Previously… “Souls soaked in blood; two men rode alone on the road north.”
Of all the things a man should fear, it should not be death.
For what is death without life?
And what is life without death?
If man should fear, be it that he hath not lived.
-Karos, First King of Akard
1 Caedare
The day Lyra and all of Tyr fell, the sky raged in defiance. The Red King and his legendary general paid no heed. Hysa stood among his fellow soldiers as the drums of war pounded around them.
He glanced to the sky, feeling the ground rumble and shake beneath his feet. The sun had long abandoned the city it had favored so. The capital of Tyr was shadowed in ruinous omen as droplets of rain began to sprinkle down from the clouds above.
“If ever there was a time, oh Lord, let it be now.” Prayer to Iel, the God of Gods, Master of All, felt hopeless in the beginnings of a battle destined to be lost.
“The walls!” Screams came from the towers surrounding the city. They would not survive, and he counted in his head as he often did before a battle.
One.
The Tyr Kisatari, their commander, gestured for the detachment to ready themselves at the front gates. Two hundred soldiers would not be enough, not even for the elite Qurbute.
Two.
In front of him, three lines of soldiers readied their spears.
Three.
He drew his sword as the chants rose, but they were no match for the army at their gates, not when-
BOOM
Four.
The stone walls crumbled, falling into the mines dug below. Screams were heard from those that had been buried by the rubble and they melded with the battle cries of his countrymen, vowing vengeance on their enemy.
Five.
A hoard of black and red poured over the crumbled stone, bellowing for blood, mixing in with the sound of rain now pelting down in full force.
Six.
He steadied himself, breathing in and-
Seven.
Chaos erupted
The spear wall was effective, to a point. There were only so many men one could fit on a spear before it was made useless. He met the glassy eyes of a soul who had found himself at the wrong end. His body was still seizing, twitching. From his mouth was the gurgle of a dying man.
In front of him, the spearmen were soon overrun and were forced to draw their swords.
Bodies to him became nothing more than obstacles, and he found himself trapped on all sides, boxed in by allies shoulder to shoulder. The stories left out the cramped and tight truth of battle.
He was shoved by a young wide eyed man holding his blade pointed towards the red horde that had clashed with the azure Tyrian coats.
Soon, they would not know friend from foe, soon all that mattered was killing whatever man dared stand to face you.
That was all good and well with Hysa.
A man in Akardian leathers came at the boy with ferocity, and overpowered his blade with ease. Hysa took the opening and finally joined the fray. His short sword slashed across the man’s unguarded throat, it was always better to slash versus stab in close quarters. Getting your blade stuck for even a moment was a death sentence.
The young man opened his mouth to thank Hysa. Then froze. Looked down. And saw the blood pooling around a sword in his midsection.
Case in point.
Hysa bent his knees and swung his sword, controlled and close, to the man in front of him who was taking far too long to pull at his sword which was stuck between the ribs of the sputtering boy. Hysa went for the neck again, blood spraying and mixing with the rain and muck that was fast forming under their feet.
Akardians really should implement collar guards to their infantry, His thoughts were overtaken as he brought his blade up, blocking a blow from a new opponent.
The familiar scent of iron and shit melted into the sounds of agony and steel.
And Hysa fought on.
Each step forward felt like it had taken him hours, his boots were soaked and he gripped his sword with fervor, his shoulders aching and his muscles rebelling. In front of him a soldier clambering over the rubble stumbled, and finally he heard the command for the archers to knock their arrows.
Only… they were coming from the wrong direction.
Fucking bastards.
Arrows were not supposed to come after the armies met, it was ludicrous. With no shield and no way to move, he was fucked.
The first wave of arrows fell from the sky and Hysa stabbed his sword through the man in front of him and knelt, holding his sword pointed towards up. He hid under the large body of a gasping dying man and realized too late the man was wearing a coat of blue, not red.
Well shit.
Another wave of arrows fell and he huddled under the twitching body, watching as men all around him fell, and screams muddled with the sound of the storm. The call for retreat was made, or he guessed it was since so many of his fellow soldiers turned their backs to flee behind the inner gates.
Most would never make it.
Black, red, and blue laden bodies were strewn around Hysa, and he realized that after the fifth wave, there was nigh but him and one other man standing in the courtyard.
Behind him, the inner gate groaned shut.
Escape was impossible.
Death was certain.
Behind the man, an army waited, some men perched on the fallen stone, and he breathed in a brief moment of peace.
Shedding the man he used as a shield, he stood and faced his enemy.
The gates would not open for him if he turned and fled, but perhaps if he could get close enough to the walls, archers could…
Could what? Protect him? And how long would that last?
Hysa hadn’t lived the life he wanted, had never loved a woman, never traveled to see the Lysa Mountains or the mythic Temples of Sa’ar. He wasn’t ready to die.
But if he was to go, he would not be a coward. Perhaps there would even be a song, Hysa’s Last Stand. Smiling at the thought, he tightened his grip on his sword, and approached the giant of a man that seemed to be waiting in the center of the courtyard.
His steps faltered once he realized who the man was, or rather what.
Oh, songs would indeed be sung.
Amongst a pile of dead Tyrian and Akardian soldiers, stood The Faceless Knight. He looked every bit the monster he was rumored to be with obsidian mail, plate, and leather armor that was drenched with the blood of his victims. He looked to have fought every hour of the three year long war. And won.
