To Destroy

[I'm Murrin]

I wanted to see if I could write action. Apparently not. I apologise sincerely for the short story I am about to subject you to.

I'm having trouble deciding between Dervan and Drevan - any preference?
Can anyone explain why I suddenly seem incapable of using the word 'sword'?


You have been warned.
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To Destroy


He was focus. An arrow trained on the target, ready to loose. His mind was empty of everything but his purpose. Tightening the light leather gauntlets on his wrists, he strode down the hallways, seeing little as he prepared his mind for the confrontation ahead. He was barely aware of the small crowd trailing behind him, excitement plain on their faces.

Tod appeared alongside him, trotting to keep up with his long strides. "Is it true, Simon?" he asked, clearly as eager as the rest to witness what was about to transpire. He was young, as were most of the other students, though only a handful of years younger than Simon himself, and the way he almost bounced on his feet with anticipation made him seem even younger now. "Have you really challenged Dervan?"

There was a ripple of excited murmurs among the group when he nodded. They had every reason to be excited - a challenge was by no means a rare occurence, but nobody challenged Dervan. Dervan was the best. Like Simon, Dervan was near the end of his training, and they would both soon be ready to leave the citadel and take up posts in one of the great cities.

He had never been close enough with any of the students to call them friends, but of them all, only Dervan showed a true dislike for him. Sometimes he had even seemed contemptuous of those he considered weaker than himself. Nobody liked Dervan; but nobody challenged him, either.

Simon knew he was at least as good as Dervan, but doubts still crept into his mind, disturbing his concentration. No one challenged Dervan because no one had ever been as good as Dervan - no one had his skill, his strength, his power. Until Simon. But did he? He knew what Dervan was capable of, or at least he thought he did, but he could not be sure of his own chances - he had never faced anyone of Dervan's abilities.

No. He could do this. He summoned back his concentration, and once again he was focused. They were nearing the training court - soon he would have his answer. He was good enough. He had to be. If Dervan won this, he would be insufferable. He must win.

They entered the court, Simon ahead of the rest, and there he was. The black-haired youth stood near the centre of the round practice area, a sardonic smile across his thin lips. To him, this fight was already won.
He was bare-chested, wearing only loose black trousers and black leather gauntlets. In his hands he held the heavy practice blade upright infront of his muscled chest. Clearly he wanted this over with as soon as possible. Simon walked over to the stand where the blades were held while the other students spread out along one side of the yard, all trying to get the best view. Simon found a good blade with the right weight, then strode to the centre to face his foe. He was dressed like Dervan, but in plain browns rather than black. He carefully kept his face blank as he raised his own blade.

A wave of trepidation ran through him as he looked into the face of this man who seemed so confident, so sure of his inevitable victory. He had never seen Dervan fail at any part of his training, had never seen him show fear. He told himself to stop thinking of Dervan's skill, to focus on his own abilities. For a moment he thought he saw something in Dervan's eyes, some hint of doubt, but it was gone as soon as it came. Had he really seen it? Was Dervan unsure of himself? Then there was no more time for thought, as it began.

Dervan was fast - Simon barely caught the first blow aimed at his side, and Dervan immediately followed with a strike at his shoulder that Simon was able to deflect with only marginally more skill. The blades they fought with were dull, but they could still cause some considerable damage where a blow was landed. Dervan continued to send blow after blow against Simon, who turned each aside only to be confronted with the next. He saw what Dervan was doing - he would try to tire him out, saving his own full energy for later.

He knew that if this continued, Dervan would win. He had to stop defending, had to find an opening and strike back.

He parried a blow to his head, chest, side, and then he saw it. In the second while Dervan drew back from the blow, Simon aimed his own attack at Dervan's ribs. He blocked it, but he was on the defensive now. Simon continued to hold on to his focus while using all his skill to keep his opponent blocking. The other youth tried to move back, to gain some room, but Simon followed, and they circled around the yard, Simon pressing the attack, Dervan retreating, all his concentration on preventing one of the blows from making contact.

Simon didn't allow himself any feeling of success - he knew his advantage would not last. Finally, Dervan seemed to realise he could not hold back any longer - as Simon prepared to strike again, an invisible fist seemed to strike him in the chest, throwing him onto his back.

Now, he knew, the real fight begins. He was on his feet in an instant, blade upright, facing Dervan once more. Sweat glistened across the would-be-mage's chest, and damp strands of raven-dark hair hung down across his forehead, although his breathing had barely quickened. He came forward again, and this time he wanted to end it. His blade came faster than ever, and though Simon continued to use all his ability, his blows began to find skin. Dervan was trying his hardest, putting all his physical strength into the blows, clearly angry that he had been the first to strike with his energy. Soon Simon bore marks on his shoulder, arms, chest. It was no longer so one-sided, however - he managed to strike back as often as he had to block, and landed a strike on Dervan's middle, his thigh, his wrist.

