Of Shadows Past

The shadow rose higher on the eastern slope. The walls of the mountain road reverberated with the shouts of an attack. The desert raiders poured out of the rocks from either slope unto the caravan below. The defenders quickly formed a circle around the caravan to meet the onslaught. One of them blew a horn.

The attackers were Zahili tribesmen in their light colored desert garb. Some were armored from spoils of prior attacks. They far outnumbered the defenders but discovered disciplined order among them. The latter were armored with hauberks beneath their mantles and wielded scimitars--regulars, not mercenaries.

From halfway up the shadowy slope a towering figure observed what went on below. He was totally dressed in one color. His turbaned helmet, the patch over his left eye, his leather harness and tunic beneath, his pantaloons and soft ankle-high sandals were all black. His square-jawed face and exposed corded arms were burned nearly black by desert suns. A two-handed broadsword hung sheathed in black leather behind his back.

The distant blast of a horn reached his ears. A cavalry unit following the caravan was further up the gorge. He let escape one of those rare half-smiles. An ambush awaited them. He reached behind his back with his left hand and drew the broadsword. He leaped over the rocks and joined the fray below.

A defender dispatched his assailant and prepared for the next. His eyes met the glare of a single black eye and a straight sword in the hand of the tallest man he had ever seen. It was one thing to hear about the one called The Raven. It was another to see him in the flesh. The giant quickly dispatched the defender and moved to another.

Mounted lancers wearing yellow tabards above their hauberks appeared and attacked the desert raiders, their lances wreaking havoc. The giant eyed the development with trepidation. The ambush failed rather quickly, he thought. Another thought intruded. The ambush never happened! That traitorous--

Knowing his men were hopelessly outclassed and outnumbered, their leader gave the command to retreat. Some of the raiders made a mad dash up the slope. The majority found themselves cut off by the lancers. A few of the latter were unseated and replaced by the raiders who tried to escape by galloping down the gorge. Lances ended their endeavors, although a handful did manage to escape immediate death, the lancers in hot pursuit.

The giant sliced through a lance shaft and unseated the lancer. He mounted the horse and immediately avoided another lance thrust. A foot soldier swung his yataghan at him. He met the swing with his sword, managing to make the soldier lose his balance. A quick swing and his sword bit into the soldier’s neck. The latter cried out as he fell. He kicked his horse forward. He avoided a couple of lance thrusts, knocked down a soldier on foot and killed another one to clear a path ahead. But his ride was short as two soldiers on foot grabbed a fallen lance and managed to shove it into the horse’s forelegs. The giant sailed over the horse’s head as it went down. He cracked his head open on a stone.

"Take him alive!"

Shaking his head he attempted to get to his feet. The pommel of a blade to his lower back brought him back down. He received kicks to either side. To the soldiers, bitter memories associated with the man brought out their frustration and rage. They worked him over mercilessly. "Alive" did not mean delicate treatment. Soon he was beaten into unconsciousness.

The cell door opened noisily to allow the prison keeper and a visitor. Against the far wall sat a prisoner, a mane of raven hair showering across his face. He was naked from the waist up, wearing just black pantaloons and sandals. He wore manacles attached to chains that hung from a pair of massive rings on the wall. He squinted his single black eye against the glare of the keeper’s torch.