Savants of Humanity (The Scholar's Legacy Book 2)

by Joshua Buller

  I could almost hear Hawke's teachings as I dropped my short-sword and grabbed the man's left arm and shoulder. As Hawke had shown me countless times before, I applied pressure to the joints and hyperextended the soldier's arm, pulling it behind his back.

  For you, just think that all things in this world have locks…

  The soldier cried out in pain, dropping his weapon. Before he could try and break free, I tapped his shoulder, elbow, and wrist—

  …and use your essence to make it so!

  —and let go of my hold.

  The man doubled over in pain, his arm still stretched behind his back, stuck exactly as I had been holding it. He dropped his sword, and his eyes went wide in fear, but no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn't free his limb from the invisible grip.

  Several of the other militiamen turned at the cry from their comrade. I quickly bent down to take up my short-sword in one hand and my opponent's sword in the other. Wielding two weapons at once wasn't my forte, but I wasn't looking to fight with them long anyway.

  The battlefield had recovered from the initial shock of Hawke's appearance and my attack, and everyone exploded back into action. Most of the soldiers started rushing the Mad Riders again, but I could already see Hawke dodging between adversaries, knocking aside their blows and disarming them one after the other. His personal fighting style, Sword Tempo, let him flow between moves effortlessly, lending his swordplay the air of a complicated dance.

  I worried that he would go overboard and start striking down the soldiers, but I had no more time to worry about him as several of the militiamen turned towards me. Seeing their fellow soldier writhing on the ground next to me, they charged with weapons ready. This group wasn't going to take me lightly.

  I took a deep breath, feeling the well of essence in me pour to the surface. It filled me with strength and vigor, washing over my body and the blades in my hands. They wouldn't be as potent as Hawke's Symphony, but they'd suffice.

  One attacked from my left, bringing their sword directly at my head. I brought up the weapon I'd taken from my downed foe, letting the two crash together. The soldier was easily stronger than me, but with my essence lending strength to my arm I could hold the block.

  That gave me enough time to work my power again, locking the two weapons together. I wrenched my short-sword towards me. The soldier's blade was pulled right out of his hands.

  The maneuver also pulled him off balance and sent him tripping into one of the other attackers. As they crashed into each other, I sprung forward and dropped the swords to put my hands on their heads. A little working of my essence, and I locked their faces to each other. I had to fight back a fit of giggles as they tried in vain to pull themselves apart.

  The last soldier stepped in to attack me. Without a sword, I had nothing to block his weapon as he brought it forward in a two-handed slash.

  At least, that would have been true if I was a normal swordswoman.

  I concentrated my essence into my forearms and brought them up crossed together, catching the sword in the V they made. There was a crashing sound, and the blade stopped. I winced as I felt the sharp edge try to bite into my flesh, but my essence held and kept me unharmed.

  The soldier looked at the sword, surprise etched across his face. I brought one hand forward and grabbed his fingers, locking them to the hilt of his weapon. With my free hand, I grabbed the blade and shoved it to the ground, working one more lock to fuse them together.

  I stepped back and made a rude gesture at the soldier. He snarled, but his rage was replaced with more surprise as he found himself unable to free his sword from the ground, unable to even let go of it.

  I looked up to find another foe. What I found was nearly every militiaman looking straight at me, their faces masks of fear and anger. Maybe I had bitten off a bit more than I could chew.

  There were still at least thirty soldiers remaining on the battlefield, and at a signal they all charged me, brandishing their weapons. I scooped up my short-sword and charged myself with essence, preparing to face them face on.

  A wave of dizziness washed over me, making me stumble. Using essence took a lot of effort, and I didn't have an unlimited supply. With all the energy I had been slinging around, I was starting to run dry.

  My vision swam, and I shook my head to try and clear it. The soldiers were approaching fast, and it would've taken all my strength to fight them off in peak condition. As drained as I was, I needed a miracle.

  That miracle took the form of a white and red blur dropping out of the sky, swinging a rusted sword around with abandon.

