Admiral's Challenge (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 8)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  Parrying and backing away, I angled my sword to disperse the power of his attacks away and to the side and then attempted to counter attack like I’d been training to do for the past year. But this was a man who’d been one of the three most promising young swordsmen in a city-state where one’s ability with a blade was everything.

  He had more than an edge when it came to strength—standing about a foot taller than me didn’t hurt his leverage, either—but I was starting to feel like I had a slight edge in speed and skill. If he was bound and determined to fight handicapped, and not to take me seriously—even after the way I pounded him into the ground the last time we had fought—then I wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip through my fingers.

  “You’ve improved your skills significantly since the last time we crossed blades,” Nikomedes grinned, driving me around the ring and then punctuating his words with a front kick that sent me flying—but what he didn’t know was that he was exactly where I wanted him.

  “Really…I hadn’t noticed,” I gasped, rolling to the side rapidly to avoid a downward sword strike aimed right where my head had been.

  “Well…” Nikomedes said contemplatively, “I can understand why you would feel that; last time you suppressed me with your superior strength—or, rather, with the strength of your armor. We both know now you do not have your precious armor,” he bared his teeth like a hungry mountain lion contemplating his next meal. “Without it, the gap between your strength and mine is now reversed—and your sword skills are in no position to compensate.”

  “You talk too much,” I snapped, and with a sudden explosive movement struck at the hilt of his Light Sword with all my power. Returning the favor of earlier, when he knocked my Dark Sword out of my hands, his Light Sword went flying. But, unfortunately, this wasn’t some contest or honor duel to me. This man intended to take Akantha, and everything I’d built up since becoming an Admiral, simply because he didn’t think I was strong enough to hold it. Well, I was going to show him—actually, I wasn’t; I was just going to kill him.

  My follow-up was wicked, cutting through his outer clothes. I would have gutted the blighter, too, if he hadn’t been wearing a Stone Rhino vest underneath his outer clothes. As it was, my sword gouged deep enough to leave a thin line of blood along the edge of the impact point, but that was all it did.

  Jumping back, Nikomedes glared at me as I followed with a lethal swing of my sword. But, for a big man, he was simply too nimble on his feet and he evaded me easily.

  “Young Stone Rhino hide from the underside, around the armpits,” Niko explained, tapping his belly and speaking coldly. But his words were a diversion, “I admit it that you are better than I am; fighting like this, I cannot win.”

  “Then give up,” I growled bringing my sword overhead for a power stroke, “I promise I’ll make it quick!”

  “However, I know something you don’t know,” he said with a matching grunt as he blocked every attack of my blade with his remaining one. While our swords were in the clinch, he shuffled sideways and used his foot to launch the Light Sword up into the air. With a shove that I couldn’t entirely resist, he showcased his superior strength and pushed me back, snatching the Light Sword out of mid-air, “I am not right-handed!”

  Then, stepping back, he switched swords mid-air by tossing the vibro-blade and catching it in an underhanded grip in his left hand, with the hilt up and tip down. The shorter, Light Sword, landed firmly in the palm of his left hand—the exact opposite of how the battle had started originally.

  I snorted angrily; it’s not like I’d forgotten that he’d been right-handed for our entire last duel, so it wasn’t really a surprise to me. But, clearly, he wasn’t just fighting me; he was playing to the crowd.

  I grimaced tightly, since it looked like I’d missed my best chance for an easy win. I’d done everything right and still hadn’t been able to close the deal. I was almost certainly going to have to reach down into my bag of dirty tricks. How deep, and would doing so even be enough, was always the question.

  The next few moments, facing two blades and with his strongest weapon, if the one with the shortest range in his dominant hand showed just exactly how much he had been holding back until that moment.

  I did my best to defend, but when it came to straight-up sword skill I was simply outmatched. Speed-wise, I might still have the barest edge but when it came to strength I wasn’t just out-matched—I was over-matched.

  Still, it’s not like I was about to give up. My chance would come; I just had to stay focused.

