The Kingdoms of Blue and Green.

Part 59

Men shouted indistinctly as they hoarded forward, the sound of dying men and horses stalked their mission forward. As wailing met their ears, man turned on man. As Azrael stepped forward rolling his shoulder, a whimper echoed from below. Twisting the blade in his hand, his eyes gleamed down. The groaning body of a bloody man lay at his awake. Dirt under his nails, grasping onto the Eramadam soil, crawling as the blood seeped through his armour. Azrael knelled down beside him, pressing his sword into the ground and splitting the soil underneath the man's fingertips.

His eyes dark Azrael questioned, "Why are you crawling that way?" His lips pressed together, eyes sliding towards his blade. "This wind you feel is from Eramada. Brisk is it not?" Azrael pressed his hand on his thigh and lifted himself off the ground, flipping the hilt in his palm. The man groaned in response. A painful, sharp groan as if the bloody leftovers of man knew he would die. The despair seeping through the stench of blood carried on the wind. Azrael inhaled hovering the blade above the back of the man's neck. The man groaned again but the painful exhale was cut short as the blade plunged through the back of his neck. Pressing hard on the blade, it entered the soil, splitting the grains and ground soaked in blood. Azrael's breathing grew heavy, as his men continued forward. The green feather on the brim of their helmet danced on the brisk wind that pushed them into the land of Athrolila.

The land of deepening ridges and green pastures was dried with the essence of blood. Crimson as it first may seem, but quickly shifted into a lasting shade of brown. Dying the grass and exterminating the nutrients in the soil. The metallic taste of the red liquid pouring into the land.Soon the yellow sand and salt will melt into the liquid that would spill, draining the life away from them and the land. Eramada had taken the Kelece River and set their villainous sights on Delta. The yellow sand of Athrolila carved a battle one would not soon forget.

~

The grey stone contrasted against the green. The bricks winded up the tower, twisting and curving but never out of place in the curvature of the tower. Her heart rumbled and she pulled the longbow back. The tip of iron pointed towards the sky. Watching for the blue feathers to drift over the ridge. Lisandra placed the fletching on her freckled cheek and pulled the splinter of wood backwards. The court of Heartland beside her. Watching the towers. The green feathers below.

Her red hair was pinned back, a strip of ginger licking the neck of her amour. Lisandra held her position.The arrow flew through the air, meeting the wave of arrows. Finding its place. Lisandra pulled another out of her quiver and pulled it back, watching the hundreds released to find their mark on the battlefield, some embedding the iron tip into the soil, others in the necks of blue feathers.Lisandra freed the second arrow from the bow's grasp and observed the splinter fly and arch down to the ground below. A war cry signaling the third wave. Lisandra placed a third arrow into her bow, and then a hallowing cry from the end of the line forced Lisandra to pull back, her aim not on the battlefield, but the blue feather drifting through the archers. The glinted of a blade, cutting through the air, her archers mere obstacles in its way. Lisandra felt her throat burn as she ripped a sound, that echoed across the tower and its sub-branches.

"TURN!"

The yellow swirl on her forehead just above her left temple connected with another on her right crinkled as she raised her brows. The symbol of leadership. Countess. All the archers pulled back their arrows on one another. Positioning themselves to fire at the blue feather.Lisandra pulled the arrow the fletching kissing her cheek as the blue feather appeared in shooting range. Steadily to release Lisandra's eyes widened at the appearance of more blue feathers.