His Brothers Keeper

                                              His Brother Keeper

Roan strapped his pole axe to his back and his tiny shield on top of it. To his hips he strapped two long, slender daggers and the long sword he had received from his king. On his opposite hip hung his short hafted, double headed battle axe, his favorite weapon, which he used with deadly efficiency. He leapt up upon his sable destrider stallion and with a wordless cry dug his heels into its sides. He relished the ride the feel of his mounts muscles bunching and releasing, the wind ripping at his hair as he moved in time with the rise and dip of his chargers’ head, yes to ride was good.

He rode hard and tirelessly towards the enemy’s long hidden safe hold, nothing in mind but the task at hand. Nothing in mind but saving his King In Waiting. 

After what seemed like hours he reached his destination and with out even reining in his mount he leapt from the saddle, in the same movement he ripped his battle axe from his belt. As he ran towards the back entrance he pulled his shield off his back and fitted it firmly to his left forearm. He quickly reached the door and slammed his whole body against it. It yielded easily. The sound of the breaking door alerted two nearby guards who ran towards him one in front of the other. He charged. As he ran towards the fist he hurled his axe at him. It buried its self half way though its targets forehead. Before the guard had even hit the ground Roan had pulled free his weapon and was upon his next assailant. The remaining guard threw the fist blow, a vicious slash for Roans head. Roan battered the sword away with the flat of his axe, exposing his foes neck. He acted with the instincts of the seasoned fighter he was, and cut hard into the guards’ neck, almost decapitating him. As the blade bit, the guard released a blood curdling cry. Roan cursed, he knew his cover had been blown, with a shrug he carried on indifferently towards the hall that stood between him and the chambers where his brother was being held captive. Good spies he thought as he burst into the hall. Five men confronted him. “Finally a challenge!”, he roared as he flung his axe and felled the nearest of his oncoming attackers. He whipped out his long sword and dropping his shield drew a dagger as well, then fell upon the men shrieking a terrifying battle cry. This time he attacked first and cut high at the first man but had to pull away just before completing the killing blow to parry an attack to the right. A man to his left slashed for Roans head but instead found a dagger in his gut. He fell with it still there. The fifth man took his place. Roan riposted an attack from the man in front of him as he drew his last dagger to parry an attack form his newest attacker. The man to his right seeing an opening sought to cut through Roans liver. But his attack was blocked and his face slashed with Roans dagger. After this last attack Roan had left an indefensible opening to his left and had he been fighting more experienced warriors, would have found it very hard to breath with two swords in his chest. But he wasn’t, and managed to jump backwards and away from a late thrust from the man in front of him who had just managed to counter-attack Roan’s riposte. 

He grinned at the looks of surprise and relief that fixed themselves on the faces of his remaining three enemies as he sheathed both his weapons. “You wouldn’t be so lucky”, he said as he pulled his five foot long pole axe off his back, “you thought I was good with a sword did you?” he didn’t wait for the answer to his question before adding, ”I’m an even better axe man!”. He threw him self back into battle with a malevolent grin. The fight from there on was more one-sided affair. The man in front of Roan cut down with all the strength he could muster seeking to cleave open the skull of his persistent attacker. His attack was easily blocked with the head of Roans axe. Roan then twirled in a clock-wise rotation to his left and with almost super-human strength, aided by momentum, severed the arm, that sought to block the stroke, and in the same stroke sliced open the gut of his left most enemy who fell screaming as his steaming entrails spilt onto the hall floor. The mans misery ended as the heavy head of the pole axe landed with a thud in his neck. Seeing this, the man who had attacked fist, turned heel and ran, but he fell too, as a slender dagger found its mark successfully in his spine. The last man dropped to his knees cradling the bloody stump that was his right arm. Roan nodded his bearded, battle worn head and accepted the surrender. Then strode out of the hall towards his brother.

Two men were half leading half carrying the beaten and unconscious crown prince out of his room, that had served as a prison for over a month, and down the corridor to the front exit. Anger flared in Roans flinty blue eyes and he made a move to cut the two down where they stood. But the men took one look at the axe wielding bloodied, giant of a man and ran with their tails between their legs. “Cravens”, he snorted and bent to pick up his brother. Effortlessly he threw him over his shoulder as if the man who was but a few inches shorter than himself weighed as little as pocket of potatoes.

He started the walk back to his horse only stopping twice, firstly to dislodge and place back in his belt his trusty little battle axe that still lay embedded in the man it had felled and secondly to pick up his small shield that accompanied him into every battle.

He strode back through the hall and corridor seemingly oblivious to the surrounding carnage. A scene that any, who had not seen as much fighting or dealt as much death as Roan had, would have quailed at the mere sight. But Roan walked dispassionately through the macabre scene, not because he lacked emotions but because the killing had been necessary and to him it was a way of life.

Upon reaching his mount he strapped his brother to its romp then calmly cleaned his weapons on his long leather cloak and placed them back in their respective places. Only then did he mount his stead and ride like a thing possessed back to their king, back to their father.