Ballet of Violence

  7th Day of Harvest,

  766 Karloman’s Peace

  Ekkehard woke to screaming.

  He sat bolt upright, his breath catching in his throat.

  Dazed and disoriented, he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. His vision blurred, and all he could make out were shadowy figures darting through the darkness around him. The air was thick with the sounds of clashing metal, frantic shouting, and terrified screams.

  A sharp grip on his arm snapped his attention to the side.

  Auriana clung to him with desperate force, her nails digging into his skin. She shrieked into his ear as something from the blackness pulled at her, yanking her away.

  Ekkehard’s heart raced as he realised something had her by the ankle. Panicked, he scrambled after her, his mind a flurry of chaos.

  He seized her arm with one hand and pulled her toward him, his other hand frantically reaching back, searching for the sword he kept beneath the bag that served as his pillow.

  The thing in the dark wrestled with him, its strength unrelenting. Auriana’s desperate pleas tore at his soul, and Ekkehard gripped her wrist as tightly as he dared. He dug his heels into the soil, straining every muscle to pull her back.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Whatever had her was stronger than him.

  The force tugged again, nearly dislocating his shoulder. Each pull dragged her farther from their sleeping place and him along with her, pulling him farther from his weapon. A final, brutal lurch left his pillow sack—and the sword beneath it—entirely out of reach.

  Ekkehard looked into Auriana’s silhouette. Her tear-filled eyes reflected desperation, and he hated himself for the decision he was about to make.

  He wouldn’t lose her. But if he stayed where he was, they would both be taken.

  He closed his eyes, silently apologising to her in his mind.

  Then, he released his grip.

  Auriana’s desperation twisted into raw terror as she realised what he was doing.

  “No! No!” she screamed, her voice hoarse and shrill.

  Ekkehard pulled his arm free of her grip, and the thing wrenched her into the darkness. Her screams faded as she disappeared into the abyss.

  He had to be fast.

  Ekkehard turned and scrambled on all fours toward the pillow sack. Knocking it over, he grabbed the blade hidden beneath and unsheathed it in one swift motion.

  Climbing to his feet, he took off after her, racing toward the sound of her terrified pleas.

  In the chaos of the night, Ekkehard lost her.

  The cacophony around him swallowed her screams, making it impossible to tell where they came from.

  Screams rang out from all directions—a woman’s voice ahead, another to his left, and a third to his right. He thought he heard Audomar shouting orders to their brothers. Unfamiliar voices roared with bloody intent, surrounding him on all sides. The clanging of steel on steel echoed through the dark.

  Shadowy spectres seemed to dance in the darkness, taunting him. His throat tightened, and panic surged in his chest as the realisation struck: he had lost his wife.

  He should never have let her go.

  He was a fool.

  Then, clear as day, “Ekkehard!” Auriana’s voice screeched, cutting through the night and guiding him.

  Ekkehard rushed toward the sound, his heart pounding as he came upon two silhouettes. The creature was no longer dragging her—it had hoisted her into its burly arms as she kicked and screamed in vain.

  Without hesitation, Ekkehard charged, slamming his shoulder into the creature, sending it tumbling and throwing Auriana loose. Both he and the thing hit the ground, each scrambling to be the first to their feet.

  “Fucker!” the creature spat, stumbling upright.

  It was a man.

  Large, broad, and muscular—but just a man. His wild hair and unkempt beard gave him a feral, savage appearance.

  The wild man reached for something at his hip.

  Ekkehard didn’t wait to find out what it was.

  Before he was fully upright, he swung his blade in a wide, arcing slash, aiming for the man’s neck. The sword struck true, and dark blood sprayed from the wound as the man dropped to the ground, clutching his throat. He choked and spluttered, writhing in the dirt as life drained from his body.

  Auriana crawled to Ekkehard, sobbing uncontrollably as she clutched at the linen of his trousers.

