Simarachi’s Shadow

Moving deeper in and through the continuing to burn remains of the former Tsuaru camp have proved to be, thus far, much easier than Dyag had been anticipating. Sure, he’s been forced to creep and slink through shadows and patches of tall grass to evade fights he would be incapable of emerging victorious from, yet he feels no shame in doing so. His purpose is to ascertain whether anymore of his kin are located within the camp, alive, not wage a battle against what looks to be an enormous detachment of Ymbal.

Previously Dyag had doubted the prospect of the Ymbal tribe possessing sufficient warriors to take Simarachi from the Tsuaru. Now he is not so sure for at every turn there are more of his enemy. They are numerous, perhaps more so than that word might convey, and if this truly is only a section of their force then his people would indeed be hard pressed to emerge victorious.

These are all things he can report to Lord Ito, or whoever may question him, if he does indeed survive this night. Doing so is not guaranteed, he is fully aware of that. He could be spotted at any time while moving from shadowy corner, what few there are, to tall grassy patch. After all, there is no law written which says Dyag will remain hidden and obscured from view. It would take only a curious Ymbal to locate him. And if his enemies resorted to searching the grasses, which is a prospect that has crossed his mind more than a few times, then he is already as good as found. He will have nowhere to hide, or run and will undoubtedly be tortured and then executed for his actions. The warrior does not care. His life is unimportant. His people are what matter most.

But if you do not survive how can you warn them? It’s a good point. And though he would like to he cannot refute what it and so continues to forward push; deeper, further. The sky meanwhile is getting to brighten all the time without hope of being stopped. In a few hours it will turn from night, with the breaking of dawn, to day. How much, if Dyag is here when that transpires, cover the tall grass patches will afford him then he cannot say. In his mind likely it’ll be substantially less, which is a concern to say the least and why he feels he should perhaps promise that at the breaking of dawn he will depart for safety. He makes no promise for voices reach his ears. At first the warrior with orange eyes considers them pointless to focus in on as they will only be of Ymbal speaking that foreign tongue of theirs. However, for some reason while continuing ahead he does and finds they are not speaking in their language but the one they share, derived from the nations. To be blunt the Tsuaru warrior is confused, surprised and…

The words reach his ears, he hears them and his blood turns cold for they are not all spoken by Ymbal but others, interspersed with pleas, it becomes apparent the other speakers are captives, his people. Dyag stops, waits and listens.

“…refusing to speak will not see you spared. Your choices are few, your fate in our hands, my hands. As commander of this vanguard I, Eorin, am the only man who you should concern yourselves with. I hold in my hand the power to grant mercy.”

“But you do not offer any. You intend to execute us. If you did not then we would not be…” A nearby Ymbal slams a knee into the Tsuaru’s temple silencing them with brutal efficiency. The Tsuaru’s head is sent lolling about. All the prisoners are down on their knees, heads forward. To Dyag it is obvious that soon a blade will be brought down on not just the speaking man’s neck but all those beside him. For every Tsuaru is held in the same kneeling position, hands tied behind their backs, heads forward, guarded. By looks of things a few of the captives have been tortured with burning and amputations which predate this latest round of threats. Bile boils up to cling at the back of Dyag’s throat. He is sickened by what he is bearing witness too.

Then what do you intend?

I have to free them.

How? You are but one, they are many.

I fight.

Pointless, you will die and so will they. You are no match.

Then what do you suggest? Immediately Dyag regrets speaking the question and that is before the answer comes. Not that the answer that comes is different to what he expected, for it is not.

Strike from the shadows, eliminate one by one until…

I will not dispose of my honour like the Ymbal.

Then you will die. This is your choice, the only one available to you. Take it and you might survive, prevail, live to see another day. Refuse and you will achieve no more, be forgotten, dead.

The Tsuaru warrior sighs silently a long deep exhalation of air. He cannot think of anything worse than forsaking his honour. The world warned him against it once; that is his belief as to why that Ymbal heard and turned on him when he did. He will not be afforded another chance to save it; to keep to the ethics and code of his people. However, the voice is not wrong. He wishes he could say that it is but it is not. To argue against its truth would be fallacy most pointless and arrogant. That is why he asks; what is my choice? It may sound like a simple question and that is because it is. Yet, it is perhaps the most important question the orange eyed Tsuaru warrior Dyag Velsom has ever uttered in all his life, for it will decide the path along which he will tread.

The voice surprisingly does not give him an answer. It instead presents him with this: Your choice is honour or your people. Which do you choose?

Part of the Tsuaru warrior wishes it took him far longer to reach his conclusion than it does. But at the end of his contemplation he cannot say the additional time thinking has swayed his impending response one bit as he announces; I choose my people, for they are our future and without them we cannot persevere.

Shockingly the voice does not reply. Dyag had expected it too. Whether to be smug or delighted he cannot say as to which, but it never comes to pass. So the warrior pushes ahead, closing on the nearest of the Ymbal warriors whose back is to the grasses, the same grasses which the Tsuaru warrior is delicately wading through. His short sword, a large dagger is how anyone not of the clan would most likely describe it, is already unsheathed and held tight ready for what will soon come.

In a flash the Tsuaru strikes, hand across his enemy’s mouth a fraction of second prior to the blade slicing hard and fast across their throat. Blood gushes while the Tsuaru hauls the dying man into the grasses where he will remain.

