had glimpsed movement on the other side of the field: Elangsia was evidently going to attack earlier that day.

Sir Justyn Trenton, the commander of the five hundred sent to Tancred, had immediately met Tancred and pledged his commitment to him. “Today I follow your orders, my lord Hunter,” he said respectfully as he directed his black charger to stand beside Chale.

Chale shook his mane and inhaled deeply of the air, seeming eager for the day’s activity. All the creatures were able to sense the added tension of the day, though they could not understand the importance of the mission they were about to carry their riders on. Jaedon’s dun gelding Cyclone was relatively calm, especially when compared to Zoe’s horse. Soon after Brac was wounded on the field, she had secured a stallion that had been the steed of one of the recent dead. Naturally, however, she lacked the connection and control with her new steed that she had with Brac.

Reining Chale around, Tancred stopped at the head of the men, facing them. “Secrecy is our best asset,” he told them in a voice that was quiet yet resonant enough to get to the back lines. “We will fall back into the trees of Mairbrac and follow them around to where the trees curve out to the west. Once we have cleared the sidelines of the Elangsians, we may ride out and sweep around their flanks. We will strive to get as far behind them as we can. Follow my command, and look to Sir Trenton as well.

“Other leaders are Lady Zoe Romany—” he nodded to her and she surveyed the men calmly, giving them a brief nod—“Jaedon of Mairbrac, and Lance, one of my captains.” The two men sat on their horses beside Tancred, their expressions stolid. Tancred glanced along the ranks of men and finished, “Follow us into the forest. Ride out!”

Touching his heels to Chale’s sides, the stallion pivoted and cantered toward Mairbrac. Zoe, Jaedon, Sir Trenton, and Lance rode beside him and the cavalry fell in behind them in a well-ordered procession. The sound of hooves was loud but muffled by the soft turf and fallen autumn leaves on the ground. The large company swept through the trees; the riders taking care to avoid low-hanging branches that tried to brush them off their horses and whip-like saplings that slapped against their horses legs.

Abruptly, time seemed to slow. Every stride that Chale took stretched on for long moments. Tancred became aware of each muscle that bunched and eased in the stallion’s body as he cantered onward. The thud of his hooves against the ground was a tempo that matched the beats of Tancred’s heart. Each leaf that clung to the branches of the trees stood out against the dim light of morning with stark definition. The woodsy, familiar scent of the forest lingered in Tancred’s nostrils, infusing him with energy and causing his blood to pound with a sudden, fierce love of life. His chain mail clinked and rustled as his body effortlessly moved with Chale’s sure gait; on his back, his broadsword felt heavy and ready.

Today could be the end.

It was in Deus’s hands, and Tancred was satisfied. You know the path of my life, he prayed, the cool morning breeze caressing his cheek. If this should be the day of my end...I am satisfied.

He would miss the beauty of the world, and the thought of leaving those he loved pained him. But to enter into the glory of the Most High would be a reward above all others.

Chale sped on, his breath coming out in low snorts. Tancred’s heart pumped faster. And peace overwhelmed all.

Too soon, and yet after what seemed like hours of riding, they reached the edge of the forest. Dawn was breaking, spreading a vibrant pink-orange blush across the eastern horizon. It illuminated the marching Elangsian army: a black, terrible array that spread across the plain. Aerilya’s defense look frail in comparison after having sent over a thousand men away from their main forces to form the two attacking flanks that Tancred had proposed the night before.

Tancred raised his hand, wordlessly calling a halt. Chale slowed at the very edge of Mairbrac, snorting and tossing his head after his invigorating run. Zoe and Jaedon pulled up on both of his sides, their faces displaying a contradicting mix of determination, excitement, and calmness. Together, they surveyed the army spread before them.

“They’re almost even with our position,” Tancred murmured. “When they pass us, we charge.”

“Aye,” whispered Zoe, her eyes trained on their foe.

Turning his head to the right, Tancred glanced over at Jaedon. My friend and mentor. He took in the familiar features of the man who had been his father’s closest friend. In so many ways Jaedon had become a part of the Ralyn family, and Tancred respected Jaedon’s counsel as much as he had respected his father’s. “You ready?” he asked the older warrior in soft tones.

Jaedon looked over at Tancred, his hazel eyes clear and sparkling. “I’m always ready to follow my commander,” he told Tancred meaningfully.

The man’s devotion never ceased to amaze Tancred. “Thank you, Jaedon,” he murmured.

