The Usurper

by James Alderdice

  “And?” questioned Thorne.

  “I saw death,” Tokberu said grimly.

  Thorne laughed out loud.

  Tokberu scowled.

  “Well, I hate to be the one to tell you, but where we are standing, you didn’t need to roll the bones to know that. What are you simple?”

  “I mean I saw your death!” Tokberu shouted.

  “Nope,” answered Thorne, shaking his head. “You’ve already lost this battle. You saw death, but it wasn’t clear who’s, so it must be yours.”

  Tokberu frowned and still spinning his iron capped staff, launched a terrible attack of each side spinning and battering at Thorne in a relentless barrage.

  Thorne slammed his own sword back and the lean Valchiki, deftly danced away. He stalked sideways, glaring with hate.

  Launching a new attack, Tokberu used his staff as a pole vault, throwing himself bodily away from Thorne, only to spin and come quickly from another direction and renew his double pommeled attack.

  Thorne could not bring his exceptionally long blade to bear with this close attack and then when he was close enough, Tokberu, head butted Thorne with his iron skull helm.

  Thorne dropped to his knees dazed and bloody-nosed.

  Tokberu stood above him, a ghastly white smile of glee upon his face, as he raised his iron capped staff for a skull-crushing smash. Then his face went slack as if puzzled and he fell over dead.

  “Get up, Thorne,” growled Gathelaus. “You’re making us look bad.” He put a foot on the dead man’s back and retrieved his Pictish tomahawk from Tokberu’s spine.

  ***

  Jolly Roger walked slow and easy upon the sodden ground. Jadjonel the Avaran sword master matched him. Step by step they rounded upon one another gauging each other’s form and skill. Then wordlessly they launched a flurry of sword strokes at one another.

  The Avaran was swifter being unencumbered by armor, but he could not manage a killing stroke through Jolly’s mail.

  Each man remained silent, knowing that the other was a dedicated master who could not be aggravated by mere words.

  Their blades clashed together time and again. Steel rang on steel and swept out, striking shreds of cloth from their uniforms. Droplets of blood fell from the many tiny scratches and opened bruises between their dance of death and still they fought on, as if unaware of any other personage in the world.

  Sunlight danced on their blades and shadows covered their souls. Back and forth the edges sang as slivers of steel cut away from their blades.

  Sweat poured down each man’s face, but a grim respect was there too.

  Finally, Jadjonel spoke. “You are the Tolburnian duelist who lived for a time in Dar-Al-Hambra are you not?”

  “I am.”

  Jadjonel nodded with an understanding look. “I regret that I was among those who forced you from the city. I was a younger man then. Foolish and proud. I learned later what it was to be skilled and that the way of jealously clouds the mind. I apologize for my actions all those years ago.”

  “Apology accepted,” said Jolly.

  “Thank you,” replied Jadjonel. “You have eased a burden from my heart.”

  They slammed blades together once more. Jadjonel’s twin scimitars forming an X, trapping Jolly’s katana. Jadjonel began to slip one of the blades free, that he might cut off Jolly Roger’s head with it.

  But Jolly understood the game better than anyone. His hand moved like lightning and his wakizashi was out, disemboweling Jadjonel before his scimitar was even halfway free.

  Jadjonel dropped to his knees in the mud, a look of horror upon his handsome face, he then fell onto his back, his hands finally releasing the grip on his swords.

  Jolly backed away, knowing full well that a dying man could still kill.

  The Avaran sword master lay in the mud, while a rapidly growing pool of red spread out beneath him. He looked up at Jolly with a smile. Blood trickled from his mouth, but he whispered, “Thank you,” before he passed.

  ***

  Topper held his spear loose and easy. He took several steps forward, wary of what the huge axe man might do. Would he rush him like a bull? Would he wait to lure in the smaller man and chop at him with that incredible blade?

  But Terhrun Oxblood, the Skullsplitter, merely stood by glaring with pale blue eyes out of his shrouded helm. Those great horns coming off the sides certainly made him look like a bull.

  Topper could hear his breath, heavy and deep like a bull, getting ready to charge. There was no time to waste on an opponent like this. Dancing close, Topper let the spear spring forward in his hand to punch through the big man’s gut.

