The Oathbound Sword

Somewhere East of the Rire Mountains

Vargas Province, Northern Linivia

Erielle Vargas

Her eyes lifted to the sky, she watched lazy clouds move across the last of the dying light. The sound of heavy bodied horses behind her, and the surrounding men, filled her senses as she took a single long breath and released it in a long white hot mist into her cupped hands.

The icy cold northern air numbed her fingers as it swept along the Rire Mountains. No matter the season, the cold had a way of sneaking into the blood. The snow-capped peaks were dark against the darkening night, and she swept her gaze across them as she scented blood in the air.

The missive that had arrived at the castle a fortnight ago had warned of the impending danger as the beasts of Rire Raveki crept closer to the villages, leaving the lone farmers desperate for protection. After years of war, she couldn’t leave the ones keeping the province alive with wheat and potatoes open to attack. She couldn’t leave them to the beasts.

A flash of metal in the sky caught her eye as the wind stopped, the frosty world stilling around the war camp.

She lifted her chin, eyes to the sky, she watched as the shadow moved along the sky.

Men cried out around her as she tracked the movement before terror twisted her stomach. Behind, her warriors scrambled for cover while some went for the horses. Tied to the tents and wagons they would be the greatest casualties if they didn’t move before the arrows struck. Yet even as she tried to move, her body refused.

Fear paralyzed her to her spot, her blood as cold as the winds.

“My lady!” Panic flared in her belly as one of her men slammed into her, taking her down to the ground, hard. He spread his body, arms around her head, as he worked to cover her vital spots as time slowed to a snail’s crawl, her breathing hitching with the heavy weight on her chest.

Over his shoulder she watched as the arrows became like migrating sparrows, gravity pulling the shafts down in a wide arch. The black iron tips flashing in the cold spring sun as the whistling of fletching deafened her men’s cries.

This was a new tactic from the enemy, one they hadn’t seen coming.

The beast-men chose close combat over the range, their traditions demanding they fight tooth and claw and not with the human tools they despised. They were using primitive weapons, which could only mean that they had forsaken their traditions.

Lain prone on the hard packed earth, she knew without a doubt that something had shifted on the tides of war, and not necessarily in their favor.

That today was different.

That the war of her father and brothers was behind them, the winds were heralding something unusual, something violent and they were ill prepared for this course change and the cursed war with the beasts of Rire Raveki would change today.

She hitched a breath as en masse the arrows plummeted and found their marks and sank deep as they struck flesh and dirt with thuds that collided with her soul.

Around her, men dropped as horses kicked up and ran, pulling their grooms behind them.

There was nothing she could do to protect them. No magic spell or prayer to deflect the arrows as they landed within the chaos of their camp.

Above her, the dark haired mountain of a man, Luther, let out a grunt as his body stiffened as an arrow lodged deep into his back, the lethal tip scratching her own worn leather chest piece through his shoulder. Shock coursed through her body, immobilizing her, as she witnessed her second-in-command eyes roll back, leaving only the whites exposed, while excruciating pain contorted his face into a horrifying, distorted mask.

It would be only moments until he passed out, until that arrow point found her.

Panic and rage burnt deep in her belly as she reached up behind her friend and found the shaft. From the angle, it was difficult, yet she caught the shaft with her fingers, snapping the thing protruding from his back before pushing him off her with a grunt.

As he landed on his back, he let out a mangled roar that was more a curse than shouting. But still she waited a moment, catching her breath before she moved, rolling to her knees beside him. Hand on his chest, she looked at the arrowhead and reached for it.

“Hurt?” The man gritted out as he lifted his other hand to wrap his fingers around her wrist, stopping her from removing the rest of the object embedded in his shoulder.

“No.” She rushed before she pulled back from his grasp, her other hand reaching for the hilt of her sword at her hip. “I’ll alert the medic.”

“Leave me, lead the men.” Luther ground out through gritted teeth as he pushed himself up using his uninjured hand, his curses keeping her from helping him.

He shifted and braced himself against a wooden crate. Pain laced his every move, but as she watched, it seemed to lesson as he settled.

