Our Destiny: Bearers of the Dagger

Impossible, Part 5

The riders ran down anyone in the open.

Man, woman or child, it didn't matter. Anyone caught in their path were taken down by the Tengura. The lucky ones would be struck by blades or skewered with spears. The unlucky were ravaged by the mounts themselves. The monstrous hounds snatched their victims and devoured them where they fell, screaming and flailing helplessly.

Charlie had never seen someone die. Let alone someone murdered. And here he watched so many of these villagers being slaughtered as he dragged the tall man to safety.

'Tengura...' the man with the longsword kept grunting, 'Tengura...'

At first, he had recoiled when Charlie offered him support, but in the face of a storm of arrows, he didn't have much choice but to accept the help. His shoulder wound didn't look too severe but his right arm was slack. And that old looking sword hung lifelessly in his hand, bouncing along the floor.

'Nearly there,' Charlie muttered.

The arrows weren't raining now but the riders were charging through the village in packs so staying outside was stupid.

Together they took shelter in the porch of a cottage. Charlie nearly tripped on something. It was a dead farmer. He swallowed grimly, ignoring the discovery and pressed both of them against the door.

The tall man beside him was groaning under his breath. He was trying to lift his sword arm but his whole right side was numb. Instead, he switched the sword to his left, the blade looked unwieldy in his untrained hand. The man's eyes caught Charlie's and they held a gaze for a moment, broken occasionally by the screams of dying villagers.

Finally, the man spoke. 'Stay here,' he muttered.

Suddenly the tall man lurched into the road, swinging his longsword into an oncoming rider. The blade caught the Tengura and bought him off his hound's saddle in a splash of blood. The rider wailed for a moment until the village champion finished him with a downward plunge.

The riders had finished their sport. Now they were going to finish the job. Many of them dismounted, abandoning their mounts to feast on the dead. The Tengura warriors dashed towards any farmers hiding by their homes and slashed them to pieces. They laughed as they butchered their frightened victims, even the ones pleading for their lives.

But then the villagers countered.

Those hard men and women that Charlie had seen before the assault, suddenly burst from the buildings with their daggers and hatchets, pitchforks and cudgels. They engaged the Tengura warriors, banding together in small groups to overpower and eviscerate their evil attackers.

The villagers were brave and they did their best, taking revenge on the Tengura for murdering their neighbours. But one on one the defenders were unmatched. The riders deliberately separated the villagers, forcing them on their own so they could hammer them down with brute strength, and then finish them with ease.

Charlie watched the riders kill each hero one after the other. It was no good. They didn't stand a chance. None of the villagers were strong enough to withstand them.

His eyes then moved to the tall man with the longsword. He was the exception. He was good. He was fighting with one arm, battling the Tengura with a handicap. And he was winning!

The man matched their strength but his injury made him careful. He avoided the deadly lunges and wild swipes the warriors were swinging, picking and choosing his times to counter. He waited patiently then thrust, accurately and powerfully, killing his opponents in a single blow.