  “Hawke!” I cried out. “Don't hurt them!” The last thing I wanted was their deaths on my shoulders.

  “Don't worry, I don't think I'll have to,” he said calmly. The charge had stopped, and the remaining soldiers regarded Hawke with doubt. Even thirty to two, they seemed to be reluctant to attack after seeing what we were capable of.

  Hawke thrust his sword out toward them, and they all flinched. Instead of rushing them, though, Hawke glared like some sort of hellish beast.

  “This fight is over!” he bellowed, his voice echoing across the plain. “You will drop your weapons and surrender now!”

  I felt Hawke's essence pulse and expand around him. Then, it surged out like a wave, crashing through the ranks of the militiamen. They all shuddered, and in near unison they let go of their swords. Hawke's face was tight with strain, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead, but he managed a smile.

  “That really is a handy power,” he muttered. He turned towards me. “If you're going to secure them, now's the time. I don't know how long it'll actually hold them.”

  I took a deep breath to calm myself. “Yeah, you don't have to tell me twice.”

  One by one I approached the soldiers and locked their arms behind their backs. They gave me dirty looks as I went about my business, but none of them made any move to stop me. In just a few minutes, I had them all captured without so much as a drop of blood spilled.

  Slowly, the Mad Riders began to trickle out from their safe haven, confused as to why the fighting had stopped so abruptly. When they saw the militia incapacitated as they were, their eyes filled with bloodlust. I quickly stepped between the bandits and their attackers.

  “They're not a threat to you anymore, leave them alone,” I said. They seemed confused that I would defend the soldiers, and I couldn't blame them. Just minutes ago they had been trying to kill me too. I refused to let another person die if they didn't have to, though. Besides, a dead man told no tales, and if there's one thing we needed more of, it was information.

  “Oy, is tha' li'l Micasa?” cried a gruff voice from the midst of the Riders. A man stepped forward, covered in a threadbare beige robe. His sunny blonde hair was cropped short, and most of his face was concealed behind a bright blue bandanna.

  “Jollo!” I called out, recognizing the bandit. Then I thought about it and hesitated. “Or is it Giollo? I can never remember which is which.”

  “Nah, I'm Giollo today,” said someone else in a wheezy tone. Another of the Mad Riders approached, shaved and garbed so that he looked identical to the first speaker. The Bello Brothers were well known and liked among the bandit group, particularly for their penchant to dress and act as similar as possible - an act made stranger by the fact that they weren't related by blood in the least.

  “Oy, th' Scholar happen to be wit' you?” said the wheezy one calling himself Giollo. I pointed over to where Hawke was currently questioning one of the soldiers. Jollo gave a sigh of relief.

  “Guess that's one thing ta be thankful fer,” he said.

  “I'll say. Looks like we came at just the right time,” I commented. Jollo shook his head.

  “Wish that were true. Truth is, things has never been worse 'round here.”

  “This wasn't the first attack?”

  Giollo picked up for his brother. “Oy, not by a long shot. Micasa, you an' Hawke gotta come wit' us, now. The Mad Riders is in a bad way
.”

  “You're scaring me. What could possibly that bad?” I could feel a chill crawling down my skin.

  “Micasa,” Giollo refused to meet my eye. “Medicine Man's dead.”

  My heart felt like it stopped. “What?”

  “And,” Jollo continued, “Blake is in a bad way.”

  “What does that mean? What's a 'bad way'?” The blood pounded in my ears. I stormed towards Jollo and grabbed him by the collar. “Blake's alive, right!?”

  “Yeah, for now…” he trailed off.

  “For NOW!?” I tossed him aside and rushed to Hawke. His expression was dark and only grew worse when he caught sight of me.

  “I'm guessing things are worse than I thought?” he asked.

  “They said something's wrong with Blake, and Medicine Man's dead.” The words tumbled out of me in a slur, and I couldn't stop myself from shaking. The color drained from Hawke's face.

  “What I found can wait. We need to go now.”

  We only spared the time to retrieve our horses before heading into the forest, the Mad Riders leading the way to their camp. I just wasn't sure if I was ready for what we were going to find there. As it turned out, I was right.

