Fated for War

by Travis Bughi

  Takeo took a seat in the grass and motioned for Krunk to do the same. The ogre obeyed, and Nicholas laughed from behind them.

  “Takeo, just because you beat me doesn’t mean everyone will,” Nicholas said. “I know for certain Gavin doesn’t have your speed and skill.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Takeo replied. “All that matters is if he has more than you.”

  Nicholas sighed and walked over to face off against Gavin. While the two took a moment to prepare themselves, Takeo struck up a question that had been on his mind with the ogre.

  “Have any ogres ever left Lucifan?” he asked.

  “Krunk not think so,” Krunk said. “When Krunk was with ogres, other ogres would beat Krunk if Krunk said he wanted to leave Lucifan. Ogres said don’t leave. Lucifan is home, only home. Ogres say any ogre who leaves Lucifan is not ogre. Ogres say no ogres come back from leaving Lucifan. Krunk stopped trying to leave, except to see Emily. Krunk didn’t want to leave Lucifan at first, but Gavin is good friend. Krunk wants friends.”

  “Between the city that hates you and the ogres who hate you more, I wonder how you survived this long, Krunk. You remind me of myself, actually, hated by enemies and allies alike.”

  “Krunk is friend. Krunk doesn’t hate you.”

  “Thank you, Krunk.”

  The ogre grinned, and Takeo gave a faint smile in return. They turned to watch the other two.

  “I’ll not go easy on you, old man,” Nicholas warned, hefting his maul to test its weight.

  “Old?” Gavin balked at the word.

  “Hey, if you’re going to call me boy, then I’m going to call you old. You’re only what? Half a decade older than me?”

  “At least you can count, boy. And yes, I’m older than you, sure, but if you think that makes me an old man, then my victory is nearly assured.”

  “Be smart, both of you,” Takeo called out. “These aren’t practice weapons you’re wielding.”

  They began to circle each other, as would anyone about to start a fight. Takeo watched their feet and how they carried their weight and weapons, whether they favored one leg over the other. The two would be watching for these things as well, whether consciously or not, until they drew close enough to strike.

  Nicholas swung first, having the greater reach. His maul swept across the area between them with enough force to make the air tremble. Gavin leaned back, taking only a glancing blow on the metal of his shield, which sent out a vibrant ring that made Takeo’s hand itch to hold a sword. Gavin charged forward into the gap left by the maul’s passing, longsword held back with the point ready to thrust.

  He was not quick enough, though, and Nicholas took a step in the same motion as he whirled the maul around like a minotaur. With a mighty yell, he brought it sweeping sideways again, and Gavin ducked, leaned, and brought his shield to bear. Gavin tilted the shield to deflect rather than stop, knowing there was no way he could take such a strike head on, and Nicholas’ maul rung once more against the shield, staggering both knight and viking.

  They distanced themselves again, regaining their footing and breathing through open mouths. They weren’t tired yet, of course, but their adrenaline was running too high to keep their lips sealed. Takeo felt it, too, just a sliver of the tension.

  The wind, the grass rustling, and Krunk slurping were the only noises that could be heard for a few beats.

  Gavin charged, shouting only after he’d started running, and Nicholas scrambled to bring his hammer around in time. The metal swept toward the knight, but Gavin got just inside Nicholas’ reach, using his shield to deflect the maul’s shaft rather than its head. Takeo blinked, believing for a moment the fight to be over as Gavin barreled forward to slam his opponent to the ground, but in a miraculous display of skill, Nicholas used the butt of his weapon to strike Gavin’s shield and send the knight stumbling back across the grass. Nicholas leapt back, his eyes alight with purpose as they had not been before.

  “Damned good!” Gavin laughed, shaking his shield arm. “That was good. I thought I had you.”

  He gave another hearty laugh, one Nicholas did not return. The viking made smaller steps now, held his maul tighter, and watched more carefully. He began to circle as Gavin flashed him a charming smile.

  “I can tell you haven’t fought a lot of shield warriors before,” Gavin said.

  “I thought I had,” Nicholas replied.

  “Ah, I see,” the knight sighed. “You’ve fought warriors carrying a shield, but never a shield warrior.”

