A Sjaarda’s Work

by: Loonrae

In an old, small church, two knights stood. One stood at the back of the room. He was tall, powerfully built with plainly made armor making him appear larger still. The other was noticeably smaller, and lightly built. The smaller knight’s armor was also lighter and built with mobility in mind, a sign to the larger knight that his opponent was a highly skilled female fighter. In other words, he was fighting a Sjaarda. As the smaller knight slowly approached, light glinted off of the small engravings on her armor. The chapel’s roof barely stopped the sun from peaking through, the windows were only holes with shattered glass. Pews stood shoved aside or lay in splinters. A ray of sun lit the larger knight’s armor with a golden light. The knight stood, daring the Sjaarda to approach. His longsword was steady in his hand as he stared the Sjaarda down. The silence between the two fighters began adding layers of tension to the already thick blanket in the air. The Sjaardad exploded with violent action. The knight barely got his sword up in time, and sparks showered as metal screeching ripped through the chapel. He recovered in time to knock the Sjaarda’s sword tip away from his heart. He swung in a downward slanted counter attack, only to watch the Sjaarda angle her sword so that his attack slid harmlessly away from her. She then flicked her sword point towards the knight’s leg, burying it in the knight’s thigh. She fell back, now a calm winter lake compared to the forest fire before. She then darted forward in an easily blockable overhead swing, using his raised sword to lock blades. She was using both hands to push her sword towards him and match his strength. 

The Sjaarda’s head then tilted, as if in pity. She took one hand off the sword and grabbed a small thin knife that was strapped to her sword belt. She flicked the knife up and cut the tendons in his left wrist before stabbing him in his stomach with enough force to shove him to the ground. He gasped in pain and dropped his sword as he fell. “You…fought…dirty…” He gripped the knife handle to keep it from falling out, he knew it was better for it to stay in. The Sjaarda voice seemed to writhe in the air with malicious intent when she spoke “I fought dirty? No. I fought fair. In the real world only the weak make rules. The strong merely follow them to humor themselves. I found no humor in mice commanding lions. So I became a wicked little cobra. Now. I will eat until there is no more.” She lifted her sword, “So, farewell noble lion, I’ll eat the mouse who led you to the slaughter.” With that, she beheaded the knight, his head rolled among the pews, and blood sprayed from the body and began to cover the church. Morial stood, staring at the body of the noble knight. She shook her head and turned towards the chapel door.