He was tiring; he could see Dervan was as well, but he would not last as long as his foe. He began to retreat from the blows, looking for his chance. Dervan was better than he with the blade, and it was time to try something different. They came near one of the walls around the yard, and Simon took his chance.

Dervan was thrown against the wall as Simon unleashed his energy, for a moment pinned to the stone behind him. He was barely able to slip aside as Simon's blade swung towards his middle. Metal rang on stone, and a shock ran up Simon's arms as the blade rebounded from the wall. Before he could recover, a crippling blow landed on the back of his shoulder, and the blade dropped from his limp hand as he fell onto his knees. He struck out blindly at the man behind him, and the watching students scattered as his energy lifted the unseen adversary from the ground, a soft thud telling him when Dervan struck the far wall.

He struggled to his feet and turned to see the man who had never been beaten sprawled face down on the ground where he had fell. Slowly, he advanced towards where the apprentice mage lay, to hear him admit defeat. As he came closer, Dervan rose to hands and knees, seeming dazed - it seemed he had struck his head when he hit the wall. When Simon was still five feet from him, he looked up, and suddenly Simon was rolling backwards along the ground, feeling as though he had been struck in the face with a boulder. He scrubbed a hand across his mouth, and it came away red.

Dervan was on his feet now, blade abandoned on the dirt beside the wall. The students gathered around the yard no longer seemed excited - now they were anxious. This was no longer about skill or strength. Dervan was the best, and he had been beaten. Simon let out a shout has he was lifted from the ground and thrown against the wall. This time he did not fall - he was held against the wall, feet hanging at more than his own height above the ground. It was impossible Dervan could still have this much strength; Simon's energy was almost spent, yet Dervan seemed to have barely used his energy. Simon looked into Dervan's eyes, and saw only hate. Dervan was going to kill him.

He remembered his lessons, the lectures from when his training began. "We hold a great power inside ourselves, a great strength. You are here to learn how to control that power, and how you may use it...." The first lecture had been given by the Head Mage himself, who knew more about using his energy than any other. "...Use it to deter, to deflect, to defend yourself when you face a foe, but you should never use it to kill." The one lesson learnt before any other was never, ever, under any circumstance use your gift to kill. "In the past, there were mages who used their power in this way, and it corrupted them. They fought amongst themselves, and the world was lost in turmoil while they struggled for power, until they were destroyed. Now we have learned our lesson. We are protectors, not destroyers. Use your power to destroy, and you will eventually destroy yourself."

Dervan was going to break the rules.

Because I could have beat him. The thought came suddenly, but it felt as though he had known it all along. He could beat Dervan. He knew it.
The other students were panicking - they could see it too, in Dervan's eyes. Some had run from the yard - fleeing a madman, or going to find a mage, he did not know - others stood, transfixed, unable to take their eyes from the scene before them. Dervan seemed to be concentrating, focusing his energy, for the final blow. There seemed to be a...flickering...around his body, like the energy he wielded was visibly building around him. It was like nothing Simon had seen before, but he was already focusing his own energy. He could think of nothing to stop Dervan, nothing that wouldn't just make him angrier. All he could do was distract him.

Words would do nothing - he wasn't sure Dervan would even hear him, in this state - and he had little energy left, but in his inner focus, his perfect state of concentration, it would be enough.

He struck lightly at Dervan as he stood in the centre of the yard, attempting to distrub his concentration, to push him back a step. Nothing happened. He knew it had worked, knew he had struck, yet the man stood, unmoving, and didn't show he felt it by even a flicker of an eyelid. As long as Dervan was in this state, he could not think of anything to stop him. The light around Dervan seemed to concentrate around his arms, gaining intensity. It had a sickly yellow colour, a queasy property that made it hard to look at for long. He had no time to wait for the mages.

He hated what he had to do, but he knew it was the only way. He hated it, but he had little choice; he no longer seemed in control of his mind. His focus had sharpened until everything became perfectly clear. He could only watch, as his power was called forth. He felt the energy build up in him, stronger, sharper, than it had ever felt before. He watched, horrified from the centre of a pool of perfect calm, and one thought formed in his mind.

Fire.

Flames consumed Dervan as Simon's inner power rushed forth, surged out of him until he felt it should be tearing the very flesh from his bones, searing through the very fibre of his being. The ball of flame concentrated on the place his enemy had stood, never growing larger, but filling with energy until it seemed that if a star sat in the yard this is how it would have been. Yet no heat left the ball of concentrated energy, all of it directed inwards by Simon's inner focus, his purpose, his being. And Simon watched himself destroy, helpless.

The flames lasted for an instant, they raged for an eternity, and then were gone. Simon hit the ground as control returned and fell to his knees, staring at nothing. The nothing that had once been Dervan.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he thought of what he had done. It terrified him that he was capable of such complete destruction.

He cried because he had taken a life. He cried because he knew he could do it again.

He cried because he did not think he would be able to stop himself.

[aTOMiC]

That was pretty cool. I think you handled the conflict very well. I was curious so I checked. The only problem I had with your narrative was that you used the name Dervan 51 times. Other than that I was pleased.

