11 The Lone Shadowdark (1/2)
Wroe proved himself a skilled and brave sword fighter, as Barza greatly hoped. But as the first guard cried out, another came. And soon after, came another.
Barza looked at Dragan worriedly, ”Mister Dragan… Should we…?”
The massive brute, comically crouching behind a bush, pursed his lips and shook his head with incredulity, ”Nah! He'll be fine!”
”But Mister Dragan--”
”Look, man,” Dragan pointed all the fingers of his hand at Barza repeatedly, to emphasize, ”We gotta stick. to. the plan.”
Barza, again, stealthily peeked beyond the protective bush.
Tarquin Wroe stood tall, an eerily imposing image. With his shining metal breastplate and pauldrons, along with his unfailing smile and flowing, silky smooth hair, he was the perfect portrait of a legendary hero.
But as Wroe fought the guards, Barza could see the man's movements begin to slow and his breaths become more labored. Wroe had even sustained a bruise on his left cheek and the leathers on his arms and legs had taken a couple of superficial cuts.
Through the opened door of the manor, Barza heard the clatter of leather and plate-- yet another squad would be arriving to further outnumber Wroe. Barza regripped his two swords as Dragan rolled his eyes.
”You aren't gonna stick to the plan, dude?”
”Mister Wroe needs help. And if you won't do it, I will.”
”Well, alright, man. Just don't be surprised when Boss rips you a new one.”
Barza furrowed his brow and looked away in deep thought, 'I thought Tarquin said that Boss-- I mean Sir Tycon didn't like the hide-in-the-bush plan.'
He shook the useless thoughts away, ”Doesn't matter. I'm going.”
Barza leapt to the side, allowing his shoulder to smoothly transition him into a combat roll. Righting himself, he sent a quick upward slash to deflect a guardsman's warspear before she could strike at Tarquin's blind spot. With a turn, he used the momentum to disarm another guard, the resounding clang sending the longsword flying across the yard, several fulms away.
He stood beside Wroe, whose face had taken on a jovial and somehow more-amused smirk. Faced with Wroe's soul-piercing blue eyes, however, Barza couldn't help but look away.
”I h-hope you don't mind me joining you, Mister Wroe.”
Wroe held his sword, pointed strictly upwards, to his smiling face, a knight's militaristic dueling pose.
”Not at all, Mister Barza. I was beginning to fear I'd be the only champion tonight.”
Barza looked to Wroe in awe. His spirit was roused and the fear that had gripped his heart was replaced by pride.
But seeing his dashing, androgynous figure… Figurative swirling fish swam circles in his stomach.
'...W-wait, am I falling in love? No way! I'm only into short-haired girl-next-door type girls! Ones named Sorina!'
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”Here they come again, Mister Barza!” Wroe warned.
The pair fought valiantly for a few exchanges, the energized Barza swinging his blades with zealous ferocity.
'This is it. I'm working for Sir Tycon now. And I have to protect my new life with my own two hands!'
”Back off!” Barza roared, swinging his blades in a cross-cutting arc. A few guards jumped back to dodge, but Barza's target took two deep gashes on his leather-armored chest.
”You cut me, Barza, you BASTARD!” the wounded guard yelled.
Barza hesitated and retreated a step back, ”I uh… Sorry, John.”
”Watch out!” Wroe yelled.
Barza lifted his blades reflexively in a cross-pattern block, receiving a heavy blow from a halberd. His body was drenched in sweat from fighting, and he felt his stiff muscles struggle and strain to push the weapon away. A swift kick to the gut from the halberdier ended Barza's struggle, as he rolled backwards and to his feet.
The mustached and bearded Guard Captain Varen spun his halberd in a smooth flourish.