The Man With A Thousand Faces: Eight
by redmoon
Eight

8 July, 1173, 13 miles East of Myriocephalon, Byzantine Empire

Kilij Arslan II, the Seljuk sultan of Rum, had sent his new battle force. It was smaller than one intended to sack Constantinople. It could not possibly defeat the orders sent by the Pope. These were the thoughts of Alexius II as he steadied his horse near the crag in the pass. His knights were waiting just inside the pass — waiting to ambush the invaders.

Alexius’ thoughts raced through his head as he watched the two hundred heads of light infantry march through the dried valley. Two hundred could not even take the monastery, he thought, squinting. What was the sultan up to?

In the dwindling light, his horse whinnied, rearing up and nearly tossing the prince to the ground. By the time he had steadied it a rider from the distant battalion had spotted him and was approaching. From the time Alexius looked down and patted his horse’s great neck to when he looked back up, the rider had crossed the four mile stretch across the valley and was slowing up now as he approached the prince.

Alexius steadied his horse again, forcing him to look away from the rider who approached. The prince’s horse began to sidestep nervously, tossing its head. Finally, as the rider drew up beside the prince, he looked up and understood why.

Alexius himself had never seen a demon. This thing which now sat upon the horse beside him looked like nothing he had ever seen. With a pair of horns like a gazelle, stabbing back into the air from his great head, his long black hair matching the mane of his horse and two blood red eyes glaring out from a coal-black face resembling any devil from every literature Alexius had ever read, the prince sat frozen in fear and wonder.

Arslan had conjured some demon from another realm. Some demon, and his host of warriors to fight his battles for him. The prince’s horse reared again, shaking Alexius out of his stare and sending his hand to his sword. But the terrible roar of the demon threw him off of his horse and caused him to land heavily on his right arm, breaking the bone. He cried out in fear and pain as the demon dismounted, carrying no weapon, wearing none but the slightest of armor and approached the fallen Byzantine prince.

With his left hand, Alexius felt for the hilt of his sword at his left hip. With a rush of air and a sting of pain on his chin, he drew the blade from the awkward position and held it menacingly before him. The demon stopped, towering over the prince as he lay in the dust. There was a deep guttural laugh from the thing as it imagined the prince as threatening.

With its head back and its eyes closed, indulging in the hearty laugh, Alexius threw himself from the ground, taking a bitter swing at the creature’s head. His shout of pain from his broken arm with which he thrust himself gave him away.

The demon ducked its head down, howling as the blade sliced through the top of its head, clanging against its one horn, and dropping a fragment of scalp and long black hair into the dust. Black blood poured from the head wound, the creature’s hand coming up to cover it. With a screech, it brought its heel into Alexius’ chest, throwing him back into the dust.

The demon quickly mounted his horse, just as the three scouts from the company of knights approached from the pass. They had heard much of the fight and charged forward immediately with swords drawn, shouting wildly.

The demon’s eyes flashed as he spurred his horse back to his own troops, his horse and himself vanishing in a flash of green light. The scouts held up their horses, each dismounting and kneeling beside the wounded prince.

One knight reached into the dust and pulled from it a long lock of black hair, bloodied at one end. “What sorcery is this?” The knight whispered, observing the black blood.

Alexius stood, steadying himself on his sword and comrades. “Take it to Lord Tarnis. He will know.”

The four horsed riders thundered back into the pass to warn of the approaching army.

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