Behind Rykar a throat cleared. Both kings turned and eyed Dosfar, who had his hands in the air.
“Perhaps, without weapons. Neither of you are going to be worth a damn in a war if one of you slips and wounds or kills the other,” he reasoned. Zathias grunted and tossed his war hammer aside, apparently arriving at the conclusion that his General was correct.
Rykar eyed his sword, re-sheathed it, unbuckled his sword belt, and tossed it back toward Malcade. The red-haired man caught it deftly. Dosfar and Malcade both looked a bit uneasy. The various guards and servants who had been in the courtyard when Rykar had fallen from the window looked decidedly more uneasy. The prospect of a king against king fight was exciting, but startling. It usually wasn't something that happened. It was even rarer that such a fight occurred to seal an alliance. In fact, no one in attendance could recall when that had ever happened.
The two kings locked eyes and both wore predatory grins as they began to circle each other like wolves sizing up their opposition. Both men were monsters in their own right. While Rykar was cunning, skilled, and arguably psychotic, Zathias simply relied on his power and brute force to win. While the man was certainly intelligent, he rarely needed his intellect in a fight when he could simply toss opponents around like rag dolls or drop them to the ground in a smoking pile with the power his bracers granted him.
The larger man was the first to make a move, throwing a straight punch for Rykar's face. While Zathias was fast for his size, Rykar was faster. The smaller man side-stepped the punch and landed an upward strike on Zathias' bearded chin, causing the big man to back up a step. Rykar pressed his momentary advantage, landing several body blows on the bigger man's torso in the span of a few seconds. Zathias had to take a few more steps back as each shot of the barrage hit its mark. When Rykar's assault halted, Zathias was quick to take a heavy swing at his opponent's head. Rykar managed to duck the punch, raise up, and land one of his own against the bigger man's ribs. Zathias grunted, but reversed his swing and slammed his elbow into the side of Rykar's head, nearly knocking the long-haired king from his feet.
Rykar stumbled away and managed to recover his equilibrium before he could fall. He whirled and fixed a studious glare on Zathias, re-evaluating the bigger man. The two combatants squared off once more before lunging and grappling one another. Zathias shoved Rykar backward, then stepped forward and delivered a straight kick to Rykar's head, knocking the smaller man to the ground rather savagely, and carrying himself past Rykar in the process.
Rykar's head bounced off the stone of the courtyard, but he pushed himself up immediately despite the pain. He lunged at Zathias as the big man turned around. Malcade caught sight of the arcing electricity jumping around Rykar's right fist and smirked right before that fist abruptly crashed into Zathias' jaw, knocking the towering man to the ground while giving him a painful jolt.
Rykar smirked to himself and watched Zathias get to his feet, grumbling.
“Alright. I can play it that way, you pig fucker,” the man growled through his beard. The metal bracers on the man's forearms glowed and electricity began dancing along them and down to his hands.
“You can't match me in terms of power, Zathias,” Rykar warned. Whether it was truth or a bluff was unknown to Zathias but the King of Anklis was one to call a bluff every time.
“We'll see about that,” he growled, eyes wild and eager. It was rare that he got a chance to test the full extent of his power against someone worthy of the effort and he could hardly contain his anticipation.
Instead of charging, then two men strode forward purposefully, each of them fighting to hide a grin, lightning crackling about their fists. Though Malcade and Dosfar were both very much used to their respective leader's unique brand of insanity, they both thought this whole situation was a new level of crazy for both kings.
When the two royal men got within range of one another, the fight began. Zathias threw a punch and Rykar ducked, only to throw a punch of his own, cracking Zathias in the jaw. The bigger man took the hit with a grunt, and then returned the favor, slamming his massive fist into Rykar's jaw. The younger king reeled backward, only to rock right back toward Zathias and land a hard shot on the older king's jaw. Zathias stumbled backward. He lunged forward a moment later, grabbing Rykar up by the front of the his tunic, then let go just as he slammed his charged fist into Rykar's face, sending the man sailing away and into the ground with a heavy thud.