  Nicholas continued to circle, maul held up.

  “It’s a common misconception,” Gavin said with a shrug. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

  Gavin charged, and once more Nicholas swung his maul, only this time from the direction opposite Gavin’s shield. Gavin was slower to bring his shield around, but so was Nicholas slower to swing from this angle, and the hammer scraped across the shield as Gavin stopped the maul just in time. A step later and Gavin was within Nicholas’ swing, forcing the viking to leap back rather than lose the only advantage he had: range.

  “Again,” Gavin shouted.

  He charged in, forced Nicholas to swing, deflected the blow, and laughed as Nicholas leapt back.

  “You have no idea what to do with me, do you?” Gavin taunted.

  “Shut up,” Nicholas shouted.

  “I will in a moment, but it’s abundantly clear to me what’s happening, and I think you ought to know.”

  Nicholas tried to take advantage of Gavin’s short ramble by rushing in and swinging at the end of his sentence. It nearly worked, too, as Gavin only just got his shield up in time, taking the strike head-on rather than as a deflection. The knight staggered and had to sprint a few steps to stay upright. Breathing hard, he turned to see Nicholas grinning.

  “Attacking mid-speech?” Gavin said, this time with shield readied. “That’s not like any viking I’ve known. I thought your kind liked to go on and on about your lengthy heritage and victories before fighting?”

  “Desperate times,” Nicholas replied. “I’m not so proud as to ignore dirty tricks when pressed. I’ve fought orcs. Also, you’re not a viking.”

  “Action over words,” Gavin hummed in appreciation. “I can respect that. Come at me, then; you’re going to love this next part.”

  Nicholas seemed to have become overly confident from the small blow he’d landed on the knight, and thus took Gavin up on his words. He grinned and stepped forward to close the distance, then swung his maul with all his strength—so much strength that Takeo’s heart jolted at the danger of it. Gavin ducked just before, making Nicholas tilt his maul mid-swing to come down on Gavin rather than straight into him. As expected, Gavin brought his shield around, and Takeo’s eyes raised up in anticipation of the maul’s head being deflected up and over the knight.

  Instead, Gavin tilted his shield the other way, and Nicholas’ maul deflected down.

  The heavy head sunk into the dirt, and Gavin leapt up and slammed his foot onto the weapon’s shaft. Combined with hitting the shield and ground, this wrenched the maul from Nicholas’ grip, and it fell harmlessly into the grass. A moment later, as Nicholas watched it fall, Gavin closed the remaining distance and thrust his longsword forward, stopping a hand’s width from his opponent’s stomach.

  The stunned look on Nicholas’ face brought a full smile to Takeo’s lips.

  “Rule two,” Takeo said, “never let go of your weapon.”

  Chapter 12

  After Nicholas’ resounding defeat, Gavin was gracious enough to explain how and why the fight had panned out as it did. Nicholas, to his credit, was wise enough to listen.

  “Who or what did you raid, mostly?” Gavin asked. “Your jarl, the one who took you in. What did he like to fight most in his search for Valhalla?”

  “Other vikings, orcs, a few trolls, and a cyclops,” Nicholas answered. “A naga clan once, but they swam away.”

  “Many pirates?”

  “Not many, and when we did
, Ragnar wouldn’t let me charge over first.”

  “That’s because pirates are tricky ones,” Gavin said. “All those others you mentioned before—besides the naga—they all have one thing in common: they’re brutes. They like simple fights because they fight simply, throwing as much muscle and weight behind their swings as they can. It’s effective, of course, to those who’ve never seen it, and even to those who have, but nothing trumps skill except luck.

  “Pirates, though, are dirty ones. They’ll stab you in the back, feint left, then right, then left again. You’ll parry their weapon, disarm them even, but if you relax, then they’ll pull a hidden dagger and stab you in the thigh. If you’d fought more pirates, you’d have had a better shot against me. That’s why you did poorly.

  “As for why I did well? Just look at Krunk over there. I’ve spent my whole knightly career, and even some time before that, dealing with his kind. Ogres don’t live long, you see, so they rarely develop anything of skill. They just swing hard and fast and hope for the best because their muscles terrify us tiny humans. I’ve fought others, too, on some frightening occasions, like minotaurs, stronger and bigger than ogres, but with the knowledge and wisdom to use it—makes me shudder.

