Faith
Strangely enough, the thing that set him apart the most was his moustache and beard. A small thing, inconsequential really, but it was the most alien thing to them. They would stare and point and whisper, not because he was a savage Marn , or that he came to challenge their King in a Seclar, but because he had facial hair. What an odd people.
The progression wound its way upward, through the sprawling streets of the Holy City toward the looming structure on top of the mountain. It was a sight to see in every sense, exotic animals from across seventeen kingdoms, towering machineries from the Island of Kaar, flowing tapestries sown by a thousand of King Umann's concubines. And him, they marched him high above all the rest in an exposed platform on top of a giant beast's back as the biggest wonder of them all, Ala Azim, Protector of Marn, the savage from the North, challenger of their beloved warrior King, the Unholy Demon. And the people came to see him because he had a beard. Ala didn't know if he should laugh, or be relieved.
Through the cobbled streets they went, a crowd of tens of thousands gawked and pointed, as the Seclum loomed ever closer, blocking out the midday sun in a silhouetting brilliance, menacing in all of its glory. So close, now, the final destination of his crusade. A calmness washed over him, and he could feel his God's whispering in the back of his mind, reassuring, stalwart. His faith has brought kingdoms to their knees, and it will again, this time an entire world. He believed, and in that belief he found tranquility.
The progression came to a scratching halt before the ancient gate of the Temple at the top of the world. The millennia old stone stood before him, a titan out of time, dark and weathered, vines encircling its walls that rose toward the clouds. Columns dotted the courtyard, most of them only shattered ruins, like trees stumps in a forest of white marble. They would have looked glorious, once, a world's Wonder. But few had set foot in this holy place in centuries, much less cared for it. He could see the ocean from here, over the cliff face beyond the Temple, its breeze curled through his hair and held his face in a gentle caress.
An uneasy hush fell over the gathered crowd, rippling through their ranks until the massive courtyard was silent except for the stamping and grumbling of the beasts. A weight replaced the noise, the presence of the Seclum itself, towering above them, casting thousands in its all-encompassing shadow. The people of Tal had faith too, he realized, faith as strong and as unyielding as his, magnified by their endless masses until it was a palpable force hanging in the air, as thick as the silence.
His heart hammered like war drum, threatening to burst through his chest, making his blood pump through his veins like a raging river, his vision expending and snapping in with each beat. His fingers tingled and his beard itched uncontrollably. This is how it ends. This is history.
A booming noise cracked through the air like a whip, cutting through the quiet courtyard and shattering the reverance. A moaning creak followed, harsh and jarring as the gates swung open slowly. All attention snapped toward the entrance where a dark figure stepped through the opening with a stride of absolute confidence. His armour shone like the morning star, golden and polished, his face bright and proud, features inhumanly delicate, like a statue of granite and diamond. His mere presence was enough to send awed murmurs rippling through the swarm of faces. Hyrde, the champion King of Tal, Godsent, warrior prophet. Invincible. And that was the monster he was fighting. Ala's throat tightened and he swallowed, hard.
Hyrde's eyes found his and their gazes locked for a brief moment, then the Talman nodded once in greeting, before turning and marched back into the gloom of Seclum, its shadow swallowing him whole. Tentatively, deliberately, Ala climbed off his platform, down to the ground. The crowd parted before him in waves and watched on in silent as he went pass, pity in the eyes of many, glee in others', indifference in some. He was not the first to challenge their Godsent, and to them he would not be the last. Ala himself had doubts. But his faith was stronger still, and thus he persisted. The darkness devoured his form just as it did Tal's champion. The gate slammed shut behind him with a cacophonous boom, an absolute finality. What followed would only be his and Hyrde's.
Ala walked for a long time. It felt like centuries. His heart thundered, his spirit raged against his body, demanding blood. He started to discard unwieldy items on the way, his robe, knifes, wood horn, pouches. By the time he reached the chamber at the end of the passage, he was in his shirt and war skirt, and the only weapon left on him was his blade. The rest were redundant, because if his blade wasn't going to be enough, nothing will be.
