by Greg Curtis
The captain stared at him as if he'd gone mad, and he could understand why. Whispered to be born of the gods themselves as they whiled their time away with the most beautiful of mortal handmaidens, and then trained in the halls of the immortal warmaster himself, a blade dancer was usually considered to be the most dangerous swordsman in the lands. They could not be beaten. But rumour and fact were in this case not quite the same thing. They were mortal and they could be beaten.
“You have fought a blade dancer?!”
Clearly she believed not a word of it.
“Not me personally. But Commander Elron did in his youth, and walked away unscathed, as have several others. The blade dancer Imrani was not so fortunate.”
Actually he had died, but in this company Yorik didn't want to say something so crude. They could work that out for themselves.
“The Sting?” Of course she knew him as the Sting he realised. All the elves did. Imrani – a deranged part dwarven blade dancer and bandit had preyed upon them for years – using his incredibly thin blade like a bee sting, stabbing at whatever unprotected parts of their bodies he could find, and crippling and killing hundreds as he laughed, and then stole their coin. Often he had sought out whole squads of their finest rangers just to test his skill, and to show off. He had been a legend and a nightmare both, until one day he had chosen the wrong man to attack, and since then he had not been heard of again. Perhaps it was time that his name was mentioned anew.
“The Sting. His body lies somewhere in the Bilban Wastes feeding the toadmen, but his blade bedecks the hall of the Enders Fall chapter house.”
Despite his words the Order had no great love of trophies of battle, seeing them as crude reminders of that which should not be revered. But they had kept his blade simply to be able to prove to any who had lost kin to the blade dancer that he was truly departed from this world. He would not trouble them again.
Silence ruled for a while after that, as the captain and her troops thought about what he'd said and what his commander had done since they knew he didn't lie, while the wizard who had surely never heard of the blade dancer, enjoyed the restored peace. Meanwhile Yorik realised he'd been side tracked again, whether on purpose or not, and he still didn't know what they would find at the Wind Dragon Falls or why they were going there. Somehow he suspected he wasn't going to find out until they actually arrived.
He might have said something but he knew it would do him no good. Besides, as they were travelling down the trail he was becoming aware of something in the woods around them. Someone. While he'd been gossiping he hadn't been concentrating on his work as he should. And as the trail had led them into a small clearing he'd not thought to study their surrounds. Finally he knew why he'd been feeling apprehensive – just a little too late as ever.
“Captain.”
He caught her attention with the warning tone in his voice and a heartbeat later she too was searching the surrounds. Soon the rest of them were as well. They were well trained soldiers. He would have preferred to have been travelling with a ranger patrol of the Order, or at least a full patrol, but that was not to be. It might be seen as too much and a waste of strength when there were other duties the rangers could be carrying out. In these peaceful lands they should be all that was needed.
“They're behind us and in front Captain.” One of her rangers told her the sorry truth, though by then they'd all guessed it. They'd foolishly managed to get themselves surrounded. The question was whether those surrounding them were an enemy or not. It could be innocent, but every hair on Yorik's neck was telling him otherwise.
“Show yourselves!”
The captain called out to whoever was surrounding them as she brought the small troop to a halt. And though weapons weren't yet being drawn, all hands were on hilts.
“As you wish.”
A man in armour answered her and moments later strode out from the nearest trees. The instant he saw him Yorik's blood chilled. It was a paladin of the Order of the Iron Hand.
“Yorik son of Heric you are called.”
The steel clad paladin stared at Yorik from under his full helm as though he was a target to be destroyed, which was sadly close to the truth. Though the paladins of the Iron Hand respected their foes, that respect was tempered by a need to best them in combat, and clearly Yorik's status had risen to the point where they saw him as a worthy opponent. He sighed, not wanting this battle, but knowing there was no way out of it.
“What does he mean?”
Genivere was not the most worldly of people he realised, and she had probably never seen a paladin of the Iron Hand before. They didn't spend a lot of time in elven territory as far as he knew.
“To call me to battle.”
Yorik sighed, knowing that there was no choice in the matter. He would fight or he would be killed where he sat on his horse. Those were his alternatives. Too many paladins of the Order had already been down this road for him to think there would be any difference.
“Who are you paladin, that you should call me to this unworthy fight?”
“Cavutos of Virious. Swordmaster of Ender's Fall. Slayer of Sir Hector of the Silver Order of Ender's Fall. Slayer of Evictus, blade dancer. Slayer of Knifis the Invisible. Slayer of the Black Drake.”
Genivere was looking at the paladin, horrified by the admissions of his killings, and the other elves weren't looking much happier, not even Captain Ysabel who was probably wondering if another demon had arrived in the world a little early.
“Then surely you've murdered enough people for one life time Cavutos of Virious.”
But he knew he hadn't. For a paladin of the Iron Hand, there was never enough killing.
