The Curse Between Us

It had been three days in the heat of battle. Three days with no sleep, no food, and Gunne was starting to feel the effects.

His head throbbed, and he rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the blurriness that took over his vision, ignoring the quickening of his heart. He cursed under his breath. He had been away from the castle for two weeks defending the borders from the Central forces, and it was already hungry.

Not for food.

But something more primal.

The clash of metal rang deep in the clearing of Solomon’s Forest. The moon hung high in the sky as rain poured down, turning the ground to a mixture of mud and blood. Thunder and lightning roared, drowning out the cries of war.

Gunne knew without doubt they had been ambushed. Too quickly were they cut off from base camp—a camp that should have been hidden to those who did not reside in it. Too quickly was the fire started that pushed him and his party to this clearing. Someone had betrayed them. He doubted the Central forces were clever enough to trap them like this.

So who, who could have betrayed them?

His silver eyes scanned the chaos. More than half of his men were down. Five hundred marched toward Central Acadia, and now he guessed two hundred were left standing. Even now he could see they had the upper hand, but at the end of this they would have suffered an incredible loss.

A man in dark blue armor lunged in front of him, slashing a sword blindly. Gunne side-stepped, digging the tip of his sword into the man’s side, sending him toppling over.

From the corner of his eye, Gunne saw a shadow where the trees and the clearing met. It was fleeting and fast.

He felt his heart quicken again, and the primal curse inside of him groaned. His vision blurred for a moment—long enough—an arrow came flying, piercing into his side between his ribs. He cried out, staggering. His vision swam as he wiped his face in an attempt to clear it.

He scanned the forest in search of the direction from which the arrow came.

Another shadow just beyond the clearing.

A silhouette of a man underneath the moonlight. The shadow darted from between the trees, safely hidden from the battlefield.

Gunne rolled his shoulder back. The dried blood on his black leather armor cracked as he moved. In one quick motion, he snapped the arrow shaft, leaving the head in place to slow the bleed. He winced in pain, biting the inside of his cheek.

Thinking quickly as another arrow sailed silently in the sky, Gunne dodged, striking it midair with his sword, sparks flying from the impact.

His eyes narrowed, locking onto the silhouette.

Without hesitation he set after it, charging into the thick of the forest, chasing after the ghost-like figure. His breath heavy and pain shooting from his side with every step. He could see it now. The shadow became clearer. A small-set man. All black, slender, and quick on his feet.

Gunne’s head split open with pain and he instinctively gripped his skull, fingers brushing against his headpiece. The gems brushed underneath his fingertips, giving him an idea. In his condition, and with the arrow in his side, he knew he could not last in this race.

Gunne scanned the dark forest floor. His sight set on a loose stone the size of a fist. He quickly scooped it up mid-run and threw it with all his might, slamming the stone into the man’s back. He staggered but continued running.

Gunne groaned, thinking as best as his head would allow him to. He resorted to throwing his sword and hurled it with all his might, the iron blade silently slicing through the air.

To his surprise, it landed, and the man fell forward.

Gunne caught up to him, out of breath and the pain from his side almost unbearable. His heart was pumping so hard he thought it might explode.

He grabbed the man by the shoulder, turning him—

And was met with a swift punch to the side of the head.

His ears rang and his eyes blurred. The pain behind his eyes grew, covering his head and trickling down his neck.

His body fell to the floor with a thud, and all went black.