The Old Warrior

By Dale Broda, Jr

A beautiful nightmare.

It was her that stopped him. Stopped his fall. Held him to his feet as surely as if he had been nailed to the ground with metal stakes. Stopped the inevitable.

And so too was it her that made him move again. One last thing to do, one last thing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dale Broda, Jr
• Release date: Nov 3, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458058386

Dale Broda, Jr

Not much to say that's not said elsewhere. Though, I'll fill this in at a later date. Check out my rambles on dA if yer curious but honestly, I just like to tell stories.

Book preview

The Old Warrior

By

Dale Broda Jr

This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are from the author’s mind. Any resemblance to any actual person, location or event is coincidental.

Copyright © 2009, Dale Broda Jr

Smashwords Edition

Cover illustration © 2010 Christine

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Smashwords Edition eBook License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your enjoyment. This eBook may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please do so while pointing them to the author.

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About this Edition.

This is the Smashwords.com edition. Although this will be formatted by the automatic file-conversion process used at Smashwords.com, I did try to keep it as is.

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Author’s Note

I actually wrote this while I was in the middle of writing The Black Knight. Not sure why it came to me like it did but here it is. Came out all at once and in one go so that’s how it’s written and as far as any ‘breaks’ go, none were in my head when I wrote it. It’s just one quick journey.

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It was the girl that made him stop moving. Of all the things he had passed by. Of all the horrors he had walked slowly around. It was the girl that stopped him. Amid all the blood and smoke and hell’s own mayhem, it was the girl. She glowed like something from a dream. Porcelain white spotted dark red. Her golden hair smoked dark. A fragile, pale hand holding the arm of a blood soaked toy.

Standing among the dead and dying her bare feet buried in the organs and sloppy remains of those she had called family and friends. Her wide, sky blue eyes stared at nothing. And everything. Her pale, exposed flesh was coated in smoky death. Spotted wetly here and there with blood and gore. Little pale lips quivering under their dusting from the battle.

Innocence lost had never shown so brightly to him. Had never been so clear. It was this vision that caught him. This that held him on his feet.

A beautiful nightmare.

It was her that stopped him. Stopped his fall. Held him to his feet as surely as if he had been nailed to the ground with metal stakes. Stopped the inevitable.

And so too was it her that made him move again.

Behind her three dark shapes appeared. Rabid wolves dressed as men. They came at her as one.

All seeming to scent the same prey at once. Two thoughts clearly on their minds. A use for their swords. Both those of metal and flesh. The thoughts were clear as day in their watery, dark eyes. They would have had their prey too. On any other day.

Not today.

The old warrior would not allow that. He moved. Moved into the blades of the pretend men and passed the beautiful nightmare.

Her hair alone moved in his passing. On his way by he glanced. He saw those eyes that were staring at nothing, yet had already seen too much. The pretend men froze