CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

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Wynu

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23rd of Decepter, 935 PC

Wynu sat down on the bumpy log and placed his backpack between his knees gently. He pulled his gloves from his hands, folded each carefully, and tucked them into his pocket. The night had not yet released the sun from captivity but it was standing at the gates anxiously, providing just enough of it’s light to allow him to see. The low, shadowy temperature coated his bare hands with a sharp layer of cold pain. The dexterity in his fingers would soon dip below normal. A nuisance for a man writing a note. The necessity to work quickly was evident. But diligently. Like father. The cords of his backpack slid through their holes swiftly as he spread the bag open. From within he pulled a rectangular box made of ash, a bottle of black ink, and a piece of parchment. He folded the parchment slowly, neatly, looking into the sky every so often. When the crease was just right, he tore a small section of the parchment and placed the rest back in his bag. He may be a deserter, but Urman Gant was a monster. And if Theresa was unwilling to do anything about it, he would. Even if that meant being caught by the Lotus.

He was folding the piece of parchment when the sound of a bird swept through the air. It landed on the log beside him.

“Aeon,” he said to the falcon. It's head darted left and right. A necklace hung from its neck, a calling stone dangled and swayed with the movement of the bird. The Lotus Army used several messenger falcons, each named Aeon for simplicity. Officers like Wynu were given calling stones to stay in touch with one another and The Lotus Queen. He had contemplated not bringing his stone with him when the group escaped into the night. The concern that the Lotus may use it as a way to find him and the others was one that crossed his mind more than once. A useful decision in the end.

With no standard scroll tube to put the message in, he simply rolled it up and tied it shut with the short stem of a leaf the best he could and placed it in Aeon’s beak. The bird waited patiently while Wynu retrieved the calling stone from his pocket. Then, with an impressive flap of its wings, the bird was in the air and on its hunt. He watched in awe as the bird flew away majestically. It is for the best. Urman must be captured.

“What’d it say?” a voice asked from behind him.

Wynu didn’t turn. There was space between him and Urman. Enough not to panic. “A message to my father, letting him know I’m alive.”

“For now.” Urman said it matter of factly. If he hasn’t killed me by now, he won’t be able to. Just sense his presence, his movement.

The voice was closer. Wynu still didn’t move.

“Yes. The need for lotus capsules grows with each day.”

“No need to play games. Been around long enough to recognize your type. Not enough courage to pick a side and stay there.” The leaves crunched beneath Urman’s feet as he moved. The forest fell silent again when there were no more than a few feet between them. Wynu closed his eyes and prepared for a fight. “Might as well turn around. Get this over with.”

Wynu stood, leaving his backpack on the ground. Urman’s face was blank, his eyes cold. His presence filled the entirety of the unbeaten path he stood on. His breath escaped through the thin space between his lips. All of that paled in comparison to the fact that Urman was holding a spear that could have easily skewered him where he sat. A fact Urman knew also.

“Killed a lot of men looking at the back of their heads. Real easy, real effective. Ain’t much good for seeing the fear in their eyes though.”

“You’ll see no fear in mine either.”

“Ain’t nobody not afraid of death.”

Wynu raised his hands slowly, palms out. He removed his cloak slowly and laid it on the log in front of him. He took a knife from his belt and laid it atop the cloak. “No weapons. Let me show you how real men fight.”

Urman looked at Wynu’s glowing fingernails. “No weapons, ay?”

“I don’t need that to kill you.”

Urman let the spear fall into the dead leaves with a crunchy rustle and walked forward. Wynu retreated a handful of steps. Urman stepped up and over the log between them then dropped down into the cold dirt with a heavy thud.

“Straight to it then,” Urman said. He was lunging forward before Wynu finished nodding. He moved like a clumsy bull.

Wynu kicked straight outward, his boot landed hard in Urman’s gut, stopping him in his tracks. But the commoner also caught his foot. In one instant reaction, Wynu pushed off his stable leg and spun, going parallel with the ground as his foot connected with the side of Urman’s head. Both men hit the dirt. The wind was knocked out of him for a second. He could see Urman clutching at his head through his blurry unsteady eyes. Then he was instinctively rolling to his back, scrambling away, feet prepared to kick at any lunge Urman made for him. There was none. Instead, the monster pushed himself up with both hands, his eyes fixed on Wynu, blood dripping from his mouth. He crawled like a vicious bear ready to launch himself at Wynu. The Lotus’ thrust his feet up and over his head and rolled backward, bringing him to his feet smoothly.

Urman climbed to his feet, his hands on his hips. He smirked. Spit more blood on the ground between them. Brutes tire quickly. They always have. No patience, poor choices.