  Chapter 9: Scars

  The pine trees closed in around us, trying their best to blot out the late morning sun. All around me was the nervous muttering of the Mad Riders and the sounds of feet and hooves crunching through the thick blanket of needles that coated the ground. I barely registered the sounds, hardly noticed my own exhaustion from using so much essence during the fight. All of my attention was focused on looking for any signs of the camp.

  When the first tent came into view, I vaulted off of Sir Brown Horse and tore into the camp on foot. A few men and women in dirty tunics and robes were milling about, handkerchiefs tied around their faces or necks. They looked at me, eyes wide in fear. Perhaps they thought I was another attacker. I ignored the gawkers, though, looking for a familiar face.

  I caught sight of a figure with a deep tan, their hair bleached so bright that it looked like a beacon in the darkness of the forest canopy. As I rushed towards them, they wheeled around with a dagger poised to strike.

  “Oy, Micasa!” the woman exclaimed. She sheathed her dagger and exhaled. “Ya gave me quite a scare, li'l lady! Ya can't jess run up ta someone like tha'!”

  I doubled over gasping for air. “I'm…sorry…but I heard…”

  A shadow seemed to pass over her face. “Ah, I'd almost forgotten ya di'nt know.”

  “Please, Jo, I need to see Blake,” I pleaded.

  She looked me over for a second, the worry lines in her face deepening. Jo was one of the more senior members of the Mad Riders and tougher than nails. Most of the bandits referred to her for directions, and she led all of the most dangerous missions that Riders undertook herself. Yet when she had saved me when Hawke and I first crossed the Madness, she made it clear that she wasn't all hard edges and bravado.

  “I dunno if yer ready ta see 'em,” Jo said. She turned to a few nearby bandits and barked some orders, sending them scurrying. I could tell she was trying to stall, but there was no way I could drop the subject.

  “I'll tear this place apart if I have to,” I warned her. She shook her head and sighed.

  “As ya wish. Is th' Scholar with ya?”

  “Yeah. He's coming in with the Bello Brothers right now.” I pointed back to where I had just come from. Jo's face lightened ever so slightly.

  “So those two made it back in one piece? At least th' news ain't all bad, I guess.”

  “Yeah, well, it was a close one,” I said. She looked puzzled, so I added, “I'll explain on the way to Blake.”

  It was hard not to push Jo to move faster as she led me through the camp. A few people called out to her while we marched, but she pointedly ignored them. I tried to give her a brief summary of what we had encountered when we reached the forest, but my mind kept wandering away from the subject. My explanation was a mumbled mess. At least Jo didn't seem to care much.

  I caught sight of a familiar pavilion tent through the trees and realized I'd been an idiot. Of course they'd be keeping Blake in the sick tent if ze was injured. Multiple braziers burned even in during the day, pouring off a heavy perfumed incense to mask the smell of disease and death that lingered around the site. Jo nodded to the entrance.

  “Ze's in a corner to the far right,” she said. “I'll keep watch out here. Nobody should trouble you in there. I just want to make sure it stays that way.”

  I wasn't sure what she was getting at, but I nodded my thanks and took a deep breath to steel myself. Even the thick incense couldn't completely block out the foul smells of the tent, but I ignored them and forced my way inside.

  The dull orange glow of more braziers suffused the room, revealing dozens of cots set in rows. Many of them were occupied with Mad Riders who were too sick or injured to care for themselves. A small number of volunteers walked between the beds, checking on their inhabitants. Every so often, one would go to the supply cabinet in the back for a washcloth or some painkiller for one of the bedridden.

  And far to my right, one of those bedridden looked at me, their black dreadlocks swinging around their head.

  “Blake!” I cried in a hushed tone as I hurried to them. As worried as I was, I didn't want to disturb those who were trying to rest.

  “Micasa!” ze gasped, their emerald eyes going wide.

  I was about to engulf them in a hug when I caught sight of Blake's condition. My breath caught in my throat, and I couldn't bring myself to move.

