War (The Four Horsemen, #2)(16)

Which means they’re his best killers. I stare at them with new eyes as they circle the horseman before fanning out around him. When the last one has fallen into place, the drums cut out.

I have no idea what’s going on until the dust has settled a bit. Laying on the ground in front of them all is a bloody man.

He looks dead, the way he lays there, but after a minute or so, he picks himself up.

War doesn’t speak, just watches him rise to his feet. Once the man is standing on shaky legs, the horseman prowls towards him.

The crowd goes quiet as a phobos rider hops off his horse and steps forward. “This man, Elijah,” he says, gesturing to the nearly dead man, “was one of the Phobos, the warlord’s inner elite. Our warlord fed him, gave him shelter, trusted him. And what did he do to repay that kindness?” He pauses, his gaze sweeping the crowd. “He turned on our horseman and he turned on his fellow warriors!”

As if on cue, the people around me shout their outrage. I glance at them, shocked to see that many look legitimately angry. If they’re acting, they’re doing a very good job of it.

“As soon as battle began, Elijah started slaughtering his brothers-in-arms,” the speaker continues, all while War stares down Elijah, his eyes sharp as blades. “We lost many good men today.”

Still staring at Elijah, War reaches over his back and grasps the hilt of his enormous blade. The steel zings as it’s pulled from its scabbard.

I cringe at the sight of it, remembering my own close encounter. But instead of swinging it down on the man, War tosses the blade in front of him.

“Sunu uk. San suni, adas Susturu t?tuu ü?üt huni?tüü nun?tnuu utenin dukikdep nurun.” he says.

Take it. Prove that you are worthy enough to defy me, human.

Elijah is shaking, either from fear or from exhaustion, but he doesn’t look like he regrets his actions.

War backs away slowly. “San Tuduygu uturun teknirip, nik niygizi? ü?üt huti?nüü nun?tnuu utenin dukikdep nurun.”

Prove that you are worthy enough to defy God Himself.

With that, the horseman turns, giving Elijah his back.

The bloody phobos rider waits a second or two, then scrambles for War’s blade. He hits his first snag when he picks up the sword. The weapon is clearly too heavy for him to wield; even with both hands on its hilt the sword sways in his grip.

My heart plummets at the sight. Here is a man who decided to kill the killers. I want him to stop this horseman once and for all. The realistic part of me knows there’s no chance of that. I’ve seen War’s strength. There is no beating him.

The horseman turns around, his hands bare. His red leather armor is splattered with blood, and his kohl-lined eyes are ferocious. He wears another blade on him, but even when his opponent begins to approach him, he doesn’t reach for it.

Elijah approaches, his face full of righteous anger. “You expected me to just watch as you slaughtered us?”

“Tuz ut?rt? juni ?uur ü?üt ?nüt dup atna ü?üt ?tuuz? vokgon.”

You were content to do that for the last seventeen cities we passed through.

Seventeen? Seventeen?

Not sure I should be cheering this man on anymore …

He stumbles forward, his grip shaky, his body obviously exhausted from the day. He must know fighting is a lost cause, but that doesn’t stop him from running at War, hatred in his eyes.

The man is almost upon the horseman, the latter who stands very still. Elijah fights to lift the sword high enough to strike. War still doesn’t move.

“San sunin nup??rsun? suksug?n t?n?r? ukvuyn.”

You cannot carry the weight of my task.

As if in challenge to War’s words, the phobos rider swings the blade. The horseman easily ducks under the blow, the gold coils in his hair glinting as they swing in the light.

Elijah stumbles forward, kicking up dust as he tries to regain control of the heavy weapon. It takes an agonizing several seconds for the phobos rider to turn around and face War once more.

The horseman is completely at ease, and yet I sense so much bridled power behind his relaxed stance.

“San Tuduyd?n urtin nü?ütüü süstün eses,” he taunts.

You cannot understand God’s will.

With a yell, Elijah comes at him again, swinging War’s sword wildly. And again, the horseman sidesteps the attack. His opponent is panting, his arms shaking at the effort it takes to hold the horseman’s blade.

It’s almost painful to watch, and what makes it worse is that I’m rooting for Elijah. I might be the only one here who is.

War steps in close and grabs one of his opponent’s wrists. The move forces Elijah to lose the two-handed grip he had on the giant sword, and without that grip, the weapon sags in his hand.

The horseman leans in close, his next words barely audible. “Sani ?vütün urtin nü?ütüg? süstün eses, vurok San senin ?? nü?ün?n.”

You cannot understand His will, but you will understand my vengeance.

It happens almost too fast to follow. I hear something snap, then a scream. The man drops War’s sword, cradling his arm against his chest.

The warlord catches the massive weapon as it falls. He unsheathes his other smaller sword. For a split second the two men stare at each other. Then War scissors his blades across his opponent’s body.