How The Warrior Fell (Falling Warriors series Book 1) (41 page)

“Because,” Xavier spoke, and instantly the murmurs quieted, “we have the advantage.”

“And what advantage is that?” Kisias asked, and Xavier turned his attention to him. The sinister expression and the smirk that quirked Xavier’s lips made all the men pause, shifting restlessly.

“They think we’re unaware of what their plan is, but they’re wrong,” Xavier growled, his eyes flashing with the bloodlust and anger that had been simmering in him for the last six months.

This army had been the dark clouds of a looming storm. Dark, angry rain clouds that consumed the sky as lighting struck in an ominous warning of the destruction to come. The attack at the lake, the head delivered to Xavier, Leawyn’s attack—it was all just the beginning. A warm up. It was the monsoon that came just before the hurricane that destroyed everything it touched.

“We’ll be waiting, and we’ll be ready. We will wipe the victorious smiles—victory they do not have a right to—off their faces with our swords stained with their blood and smile down at their severed heads,” Xavier growled in fury, turning around to meet the gazes of all the warriors around him. He saw the same bloodlust in their eyes he felt as he called to the warrior within them.

The all had the urge to spill blood—the blood of anyone who dared to question the ferocity of the Samaritan men. Who dared to challenge them and try to destroy their home.

“They want to destroy us, take what is ours,” Xavier’s voice grew louder as the air around them crackled with energy as each word he spoke brought a spark to flame. “They will kill our daughters, our sons, our 
people. 
They want a day where Samaritans will no longer lay claim to this land. They want to take what is ours Do we let them?” Xavier shouted at the men.

“No!” they cried back.

“They want to destroy us Do we let them?”

“No!” the men cried back louder, fists raising in the air with their passion. Each and every face clouded with determination of victory. Victory against the men who dare to challenge them and threaten their day of life and land.

“They think they can beat us, that they can kill us. We are Samaritans; we do not bow down to anyone!” Xavier slammed his fist against his chest, and all around him the warriors did the same. Creating a cadence, their fists represented an audible pulse of their hearts.

“This is our land, our fathers’ blood in the soil who died protecting this land. This is 
my 
home, and I will give my very last breath to protect it,” Xavier said vehemently, eyes blazing. “Will you?”

“Yes!” they roared back in answer.

“I say let them come,” Xavier bellowed above the roars of the men. “The last thing they see will be our swords soaked in their blood!” The cheer was deafening as each and every warrior echoed Xavier’s bellow.

He met Tristan’s eyes as the warriors around them continued their challenging cries.

What Xavier failed to mention, what he purposely left out, was that the army wasn’t just trying to take over Samaria, though that would be an added bonus. This army wasn’t just starting a war for control.

Xavier’s eyes reflected the same icy coldness which resided in Tristan’s, locked in a silent battle only between them. Their eyes expressed the things they didn’t dare voice out loud.

The army wasn’t just starting a battle for glory and land.

Tristan broke first, turning around and walking down the hill. Xavier watched him go, following him with eyes that never lost their hardness.

These attacks . . . they were personal.

T
HE SUN WAS
shining bright on the day of the warrior choosing. Leawyn sat next to Xavier in a wooden throne, composed of strips of oak that were fused together. The other tribe leaders and their wives sat alongside Xavier and Leawyn on the flat rock platform that overlooked the designated fighting arena.

The arena was once a grassy plain but had been worn down due to the many years of fighting that caused it to be reduced to nothing more than loose soil. Small boulders on the ground created the circumference of the four large circles that interlinked together. Each tribe had their own circle where the young hopeful warriors would fight against each other until only the strongest few remained. They were tested first on their archery, which had taken place earlier that day. Now it was time to test their swordsmanship.

Leawyn stared at circle that was noticeably empty, and her eyes misted as her heart clenched in sadness. This would be the first warrior choosing the Rhoxolani would not be a part of. Leawyn jerked, startled. She looked down to the hand that had embraced hers. Her eyes shot up and met Xavier’s, who was also looking over at the empty circle where the Rhoxolani should be. Leawyn closed her eyes, taking strength in the small act of comfort. She returned the comforting squeeze he gave her before letting go of his hand.

Both the Siraces and Asori had a fair amount of young hopeful warriors in their rings, to which Leawyn’s eyes scanned over quickly before moving over to the Izayges’s circle. The hopeful warriors wore stoic expressions as they held their weapons in their hands. Each of them looked ready to face real battle, instead of just their fellow tribesmen. Leawyn supposed that going against each other
was
like going to real battle with the amount of time they trained for this moment. When her eyes landed on a familiar face, Leawyn choked on her surprise. Leawyn smacked Xavier’s arm, making him still. She glared when Xavier slowly looked down to his arm and back to her face, eyebrow raised.

“Why didn’t you tell me Castic was part of the warrior choosing?” she hissed angrily, pointing. Xavier glanced to the ring briefly before meeting her eyes again.

“Why would I need to tell you?”

“Why would you . . .” Leawyn sputtered incredulously, looking at Xavier like he had two heads. “Why wouldn’t you!”

“You seem upset.”

“Of course I’m upset—it’s Castic!”

At Xavier’s blank look, Leawyn huffed and looked back to the ring, a frown wrinkling her smooth features.

Great. Now she was going to be
really
nervous watching the battles.

Xavier stood to address the young faces that were lined up in their respective rings and the tribes’ people surrounding them.

“A challenge has been made,” Xavier said loudly, his voice strong and clear as it echoed out to the crowd. “Come forth, Cantos of the Siraces, and meet your challenger.”