  Terhrun moved with incredible speed and batted the spear head away with a flick of his axe.

  Topper was dumbfounded at how fast the hulking juggernaut moved. He knew this was serious. The giant wasn’t nearly as slow as he initially expected. He moved around the seeing if he might be able to flank the Skullsplitter; but as he moved around in a circle, the big man sidestepped and turned deftly to face him.

  Topper came in quick with the spear, hoping to pierce the Skullsplitter’s legs or maybe an arm. Again, Terhrun knocked the jabbing spear aside, this time with the butt end of his axe.

  “You’re quick, for such a big ugly bastard,” said Topper.

  The Skullsplitter said nothing, but his breathing was loud as a raging bull, it was nearly a frothing snort. Was he getting angry, wondered Topper?

  “Come on, ya big bastard, take a swing at me,” challenged Topped, poking with his spear point. This time the edge of the spear connected but did no damage as it brushed along Terhrun’s mail and skittered off to the side.

  Topper jabbed again and this time, the Skullsplitter grasped the head of the spear with his left hand.

  Topper yanked back with both hands but could not overpower the Skullsplitter’s grip.

  A low guttural rumble like distant thunder sounded. Did the big man laugh at him?

  Topper pulled again, but with ease the Skullsplitter pulled back and stole the spear from him. He tossed it aside, as if it meant nothing to steal Topper’s weapon.

  “All right, I’ve got more,” said Topper, drawing his war hammer from a loop on his belt.

  The Skullsplitter stood steady as a rock once more as Topper came closer, raising the war hammer for a terrible blow. He came in fast and slammed the square face of the hammer against Terhrun’s side. Maybe he heard the man grunt in pain, maybe he didn’t. Regardless, the Skullsplitter knocked him away with the butt of his axe.

  The blow dazed Topper, he went stumbling back, but managed to keep his balance and not fall on his ass. His peripheral vison showed him that the man-mountain Terhrun was not pursuing him yet, so he had a moment to gain his footing as well as his senses. He slid on mud covered grass then caught himself just before falling over.

  This would be a tough one, but I’m not nearly out of this yet, Topper thought.

  A dark shadow fell across him and Topper’s final thought was, Clouds? There aren’t any clouds today.

  ***

  Gathelaus wiped his tomahawk edge on the dead man’s kilt then glanced up just as Terhrun the Skullsplitter slammed his great axe down on Topper and revealed how he got his grim name.

  There wasn’t even a moment for Topper to scream. He was bourne away by invisible Valkyries to the land of shadow on the instant.

  Gathelaus cried out and charged the behemoth.

  Terhrun wheeled to face this new threat.

  Gathelaus cast his tomahawk at the foe. The weapon spun in the air and hit the armored pouldrons on his shoulder and fell to the ground.

  Jolly approached Terhrun from the opposite side. Gathelaus held his sword with both hands. Even Thorne was stumbling forward, still bleeding from his nose and wiping it away.

  “Don’t engage him until you have your wits about you,” Gathelaus warned him.

  “I’m good,” said Thorne, wiping away at another stream of blood.

  Only now as the
four men who remained standing on the field looked at one another could they each hear the roar of the crowd and the mutter of drums. The sound had all been lost in the heat of battle but came rolling back now like thunder in the highlands.

  Terhrun’s voice was equal to the storm. “When I kill you three, my name will be the one most feared in the north.”

  “It talks?” said Thorne.

  Terhrun lifted his axe and charged at them with incredible speed. The axe came down and Gathelaus leapt back like a springing cat. He felt the wind of that great blade as it sheared the air before him, the razor-edge singing.

  Jolly struck. He slashed across the huge man’s left side, but only succeeded in freeing part of the Skullsplitter’s bear skin cloak.

  Terhrun spun on his heels and sent Jolly flying away with a back handed blow from the axe handle. Jolly was lucky that the blade was on the other side or he might have been joining Topper on the ride of the Valkyries.

  Thorne charged ahead and slammed his long blade into Terhrun’s gut. Some of the chain mail links popped and there was an audible gasp from the man-mountain. But he was not down by anyone’s count the blade had only pierced the great fat belly perhaps a.