“There is nothing to thank me for.” Jaedon looked back on the field, the barest of smiles playing on his lips. “I am merely fulfilling my duty.”

“Tancred.” Zoe’s voice came from his left and Tancred glanced over at her. Her dark green eyes flicked to his face for an instant, than back to the field. “They’ve passed us.”

“Yes.” His acknowledgment was little more than a sigh. “Be careful, Zoe.”

She looked back at him, her gaze serious. Their eyes connected and Tancred wondered if she could see into his soul with her penetrating gaze. As easy as it was for him to read her emotions and feelings, he did not like the idea of somebody else being able to do the same thing to him. And he was almost certain Zoe could.

“You watch yourself too,” she said at last in a subdued tone.

He nodded, and looked over his shoulder. Sir Trenton and Lance waited just behind him, and beyond them were Aerilya’s knights and cavalry. Drawing his sword without a word and facing forward again, Tancred pointed his blade toward Elangsia’s army and kicked Chale into a gallop.

They exploded out of the trees and flooded the field. Hooves pounded, horses snorted, and men readied for the inevitable clash. At the same time Tancred saw the other five hundred Aerilyans streaming toward the Elangsians on the opposite side of the field. A spurt of pleasure shot through him. Stronger in force the Elangsians might be, but being attacked on three different sides would be devastating for any army. Maybe we do have a chance. So far everything was being executed perfectly.

The fiery light of the sun suddenly spilled across the misty field and dispelled the murky dimness. Cries of challenge ascended across the meadow, coming from the men behind Tancred and the ones charging on the other side of the field.

Matching shouts of confusion arose from the Elangsian soldiers; they stopped marching and turned toward their attackers, frantically trying to ready themselves for the onslaught of charging knights. A few lances and halberds came down across the line of Elangsians, a last second attempt to brace against the horseman.

The distance between Tancred’s company and the Elangsians swiftly diminished with each pounding stride of the horses. Dimly he heard Zoe raise a fierce battle cry to his left, which was echoed by everyone behind him, but his attention was wholly trained on the line of the enemy before him. Focus on the goal. Let nothing keep you from attaining the prize.

The clash of horses and infantry was tremendous. The jolt almost shocked Tancred from the saddle but he grimly held on and swung his sword down as he entered into the fray. His blade bit deeply into the helmet of an infantryman; the man fell like a stone, killed instantly by the heavy blow. Shouts rose all around him as the cavalry swept through, trampling the enemy as they rode. Swords sang and steel quivered as enemy blades engaged each other. Tancred could sense the chaos wreaked on the Elangsian side as the Aerilyan horseman swept in among them, cutting a huge swath through their middle.

Then they met Elangsia’s cavalry. The first man on horseback Tancred met was large and armored, wearing a helmet with a horsetail plume cascading down from the crest. He swung his great sword around at Tancred; Tancred brought his own sword up to meet the Elangsian’s, and the two blades ground together as each man exerted his strength on the other.

Ears flat against his head, Chale snapped his teeth at the horse the Elangsian was riding, causing the man’s mount to falter back a half-pace. It was all that Tancred needed to disengage the blades for a moment and lop the man’s head off. Directing Chale with his knees, Tancred used both hands to wield his sword.

Half an hour of fighting passed. Fleeting glimpses of Zoe’s auburn braid and Jaedon’s deep blue tunic informed Tancred that his friends were still alive. Lance was battling with an Elangsian captain but appeared to have the advantage.

An Elangsian galloped toward Tancred, crimson-tipped blade brandished, but was too hasty with his attack. Tancred ducked the man’s swinging sword and buried his own blade deep into the man’s stomach as he rode past. Wrenching his weapon free, he turned Chale away as the eviscerated man toppled from his horse to the ground.

Wiping his brow with the back of his hand, Tancred gaze was caught by a pennant fluttering in the breeze not thirty paces ahead of him. Distinctive blue fabric provided a sharp relief for thick silver embroidery, which had been fashioned into the outline of a hippogriff rearing over a sword. Elangsia’s royal banner.

Tancred crossed blades with another soldier but ended the conflict swiftly and without much trouble. His eyes swerved back to the banner, seeking for a glimpse of the men around it.

There.

King Brastus Alustate sat on his proud black stallion, clad in elaborate battledress and wearing a crimson cloak that looked too fine in the middle of the battle. All around him were his personal guards; men hired to protect him to the end. The king was armed but obviously had not yet had to do battle. His face was suffused with color as he yelled something Tancred could not hear over the tumult around him. Brastus’s words appeared to be directed to a captain covered in battle-grime that sat on his horse in front of the king. Tancred guessed that Brastus was more than a little worried by the surprise multi-pronged attack that was thrust upon him. He had not expected this. And currently, his men were losing the battle.

