Defend the Oath

A taste of blood from the blade of my sword sends a shiver down the spine of the insolent man standing before me. Any chance of escape has waned. The generous warning I offer him now lasts mere seconds. He must decide immediately: live or die?

As I contemplate his decision, it becomes clear that his inept body has made the choice for him. He pleads, shivering, yet rooted in place as his feeble knees buckle; reminding me of the clumsy calves who roam the wooded expanse surrounding the castle.

'Please!' He cowers. 'Please, I'll do anything!' His cries echo through the stone halls, conjuring the ghosts of all those whose voices I'd heard begging before him. I raise my sword, and before plunging the keen silver down into his neck, I enlighten him. Telling him how he is to die. It will be a death of which he is deserving; the death of a cur.

'You will join the ranks of the pathetic fallen who came before you, meeting them only once more within the confines of my belly, as I wipe this blade clean of you.' The reflection of fear in his eyes further encourages me to show him no clemency. As he looks up at me, I raise the blade gladly, coming down in a sudden motion to relieve his neck from his burdensome head.

But, as the blade cascades downward, he stands, causing the blade to meet with his stony armor instead of soft flesh.

The sword rattles the bones within my arm, causing it to fall as I howl. A moment passes before I can gather what's happened. I've made an untrue strike. A gasp escapes my lips as I see small rivers of red pool in the crevices of stone beneath me. I felt the hilt slam into the bones of my forehead. Heard the ugly clanging of the blade as it fell.

Gooey, warm liquid overtakes my sight quickly. Reaching up to feel my forehead, a horrifying realization has come: there is a deep gash cut into my skin. It's sticky and thick, yet painless. I cannot see where my sword has met with the ground, but I know I need to recover it before he does. A rush of heat travels through me as I scramble to my feet. The other man, whom I can no longer see, breathes heavily nearby.

'Well, my my. How life can change in a moment.' The sickening sound of metal scraping stone fills my ears. 'Can it not?' His taunting sends me into a furious fervor. He'll not best me today; not ever. I remind myself: he lives for nothing, for no one. His very voice which vibrates from his ribs an insult. One which I am determined to remedy.

'It seems fate has chosen me to live this day, and it will be you who meets the pathetic fallen, isn't that interesting?' He spits out his words, righteous in this momentary victory. But, unlike him, I have taken an oath. One I intend to see through. At all costs, I will serve The Gods. I will defend Her Majesty. I've no doubt she can hear the raucuous noise of our battle as she hides behind her large oak door; she is no doubt praying for my victory.

As he plods nearer, I attempt to wipe the falling blood from my eyes, but to my chagrin, I find that it's too ample. 'You have one choice if you want to leave here with your life today.' The grotesque cacophony of his words causes my stomach to twist.

'You'll denounce your oath. Or, I'll end your doleful existence, here and now. That is my oath.' There's no choice in his offer, just as there was none in the one I'd given him only moments ago. To continue living with an oath broken would not be a life at all. It would be an abhorrance. A broken, timorous perversion. He knows this as well as I do.

Swinging my leg around with all of the strength I can muster, relief floods my senses when I hear the sound of steel meeting steel, and then the even more glorious sound of steel echoing off of masonry.

This is how I know I've managed to set him off-balance. This is why The Gods have chosen me; this is why I am worthy of protecting our Great Dynasty. His groans are a welcome reprieve from the terror I'd felt of imagining my imminent death; and worse still, the death of the queen and all that is Holy. Had he managed to execute me, the queen would no doubt have fallen shortly thereafter. Our souls, eternally lost. The Gods smile on us this day.

As I furiously blink the sanguine stickiness away, his hazy outline reveals itself to me, finally. There's no time to recapture the blade, there will be no more warnings.

I move upon him like lightning clouds in a storm, raising my boot high over him and striking it down to meet his neck over and over again, until blood gurgles in his throat, until I am sure he will not rise again. Had he a soul, I would have prayed over it. Since he does not, I hoist his leaden body over the side of the loophole, watching as it falls lamely into the water below. I've done my duty.

'Only the Mighty can rise once the wicked have been felled. An oath can never be broken; only upheld. Heed these words if ye should break: as ye took the wicked, so The Gods shall ye unmake.'

I recite this prayer over, proud that I have not failed, I've been sure-footed in my victory, and I shall be gloriously rewarded. To die while protecting Her Majesty is an oath broken unto itself. I've sworn fealty to The Queen, fealty to The Gods. To die at the wretched hand of one of the Soulless would've been the end of my oath. To die by the hand of one of the Soulless, would have been the undoing of my own soul. For I swore to protect Her. To die would have left her vulnerable, left her for dead. She is Their Chosen. The Gods would not have shown me Their mercy had I gone to meet them today. They would have shown me Their ire.

Many guards have failed to uphold their oaths. The Gods never run out of time to mete out their punishments.

'Your Majesty?' I call, lightly tapping on wooden slats. 'I have defended my Oath. You are protected. Your prayers have kept us safe.'