Fanfic:Fangs of Green
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Blood spatter was warm on Valadin’s when the next wretch came forward in challenge. The hard packed earth had been watered with death all morning, the stink of it lingering long after the decease gasped their final words. As it was always with their ilk, the man was all fire and fury, laying about wildly with a rusted short sword. Pitiful.
Death was visited once again upon the enemy by Val’s blade. This time a choking whimper heralded the man’s end as The Boar Rushes Down the Mountain claimed the fellow’s sword hand and complete silence followed when The Whirlwind on the Mountain took the poor soul’s head. Time to enjoy the relief of victory was cut short by a bolt that buried itself in the chest of the young patrolmen standing close by. The light had faded from the poor lad’s startlingly emerald eyes before his body limply collapsed to the ground. Such was the way of battle, Val knew. The weak were culled…leaving behind the strong to seek out vengeance for the fallen; the cycle brutal, mindless, and savage. It was war.
The Battle Frenzy nourished his bones, beating away the exhaustion poisoning body and mind only moments ago. The bowmen who had laid low the guardsman turned to flee as Valadin advanced in a bellowing charge, face caked with the lifeblood of vanquished enemies, dark jacket billowing about as he roared in a mixture of excitement and rage. Size had ever been Val’s ally and so it remained today as he bulled the sniveling coward to the ground. Men who killed without staring into the face of their enemy were the worst sort.
They were honorless murderers.
Glaring down at the latest prey, perspiration shimmered in the air at the collision. Sunlight made the droplets glow like starlight in the ethereal hours before darkness ruled the night. Above the sky teemed with life despite the ugliness of the skirmish taking place beneath its clouds. Nature knew the course of man and their violence; it was natural order. Nothing glorious about fighting and killing—life was not sacred in its taking and giving, only the reason for sacrifice…the thing being protected mattered. Otherwise it was just men killing each other. It was their nature.
Valadin understood this truth. That’s why when a fiery agony bit into his back and he whirled to face two grim-faced men of equal size to him there was no fear. That skin had been shed a long time ago—and Nykk had breathed new life into what had once been a scared child in the body of a man.
A feral grin parted his lips as he reached behind to rip the throwing dagger from his flesh and jammed it neatly into the fallen bowman’s throat before stepping over the soon-to-be corpse to meet the new challengers. The air of battle of thick, the patrol making effective gains against the bandit caravan. To call it a fight was misleading, but Valadin had been wanting for blood spilt in the nights it had taken to catch these vagrants. During the ostentatious efforts at diplomacy made by the Guard Captain upon cornering the rats had been tolerated with heights of restraint. Blessedly the foolish villains, too proud of the profane vices and depravity, swore to never abdicate their freedom to do as they wished—even at the expense of others. At that time Val had summoned the Void to keep the gratitude in his heart from entering his expression.
The Song of Battle urged him to dip next attack as he rolled along the cracking mud and came to his feet in time to parry a blade with Watered Silk. Space was created by the subsequent thrust, but only enough that the original assailant was given quarter to press his attack brazenly without harming his ally. The hilt of an ancient saber jabbed into Valadin’s nose, staggering him as a fountain of dark red spewed from his face. When he recovered the smile hadn’t faded. The advantage of numbers, he mused humorously.
Fearlessness was granted to those who knew the Oneness well, but the Battle Frenzy allowed Val to revel in the chaos of battle—to spit in the face of those who would believe themselves infallible to death; those who would think the Light could not prevail against the Shadow. His brothers and sisters shared his zeal for combat to an extent, but since his joining their ranks Val found that while they understood they took up their task with reluctance. As if the thought of cleansing the world of the wicked was something to be ashamed of!
By now the one-sided struggle was nearing its conclusion. The company of patrol were too used to battle and knew the lads to well to allow any of the rabble escape to do harm on another day. In summary it was a complete rout.
Two guardsman, their once pristine appearances marred by black blood and gashes, peeled away from the suppressing force looking as if to provide aid to Valadin, but he waved them off vehemently, “See to your tasks! None escape and those that surrender you capture them, but do not interfere these are for me!”
