THARROS weaved the threads into a whip and sliced the warrior with it. Although he was able to dodge out of the way fast enough for it not to hit him on the neck, it caught him in the lower back region and he writhed in pain.
He slashed his sword, careful not to let the magic whip hit him one more time. Tharros had already drawn enough blood to leave him on the sick bed for a week and he was yet to hit Tharros with even the hilt of his sword.
Tharros was getting tired of this dance. His opponent – who was supposedly the best guy in his army – was a complete waste of time. In the four hours that they had been going over this, Tharros had not been able to break a sweat and the only thing that made him prolong this punishment which he was giving himself was because, watching his opponent struggle was quite amusing.
It was the only entertainment he got from this match but even now, he was getting quite bored of it. Although his opponent was geared to the teeth in armor, he was streaked from his head to his feet in his own blood and yet, he had not been able to draw a drop of blood from Tharros.
His slashing and thrusting were becoming clumsier, even his movement which had already been slow before became even slower. Tharros sighed. He was about to land the finishing blow which would see to the quick but messy death of his opponent when his eyes strayed to the night sky.
He stopped in his tracks, eyes to the sky, hands holding his weapon carelessly and leaving a wide opening for his opponent to attack. The soldier, upon seeing that Tharros had been distracted, saw this as a chance to claim his prize – no one had ever defeated Tharros in a duel before – and licked his lips happily.
He frowned when he tasted blood and spat on the ground which was filled with more of his blood. Enraged, he lurched towards Tharros but Tharros once again, was faster. It took a simple swipe of his free hand to weave the thread which sent his head flying off his body and landing on the hard floor with a resounding 'crack' sound.
Tharros spat at the body of the fallen soldier. One more unworthy opponent. He thought with dismay and turned to Yannick, his right-hand man and adviser. "Next time, get me someone who is worthy to stand in my presence."
Yannick nodded and motioned for one of the bare-bodied girls to rush forward with a cloth and dab his sweat.
"What do you know about the two moons in the sky?" Tharros asked as soon as the girl had gone back to her position.
Yannick knew better than to indulge his master and answer that question. He knew that the appearance of the two moons in the sky was the birth of his master's nemesis. The thing which had kept his master awake many nights after he woke up from terrible dreams. It was the one thing which made Tharros shiver with fear.
Yannick shook his head and Tharros smiled. "Of all the idiots working for me, you are the wisest." He patted Yannick on the back and climbed up the steps to his seat.
"Round about a hundred men." He ordered. "Bring me the sorceress, I want to hear from her lips what this is."
Tharros already knew what the two moons in the sky symbolized. He had heard the prophesy many years ago and had killed the woman from whose lips those wretched words had come and now, he was going to kill again.
He was going to make an example of anyone who dared to oppose him and that included the prophesied Yajan.
"I want her alive."
Yannick nodded his head obediently and rushed forward to carry out the task of his master.
***
MEANWHILE, in a small town on the south side of Adalevia, the cry of a child pierced the night. Barnet stood outside the cottage and gazed at the two moons which sat proudly in the night sky and knew that whatever happened after this was going to shape the future of Adalevia for better or worse.
He turned as he heard footsteps behind him. "Tell me," he said impatiently to the woman whose hands were stained with the blood of his dear sister. "How is my sister?"
The woman shook her head. "I am afraid we could not save her." The woman replied and looked up at the two moons which were beginning to disappear. "They have done their jobs and now they will rest again for another thousand years."
Barnet shook his head as a tear fell down his face. "You think it is the child?" he asked.
The woman smiled. "A beautiful baby boy. Fiona named him Arthur just before she passed to the other realm." She touched Barnet's shoulder, offering him the comfort which she knew he needed direly. "She was happy even at the last moment, Barnet. It is how you should remember her."
"And the child? What do I do with it?"
The woman smiled. "Take care of him. Teach him. He might be special, the two moons which came out on the same night he was born is not mere coincidence."
"Many other children were born on this same night. That child killed my sister."
The woman frowned. "You better keep that sentiment aside while you raise that child. Your sister would not want to see her child suffer in your hands. And oh, the boy is special alright… Many children were born on this night and many would be born even after the moons disappear but only the child bears the mark of the Yajan."
The woman turned her back on him and returned into the cottage, leaving him to glance at the slowly fading moons one more time. He turned towards the cottage and went in after the woman. The first thing he saw was his sister's lifeless body, laying there as though she was only sleeping.
He walked towards her and took her already cold hand in his, wiping the tear which slid down his cheek with the other hand. He glanced at one of the women who had the child in her arms – already wrapped in cashmere and kicking happily – you must be glad you killed your mother to enter this world, Arthur. He thought sorely.