The Spirit of the Slayer

© 2000 Samuel Edward Eggleston
All rights reserved.

Antede smiled at the crowd that had gathered before him, his rotten teeth stained yellow and green. It was always more profitable for a storyteller when he saw the numbers gathering before him, as Antede did now. The blue veins of the old storyteller contrasted with his yellowing skin. His smell wafted in the slight breeze and swirled around the crowd, causing some to shoot wicked glares at the filthy man, for his stench was almost thick enough to taste in the air. It was obvious to most in the town that the man had not bathed in months, for his smell resembled that of one of the putrid gut piles near the slaughterhouse outside the castle. His skin was cracked and flaking in places, his hair beginning to clump from the sediment and residue that had gathered there. Antede had visited Leonia in the past, back before the fall of King Vandetto and the rise of his younger brother Millcor. The king's death had been tragic for Leonia's citizens, but tragedy was what made storytellers very rich men.
"The story that I am about to tell you is one of a king," he began, with a gleam in his eye as he pushed his long graying hair behind his left ear, "a once great and powerful king." People's eyes were fixed on him, on his every movement. Their ears were perked to every word that raced from his lips and into the bright air of the midday around them. Antede's eyes met a young soldier's as the storyteller jumped to his feet; the soldier's dull gray eyes followed him intently as though he were waiting for the right moment to strike.
"Vandetto was a great man, one who brought not only prosperity to Leonia, but respect as well. He brought a respect to his kingdom that had not been seen in these castle walls since the days of the Slayers. But prosperity and respect do not protect you from deceit and lies. Millcor wanted the throne. He knew Vandetto would reign king for season after season and he could not wait. He took his brother's throne and had him thrown from the kingdom that Vandetto himself had returned to greatness."
The crowd stood hushed as they watched the storyteller pace back and forth before them, his dirty bare feet rustling up dust from the dry earth beneath them. Vandetto had indeed brought them from poverty to prosperity, but none dared to say that within earshot of the king or his royal guards. To do so meant death, a horrible death that no one cared to think of. Rumors of men being fed to Millcor's vicious hounds were well known throughout the kingdom, and it was even rumored that Millcor had fed on the flesh of one of his open opponents. It was not known what kind of man King Millcor was for he did not make many appearances to the public, nor did he seem to have any want to do such a thing.
"I saw what happened to the king; I watched as he screamed in the night as his flesh was torn from his body in blood-soaked strips." The menacing looks that shot from the crowd made the hair stand up on the back of Antede's neck as he quickly recovered from mistakenly spoken words. He should have known better than to make it sound as though he just sat idly by as Leonia's king dies in massive amounts of pain and suffering.
"I could have intervened, yes, probably should have. I could have also been on that torture rack next to him if I had. It was best to stay hidden like the coward I am and be able to pass the story of your king's last moments in life onto you." The tension and grumbling in the crowd lessened, but not very much.
"The demon creatures, the Horde, tortured him for information, but he would speak nothing to them. They peeled his body of its flesh, revealing his age-weakened muscles as they did! They tore at him; burned his eyes with hot pikes! They cut his fingers from his hands to make him speak of his people and their warriors. But he would not. No, for Vandetto was a noble man, a man of no regrets and a man who did not betray his people. The Horde made his screams echo into the night air, made him almost lose his mind as they tortured him. Vandetto would not break, though; he would not die."
As Antede spoke he danced around in front of the crowd, watching as their eyes lit up at the mention of their late king's heroism, of his strengths. Dancing back to his mule's packs Antede produced a wooden bowl that he tossed on the ground before the ever-growing crowd before he began his story again. Words danced from his lips just as the hollow sound of the bowl striking the well-worn earth echoed into the square.
"I waited and watched as they tortured him," he continued, "until the exact moment came—the exact moment to STRIKE!" He leaped toward the crowd as he unsheathed a small dagger that he kept at his side. The crowd jumped back in surprise, some gasping for air as they calmed themselves. The young soldier had revealed a length of his sword at the storyteller's action and then slowly slid it back into its scabbard.
"I crept up on one of the torturers as his companion headed into the dark forest, no doubt to gather more devices to torture the great Vandetto. With this very dagger I drew blood from his throat, watching in satisfaction as he drowned in his own lifeblood." Enacting the scene again, he showed the crowd his heroic slaying of the Horde beast. "I approached the bloodied and beaten Vandetto. His gasps for air rattled in my ears as he spoke to me, his one eye staring at me as his last words escaped his lips. 'Take this ring,' he told me." Antede reached in his pocked and revealed a golden ring bearing the mark of Leonia and the crest of Vandetto. Gasps arose from the crowd as he showed them, a crooked smile forming on his filthy face as he did. If they only knew that this was indeed the true ring of Vandetto himself.
