[Author’s note: Here’s the first part in case you missed it. I didn’t quite get the story done for today like I had planned. Oh, well. At least I got something up. The last part of this story will go live next fridat (for reals this time]
The Apocalypse Of Blythe, part 3
The younger guard was waiting outside the door. “Hold up there.”
Blythe narrowed her eyes. “What?”
“Where are you going?”
“Have you ever considered perhaps doing your job?”
“It’s not that simple. I.. I have a family.”
“Well, I don’t. Good night.”
Blythe threw her shoulder for maximum effect and stormed off.
Lame excuses echoed in the night somewhere behind her.
He’s weak. Just like the rest of them.
Hungry shadows reached out from every side. Darkened buildings glared at her every move.
Blythe just sneered at it all. She was too angry to be afraid.
He must have been moving fast.
She glanced down every side street and alley that she passed.
He must take everyone to that same alley across the street from his house.
A frightened scream pierced the night’s silence.
Blythe broke into a run. That’s got to be her!
The houses and shops around her stayed locked up. No one lit a lamp, came out side, or even opened a window to see what the screaming was about. No one cared anymore.
No one except me.
At last Blythe rounded the corner to the alley and saw them.
A lamp sat next to one of the buildings. Its tiny flickering was the only light, but it was enough to see what was happening.
Garron was a shirtless, sweaty mass. It was clear he had a fair amount of muscle under a layer of fat. In his hand was a torn piece of fabric.
Below him lay Mala in a heap on the cobblestone. She was sobbing. Her shirt was torn, and she tugged at its remains in an effort to keep herself covered.
“Get away from her!”
Garron spun around, and his eyes opened wide. “You?”
Blythe’s hatred grew with every step. No one has ever made the bastard pay. Well, tonight’s the night.
Garron dropped the cloth and dove for a pile wedged in the corner.
Blythe was almost on top of him. She raised the sword across her body, then brought it crashing down.
Garron yanked his sword free from the pile and brought it up.
The swords met with a clang.
The force of the impact almost tore the sword from Blythe’s grasp. She stumbled backwards off balance.
Garron straightened and held up his sword. “This is even better than I expected. A fight and two serving wenches.”
Blythe was too angry to speak. She rushed in and swung wildly for his head.
A flick of the wrist and Garron deflected the unfocused attack. He countered with a quick downward motion.
The tip of his sword bit into the cloth of her skirt.
She yelped and hopped back.
Garron laughed. “Did you really think you’d be able to stop me? I’ve been trained in swordplay since I could walk.”
Blythe sucked in a breath through her nostrils.
He was a disgusting waste of a man. He was mean spirited and evil. He fed off the fear that his father’s power engendered. He abused and took advantage of anyone he wanted. He had no boundaries and received no punishment. He had always just done whatever filthy thing his sick mind could come up with next. No one ever got in his way.
Blythe had seen it and experienced it. She loathed everything about him, from his greasy attitude to his lusty smirk to his fetid smell. She wouldn’t let him win again. She just couldn’t.
Garron lunged forward.
Blythe stepped sideways and made an awkward attempt at parrying the strike.
Garron snapped back into his ready position.
Again and again Blythe swung and stabbed at him.
Each time her blow was met with a skillful parry or a swift sidestep.
Garron would stop laughing only to mock her poor form.
Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes. If she failed, he would kill or rape her. And Mala.
In desperation, Blythe stabbed at his heart with all the force she could muster.
Garron shuffled back just out of range and brought his sword down on hers. The blow was too much. The sword leaped out of Blythe’s grasp and clattered to the ground.
Garron dove back in and clapped his free hand on the back of her head. He grabbed her hair and jerked her head back.
He wasn’t laughing anymore. Now there was a hungry look in his eyes.
“I win, little girl.”
Blythe swung a weak punch at his kidney. She wasn’t even sure he felt it.
Garron drove a knee into her stomach.
She felt the air rush through her lips and she dropped to her knees.
He spit on her and then looked over at Mala.
Mala had crawled her way further back in the alley. Her eyes were wide and she was shivering.
Blythe tried to suck in a breath but couldn’t manage yet.
Garron turned back and slapped Blythe across the face. “Don’t go anywhere.”
He took the point of his sword and scratched it across the top of her thigh.
Pain shot up her leg and blood soaked into the cloth of her skirt. She tried to scream, but her stomach was still locked up from Garron’s strike.
“There’ll be more of that if you run, wench.” He smirked and walked back toward Mala.
Blythe couldn’t stand it. She had done all she could, but she was still not strong enough.
I hate him.
I hate him.
I hate him.
So what if he kills me?
She still was not afraid. What more was there to be afraid of? The only emotion left was hatred. She hated Garron enough she could taste it. It burned in her heart, her head, and her gut. Her whole body was consumed in fury. She was sure that if anyone looked, they’d be able to see the hatred coming off her like smoke.
She forced herself to suck in a breath.
Her arm stretched out and her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her fallen sword. He will die, or I will.