  Ekkehard dropped to his knees, pulling Auriana close with one arm while keeping his sword outstretched, its tip trained on the dying barbarian. Auriana clung to him, her body convulsing with each traumatised breath.

  The sounds of battle raged around them: hysterical shouting, the clash of weapons, the cries of the wounded as a ballet of violence played out around them. Ekkehard could tell his brothers were struggling to fend off the attackers.

  They needed his help.

  But what about Auriana? She couldn’t protect herself.

  If he stayed by her side, others would die. Perhaps they all would.

  He hesitated before standing, pulling Auriana to her feet as resolve hardened within him. He couldn’t lose anyone else. He refused to.

  “Come quickly. Find somewhere to hide,” he said, his voice firm with urgency.

  She clung to his arm, following without question.

  They darted to a small cluster of trees a few dozen metres from the camp. Taking cover behind a tree, Ekkehard ushered her to the ground.

  “Stay here,” he whispered, his voice firm but gentle, before turning and rushing back into the fray.

  As Ekkehard turned to leave, something tugged him back.

  Auriana grabbed his arm, pulling him back toward the shelter.

  “No,” Ekkehard whispered, turning back to her with as much softness as he could muster. He gently pushed her away, peeling her fingers from his arm. “You have to stay here, but I have to help the others.”

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  “Ekkehard,” Auriana whispered, her voice trembling with fear as she grabbed him again. “Please…”

  “No!” he hissed through gritted teeth, yanking himself free of her grip. He quickly took a few steps back before she could grab him again.

  “Just stay here,” he whispered, his eyes darting around to ensure they hadn’t been seen. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” Auriana’s soft, trembling voice followed him as he turned and ran toward the sounds of battle.

  Ekkehard prayed to Spring that Auriana would stay hidden and to Lady Summer for the courage he would need in the fight ahead.

  Ahead, he saw two shadows locked in combat. He raced toward them, his heart pounding.

  Suddenly, he stumbled over something, crashing into the dirt. Panicking, he scrambled to his feet, swinging his sword wildly, expecting an attacker.

  No one was there.

  Looking down, he saw the faint outline of a motionless body. In the consuming darkness, he couldn’t tell if it was friend or foe. Ekkehard decided it was better not to know. He turned and charged toward the duelling shadows once more.

  When he was close enough to intercede, he paused, looking between the two figures. Both were tall, armed with swords, and locked in a vicious exchange of blows. Neither showed any sign of familiarity. Ekkehard didn’t know which to attack.

  “Ekkehard!” a voice hissed. “Help me!”

  It was Florentin.

  Wasting no more time, Ekkehard thrust his sword into the other shadow, cutting deep into their chest.

  Ekkehard gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands, driving it deep into the man’s side. The man’s ribcage cracked under the force, the blade piercing his heart and lungs. The shadow slumped to the ground, nearly taking Ekkehard’s sword with it. He yanked the blade free at the last moment, stepping away from the lifeless foe.

  Florentin grabbed Ekkehard by the shoulder, pulling him close and placing his forehead against Ekkehard’s. In that proximity, Ekkehard finally recognised his brother’s features.

  “Bandits. Hillmen,” Florentin spat. “They must have been spying on us, waiting until we fell asleep. Bastards!”

  “How many?” Ekkehard asked. From the shouting and screaming around him, it sounded like there could be a hundred attackers.

  “No idea. A dozen, maybe more. It’s too hard to tell—it’s pitch black out here,” Florentin said, his voice taut. Ekkehard gazed into the void of the lightless sky, a palpable dread pressing down on him like a weight. When he lowered his gaze, Florentin was already gone, vanishing into the chaos to face more of the bandits.

  As Ekkehard moved to follow, a screaming shadow lunged at him from the left, cutting him off. An axe head burst from the darkness, swinging toward Ekkehard with deadly force.

  Ekkehard’s war-honed instincts took over.

  He parried the blow, backstepping to create distance from his attacker.

