Last of Our Hope

by Brianna M. Hoyle

Anger has always been a powerful motive. It spreads like wildfire and sets ablaze any who dare come near. It is dangerous. It is deadly. The wisest of battle leaders will discourage his soldiers from harnessing it. For it cannot be overcome. Once it has spread its ugly flames across the field to scorch the enemy, it will turn and consume its creator. It does not discriminate. It knows no justice. To hold it once and use it will never last. Always it turns on its source. When the soldiers aspire to be victorious, when those who fight desire to take back what was stolen, anger shall be pushed back. Honor and courage, righteous dignity… these are to be chosen above anger.

But when the battle is desperate, when there is no hope of seeing the sun rise again, when all has been lost and never can it be restored though a hundred years may grant their time to recover… it is then that anger is unleashed. For to be consumed at the end of it all is the goal. To burn down those who ripped happiness and joy from them and to perish with it afterwards is the only hope of respite from the inflicted pain of a thousand blades.

She knew her captain would berate her for the fire in her soul that fueled her steps. But she would never hear his gruff tone again, barking at her to adjust her footing. He lay on the steps outside the hastily barricaded palace doors, an arrow in his chest. He would never speak again.

The anger surrounded her like a dragon, screaming at those who came near. They sensed the bite of her anger before they ever felt the sting of her blade. The cries of all who had been lost in that horrifying moment of an unexpected attack echoed within her soul, terrorizing her at every turn. The dragon reared its head and snapped its teeth, pushing her beyond her limit, ignoring the wounds inflicted and the exhaustion wanting to settle in. Her dragon of anger fed gluttonously off the pain in her soul, taking its fill and doubling in size with every moment that brought another enemy to her.

She dropped to one knee and crossed her blades over each other, scissoring a clean cut in his lower abdomen. The last sound he would ever make, a choking breath, was swallowed by the shouts of his comrades. They advanced with intent to finish what he started. They would not get far. She stood straight, dragon hovering above her shoulder and waiting for more. The enemy soldiers were still moving into the palace from where they had been concealed among the crowd of onlookers during the wedding ceremony. It was her job to stop them. She had to give the queen time to get away.

Another wave of soldiers burst through the hastily barricaded doors, charging toward her position at the top of the stairs. Eight of them, as predicted. The hollow pain that festered deeper within her than any wound could ever reach briefly subsided in light of having some knowledge of the day’s proceedings. The queen’s strategist and advisor had been correct. The enemy soldiers had been hiding in groups of six to ten and spaced apart throughout the crowd, which is why they were coming in such numbers at these intervals. Blayze would never have believed the advisor was wrong anyway, but seeing the supposition as reality made her marvel once again at her comrade’s insight when it came to reading into the movements and strategies of others.

The dragon snapped again and pulled her out of the comfort of companionship that existed between her and the queen’s second attendant. She was in no position to take joy in anything. As a strategist, the second attendant had not predicted this attack, only knew afterwards of what the enemy would do next. And as a fighter, Blazye, first attendant to the queen, had failed to protect the royal family, only managed to escort the queen to safety as her family fell. They had both failed their stations and now faced the repercussions in the form of the demons of anger fueling their every step. Blayze watched the soldiers advance and she once more raised her swords. The dragon screeched as she put one foot forward to hold her ground, waiting for them to come to her. She had lost too much today. She had to buy the queen time.

The first soldier came at her. Their blades connected for hardly a second and she sent him tumbling back with a shove. He recovered, shock evident in his eyes at her strength. On normal days, Blayze took amusement in that, for she did not look to be one possessing great power. But her amusement was once again swallowed by the dragon of wrath as it devoured all things pleasant before they could be acknowledged. It would not allow her to know anything but anger. When the soldier came at her again, her left blade swung at his neck. On instinct, he ducked, giving her the chance to step on his head and leap over him, blade poised to slit the neck of his friend. She spun around to stab her initial attacker before her second victim had hit the ground. She pulled her blade out and faced the door, jaw clenched. No one would cross this line as long as she stood guard.