A cry sounded behind Tancred and he snapped back to attention. Heeling Chale around, Tancred avoided the blade of the enemy soldier that was sitting there on his lathered bay horse and swiftly thrust back. The soldier parried his blow in a capable manner that surprised Tancred. His brow lowered as the blades engaged again, each man feeling out the strengths of the other. The Elangsian struck at Tancred’s shoulder and missed; managed to nick his armpit where the chain mail had an imperfection. Using the momentum of the man’s move, Tancred feinted to the left. The man hurried to block the blow—which was not there. In a quick move, Tancred’s blade slashed sideways and sank deeply into the side of the man’s neck. Eyes wide with surprise, the Elangsian slowly slumped out of the saddle, crimson blood spewing.

A distinctly female yell came from Tancred’s far left and his head whipped around. Zoe! He spotted her almost instantaneously, despite the fact that she had somehow lost her mount and was fighting on the ground. In front of her was a tall, brawny Elangsian who also appeared to be getting the better of her. Anger coursed through Tancred, infusing him with newfound energy as he threw himself off of Chale and sprinted toward Zoe. An Elangsian infantryman opposed him but fell immediately after one of Tancred’s knives neatly slashing across his jugular.

Zoe cried out again, this time in pain, as the Elangsian she fought slammed his sword into her forearm. Apparently he managed to pierce her bracer, for Tancred spotted a gleam of red blood as it streamed out and covered the leather right after the Elangsian pulled his sword free. Zoe lifted her sword and struck for the man’s stomach, but he managed to avoid it and struck at her again. Tancred was only ten paces from them as she dropped to the ground and rolled away to avoid the man’s crushing blow.

The Elangsian pulled his sword out of the ground and Zoe stumbled to her feet. Out of the corner of his eye, Tancred saw her lift her sword in readiness for the Elangsian’s impending attack, but the enemy’s blows never landed on her.

Tancred leapt at the man from the side and struck for his neck. Emitting a grunt of surprise, the man raised his sword and blocked it at the last second. Fueled by adrenaline, Tancred knocked the Elangsian’s blade away and drove his own sword home, splitting the man’s helmet—and skull—wide open.

The man toppled over and Tancred pulled his bloodied sword free. Turning to Zoe, he ran to her and grabbed for her injured arm. “Let me see it!”

“It’s nothing!” she insisted, pushing him away. Swinging her sword around, she met an enemy’s blade. A moment later the man lay dead. “I’ll be all right.”

Tancred’s sword flashed and beheaded an Elangsian rushing at Zoe from behind. “How deep did he cut you?”

“Not badly, the bracer took most of it.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he demanded, seizing her good arm and wrenching her around to face him. Her impossibly green eyes swerved up to his for a moment, shining with incredible beauty in the midst of the dirtiness and grime of battle.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she nodded swiftly. Her eyes darted away and she yelled, “Watch your left!” as she dropped to one knee and readied her sword. Tancred whirled, swinging his broadsword as he did. The man attacking them likely never knew what happened, for he was simultaneously decapitated and disemboweled by their two blades.

Tancred extended his hand to her and she grabbed it, hauling herself to her feet. “Thanks,” he said.

“No. Thank you,” she corrected him without pause. “How’re we faring?”

“I think...we might be winning,” he said slowly, hesitant to say the words for fear of what might happen after his thought was vocalized.

She nodded. “That’s what I thought too. They weren’t expecting us to attack from the sides. It’s definitely working to—” she raised her blade and killed an Elangsian dashing past—“to our advantage,” she finished breathlessly, looking back at him for a second.

“Aye.” Chale trotted up and Tancred swung up into the saddle. “Where’s your horse?” he called down to Zoe.

She shrugged. “Gone, now. It’s okay; we didn’t get along very well anyway.”

Tancred rode closer and said, “Get on behind me. I’ll find you a spare horse.”

She looked as if she was about to decline, but he growled, “Zoe, get on,” and she dipped her head once in acquiescence. Hastily wiping her sword clean as she hurried toward him, she shoved it into her scabbard and vaulted unto Chale with some assistance from Tancred. Her arms wrapped around him, tight but not enough to impede his range of motion, and she locked her hands to her forearms as Tancred reined Chale around and turned back the way he had come.