  The shadow charged, swinging recklessly two more times. The force of each strike sent jolts through Ekkehard’s arm as his blade absorbed the blows. Ekkehard deflected the strikes and retreated further, biding his time. His assailant was clearly untrained, their wild attacks showing no regard for safety or strategy. Ekkehard could exploit that recklessness, but he needed to tread carefully lest his foe's recklessness kill them both.

  When another swing came, Ekkehard sidestepped and slashed, striking his opponent's side, then quickly backstepped, avoiding any death throes.

  The foe didn’t fall. The man rushed him again, swinging his axe with deadly intent.

  Ekkehard parried another blow and another, backstepping each time. After the eighth strike, the wound Ekkehard had dealt finally took its toll. The man staggered, the wound draining his strength, and fell to his knees.

  He wouldn’t rise again, and Ekkehard knew that. He put several paces between him and the foe before turning back to the rest of the battle.

  He searched for Florentin, but the chaos of the duel had disoriented him. His eyes, finally adjusting to the darkness, picked out several groups locked in battle. To his right, three warriors fought desperately. Ahead of him, five more figures clashed violently. To his left, three men surrounded a lone spearman.

  “Audomar!” The thought struck him like lightning.

  He rushed toward his elder brother’s would-be killers.

  As he charged into the darkness, a woman’s scream pierced the cacophony, freezing him in his tracks.

  Ekkehard’s heart clenched as he scanned the darkness for the source. He couldn’t find it. A cold chill enveloped him, and he hissed through clenched teeth, “Watch over her.” With a silent prayer, he surged toward his brother’s attackers.

  They did not see him coming.

  Ekkehard swung his sword in a two-handed grip as he reached the first of the men. The blade buried itself in the man’s back, cutting several inches through his collarbone and into his torso.

  The man wailed in pain as he dropped to his knees and his two companions turned in shock.

  Audomar seized upon the distraction and thrust his spear into the belly of a second bandit. Seeing both his allies fall in quick succession, the third man, a slight man with a malnourished frame, turned and ran.

  Ekkehard and Audomar did not pursue.

  Ekkehard nodded to the silhouette of his brother. Audomar said no words of thanks. Ekkehard had not expected any.

  “Go help Gerwald!” Audomar barked, pointing toward a pair of duelling shadows.

  Without waiting for a response, Audomar rushed past Ekkehard toward another group of fighters.

  Ekkehard did as he was ordered.

  “Albatross!” Ekkehard shouted, scanning the fight for his brother.

  “Here!” Gerwald’s voice rang out from the shadow on Ekkehard’s left.

  Ekkehard took up position on the other's flank and together the two Reubke brothers surrounded their foe. Outnumbered, the raider hesitated, backing off a few steps but refusing to turn his back on the brothers.

  Ekkehard lunged first, his blade slicing toward the raider, but the bandit parried with swift precision. Gerwald followed with two strikes, both deflected, before Ekkehard lunged with the tip of his blade, driving the raider back. With a powerful, low-arching swing, Gerwald’s blade tore through the raider’s thigh, leaving a deep gash. The man dropped to the ground, screaming in agony as arterial spray showered the brothers.

  Gerwald planted a heavy boot on the raider’s shoulder, pinning him to the ground, before driving his sword into the man’s heart. The raider had tried to beg, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.

  Silence followed.

  Gerwald withdrew his blade from the body and turned, panting, to look at his brother. “What was that about?” he panted, his tone a mix of frustration and disbelief. “I had him!”

  Ekkehard let out a small, unexpected chuckle—surprising even himself in the grim circumstances.

  As the tension eased, Ekkehard was reminded of how young Gerwald still was. The weight of their journey so far was etched into every line of his brother’s face. Gerwald cried most nights and had grown quieter, so unlike the brash boy who used to boast during hunting trips. Ekkehard feared that boy was gone.

  He hoped he was wrong.