Her blunt attacks with very few extra embellishments did the job well. They were all she needed. Fancy swordsmanship did not appeal to her. She had one task and that was to kill and immobilize. With that focus keeping her grounded, she led them around the room, jumped over them, and shoved them back with sheer force. Not a one of them could make it past her iron blockade. The queen would have her time. Both of her blades moved with great precision, slamming, stabbing, or slicing into their set target as she saw fit. The added fire of the dragon leaving its mark wherever she cut down an enemy added to the ferocity with which she guarded the stairs. These were the victims of her rage. They had kindled the flames. Now they would burn.

Blayze leaped off of the banister and swung her right blade, slicing the head off of the soldier. Using the momentum of her swing, she spun around completely and finished with a jab of her left blade into the torso of the other soldier. The last one came upon her with the intent to remove her head as she had done for his friend. Ducking beneath his blow, she moved behind him, springing to her feet in preparation to stab him in the back. But he was too fast. He dashed up the stairs, heading for the door she was attempting to guard and protect. She realized the opening she had left and hissed to herself, running after him.

Her boot hit the second step and the large double doors behind her burst open. Another division of soldiers had infiltrated the palace. She spun around, seeing ten soldiers coming toward the stairs. Her heart pounded. She clenched her teeth at her predicament when her mind shouted at her that her original target was escaping.

With a cry of alarm, Blayze looked to the stairs. He had made it to the door. She ran to stop him, but when he threw open the door to head down the hall toward the queen’s hideaway, he received a sword blade to the throat.

Blayze let out a sigh of relief, seeing her comrade push aside the lifeless soldier and slam the door shut before joining her on the stairs.

“How fares the fight?” the new arrival asked, tossing a tight twist of thick curls over her shoulder as she lifted her broadsword. The weapon was heavy, nearly disproportionate to the size of the warrior who held it, for Rayna was tall, but slim. Blayze looked at her friend. The woman was always calm, steady, and adorned with a smile. It was important, she had told Blayze, for a diplomat to appear pleasant. And even here in the midst of a war, as she adjusted her ceremonial robes that were never intended to see the gore of battle, a smile was on her face and her voice was controlled. But Blayze knew her friend, her companion. They had spent many years side by side, protecting and aiding the queen. Her smile was born of pain.

Rayna did not have a fire dragon screaming all around her, setting fire to the enemy and scarring all that came near. With every step she took down the stairs, ice formed along the marble floor. Blayze felt its chill. Unlike the dragon which hovered over her shoulder, screeching and calling for fire to fill the palace, Rayna was surrounded by the calm dragon of bitterness, frozen scales and empty eyes. It was silent. But it called for death. It called for all to fall prey to the stillness that could be seen in the bodies of their people littering the steps. The innocent had been slain. They must all be silenced.

Blayze witnessed this eerie calmness as it faced her own hatred and anger that boiled deep within her. “As well as can be expected,” she responded. “How fares the Queen?”

The second attendant to the queen and unofficial royal strategist nodded toward the swiftly approaching subdivision of soldiers. “She needs more time.” Her controlled voice was as smooth as a frozen lake and just as dangerous when the ice began to crack under the pressure of her pain. For when the ice melted, all would drown.

Blayze took a deep breath and tamed her anger to let it fuel her will to fight. “Consider it done.”

They gripped their weapons and advanced. The soldiers charged to engage the two in combat with a plan that Rayna could see right through. Some soldiers would hold off the two attendants while the rest moved around them and headed for the door, their target the queen. But they would never make it up the stairs. Ice and fire combined, screams and steely gazes piercing the enemy as Rayna and Blayze formed an invisible wall, moving swiftly along its foundation. Not a single soldier could make it around them without being slammed backwards by a curved blade or its twin, a heavy broadsword, or even another one of their brothers in arms as they were tossed away by one of the two women guarding the entrance. It was the only entrance that stood between them and one royal family member they had yet to lose.

