Causality

         Dermes IronWolfe stared down at the steel shaft protruding from his chest with a look of amazed disbelief.  His eyes followed the blood-soaked line of cold metal up to a leather clad hand.  Darkon watched in horror, as his estranged father’s eyes continued further along the arm, until he looked upon the face of his killer. 

         “This is it.  This is how it ends.”  Darkon mused.  “A boy, barely off the teat is the one who takes him down.”  A torrent of emotions swelled from a deeply buried place inside of him and issued forth in the form of a vicious battle cry.  The eyes of his father’s killer shot toward him, but they were not those of a fierce emotionless warrior.  They were the frightened eyes of a child who had been told the way to manhood was on the battle field.  “No, not manhood,” he realized, as he squinted at the young face.  “It is a girl trying to earn her way to valiant womanhood.”

         The young woman pulled her sword free, turning her attention to the next opponent, without any inkling of realization that she had been the one to take down the great Warlord Baron Dermes IronWolfe.  This child simply struggled to stay alive in the heat of battle and he was the enemy that would kill her, if she did not kill him first. 

         Darkon was still several long paces away from them, when the Baron dropped to his knees; his attention falling to the river of bright red blood pulsing from the gaping hole in his chest.  His hand came up to try to staunch the flow, the ultra-vivid fluid flowing over his hand, as the Baron looked up into the penetrating dark eyes of his second son.  Darkon closed the space between them, ripping through the girl and tossing her corpse to the side, like no more than a ragged toy.

         “Darkon,” Dermes said, struggling to breathe, only barely audible over the clamour of battle.  “Tell your mother --.”  His eyes glazed over and his body fell limp.
Darkon’s mind barely had time to register that his father’s life ebbed from his fallen body, leached away by the hungry earth, before the voice of his older brother boomed across the battlefield.  “We need a healer!  The Baron is down!”

         A blur of glowing blue power and armour, Derhan cut a path of blood and body parts, to the dying Baron.  The eldest of the IronWolfe siblings was a force of nature that few on the field could stand against.  If one could withstand or dodge the whispered spells lobbed at you, then the powerful blow of the sword would have you.  Most thought Derhan invincible, but Darkon knew his brother well enough to see the signs of fatigue.  If he did not power down soon and start relying only on his warrior skills, then Derhan would burn out. 

         The enemy did not cease the attacks because one man fell and Darkon soon had two upon him.  He easily forced one onto the weapon of his comrade, but the other was an older, more seasoned warrior, who closely matched the knight’s skill.  It was a blow from an ally that brought Sir Darkon’s opponent to his knees, giving the knight the opportunity to finish him. 

         The body fell alongside the body of the girl, drawing Darkon attention to its now soulless eyes staring, unseeing, into the clear blue sky.  He felt a surprising tug of sympathy toward her. She was clad in oversized, leather armour that was too worn and mismatched for this girl to have been its first owner.  The coat of arms on the chest had recently been repainted, he imagined by the girl herself.  In bold black lines a solitary mountain stood and he realized there was a tiny little “X” over one spot.  Was this where her home was?  How far away had this young woman traveled, just to die on this battlefield?

         Bolstered by the sight of the opposition leader falling, the enemy pushed forward with renewed strength, forcing Darkon to become single minded in his defense, the corpse of the girl left behind and forgotten.  His brother screamed at a frightened battle healer, drawing his attention back in that direction.  Derhan had torn off his helm, making clearly visible the deep lines of rage contorting his face and a jaw clenched in a seething grimace, as he growled out venomous orders at the hapless healer. 
         “Derhan!”  Darkon yelled, able only to take a few steps toward his brother, before both of them got caught up in the battle again.  Several dead enemies later, he found himself back to back with his brother.  Derhan muttered an incantation for a spell, while his sword came down on the shoulder of a soldier.  The oldest of the IronWolfe brothers still yelled that the Baron needed to be removed from the field.  Darkon called over his shoulder, “He is dead, Derhan!  Save your energy for the living and for winning this battle, so his death will not be in vain.”

         Derhan fell silent, with a slight nod of his head and a slump of his shoulder.  There were no more words between the brothers. They fought through the day and half way into the night.  The last sight of his father’s body, before they were enclosed by a swarm of enemy reinforcements, caused Darkon’s heart to clench in bitter sorrow.  He thought of how tense the relationship between father and son had become, as he had grown into manhood.  He thought of all the arguments, all of the differing beliefs, on which both were too stubborn to find compromise.  All the words left unsaid and emotions left unexpressed, that could now never be shared.  As hot tears came unbidden to sting his eyes, he thought of his own son and wondered if someday Richard would be looking down at Darkon’s corpse and saying the words that were escaping his own lips now. 

         “Why do I mourn you? I do not even like you.”