  Then he came at me again and, with an explosive moment, knocked my sword up and out of position. He followed through with an elbow to the face and a downward chop of the Light Sword, a one-two executed in unthinkably rapid succession.

  Twisting to the side, I launched a kick of my own—aimed for straight between the legs. No need to hold back now; it was time to go all out. I really didn’t care what the ‘honorable’ enemies and frenemies around us thought; I was content to let them howl in outrage. But, unfortunately, he blocked the sneak attack with a lifted leg. While the kick didn’t land as I’d hoped, it did provide me with some much-needed breathing room—which I then used to scramble back and rebuild my guard.

  Dancing towards me, light on his feet as if he didn’t outweigh me by nearly double, he struck again and again in rapid succession, setting both the pace and rhythm of the combat. Any fool could see that he was clearly in command of the contest at this point, and again I was forced to conclude that he was playing to the crowd.

  “I best you in both strength and skill at arms; all you have is a slight speed edge which I can easily counter with my lighter Light Sword,” he growled as he lashed out with a low kick—which I easily vaulted, using the Dark Sword of Power for leverage against the deck as I continued backpedaling away from him. “Would it not be better to concede? I’ve given you face, and the chance to look good for the warriors going down with a fight,” the Tracto-an said in a low, serious voice as he came at me, “if you surrender now and concede, you would forgo an honorable death, true; however, you would also spare your Mistress—and children—the unseemly sight of your corpse,” said the Tracto-an. “I swear to raise them as my own in any event.”

  “Never,” I declared in a raspy voice, working to keep any hint of the breathlessness I was feeling out of my voice.

  Even if I would have been willing to let my wife go to some other man—which, for the record, there was no way in Hades that would happen—there was absolutely no way I was about to give up my children and give them to some other man to raise.

  A traitor who took my coin, took my training, and turned it against me deserved only one reply: “Screw you and the horse you rode in on,” I shouted for emphasis.

  All around us, the men—at least, I assumed it was an all-male gathering, as I hadn’t spotted any female warriors with the urge to cut off my head and take my position—roared with approval. They were presumably cheering my will to keep fighting and give them a good show.

  “Your luck is phenomenal, and the cunning of your battle tricks are murderous when not expected and accounted for—as I have done,” he said in an arrogant, presumptive tone. “But I wonder how well you really think you’re doing against a man who is wise to your tricks and outmatches you in every single way?”

  “I haven’t even begun to fight,” I said grimly, once again backing away from his attack. I wasn’t fighting for honor; I wasn’t fighting for power, like my foe. No, I was fighting for my family. My sister had tried to kill me; I’d found out my mother had betrayed me by lying to me for my entire life; and now this man—who I’d previously bested and subsequently allowed to join me—wanted to take everything that was important to me: my wife and kids. He would leave me with absolutely nothing—it was a road too far.

  This wasn’t just personal—it was to the knife.

  In an instant, I planted my feet and counterattacked. If I could get rid of that vibro-sword then he would o
nce again be down to one blade: the Light Sword. It was a lot shorter than my Dark Sword, so good footwork would give me the range advantage—which I could use to cut him down where he stood, just like he deserved.

  Nikomedes repeatedly blocked my attacks, but while my own movements were controlled I was incensed by the thought that this blighter’s attempt to take everything I was. This anger—no, this rage—allowed me to pour every ounce of strength and power into my attacks. Like a lumberjack, I grimly set to the appointed chopping down of the appointed tree that was his vibro-sword. Of course, if his guard slipped in the meantime, that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to exploit it and kill him.

  “Your reputation is well-earned,” Nikomedes said, apparently seeing what I was attempting. With a grunt and a powerful surge, he locked my Dark Sword with his Light one, freeing his vibro-blade for a counterattack and returned the favor of trying to take my head off in turn.

  “Says the man who thinks every move I’ve made has been a near-disaster and suitable grounds for this challenge,” I mocked. “Who do you think you are, you little squeak ant? I eat men like you for breakfast—and your betters for lunch!”

