Here is another excerpt from my WIP The Barbarian.
In this section, the Barbarian, who is still unnamed, has just returned from scouting with his trainer. The main Shandan Nomad (Shandan is the desert they are in charge of ruling with tyrant abandon, if you will) is resting, as is his second-in-command, and the one left in charge, Shenkar, hates the boy more than the other two do. In the distance, they can see a cloud of dust, and the Nomad who has better long range vision sees the group of Wizards riding hard toward them.
It’s a bit rough, as it is still 1st draft, but I’m sure you can get the gist of it.
Well, have a look:
Nomads No More
Shenkar saw the scouts returning at a leisurely pace after exploring the route to the east. Bolthed and Akheem left him in charge when they retired to one of the wagons for a brief respite, with orders to be called only if needed.
Two days prior, a scout from the Wastes had brought them news of the annihilation of their allies, the Destined Ones. He also told of the warning relayed that the Nomads would be next. Bolthed immediately put the band on alert”
“The way is clear for the next league, my Lord,” the older scout reported.
“Get some rest, then prepare to go back out.”
As they turned to leave, the trainer pointed to the north. “My lord, Shenkar; look.”
A cloud of dust could be seen. “Belfast, look to the north. What is it?”
Belfast had a reputation for being able to see things farther off than any other. Cupping his hand over his brow, he reported a line of riders, bearing straight for them.
“Trainer, get word to Bolthed. Scout, rouse the men. Slaves, position yourselves for the first wave.”
The blond young man turned his eyes to the approaching riders as others hurried to obey. Lowering his head and with furrowed brow, he looked back at Shenkar, his eyes hardening. “No.”
Those running to carry out orders halted, looking wide-eyed at the refusal. The Nomad wheeled to face him. “What did you say to me?”
“I will not. This is your fight.”
Shenkar grabbed for his whip, flicking his wrist forward, then drawing back to deliver the blow.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl to the young man, and he moved with the agility and speed of one who had been fighting all his life. As the attacker pitched his weight forward and cast the metal tipped lash toward the rebellious youth, the boy swiveled his body to his right, his left arm crossing himself and arcing back across.
The tip of the weapon wrapped around his wrist as he rotated his hand to catch the throng, which he pulled as hard as he could and stepped back with his left foot. The handle jerked out of Shenkar’s hand, the strap taking some skin off with the sudden, unexpected move.
Looking at the boy with disbelief, Shenkar’s hatred hardened as he drew his sword and rushed. He aimed a thrust at the boy, who stepped to the side to avoid, grasped the hilt and shoved his open hand under Shenkar’s armpit, lifting him as he used his hip and the man’s momentum to hurl him away and relieve him of his weapon. Shenkar landed upside down and the snap of his neck gave the boy some satisfaction.
He sensed more than saw two others rushing him from behind. Spinning around, he slew one with a level slash, causing the carcass to fall into the other and knock him off balance. Before the unfortunate Nomad could recover, he felt his sword ripped from his grasp and his head split in twain.
Footsteps behind him alerted the young rebel of the rush of a dozen more. However, the attackers seemed hard pressed to defend themselves, let alone get a scoring blow past the blurring speed of the slave armed with two blades.
In short order, the boy stood alone, huffing for breath and splattered with his opponent’s blood, swords dripping in his grasp, and surrounded by the corpses of those who had abused him and so many others for so long. The invaders had neared considerably in the time the mini battle took, and the remaining Nomads attempted an unsuccessful rally against overwhelming odds.
They were set upon from all sides as, bolstered by the youth’s defiance, the rest of the slaves joined the attack, with the boy’s trainer in the lead. The Nomads fared poorly against so many foes, and soon had all been killed.