"He told me to bring it here, to Leonia, and show his people that he fought to the end. That he died not in vain, but for the people that he loved." Antede managed to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye before he began again. "That is when I ended his life," he spoke as he watched tears flow freely from members of the gathered crowd. "I ended his misery with a single, painless thrust."
Weeping mixed in with murmurs from the crowd as people stepped forward, dropping various coins into the wooden bowl before them. The satisfying clinks of metal against metal made it difficult for the storyteller to keep from smiling. He watched as the sunlight danced off the gold and silver coins as they fell into the aged bowl.
"Hold," a voice called from behind the amassed crowd of people, causing most to stop in the act of paying the storyteller. "I would like to look at that ring."
Antede's eyes narrowed as the crowd slowly began to part to let the speaker through.
"Who dares speak to me in such a manner? You must be the son of a local whore; only a bastard would have such attitude," the storyteller squealed in rage. "You speak to me as though I were a thief. I, who ended your king's suffering! He no doubt glares at you from the heavens above!"
"I doubt he would object to my intervention," the man said as he stepped into view. Antede's gasp echoed in his own ears as his eyes scanned the face of the warrior before him. The blue eyes were cold, dismissing everything but the warrior's duty. The scar that ran from the eyebrow to chin of the left side of the man's face was as wide as a man's fingernail and half as deep. Amazingly, it seemed to have had done no damage to the eye itself when it was inflicted. The short-cropped brown hair was complemented by a thin beard that ran down the warrior's face, meeting at the tip of his chin. The man wore leather garb decorated with the burned crest of Leonia over chainmail armor, topped off with a blood-red cape that flowed freely in the wind that suddenly picked up in the square. The sword strapped to his back was half as tall as the man. As the warrior's blue eyes met Antede's gray eyes, they flashed in recognition.
"W-what do you need, kind sir?" Antede asked as he stepped back from the man, dropping the ring as he did.
"That arrogance in your voice is gone, Antede," the man said as he pulled his sword from his back. The grips were of leather, bound tightly around the metal beneath them. The blade was marvelous, its entirety covered in engravings of battles and words that were long lost to the lips of common men. The blood groove that ran half the blade of the weapon was deep and wide, designed for the thicker blood of the demons that made the Horde and not the thin blood of humans. Antede suddenly felt very afraid, for this man was no ordinary man—he was a Slayer.
"Don't you remember me, Antede?"
"Yes, Samisin," Antede said in a suddenly deep, rumbling voice as his eyes grew into a deep red, "I see you have not lost that scar I gave you so long ago. But I seem to remember feasting on your eye when I took it. Looks as if the gods gave you another."
"I took it from your wench of a mother when I slit her from navel to neck. Speaking of feasting; she had the sweetest loin that I can ever remember tasting. And my eye—I won't let you get that close again, demon." Samisin grinned as he spoke. "I was young then, a mere student of the Slayer," he said as he buried his blade deep into the storyteller. The slurp of metal sliding through intestines spat into the air as green pus oozed onto Samisin's hand. "Now I am all that is left, thanks to spawn like you! Spawn that I am going to personally see wiped off this planet!"
The commotion of the crowd behind Samisin was no distraction as people began to run from the horrific scene before them. Samisin stood face-to-face with the aged storyteller, his blade buried to the hilt in the old man's stomach. He stood so close that when Antede exhaled, his breath was as thick and sticky as hot tar that seemed to stick to Samisin's face and neck. With a moan, Antede grabbed Samisin's neck, thumbs trying to press into the Slayer's muscular throat. Samisin's muscles strained as he lifted the man into the air, still impaled on the great blade. Suddenly Antede floated, his body ripping to shreds before everyone's eyes and his flesh melting away as though it was mere water flowing off rock. The creature that replaced him bore no resemblance to the man that once was. Its eyes glowed a deep red with thin black stripes running horizontally across them. Sprouts of hair grew in sparse patches over the wart-covered gray skin that seemed covered in a slime that reflected the sun's light. Its leathery wings flapped at the air as it tried to pull itself from Samisin's blade, but to no avail.
"You will die, Slayer," it said, baring sharp fangs stained red. The demon's triple-forked tongue shot out as though tasting the air. The drool that dripped off its grotesque chin was thick and oily, greenish in color and thick like a well-floured stew. Samisin pulled back slightly as Antede spat at him, the greenish goop sliding off his face and neck.
"Not before you," Samisin said with a smile as he twisted his sword sideways and pulled it upward. The crack of the creature's back echoed in the now-deserted square. "Tell Nehemiah, that demon bastard, that I send my regards, when you see him in the underworld!" With a yank of his bloodied blade, Samisin tore the demon in two. Its legs erupted into blazing inferno before they hit the ground. The top of the creature floated eerily as its wings slowly flapped, the smell of rotten intestines drifting into the air around it. The demon's jaw dropped slightly as its eyes rolled back into its skull. With a gurgle it began to speak in a long-lost tongue.