  Terhrun slammed a titanic blow down on the great-sword and the shock, stole it from Thorne’s grasp. The great-sword hit the ground and Terhrun stomped upon it, bending the blade until it snapped.

  The Skullsplitter laughed like the ice breaking from the glaciers of the north and falling into the sea.

  Gathelaus brought his sword down on Terhrun’s helm and knocked a horn loose and sent it flying from the juggernauts head. This bought Throne the moment he needed to escape from Skullsplitter’s wrath.

  Furious, Terhrun had blood dripping from his scalp and he turned and stared daggers at Gathelaus.

  “Got your attention huh?” said Gathelaus.

  “Mmmmmm,” rumbled Terhrun.

  ***

  Thorne glanced about for a new weapon. He saw Sarvan’s wide bladed sword sticking crookedly out of the mud. He hurried and picked it up.

  “That’s mine!” shouted Sarvan with a pained squall.

  “Gods! You’re still alive?” said Thorne to the cripple.

  Sarvan crawled toward him gnashing his teeth, his armored fingers gouging furrows in the mud.

  “Why don’t you just die?” asked Thorne as he hurried back to the fight with Terhrun.

  “I’ll have my vengeance!” cried Sarvan. “Damn you all to hell! You cruel bastards! Just kill me!” He dropped his face in the muddy field and wept.

  ***

  Terhrun charged at Gathelaus sweeping his massive axe back and forth. Gathelaus blocked that awful axe-head but was continually driven back.

  The men on Forlock’s side cheered and shouted, and someone said for Terhrun to be sure and finish the fallen man.

  Jolly was struggling to get up. He was on his hands and knees.

  A cruel smile washed over Terhrun’s face and he abandoned Gathelaus and ran toward Jolly to finish the job. He raised his axe for a sundering stroke. He was almost upon the fallen man.

  Thorne knew he could not reach Jolly in time to shield him from the Skullsplitter, so he did the only thing he could. He threw Sarvan’s sword with all his might.

  The wide blade wheeled end over end. The vicious giant raised his axe above Jolly. The thrown blade landed tip first and buried itself several inches into Terhrun’s back.

  Terhrun’s body seized with pain. He dropped the axe behind himself mid-strike and the huge axe fell. His fingers constricted in pain. He reached to draw out the thorn in his side but could not quite reach it with his large pouldrons and heavy arm bands.

  Jolly fully aware of what had just happened scrambled away.

  Gathelaus rushed up and slammed his own sword into Terhrun’s side. The man mountain cried aloud and backhanded Gathelaus, sending him spinning away.

  Jolly got to his feet but was wobbling.

  Thorne hunted for another weapon. He saw Topper’s boar spear and raced to retrieve it.

  Terhrun fetched up his axe and looked for his enemies. Jolly was only a few strides away, vomiting into the grass. He brought his axe up and came at the stricken man.

  Thorne rammed Topper’s spear into the Skullsplitter’s side and pushed. Mail links snapped and Terhrun belched aloud and swung the axe toward Throne who was forced to hit the ground and roll away.

  Terhrun had the sword sticking out of his back and the boar spear in his side and yet he stood and fought on.

  Gathelaus hit Terhrun again, knocking his armored forearm loose of his grip on the axe and then shearing fingers from his other hand. The axe fell in the mud, the heavy head sinking and keeping the long ash handle upright.

  Terhrun shouted, “Valhol! I am coming!”

  Thorne rushed in and pushed the partially stuck sword of Sarvan in, all the way to the hilt. The tip sprang from just under Terhrun’s heart with a spurting of blood and the man mountain dropped to his knees.

  Gathelaus came up behind him and smote his head from his shoulders. The massive body dropped to the ground, briefly raised up on his hands, as if he struggled for air yet with blood pouring from the neck, then fell and was still.

  All of the shouting and cheering from Forlock’s side had ceased. The mutter of drums went silent.

  Baron Undset strode up to Gathelaus, “I’m glad you refused me. I could not have stood beside you against that.”

  Gathelaus merely nodded and looked toward where Forlock sat in his throne.