  “Anyway, I know how to fight big brutes that rely on strength. They’re my specialty, you could say. And this whole fight? You spent the entire time trying to out-ogre an ogre-slayer. You came at me straight on, swung hard and fast—just like I wanted. The only thing that caught me off guard was that handle strike.”

  “Thanks,” Nicholas mumbled. “I don’t know where that came from either. It just sort of happened.”

  “Well, you’ve got some potential if we can foster that intuition in you. Takeo?”

  The sudden shift snapped Takeo out of his trance. He raised his chin and eyebrows to show his attention was given.

  “Are you going to keep drooling over there or come and fight me?” Gavin asked. “I have a shield now. I want a rematch.”

  “Granted,” Takeo replied.

  They sparred a few bouts, and Takeo had to admit that Gavin was significantly better with a shield. It seemed as much a part of him as Takeo’s katana was to himself. Gavin’s shield arm moved faster than his sword arm, rising and falling, tilting and striking, truly a wondrous work of art if ever there was one. It almost made Takeo jealous he didn’t have a shield of his own.

  Yet, for all this skill, Takeo remained the victor. Gavin could not best him, not even once.

  This surprised no one. No passing comments from either Nicholas or Krunk, and Gavin, normally talkative, went silent as they set up to retire for the night amongst the tall grass. Takeo felt no need to reflect on the fight, nor did the resulting rush of adrenaline last more than a few beats of his heart.

  Things had always been this way. Takeo always bested warriors who had no way around his skill, like the power of an army, a nasty trick up their sleeve, or immortality. Takeo was a master with the katana, undefeated and terrifying to face, and he’d come by his reputation honestly. In Juatwa, after he and his brother had risen to prominence, there had come times when some people would rather surrender than face off against either of them. Even Renshu Miyazi had refused to fight Takeo fairly, knowing such a thing was futile.

  Takeo was a prodigy with the katana, but he couldn’t point to any one thing that made this so.

  He was skilled, sure, but Juatwa was filled with skilled warriors who practiced daily to hone their craft. Each generation of samurai was taught by the last, and so the skills of every survivor were handed down to be improved upon from generation to generation. Takeo was no exception, and although he might be skilled and well taught, he was not alone in such regard. However, he had yet to meet his match.

  He was experienced, exceptionally so for his age, thanks to his upbringing, but so were countless others. Takeo might have been raised a mercenary in Savara, surviving countless bloodbaths before he could be called a man. However, Juatwa was a land of constant war, too. Not a single soul in Juatwa lacked experience in that matter, yet even those more experienced than him found themselves inadequately prepared to face Takeo’s katana. So no, Takeo’s experience could not account for why he bested all those he fought.

  He was fast, like Okamoto before him. Takeo’s strikes rivaled a gunslinger’s bullets. A good one third of the people Takeo had killed died with a face that said they never saw the blow coming. Another third said they saw it only after it hit. The last third said they saw it but knew there was nothing they could do to stop it. Yet even this unprecedented speed shouldn’t have been enough to keep him alive all on its own. Many opponents were equally fast, and that didn’t take into account the countless times Takeo found himself caught unaware or outnumbered. There was more to it than that.

  He could go on: strong, clever, resourceful, desperate, and practical. If given the chance, Takeo could make himself seem conceited with the number of compliments he could lay on his own fighting ability. This bothered him none, for he was simply aware that he was a cut above the average fighter. The difference between him and a conceited fellow, though, was that Takeo knew it took one mistake, one slip, one error, and he would land face down in the dirt with blood pooling about him. So in the end, it was a combination of all these things, especially the knowledge that he was always one fight away from death, that made him so deadly. Okamoto had drilled it into him, and it had stuck squarely, robbing him of sleep or plaguing him with nightmares that thrashed him awake, screaming.

  That hadn’t happened in a while, though. Not since the angels had touched him.

  So he slept no better or worse than he had over the past year, but the familiar rustle of the yellow grass sent him off quickly, and he woke well-rested.