When they didn’t immediately depart saidin rattled against his cages and the air about Val churned warningly sending clear message to the men. The thud of their boots retreating allowed for focus to be turned back towards the fight.
By now those under his command knew not to argue when he was clutches of his bloodlust. Perhaps it was unbecoming of a commander, but Valadin put that from mind—or rather it was put from his mind when a hatchet merged with his side. He chose not to wear armor on the battlefield. The confining protection felt blasphemous for a true warrior. Ribbon Dances on the Breeze brought his Tower longsword around in a flourish that turned away what would have been a killing blow, but where one attack ended another began. They came at him without mercy, pressing him back step by step.
Of course they couldn’t afford to show any leniency. These men knew their streak of violence without consequence had come to an end. They had been beaten soundly and their demise was assured.
They just wanted to take one more with them before returning to the Pattern. That’swhat made fighting with the sword so sweet.
Saidin thrashed against his control, a struggle every bit as fierce as the one faced externally. The One Power would have made quick work of these two, nay, the entire gang wouldn’t have lasted long once the Power had fallen upon them, but Val did not wish to abuse power. What he was after was mortality. He would live for hundreds of years while others experienced what it was to hold things for precious few seconds. Fleeting love was always most intense when each moment threatened to be the final chance to say what really matters. Such was it with flowers, their petals in bloom for only a season before nature withered their beauty with the passing of the next.
The sword was his petal. With it he was beautiful and temporary. Any man could touch him and he could strike equally; with the sword he could face anyone on even ground to prove he was better.
Distinctly aware that the battle had ended save for these two Valadin attuned himself to their Song. Desperation, resignation, and remorse; these men were still conflicted about how they wished to leave this world. Pitiful.
Sensing the uncertainty in them, Val repelled the offensive of both men with The Whirlwind on the Mountain. While one man found his footing with ease the other, the largest of the pair stumbled a step too long. Thistledown Floats on the Whirlwinddid not behead the enemy as was intended, but the bright red opening in the man’s neck was enough to remove him from combat. Falling to his new the dying bandit shared a final look at his brethren before dropping face first.
Tears moistened the cheeks of the other man and a flickering curiosity to the relation between the two crossed Val’s mind, but the Void quelled the stirring immediately. Only the Battle Frenzy and the Song escaped the detachment of the Oneness, they ruled his body and mind with impunity; they were all that he was at the moment.
“Filthy dog, that was my brother!” the last of the bandit cried, the pitch of his voice telling his age. No older than eighteen summers. Your brother should’ve led you on a better path.
Waiting in High Guard until the appropriate opening Val struck pitilessly, Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose running the lad through the chest as the concluding swing of the hatchet missed its mark sorely and the weapon fell from grasp. Stepping back while in still to allow the standing corpse to fall to the ground, Val decided the mountainside air never felt more wonderfully cool against his skin.
Folding the Fan unceremoniously flicked most of the blood away from the steel of his sword before he grounded it in its sheath. In the evening before they packed for the return trip home he would see to its cleaning. The Guard Captain gave him space to calm before approaching; they all did. An episode in the days not long after his appointment as Asha’man of Green had made the practice well-known to his brothers in the mountain guard.
“Orders, sir?”
“Send a falcon to Fodhr and the Guard Captain Commander. Tell them the highwaymen have been dealt with and we’ll be coming home in three days’ time.”
“Three days, Asha’man?”
Valadin met the man’s eyes for the first time in the conversation as they walked in lockstep towards their mounts. “Three days…will that be a problem?”
“No…no sir. I just don’t know what to say if a reason is asked for—the Captain Commander, not Sergeant Fodhr.”
The narrowing of Valadin’s eye gave enough answer because the officer nodded a moment later and turned back to organize the dispatching of corpses; Bubbles of Evil were still resurrecting the dead in the Hama Valon region. Better to see them burned than have them return as beastly spirits. Remembering something Val turned, “Captain?”
“Sir?”
“Send word to Nykkolaia Zeran Sedai as well.”
“Saying what, sir?”
“Tell her…I am well. No need to give great detail of the battle itself.”
“I will see to the message personally.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Not for the first time Val pondered if his opinion of the Guard Captain was overly critical as he lifted himself onto Firedancer and rode alone towards camp.