  Gerwald’s bleak expression broke Ekkehard’s thoughts. His brother’s eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in the aftermath. The fighting had died down; their attackers had either fallen or fled, but bodies littered the darkened field.

  On the edges of the dark horizon, Ekkehard spotted shadows retreating, slipping into the safety of the distant hill ranges. Nearer, a cluster of shadows approached them, and Gerwald instinctively raised his sword, ready to fight.

  Ekkehard reached out calmly, grasping Gerwald’s wrist and lowering his weapon.

  As the shadows drew closer, Ekkehard recognised Florentin’s stature. Beside him was one of the farmhands still travelling with them. The two joined Ekkehard and Gerwald, and Ekkehard nodded a greeting. “Are you all right, brother?” Ekkehard asked.

  “Well,” Florentin answered.

  Before they could speak further, another shadow marched toward them, a spear resting on one shoulder. “Is it just the five of us?” Audomar demanded.

  “It would appear so,” Florentin replied, hanging his head in remorse.

  “Did we win, at least?” Gerwald asked, his voice small and uncertain.

  Even in the darkness, Ekkehard saw frustration flash across Audomar’s face. He braced himself, fearing the harsh words coming for Gerwald.

  “I don’t think there’s any winning in this, little brother,” Florentin said quietly, mercifully steering Gerwald away from Audomar. To Ekkehard’s relief, Audomar let Florentin’s intervention stand, holding back whatever rage had been brewing.

  Then, Ekkehard’s heart seized.

  He spun on the spot, scanning desperately for the small copse of trees where he’d left his wife. The memory of a woman’s scream chilled him to his core. Spotting the silhouettes of trees a short distance away, he abandoned his brothers and ran.

  “Auriana!” he shouted, his voice cracking as he neared. “Where are you?”

  “Please, gods, let her be safe,” he prayed silently, before shouting again, “Auriana!”

  Rounding the trees, Ekkehard spotted a motionless figure curled into a ball at the base of a tree. His chest constricted, collapsing in on itself as his heart pounded against his ribs as if it might burst free. “No, no, no,” he muttered, his steps faltering as he slowly reached a trembling hand toward her shoulder.

  “Auriana?” he spoke, his voice now shaking.

  As soon as his fingers brushed her shoulder, a shrieking howl erupted from her. Auriana flailed wildly, her arms striking him in a frenzy of panic and fear. Ekkehard exhaled deeply, the sensation of relief so powerful it dulled the sting of her blows. “You’re alive,” he murmured, his voice thick with relief, as he reached to pull her into his arms.

  Auriana’s fists balled tightly, and she struck Ekkehard hard across the face.

  He tumbled backwards.

  Scrambling, she pressed her back against the tree. Curling into herself, she buried her head in her knees and locked her arms tightly around them. Her entire body trembled as soft, muffled sobs escaped her.

  Ekkehard’s overwhelming relief quickly gave way to deep concern as he watched her trembling form. His mouth wavered, and his eyes moistened.

  He had failed her.

  The woman he loved was now consumed by terror because of him. His whole family suffered because of him.

  If only he had joined the priesthood, perhaps Hanib’s lies would never have worked.

  This was all his fault.

  Hanging his head in shame, Ekkehard whispered, “Auriana, I’m so sorry.”

  She didn’t respond. She simply sat shaking, refusing to look at him.

  On hands and knees, Ekkehard crawled toward her. He reached out cautiously, his hand trembling as it gently gripped her arm, trying to coax her free. She tensed, pulling back against his touch, refusing to be moved. Ekkehard grabbed her arm with both hands and gently but firmly pulled her loose. She fell forward into him, and something within her broke.

  Auriana scrambled into Ekkehard’s arms, wrapping herself around him and curling into his chest. Her tears soaked into his neck as he held her tightly, his arms encircling her with quiet desperation. “I’m sorry, my love. I’m so sorry,” he repeated over and over, rocking her gently and stroking her hair, doing all he could to soothe her.