"Uter sak mutang. Herath kan retar." The body lifted slightly before a laugh erupted from the body and it began to elevate into the sky. Suddenly an arrow pierced the creature's head, driven between the beast's eyes. The upper body tumbled to the ground, bursting into flame.
"What was that?" a soldier asked as he ran to the burning body. Samisin bent down and plucked the ring from the dust, ignoring the soldier.
"Are you all right, Samisin?" another asked as she neared the Slayer.
"Fine," Samisin responded, glancing down at the younger soldier's hands. The long bow that she held had a second arrow ready, nocked tight on the bowstring. "Good shooting, Alezandria," Samisin said with a smile. His red cape flowed behind him as he stepped over to the wooden bowl.
"What was that thing?" Alezandria asked as Samisin tossed her a gold coin from the bowl. The young woman caught it with one hand, fingers running over the smooth metal as she held it.
"A messenger," he responded. "It was a demon from the Horde."
"The Horde? I thought those demons were fairy tales told to keep children in bed."
"No, Alezandria," Samisin said as he looked into slightly clouded sky. "Do you recall hearing about the slain cattle outside of McFarland? Or of the missing carriages carrying the royal family of Lathrop? That was the Horde. They have been making their way to us, to our realm. They are coming for Leonia."
"Why would they come here?" the young woman asked as she watched Samisin kneel near the burned remains of the demon. "What is so special about Leonia?"
"Does the Book of the Slayer remain unopened in this day? Have I not told you to read it?" Samisin barked before calming himself. His outburst had frightened the young woman. He remembered the day she came to Leonia. Her only request had been to fight alongside him. She was more capable with a long bow than any man that Samisin had beneath him and was quite handy with a long sword. He had taken her under his wing then, teaching her the ways of the Slayers. If there could be another after he was gone, then Alezandria was the best qualified.
"There are three points in the world that are directly connected to the underworld," he explained. "The first is in the realm of Plourde, near the city kingdom of Rosewood. Three centuries ago an earthquake toppled the mountain of Black Peak, burying the old temple there and preventing anyone passage to the point. Earlier this year the workers of Rosewood unearthed the temple as they were collecting stone for the buildings of their city.
"The second point is on the coast near the kingdom of Vera. It is normally beneath the waves but the water is low this year, revealing the sunken remains of the temple of the old gods that was erected there.
"The third point is here, in Leonia. If the Horde takes Leonia then they will have access to all of the points. If this happens than they will release their fallen into the world dark age like we have never seen will rise, giving the entire world to evil."
Alezandria nodded as Samisin pulled a charred bone from the burned demon. With a grunt, he heaved the bone to a pack of mangy dogs that had gathered near the courtyard.
"Antede came to scout the castle and no doubt saw what level of unprepared chaos we are in. Gather the troops near the southern gate and have the metal sharpened and the longbows and crossbows restrung. I will meet you there."
Samisin started to walk off, his red cape billowing in the wind behind him.
"We killed him, though?" Alezandria asked. "He will utter nothing to anyone now that he is dead?"
"The Horde has a collective conscious, a greater evil that controls it. It is said that the greater evil resides in the underworld and that the horde is merely his pawns to do with as he wishes," Samisin responded, turning. "What one demon sees, they all see. That is why they are so difficult to defeat. They know your fighting style and your tricks before they even meet you if you have ever fought one before."
"How do you know if you have? Can they all look like a human, as Antede did?"
"Yes," Samisin said with a grimace. "They can all change into any shape they wish. But they shape must coincide with their size. A demon that stands six foot cannot change into a dog or a mouse, but can easily change into a small horse or a human. Just as a demon that is the size of a child cannot change into a cow or and adult human. Do you understand?"
Alezandria nodded.
"I can tell them apart, though. I can see them and I can smell them. The power of the Slayer allows me to detect the demons even in their shifted forms. Not to mention the fact that all of them smell like a rotten heap of flesh. They smell like death. You will see when they come for Leonia, and they are coming soon," Samisin said as he turned back and made his way out of the square that was quickly filling up with curious people.
"Where are you going now?" Alezandria hollered as she rolled the gold piece in her slender fingers, feeling the cold metal slide on her flesh. Her voice was drowned out in the commotion of soldiers rushing to the square to see what was to be seen. At first she thought he had not heard her, his thoughts probably on his killing of the demon creature that had invaded the kingdom. Her eyes followed him as he left, her heart pounding she watched him. To be a like him, she thought to herself. Is being a Slayer a gift or a curse?