Even through his chain mail Tancred felt the gentle pressure of Zoe’s arms and something deep within him stirred. Refusing to face it then, he shoved it away. The battle required his full attention. Feelings and emotions had to wait.

The two of them made their way through the fray, which had thinned considerably. Zoe straightened and said in his ear, “Tancred, to your right: there’s a loose chestnut over there.”

He nodded and directed Chale in that direction. A moment later Zoe’s hold loosened on him and she slipped off to grab the reins of the stallion as he ran free. Calming the horse with a touch on the neck and a few words murmured in his ear, Zoe was soon astride him. Glancing over at Tancred, she nodded and called, “Thanks.”

Reaching down, he grabbed his boot dagger and its sheath. Pulling it forth, he tossed it to her. “Take this with you.”

“Won’t you need it?” she asked, fingering its smooth hilt.

“I’ll be fine. Be careful,” he merely replied, turning away on Chale.

He had not gone far before a familiar dun horse trotted up and touched noses with Chale. Cyclone? Tancred scanned Jaedon’s gelding for one terrible moment, and then raised his head to look around for Jaedon. “Jaedon!” he called hoarsely into the fray, searching for the tall warrior.

The royal Elangsian pennant caught Tancred’s gaze again, and he saw Brastus again. But something was different. Tancred’s eyes narrowed as he looked closer...and his heart almost stopped.

Jaedon was battling several of the king’s guards at once, his sword flying from side to side: cool skill mixed with desperation, which was a dangerous combination. But no amount of skill could bring down the king’s entire personal guard. What is he doing? Tancred inwardly demanded as he heeled Chale forward into a gallop. They pounded across the field and Tancred kicked his feet free of the stirrups in preparation for sliding to the ground to aid Jaedon.

By the time he pulled Chale to a stop and slid of the panting stallion, Jaedon had penetrated the wall of guards by some miracle. Tancred began sprinting toward the conglomeration of soldiers around Jaedon, but his movements seemed in slow motion. Jaedon stumbled as he ran to the king, his face lined with the determination that Tancred had learned was inbred to the man. Tancred watched as Brastus drew his great blade; the silver sword rose, almost gracefully, then dropped in a deadly arc.

“Jaedon—no!” Tancred’s warning was little more than an inhuman roar.

His words came too late. Brastus’s sword swept down and Tancred pulled to a stop as he watched his friend collapse lifelessly to the ground. Blood pulsed out of Jaedon’s head, covering the man’s noble brow and soaking the ground around him. Horror paralyzed Tancred for a moment that seemed stretched into eternity.

And then he charged.

His sword whistled and sang as he hurtled forward, his face contorted with sorrow and rage. Three of the king’s guards were downed in a matter of seconds; more rose to meet him but were felled by his relentless blade. Out of the corner of his eye, Tancred saw Brastus riding forward, his sword raised and dripping with red blood. Jaedon’s blood. The thought spurred him on even faster, driving him with emotion stronger than he had ever felt. Four more guards fell. Only a few remained, then Brastus would be alone.

One of the guards slammed his sword into Tancred’s shoulder, biting through the leather. The chain mail stopped it from piercing his flesh, but the shock of the blow rang through Tancred’s whole frame. He staggered back and almost stumbled over Jaedon’s fallen body. The guards pressed their advantage, but he met them with as much fierceness as before. Their attack weakened in the face of his driving opposition. Soon he would overwhelm them completely.

He severed the throat of the last man and whirled to face Brastus. The king eyed him contemptuously and spat out, “You are brave and skilled, as is shown by the bodies of my guard. But rest assured that before you leave this field you will lay dead just as your foolish companion here. I have judged you—and you are found wanting.”

“My death and judgment lies in the hands of Deus and none other,” Tancred replied, his chest heaving and sweat trickling down his brow as he faced the king. “Whether my end comes by your blade or not, it is all in His hands.”

“You fool,” the king growled, heeling his black horse forward. Tancred ducked the blow Brastus swung at him and, drawing one of his knives quickly, buried a dagger in the king’s leg as he rode past.

The king cried out in fury and agony, wheeling his horse around with a jerky movement. His eyes burned beneath his helmet, lit with rage. Brandishing his sword, he kicked his horse back toward Tancred. He struck hard and connected with Tancred’s sword this time, causing the steel of both blades to quiver. Tancred twisted his blade free, simultaneously hooking the hilt of the king’s sword and yanking Brastus from his saddle to the ground.

