A Warrior From the Kingdom of Kiro

Ahmed, the man, was among a sword seeker. A warrior from the Kingdom of Kiro.

"I don't know," Ahmed said and studied the circle. They were almost the same age, but Bola was in the circle of the council, and Ahmed was not.

Ahmed's slim body has nothing to do with it. The man was fit, but had been disqualified because of Dan from the Kingdom of Kiro was already a member.

The taskmasters were still throwing arrows to the light. It seemed as If they were shooting air. The arrows seemed to be passing through the blue light and falling on the other side of the forest.

"There," Ahmed pointed.

Bola let his gaze follow the slender hand.

The man was pointing to the far end of the village square were some shadowy grass was bending in and out of the forest.

"Wait, is that—"

"Yes." Ahmed interrupted.

A small smile plastered Bola's face when he realized what was happening. Those were not grasses. It was the villagers making their way into the forest, and they were escaping from the distracted face of the taskmaster, and the husk bent figure of Uta, the village chief, was leading the party.

"Ah, at least someone read my mind," Bola whispered.

"You said something?" Ahmed asked,

"Never mind. We should hurry to them, or else we will be left behind." Bola said and was about to trace his steps back into the woods when Ahmed said.

"What about him?"

Bola needn't asked who he was talking about. Guilt crept into his hurrying body as he realized that he had forgotten all about Ginika, simply because he didn't fit into his prophecy. 'He is still human and a member of the Kingdom.'

"You go on ahead," He turned his attention to the sky. "I will stay and help this one,"

"You sure?"

Bola only nodded. He was too engrossed with guilt to answer the man. It was true he didn't know how to rescue people, but maybe that was because he was the one that always runs away.

He had always been a coward. Even when his fellow mage had fought the children of the night outside the city wall, he had abandoned them and had run to the safety of his bed, only to find out later that all his brothers-in-arms had died and he was the only one that had survived.

He swallowed as sweat walked down his brow. Fear would not hold water in him today. He was determined to be brave, if not for anyone, at least for the little boy who was risking his life to save the entire village.

***

Bola hands and knees carried the weight of his body to the western side of the circle, which was closer to the taskmasters and her imps.

He was grateful that his brown leather coat blended well with the night, but it would have been a good thing if the grasses were tall.

Save for the palm trees, which added more shadow to his tinny figure. He doubts, and if he would have set out on this mission in this first place.

His heart was racing, and the thumping sounds reverberating in his ears, were not helping matters.

'I can do this.' He whispered to himself for what seems to be the hundredth time.

The night was cold on his skin, but hot air was pouring out of his nostrils, and he could hear a voice in his head urging him to turn back and run away while he still had the chance.

It took all the discipline in him not to obey that voice.

He had run away once, and he regretted every bit of it. Even though his cowardice had spared his life in the process, he would not cower and leave this little boy behind.

'If I perish I perish, at least I would die with the conviction that I tried to help someone. My name would be remembered when people sit in the campfire to tell stories of brave mages who had fought with the taskmasters. Not on the list of those who fled in the sight of danger like some pierce of shit.' Bola kept on ranting inside his head as he gnashed his teeth as the pebbles pierced his leather pants and pricked his skin.

It reminded him of the thin needle which the village healers use for their treatment. They produced a pain that traveled to every part of his body and was sure to leave bruises.

But despite the odds, a little part of him was excited. Jinta, the master mage, always tell tales of how he had lost the softness of his palms to climbing up a mountain. It was an exaggeration Bola knew, but he was pleased to be passing through the pain.

***

Author note:

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