Suddenly Samisin stopped.
"To see the king, young Alezandria," he called back with a wave and then continued on his way. She let a smile spread as she shook her head. To be Samisin would be the greatest accomplishment a warrior could ever want.

"What news is so important that you interrupt my meeting?" Millcor demanded as Samisin burst into the throne room. The smell of incense was strong on his robes as he stomped past Samisin, bare feet slapping against the hard floor and dropped into his throne. The king was known for keeping his bedchambers smelling of incense so that he could keep the smells of the wretched peasant village from invading his nostrils as he slept.
The look in the old Slayer's eyes was calm and collected as Millcor shot a glare at him.
"It is not very often I can escape from my royal duties to attend to other affairs."
"Shut your mouth," Samisin snapped as he tossed the ring to Millcor. "That was taken from Antede today in the square." The look of shock on Millcor's face amused Samisin. "Tell me how he obtained it."
"If you dare speak to me like that again I will have—"
"You will have nothing! Including your head if you do not tell me how Vandetto's ring ended up in the hands of a demon! You know the prophecy as well as I, Millcor. If the Horde takes this castle, then the world is finished!" Samisin's snarl was amplified as the warrior's eyes glowed blood red, the heat that they produced apparent from the ripples in the air that suddenly formed before the Slayer's face. Millcor shriveled back, trying to disappear into his robes and throne. He had heard of Samisin's strange abilities when he was a child, but he had never seen any inkling of them until now. His father had told him of the abilities Slayers had, but they were just rumors even then. Samisin was the last of the great warriors that protected the nine kingdoms from Horde. In the twenty years of Millcor's life Samisin had yet to age a year, and he had been in service of Leonia for longer that anyone cared to remember and in the service of kings long forgotten.
"H-h-how should I kn-know?" Millcor stuttered through chattering teeth. As Millcor cowered in his throne his personally picked bodyguards stepped forward to assist him. Samisin glared at the king who quickly stopped their advance with a raise of his hand. "Vandetto left under the cover of night over three months ago! No-one, including me, has seen him since!"
"If the Horde manages to take Leonia," Samisin spoke, his eyes returning to their cold blue, "All will be lost. Your kingdom will be nothing! Your money and your gold will be nothing! Do you understand, Millcor? Vandetto understood the importance of this land. He was a great king, far from what you will become. The demon spoke of you as though you were scum. They only speak of men that way if they are requested to; otherwise they speak of them as though we were nothing. That is what the Horde thinks of man; they think we are nothing. I don't like the idea of you and the Horde making any kind of deal for this kingdom. If I find that you had anything to do with your brother's death, then you will be found hanging from the rafters of your bedchambers with your precious gold beside you."
"Guards! Seize him!" Millcor screamed out, his face red with anger as his fear suddenly rushed from him. "I will not be spoken to like that!"
Two guards rushed forward to arrest Samisin, their weapons drawn as they came. Turning on his heel, Samisin drew his sword and swung it in one fluid motion. Blood spattered across Samisin's arms, hot on the Slayer's skin. The bodies of the guards crashed forward into the stone floor of the throne room as their heads rolled in the opposite direction. The ringing of their metal armor against the marble floor still echoed in the corners of the throne room as Samisin bent, reaching down to the sides of the dead guards and pulling a pouch of coins from each.
"I suggest you quit melting down the armory weapons to make this worthless coin," Samisin hissed as he threw a handful of money at the cowering king. "The people want to know where their gold and silver is going. They will overthrow you when they find out. I suggest you send your chambermaids away and decide how to cure the money problems you are causing. If I were you I would start by hiring fewer guards; they seem to be fairly useless, anyway."
"Is that what you came here to say to me today?" Millcor whimpered. Samisin could hear the sound of the king's rasping as he struggled to breath normally.
"The demon from the square came with a message for Leonia," Samisin said as he replaced his sword. "Uter sak mutang. Herath kan retar."
"What is that nonsense supposed to mean to me?" Millcor whined, causing Samisin to turn and walk away from the throne. His footsteps echoed as his boots slammed into the marble of the floor, causing Millcor's hand to involuntarily begin to shake.
"That nonsense is an ancient tongue," he answered and stopped walking. "The translation is the key." Samisin smiled. He could smell the wet stench of Millcor's sweat. The king had been prone to breaking into a fierce sweat when he became nervous even when he was a child.
"Then translate it!" the king screeched.
"They are coming," Samisin said, and began walking again. He finished the translation as he stepped through the throne room doors. The words left Millcor sobbing, head buried deep in his robes as Samisin's words echoed over and over in his mind.
"None will survive."