She tightened her grip on the worn hilt of her equally worn sword and shook her head. “I’m not leaving you here to bleed out.” Her voice was soft as she watched him wince in pain. “Elias would never forgive me.”

His gruff chuckle sounded strained, but he shook his head. “Elias would forgive his sister and Godfrey is right there.” Eyes shifted behind her as he spoke of the medic, a gray beard who hadn’t wanted to be left with the women and children while the men went to battle. Somehow, the man had dodged the hundred arrows and was working his way through the hurt and dying men.

“No.” She shook her head and gave him a hard stare. “I will not leave you.”

They both knew why.

The Markgraf of Vargas had watched the former five margraves, her father and brothers, die on the battlefield one after another until she was the last of their line. The invisible scars left hadn’t healed properly, leaving her battle weary to lose another she was close too.

“Erielle, you need to win this. Finish it for them.” Pain made his voice flat, his eyes crinkled at the edges.

“If you die, Luther, tell them I love them.” Emotions shifted, her voice high. “And if you dare leave me, be aware that I will go to great lengths to bring you back to kill you myself for leaving me.”

“I would expect no less of my lady.”

Still unhappy, she looked away from Luther and instead at the hundred men still standing after the aerial attack.

These men, their muscles taut with pride while their eyes burned with a potent mix of fury and defiance, represented the remaining strength of her father’s loyal soldiers and the Northmen who had pledged their allegiance to the Vargas family.

To her father and brothers.

To her.

She watched as they turned to watch her as she stood. She took a deep breath, suppressing her panic, and shifted her attention to the men. While observing their eyes, she noticed a wide range of emotions, yet fear remained absent.

That alone gave her courage.

None of these men feared death. They fought for the future of the women, children, and graybeards they had left behind in the castle. They had fought for years and, while they were tired, they would continue to fight for their home.

They would continue to fight with her for their homes until their last breath.

She took a sharp inhale of dry air and nodded, more to herself than anyone else on the field, before she slipped her sword from its sheath and held it high, the late afternoon light bouncing from the gleaming steel like a star. “To glory, to freedom, to peace!”

The echoing response deafened her until she could only hear her blood in her ears as she turned to face the monsters that were racing towards them across the barren rocky field. They had little time to prepare and instead of waiting for them to come to them; she let out a scream as she rushed past her men, her sword held down sweeping the land.

She ran until the thunder of feet replaced the sound of blood in her ears, the first clan of metal ringing out against the unnatural stillness of the late afternoon.

Erielle Vargas, the sixth Markgraf of Vargas, found herself lost in the fray of battle.

Blood sprayed across her face as she sliced and cleaved, tinting her world red.

This was war.

These were her people.

They would fight to their last breath.

Beside her, a grunt sounded, pulling her from her battle lust. It was a sound she would never forget and as she turned to face the creature, her chest heaving, she knew with no doubt that she would kill the thing that had murdered her family. It’s wooden spear through one of her men’s bellies as it shook the corpse off.

Blood hit the dry ground before seeping into the soil. She recognized the man, an older man who had fought beside her father. His eyes were glassy as he dropped to the ground between them.

“Little lady.” The thing before her grunted through his cracked boar tusks.

The thing was massive. A good two feet taller than her, she had to look up to see the pig-like snout and the crooked ears that flopped on either side of its head. A cross between wild boar and man. He reeked of black magic while its dark eyes shined with blood lust.

“Velek.” She grunted as the thing took a step towards her on thick hooves that crushed rock, pulverizing it to dust. “I didn’t think I would see you.”

The boar-man snorted, something spraying out against his top lip. “Last of your line, kill you. Vargas becomes mine.”

Fury raged, and she shifted her sword, readying herself as she tasted blood on her tongue. Wisps of her silver blonde hair floating around her on the breeze. “Not if I kill you first.”

Rage lit Velek’s face as he rushed forward, his large spear slashing the air as it hummed and shifted from the force the thing used. Dancing to the left, Erielle moved out of the way moments before it landed where she had been. It snapped the spear up and to the right, catching her in her shin.

She cried out as she lunged at the boar-man, her blood trailing behind her as she shifted her weight from one leg to another.