Wynu closed the gap slowly with methodical steps, coordinating his next attack as he did. Suddenly, Urman charged again. With two small, choppy steps Wynu was in the air, one foot springing forward, then the other, the second landed square on Urman’s chin, knocking his head backward. His arms flailed as he stumbled but he kept his feet. The commoner was breathing heavily now. Angrily. What had been determination now looked like rage. Insanity. He came again. This time slower. Cautiously. Even a brutish killer eventually learns. Wynu met his movement step by step until they were mere feet apart, close enough to slap Urman’s slow hands away as he reached for a grip on Wynu’s arms. An impatient Urman lunged, Wynu moved backward gracefully, keeping the same distance as before and letting his attacker become vulnerable. And before Urman could react, Wynu’s fist bashed into his nose. The feeling of bone breaking and grinding was nothing new. He grinned at it. At Urman, whose face was now a bloody, crooked mess.

Wynu unleashed a hell storm of punches. Urman did what he could to either absorb them or block them but failed miserably. His final three blows hit the commoner in the ribs in rapid succession. On the third, ribs broke. Undoubtedly. Urman grunted. Growled. Then surged behind a fiery roar and his own flurry of attacks. But Wynu was too quick. A jab was caught in a palm. An uppercut dodged. A hook swung wildly over Wynu as he ducked. He threw his own punch, putting all his weight behind it. His fist sunk into Urman’s gut, bent him over at the waist. Wynu brought his knee up through Urman’s face, knocking the man onto his backside.

He stood still, looking at his pitiful combatant as he rolled around in pain and agony. Another grin formed. Not quite the same dangerous killer when he’s not sneaking up on his victims.

Urman wiped the blood from his mouth. “Seen that grin before. Plenty of times. On countless bastards like you.” Urman got himself to his hands and knees. Spit a tooth into the dry leaves. “It never lasts.”

Urman was climbing to his feet now. To his credit, there was more stability in his legs than expected but he was half the man he had been in the beginning. Relentless, he charged, grunting as he moved. Wynu dropped a shoulder, set his legs, drove himself directly into Urman’s stomach, expecting to lift the commoner off his feet and slam into the ground. He’d kill him there for sure. Put an end to the infamous monster. But Urman absorbed the blow masterfully with what could only be a second wind of strength. Or perhaps the first. Was he ever really tired? One arm had Wynu’s head, the other was somewhere Wynu couldn’t determine. Not in that panicked moment. Then the first punch landed, in the ribs, and hard. Extremely hard. Wynu had never felt such fury reign down on him. Then another. And another. Ribs were cracking, shattering, his breath was escaping in loud grunts with each blow. His eyes were squeezed tight, his mind was desperately searching for a way to escape the brute’s grasp. Suddenly, Urman’s arms were wrapped around Wynu’s torso. They were like a fleshy manacle locked so tight he’d never be free again. He had to fight though. Or the monster would not be slain. There was a struggle for what felt like eternity. Urman trying to lift Wynu into the air, Wynu trying to lower his center of gravity and stay planted on the ground. Slowly but surely Wynu’s feet began to leave the ground, his toes scraping at the dirt and leaves, until there was nothing he could do. Urman picked Wynu up, his back arching as Wynu lay parallel to the ground, six feet in the air. He looked at the sky above him for a second, then he rushed away from it rapidly until his back hit the ground with unbelievable force. It knocked the wind out of him. And the fight. He tried to breathe but it felt like sharp knives stabbing his chest. He coughed. Spittle flew through the air. He started to curl up in a fetal position but was too slow.

Urman was on him now, pinning him to the ground, his legs straddling Wynu's body. Then, his head went snapping sideways. It stayed there, bloody and throbbing, until Urman pulled it back into place and pounded it again. Over and over again. Wynu was barely aware of what was happening when Urman’s hand clasped tightly around his neck.

“Look at me,” Urman said. Though it sounded more like a growl. Wynu couldn’t open his eyes. They were too heavy and swollen. “Look at me!” screamed Urman.

He stared up at his killer stoically through narrow slits, unwilling to give Urman the satisfaction of seeing the fear that was rushing through his mind. He grabbed at Urman’s thick wrist and arm with what strength he had left. Then, a dry, fat thumb was pulling his eyelid open. Urman’s crazed face was staring down at him. His lips were moving but Wynu couldn’t make out the words. His efforts to claw at Urman’s arm had become so weak there was really no point in trying. Slowly he gave up, accepted his fate, let his hands fall to his side as his body became too deprived of oxygen to do anything. His eyes closed. His mind stopped thinking, stopped panicking, stopped existing.