The soldiers of Leonia prepared for the worst that evening. They barricaded the castle gates and heated oil over open pits and flames. They dressed in armor that had collected dust in the storerooms from lack of use. Bonfires were lit in the squares. Animals were tied down so that they would not interfere if the battle made it past the castle walls. Peasants were urged into their homes before the night came, and the night came quickly.
Samisin had been alone, praying, when it happened. The sun was only a third of the way down the sky when darkness covered it. The entire light was swallowed by the pitch-black evil that rose from the horizon as it made its way to Leonia.
Samisin made his way to where the soldiers were preparing and ordered them to their assigned stations. The Horde would be upon them soon enough.
"Samisin!" Alezandria called as she spotted the Slayer from across the courtyard. "The swords in the armory are useless—rusted and dull! What should we do?"
"Bring them to the royal blacksmith, have him repair them," Samisin answered. His eyes were reddened from the sting of the smoke in the air. The burning wood was bad, choking the air from a man's lungs, but it was essential in the dark. "You did not need to ask me that, Alezandria," he scolded. "What is the problem?"
"The royal blacksmith is gone. No one can find him. Nor his apprentices. I know the peasant blacksmiths would not accept Millcor's coin in the past, and that is all any of the soldiers have."
"Come with me," Samisin said and headed for the peasant village just inside the city walls. He cursed Millcor for his selfishness, for his lack of responsibility for his kingdom. As they approached the blacksmith, Samisin let Alezandria do the talking, choosing to observe from out of sight.
"The soldiers of Leonia need these swords hammered and sharpened before nightfall," Alezandria shouted above the noise as she hefted the blades onto the blacksmith's table, dropping them with a clatter. The ringing of the smith's hammer stopped as he looked up from his work.
"Two silvers for each blade," the smith mumbled before going back to the work on his forge, his hammering almost drowning out Alezandria's next words.
"Will you except the king's currency?"
"The king's wealth is worth little here, young lady," the smith replied, his eyes unwavering from his work at hand. "It would be ten Millcor pieces for each then."
"Ten!" she yelped in surprise. "Do you take me for a fool?"
"Not a fool," the blacksmith said, "but a lackey of the king!" Looking at the young soldier, the smith let a burly laugh roar from his stomach, then choked it off as Samisin suddenly appeared at Alexandria's side. "Lord Samisin!"
"Smith," Samisin said as he pulled a pouch from his belt. "Will these cover the cost of hammering these blades?" The smith opened the pouch, dropping well over twenty gold coins into his hand. The image of the dragon was still as clear as the day they had been minted.
"These coins of the Keepers would feed my family for over a year, Lord Samisin."
"Then you'll hammer these blades?" Samisin asked with a grin, glancing at Alezandria, who stood quietly beside him. His response was a quick nod from the smith as he threw his current work onto the dirt floor next to his anvil and grabbed one of the blades Alezandria had brought with her. "Then eat well this year, friend." Samisin took Alezandria by the arm, leading her from the smith's shop.
"Why did that man address you as lord?" she asked, her eyebrow raised.
"I am a Slayer," Samisin answered and stopped walking. He wrinkled his nose; the smell of manure was strong in the peasant village, where the king had his stable waste thrown. "When the Slayers were the guardians of the lands, we were respected and needed. With the honor of being a Slayer comes the responsibility of protecting a planet from the forces of the Horde. Forever there has been a struggle between good and evil with both sides equally balanced. The Slayers became too much for the Horde to handle; we destroyed them, for the most part. Chased them from one corner of the planet to the other, from one pole to the next. We hunted them and slaughtered them like the beasts they are. Slayers began to die out then. Most quit, became family men. Your grandfather was a Slayer, Alezandria, one of the best men I have ever met. The Spirit of the Slayer is what makes us warriors; it is what makes us fight for what we believe in. I remember when you first came to me to become a Slayer. You had heard the tales of adventure and you were so excited. I taught you what I knew, but I never taught you what the Slayers knew. That comes from inside. For many millennia there have been Slayers, and for many millennia there have been Slayers who have died. Never will there be two Slayers in the same lands at once; it is too difficult to contain the balance of power. Slayers are unique, never quite the same, but they all fight for one thing—peace and harmony."
"Can peace be achieved through war? Through fighting?" Alezandria asked skeptically. Samisin had always known she doubted the ways of the Slayers and he just smiled. She couldn't be the one. Maybe there were no more.
"It sounds silly, but that can be the only way. Magic is no more, and the Horde is unaffected by little else besides weapons of war and destruction."
"Were you ever like me?" she asked. Samisin looked into her eyes. She was a beautiful woman, her brown hair falling to her shoulders and usually pulled back. Her brown eyes drew him in, called to him.