Velek twisted, a grunt-like scream echoing as he dodged and skidded to a stop, his forward motion making it difficult. His weight shifted until he teetered forward and, just like that, he was prone to her attack.

Erielle turned in time to see it and bounced back on her wounded leg, pain lacing up from the wound, the blood making her slip as went for the kill, her blade coming inches from the thing’s neck as it turned to look away from her.

It was enough to save him, while the near-miss had Erielle on her knees, as she cried out again as shock rippled up her thighs.

“Say hello to your father, little lady.” Velek snorted, his snort coming like a tide behind her as he got behind her and touched the spear to her side. “Your men are dead. You are dead.”

She closed her eyes and felt the heat building behind them. Shame and frustration warred until all that remained was pure, undiluted rage.

The last of her line, the last of her minutes alive.

Large tears slipped from beneath her eyelashes that trailed down her cheeks, mixing with the blood and dust on her gaunt face. Hunger ate at her belly and, as she looked up, she saw the last of her men fighting. Three dozen men, each breathing heavy and battling the beasts that craved blood. They lunged at the creatures in desperation and cried out in pain and anger before they stopped, looking towards her. Eyes wide, silence draped over the battlefield. Even the creatures at their fault stilled and waited to see the Markgraf of Vargas’ last minutes.

“Last words, little lady?” The creature snuffles, something foul spraying from his cracked and bleeding lips.

She looked up at her men, the inhuman creatures behind them like phantoms of death.

At a loss, she watched as their eyes darkened as hope faded. They were the last of their defenses and they had failed. Beside her, she could feel the warmth of her sword and she clung to it. If she was to die today, she would die a warrior’s death and meet her father and brothers in honor.

“Not today.” She spoke low and pulled her sword to her side as she shifted on her knees. Rocks bit into her skin as she shifted low. “Not tomorrow.”

Velek growled and lifted the spear high, his arms straining above him as she twisted, falling onto her back. It felt wrong to expose herself to the boar-man, even more, so that she did it without thinking. If Velek was concerned, he didn’t show it as he brought the spear down.

Erielle closed her eyes and lifted the sword above her, two hands tight on the hilt before thrusting up and into Velek’s belly, his thick skin pushing out before the blade split the flesh with a satisfying sound that echoed in her skull.

Hot blood washed over her, painting the twilight world red as the thing dropped to its knees, taking her sword with it, the spear in his hands dropping to the ground.

Heavy breathing, spittle of blood sprayed her as she herself took deep gulping breaths. Around her, her men cheered and turned on the beasts behind them with renewed vigor.

She relaxed momentarily before rolling to her side, her leather armor creaking with the movement as she pushed herself up to her hands and knees.

“You think,” Velek heaved out in a grunt, “this is the end?”

“I do.” She shook her head and dropped her back until she was sitting on her heels, the pain in her leg forgotten.

The beast laughed, rough around the blood that was spilling into his mouth, leaking from the corners. “Foolish little owl.” He coughed as he gave her a pitying look. “You know nothing.”

Stomach dropping, she ignored the baiting comment and instead moved to stand, shoving away the pain. Once on her feet, she lumbered towards the boar-like man, on his knees the way he was. They could finally see each other’s eyes, their gazes locked in understanding.

“I don’t care.”

Erielle reached for her sword hilt and pulled it from his belly. The rush of blood that followed made her sick to her stomach, and she fought not to turn from it. Velek dropped to his hands as he cried out in pain.

She could have left him to bleed out. The tiny voice in the back of her head told her to walk away.

Yet her father’s voice echoed from the darkness, demanding honor even as she could remember his last breath.

He would demand it from all his children, no matter the reason.

Taking a deep breath, she braced her feet on the ground before raising her sword high above her head. With one swift motion, she brought it down on his neck, severing it cleanly. The head dropped to the ground, rolling forward until it came to a stop with the face pressed against the earth.

Her men cheered as they cut down the beasts as the rest ran. She could feel her heart in her chest, beating in time with her breathing as she reached down and collected the mantle of authority from Velek’s body, claiming the battle for the people of Vargas.

She had done it.

The war was over.