[I'm Murrin]

I couldn't think of other things to call him, heh. I thought I used Simon too much as well...

[aTOMiC]

I find it helps to assign as many different labels to characters as I can. First and last, captain, etc. I may formally refer to someone at first and then as the reader becomes a bit more familiar I my begin to rely on a title or a nickname or perhaps alternating from first to last name just to shake things up. Sword is a hard one. “his weapon” blade, foil, steel, rapier. I guess it depends on what you mean by “incapable of using”.

[I'm Murrin]

I mean that every time I got to a point where I referred to the swords, I found myself not wanting to use the word, no matter how many times I had already repeated 'blade'...

I'm really bad at coming up with names, or ways to refer to a person. You can see there all I managed was 'the would-be-mage', 'the black-haired youth', 'the other youth', 'his opponent', 'his foe', 'his enemy', 'the apprentice mage'. I couldn't find any other way to refer to him, and that left me no choice but to say his name far too often....

[dANdeLION]

I find it helps to assign as many different labels to characters as I can. First and last, captain, etc. I may formally refer to someone at first and then as the reader becomes a bit more familiar I my begin to rely on a title or a nickname or perhaps alternating from first to last name just to shake things up.

Yeah, and you can have the opponents hurl insults at each other, too. "Maggot", "Worm" and "Groveler" all have their unique charms. As for titles, neither Simon nor Dervan had as of yet finished their training, so there would be little in the way of titles to give either of them. Also, whatever title one would have, it seems the other would have too. Apprentice? Student? Trainee? Eagle Scout? Those titles fit both.

My only problem with the story is that Dervan seems to still have a lot of energy left for the killing blow, but it takes him a while to focus it, though the first three times he used it, it was instantaneous. Simon, on the other hand, is nearly spent, but has no problem taking two shots, the second being his killing blow, before Dervan can get off his own killing blow. It just seems inconsistent to me. Other than that, good effort.

It would really be interesting to know what effect this has on Simon's status; would the mages kick him out? Would Simon leave of his own accord? Where would he go from there? And did Dervan really die? All we know is he disappeared. Maybe he's the Invisible man now

[I'm Murrin]

I did have one idea for a follow up but I don't know if I'll end up doing it. If I do, I know that there will be a new viewpoint character and Simon will be secondary, but still essential to the story.

[hierachy]

Ah ha, so here it is... The name I created for a pivotal charicter in fleeting inspiration-Dervan-found here.
Of course a name is just a name and I'm sure it was unconciously used anyway, so I point no angry fingers.

[I'm Murrin]

Wow, you're right. I completely missed that.
I'm totally Sword of Truth-minded right now and thought I just kept thinking of names similar to Darken/Drefan Rahl (every name I came up with started with D ended with N and had an R and A in the middle)...
Didn't mean to borrow one of your names...

[hierachy]

no problem

[I'm Murrin]

Wow, it's been a long time since I wrote these. This one is better than I remembered it being. I was reading it through with the intention of writing the scene again from scratch, but I think I may just revise this version. Expect something from me soon, then.

[CovenantJr]

Hm, I didn't see this before. I like it. It actually kind of reminds me of David Gemmell, though that could just be because he writes a lot of combat scenes. Oh, and stick with Dervan over Drevan.

[I'm Murrin]

Interesting - one of the other stories that I wrote around the same time was also compared to Gemmel, though it had no combat at all, and I've never read Gemmel. Hmm.
And on the name... for some reason I remembered the protagonist as being Dervan before I reread the thing. I might swap the names.

[CovenantJr]

It is Dervan, I was just answering the question in your first post

[I'm Murrin]

No, I was unclear. In my memory Simon was Dervan and I couldn't remember Dervan's name. I reread the story and realised I'd got them confused in my head.

[CovenantJr]

Oh, I see what you mean. Since you seem to share some stylistic elements, perhaps you should try reading some Gemmell. I recommend Knights of Dark Renown or Waylander.

[Nathan]

I liked that, possibly the quickest story ever to go from "reading because I'm bored" to "reading to find out what happens". Brilliant the way you got the challenge in almost straight away, from that point I was hooked.

I loved the ending too.

[matrixman]

Nice story, Murrin. I admit I had a little trouble distinguishing between Simon and Dervan during the fight: the way it's described, I couldn't quite tell who was striking which particular blow. Other than that, I think your writing is lucid and flows well. Combining sword and sorcery in combat is interesting. Use the Force, Simon!

[Avatar]

I liked it too. Definitely take Cj's suggestion, and read some Gemmel. Speaking of which, Cj, did you enjoy Lion of Macedon? (I know you've just bought it.)

--A

[CovenantJr]

I'm about half way through - I'm a sedate reader, and I'm also tackling Hyperion at the same time. So far, so better than Dark Prince. Some of the more violent moments are typically Gemmell, but I find the focus on Parmenion's strategic talents very interesting.