Last Gasps of a Dying Man

[Garak Nightchill]

He spun to his left and parried with his shield, desperately trying to keep his footing in the slick mud.  His first opponent darted forward, preparing to lunge with a rusty kryss.
       
Roland retaliated with a vicious backswing of his sword.  The brigand saw the silvery flash too late, his momentum carrying him inevitably forward into the crescent path of the blade.  Meeting no resistance other than cloth, flesh and muscle, the blade ripped through the brigand's belly, red blood and white entrails spilling onto worn cloth shoes.  An 'oh' of surprise showed on the brigand's face as he shuddered to a halt.  Shock soon gave way to a pale-faced grimace in anticipation of soul-shrieking agony. 

Pausing only to raise his shield several inches, Roland leaned to his left slightly.   Wrenching his blade free from the blood-smeared mass and twisting his right wrist hard, Roland thrust at his second assailant with the tip of the blade.  Taken aback as his companion collapsed to the ground with a keening scream, the second brigand still managed to jump back, the tip of the blade brushing against his tunic.  Struggling to maintain his footing in the churned-up mud, he raised his cutlas in defiance as Roland turned to fully face him.

Dark clouds shifted restlessly in the darkened sky above.  The earlier rains had ceased but the respite looked unlikely to last.  The Brigand glared in hatred at the church squire four foot ahead of him, cold blue eyes staring balefully in return, mouth curled in a grimace of disdain.  For several long moments this continued.  The brigand broke the silence.  "Look, you.  All I want is yer gold.  We're starving in these mountains!  You killed Barth, if he ain't dead already he's as good as." 

Sneering slightly, Roland spoke in a slow measured cadence, his voice as cold as the sea wind that chilled them.  "For months thou hast preyed upon the people of this land.  Thou hast slain wantonly and now 'tis the time to pay.  Avatar wills it."  Streaks of mud and gore stained his surcoat, his boots squelching slightly in the mud as he shifted his stance.  These brigands had been a blight on Altmere for as long as Roland had lived in Cove.

The brigand shivered slightly, he was not unskilled with a blade but he was weakened from lack of sustenance and shelter, normally relying on surprise and numbers.  But this silver-clad demon had killed Barth.  He was alone.  He tried again.  "Look, we only killed when necessary.  To feed our own.  I'm not a bad man!"

Roland tilted his head slightly.  "Indeed?  Then repent of thy sins and mayhaps Avatar shall forgive thee when he brings thee before him for final Judgement."

The brigand gathered the last shreds of his courage and charged, screaming incoherently.  With a bellow of "Deus Vult!" Roland stepped forward to meet his charge.  Shield clashed against shield, sword against cutlas and the two men jostled for advantage.  The fight seemed evenly matched until the brigand spat in Roland's face.  Surprised by this unexpected move, Roland's shield was batted out of the way and the brigand's cutlas came scything down towards his torso. 

Roland stumbled backwards and lost his footing, tumbling heavily onto the ground with a surprised "Oof".  Without thinking he wiped the mud from his eyes, dimly realising he was doing this with his now empty sword-hand.  Knowing he had no time to get to his feet, he rolled onto his back and drew his legs in, raising his shield above his body.  Cursing and spitting, the Brigand bore down on him, swinging wild blow after wild blow, trying to beat past Roland's guard, the sound of steel beating on steal serving only to goad his rage further. 

Kicking out with both feet, Roland knocked the brigand off balance, and swiftly got up.  Kicking at the brigand's left leg, Roland watched him tumble to the ground, giving him time to stoop down and retrieve his blade.  The brigand had just succeeded in getting to his knees when a flicker of movement registered.  Instinctively the brigand raised his sword to block and felt something cut through his forearm.  He collapsed, his cutlas falling, still gripped in his right hand. 

Roland, still holding his sword in both hands wiped the blade clean, watching the writhing bandit.  Sheathing it he strode over and dragged the maimed brigand across the roadway, all the way to the water's edge.  Shoving the brigand facedown on the embankment, staring down into the water, Roland gripped his hair.  "Thou didst say thou wert a good man, aye?  Then mayhaps thou'rt familiar with the ritual of baptisement?"  With that said, he shoved the man's head under water, firmly holding it down despite the weak thrashing and the bubbles rushing frantically to the water's surface.  After several minutes the thrashing stopped.

Roland pulled the man's head from the water, turned him over and gazed down at the pallid face.  "In nomini Deus.  Amen," he murmered. 

He found the brigand he had disembowelled a short distance away, faint harsh breathing the only sign he still lived, the pasty white skin an indication he would not linger long in this world.  Roland knelt down and watched him, listening to his ragged breathing.  For several minutes Roland knelt unmoving, listening to the last gasps of this dying man.  The breathing stopped, his chest went still. 

Roland got to his feet and strode south, leaving the dead behind.