"Yes," Samisin answered as he drew near her. "My life was simple once, very simple. I was just a boy on a farm when the Slayer Joanna came to slay the beasts that had taken the church near us. That night when she came back, she was hurt, dying. The wounds were deep, festering and bleeding. I found her behind our barn; propped against the outside wall. She was praying to a god I had never heard of. Her eyes told me what she wanted. I can't exactly remember what happened in that moment. I hefted her blade into the air; it was heavy for me then. It fell with my young strength guiding it. When the blade met the woman's neck I was no longer myself. I was a Slayer.
"I came to Leonia because it called me. Since then I have never had to decide what I would do; I just always did it. Two days after arriving in Leonia I met Antede, in his demon form, of course. He clawed out my eye before he escaped. I knew I would find him one day and pay him back."
"But you have both eyes," Alezandria noted.
"A gift from a Keeper," Samisin said as he ran his hand over his face. "The last of the Keepers was a dragon named Raglan. In her last day of life she called me to her. When I arrived she gave me her gift. Her eye allows me to see the Horde wherever it hides, even in the form of a human--like Antede in the square today. And then she gave me the history of the Slayers with the engravings on my blade."
"Your sword? I thought those were your battles etched into that blade." The young woman had drawn close to Samisin, her warm breath brushing against his skin.
"Not just mine," Samisin said as he drew it. The blade shimmered in the fading sunlight. "Every Slayer's battles are on this cold steel, in it." Samisin's words trailed off, his eyes softening as he ran his fingers over the blood groove.
"Fire in the fields!" someone suddenly screamed into the courtyard. "The fields are ablaze!"
"The Horde!" Samisin snapped to the task at hand. "Archers to the wall! Archers to the wall!" He slid his blade into its resting place. "That means you, Alezandria; you're the best shot I've got around here."
Nodding, Alezandria bolted up the nearest ladder, picking up a long bow and a quiver full of arrows from the foot of the wall. Samisin quickly followed, retrieving a crossbow as he kept pace behind her.
"There have been a few movements out there, sir," the captain of the guard called out as Samisin neared his positions. "Just fleeting glimpses, nothing worth wasting a shot over."
"We'll have plenty of chances at killing these creatures," Samisin answered as he scanned the blazing fields. "They won't attack from there," Samisin said. He pointed to a dark patch of forest. "There." He pulled and arrow from his quiver, igniting the end of it with a touch of his finger. Raising the weapon to his shoulder, he let the shot go. Soldiers watched as it streaked into the woods, its flame extinguishing the moment it hit the dark area.
"What's going on?" Alezandria asked as she witnessed the flame's demise.
"Demon sorcerer or mage," Samisin answered. "Dark spells to hide their numbers. We'll discover how many there are soon enough. Until then we wait."

The Horde came quickly, and with it came the thunder. The thundering sound of hooves against the ground and sheer number of soldiers echoed into the night air. Samisin had fought a small number of the Horde near Kinross with a battalion of soldiers once, and even though there had been no cavalry in the area, the sound of horses' hooves slamming into the earth had rumbled in the air until the last demon was slain.
The blazing fields of grain cast an eerie light onto the upcoming battlefield.
"They will never climb this wall," someone muttered over the sound of the charging Horde. Samisin lifted his reloaded crossbow to his shoulder, quickly followed by the other soldiers drawing their bows and crossbows. The rumble of the earth intensified as the moat dissolved in front of the Leonia soldiers' eyes. The ground rose from under the water, reaching up like a giant hand until it reached the top of the wall.
"I guess they don't need to climb the wall," Alezandria called back to the soldier who had spoken up moments before.
"Here they come," Samisin barked as he let a shot fly. The bolt leaped forward, straight into the darkness that loomed toward them. "FIRE!"
The volley of arrows blackened out the soft glow of the fire and wrought havoc on the oncoming soldiers. The darkness suddenly gave away to hundreds of beasts roaring toward them. One of the younger soldiers gasped as he began to realize the sheer number of warriors rushing at them.
Samisin reloaded his crossbow as he scanned the oncoming enemy. Lifting his weapon, he let his arrow dig deeply into a tall demon that was storming towards them. Alezandria let two shots go in rapid succession, both shots digging home into the guts of a large shapeshifter that toppled forward, crushing a duo of demons.
Samisin stood as the first of the creatures hit the bottom of the earth bridge. Drawing his blade, the Slayer rushed forward onto the dirt ramp with Alezandria following closely. Samisin hit the grass outside the wall in a dead run and buried his blade deep into the stomach of a winged demon. Ripping his sword out of the beast, he met metal as his blade rang against the war axe of another oncoming creature that had taken human form. Suddenly an arrow buried itself deep in the beast's chest and it toppled to its side. Without glancing back, Samisin gave a mental thanks to Alezandria.