“Are you afraid Yorik son of Heric? For if you are I will kill you where you sit on your horse, and your friends and woman with you. It would be a poor victory, but never the less, a victory.”
The terrible thing was that he meant it. Not just that he would kill Yorik, but that he would also kill Genivere who had simply made the mistake of riding too close to him and speaking in his ear.
“How dare you! You insolent dog!” Myral had clearly had enough of being waylaid by this arrogant paladin and in a heartbeat Yorik knew he would unleash his magic against him. The elves too would fight as they were already drawing their weapons. It was a mistake.
“Hold!”
Yorik yelled it at them before they could go any further and at least got their attention.
“Cavutos of Virious has already set up this entire area as a battle ground and ringed it with defences. He will have friends in the bushes, armed and ready, spellcasters as well as soldiers, some to ward this clearing so that we did not notice him until it was too late. There will be much loss of life if you should attack, ours included. You would never be given the chance for a fair fight.”
“Settle back my friends. He only wants me.”
Not that he was going to get him as far as Yorik was concerned. His temper was already rising as he thought of this evil paladin harming his friends, harming Genivere. Meanwhile they in turn were scanning the bushes, looking for whatever enemies they could find. Yorik knew they would probably spot a few, having been told they'd walked into an ambush, but never all of them. The steel clad slayers planned well.
“Name your weapons slayer.”
“You can't. You're injured.” Genivere was far from happy at the thought that he was intending to fight, and she'd accidentally said the magic words as far as Cavutos was concerned. The only ones that would prevent the fight. But even they would only cause a postponement.
“If you're hurt I will delay this fight until you are fit. A few days, a week perhaps.”
The paladin actually sounded concerned, and he was. But only because it was vital to him that he fight a man at his peak. There was no honour in killing an injured man, and no chance of claiming that honour. Of course, he would have his healers tend to him night and day to see to it that he was at peak strength and fitness before the battle, but all during th
at time he would keep his companions as hostages, and that was also unacceptable.
“I do not need to be fully fit to destroy you slayer. Now name your weapons, unless it is you who is frightened.”
The elves suddenly turned to look at him, shocked and perhaps wondering just what sort of a paladin he was given that he’d called out his enemy in turn, instead of trying to placate him. But they didn't understand the nature of the battle ahead, nor his reasons for fighting it. He would have to explain it to them later. If he survived.
“So be it Yorik son of Heric. Swords, magic, on foot, this clearing.”
His doubts had perhaps not been allayed but no paladin of the Iron Hand could ever allow himself to be called cowardly. Of course, Yorik had just made him mad as well, and that was never a good thing to do.
“As you demand.”
Yorik turned to his companions. “Good people, keep back, and whatever happens, do not interfere. Not even if he defeats me. Otherwise you will likely die. But if you do not interfere he will not harm you. We are all in the teeth of a trap.”
Dismounting as was demanded by the terms of the battle, and trying not to look at Genivere, he made his way to the middle of the clearing. He didn't look at the other elves either. They would never understand. Later, if he survived, he would then have to try and convince them of the deadliness of the trap they had blundered into. A trap they still couldn't see. For the moment it had to be enough that they didn't set it off. At the same time, he had to prepare himself for the battle to come, and he was already muttering spells under his breath, much as was his foe.
“We meet in honour Yorik son of Heric.”
Cavutos uttered what for him was almost a standard greeting, even as he drew his great sword, the blade already on fire with a dark flame.
“There is no honour in this. Your ways are nothing but shame.”
Yorik drew his own sword, the golden light already singing through it, and felt his magic powering him, making him stronger and faster. He would need to be. He discovered that as a heartbeat later the steel paladin struck at him far faster than any arrow could, trying to skewer him in the opening move.
As quick as he was he was out of luck as Yorik side stepped his charge with a deft pivot, and then booted him in the back with his armoured foot, a kick that sent him flying into a tree the best part of thirty feet from him. The magic and the fear was already flowing through him, making him strong. Far stronger than any normal man. But then neither was his opponent a normal man.
Cavutos wasn't hurt of course – that would have been too much to ask for – but he was angry, and the series of lightning blasts he sent his way the instant he'd turned around told Yorik he was determined to kill him. But then he'd known that from the start, and feeling each new blast a fraction of a heartbeat before it hit as the air around him became charged, Yorik was able to keep dodging them, letting the paladin waste his strength as he closed the gap between them. Sadly he had plenty to waste.
The paladin's next attack, though it was hard to separate where one ended and another began, was to try and behead him in an increasingly complex and lightning fast series of cuts and thrusts. His blade was almost invisible with its speed, while the small electric jolts Cavutos kept flinging at him as he delivered each blow made life uncomfortable. But somehow Yorik was able to keep ahead of him, dodging and twisting just enough to let his sword swing harmlessly past him again and again, parrying his blows where he couldn't, and ignoring the jolts. It wasn't easy though, bending and twisting like a reed in a hurricane, and he quickly found himself running short of breath while the sweat started pouring down his face. Perhaps he wasn't in as good condition as he'd hoped.