As the enemy tried to breach the blockade, they learned that Rayna’s style differed from that which Blayze had displayed. Even in this time of bitter fighting as the cold hand of hate gripped her opponents by the throat, the queen’s royal advisor showed a flair for the dramatic. The rhythm in her head dictated her steps and she added a twirl here or there where one was hardly necessary, but which helped her stay one step ahead of those who attacked her. While Blayze was a powerful and nearly unmovable force of will, Rayna was a flurry of movement that deceived the eye. The ground may as well not have existed beneath her feet as she flew from one part of the room to another. She would feign one action but immediately follow through with another before her attacker could respond. Paired with Blayze’s solid defense, the two were a small army. None of the enemy soldiers could find a break in their wall. They felt the bite of frost from the cool eyes of Rayna. They experienced the scorch of flame with every yell that leapt from Blayze’s lips. And as each soldier fell, those behind him further determined to break through these two and reach the escaping queen.

Rayna swung the sword with both hands, a surprise to her attacker that someone with her slim build could move with such agility while carrying a broadsword. The soldier felt the heavy force of the flat side of the blade against his nose and his world went black. His failed attack was followed up immediately by his friend, whom Rayna cut down in a swift motion. Her sword came in contact with his legs, sending him to his knees. He was not out of commission yet, but before he could think to stand up, Rayna had brought her foot up and around to finish him off with a swift kick to his face.

She leapt over him with ease, coming to her friend’s aid. A soldier was charging toward Blayze’s unprotected side as she engaged with an attacker. Rayna stole his attention and their blades crossed. He pushed her back with a flurry of attacks in hopes to overwhelm her. By his eyes and movements, Rayna knew his goal was to put distance between her and Blayze. The soldier met her gaze and the dragon chuckled. A chill crawled down his spine when he knew he had been outsmarted before she even began her counterattack. Though the other woman had been a force of pure will ablaze with anger, this woman was in control and ready to die. But first she would kill them all. The dragon did not need to seize him in its claws. The emptiness in her eyes had already sucked the courage out of his soul and replaced it with a hollow fear that knew no end.

 With a quiet giggle that did not at all match the tears her heart shed for the lives lost, Rayna changed tactics, playing duck and dodge to avoid his blade. She spun him around a few undignified steps and ended the dance with her blade through his ribcage, the satisfying sound of his flesh and organs being pierced bringing a smirk to her face as the ice spread from her heart to his. She pulled her blade free from his torso and let him fall to the marbled floor, his blood staining the ivory tiles. Turning away from the body, she looked for her friend.

Blayze stood over a kneeling soldier, both blades at her sides, a look of disgust on her face. She had watched this coward place both of his comrades in danger during the fight in order to save his own skin, and now he had the gall to beg for mercy. The dragon of fire roared its hate and the flames in her eyes sent the soldier shrivelling beneath her stare. All the more her anger took its toll on anyone who would turn on their comrades in a moment of danger. It was the way of the warrior to have respect for a good soldier no matter what side they were on, just as it was a disgrace to see one who cared little for those he fought alongside.

“M-mercy…” he whimpered, knowing his end was near and searching for some ray of hope beyond the flames.

With a growl, Blayze kicked him in the face, knocking him to the side. “One move…” she growled, her dragon of anger hissing and snarling, calling for his blood, “and I will end your pathetic life.” Her warning was emphasized by the blade she held near his neck.

Rayna waited for her friend to step away from the injured soldier, who would surely die of blood loss before any companions could ever reach him. She then spoke, voice as calm as the ice that formed at her feet. “Another wave will breach the doors soon.”

Blayze only nodded, her glare on the whimpering soldier who was bleeding profusely from his nose and mouth, courtesy of the heel of her boot. A soft giggle from Rayna distracted her from the coward on the ground and she looked up. Rayna always had such skill to smile and laugh when her heart and mind were in turmoil, when she was in the midst of death and destruction. “What?”

Rayna hid a smile behind her hand. “Your hair is a sight, my friend.”

Blayze’s expression was drier than the wedding cake that had surely gone stale by now. “Is it really, now? However could that have happened in a battle with several people attempting to end my existence?”

