The Raven And The Wraith (Completed!)

Chapter 8

The Wraith
Chapter 8

There was a flurry of activity, accompanied by the clinking of steel and sharp commands from the  guardsmen leaders as they shifted battle positions, readying for danger from our left flank.

I crouched slightly, spinning one of my blades around, so I held one blade with the tip up, and the other tip down. Ready to slash overhand or backhand. I was all about fighting from odd angles, never adhering to any type of typical attack direction. Why should I give my enemies any idea where my next attack may come from?

The familiar tingle of ice running through the veins in my legs as adrenaline pumped throughout my body made a savage grin crease my face.

Seconds passed, feeling like hours, and I felt sweat trace a line down the center of my back. Abruptly I was tired of this game, feeling hot fury spike up inside.

"C'mon, then! What are you waiting for?!" I screamed at the waiting woods, at the gathering shadows I could see pooling under the great, twisted trunks of the tortured looming trees.

In my peripheral I saw tens of people and horses twitch in shock at my sudden, raw scream. Seeing the coordinated bulging of eyes and short, rapid motions would have been funny at any other time, and I knew that if I survived this, I would certainly laugh about it later, but right now I was too focused on the silently growing danger emanating from the woods. I was too focused on the sheer determination to fight with every ounce of strength and ferocity I could.

I grew up on the streets. My life had thus far been one fight after another. And I had survived this far by a steel-hard core of determination, an internal vow I had etched into my very soul many years ago, that I would never give up, I would go down fighting, taking as many of my enemies with my as I could. I lived by that vow.

Then the woods exploded in motion, the entire line of trees a blur of rushing shapes. They were small creatures, not even reaching my waist, and they carried no weapons besides their fangs and claws. In that initial rush, as they flew out of the woods at us, I caught a glimpse of them and saw no two of them alike, besides their dull gray skin and burning yellow eyes.

Then one of them spotted me on top of the wagon and it launched itself up at me, it's speed making it little more than a gray shadow rising up at my face. My instincts knew instantly that I hadn't time to get my blades up between us, so I reacted with what felt like my only recourse.

I snapped my head forward, tucking my chin down, and then staggered back as I felt it's face smash into my forehead. It was the hardest I had ever head-butted anything, and it made squiggly stars frazzle my vision. 

An instant later I realized I was on my knees, and pulled myself to my feet, rubbing my forehead and baring my teeth in anger and pain. I saw the small gray thing crawling back to its feet, it's nose pouring a dull green fluid that I hoped was either it's blood or it's brains.

We stood across from each other on either ends of the wagon roof, gathering our wits and promising the other a very ugly death with our eyes. I blinked, seeing it had four arms, each with a strange, three-fingered hand. Those fingers were long and knotty, adorned with ten-inch long claws that were a far darker shade of gray than its skin. It saw me examining its claws and bared its long, needle fangs at me, and then rolled all twelve of its fingers in smooth, intertwining, swishing arcs, its eyes gleaming behind the lethal, nimble show.

I could tell it was taunting me. I let one leg quiver ever so slightly and I forced my breathing into a shallow, harsh pattern, and I widened my eyes. It's feral grin grew wider, and it stalked towards me, its entire body language casting out its confidence and bloodlust.