My Fantasy Writing

A Dance of Swords by Phong Tran

 

Sayan quickly tried to get back on his feet. He ran to stand by Gentah as soon as he was up. "You're hurt," stated Sayan.

Anger suddenly fused Gentah. Ignoring Sayan, he took hold of his sword with both hands and carelessly charged the man. The expressionless stranger stood calmly as Gentah came. At the last instant, the man side stepped as Gentah's blade beared down. The stranger spunned on his heel and with one blur motion, brought his sword up and down. Before Gentah knew it, his body was nearly cut in half. He fell to the earth, blood flowing out, mixing with the cold rain.

Seeing the fate of Gentah made his stomach turned. It was clear if Gentah, a veteran who fought through many campaigns and a skilled swordsman, was not a match for the man, how could he possibly win. Dropping his sword, he ran back to the river and dived into the cold water. Once he made it across, he looked back and realized he was not being pursued. Relief, he quickly settled onto his steeldust and rode off as the sun began to set.

Through the whole ordeal, the boy watched with horror as two men was killed. He did not know what was going to happen to him now.

Sheathing his sword into its scabbard on his back, the man walked up to him. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said not unkindly. "Take my hand."

With no other choice left, he reached up and took the man's hand. Night began to descend, though the sky still showered the woods with water. There was no sound except that of the drumming of the raindrops. Somewhere an owl hooted and flew off into the distance as the man lead the little boy into the woods.

End of Prologue