Beneath his great helm, the beast’s eyes watched Hysa.
And Hysa watched him back.
The moment of peace was shattered when the knight pointed the tip of his massive war sword right at Hysa, summoning him. Only the sound of rain and the blood in his ears accompanied him as he rolled his shoulders and prepared himself to battle a legend.
Hysa knew the knight would try to use his advantage, he was taller by almost a foot and had the reach of a far longer blade. He moved slowly, mapping his terrain as he approached. The knight lowered his sword and took on a relaxed position.
Hysa was no simple foot soldier though, he was the son of the greatest duelists to ever live. And despite their many arguments and fights, despite the fact that dueling was useless in war, despite the old duelist hating his son and what he had become, “no better than a whore, selling your body to be pummeled by strong men,” Hysa thanked his father for the grueling lessons in his youth.
The knight would wait for him, and he would have to use his strength, reach, and sheer power to his advantage. But there was a reason that a war sword was not used in a duel, they were slow, bulky, and far too long.
As he moved closer, he saw it. He wasn’t sure how, he had been blinking away rain for what felt like hours. But there it was, the twitch of a muscle.
And just like that The Faceless Knight’s blade came at him in a brutal arc, with a speed Hysa was unprepared for. But that didn’t matter, he didn’t need to be. He pivoted and caught the end of the blade with his own.
Steel slid on steel, and it was then that he took his opening.
“So,” Hysa started, hiding his exhaustion. “Thought you would’ve been taller.” He met the Knights next blow and almost bit his tongue off as he clenched his teeth from the sheer strength of it. “You strike,” He pivoted again but the knight was ready for him, and Hysa had to stumble back from his next blow, his boot crashing upon some poor soul's chest.
“Like-” He feigned left, and smiled when the knight prepared to meet him. Swifter than his father had ever given him credit for, Hysa swung his blade up to meet the armpit. When fighting against a man in armor, his father had always said, the pits, the neck, the knees, and the balls if you can get to them.
His blade instead was greeted with a whoosh of air as his opponent spun, dropping the tip of his blade and bringing it in a stabbing strike towards Hysa’s chest.
Impressive.
Unable to deflect due to the sheer force, he turned and rushed the knight. Stupid? Yes. But his opponent wasn’t expecting it. Luckily, or rather by design, Hysa drew a thin dagger and thrust the thin blade in between the armor on the knight’s shoulder.
He expected rage of some sort, or even a grunt of pain. Instead the man… laughed and pulled out the dagger, discarding it to the mud.
“Like what?” The Faceless Knight’s voice sounded like rolling thunder, like doom crashing upon shores. He did not doubt that underneath the helm would be nothing but shadow and death, not when the voice spoke again.
“I strike like what, Tyrian?” Each syllable was emphasized, as if the man’s teeth were clenched in rage.
Hysa breathed in deeply and smiled at the beast before him. The knight would rue the day he took on the son of a duelist and the castle poisoner.
The large war sword swung again, this time faster, twice. Both times Hysa parried, both times the force almost pushed him off of his feet.
Only Hysa was realizing, the knight was indeed fast. But he was faster. And the Faceless Knight was favoring his shoulder.
Even monsters can bleed.
It was as if the entire world held its breath as the two men circled each other, mud squelching under their feet. He saw it, his opening, and reached for it, slicing his blade towards the wounded shoulder that the man had started to favor.
A mistake, his father would have beat him silly for it. Overextending, he took a chance, went for the shoulder intending to-
Well. It didn’t matter. Because before his blade got close, pain lit up his entire being and he staggered away.
What?
The Faceless Knight yanked his war sword out of Hysa’s chest. He tried to stay standing, tried to thrust his blade at his enemy, but he seemed to have dropped his sword. He looked around, and realized the ground was coming up to meet him, or perhaps…
The world went blurry, if only for a second.
He shook his head hard and pushed himself up to his knees, drawing another dagger. A Tyrian was never weaponless, least of all a duelist’s son.
“Go on, finish the sentence. Make it a good one, for it will be your last.” The man stepped away from Hysa and pointed the tip of his sword at his heart. He shook his head again, fighting the light-headed death that was fast approaching.
He opened his mouth to speak, and choked out his last words. “When you are on your deathbed, Faceless Knight, when the poison reaches your heart, know that it was Hysa Val Linadre that felled the mighty beast.” As far as words went, they were his best.
Hysa Val Linadre closed his eyes, or perhaps the world went dark first, and then-
To be Continued…
Notes: Okay look. I wasn’t planning on liking Hysa as much as I did, and I am devastated that the awful Faceless Knight killed a perfectly awesome potential leading man.
Life goes on I suppose…well not for Hysa.
In this draft, I am focusing on the writing itself and patching up the stories and characters. Your feedback would be amazing, even as simple as “this didn’t flow,” or “yeah I liked the way you worded this, but this next part doesn’t make sense.” I am here to grow, to become better. I want to do something with my writing someday. If I can.
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I loved how you subvert expectations by killing a character we’re primed to root for. It's really bold storytelling. I am looking forward to reading the next part.
I also have a personal question I wanted to ask, I left it inbox, when you have time please check it out.
Ahh I loved this so much!! And I kind of love that we like Hysa so it’s a big 🤯 when he dies.
And I’m sorry ma’am but the poison?? Is U going to be ok?? 🥺🥺