The Guardian's Passion

Hedira took a deep breath and closed her eyes, ignoring any protests those evil little voices shouted at her. In a moment she had to smile again as the pressure began to build in her head. It was never so bad as memories had caused her to expect, which added to her joy. The light behind her eyelids came and went quickly, and then Hedira slowly opened her eyes. What she found was one of the last things she could have expected.

            A battle raged around her. She stood in what appeared to be the middle of the field, with swords, spears, and axes whipping all around, men running and falling and…yes, she could hear them crying out. Some shouted orders, some screamed in pain, and some let out whoops and battle cries. Hedira realized that she could hear the weapons clashing. There were horses as well, and she heard their hoof beats, whinnies, snorts, and squeals. Hedira instinctively ducked when a sword came arching toward her, but it passed harmlessly through the top of her head.

            Hedira was both fascinated and sickened by the sights around her. She studied the men and was able to distinguish the two different armies. The larger – by what she could tell, at least – had the majority of the horses. Nearly all of them wore fitted shirts and pants tucked into boots, and a few wore chain maille. Their weapons broad; broadswords, axes with broad heads, broad tips on spears and arrows.

            The second and seemingly smaller army had next-to-no mounts but seemed skilled in foot-to-mounted combat. Every man bore a sword, and some also had bows or spears. Their clothes were made of rougher materials, and all armor was made of leather. These men did have a banner: a circle of 14 jewels on a brown background.

            It took a moment and a few more glimpses at the banner for Hedira to reach a conclusion: these men must be early Talidians in one of the first battles.

            “Sarvor!” Hedira heard someone shout. She whirled toward the voice and saw a man with light brown hair, on which rested a thin silver circlet. He was mounted on a prancing steed of the royal yellow-gray color. The man shouted again. “Sarvor! Brother, do not let them close you in!”

            Hedira followed the man’s gaze, and her eyes grew wider. The man who had been called stood defensively, facing four large enemy soldiers. More were moving to surround him. The man bore a magnificent sword with a white and blue blade, white cross guard and grip, and a deep blue jewel set in the pommel. Hedira easily guessed the sword’s identity as Sarvor’s Ardor.

            The man and weapon moved together in one fluid dance, warding off strikes, parrying, thrusting, slicing, and stabbing men. Hedira had no doubt that this man was her forefather Sarvor. Nevertheless, no matter how awed she was by w