Rykar rolled to his feet and charged right back at Zathias, surprising the bald man. The two grappled, magical lightning crackling around them, growing more intense with each passing second. Bolts of lightning arced off the men, gouging the flagstones on which they stood as they tried to force each other backward. Zathias found himself thoroughly surprised that he wasn't handily winning the contest.
Dosfar and Malcade had to jump away from one another as an arc of lightning shot between them, ripping up the ground where they had been standing. As the pair of men cast their gazes to their respective kings, the lightning grew stronger, more intense, arcs of electricity lashed out, scorched the palace, the ground, and set a decorative potted plant aflame. Lightning shot off of the warring royals and into the air, looking like a reversed lightning strike. The power on display was making the air hum and tingle with energy, unsettling everyone who was witnessing the struggle of titanic powers.
Just as Dosfar, Malcade, and others were considering a retreat to shelter, the two kings leapt backward from one another, smoke drifting up off of their bodies and clothing. Smirks curved the mouths of both men and there was a predatory gleam in both of their eyes.
“Your power seems to be an even match to my own,” Zathias growled, a begrudging admiration in his voice.
“I was just warming up, Thunder King,” Rykar returned with an arrogant smirk.
“Ha! I like you, boy. You're a warrior worthy of being King,” Zathias stated.
“So we have a deal then?” Rykar asked.
“Yes, we do. In fact, there shall be a feast tonight to seal our alliance. Go get your armor mended and find yourself a woman to bring to the feast. If you can find a woman of Anklis that'll have ya, of course,” Zathias said with a hearty laugh. He stepped forward and held his massive hand out to Rykar. The smaller man didn't hesitate. He took Zathias' hand and shook it.
“See you tonight,” he said with a nod. Zathias returned the nod, then turned and walked off.
Malcade and Dosfar strolled over to Rykar, the former handing Rykar his sword belt and broken armor as the latter struggled to find words to articulate his astonishment. It took a few moments, but he found them.
“The last time he fought someone here, it took ten servants two days to clean up what was left of his opponent! Yet you matched him! You went toe-to-toe with him and fought to a draw!” Dosfar exclaimed.
“He would have beaten me if we would have gone on pure strength. He's got experience, but no formal training. The enchantment on his bracers is powerful, but my magic is stronger. Taking it all into account and using every avenue available to us... and without knowing his skill with a weapon... I'd say it'd be hard to decide who would win in an all out fight between us,” Rykar expounded, more or less to himself.
“How can you tell all of that from one fight?” Dosfar asked.
“A life of mercenary work,” Rykar replied, examining his broken cuirass.
“Impressive,” the dark-skinned man said, obviously having decided that Rykar and Malcade were alright in his book.
“Dosfar... where can I find a skilled metalsmith?” Rykar asked, looking up to the man's differently-colored eyes.
Chapter VI: Beauty and Metal
After following directions given by Dosfar, Rykar and Malcade found themselves walking through a bustling marketplace that reminded Rykar of the markets back in Mehroth. People of all races and creeds could be seen walking, bartering, and talking. No one gave the two men a second glance as they made their way through the ground streets of the marketplace, thou
gh a couple of people eyed the broken armor Rykar was carrying.
“He said the place was called Iron Row, right?” Rykar asked.
“That's what he said,” Malcade replied.
Rykar nodded and kept walking, eyes scanning the buildings, looking for a sign that Dosfar said couldn't be missed. When Rykar spotted the sign, he saw what the man had meant. A tall building stood on a street corner off to Rykar's right. On the side of the building, metal letters the size of himself were bolted, shining in the afternoon sun. They read “Iron Row,” indicating just the street Rykar needed. The two men turned to their right, walking onto the street. The clanging of hammers on metal rang out. The whole street was nothing more than metal working shops of all kinds.
“Strange. Mehroth had only four metal shops. There must be thirty here,” Rykar remarked, impressed.
“Yes, but Mehroth's shops were all huge. They all had metalsmiths who specialized in their chosen type of metal working. These are all independent shops plying their own wares,” Malcade responded.