Hyrde was waiting for him at the end of the massive hall. The wall behind him had fallen away, revealing patches of sky and the ocean far beneath. The midday sun above the seas of swirling cloud silhouetted him like a golden halo. Right then, right there, he looked like a god, as holy as the stories made him out to be. His face was a mask of calmness and expectance, a gleaming sword already unsheathed and held loosely in his right palm.
Ala took a moment to breath the scene in, savouring the salty air he had rarely tasted before. A beautiful place to die, he thought.
Hyrde did not speak. There was no need. He saw in Ala's face what Ala saw in his. There was no reconciling between their gods, no chance of peace, no undoing of centuries of wars. It would end this day.
The two men faced each other. They looked through each other, at the other's god, at their faith and honour. In more ways than one, they were the same, the savage and the prophet. The echoing wind howled a chilling note.
Hyrde moved with blinding speed, covering their distance in a single stride and thrusted. Ala barely moved out of the way before the other man's blade shot through the space where his stomach had just been. He stumbled backward, using the momentum of the first retreat to avoid the another lightning swipe, and almost failed to parry the next one. His arm shook from the force of the blow, nearly breaking his grip. The Talman was stronger and faster than anyone he had ever fought, even Godsents. Completely abandoning his stance, Ala threw himself as hard as he could away, out of reach of the other man's blade, trying to reset the tempo of the duel and regain his composure. Hyrde did not follow, instead withdrew his arm and fell into a relaxing pose, allowing his opponent to catch his breath. His eyes did not sneer, or frown in disapproval, only watched evenly with that unchanging intensity.
Already Ala's muscle burned from the the sudden exertion. A bad sign, he thought absentmindedly as his attention focused to a fine point onto Hyrde's midsection, watching for movement. His god's whispering had gone silenct in the back of his mind.
This time, Ala charged the Godsent. Unlike his opponent's controlled precision, his was a ferocious flurry of quick slices aimed to bleed rather than fatally wound. Hyrde met his attack with ease, too much ease, dodging the first and second cuts then catching the third on the crossguard of his sword, sliding it to one side. Ala had expected that, he had hoped otherwise, but he was prepared all the same. As his blade was swung aside, he rolled with the parry's momentum and dashed forward shoulder-first, planning to take the Godsent by surprise with a body hit, perhaps push him off balance. It had worked before, against even the best of swordsmen, but they were human still, and, he realized too late, the Talman was not. He deftly stepped backward, casually but impossibly fast, fouling Ala's reach and causing his shoulder hit too low for leverage and not hard enough to to be effective. His bracing foot caught too far and slipped, throwing him onto the ground. His heart roared in panicas he rolled away as fast as he could, fully expecting a thrust to connect and skewer him to the floor. None came.
Ala rose to his feet to find Hyrde standing where he was in the exact position of his last parry, unmoving, looking at him as if watching an exotic animal. Ala charged again, feinting left and striking right. Hyrde knocked his sword out of his grip with a single upward slash, faster than he could even registered it, and by the time he could react the Talman could have ended him several times over. Still he stood unmoving, and allowed Ala to retrieve his blade, which he did hesitantly. The Godsent was toying with him, Ala realized. All this time, the battle could have ended with the first strike, but he was playing with his opponent, taking his time to watch the other man squirm. A cold ran down Ala's spine and chilled his inside while despair flaired. What kind of monster was he fighting?
Still he did not relent, did not give up. Again and again he charged the Godsent with everything he had, and again and again he was struck down. The Talman, it would seem, did not intend to let him die with honour, he planned to beat it out of him first. How many before him, Ala wondered, how many had broken and begged for their lives only be to finally cut down like dogs? None had ever discovered what happened to those who challenged Tal's warrior prophet, only that they had never returned and their champion had. Did he throw them through the ruined wall into the ocean, perhaps? Ala felt he was going to find out soon.