Rayna giggled again and shook her head as she pulled a cloth square from her pouch to clean the blade of her broadsword. Blayze fixed her with a stare to be certain she would not call upon any more obvious observations. Once she was sure Rayna was occupied with cleaning her sword, Blayze glanced down at her uniform to see how bad the damage truly was. The usual stains of battle had left their mark on her ceremonial clothes. She could not see much of her short cape, the dark gray material that sported the symbol of her country in white thread, but since she could feel it moving along her back, she assumed it was fine. With both swords in one hand, and being certain Rayna was not watching, Blayze used her other hand to reach around and feel her dark hair where it was wrapped in a bun at the nape of her neck. Most of it was still contained, but little wisps had escaped; she could feel them brushing the sides of her face.

“It’s not that bad…” she mumbled to herself.

“You’re not looking from my vantage point.”

Blayze inwardly cursed her friend’s sharp hearing. She gave the other woman a scowl. It would have been fun to call Rayna out on the state of her hair, but the effect would not be the same. Rayna’s hair was longer and had remained in the tight braid that fell down her back. Her ceremonial uniform was similar to Blayze’s, the only difference being an added amount of embroidery on the hem of her tunic, as well as the neckline of her shirt being square instead of a standing collar like hers. The lower collar revealed a necklace that wrapped tightly around her throat, a single aquamarine gemstone embedded in it. In spite of the blood spatters, Rayna looked fairly presentable, as was the unspoken rule of the scholars and advisors she spent her time with.

Her calm disposition would have been comforting, but it was hard to ignore the bitter cold that surrounded the woman, her dragon hovering over her shoulder, patient, knowing that more blood would flow and add to the rivers of tears that spilled from her heart, preparing to drown the world once they had all been cut down.

Blayze looked away and began cleaning her own weapons. These moment of silence as the world around her burned were not welcomed, for they would come to an end and she would once again fight. But she did not avoid them. At some point, the fires must calm.

“This wedding shall be remembered.” Rayna spoke her words and they crystallized in the cold air that hung around her.

Blayze said nothing in return. She had been trying to forget. She wanted to forget why they were fighting. For a moment, while they spoke casually, she did not see the broken and hastily barricaded door that had been crashed through multiple times. She did not hear the echoing sound of battle outside these walls.

It came to her now, that horrible moment when they had seen the prince go down, an arrow in his chest. Her dragon hissed at the thought. The hiss became a scream and she turned on the soldier who was trying to crawl towards a fallen sword. With a yell, she brought her weapon and wrath down upon him, pinning him to the floor, hands trembling, eyes a storm. It stung. It burned. The flames licked at her heart and mind. They scorched her and scarred her. He was just a child. He was young. They had watched him grow from a playful boy with messy hair and curious eyes that loved everything. He was their little brother, their friend, their charge. And today he was to be married to the girl he professed his love to, a marriage that would unite two longtime allies.

But on this day, he was killed. An arrow took him. Perfectly aimed. Shot in the heart.

They had watched him grow to love her, watched him give her flowers and take her on picnics and include her in discussions about the future of their kingdom. He was young. She was young. And it had all ended in a second.

Before he had hit the ground, his would-be bride was killed, though her guards tried to save her. They died in the process. Someone was firing a crossbow from the shadows, from the crowd, and from the palace window. They were everywhere. They had snuck in somehow. But not only did they kill the prince, they began an invasion. Townspeople, visitors from neighboring kingdoms, children, women, workers. None were spared. They were slain by the sword. By the arrow. By whatever means necessary. This was a well organized attack, planned over many, many years. Outside the doorstep of the palace, a slaughter began that none would soon forget. They had been helpless to stop the attack. They had barely recovered enough to whisk the queen off to safety. The king had been protected by his guards, but still he had taken an arrow in his arm.

Blayze pulled her sword free from the dead soldier and thought of the boy. She thought of his playful smile, his terrible table manners, and his love of horses. He wanted to be a cavalryman. He wanted to breed battle horses. He wanted to be a prince who was a king in training, ready to be crowned as the next appointed king when his father gave him the crown.

His father.

Blayze had caught a glimpse of the heartache on the man’s face before they rushed off with the queen. He had charged forward with his soldiers, eager to bide his wife time and avenge the death of his only son. He had his own dragon screaming from behind him, but it only knew pain. A pain that grew from the earth like thorns and choked out all who came near. It wrapped around the enemy’s neck and pulled them down. Blayze did not want to know the pain of a father who had lost his son.