“That's true. I didn't really see the shops in Mehroth. I always dealt with the head of the Third District's metalsmith shop,” Rykar replied.
“Well, now you get to be like everyone else and find what you need yourself,” Malcade chuckled.
“You say that as if I'm out of touch with the masses,” Rykar responded.
“Do you even know what sort of metalsmith you need?” Malcade asked.
“An armorer, dumbass,” Rykar retorted with a snort.
“No need to be rude,” Malcade returned, chuckling.
The two men walked along, glancing into the open fronts of the shops. Rykar was fairly certain that the temperature on this street was twice the temperature anywhere else in the city with all of those forge fires burning. As they walked, the pair saw smiths of all races and specialties forging everything from nails and farm tools to sword blades and armor. They also saw a silversmith who had a shop full of fine silver decorations like candlesticks and plates. Rykar paused to admire a dwarven smith's swords and axes that were forged in the distinctive style of the dwarven people. An elven smith a few shops down had a shop full of blades fashioned in the viciously elegant design that was, for the most part, characteristic of all three elven races. The two men kept walking past armor and weapons of all sorts. Rykar was looking for something specific, a quality that he couldn't quite put into words, but he'd know it when he saw it.
“There,” he said, pointing to a shop near the end of the street. It, like every other shop on the street, was open-faced to let out the excessive heat of the forge within. The sign hanging above the open front of the shop read “Outcast Armorer.”
“Interesting name for a business,” Malcade commented.
“Let's go find out the reason behind it,” Rykar responded and started for the shop.
Upon entering, Malcade became even more aware of how hot his armor was and Rykar became rather glad his own was unwearable at the moment. The smell of hot metal was both overwhelming and intoxicating to Rykar, bringing back memories from his early years. He shook his head to bring his mind back to the present. Malcade caught the look on Rykar's face and frowned faintly. He knew where the man's mind had gone. He was, in fact, one of the few in the world that knew.
On the walls hung armor of all sorts - plate, scale, chainmail, and more. Some was fashioned in the style of dwarven armor, some had the traits of elven and human armor. There were even pieces that looked to be orcish in nature.
“Be with you in a moment,” a female voice called from nearby the forge. Rykar couldn't see who had spoken; she was outside of the light cast by the forge's fire. The only indication of just where the woman was standing was a white hot piece of metal that flashed briefly before disappearing into a bucket of water with a hiss, producing a small cloud of steam as it did. The clang of tongs and a hammer being set down on a metal surface rang out. A moment later, a woman stepped into the light of the fire.
Malcade flinched slightly; Rykar simply gave a pleasant smile. The woman before them was tall, maybe just an inch shy of Rykar's height, and obviously strong. Clothed in leather pants and boots, along with a sleeveless tunic, she was alluring to their eyes, especially Rykar's. Strange markings were tattooed along both powerful arms. Her skin was almost too pale, her long hair a strange, dark blue, and her eyes a piercing silver. Those eyes were what had caused Malcade to flinch. Rykar saw them and simply wore a pleasant expression. He was a fan of unnatural and this woman was the epitome of it, head to toe.
“I'm Sage. What can I do for you gentlemen?” the woman asked, silver eyes glancing over both men, studying them. She had noticed Malcade's reaction to her appearance as well as Rykar's lack of one.
“I need to see about having this repaired,” Rykar said, holding up his dented and cracked cuirass with a faint smile. Sage arched a brow.
“What happened?” she asked.
“He got into a fight with King Zathias,” Malcade answered.
“Really?” Sage looked up, eyes a bit wide.
“Yes. The dent in the armor was a cheap shot,” Rykar replied with a grumble.
“With a warhammer, I'd say,” Sage ventured a guess as she took the armor from Rykar and looked it over with an experienced eye.
“Good eye,” Rykar remarked.
“How are you still walking?” Sage asked, looking Rykar up and down.
“It's very good armor,” Rykar responded with a chuckle.
“I would say so,” Sage agreed.
