Broken Blades Don't Sing (Tales of Ashkar Book One) (20 page)

"HAHAHA!" erupted Vrand like a roaring flame,
reveling in the conflict. Raxxil paid the elemental no heed.

Serraemas closed the distance rapidly and
stopped just next to Raxxil, who was still kneeling from the blow.
His furious partner's shadow loomed over him, and Raxxil felt an
icy stare penetrate his soul. Serraemas brought his knee up, aiming
for Raxxil's head—

Raxxil reacted faster.

He blocked the blow and pushed up with his legs.
Rising upward quickly, Raxxil flew his fist up in an uppercut and
it connected with Serraemas's cheek, causing a loud smack and
sending his partner flying backward.

Serraemas soared through the air for just a
moment before recovering, shifting gracefully in mid-air and
landing on his feet while his black cloak fluttered about in the
wind. A sizable bruise had made its mark on the staff-wielder's
cheek. Serraemas's pale complexion grew even darker. He widened his
stance, lowering himself for another lunge.

Beads of sweat rolled down Raxxil's face, and he
panted heavily. He reached for his hammer—

"Stop!" yelled a squeaky voice from behind
them.

Raxxil turned to the direction of the outburst
and beheld a surprising sight. Tanaria stood in the middle of the
dirt path, with furrowed brows and pouted lips. She gazed at the
trio with a smudge of disdain and a whole lot of concern, as if
they were the children and she was the adult. "Friends shouldn't
fight!"

Raxxil released his grip on his weapon and
sighed deeply. He looked over at Serraemas, who was still clenching
his fists and ready to pounce. A breeze blew by the two unmoving
figures, causing the branches of nearby trees to sway. The moment
froze, and Raxxil could still feel the tension. He braced to jump
into action, but a moment later Serraemas relaxed. The
staff-wielder’s complexion lightened ever so slightly as he crossed
his arms. He scowled at Raxxil, giving him a you-deal-with-this
look.

Raxxil buckled from exhaustion. He coughed
heavily, and the taste of metal hung on his tongue. Looking down,
he noticed he had expelled some blood onto the ground. He willed
himself into a seated position, crossed his legs, and, facing the
young girl, smiled warmly.

"Why were you fighting?" asked the little girl
as she strode up to Raxxil.

Raxxil's smile grew even wider. "Sometimes we
get into arguments and we need to talk with our fists."

"Why can't you just talk it over?" she
continued, plopping down in front of Raxxil and mirroring his
posture. She stared intently at him, and their eyes locked.

Just like hers. Innocent and naive...

"There are times when words cannot suffice, and
the solution is to fight", he answered, attempting to fight back
the surge of emotions.

The girl sat in silence and continued to stare
at him, as if processing his words and ascertaining their meaning.
After several seconds, she looked up at Erendil and Serraemas, who
were both standing several feet behind where Raxxil and Tanaria
sat. "Where are you from?" The question seemed to have been asked
to no one in particular, though her eyes stuck to Raxxil.

Raxxil mulled over his words, contemplating his
answer. “We are—well…” Raxxil paused again, unsure of what the
proper answer could be. “It’s hard to—“

"We are children of Ashkar", interrupted
Serraemas. Raxxil turned to his dark-haired ally as the
staff-wielder stepped forward. "We are from everywhere, and
nowhere. The ground we walk upon is our home. Why are
you
here?"

Raxxil looked back at the girl. If there was
anyone that had trouble understanding Serraemas, it would be a
child, and her’s was the face of a child confused at a riddle. She
cocked her head to one side, narrowing her eyes and furrowing her
brows. Raxxil chuckled heartily at her perplexed complexion.

"I will not ask again", said Serraemas, raising
his voice. "Why did you follow us?"

Apparently dismissing Serraemas's words, and her
own previous question entirely, Tanaria abruptly stood up and
pointed to the northeast, where the road continued to snake its
way. "Where are you goi—?"