  It looked like a wolf had mauled Blake.

  Most of their body was covered head to toe in bandages crusted with pus and blood. Blake's face was so heavily wrapped that there was barely room for their eyes or mouth to peek out. If it wasn't for their hair, I wouldn't have been able to even tell who it was.

  “How?” was all I could breathe as I inched closer. Ze scratched at one of their arms and winced.

  “We got ambushed,” Blake said in a voice barely above a whisper. It sounded like ze was having trouble just forcing the words out. “Thought it was just bandits, but then those…demons showed up.”

  I could feel my skin crawling. The Mad Riders had been attacked by grinel.

  “Did our best, we did. Managed to drive them off somehow. Most of the people in here are because of that attack.” Blake scratched at the bandages again. “Blimey, this crap itches. Could you grab me somethin' for it?”

  I hurried to the medicine cabinet and managed to find some ointment. When I returned, Blake was unwrapping the bandages from their arms.

  “Thanks, Micasa. If you'd be a pal and help me.”

  I started dabbing the ointment on the raw skin. Most of it was covered in puckered, scabbed wounds that still cracked and bled.

  “Almighty, Blake, how are you still alive with all this?”

  Ze winced again, and I realized it wasn't from their injuries.

  “He…he saved me…” Blake pulled their knees up to their chest, whimpering in pain, and curled into a ball. “I was all but a goner and…he…”

  My heart stopped. “The Medicine Man healed you.”

  The tears on Blake's face reflected the braziers. It looked like rivers of molten rock trickling down their cheeks.

  “The damn idiot knew what would happen. He still did it anyway. Why the hell did he do it?” ze whispered.

  The Medicine Man had been able to heal another's wounds and illnesses by touching them, but in return would take on the injury or illness himself. When we first met him, he had held onto Hawke's power to quickly regenerate from such maladies, and with both powers became a healer like out of legend. It had been years since Hawke had recovered that power, though.

  “I saw him,” Blake murmured on. “I saw him as the cuts and bruises exploded open on him. His clothes were soaked with blood in seconds! And he kept going, kept pulling them from me until he—” Blake's voice caught in their throat. I already knew what ze was going
to say.

  I wanted to hug Blake, to pull them close and tell them it would be okay. At the same time, I could tell ze was in unbearable pain, and I couldn't bear the idea of making it worse.

  Blake was the one who grabbed me first. “Micasa, I don't know what to do now. The Medicine Man helped us so much, and because of me—!”

  I wrapped my arms around them. “This isn't your fault. Don't ever blame yourself for this. This is because of the grinel.”

  For the first time in my life, a spark ignited in my gut. I could feel it spreading through my body, burning like a forest fire. My blood felt like it was boiling.

  The grinel did this. All those dead and dying, all the pain Blake was suffering, because of the grinel. I suddenly understood Hawke's feelings, truer than I ever had before.

  I was about to say something to Blake when I noticed ze was hanging limply in my arms. My heart skipped a beat, but I felt their breath against my cheek. Blake had pushed too much, it seemed, and had passed out.

  I gently laid them back on the cot and made my way silently out of the tent. Jo was waiting for me, and Hawke had joined her.

  “How's Blake?” Hawke asked.

  I couldn't bring myself to talk about it. Instead I shook my head and marched off. Fear and rage were still coursing through me, and all I could think about was finding something to hit.

  Stomping around for a bit, I found myself at one of the practice ranges the Mad Riders liked to set up. Without thinking, I started hefting weapons from a supply bin and hurling them at a nearby tree.

  Memories of my first stay with the Mad Riders bubbled to the surface, memories of Blake teaching me about how to hold a sword or throw an axe. I hadn't had much practice since then, but I found that anger was a viable substitute for technique when it came to hurling sharp objects.

  I thought of the old Medicine Man, short and squat and covered with more muscle than any doctor had a right to. He had been stern, as necessary to deal with a rough group like the Riders, but he had taken care of them like they were his own children. He had saved me from near death, and he had kept Hawke's power safe until it was reclaimed. Even his death came about from caring for someone else.