“Plus, he's one tough bastard,” Malcade said with a jerk of his thumb toward his friend. “Sailed right out a window and landed in a courtyard.”
“My my. So who won?” the armorer asked with a crooked smirk on her lips that Rykar found rather charming.
“It ended in a draw,” he admitted.
“That's better than anyone else has managed. King Zathias is an experienced warrior. Those enchanted bracers of his help,” Sage stated.
“Yes. That was interesting. My magic of choice is lightning. It made for an entertaining fight,” Rykar said with a chuckle, his fingers combing through his long hair. It was then that Sage's eyes caught sight of the ring on Rykar's right hand.
“You're the human king of Haelstross?” she inquired, eyes narrowing a bit.
“Yes,” Rykar confirmed.
“I thought the human king was an older man,” Sage remarked.
“He was. He died in the attack on the human capital,” Rykar responded.
“So who are you that you were named king?” Sage questioned, without any regard for Rykar's status. The man rather enjoyed the fact that she wasn't immediately demure and respectful like most people seemed to be once they learned of his position. Granted, in Anklis, most people didn't seem to care about his position all that much. He wished it was like this outside of Anklis too.
“I am Rykar Vaikos. My previous title was Lord of the Third District of Mehroth,” he answered without trying to sound self-important. Sage took note of that.
“Well then... congratulations, Scorpion Lord. I never thought they'd appoint a warrior such as you to the throne,” she commented.
“Oh, you know of me. Lovely. A warrior was what they needed with the war that's bearing down on us. That is, in fact, what brought me to Anklis and, by extension, to your shop,” Rykar replied.
“Of course I know of you. The only person more famous in that war was Kaidia Valengaard. Then she disappeared for a few years only to reappear a couple of months ago to wipe out a whole city in a rematch with that Adathir fellow from what I hear,” Sage said.
“That's exactly what happened. I was there to witness it and fight against Adathir myself,” Rykar stated.
“Sounds like one big reunion,” Sage chuckled.
“It was a very tense one,” Rykar said with a smirk. “When will I be able to pick up my cuirass?”
“I'll have this finished by sundown. Come back by and retrieve it then,” she said with an air of confidence.
“Thank you, Miss Sage,” Rykar said with a pleasant smile.
“My pleasure, King Rykar,” Sage returned, giving a wink. Before Rykar could do more than arch a brow at that, the armorer disappeared back into the shadows of her shop.
* * *
At sundown, Rykar and Malcade found themselves back at Sage's shop. The building was now well lit with lanterns that contained, not fire, but bright orbs of light that had been conjured into existence by magical means. Her shop was, by far, the brightest on Iron Row. Malcade eyed various pieces of armor near the shop's front while Rykar waited further inside. Further back, nearer the forge he noticed tables against the walls with swords laying on them. Most of them were completed while some where simply blades without hilts.
“You don't seem to need another sword,” Sage said from behind Rykar. The man turned and smiled lightly.
“I don't. I simply thought it strange that you advertise as an armorer yet apparently forge swords as well,” he replied.
“My specialty is armor, but I can forge swords and other blades,” Sage stated. Rykar nodded, then reached for his sword, drawing it slowly and holding it out to Sage.
“You might find this interesting then,” he said as Sage took the sword from his hands.
“It's blue.”
“It is.”
“Wait, is this? Sinthite?”
“It is. I find it interesting that word of the metal has reached this far already. We have yet to begin using sinthite to produce weapons or armor. Mine is one of only a handful.”
“Amazing. It's so light,” Sage commented.
“Give it a swing,” Rykar suggested, taking a couple of steps back to give Sage room to do so. The woman took the suggestion with obvious enthusiasm, swinging the sword with a practiced motion.
“That would take some getting used to. I've heard it's stronger than steel. More along the lines of blithsite. With enough force behind the swing, you could cleave someone in two,” Sage said, admiring the blade before turning the hilt towards Rykar.
Realms of Valen - Blasphemous Crusade (War of the Gods Book 2) Page 7
