Ing’s blade was in hand now as well, his eyes watching the king’s every movement. Erste had not trained him extensively and he needed to be careful. Nevertheless, he had grown stronger and more trained in combat through the course of his journey. This was it. Everything rested on this one moment. If he died, he would fail his people and the people of all of Eclestia in the end. There was no room for errors. It would be a battle to the end; there was no way that Oxen would let him live.
“You are young and inexperienced to face someone of my age,” the king grumbled. “Let’s see how you handle that weapon of yours.”
“This weapon,” said Ing, “was given to me by the blacksmith, Horwin Yelts. I will not fail him.”
Presently, Oxen advanced, bringing his sword hurtling towards Ing. It was parried smoothly. Several more strokes cut through the air, Ing blocking them; all his focus was on defending himself. It was not an easy task, for the king was much stronger than him.
Before Erste guided me on the ways of the sword, and before I fought my way to the Lady of the Lake, there would have been no way I could have taken on such an opponent, thought Ing.
The two swords danced through the air and met time and again, the sound of metal on metal resonating through the palace. Ing’s arms were growing tired. He saw an opening in Mollish’s defense and sought to exploit it. Unfortunately, he was too slow, and his enemy’s blade was there to support him.
The two opponents circled the chamber, neither one daring to go too close. Ing sliced his sword vertically through the air, only to be responded to by the blade of his enemy. It did not appear that the king was going to tire before him.
In frenzy, Ing ran up to Oxen Mollish. The false king was going to pay for what he had done.
“You killed my mother and King Galfer!” shouted Ing. “Admit it!” Ing was right up in the king’s face, sword to sword, their eyes locked on each other. However, Ing was smart enough to still keep his focus on his sword and to not let his emotions destroy him.
“I had to kill them,” grunted Oxen. “My people betrayed me. My family's name was in ruins. I had nowhere else to go.” He grimaced as he tried to hold back the sword that was inches from his eyes that were slowly becoming fearful.
“Ahhh!” cried Ing as he kicked the king straight into his throne. Oxen impacted it with a loud thud; his crown flew violently off his head and towards Ing, who brought his sword crashing down, severing the crown in half.
Oxen quickly withdrew to the left hallway in a state of panic. He had clearly underestimated this boy. Ing ran after him and they battled down the long hallway where the king’s quarters were. Oxen turned around just as Ing swung at him. Their blades locked and slammed against the walls on both sides of the hall, piercing holes in their deep white, whilst knocking down the portraits of the former kings, from times long gone. In a moment where Oxen’s sword was lowered, Ing slashed his blade at the king’s exposed eyes, causing blood to drip from them, pattering onto the carpet beneath their feet. It was a foul and painful deed to do to a man, but it was his final chance to strike Oxen down.
“I can’t see!” shouted Oxen. “Salkar, help me!” Oxen dropped his sword and shielded himself with his hands and arms, preparing for attack. Ing stood there for what seemed like hours before he stabbed his sword deep into Oxen’s heart and held it there for a moment before pulling out. The king toppled to the ground, unable to speak. He was breathing very heavily. Slowly, his eyes closed and remained shut.
“Where could Salkar have gone to?” said Ing. As impactful as the death of the king had been—a bittersweet symphony of triumph and despair—Ing could not let the royal priest escape from his mind. If he did, all might be lost. Oxen was a symbol of tyranny, but Salkar was seemingly even more dangerous, at least for Eclestia as a whole.
Outside the walls of the castle, Salkar was rushing through the streets, trying to make his way to the gates out of Ganwin at the North entrance. “I must warn him,” said Salkar.
“Salkar Stadeus,” said Erste, coming in view of his enemy.
Salkar reached into his purple robe and pulled out a magical rod. “Get out of my way, you fallen knight,” he shouted angrily, as he blasted a fireball towards Erste. Erste leapt out of the way as the flaming orb scathed the left side of his clothing, scorching through it. Salkar shot out another fireball, but Erste sent it hurtling back with his oak staff.
Erste smirked, but his relief quickly turned to dismay as Salkar shot out a beam of ice, transforming the ball into a cloud of smoke. “I thought you were dead, Erste,” said the priest. He followed this
