Among the Dead and Dying

by A.R. Wise

  * * *

  Ward dodged the hammer and it crashed down beside him while his attacker screamed out in rage. The camp was being assaulted, and the other prisoners had fled into the plains, but Ward’s injury had forced him to stay. Whatever magic Ebon had used to ignite the poisonous cloud had addled everyone as the wind spread the fumes. Ward’s eyes stung and his lungs burned, but he ignored his pain as he fought for his life.

  “Who are they?” asked Hammer as he hoisted his weapon and held it defensively as he faced off with the former Sixth-Sword. “Who are the riders?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ward honestly. He was on his feet again, his sword before him, ready to strike when he saw an opening.

  “Liar,” said Hammer, his anger obvious. His golden beard was specked with blood, and there were cuts on his arms. He was still shirtless, like he’d been when he fought Gandry, and Ward assumed he’d passed out shortly after murdering the First-Sword only to be awoken when the alarm was raised. “They came to save you, didn’t they?” It was as much an accusation as a question. “They came to save that girl. You’re no baker. You were her guard. Who is she that she earns a Sixth-Sword as a personal guard?”

  “Leave him alone,” said the prophet. She’d come to help along with the thegn, but Ward didn’t want their help with the fight.

  “Do you know where Saffi is?” asked Ward.

  “I’m not sure,” said the prophet. “I think I know which way she was headed.”

  “Then go find her, and keep her safe. Leave this one to me,” said Ward, never taking his eyes off the marauder. The prophet and the thegn agreed, but couldn’t go through the cloud of smoke. Instead, they headed back towards their wagon to go around the plume.

  “You think you can keep her safe?” asked Hammer. “You think my men won’t hunt her down? I’ll make it my personal mission to find her after all this is over. I’ll kill her nice and slow.”

  Ward moved in a circle, staying opposite of Hammer as they both waited for the other to strike. He didn’t respond to the man’s taunts, and instead watched his eyes, looking for any sign that the marauder was about to charge.

  “I’m going to kill you, and then find that girl,” said Hammer. “You don’t want to know what I’m going to do to her – the little royal pig. That aristocrat bitch. Is she a Leviathan? A Kessel? Which family does she belong to? I bet they’d pay good money to get her back. But maybe I’ll keep her for myself. My own, personal, royal thegn.”

  Ward didn’t respond, hoping silence would antagonize the brute.

  “Sworn to secrecy, Sixth-Sword? Is that it?” Hammer stopped moving, and Ward did the same. Hammer’s back was to the wagons, and Ward’s was facing the camp.

  Hammer glanced up past Ward, revealing the ploy. His movements and delay had been purposeful.

  Ward darted to the side, aware that he’d been led into a deliberate trap by Hammer. The other leader of the marauders, Pitt, had come from the camp and was trying to catch the former Sixth-Sword by surprise. Ward’s discovery of the ploy didn’t deter the behemoth, and Pitt lunged with a long sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.

  Ward spun and slashed, but his dexterity had waned over the past decade. He wasn’t capable of the same maneuvers he’d mastered in his youth, and nearly paid with his life as Pitt’s dagger ripped through his tunic and sliced his belly. Pitt was just as wide as Ward, but his girth was one of strength earned from a hard life in the plains. Ward hadn’t been certain he could take down Hammer, but now with Pitt joining the fray he knew he was doomed.

  Pitt recovered from his failed assault easily, ducking and pivoting to avoid a high attack from Ward. He didn’t retreat, but slashed out at the First-Baker’s boots, almost slicing his shins. Ward had to leap back, and his wounded leg caused him to stagger when he landed. As Pitt moved away, Hammer stepped in, completing his part in what Ward knew was a series of attacks they’d practiced before. These men had fought together in many battles, and knew how to complement each other’s style. There was no chaos in the way they fought, and Ward knew he was outmatched.

  Hammer swung from right to left, but his intent wasn’t to hit Ward. Instead, Hammer was using his attack to guide his opponent into the position he wanted. Hammer and Pitt were trying to get on opposite sides of Ward, making it impossible for the baker to defend himself. They fought like a pack of wolves, choreographed and in unity, but Ward had been trained by the best Swords in the kingdom, and was prepared for this.

  The key to defeating two enemies at once is to create as much separation as possible and focus in on one of them. Hammer’s weapon was unwieldy, and would be hard for him to deliver precise blows, so Ward focused on Pitt first. He turned his back on Hammer and feinted a strike at Pitt, causing the marauder to raise his sword to parry. Next Ward moved to the side, concerned that Hammer would try to attack from behind, and twirled his sword so that the pommel faced up as he punched at Pitt’s face, connecting and sending the marauder reeling back.

