994: Opposing Schools of Strategy – Part 7 994: Opposing Schools of Strategy – Part 7 Firyr heard the sa voice speaking.
“Out of my way,” it said to him.
Not Oliver’s voice.
It was too deep to be Oliver’s voice.
It was almost inhumanly deep.
It was like the gravelly roar of a smiling lion.
There was humour in its voice, but that humour carried an undercurrent of imnse maliciousness.
Firyr felt a hand around his heart with a firr grip than he’d ever felt.
He didn’t make the decision to dodge to the side.
He was practically thrown.
And then, through the air where he’d just been standing, Inka’s half-moon sword swept, and he was left with nothing to dampen his frustrations.
“Little man,” the voice said.
It was no longer an echo.
It was as real as the soldiers that surrounded Firyr, but he couldn’t catch sight of the being that spoke.
“In a world of fear, why do you allow yourself to be so weak?
You sit right on the edge of the Second Boundary, what are you so afraid of?
Frightened rabbits dig holes.
They run.
They don’t just stand still.
Are you worse than a rabbit, human?” So the accusations ca, just as Inka’s sword too ca.
It was a flash this ti.
Firyr could hardly follow it.
He made the split-second decision to put his spear shaft in the way, but the sword bit straight through the wood, and left a line across Firyr’s chest.
“Broken,” the voice taunted.
“Why so afraid?
You fear what you might lose in growing stronger?
A contemptible fear.
What if they were to know?
Your n?
Would they still treat you with even the slightest fragnt of respect?” “GRAHHH!” Firyr thrust out with what was left of his spear.
A re half a shaft, wielded in one hand.
It did not even get near Inka.
The Verna Rogue Commandant shifted his horse entirely out of the way, and positioned himself behind the flailing Firyr.
“Give up,” the voice suggested.
“You are done.
Give over to fear – you’ve done so already.
Take the final step.
Plunge straight in.
Let us swim, and see what we shall find.” “SURRREENNDDERRR!” Oliver bellowed, working the last of Claudia’s power to send a Violet Commandant flying off his horse.
He knew that a good few dozen Inka n had seen it.
They saw the man’s torso had been separated from his legs, as Oliver’s sword ran straight through his spine, under his ribs.
“SURRRENDER, YOU FOOLS!
THE PATRICK N BELONG TO A DIFFERENT CLASS!” His shouts were t by cries of affirmation from his n.
They grasped for the fabled power that they’d co to believe in, and they saw their sword strokes were stronger for it.
Just as Oliver’s might have sowed fear into the enemy, that sa fight filled his n with strength.
That sa strength reached fear, just in ti for Inka’s half-moon sword to flash in front of him once again.
“CAPPPTAIN!” Firyr shouted, recovering himself enough to rember the situation that he was in.
“I’VE FOUND THE BIG ONE!
I’LL BE TAKING HIS HEAD!” “You don’t have the power to,” the dark voice mocked.
“You’re afraid of power, as much as you want it.
You’re weak, beyond re pity.” “And that is exactly what makes him strong,” a female voice countered.
The slimst chance of salvation.
Firyr through himself at that door.
He’d heard that woman’s voice before, but had been too afraid to reply back to it.
Now he saw no alternative.
A sudden sensation made Oliver turn, as his eyes widened.
There, he could see Firyr wrapped in Claudia’s beautiful glow.
Sparkling light ran up his arms, and shrouded his body, but Firyr did not pause to appreciate it.
He was moving, and even midmotion, his speed grew faster.
He ramd the point of his broken spear straight through the eye of Inka’s horse.
The sudden explosive increase of Firyr’s speed left the Verna man at a loss.
His reactions had almost brought him to a counter, but now the horse was falling, and falling, and Inka’s legs were still trapped within its stirrups.
“Shit, shit,” Inka said, panicking.
He didn’t have his usual level of alertness.
He could feel his head growing light from the loss of blood.
It was a sheer effort of will that was keeping him conscious.
He grasped for the things important to him.
His soon-to-be-wed sister, and his vow that he would free her from her obligations.
His younger brother, still in training, lacked the funds he needed for a proper education.
He had too much responsibility to perish.
He forced his foot out of the stirrups that chained them, barely, but the horse had already thudded to the floor, and even with his foot freed, his leg was still trapped.
Now Firyr ca for him, as hungry as a dog.
It would be hard to call what Firyr wielded a weapon, with how broken it was.
It was more a shard of malice.
He grasped for his newfound strength, encouraged by the sweet words of a foreign God.
The half-moon sword ca up, even as Inka’s leg was trapped, he sought to defend himself.
It wasn’t enough, however.
Inka’s eyes were still set for Oliver.
Firyr was no more than an obstacle in the road.
Yet for Firyr, Inka was the very height of devilishness himself.
He was the seat of all fear.
He was that voice urging him towards darkness.
He gave the fight everything he had, and did not miss his opportunity.
He ducked under the slash of the sword, but barely.
It drew a line across the top of his head, pulling skin and hair with it.
That was the cost, and Firyr paid it gladly.
His spearpoint found sudden resistance, as he slamd it into the fallen Inka’s chest.
He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d hit, whether it was the heart, or the lung.
He simply saw the blood forced out through the corners of Inka’s mouth.
He dared to relax as he pulled back – a fatal mistake.
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