  “I wonder how well it will serve you now, Jason Montagne!” he howled, ignoring my last words and launching a combination sword-sword-kick attack that nearly sent my weapon spinning out of my hand—and did knock the wind out of me when his boot hit my stomach. “Go back to being an Admiral and leave Tracto to the Tracto-ans! Long live the people of MEN.”

  “Can’t you just shut up and fight?” I gasped furiously. Really, the mouth on this guy! He wanted my wife, my kids, and my position, but I should just leave and give up? I’d sterilize his planet from high orbit—everything but Messene and Argos, of course—before I even thought about giving up!

  It was obvious that up until this point my Tracto-an opponent had been, if not exactly holding back, then at least showcasing a full comparison of my skills versus his. And now, apparently done with the showcasing, the battle had turned deathly serious. It seemed we were finally on the same page which, while nothing I hadn’t expected—and even planned for—wasn’t a particularly good development for me.

  But that was alright. Because, as he’d said multiple times, I had a few more tricks of my own that I’d been holding back. The first was something Duncan and I had been working on for several months—strictly in the privacy of our own quarters—and the instant after Nikomedes had turned up the pace, I smoothly switched sword styles from my usual Caprian, Royal Guard style to an almost entirely different—but just as effective—Asian Bloc technique.

  With a twist and a completely different method—including all-new footwork and body movement—I threw Nikomedes off his game for a split second, which was all I needed to break through his guard and launch a decapitation move I’d been working on exhaustively for the past three weeks. Wary of spies, I’d made sure that even Akantha hadn’t been aware of everything I could do.

  My sword flew forward with that last bit of speed I’d been holding back and, his eyes widening, Nikomedes’ head swayed back with droplets of blood flying into the air as my attack struck home with a vengeance.

  For a split second—that felt like one of the longest moments in my life—my eyes locked with his and we stared at one another. Then, instead of his head falling off his neck—as had been the plan—he reached up and touched the thin layer of skin under his chin that had been sliced open.

  “Greetings from the Asian Block,” I said with as much bravado as I could muster, despite the fact I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach, “you may think you know what I can do, but I assure you: I still haven’t even got started.”

  Only a slight tightening of the skin around his eyes gave warning that the battle was back on. But instead of a lunge, he literally threw the damaged vibro-blade point first at my midsection.

  My inevitable dodge forced my body out of position and, with the power of a stone-land bull, his Light Sword struck my Dark Sword. I tried to hold on, but grip strength alone wasn’t enough and sparks flew from the impact as my blade turned out of position. Despite my best efforts, the Dark Sword was sent flying out of my hand for the second time in the duel.

  “Nice move…but it was not good enough,” roared Nikomedes, surging forward with his Light Sword still in his left hand. “It’s time to end this!”

  He must have finally given up on my surrendering. However, if he thought me surprised or overwhelmed by the ferocity of his attack, he was destined for disappointment. While the well-practiced decapitation strike had been my best hope to end the fight suddenly, without warning, and on a firmly honorable note, I was not the sort of person to put all his eggs in one basket.

  So even as the Dark Sword was sent flying, my right hand smoothly swept around my back to my waist and I was pulling out the oversized plasma gun that was so heavily favored by those Deep Fleet Space Army pirates.

  But he was still too close for comfort; I needed a bit more distance if I was going to pull this off. Dropping into a shoulder roll, to give myself time to bring the oversized weapon to bear, I lined up a bead on Nikomedes.

  Unfortunately, as fast as I was, Nikomedes was just as fast—or, at least, nearly as fast—as me. I’d barely had enough time to point the oversized plasma gun in his general direction when he hip checked my shoulder, throwing my aim off at the last instant. A moment before I pulled the trigger, that Light Sword came back around with punishing force. The flat of the blade slammed into the body of the big pistol, but I pulled the trigger anyway.

