The Lufian Family 12

Rolant keeps pushing Eadwig back, as far from Win as he can manage. Each step further is another layer of protection for Win. Another moment for Rolant to shield him. Another opportunity to keep Eadwig away. Rolant knows that his body is weak, and as such this is all he can do to turn the tides of battle. This is now all the influence he can exert. This is all he can do for Win.

Rolant swings his arm out and throws Eadwig off of him. Eadwig catches himself and begins to turn his mace in his hand. Eadwig swings at Rolant. Rolant pushes his shield into the mace. Though he’s able to make it just a glancing blow the force of it shudders in Rolant’s arm. At the sensation Rolant grimaces, not from any sort of pain, but from the frustration he feels.

This sort of shuddering is something he hasn’t felt in a long time. The last time he can remember was on his first battlefield. To protect his comrades he had blocked dozens of blows, and he felt his arm was just about ready to fall off at the end of it. Since then he has been able to defend without feeling a thing, and defeat his enemies before defending from anything. Yet now he again fails to do so. In his physical prime this fight would already be over. Even just days prior Eadwig wouldn’t have gotten the chance to fight back. And beyond even his body, he fights now with neither his own sword nor his own shield. Like a bandit he uses arms that are not his. Truly, he is nothing but a husk of the warrior he once was, as Win had already told him. Yet he knows his heart still beats.

Rolant slashes with a glowering expression. Eadwig raises his mace, knocking away Rolant’s blade with the shaft. Rolant scoffs at his own weakness. He knows that he would have once cleaved the mace apart, and yet now he is too weak. His muscles are too weak now to fight. His body should live out a peaceful retirement now. Yet fight on he must.

Eadwig slams his mace into Rolant’s side. Rolant knows his ribs are broken now. His body is weak and frail, yet still he must compel it to move even another step forward. He must force his body to stand, even if only to delay Eadwig several more seconds. The struggle he faces is clear. Eadwig laughs as he begins to mock Rolant.

“Old man, is this really the best you can do?! You came charging in, but you’re this weak! You’re a bore, old man. Leave. Killing you won’t be the least bit fun.” Rolant sways slightly as he answers, pain clear in his voice, long pauses between words for him to catch his breath.

“Tell me… brat… from whence did you come by that mace…? It is far too fine for a bandit…”

“What? Are you expecting some kind of sappy backstory for me? I killed a man. Nothing more.”

“I see… I should have expected nothing less… Come at me… brat.” Though his body is weak, Rolant’s eyes still glimmer.

Eadwig seems annoyed as he steps closer. He swings his mace. Rolant blocks it, bearing the pain as the force of the blow enters his body. The shield is loudly crushed and becomes unusable from now on. Rolant drops the shield and thrusts his sword forward. It stabs through Eadwig’s muscular arm, though he does not seem to mind the dripping blood.

Without even a pause to recover, Eadwig slams his mace right into Rolant’s head. Rolant crumples to the ground, but even then he grips his sword. A warrior is one who wages war. Rolant will not let himself stop fighting. His heart still beats loudly in his chest. Even if it leaves his mind and body far behind, Rolant is a warrior. He stands, his body a weak mess but his grip still strong.

“Tell me… brat… why fight… why lose yourself in violence…” Eadwig scoffs.

“Money, you damnable old man! Lay down and die!”

“That’s why… you will never defeat me… No amount of gold… is worth more than a human life… You will surrender… I was once like you… Lost… Hateful… Only concerned with myself… I was… Alone… Alone in the world… Nothing to look towards… Nothing to live for… Yet living on regardless… A lethargic existence… I was alone… But I no longer am… And I hope… I no longer will be… He is my raison d’etre…”

Eadwig charges. Before he can swing, Rolant cuts through his stomach. Rolant tears open a large gash in Eadwig’s stomach. Eadwig falls to his knees and holds his wound. The gushing blood seems to frighten him, unlike the small prick in his arm. Rolant assumes it to be the first injury on this scale he has suffered. In just a few days this is the second victory he has earned in such a way. But he has already realized that Eadwig won’t get up and return to fight again. No spirit animates him as it does Win. He will stop his violence here. His mind hazy Rolant begins to murmur.

“A shame… I’m sure… You could have been… A wonderful knight…”

Eadwig does not hear a word. Rolant doesn’t care. He turns away from Eadwig and leaves him bleeding on the ground. He begins to walk on, towards the place where Win still fights. Rolant cannot see him clearly. He takes even a single step further. A single step closer to the place he ought to be. He wills himself to stand on the battlefield for even a second longer. To stand beside his lord for even a second longer. Alas, Rolant Guiscard, knight errant no longer, falls to the ground, his hand still tightly gripping the sword even with his mission complete.