He looked at her for a moment, sadly, then looked away. He supported his ribs with his great hand, then lumbered off from her, into the forest.
Alana exhaled suddenly and fell to her knees.
45
Kirwyn ran through the forest. He had found rifle casings in a little clearing, but saw no other sign of her. He considered calling out to her, but feared that might attract enemy fire.
“Kirwyn!” cried Alana distantly. Kirwyn looked to his side like a dog hearing its name, he hurtled through the forest.
“Kirwyn!” The sound was closer, leaves and branches flapped in his face, his heart raced, he leapt over roots and stones.
“Found you!” cried Fiddler.
Fiddler held his cavalry sabre up to Alana’s throat. His free hand fell across her chest, clutching her shoulder. He hunched over her, breathing heavily down her neck.
Kirwyn stared at them.
“Frederick…” he said.
Fiddler clutched Alana tightly, she felt the cold thin blade on her throat.
“There’s no running away from me this time,” said Fiddler.
“Fred, please.”
Fiddler’s mask was calm, placid.
Alana stared at Kirwyn pleadingly, her eyes red with tears.
“Fred, let her go,” Kirwyn said, wavering slightly. “She doesn’t have anything to do with this. She hasn’t done anything.”
“She’s a murderer Kirwyn,” said Fiddler, eerily. “I can see why you were drawn to her.” Fiddler squeezed at her breast.
“Fred. Let her go,” said Kirwyn blankly.
Fiddler drew the blade closer to her neck, a trickle of blood fell to her clavicle, she closed her eyes and sucked air into her clenched mouth.
“Fred I’m sorry,” said Kirwyn, voice breaking. “I have sinned, terribly. But that has nothing to do with her.”
Fiddler stood motionless. He nodded. He slowly pulled his sword away, held it at arm’s length – but then quickly returned it to her throat. She wailed.
“FRED.” screamed Kirwyn, “PLEASE. Just-Leave her alone.”
“Those who live by the sword—” said Fiddler “die by the sword.”
He cut her throat slowly, from ear to ear.
He released her. She knelt down, blood pouring down her abdomen, she leant back, held her hands to her neck, and collapsed on her side.
Kirwyn’s stared unblinkingly. Eyes widened with madness, tears evaporated, blood drained from his face. He stared at Alana, then looked to Fiddler. He looked down at his sword.
Painted scrolls stretched and ripped, the wax seal shattered. He unsheathed the pale blue blade. He let the scabbard drop to the ground.
Fiddler began to laugh.
Kirwyn advanced, eyes bulging out of his head, he held his sword to his side, and raised it.
Fiddler was bent over, choking with laughter, tears of joy streamed down his face. He walked backwards, gesturing for Kirwyn to stop.
Kirwyn swung at him, Fiddler blocked, the two swords clanged and bit into each other.
Fiddler was shaking his head, his eyed narrowed. He tried to contain himself, but sputtered into laughter once more.
Kirwyn released him and swung at air, Fiddler ducked. Kirwyn stabbed at Fiddler’s chest, but Fiddler deflected and counter stabbed at Kirwyn’s genitals. Kirwyn stepped back rapidly and struck down at Fiddler’s blade.
Fiddler removed his mask. “Please forgive me Kirwyn,” said Fiddler, snorting with laughter. “PLEASE.”
Kirwyn struck down at him with such force that chips of metal fell from Fiddler’s sword. But Fiddler held it in place. Fiddler slid his sword, scraping to the right and nicked Kirwyn’s shoulder, he punched Kirwyn with his left hand. Kirwyn stumbled backwards, spinning.
“Please Kirwyn!” said Fiddler, grinning a long-toothed grin.
Kirwyn screamed inhumanly and charged at Fiddler. He swung at him horizontally, then vertically, then diagonally. Fiddler blocked each time with ease. But was surprised when Kirwyn’s pommel whacked him in the nose. Fiddler stumbled back, dazed. Kirwyn caught his breath, shoulders rising with each inhale.
Fiddler felt his broken nose and saw blood on his hand. He was shocked. He smiled again. “Leave her alone,” he said.
Kirwyn stabbed at him madly again and again, Fiddler swerved his whole body unnaturally, he riposted, slicing up Kirwyn’s torso. Kirwyn staggered back, held his sword diagonally, his wide eyes staring unendingly at Fiddler.
Fiddler sliced at Kirwyn’s knee, hitting an artery, spraying blood. He swung again. But Kirwyn blocked. The two swords locked together once more. Kirwyn pushed with every fibre of muscle he possessed, every cell, every neuron burning with white hot loathing. He clenched his teeth, veins popping in his forehead. Fiddler looked up at him, his smile turning to a grimace, he sniffled and groaned. Fiddler’s strength broke first, the sword of Barabbas struck him in the shoulder and cut down to his hip. He fell to his knees and swung fruitlessly at Kirwyn’s legs, Kirwyn hobbled back. Fiddler’s smile had faded, his face shook with rage. Kirwyn stared at him blankly, eyes wide.
They sprung up and swung at each other, they both twisted in the air and missed, falling on their feet. Fiddler turned and struck low, Kirwyn deflected and struck high. Fiddler blocked the blade, held it in place for a moment, then released and struck at Kirwyn’s breast, ripping it open. They clashed again, locking swords once more, breathing in each other’s faces. Fiddler grimaced, closed his eyes, then opened them, spittle on his lips. He bobbed his head back then spat hot black blood in Kirwyn’s eye. Kirwyn screamed, released and swung down with all his fury. The sword his Fiddler’s helmet, cleaving it, crushing his head into his neck with a sickening thud. Fiddler choked black bubbles from his mouth, his yellow eyes searching madly. His neck had disappeared. He waddled a moment, sword swinging uselessly. He dropped the sword and clutched at the grenade at his belt, pulling the pin. Kirwyn kicked Fiddler in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards a few metres. Fiddler exploded into a fine black mist.
Kirwyn blinked. He walked over to Alana’s body, dropped his sword carelessly. He brushed hair away from her face and held the side of her neck. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused. She wasn’t breathing.
“Alana,” he said.
He clasped his hands over her throat, hoping to stymy the bleeding.
“Alana!”
Blood pooled around his fingers.
“Alana please stay with me,” he whispered.
“You came back to save us – I knew you would.” He smiled, his voice wavering.
Alana stared blankly into space.
“Please don’t die.”
He stared down at her.
“I love you,” he said, his voice breaking.
Tears streamed down his face, he sniffed raggedly.
“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, face scrunching, he wept over her.
He looked down at his wounds, they were starting to seal. He breathed painfully. His eyes flittered about, filled with salt water. He blinked, and again. His eyebrows furrowed. He nodded. He shambled over to his sword and retrieved it, then knelt over Alana’s corpse.
He hovered the blade over his wrist, and the blade trembled. He looked up, then down at her, then closed his eyes. He cut the veins in his wrist open. His eyes twitched and he opened his mouth to scream, but did not. Dark red blood poured out over Alana’s open throat.