  I’d thought about a similar scenario to this for quite some time and picking the oversized plasma pistol wasn’t the random, foolish idea it might have appeared to be at first blush. Unlike blasters, a plasma weapon had a bit of a spread rate—and this oversized pistol was even less inefficient, and had a bigger scatter pattern than most.

  The weapon thundered loudly enough to perforate eardrums right before it, too, was knocked from my grip. The combined kick of the plasma gun, followed by the blow that knocked it out of my hand, caused a stinging sensation in a pair of my fingers and the rest of my hand went numb.

  Knocked down—and not even knowing if I’d lost fingers to that last attack—my smooth shoulder roll turned into a graceless plummet to the ground. Shaking my head, it took me several moments as I instinctively continued to follow my evasion pattern before I could see the results of the attack.

  Part of the blast had caught my Tracto-an opponent, which was obvious from the scorched and blackened patches of skin running from his right shoulder, up his neck, and down the side of his face from his hairline down to his right eye and jaw. But, just as obviously, though he’d been singed badly by the attack, more damage had been done to the lower ceiling and upper wall behind him than to his flesh.

  My opponent—who was still very much alive—still held his sword and stared at me with unbridled fury. “Is that the best you’ve got?” he howled, launching himself into the air.

  “Smoke you!” I screamed back, continuing my roll until the undamaged fingers of my right hand felt the hilt of the Dark Sword

  Acting on instinct, I came up at my opponent with nothing more than a single hand on the Dark Sword and the will to win—my other hand was too numb to feel anything, or I would have used it. He came down with a crunch, bringing the Light Sword and its deadly edge along with him.

  The Dark Sword fell to the ground with my right hand still attached to it. Blood spurted from the stump of my right hand—my hand. It was gone. Again. I genuinely couldn’t believe it.

  “Pray to whatever gods you believe in, Admiral,” Nikomedes said, bringing his Light Sword around in one continuous motion.

  “Alright, I admit it: you are better than I am,” I said, glaring up at him with fury as my lifeblood pumped vigorously onto the floor mat. To all appearances, I was done. I had no sword, no more weapons up my sleeve—or in my belt. In short, it was over. “However, there is something you should know as well.”

  �
��Surrender or die,” Nikomedes said, drawing back his arm. I could see that he wasn’t going to hesitate for one instant. If I didn’t surrender—which meant surrendering my family and my command—to him right now, it was lights out and the big, hard, goodbye as far as he was concerned.

  I nodded, opened my mouth, and pointed a finger at his face.

  “I’m not right-handed either,” I explained, cocking the finger back and bringing it down with a snap. A blaster bolt, which tore out of the last knuckle of my finger, hit his eye—which exploded—and the energy burst punched clean through the side of his head.

  Nikomedes fell with a thump and his body started twitching as his vital fluids began to ooze out onto the mat beneath my feet.

  The man was dead—or soon would be—and his threat to me and my family was finally over and done with. I’d taken a page from Jean Luc’s book, and I was unrepentant about it. All was fair in love and war and, unlike the last time I’d lost my hand, this time I was ready for it—both mentally and physically.

  Figuring that if I was going to lose anything, it was going to be my dominant right hand, I’d gone to Medical—about the same time as Akantha began to really get aggressive on the self-defense training—and had quietly had them install a one-shot blaster in the pointer finger of my left hand. As much as anything else, I’d acted under the presumption that it was never wise to ignore your wife and partner’s signals, so I’d taken precautionary measures of my own.

  Besides, the way Jean Luc had taken me out—without my having the first clue what had been coming—was just too cool of a move, and I felt the need to turn what was easily the worst moment of my entire life against those who would be my enemies.

  Turns out I was more right than I knew and, unfortunately for Nikomedes, he just wasn’t as ready for my dirty little tricks as he’d thought.

  “Tourniquet!” I ordered harshly, the first finger of my left hand burning with a terrible pain as I clamped down on the stump of my right to stop the flow of blood. The shot had just blown off the tip of my finger, after all, and a blaster bolt produced a little more recoil than a human finger-bone is designed to endure.