Hyman didn’t move an inch, staring at the enemy lines ahead, meeting the gaze of Lord Carter, who stood opposite him across the barren land. He didn’t speak a word, nor make a single move, as the lines behind him ran around, desperately forming a formation only to be told to make a new one, seeing the desert counter what they wished to do. An hour passed, each side, desperately forming up, trying to keep their movements secret, only to realise they were seen through. Hyman didn’t flinch the entire time, not even a single twitch of the finger, only continuing to stare at Carter, waiting, praying for him to make the first move and begin the battle.
Both armies, even as they prepared, couldn’t help but look to their lords, knowing that the entire battle that would rage didn’t matter compared to the two, the two Great Lords, the two men who ruled over men, the two who only had to kneel to one person. Everyone saw the two watch one another, knowing that they had already decided to duel in the desert sands. Everyone who had wished for the glory of slaying a Great lord suppressed that desire inside them, knowing it wasn’t their place to intervene in what was to come.
Hyman finally took a deep breath, hearing the soldiers behind him come to a stop, having exhausted every tactic and formation they could, finally deciding on one. The desert responded, coming to a standstill, and silence finally fell over the desert once more. Reaching to the side of his horse, Hymman ripped the helmet strapped to the saddle and slipped it on, his bushy beard poking out the bottom. On the side, two metal horns curled around, mimicking goat tusks.
Reaching down again, he pulled Realm Splitter from the saddle and with his other hand pulled his horn. Bringing it to his lips, the desert twitched, nervous for the cry of war that was about to occur. Hyman waited for a moment and took a deep breath, closing his eyes and clearing his mind of any distracting thoughts. A moment passed, and his eyes snapped open; a large grin split his face. The horn found his lips and, letting out all the air collected in his lungs, he blew hard. Spearmen took the lead in the charge, holding the weapons firmly. From behind, heavy infantry followed, slamming their swords and axes on their shields, creating a beating drum of war, finally followed by levies and men-at-arms conscripted from across the valley.
From the right side, Roderick led the cavalry charge, the desert’s own rushing to intercept him. From behind, the archers moved forward and, without waiting for the order, loaded arrow after arrow, firing over the charging infantry, blocking the harsh sun. Hyman kicked his steed and rushed forward, leading from the front, as Aslam did the same, pulling his sword and lifting it in the sky. His great sword dragged through the desert, leaving a small trail.
From the left, another cavalry charge broke forward, a distance away, trying to create a large flank, the remaining desert cavalry rushing out to intercept it. The first volley of arrows landed. Screams echoed as men lifted their shields to block whatever they could; those caught in the fire collapsed before the charge connected.
Sand kicked up by both armies created a dust storm that surrounded the two forces. Hyman saw nothing. The spearmen saw nothing. The infantry saw nothing. Only the sound of charging men, war cries and the drums of war gave a sense of direction. Hyman lifted his sword, letting go of the reins of his beast, holding the large weapon with both hands, using his feet alone to stay stable. The weight of the blade had no effect on him, decades of riding and perfecting his ability showing.
The dust finally got thick, and with it, the eruption of steel hitting steel boomed. Men cried, and the sand turned red. Hyman looked ahead and saw Aslam faintly through the dust, and swung hard with Realm Splitter, tearing the dust cloud apart and colliding with Aslam’s thin sword. The shatter that should have been expected never arrived, and the two rode past one another, trampling over those caught behind. Quickly spinning and fleeing the enemy lines, they charged for one another again.
Hyman didn’t look around to need to know what was happening. The eruption of sound told him. Men, lost in the dust cloud, randomly swung at whatever was in front of them. The rainbow of colours made up of banners and armour was camouflaged by the sand, as people soon forgot who was friend and foe, only able to trust that those next to them must have been their allies. Tight-knit formations and in-depth tactics were quickly forgotten as men lost themselves to the carnage, fighting only to kill and survive. Those seen wearing the banners of a house were hunted, the chance to earn glory from slaying a lord or those who serve them close at hand. Those smarter held back and waited for their comrades to die for that glory, ready to claim credit when their target was slain.
Hyman swung his great sword, the dust of the desert finally settling and making the world visible again. His sword collided with Aslam’s shield, the Lord of the Desert not flinching under the power. Hyman’s grin grew wider after the charge, and from underneath his armour, he felt his chest bouncing, the thrill of meeting twice with Aslam proving it would be a great battle.
Spinning for a third clash, he met Aslam’s eyes and saw the aloof pride with which he always carried himself. The rage and hate he showed during the parlay were gone; only the cold face of a man wishing to kill his enemy was left. They rushed past again, and Hyman swung too late, entranced by his enemy. Narrowly, he lifted his sword and blocked Aslam’s strike, feeling the weight behind the attack. His laugh bellowed across the desert, inspiring those close by to fight harder.
The anger for Maria’s death, the hate for how cowardly it was done, the disgust for what the desert was, vanished as Hyman looked at Aslam. Ducking low, Hyman swung down, aiming for Aslam’s horse rather than the man himself. His great sword, partly from strength, partly carried by the speed of his movement, tore deep into the horse, its cry drowned by the cries of hundreds of men. Hyman flew backwards as it happened, pulled back by his sword, as Aslam flew over.
His head rang, crashing to the ground, as men cried when his horse charged through the line, no one left to control it. Without time to think, he stood up and blocked a strike aimed at him, flashing his teeth towards the attacker. "GREEN!" Hyman pushed the attacker back, screaming out, meeting the gaze of the desert warrior, a couple of feet smaller than him, "BOY!" Throwing a massive arc, the hairs across his entire body jumped up and down as he registered hundreds of threats to his life through instinct alone. He knew it was the power in his blood that caused it, the men and women of the Alkaris bloodline having the supernatural power of instinct and body, able to sense threats that others couldn’t and grow stronger than normal men.
But despite that, Hyman didn’t believe it was his blood; rather, every flare of danger he sensed and avoided, every powerful swing of his sword that cleaved men in half, all of it was becuase he was watched and protected, Maria’s gentle voice warning him, the swing of her arms as she cheered for him, cutting men down. Hyman bellowed in laughter, cutting another man down. The desert warriors looked at him, terrified. All the horrors they had been told about, that were inflicted on their land, stared at them, wearing a helmet with goat horns, laughing like a demon who craved blood, avoiding and blocking attacks that weren’t possible for an ordinary man to see.
Hyman laughed and threw another massive swing of his sword, unfazed by any counter, sensing the danger was minimal. The dancing hairs on his body egged him on, but when he expected his sword to cut through another man, he was surprised to feel his great sword get stuck in place, held at bay by an iron shield. Aslam met his gaze, the fury of the desert in his gaze.
"DO NOT FALTER! THE TRAVELLER WATCHES US! HIS CHOSEN STANDS WITH YOU!" Aslam cried out and pushed Hyman away, stabbing his thin sword forward, aiming for the gap in Hyman’s armour just under his chin. Hyman narrowly avoided it, twisting his head to the side, the blade making a thin cut across. With a smile, Hyman stepped back. Every instinct his body could use to warn him screamed of danger, seeing Aslam before him, but Hyman suppressed it and stepped forward once more, swinging his sword down, colliding with the metal shield.
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