  Hammer took the opportunity to attack, just like Ward had hoped. The marauder’s war hammer swooped through the air, and Ward easily dodged it by moving to the side. He was hoping to catch Hammer off-guard, but the marauder leader was too good a fighter to be caught by such a simple tactic. The marauder dodged right, and then lifted his hammer defensively as he protected Pitt, who’d already recovered and looked ready to fight again.

  Ward had given them a good fight so far, but he was beginning to question whether or not he could fend them off much longer as his wounded leg continued to pain him. He put too much weight on his right leg, and it nearly collapsed beneath him as he moved backward.

  “What do you think, Pitt?” asked Hammer. “Should we just kill him already?”

  Pitt nodded, a smile breaching his stern mug. The two marauders advanced, ready to finish the fight. Ward was watching them both, looking for any reveal about who would attack first, when he saw a large, black figure emerging from the fog. It was Stephen, the mule, charging through the cloud of smoke as if coming to help. The mule thudded into Pitt from behind, knocking the man down. Hammer looked over in surprise just in time to see the mule kick out at him. The animal’s hooves missed Hammer, but caused him to stagger back and fall.

  “Thanks Stephen,” said Ward as he moved over to Pitt. The big man had fallen to his knees, and Ward chopped his sword down into the marauder’s shoulder, cutting deep and dropping the man flat on his face in the dirt. The mule neighed, and shook its head. Mucus dripped from the animal’s nose, and its eyes were red and teary, a result of charging through Ebon’s poisonous cloud. Ward stroked his muzzle and said, “Get on out of here, boy. Go save yourself.” He slapped the mule’s hind, sending Stephen running off into the night.

  “You killed Pitt,” said Hammer in shock.

  Ward looked at the surviving marauder and said, “You’re next.”

  Hammer charged, spurred by rage, and his weapon whooshed through the air, barely missing Ward as the baker dodged left and right. The marauder wielded his heavy weapon with surprising ease, twirling with its momentum and striking high, then low, and back to high again. It was impossible for Ward to dodge them all and he was forced to use his sword to parry, which he’d hoped to avoid. The hammer clanged against the steel, and Ward’s weapon was almost knocked out of his hands as its point was driven to the dirt. Ward let go of the sword, and grabbed the shaft of the hammer instead.

  The marauder pulled at the hammer, bringing Ward closer before delivering a punishing head butt. Ward was dazed, and fell to one knee, but he had the presence of mind to keep his grip on the shaft of the weapon. Hammer was stronger than the baker, and ripped the weapon free. He raised the war hammer, prepared to deliver a final, crushing blow. Ward lunged up, wrapped his arms around the barrel-chest man, and pushed him backward. They tumbled to the earth, and the marauder dropped his weapon in favor of beating his opponent with his fists.

  Ward eagerly endured the abuse because this was the type of fi
ght he stood a better chance at. His years training with the guild had taught him a variety of different fighting styles, and he always excelled at wrestling. Hammer was strong, and every blow he delivered was punishing, but Ward had a better strategy than simply wailing at his opponent. Ward wormed his arms around the marauder while ducking his head to ensure he didn’t take any blows that could stun him. Hammer focused on beating at his sides, and Ward waited until the marauder twisted to use the momentum to twirl them both over. It worked, and now Ward had his arm around the man’s throat from behind. He used his legs to wrap around the marauder, pinning him as he choked him.

  Hammer wasn’t ready for this. He’d spent his life battling men in the plains, not studying a variety of fighting styles like Ward had. Despite Hammer’s experience as a marauder, he was wholly unprepared for a fighter like Ward, and soon the marauder lost consciousness as the baker squeezed the breath out of him.

  Ward got up, retrieved the hammer, and then stood over his felled foe. The marauder was breathing, and his eyes were open even though he was unconscious. His hands were tensed, as if gripping something invisible, and his throat let forth a croak as if the wounded muscles within were coming back into shape. Ward lifted the hammer, remembering the marauder’s threat to hunt down Saffi. He didn’t hesitate, and delivered a killing blow to put an end to the marauder’s reign in the Steel Plains.

  Hammer’s head burst upon the first strike, splitting wide and causing blood and brains to jettison forth across the dirt like the juice of a squashed tomato. Ward dropped the hammer onto its previous owner, and then turned to look at the still lingering smoke. The wind had carried the majority of the smoke away, pushing it south towards the marshlands, but there was still a lingering mist here that Ward knew would be harmful to breathe in. It didn’t matter though. His daughter was on the other side of the haze, and he needed to get there to help. He took a deep breath, and then ran as best he could on his wounded leg, willing to do whatever was necessary to save Saffi.