The Fall of the Empire by Zoe Saadia

Author:Zoe Saadia [Saadia, Zoe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-03-16T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

Stifling a groan, the warrior leaned forward, as though about to jump into the shallow spring. He cupped some water with his palm, then drank thirstily, although most of the water seeped through his bloodied fingers.

“What are you waiting for, trader?” he grunted, without turning back.

Trying not to limp, Etl made his way along the damp, muddy trail. He was dead thirsty, but his tiredness prevailed. All he wanted was to curl in a quiet place and die in peace. This walk along the slippery mud would take the last of his strength, he knew. Still, he walked on, desperate to impress the warrior and his peers.

He could hear the hesitant footsteps of the other refugees behind his back. They were so painfully few now, half of the people they had met this morning. Most of the refugees had scattered, or died from their wounds, or just lay down, tired and left behind.

Until meeting the warriors, they had wandered the hills with no purpose, lost. He had tried to enter Azcapotzalco at first, but the ridiculous attempt to do so earned him only scorched clothes and hair, and a swollen shoulder where the club of a warrior had managed to reach him, despite his attempts to fight back, and then to run away. So coughing and near panic, he had made his way back into the hills, finally finding some of the traders and the refugees he had left behind.

Oh, but it was a genuine nightmare. As they wandered the hills, the helplessness of their situation kept dawning on him. This, and the realization that they still looked up to him, expecting to be led. Led where? And how?

Then, toward high noon, when the amount of refugees grew and the forested trails became literally packed with moaning people, the warriors began pouring in, the enemy mostly, but sprinkled with a fair amount of exhausted Tepanecs, still armed, with their cloaks scorched and in tatters. Fights erupted everywhere, and screams of the wounded filled the hot afternoon air. Many refugees were cut down, and at this point, Etl didn’t care anymore.

Clutching the club he'd refused to drop earlier with both hands, he turned around and faced the warrior who chased him so suddenly the man hesitated, allowing the heavy weapon to crush against the side of his head. Hardly able to keep his own balance, Etl tried not to waver as his arms absorbed the recoil, feeling the blow up to his shoulders.

The man collapsed at once, like a cut down tree, and for a heartbeat his peers stared, astounded. Then someone cried out angrily and charged, and Etl never knew how he got out of a club’s range. He just felt his body tilting like in a dance, leaning backwards, feeling the swish of a club next to his face. This blow should have crushed his head like a nutshell, but he felt no fear, only the elation, the pride of being able to avoid it so neatly.

Lightheaded, he ducked another touch of the razor sharp spike, then tried to hit the enemy in his turn.

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