He could barely lift his arm, now. His fingers were completely numb, and he only managed to cling onto his blade with sheer will. The floor shook heavily, or perhaps that was just his vision, or his knees. His breath came through ragged labouring, steaming in the frozen air. Hyrde's mask of indifference had cracked, he looked annoyed and puzzled, as if wondering why a dog refused to obey no matter how many times he tried to beat the lesson into it. His patience was wearing thin.
"Why?" Ala spoke for the first time, his voice an alien thing to his ear, barely above a croak, made more guttural by his Marn accent.
"Why what?" Hyrde replied, his brows furrowing. His voice was even and his breath controlled, his accent perfectly clipped and magnetic. The voice of a king.
"Why the ritual? Why the prolonged humiliation? Why accept challenges at all?" The brief pause regained Ala some energy, enough to allow him to speak without labouring. He started to move again, although managing only a slow shuffle, circling the Talman.
"I was bored." Hyrde said evenly. He also moved to mirror Ala, keeping their distance unchanged, an absentminded action. "In fact, I'm starting to feel bored again. I thought you would be more of a challenge."
"So you lure them here, break them and just slaughter them like pigs?" Ala pushed himself further upright with his sword, eyes never leaving the Godesent's face. He could hear hatred flooding his words.
"Oh please, lure is such a degraded term. They came of their own free will. I merely humoured them, and myself, for a brief period of time." Hyrde's movement was relaxed, his blade held by loosely at his side, completely disregarded.
"What are you? You are no Godsent, you only pretended to be one. No Godsent has power like you." His legs shook with exhaustion and he almost stumbled, but caught himself.
"Depends on the god. Yours and all the others, they are nothing, broken fragments, pieces on a larger game. And mine is the one who moves the pieces." Hyrde's mask was completely gone now, a wide and malicious smile taking its place.
Ala's circling slowed and halted as realization came to him. "Apocalypse." He murmured in awe and fear.
The Godsent's smile only widened. "To some. Yours, certainly, yours and your god and your land of savages. After I end you, I will send your tribes right after you and you all can be together for eternity." He stopped and faced Ala, sneering.
He couldn't win this time. Not against this monster. Hyrde was stronger and faster and more skilled than he could ever hoped to match. So this is how it ends, he thought. His faith burned bright still, but his body was weak.
"No clever retort? They always had one." Suddenly, they found themselves where they had been, Hyrde with the blinding sun at his back, and Ala facing him. As if they had not moved at all, and Ala was beaten by merely being in the presence of the Godsent.
The whisper in the back of Ala's mind had been gone for a while now. No guidance nor aid from his god.
Countless shadows passed through Ala Azim's features. Pain, regret, longing. At last, his face settled in an expression of resigned determination. Slowly, painfully, he raised his sword and lock a stance as best he could with his weakened body.
The Godsent sighed. "Very well, then. I will make it quick." He raised his own blade, casually.
The moment had to be perfect. One mistake and his chance would pass. He never thought it would come to this. But Ala Azim had been prepared to die.
The Seclum was the world's peak, far above the clouds where the harsh and unforgiving Talian sun shone the brightest and unobstructed, its powerful and blinding light shot through the frigid air, through the ruined wall, reflected off Ala's blade and into the Talman's eyes. Not even a Godsent as powerful as him, it appeared, was immune to that.
Hyrde's eyes snapped shut as he stumbled in astonishment, and Ala charged him again, one last time. Even blinded and confused, the Godsent felt his approach and lashed out, inhumanly fast. The blade caught Ala's side and cut deep, sinking into his ribs. But it was not enough. With all of his might fueled by faith and agony, Ala threw his full weight against Hyrde's, and together they tumbled through the ruined wall into open air.
He felt a momentary satisfaction at the Godsent's scream, and then blackness rushed up to meet him. A fall was all it took to end the biggest dynasty the world had ever seen.