The scream of a battle cry rose into the smoky air as the castle gates lifted and the Leonia army poured out. The Horde rushed forward, unaffected by the fierce cry as bodies crashed into one another like one tidal wave meeting another. The clang of armor against armor, sword against shield barely drowned out the sound of bones breaking, flesh being torn from bone, and the sound of skulls cracking like eggshells under pikes and maces. Samisin let a smile creep onto his face, for he had not heard the sweet song of battle in many seasons.
"Keep them off the walls!" Samisin shouted as his blade drove deep into the neck of an enemy, spraying blood onto the Slayer's face and into the air. Blood flowed in streams down the Slayer's face. His tongue wiped the metallic taste from his lips as he stepped forward to engage another demon.
Alezandria hacked at the bony fingers of a wingless demon that hung on the side of the wall. As the demon gave an ear-piercing scream, the bones of its hand shattered, sending the creature plummeting into the dark moat below. Catching sudden movement from the corner of her eye, Alezandria turned, stepping aside from an enemy's attack, and swung her sword high with the intention of decapitating her foe. Her sword drove deep into the shoulder of a massive demon that had half shifted into the form of a human, its legs still bubbling with warts and veins. Alezandria cursed, for her blow did little more than lodge itself in the thick muscle.
"Stupid human," the beast growled as it lifted its mace into the air. The sound of the creature's war cry deafened Alezandria as she closed her eyes before the sound of a skull splitting echoed into the air. Samisin had buried his massive blade into the back of the creature's head, sending it sprawling backward and off the bridge.
"Hit them in the guts!" Samisin yelled as he hacked away another defender. Alezandria nodded as she sliced the wing of a demon as it flew past, sending it into an uncontrolled spiral and into sharp spikes that had been placed at the bottom of the wall. She could feel Samisin leading them, giving them power through his actions. Suddenly something tugged at her brain and she frantically searched for her hero, for the Slayer. He had been near her a moment ago; but now he was nowhere to be found.

Samisin felt the stab of the dagger as it entered his back, the cold steel invading the warmth of his flesh and muscle as the honed edges cut through him. His eyes closed as he felt the pain of the blade as it pierced his heart. His ears throbbed with his failing heart, each beat sending the Slayer further and further toward oblivion. Turning slowly, he faced his killer.
"They gave me a deal I couldn't refuse," Millcor said, his grin shining in the darkness. The king's eyes glowed fiercely as Samisin gasped for air. With each short breath, Samisin could feel the pool of blood forming at the base of his lungs. How had Millcor managed to get into the battle? But of course, Samisin realized. He had traveled unnoticed by the Leonia guards because he wore the chain mail armor of a soldier.
"Eternal life," Millcor finished with a sneer.
"You have to live long enough to get it!" Samisin gasped as he reached for Millcor, who just laughed as Samisin fell onto the dirt of the bridge. Cold earth shocked the exposed flesh of the Slayer's fingers and palms. Samisin almost gagged as the stench of the king's breath reached his nostrils. The Slayer felt the cold grip of death glide over his body.
With a grunt, Samisin pulled himself to his knees. His vision was beginning to darken near the edges. The Slayer reached to his side, pulling his sword close to him as he slumped forward and back into the dirt. He could feel the burn in his chest rising into his throat, threatening to explode from his head.
Millcor's laugh assaulted his ears, taunting him to his grave. Samisin made a tight fist, his fingernails digging into the hard earth, peeling backward. The pain gave the Slayer a last burst of vigor. Rolling onto his back, Samisin squinted as he watched Millcor pitch the dagger over the side of the bridge as the Horde fought Leonia's soldiers around them.
"Fool," Millcor said scoffing. "The last follower of a useless religion. How does it feel to know you died in a battle against those you are sworn to defeat? Pathetic."
Samisin could not drown the words from his head as memories flooded his mind. He thought of the day he watched Joanna die, of the day he became a Slayer. He thought of all the friends he had once known. He thought of the people he loved, that he lived for, fought for...died for. Vandetto stood before him as he had many times before, his strength evident by the way he held himself. Samisin thought of his friend, of the way he had been killed, of the way his own brother had him murdered.
Then he saw Millcor. He saw the way he sneered, he heard the way he laughed at the Slayer and all that he believed, and he saw that Millcor was not worthy of the throne. Millcor was not worthy of life.
Glitters of red began to stream through Samisin's eyes as he whispered to his gods above. His body summoned the power it had held in reserve for Samisin's long life. His life was over now, and he had a final use for that power. Samisin screamed as he raised his hand into the air, his eyes glowing red as he summoned his last bit of energy.
"Die, Millcor, and rot in the underworld with your demon kin. DIE!" Samisin yelled as he closed his fist, sending bolts of energy spraying into the air.
