Tilting at windmills -- Deathshead419
Kosh would have to apologise to Artie for insisting this mobile chair be disposable. Even though the autonomous automaton's face was immobile, it nevertheless managed o convey heatbreak and disappointment when he told it, "The chair won't last long anyway. Just make sure it will last long enough."
He'd have a lot of apologies to make if he survived this.
First and most importantly, to his beloved Cordelia, for making her wait nine months for his return to the mortal plane. Then to his newborn twin sons, still lacking a full name each, for forcing them to have Battleborn and Battleblood somewhere in their full chain of names. Only then would he apologise to his doctors for going out on the battlefield for a leader-to-leader challenge - against a Giant - with a cursed arrowhead embedded in his thigh.
In his very thin defence, they told him to keep off the leg as much as possible. They didn't say anything against his plans to stay off the leg during battle. Mostly because he didn't tell them about any of them. Hence the chair.
Which had three sheaths. One for the Whitekeep banner in the middle, one for the crutch by which he would be doing all his running, and the third for the borrowed 'grass' blade. A loan from Master Bai. It was made of D'varuv steel, and was still as sharp as when it was a trophy of Bai's grandfather's conquest, four millennia ago. It would bend, but it would never break.
Gods and good Faeries help me survive to apologise. Kosh reached the midpoint between armies, and drew his crutch. It had a loop and a handle, so it would not drop in the middle of battle. Kosh had spent all the previous day practicing with it so that it was like another limb. Out of sight of the doctors, of course.
Second order of business, plant the banner and call the challenge. He could do that standing on his good leg. Kosh took a deep breath and used his demonic gift to make his voice louder. "Leader of the Giant lands, I challenge you to a duel. Leader against leader, winner take all!" Calmly and as if he had all day, he drew the 'grass' blade from his chair, and sheathed it at his hip.
This was probably the last hour it would be intact.
The leader of the Giants took two steps to come to the fore. He had a tree as a club over one shoulder that still had some intact branches on it. "Are you serious, little man?"
Kosh felt his old grin come back to his face like an open challenge. "As serious as death. I will even let you take the first strike."
Yes, he had size and muscle on his side, but he also had to fight the air itself in order to move.
Kosh waited, not just for the wind-up to strike, but for the buffet of air that heralded the downstrike of that club. That was when he dashed and rolled out of the way. He rolled to his feet, using the wind to help push him upright. Quickly, before the Giant could focus on the field, he ran -hobbbled- to the club. Latched onto the remaining branch. Wove his shadows around himself to make him look like another lump of wood. Clung tight and forced himself to breathe as the Giant's weapon lifted from the impact zone.
His ears popped more than once on the way up.
Don't look down. Don't witness what happened to Artie's good work. Focus on his goal. The Giant's shoulder. The instant the club and arm were in the right position, Kosh moved. A breath to pass without notice. A breath to speed him onwards. Balance of the Crane, Step of the Scolded Cat.
Don't pay any attention to anything else. Focus on the destination.
The wound on his leg was bleeding. He could feel his own fluids crawling down his right leg. Never mind that.
Kosh grabbed a handful of the Giant's hair. Kept his weight on his good leg. Drew the 'grass' blade. He could see the pulse-point where the flesh was thinnest, but it was still an awful lot of flesh to cut.
He would only have one blow to use.
Best to make it a good one.
Right... there. Pierce in. Slash out. Blood flooded over him. Made him lose his footing. Sheathe the borrowed sword. His grip on the hair kept him where he was, but that grip was slipping.
Timing was everything.
Wait for the pulse to increase the flow. Leap during that pulse. Stance of the Thistle seed. Let inertia and the wind carry him further.
Now he could look down.
Artie's chair was naught but kindling and splinters.
He was a very long way up. He could see the whole army laid out for their reserve battle plan.
He could see the Giant putting two and two together as the immense man covered his wound with his free hand.
If he were Human-sized, that cut would not allow him enough time to scream. In a Giant... it gave him enough time to strike back.
Oh shit.
He was going to get struck out of the air like a gnat.
This.
Was.
Going.
To.
Hurt.
[Photo by Glen Michaelsen on Unsplash]
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