"Are you going to continue to ask questions for
eternity?" interjected Serraemas impatiently.

"Are you going to be a big doo-doo head
forever?" retorted the girl in frustration.

"Raxxil", stated Serraemas calmly as he turned
and walked in the opposite direction away from everyone else.

"Wait here", Raxxil said to the girl softly,
then strode after Serraemas. He passed Erendil, who merely offered
a shrug. Piercing eyes stared at him intently as Raxxil joined
Serraemas, and the latter now stood with crossed arms several feet
up the road.

Raxxil did not have to ponder much to know what
Serraemas was going to say, and he brought up his arms to protest.
“Listen, Serrae—“

"She can accompany us", interrupted the icy
elementalist.

Raxxil gaped, taken completely aback.
"What?"

Serraemas shifted his stance uncomfortably,
raising his brows and sighing deeply as he looked away. The bruise
on his right cheek continued to throb, but he seemed to pay no
mind. Such inflictions were hardly physically painful, Raxxil was
certain of that. Most of the time, he found it a more effective
tool of communication than the tongue anyway.

"We're focusing on the mission and she will
not
be a distraction", continued Serraemas, his gaze still
fixated on nothing in particular, "Lest Sora hears of your frailty.
I’m sure she wouldn’t object to the addition of a new member,
though.” He waited for the words to settle. “But… that would be
your will, not mine. You know the risks we take."

Raxxil exhaled deeply in relief, forgetting that
he had been holding his breath in suspense. He chuckled heartily,
but pain coursed through his body and his laughs gave way to
coughs.

"You are responsible for her", Serraemas stated
boldly, locking eyes with Raxxil again and uncrossing his arms.
"Now make haste, our quarry could not have gotten—"

"Someone approaches!" hissed Erendil from
behind.

Raxxil wheeled about as the towrth barreled past
both him and Serraemas, the flailing child in his grip. Serraemas
stepped forward, reaching for his staff. He brought it in front of
him, shifting his stance defensively.

From the southwest, Raxxil made out an armored
figure on horseback galloping toward them quickly.

---

Now I've seen it all.

Graf grimaced.

Death and destruction now befell the quiet
village of Bellis, ravaged by malevolent demons. Knights of the
Faith dying to fulfill their duty wasn't any less tragic—but they
died with honor, valiantly defending the innocent and upholding
their righteous oath. Their souls would no doubt reach the gates of
Heaven. Simple townsfolk, however? Women and children? Their deaths
were nothing short of tragedy.

If demons run rampant throughout Ashkar,
where are the angels? Does Heaven ignore our prayers?

"Sergeant Graf, sir!" shouted one of the guards,
pulling Graf out of his mind and back into the village's center.
His men bustled about, fulfilling their orders while the townsfolk
continued to recover as best they could. Even the traveler that
called himself The Ujok volunteered eagerly to aid the village, and
despite his odd attire and even stranger demeanor, any help was
welcome.

Graf turned to face the gaunt soldier, who
saluted. The younger soldier had dark circles under his eyes and
appeared fatigued. No doubt, everyone was exhausted, but his
tiredness seemed more, as if he was burdened by a weight.

"At ease", Graf answered after returning the
salute. "What is it, Private Devue?"

"The situation is stable, sir", reported the
soldier weakly. "We have secured the perimeter. The wounded have
all been tended to, and preparations for burial have been put into
place for the deceased."

"Well done", Graf responded. "Get some rest,
soldier."

Devue smiled weakly, then saluted again.
However, he continued to look at Graf with what seemed like a
mixture of uncertainty and fear. In fact, he appeared to quiver
where he stood.

"What is it, soldier?" Graf asked.

Devue hesitated for a moment, shifting his eyes
fearfully.

"Spit it out!" commanded Graf, raising his voice
slightly. The younger soldier winced from the outburst.