The body twitches as the final shreds of life leave the body. Dyag watches it, sees the shock in the Ymbal’s eyes and then moves on.

Creeping around the curve of the clearing, forced to follow the breeze rustling grasses which hide his movements Dyag closes in on his next victim. They, like the first, are out of the eye line of those closest to Eorin and the prisoners. Words continue to reach the Tsuaru’s ears. He acknowledges but does not comprehend them. They simply slink in and back out of his head for their importance is so slight to his endeavours, his plans in motion.

The second Ymbal goes down much the same as the first. Though, this second enemy is felled not with a slice of the throat but with an impaling of his heart from behind. The stab was followed by a hand over the mouth and a heaving into the darkness where it remains thickest. It surprises Dyag that any shadows remain in the blaze that is the remains of Herki and yet there are sections of the camp which remain largely untouched. The fact that they are those on a higher plain compared too much of the rest of the camp shouldn’t be a surprise he feels but it is. Still, he wastes no time on stealthily closing on, grabbing and plunging his blade into a third the enemy warriors’ neck. They kick, uselessly, and are dead by the time Dyag stashes them amongst some nearby stacked crates.

This latest spot gives a decent overview of the feat which remains before the man with orange eyes. He feels at least a couple more Ymbal will need to be dispatched before he dares to engage in what is perhaps the bravest and most foolish act he thinks has ever been conceived by him in all his years of life.

But you are close. They will flee in fear when they see your reckoning. Mark my words.

Unlike previously, Dyag feels no need to argue, query, question or silence the voice. He accepts its presence, its comments and skulks through fading darkness and tall grass until he can once again strike. The Ymbal never saw it coming and for their arrogance will not see the sunrise, the break of dawn.

There is no expression on the Tsuaru’s face. The man with the orange eyes does not need to react for little effort is being expunged. However, gone is his lethargy, his struggling. In its place he feels strong, sure, powerful.

The voice whispers something he doesn’t really conceive and then he strikes at his sixth victim. They manage a muffled cry before they fall forever silent; three stab wounds to their chest having found weakness between the plates of their armour. Following the elimination Dyag waits, listens. There is no deliverance suffered for the minor sound. A smile creeps across his lips. It is fleeting but is not out of joy for murder. It has been born in response to the return of fortune upon him. He had not considered it previously but it is clear now that it has reinstated.

It seems the world; the spirits are on his side, guiding his hand, keeping him on this path, this necessary road, leading him to victory.

Eorin continues to drone. He is oblivious to the loss of several of his men. Ymbal rarely care for casualties suffered. To them a casualty is but the removal of a weak entity. One who could not stand and take what is there’s. In his eyes that are what the Tsuaru are. Great warriors they may have been once but no more. Now they are relics. Fixated and trapped within the confines of rules created in a past long dead. It is why they never saw this attack coming. Eorin, all Ymbal, would have. It was obvious, inevitable; the Tsuaru are blind. They do not see that the world has changed and will change again for the Ymbal will reclaim the land that is rightfully theirs. First this victory at Herki and then the sacking of Pensaftu will soon follow. Undoubtedly that is to where the Tsuaru will retreat, expecting safety in Hiromani Castle. That old stone fort will not save them for Eorin will starve them out. By the time they are almost broken all Ymbal forces will have surrounded the ancient stone walls leaving no avenue for retreat or possibility of victory for the Tsuaru. Eorin will enjoy that day. It will take months but he will see the Tsuaru die; the land returned to the Ymbal, his people. And when it comes he will smile forever more for having paid witness to the victory which will mark the end of honour. For is honour is dead and lies only in the hands of fools.

Without word or warning Dyag appears from cover, masked in shadows he wishes again he had his headdress to cover the most vulnerable and exposed part of himself. Alas, it is back in his tent, likely having been consumed by flames, melted and distorted. Still, he does not miss it truly. He has always found the helmet section to be heavy, cumbersome, limiting to his field of view. As a bowman such things are tiresome, worrying. As a killer from the shadows these concerns are not warranted he feels with a hood draw over his shaved scalp to cast his face in darkness.

Ymbal warriors set their eyes on the figure as it approaches, almost as dark as night itself. Their eyes go wide, they are fearful. Eorin takes note during his rant, his red eyes glaring angrily in response, having finally been torn from the captives as they quiver and quake. The prisoners disgust him but the wide eyed looks of his warriors elicit a worse burning in his gut. He goes to demand what afflicts them when from behind he feels a presence. It strikes fast, too fast. Eorin manages to pull his sword only before his throat is not slit but carved deep. He screams, the pain is immeasurable, but he cannot grasp as to what and who has struck.

It is just as Dyag had hoped; he caught the Ymbal commander entirely unawares. He is taller, that was a concern, until the Tsuaru began cutting. Then the concern vanished, a roar of effort escaping his parted lips as he exerts himself and carves deep into the Ymbal commanders’ neck. Blood gushing, Ymbal warriors’ faces aghast and in horror as they stand frozen, unable to react as they  watch until finally Eorin is dead, his head detached from his shoulders.

The headless body slumps to the floor with a wet bang, spilling blood like water might spout from a fountain. Still the Ymbal do not react other than to shiver and shake with fear.

It is when Dyag raises the severed head of Eiron, with its red eyes and four nostrils, and unleashes a venomous war cry the Ymbal go into full retreat. Screaming and begging they run off terrified by what they have witnessed regardless of the fact that Dyag is one man stood against countless armed with only a short sword.