Leawyn sat higher in her seat, watching as Cantos stepped forward. The crowd parted for him as he made his way to the Izayges ring and met with . . . Tyronian.

Leawyn gasped in shock, her eyes flying over to Namoriee, whose eyes were riveted on the two men, stoic. Leawyn looked to the ring again. Tyronian and Cantos’s chests were bare of armor; the only thing they were equipped with were their weapons and hateful stares.

“It is a fight to the death, to which only one shall be victor.” The words were spoken solemnly, and irrevocability. Xavier sat back down onto his throne, and Leawyn couldn’t understand how he could be so undaunted.

“Xavier . . .” Leawyn whispered shakily, her eyes glued to Tyronian’s form as he and Cantos started to circle each other, sizing each other up.

“You know our laws, Leawyn.”

“But Xavier, it’s—”

“Quiet,” Xavier said, looking over to her. “It is his choice, Leawyn.”

Leawyn’s mouth snapped shut, having nothing to say to that. Xavier was right. She did know their laws, and she knew that challenging a fellow warrior was a rare and grave request that wasn’t made lightly.

There was nothing she could do. Uncaring of how it may look, Leawyn reached over and gripped Xavier’s hand, holding it tightly as she prepared to watch her friend and kin fight for what could possibly be the last time.

Cantos attacked first. With a loud cry, he swung his sword up in a high arc, causing Tyronian to bend his arm to parry and shove Cantos away from him.

And thus the battle began. The clang of steel meeting steel echoed as Leawyn watched with bated breath the two solid warriors fight against each other. The men of the two tribes were yelling, cheering their tribesman on as they fought. Tyronian and Cantos seemed evenly matched. With each jab, swing, and strike Cantos made against Tyronian, Tyronian would match with his own in equal fervor. It seemed like ages that they battled, and Leawyn grew more and more fearful.

“He’s done,” Xavier said suddenly, his voice smug with humor. Leawyn glanced at him from the corner of her eye, too concerned to take her eyes off the battling men.

“What?”

“Cantos,” Xavier explained. “Tyronian is done playing with him. He’s going to end it.”

Leawyn looked to Xavier, perplexed.

“What are you talking abou—” A loud cheer cut her off, and her eyes instantly whipped back to the battle. It was then Leawyn understood what Xavier had meant.

For it seemed that Cantos was no longer evenly matched. Leawyn sat up higher in her eat, watching in amazement as Tyronian seemed to come to life with his attacks. They were swift, powerful, and unrelenting. Cantos was barely able to block the blows in time.

Leawyn watched as Tyronian shot his arm forward, his blade whistling as he whipped around to face Cantos.

Cantos only had a moment to watch his sword flying out of his grasp before his body jolted, pain etched on his face. He looked up at Tyronian, his expression glazed with stunned disbelief at the sword that was now protruding from his chest. Tyronian’s grip on his sword’s hilt twisted. The awful sound of flesh tearing and blood squishing together permeated the air.

Tyronian’s shadow fell upon his opponent, and Cantos looked up at him, dazed.

The cheering stopped. The battle was over and thus no longer exciting. The only thing left was to claim victory.

Leawyn flinched, turning away. The sure
thump
of Cantos’s decapitated head splitting the silence. The head bounced once when it met the soil, rolling before it settled.

Tyronian bent at the waist, snatching the head up by the hair and raising it high. His scream of triumph was drowned out by the audience’s.

Leawyn sagged in relief, sitting back in her chair. Xavier met her gaze, and she smiled back at him when he grinned at her.

Xavier stood when Tyronian came to him, head still firmly gripped in his hand. Xavier slapped Tyronian’s arm in a job well done before allowing him to pass so Tyronian may present his prize to Kisias, who somberly accepted it.

Xavier waited until the crowd settled before he addressed them again. “Tyronian of the Izayges has defeated his foe, and in such, claims victory!”

The Izayges side roared with their approval, and Leawyn could admit she found their good spirit contagious. “If there are others who wish to challenge, speak now,” Xavier commanded. It was silent, no one really expecting anyone to challenge.

“Let us start—”

“I challenge Xavier to the right of chief.”

Leawyn gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. She stood slowly, her steps unsteady. She watched as the form of Xavier’s brother pushed through the parting crowd and made his way to the center of the Izayges ring. Shocked murmurs broke out. Never in Samaritan history had there been a challenge for chief, much less between brothers.

“I challenge Xavier, Chief of the Izayges, for the right of chief of the tribe,” Tristan called out again, his voice matching his stoic demeanor.

Leawyn appeared at Xavier’s side, watching as Tyronian marched up to Tristan and spoke to him quickly and quietly. Tyronian grabbed Tristan’s arm, his voice rising. Tristan shrugged out of his hold. “You can’t stop me,” Tristan said before pushing past him and staring up at Xavier

“I challenge Xavier, Chief of Izayges,” Tristan repeated, speaking directly to Xavier.

“Why are you doing this?” Leawyn whispered numbly, her eyes filling with tears. Tristan cut his gaze to Leawyn, causing her to inhale sharply as he did. His eyes were clear and remorseless. He turned his attention back to Xavier.

“Do you accept?”

Xavier’s eyes met Tristan’s, an unspoken war raging between them. Xavier broke first, turning to look at Leawyn, whose tears instantly spilled over. Xavier didn’t have to say it. She knew what his answer would be.

“No,” Leawyn whispered through trembling lips, shaking her head. Xavier held her eyes as he said the words that would change everything.

“I accept.”