  He was gone.

  “Will you honor the pact?” cried Gathelaus.

  The forces of Forlock marshalled along the fence line eyed Gathelaus and his army uneasily. They too saw that their king was gone. No one believed he would surrender, but where was he? What were their orders?

  “Will you honor the pact?” shouted Gathelaus again. “I have won you old goat and everyone knows it!”

  He was answered by a barrage of arrows from the city walls. This cloud of death was indiscriminate and fell among a number of Forlock’s own men as well as a few of the further afield of Gathelaus’s forces. It was a bold pointless move. Hardly any men were struck down at all, but it turned the goodwill of his own forces against Forlock and his wizard while only emboldening Gathelaus’s men.

  “So be it!” shouted Gathelaus. “I’m coming for your head next!” He held up Terhrun’s monstrous head and tossed it across the field.

  Gathelaus allowed Forlock’s men to flee. Those who had watched from the fence line were the ones most aware that he had won the contest as well as those who would be embittered at their commander, and that might pay off in his own favor.

  “Kill me,” slurred a pale Sarvan, still dragging himself across the muddy track. “Kill me.”

  Gathelaus looked at the pathetic cripple and said, “Someone patch him up. He doesn’t get to go to Valhol yet.”

  Four years earlier…

  The Legacy Of The Cloud Eaters

  Mounted warriors cursed the townsfolk as they charged through the muddy street and past the open door of the inn.

  “Blaggards! Every one of ‘em!” spat Edna the old innkeeper, sloshing a pair of tankards down before her two patrons, a young blonde girl who looked perhaps seventeen at most and a hulking sullen man. He was young too but dressed in well-worn mail and armor.

  “Every spring it’s the same,” continued Edna, “fortune seekers riding through the town off into the mountains looking for Ognel’s treasure.”

  A dozen more armed horsemen rode swiftly by the window, mud flying from their steed’s hooves like bees about a hive.

  The armored man’s fingers held his hilt with anticipation. If the riders stopped, he looked ready to race out the door and fight.

  “Ognel’s treasure?” asked the tawny–haired girl. “You don’t say.” She played with a red sash in her hair as she nudged the man.

  “That’s what they call it. Of course, they don’t find a damn thing and then throu
gh desperation they take to banditry. It’s why we in Vogar love winter. Keeps the greedy southern dogs out! We say ‘Stay frozen, so it don’t stink’!” Edna laughed once. “Then of course the piss-poor hedge wizards who can’t charm the underclothes off a milk maid, they come too, chanting and casting spells of ill luck, dowsing for treasure and all to find naught. Dogs every one of ‘em.” She spit on the floor, then wiped her mouth.

  “I shall be careful then,” answered the girl.” Plus, I have Gathelaus to look after me. He has the most vital strength of anyone I’ve ever met.” She put a hand around his mail-covered bicep and squeezed.

  He rolled his eyes at that, even if he liked her touch. She was after all very beautiful with high cheekbones and sharply chiseled features, but her eyes were cold and distant.

  Edna sniffed at him. “Always cared more for a kind man over a brute myself. More sell swords in these parts now than we have a right too.”

  “Well, he was the finest man I could find in all the land,” said the girl proudly, as she ran a hand appraisingly over his shoulder.

  Gathelaus slightly blushed at that statement. He thought this kind of talk was ridiculous. After all, their arrangement was mere employment, there was nothing physical between them. Despite his secret wish for such.

  “Look at him, so much life bursting in his in his veins. His heart beats like a drum,” said the girl.

  “I’m not a horse,” he complained, taking a deep draught of the tankard.

  “Of course not,” said the girl, “but you are quite the stallion,” she teased, as she bumped her hip at him.

  By the gods he did not understand women.

  Edna changed the subject back to the beginning. “Everybody is always looking for the easy money when they come round here, but the great joke is there never was any such riches here in Vogar. It’s all lies and rumors of lies.”

  “Well, that’s unfortunate,” said the girl. “I have come into a map that claims to know the secrets of the treasure mountain and can find the palace of the Cloud Eaters.”

  Gathelaus coughed to silence the girl.