All the time as he dodged and twisted, Yorik was really just waiting for the paladin's true intent to show through, because he knew that Cavutos had a trap laid out for him.
A couple of minutes later into the most gruelling attack he'd ever faced Yorik discovered it as the small spells of electric jolt were abruptly replaced with a black viper attack. It was perfectly executed, and had Yorik not expected it he would have fallen to it. But with the rage and fear moving through him as they were, and his training always telling him what to expect, the small dark spell of snake venom missed and gave him his first real chance of fighting back. Cavutos was putting so much concentration into his spell, hoping to catch him off guard, that he'd lost focus on his swordsmanship, and it cost him. Faster than he could have prepared for Yorik dodged the opposite way, moving directly into his stroke, and then sliding under it, before he twisted behind him and put his great sword directly into the paladin's back plate.
It was a powerful blow, the sword striking quickly and cleanly, and Cavutos' back plate cracked under the blade while he went flying once more towards the distant trees, a trail of golden flame following him. But no strike against a paladin of the Iron Hand went unpunished and in turn Yorik found a dagger flying at him from his foe even as he was in midair, and he couldn't fully evade it as it found the gap between his visor and his helm, and drew blood from his cheek.
That shook him. That his enemy should be able to launch such a counter attack in the very moment he was being tossed aside, and that it came so close, was simply impossible. This battle was far from over. But his training immediately told him it was a mistake to give in to fear. He had to fight.
Too soon Cavutos was back, seemingly unconcerned by having been thrown into the trees once more. But his armour was broken and hanging strangely off him. Yorik would have wagered a lot of gold that his back was a mass of blood and bone bruises as well. Had the paladin been wearing normal steel he would have been dead already. The paladin would never show it though. Instead he launched another series of punishing blows at him, even faster than before and Yorik was barely able to avoid and parry them. He had to concentrate on the paladin’s hands and shoulders as he'd been taught and not the invisible blade but even doing that scarcely saved him.
For ages it seemed they stood there, trading blows, or rather Cavutos kept striking again and again with every greater speed and strength while Yorik just kept dodging and twisting. But he knew the steel paladin had to be tiring. His back was a mess, and he was throwing everything he had into his attacks. Even he surely couldn't carry on forever. Unfortunately Cavutos knew that too, and he knew that Yorik knew it and was waiting for it. He wasn't above using his own fatigue to set a trap for him.
But Yorik knew that too. It was then that he decided he had to counter attack himself. Not against the man though; against his attacks.
“Hammer sword.” He cast the spell all but silently, and then felt the effect as his great sword became suddenly more massive, though with the rage and fear singing in his blood by then, that wasn't an issue. What was important was that Cavutos didn't suspect, and he didn't. So even as he struck with all his might, trying to look more crippled and desperate than he was, he discovered that Yorik wasn't dodging for once. Instead of parrying or twisting, he met the blow head on, sword against sword, and then felt the explosion as golden great sword impacted upon the dark fired great sword like a mighty warhammer.
The impact was unbelievable, the sound like a thunderclap, and both of them were tossed away from the arena as though a titan had just hit them. The difference was that Yorik had expected the blast and braced himself for it while his sword was far too strong to be damaged by the blow. He found himself flying for the distant trees, but managed to guide himself through the air so that he landed lightly on his feet on a tree trunk before dropping easily to the ground. Cavutos wasn't so fortunate as his sword shattered in his hand while the bone breaking violence of that explosion surely rocked right through his body, hurting him badly and maybe – if he was lucky – breaking his wrists. He hit the distant trees once more, at least twenty feet off the ground, his shoulder taking the worst of the impact, and Yorik watched as more of his plate buckled.
For a man, even a knight the impact would have been deadly, but for the paladin, it was simply a
scratch, and Cavutos landed lightly on his feet, tossed the remains of his great sword aside, and drew a wicked looking scimitar and shield before running back at him as fast as he could. He was angry, and it showed. But he wasn't foolish, and before he struck him physically, he launched a spell of dread sickness, hoping to sap Yorik's strength. Fortunately Yorik was always defended against such spells, and it fizzled on his armour, even as he met his first blow.
The scimitar was even faster than the dark fired great sword being lighter, but the damage it could do was lessened as he welded it with only one hand. Critically though Yorik noticed his shield work wasn't as good as it should have been either. Possibly his offhand had been damaged from the hammer blow, and Yorik used that. With each counter strike Yorik managed to drive the paladin's shield deep into his chest, knocking him backwards again and again.
It was a crude technique, punishing his already injured wrist, but it was effective and they both knew it, which was why Cavutos kept launching spell after spell at him, all of them thankfully missing as his defences and counter spells kept him safe. Soon it was time to strike back himself Yorik knew, and he readied himself for the assault.