Pain.

Her hands tightened around the hilt of her swords.

The boy did not have to die. But he did. That boy with the crooked smile and freckles and messy brown hair… he was gone. Blayze did not mourn. There was no time to mourn. Later she would cry. She knew she would. She knew Rayna would. When the fight ended and the ice melted, the water would flow and she would mourn greatly. Her friend had a soft heart for younger children. She came from a large family. A large family that was no longer around. She had coddled the Prince, though he was only five years her junior. The prince never minded. He loved the attention. But he was now gone, and with him went his smile and his laugh that had lifted their spirits on many occasions. Rayna would not be herself for many days. She would break down over the loss of a life so young, comparing it to her own family that had left her alone in the world.

Blayze had never had a younger sibling, but the prince had been the closest thing to one. Their time spent together was gone. It was over. There would be no long talks about weapons as they walked down the halls, no conspiracy theories about the queen’s magic cake, no shenanigans that involved dumping water on the head of her captain. For both her captain and the prince were gone. So suddenly their lives had been snatched away. She would end up talking to someone who was not there for several days, only to catch herself halfway into the sentence. She would feel heavy and empty at the same time. It would be grieving she was not prepared to face.

But that was all for later.

Now, they would fight. Her dragon reared its head and screamed again, calling for more blood, calling to be fed. Battle was upon them. The kingdom had an enemy. They would release every ounce of anger over the unfairness and cruelty of the world into their weapons, wielding them against those who dared steal away one as precious as the prince.

With swords cleaned, they raised them. The enemy had reached them. They could hear the heavy footfalls, like a drum roll to their end. And it was not a single subdivision. Rayna heard their steps and calmly made her report, her dragon of ice watching the doors. This was four subdivisions of soldiers. They had gathered, learning of the difficulties posed in this hall. Rayna’s broadsword was pointed straight up. Blayze’s right sword was raised, thumb brushing her lips. They stood firm, anger and bitterness and wrath mingling to form another wall, waiting for the soldiers to breach the door. There were many, far too many for only two soldiers, no matter how well trained.

The doors at the top of the flight of stairs behind them flew open. The metal tapping against the tiled floor and the silent scream that penetrated the halls spoke to them.

They had bought her enough time.

The queen, a glorious figure of honor, entered the room wearing her armor. A winged helmet sat on her head. Blonde hair cascaded down her back, only to be gathered halfway down by a ribbon. The polished surface of her chest plate reflected the light of the afternoon sun as it filtered through the shards of a broken window. Her golden battle dress with its flowing skirt trailed behind her, a split in the skirt allowing for movement and showing her armored boots, white surfaces edged in gold. In her right hand was a staff with the crest of their country adorned proudly at its tip. And above her shoulder they sensed it, the golden dragon of righteous fury, a fury only known my a mother, a wife, a queen, but most importantly, a storm. The sunlight from the broken window fell on her. The dragon was not calm and not wild, but it was prepared for battle.

She entered the arena that had been made of her palace, marched down the stairs beyond the fallen soldiers and shattered armor. Her home had been destroyed, her city attacked, her people hurt, and her family murdered. There was nowhere else she would be when a desperate battle such as this one on her hands. She did not hide away when the enemy pounded on her door and destroyed what she called precious. Her eyes were sharp, her grip on her crested staff steady. The enemy would be cut down. Her attendants had no need to burn themselves in hatred or drown themselves in grief. Where anger and bitterness would destroy them, she projected not only honor and vengeance, but hope. Hope that their sun would rise again. That the world would not always be at war. This was not their time to destroy themselves. This was not the time to die for those they had lost. This was the time to fight for who still lived.

Blayze and Rayna watched their queen descend the stairs. They would stand for their kingdom. They would stand with their queen. They would live beyond this horror, they would live through this pain.

The queen joined them at the bottom of the stairs. She flipped her staff around, the wind from the motion ruffling her dress and the capes they wore, the capes which showed the symbol of their country, of their people. She pointed the crest at the approaching enemy. Blayze and Rayna stood on either side of her.

For the prince. For their kingdom and for hope and for the sun to rise again.

They charged.

The End