Millcor suddenly felt the pressure in his chest, his eyes growing wide as he fell to his knees. His heart stopped pumping. He felt his life slipping; his eternal age was taunting him as his last breath whispered from his lungs. Focusing his eyes, he saw before him the Slayer he had killed, squeezing his heart in his outstretched hand.
With a gasp, the king fell forward.
"Samisin!" Alezandria yelled as she ran to him. The battle was going badly for Leonia and the Horde was beginning to gain ground on the bridge. Kneeling at his side she touched his arm.
"Don't you leave me, you bastard!" she screamed as she wept. "I did read the Book of the Slayer, just as you told me. I've done everything you instructed the soldiers to do ever since I joined their ranks. I have always done everything you have ever told me to do. I want to be you, Samisin! I want to be a Slayer. I don't know how to exist without your guidance, without you!"
"And I you, Alezandria." Samisin's voice called to her but his lips had not moved. His eyes stared into space as though seeing his final destination.
"Where are you?" she whispered. Tears ran down her cheek as she spoke.
"At your side. Where I will always be."
Alezandria looked to her side, at the sword that lay there.
"Pick it up." With her hand shaking, she obeyed. Her fingers brushed the grips, the leather rough and worn from the years of use. She closed her eyes as the sweet smell of spilled blood and sweat swirled around her. She reached down, her fingers wrapping around the grip and she was with him. The flash of light was blinding, almost heart-stopping.
"Welcome," Samisin said as he stood before her. They were no longer on the field of battle. The smell of blood was gone, replaced b the thick smell of wood smoke and roasted meat. The smell of ale chased the other aromas.
"Where are we?" Alezandria stammered. Her eyes adjusted to the brightness. Samisin stood before her in a great hall. There were large tables that stretched the length of the room. Along each table were chairs that were filled with warriors of all types. Humans stood short and tall, athletic and muscular. They all wore armor that was scarred, dented and chipped. All were drinking and eating, oblivious of Alezandria's arrival. "What is this place?"
"It is where the Slayers go when they die," Samisin answered with a smile. "I am finally here."
"You can't go yet!" Alezandria screamed, her voice echoing throughout the room and causing everyone to stop what they are doing and look. "We need you out there. I need you out there!"
"There is no need for me now," Samisin said as a large dragon approached them. "I have been replaced. There cannot be two Slayers in the same part of the world. One Slayer is all a realm can hold, for their powers are too great."
"Who is the other Slayer? Does he know he's the Slayer? Will he stop them before it is too late?" she begged, dropping to her knees.
"You will have to look inside for that answer, child," a booming voice replied. Alezandria looked up, wiping tears from her eyes. A one-eyed dragon stood above her, its green and blue scales shimmering. The one eye watched her, its deep black radiating with wisdom. "I am the Keeper Raglan. I was Samisin's Keeper. The bond between Keeper and Slayer is so strong that one is sometimes lost without the other. Samisin was strong though. He survived when others could not, until he had left the Spirit of the Slayer with another. For there to be another Slayer means something else as well. Somewhere there is another Keeper. It will be a dragon, too, but the last of the dragons. You will have to find this Keeper. You are now the last of the Slayers, Alezandria. Be sure to use your powers well. I once gave Samisin the gift of true sight," it continued, holding its clenched claws out before it as it did, "as I will now give you something. Use it wisely. Use it as Samisin would have." The dragon opened its three-fingered claw, revealing a bare palm.
"What is it?" Alezandria sobbed with confusion. " I don't see anything."
"It is what made me realize I was finally a Slayer," Samisin said, "It will guide you as it guided me. Be glad that you have not the pain I did when I received it, though, and that you have the mark without losing the sight. When you finally come here there will be a place for you right next to me." Samisin leaned forward and kissed her lips gently, as a father would kiss a child. She tasted of things Samisin had never known, woman, daughter. "I love you, Alezandria, as though you were my own child. I will be with you forever. Go now," Samisin demanded, "and fulfill your destiny."
The light faded. Alezandria found herself still on her knees next to Samisin's body. She ran her fingers along the grip of the blade.
"Samisin's dead!" someone screamed. "We've got to get out of here!"
"NO!" she bellowed, the words coming from the pit of her stomach before exploding forth. Alezandria didn't know how long she had been in the sword that was now in her hand as she stood, but she felt the rays of the sun starting to break through the night sky to illuminate the battlefield. "We fight and we win today," she shouted above the commotion to the soldiers. "We run and we lose forever!"
Something made the warriors of Leonia listen to her that day. Something made them listen and obey as she led them to victory even in the face of defeat. It wasn't the sword she thrust into the sky and let gleam with the power of a thousand suns. It wasn't the mark that ran from her eyebrow to her chin on the left side of her face that appeared that day without blood or pain. It was the spirit of Samisin; the Spirit of the Slayer.

Back to top of page