What does one think of when one's imminent death is marching from the horizon? At this point I really wasn't thinking of anything at all. I was just too tired. I was still thirsty and wanted nothing more than a glass of cold water. But since that wasn't available, I instead readied myself for the final end. I gave a prayer to Allah, hoping he would recognize my bravery. Other than that, I mostly watched as the Mutan drew ever closer. There were at least three dozen of the foul creatures. I would have no chance against such numbers.
The Mutans normally aggressive behavior seemed oddly muted since, as they drew closer, their pace slowed. Perhaps it was their suspicious nature, or perhaps it was the strange sight of a single man sitting in the sand with no mind to flee or express terror. Maybe they suspected a trap, for their marching line bent in the middle, while the flanks swept to my left and right. The soon had me encircled with no means to escape. The circle of silent Mutans slowly drew closer together like a noose.
I stood up. Their forward motion stopped. Then one of them laughed, causing the others to join in. Whatever evil thoughts passed those twisted minds, I could only imagine, but there was no pity or chance of appeal here. With a loud rasp, the Mutans all drew their swords at the same time, dropping their bows to the sand. Then they started towards me again, a tight leer of cruelty frozen on the terrible faces.
I remained motionless, barely keeping my own fear in check. I had experienced too much suffering and too much pain to be truly scared anymore. If I was going to die, it was going to be without a whimper. Without a single word, I drew out my blade as I suddenly charged towards the first Mutan who was straight across from me. My movement threw him off. He did not have time to respond as the sword point drove deeply into his heart. With a wrench, I pulled the sword free and shoved past the dying Mutan. I was free of the circle but still not out of danger. It was only a temporary respite until I would eventually be surrounded once again. I was merely putting of the inevitable, buying time for Suvan to escape.
Without any fear, the nearest Mutan on the right rushed at me. A few parries of the swords, and he went down with a slash to the neck. But there were soon two more to take his place. My longer reach helped, but I had a hard time keeping their slashes and jabs at bay. After I downed one with a blow to the neck, the other slipped under my guard and slashed at my leg. I began bleeding heavily on my thigh. The sight of my wound put the other Mutans into a bloody fury. Three more joined in the battle. This time I had no place to turn and escape.
As I took a step back, I kept my blade swinging in a defensive pattern. The whirl of the sword sang in the heat of the air, crashing with metallic clangs that were loud enough to make me blink. Another Mutan got in close, and his cheek ended up getting sliced open. But he still managed to lunge forward and pierced my free arm. The pain was white hot. The blood bled freely from this wound, making me dizzy with a cold sickness.
I began to lose track of time. The sun beat on my back with relentless ferocity. My throat was parched, feeling as dry as the desert floor. My aching sword arm could barely keep up with the persistent attacks. There was no chance to rest. There was no chance to live. To the Mutans, I was only a new sport to be enjoyed; like a trapped rat with sharp teeth. My sword was now black with their blood, the once sharp blade nicked by a hundred blows. I don't know how many of them fell to my sword, but their attack never faltered. My legs soon buckled from exhaustion. I fell to my knees. My remaining enemies gave a horrific cheer.
I was too weak to lift my sword arm. I was too weak to do anything but watch my own death. One of the Mutans, a particularly loathsome specimen with twisted lips and black eyes, cautiously approached me with his sword at the ready. I could do nothing as he jabbed me hard in the chest. The steel bit into my flesh with a burst of white-hot pain. The creature laughed as I screamed with a cracked voice. I felt my blood trickle down my chest, spreading like a blossom of shock. The Mutan lifted his sword high in the air, ready to deliver the killing blow. I closed my eyes and fell onto my chest, the sand clogging my nose and mouth.
My heart pounded in my chest, sounding like a drumbeat in my ears. I heard the Mutans give a blood-curdling howl, but still the final blow never came. I opened my dirt-encrusted eyes and slowly turned my aching head. The Mutans were running. It dawned on that there were horses! Men on horses were charging into the Mutans who were rushing to pick up their discarded bows. The speed of the horses won out. There was a flash of spear-points, and a dozen Mutans died on the spot. I could only watch as the remnants of the Mutans broke to flee, only to be run down one by one. The men on the horse were dressed in sand-colored robes with hoods that covered the head but left the face open. I was reminded of the mysterious follower dressed in black. Nonetheless, these men did their job with a grim determination and only letup when the final Mutan had been killed.
When the slaughter had finally stopped, my rescuers lined up and raised their spears. There were at least twenty of them. They gave an ear-piercing war cry as another rider rode up. He was a man with his hood pushed back to his shoulders. His hair was iron-gray, and the face was lined from years of living in the sun. Riding on the same saddle behind him, with her arms wrapped around his waist, was Suvan.
She released her grip, jumped down and was soon at my side. I was too weak to move, so I just smiled weakly at her.
“Praise to the Prophet, you are still alive!” she exclaimed. Her hand then began to run over my body, examining my wounds in earnest.
“Who are these men?” I heard myself asking. My voice sounded faint and faraway.
“They are the Rebels,” she replied as she began to bound my wounds.
The sun above was cut off by the shadow of a man. It was the rider that had borne Suvan with him. He stared at me, his blue eyes as cold as ice. “I am Vinc,” he said. “It is a miracle that you killed so many Mutans single-handed. This day will be long remembered in song for I have never seen a man slay eight of these creatures by himself.”
I tried to nod, but the motion was too much for me. Their faces faded away. I slipped into darkness.
Chapter 24