Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

snarled, letting rage fill his entire being. The pain and fury of years clamored in his ears, urging him on and his sword screamed in bloodthirsty lust. With a roar, he gathered all that he was and vaulted over the hedge of corpses, his right hand high, ready to shear the warrior's head from his shoulders. The warrior's cry echoed out as he rushed Sai, and over it all, the warning shriek of swords rang out.
    Too late… too late… Sai's sluggish brain took an eternity to decipher the meaning of the sound. Blue eyes opened wide beneath the shadow of the helm, shock painting his handsome face as he looked at Sai.
    Too late.
    The great sabre fell toward the other man's throat and Sai was powerless to stop its path of death. Even as he lunged, twisting futilely, he saw the brilliant silver fire of a scimitar, one he hadn't seen in years. It flashed against the sky, coming down in a furious blaze, straight toward his heart.
    "Nooo!"
    He wasn't sure who screamed, but like a white flame, the second scimitar flew, turning aside the sabre, pulling Sai's arm into a brilliantly painful contortion. His sabre fell with deadly force, diverted from its target. Sparks dazzled his vision as the swords in his hands clashed at each other in fury. The broad blade of the sabre skidded harmlessly off the studded leather of the warrior's armor and the wild path of the scimitar twisted Sai out of harm's way, leaving him sprawled on the ground, panting at the pain of a dislocated shoulder.
    And he lay on his back, staring up into the face of the man he'd loved and lost.
    His heart pounded in bewilderment and fear, for this Arick was not the man he'd known. His Arick would never turn against his own people. His Arick would never raise a blade to strike his lover.
    And this was Sai's end, laying in the filth and gore of a battlefield, too broken to rise, too stunned to speak. All he could do was watch as the sword that had been born of his blood fell inexorably, cleaving a path to its master's death.
    CHAPTER 6
    The sword plunged into the soil just a hairsbreadth from Sai's exposed throat. Even if he'd really tried, the blade would not— could not— kill Sai. Just as the lost twin to his scimitar had deflected the blow struck by that monstrous blade Sai now carried, the curved blade gently guided itself away from its creator. Arick stared down, hoping he'd masked the wild and bewildered joy that filled his heart.
    A glance to the right told him reinforcements were on their way. There'd been heavy casualties all around and to his grief, Arick was largely responsible. He'd planned the lethal strategy that had taken so many of his former comrades, and he'd betrayed the Delphine as well, giving them faulty information about the Kingdom. They'd marched against King Conrad's forces, unprepared for the brilliantly trained infantry and the sheer numbers of cavalry. Even the magic of Maris had been unable to nullify faithful hearts.
    He straddled Sai's body, flinching at the pain he saw in his former lover's blue eyes, the fury that blazed as he wrapped a hand over his throat, deliberately throttling him until the weakened man went limp. He checked Sai's pulse, his heart stuttering in his chest until he knew the other man lived.
    "Sir."
    He looked up at the soldier, reading the barely veiled hatred on the man's battered face. It no longer bothered him; he'd been faced with the same contempt for years now. Nobody loved a turncoat, regardless of the reasons for his actions.
    "Does he live?"
    "Barely."
    It was his prayer that the Delphine wouldn't recognize Sai, that they'd leave him for dead. He deliberately stood on the barbaric looking sabre, feeling it sink slightly into the muck. The horse was long gone, and the other blade was hidden under the fallen man's body. Sai's face was a mask of blood; his red cape was now tattered and discolored with mud and gore.
    He might be forced to leave Sai behind, but he'd take the scimitar, for the Sword Master's own safety. There was no doubt the magic of the swords had brought them back together; he couldn't allow that to happen again. Ever.
    "Let's make that completely dead." The infantryman raised a wicked dagger and Arick grabbed his arm, staying the blow. Desperately, he sought inspiration.
    "He doesn't wear the colors of the Kingdom; the man's just a mercenary. After this bloodbath, he might be conscripted to fight for King Raud." As he spoke, Arick cast a baleful glance in the direction of General Saams,