"T-the Order of the Faith never trained me to
fight demons", Devue finally divulged. "I felt the darkness
enveloping the air. Their sick laughter resounding as they killed
us, feeding off of the screams of the fallen." The man looked down,
apparently ashamed of the words he spoke.

Graf sighed. He stepped forward, placing both
hands on the private's shoulders. "You courageously fought and
defended those who needed protection. Having fear itself is not a
weakness. Weakness is not taking action in the presence of
fear.”

Devue's complexion lightened. His lips curled
upward slightly in relief, as if a great burden had been lifted off
his shoulders.

"Regardless of our foe, we, as Knights of the
Faith, must face the evil that threatens all that is good",
continued Graf. "Understood, soldier?"

Relieved, Devue nodded and saluted once more.
"Thank you, sir!"

Graf returned the gesture. "Now go get
some—"

"Sergeant!" yelled another armored knight from
the south. Graf turned in the direction of the voice and faced the
man who rushed toward him. The guard stopped just a few feet from
Graf, placing his hands on his knees and panting heavily. Without
words, he pointed in the direction he had just come from.

Confused, Graf shifted his attention to the
south and narrowed his eyes. Off in the distance, flocks of birds
flew out from the trees and into the sky, escaping from some
unknown threat. That threat was coming their way.

What now?

Graf turned and placed a gauntlet-covered hand
on Devue's shoulder. "Call the remaining knights, now!" He turned
and unsheathed his weapon, and the other men followed. Paranoid and
fearful, shouts arose throughout the village as townsfolk retreated
into their homes in panic while some of the able-bodied men reached
for what weapons they had and grouped.

Graf heard the galloping of several horses
emanating from the south. Squinting, he made out three silhouettes
that charged straight for them with astonishing speed. After a
moment, the silhouettes gave way to dark, shadowy figures.

More of those demons?

As they neared, Graf’s eyes widened in
shock.

The three riders wore black, spiked armor from
head-to-toe that could only come from nightmares, rode hellish
steeds that exuded a foreboding miasma in their wake, and
brandished ghoulish blades that seemed to drain the life of the
very space around it. Orbs of green and blue glowed from the depths
of their helmed visages. Graf could feel them burn with
malevolence.

"Stand your ground!" commanded Graf to the
quivering men around him. "Defend your honor and the innocent!"

With weapons raised, the soldiers awaited their
foes. The dark riders were nearly upon them, and Graf whispered a
quick prayer—

To his surprise, the ghastly figures flew past
them, completely ignoring the silver-armored soldiers and villagers
entirely. Instead, the riders charged straight to the north and out
of the village. In the distance, their eerie forms reverted back to
silhouettes until they vanished completely out of sight.

Silence loomed, and Graf felt all eyes fall unto
him in search for answers. He had no reprieve to offer. He
continued to stare to the north, mouth agape and eyes wide.

Lieutenant, may your blade be blessed by the
heavens...

Chapter 11

347th Dawn of the 4999th Age of Rimas

Quinn sighed.

"The First Pillar of the Four Pillars of Earth,
named Grasping Earth, was created in the 4787th Age of Lion by
Buffo the Earthshaker, a renowned earth elementalist", continued
Master Felen. She had been instructing for the better part of an
hour, though his ears had remained deaf to her words.

What is the point when I can’t learn it
anyway?

He sat on the far side of the room near the
window, and decided to focus his attention outside. The sun shone
brightly and the skies were blue. White, puffy clouds drifted by to
fulfill an objective unbeknownst to him. Flocks of birds flew
above, while several groups of students mingled with smiles. Their
cheerful laughter matched joyful countenances, boring a hole into
him. He turned away and looked down at his lap.

Why did it have to be—?

A scrunched up parchment struck his head from
behind, and he heard devious giggles mocking him. Quinn looked over
his shoulder, leering at his aggressors. They peered back,
contorting their faces mischievously and enacting rude
gestures.