The king landed heavily on his uninjured side. Tancred was on him in an instant, his sword darting toward the man’s neck. It was time to end this.

But Brastus’s blade snapped up and met Tancred’s with strength. Heaving the blade suddenly, he managed to put Tancred off balance for a second.

“I’m not that easy to kill,” the king hissed, rolling to his feet with a great effort. With a deliberate move, Brastus reached down, gripped the dagger’s hilt firmly, and pulled it out of his leg. A spasm of pain flashed over his reddened countenance but he still managed to grit out, “I’ll cheat death as I have a thousand times, I warn you!”

“You won’t be cheating anyone ever again,” said Tancred as he advanced again and attacked. The king was a better swordsman than he had expected, despite how the pain from his leg injury must have been clouding his judgment. “Now you must pay for the death of Jaedon of Mairbrac; and for the murder of innocents in the villages of Aerilya. Women, children, the elderly...all defenseless, Brastus. You must face what you have done!”

“Aerilya will fall before me,” sneered Brastus, his face still beet red and strands of his unkempt hair falling out from beneath his helmet. His trouser leg was stained dark red by his blood, matching his cloak. “I will answer for none of that—especially to you, a common soldier!”

White hot fire burned through Tancred’s veins. “A soldier I am, but a commoner I am not,” he replied. “I am the son of Lord Liam Ralyn of Aerilya...” he grunted as he blocked a heavy blow from Brastus, “a man whom you ordered killed in your filthy capital, Ruma.”

“I’ve had many men killed in Ruma,” the king laughed harshly, his breath short.

“This one was special. Perhaps you recall him?” Tancred pressed the king harder, forcing him to reevaluate his position and back up half a step. “Tall, dark haired like me, and you had him slain in the courtyard of your palace seven years ago.”

Recognition flooded the king’s pain-lined face after a second. “That spy,” he spat out. “Of course I remember him. You’re his son, are you? You’ve come to dole out judgment on his killer, then?”

“Hardly,” Tancred shot back coolly. “We already established that judgment belongs to Deus. I’m in a battle...you’re the enemy...” he grunted again as his sword slammed against the king’s, “and I am here to defeat you.”

“Son of a lord or not, you cannot overcome my power,” Brastus breathed out heavily. “Even if you kill me, Aerilya will fall.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. The Wild Men aren’t coming to reinforce you, Brastus.”

A telltale flicker of alarm shot through the king’s eyes. “You lie.”

Their blades ground against each other and Tancred smiled tightly at the king, his eyes narrowed. “I don’t lie.”

“How could you know the Wild Men are not coming, pray tell?” the king panted.

“I sent my sister and my men out to stop them,” he replied calmly. He could feel the king weakening beneath his blade. The loss of blood from the dagger wound was affecting him. Also, age was finally beginning to play into their conflict; the king was twice as old as Tancred and despite his dexterity, he was beginning to wane.

“Ha! A woman and some men? They will never stop the fearsome Wild Men.”

Tancred’s smile widened just the slightest. “When that woman and those men are trained by the Hunter of Mairbrac, they will most assuredly stop them.”

The king faltered as if Tancred had hit him with a poisoned dart. Belatedly he tried to keep fighting off Tancred’s unyielding advance, but he had lost his touch. “The Hunter?” he growled in anger and fear. “What do you know of the cursed Hunter?”

“You ask me, yet knowledge of the truth shines in your eyes,” Tancred replied, wrenching his sword around and driving the king down on one knee. The man lumbered to his feet, noticeably slower than the last time, and resumed fighting.

“You...” the king wheezed out, his blue-gray eyes glowing with pure hatred. “You are...”

“The Hunter of Mairbrac,” Tancred finished for him, his tone overlaid with steel.

He pressed his blade down hard, and the king fell to his knees a second time. Tancred kicked the king’s sword out of his hand, sending the heavy blade flying out of reach. Brastus glared up at Tancred, unarmed and wounded. “What will you do, noble Hunter?” he mocked. “Would you kill a defenseless man?”

“Give it up, Brastus,” commanded Tancred, restraining his anger with a great effort. “Surrender! You’ve lost already and refuse to admit it.”

“I will never surrender,” Brastus replied, spitting at Tancred. The spittle landed on Tancred’s cheek and he turned his face away for a second. The king seized the opportunity and lunged for his sword that lay on the ground just out of reach.

Tancred did not hesitate. His sword swept down, and Brastus Alustate, King of Elangsia, was no more.