Arts and Sciences : Fiction

The Internal War

The moonlight glistened on the steel of the axe. One side shined with the coldness of death. The other, with the fluid of life. As the blood oozed, slowly, down the battleaxe blade, the steam rose from the open wound to meet the drops of crimson on the steel.

It was a cold night, far colder than a normal October night. The wind howled and cut through body and armor as hot steel through tender flesh, except for Vartrales. His mind was fixated on other issues. Dishonesty. Betrayal. Utter hatred. As his thoughts burned through the image of Cralthin, the drops of rain collected on his brow. He didn't even notice the carriage pass. He had seen carriages before. But this was the first time the cargo was so personal. He didn't want to think about it. The shock of her bloodied body sliced a wound that could only be healed with time, and revenge. Her last words imprinted on his brain. "It was Cralthin. It was Cralthin."

His brother had always been jealous. Always envied his wealth. His strength. His prestige. His wife. Never had he acted upon it. Never had Cralthin even attempted to take from his brother. Until this night.

Now Vartrales had to decide. It is his brother. It was his wife. Vengenace. Family. Love versus love. It is not the battle of blade he feared. He feared no man. Until now. He realized he was afraid. The only fight he was not sure he could win was the one inside his own body. His heart, broken. Would the man break also? What to decide? What path to plot?

He stared at the body. The breathing had ceased. The blood slid from Cralthin's body to the dead grass beneath him. It was done. Vartrales dropped his mighty axe. Drew his dagger from its sheath. As he stared at his dead brother, be began the slice. He felt no pain. As the blood trickeled down Vartrales, he uttered "I'm sorry", and fell to his knees. He had lost.

Falling Fire Arts and Sciences