  In the morning, they packed up their gear and headed north to the Mountains of Khaz Mal. Takeo was glad when Nicholas offered no more complaints. Perhaps he realized he’d be back in The North soon amongst other vikings, or perhaps he realized he had a lot to learn from Gavin and Takeo. Maybe he’d only complained yesterday because he liked to. That suited what Emily had said about her brother.

  It was only a month’s journey to the base of the mountains, but then the real traveling began. They added a few layers of clothing and began their trek upwards, picking their way along steep slopes, down treacherous valleys, and along sketchy cliffs. They put up with the arduous process of selecting a path only to find it led to an impassable wall of rock, backtracking, and trying again. They gritted their teeth against the strong winds that swept over peaks and through valleys, either threatening to cast them down or to chill them to the bone. They put up with hiking for an entire day only to end the journey within sight of where they had started.

  All these problems began immediately, but others grew slowly.

  There was the weather, inching colder with every climb. The air thinned as they traveled up, both in terms of vertical ascent and in geographic direction. It wasn’t as cold as Takeo remembered, though; for the first couple of months, they didn’t see much snow except at the peaks of the distant mountains, and those they never bothered to climb. Takeo asked Nicholas about this.

  “It’s spring.” Nicholas gestured to the mountains as if the answer were plainly written. “The snow is melting; the rivers are rushing. By the time we reach my homeland—yes, I call it that—it’ll be full summer, and you’ll see green grass. Why are you so surprised?”

  “I expected snow to cover everything.” Takeo shrugged. “The last time I was in these mountains, it was winter.”

  “Ah yes, I remember now. Yeah, you and my sister were idiots. Good thing, too. I might not have survived if you hadn’t rescued me when you did.”

  Nicholas was right about the rushing rivers. All around, large and small patches of snow were dripping into huge channels of rapidly moving water. The rivers cut through the mountains like a knife, grinding away the rocks and showing exactly how each and every valley had been formed. There were waterfalls, too, tons of them. Sometimes smal
l enough to hop across, but sometimes so large and tall that the water cascaded into mist before it hit the ground, blocking whole mountains from view.

  And the noise, Takeo had never heard anything like it. If they ventured too close to a large waterfall, they couldn’t hear each other, even if they shouted. This shocked and annoyed Takeo to no end. Juatwa had waterfalls, too, but lacking the huge mountains and plentiful snow of Khaz Mal, the waterfalls there were nothing more than elongated trickles that pooled into lovely ponds, as if hand painted by an artist. Their soothing sounds could lull one to sleep.

  The mountain waters were pirate cannons by comparison.

  And this added yet another challenge to their travels. Not only did they have to fight the steep mountains to find a path, they now had to avoid rivers too wide and cold to cross. If they struck one, they often had to follow it for half a day before they could find a tree or a series of boulders they could use to cross it.

  Takeo realized quickly that he hadn’t known how easy he and Emily had had it. When the two had traveled through Khaz Mal, all these river beds had been dry, forming perfect paths that cut through the mountains. Sure, the two had had more snow to deal with, but they’d had each other.

  And there was something Takeo could not complain about: at least it wasn’t too cold. Last time, Takeo had been able to stave off the pre-winter night’s chill by cuddling with Emily. He didn’t want to cuddle with any of his companions now.

  They tried to find other ways to get close to him, though. Gavin and he had thoroughly explored each other’s dark pasts during their year on the plains together, but after the first few general comments about the weather died out, Nicholas became eager to pry into Takeo’s life.

  After the first month, under a full moon as they sat around a campfire, Takeo finally decided that this was the night he’d let Nicholas have it.

  “I learned everything I know from Ragnar Ragnarson,” Nicholas said, talking as much with his hands as he did with his mouth. “You should have seen this man, all of you. Look at Krunk, shrink him by a hair, and you’ve got Ragnar. We made jokes he was either half troll or a deformed cyclops born with two eyes. Not that he was ugly, not so long as you appreciated the true beauty of a chiseled body. Touching him was like touching stone, and many women liked that. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it, too. There were times I’d have to remind myself he was my father—okay fine, Takeo. My adopted father.”