chain. “Don’t stop,” I urge again. “I will protect you.” Then I leap up the stairs and the battle resumes.
I am pleased to see that many of my men still fight valiantly. Their morale raises when I rejoin them and fight by their side.
“You,” suddenly says a voice.
The voice is ominous. A familiar clomp echoes in the carved room, followed by another. Then he steps down from the stairs that lead into the Clifftower. The torchlight casts a flickering shadow of his figure onto the wall.
“You,” he says. He’s clad in shining steel armor, with a billowing orange cloak and an orange plume on the top of his helmet. A scratch distorts the helm where Jarl Hralfar had hit him only a few weeks before. His enormous claymore sits in his hand, ready for use. One of my men shoots an arrow at him, but he blocks it with an inhuman movement of his sword.
“Kill them all, but him,” he says. “Leave him to me.” My men engage with his men, each fighting for their lives.
“Me?” I question.
“You are the one who escaped that night,” he clarifies. “You are the one who led the escape that tore Lord Jarl Hralfar from my hands. You are the one they say fights like a dragon.”
“How do you know?”
He points. “You are missing two fingers on your left hand. And your size. It’s not often I see someone as big as you.”
“I see,” I say.
“You give them hope. And that’s why I have to kill you.”
Almost with inhuman speed he swings the great claymore and I barely have time to block. I don’t have time to recover before he throws another blow, which I dodge only by falling backward as quickly as I can. By the time he swings again I have regained my balance, and am ready for the next blow. Not only do I block, but I counter.
He sidesteps and jabs, but I twist his sword to the side and make to slam in his helmet. Our weapons collide and lock. Our faces are no more than a foot apart.
“Who are you?” I seethe.
Then he throws me off and the fight continues. One of my men steps in and my enemy temporarily steps away from me to take care of the nuisance. I am unable to help the soldier.
“Tyrannus!” I hear. Genevieve stands behind him, holding her broadsword. She charges and the fight continues.
Slowly our battle brings us out of the tunnels and out onto the wall above the gate. Firelight flickers from the enormous torches, lighting the wall though the sun is still set.
He is able to block every stroke we throw at him, though we attack from different sides. His blows are few and far between, but only one proves effective.
He slices Genevieve’s outer left thigh. She emits a cry of pain and as she falls, her head hits the ground hard and she goes unconscious. I am upon him, however, and he is forced to turn away from her.
“You will die,” he says as he counters one of my blows. “As will all of your family.”
Rage pumps through my blood and my hammer comes down harder than it ever has before. He is surprised by the sudden force, but after it comes another, and another. I catch the blade of his sword with the spike of my hammer and twist it from his grip. As the sword flies toward me I spin to catch it in my left hand, and then I bring it down on his left arm.
He howls and drops to his knees as his forearm falls to the floor. With his other hand he clutches the bloody stump that now serves as his hand.
“I have already lost my father,” I say, pointing both weapons at him. “And I don’t plan to lose any more.”
He says nothing more, but dies silently beneath his own sword.
In disgust I drop his sword and heft my hammer in both hands. I turn to find that my men have risen victorious over their opponents.
A creak emanates from the gate, and then a bang.
“It’s open!” one of the soldiers cries.
“Somebody get her to safety,” I command, gesturing to Genevieve on the ground. “Everyone else, stand strong with me. We have a battle to win.”
Our forces flood into Terrace. The Tygnar army, attacked from both sides and leaderless, panics. Some men who had watched me smite down their leader simply turn tail and run, dropping their weapons in the road.
I run into