Dark Humanity

by Gwynn White

  A voice rang out and the army’s forward progress halted, with the exception of three warriors who came forward to meet Soron. Without a doubt, the one in the middle was the mighty Magnus Kollrson. As tall as Soron, the warrior was thick and burly with bulging forearms. Magnus’s face was a map of scars that spoke of his numerous conquests.

  “You stand in the way, boy. Are you here to join the army?” said the mighty warrior in a deep, throaty voice.

  “I seek the mighty Magnus Kollrson. Rumor has it that he travels this way,” replied Soron.

  The man grunted in amusement, “You have found him, and who might you be, boy?”

  “Soron Stoneblood,” said Soron.

  “Ah, the son of the would-be king,” said Magnus.

  Soron nodded, “My father is chieftain of the local clans and some have called him king for unifying the regions under his leadership. The word ‘king’ means nothing to me; he is a good leader and cares for his people.”

  “Chieftain or king, it matters not. This region is rich in minerals and your father’s mines hold the iron I need. I will control the area, being able to kill a king would only be a bonus. So why are you here, boy, you pleading for mercy? Come to beg for your father’s life?”

  Soron shook his head, “I have come to challenge you to combat.”

  Magnus laughed, “You think you can stop the invasion by defeating me? Do you know who I am? I have killed more men than the plague. I defeat legions singlehandedly. I am the greatest fighter in the far north, feared by all. What makes you think you have a chance, boy?” said Magnus Kollrson in a mocking and arrogant tone. Most men tremble in fear at the mere sight of him, the fact this impudent boy would actually challenge him was almost too much to fathom.

  One of Magnus’s two companions spoke out, “This boy is known to us, sir. He is an accomplished warrior, perhaps it would be best to just kill him and not accept his challenge.”

  Magnus gave his companion a deathly, cold stare, “Are you suggesting I can’t handle this young one? Say another word like that and I will cut your tongue out.” Magnus turned back to Soron, “Challenge accepted.”

  Man to man combat was an important ritual in Solotine. Now that Magnus had formally accepted Soron’s challenge, it became an honor fight. It meant that no one would interfere and if Soron did win, he would be given safe passage after the battle. They might try track him, hunt him down and murder him tomorrow, but for today, at least, he would be safe from reprisal if he proved victorious. If he didn’t win, it wouldn’t matter. Magnus did not leave fallen enemies alive.

  Magnus spoke to his companions, “Give the order to stop the march. We shall take a break, eat some lunch, give the men a show then continue on our way.”

  Soron had to give the man credit; he certainly knew how to maximize his reputation. If Magnus defeated Soron here, his men would have fresh blood lust and pride to channel into their attack on Amradin.

  “Come, boy, join me for lunch and then we shall give the men a show,” invited Magnus.

  “Thank you, a bit of food would be most pleasing,” replied Soron. To show any fear or nervousness in front of Magnus would be like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Soron would show no fear today.

  While Magnus and Soron walked back towards the army, a small tent and tables were quickly set up for their lunch. Magnus liked to be treated like royalty, Soron noted. It was no wonder he took offense to another northerner being called king. Magnus had delusions of his own grandeur.

  It truly was impressive how quickly their lunch was organized. Soron supposed that when you were constantly raiding and attacking, you became incredibly efficient at organizing large groups of people, how to feed them and in this case be able to rapidly respond to the whims of your leader.

  Magnus sat down at the table and motioned for Soron to join him. “So, king’s son, let me give you one last good meal before sending you off to the worlds of the gods.”

  Soron sat down across from Magnus. If nothing else the man was interesting, his thirst for power and insatiable bloodlust were traits that Soron found less than appealing but sitting here talking with the greatest warrior known to the north was a curious experience. Soron could not help but get the feeling Magnus was attempting to lull Soron into a less-aware state of mind before their combat. Manipulating your opponent’s moods could have very effective results. Soron would not rise to any bait. He simply smiled, and accepted the food placed in front of him. The assortment of meats and cheeses was as tasty as Magnus had promised.

  Having finished their lunch, Magnus stood, grabbed a pitcher of mead and took a big swig. He slammed the container onto the table and gave Soron a steely glare. “By now the men should be rested and ready for a little entertainment. Shall we begin?”

  Soron simply rose and nodded.

  While they had been eating, the army had been positioned around a large, low spot where the all the men would have a good view of the fight. The low spot was flat and a circle had been marked. The circle meant nothing, but it gave the soldiers a ring to stay back from. Plenty of room for combat without interruption.

  Soron walked to the middle of the circle. He didn’t wait for Magnus, who he expected would want to make an entrance. As soon as Soron stood in the middle, one of Magnus’s lieutenants came to stand beside him in the ring to build up the armys’ excitement before the fight.

  With a loud bark the lieutenant quieted the massive circle of men watching the fight. “Brothers, this is Soron Stoneblood, one of the finest warriors in the land. He is the son of the would-be king and has challenged one of our own to combat. The one he has challenged is known to you all. He is your leader; he is the greatest warrior ever to walk these lands. He is Magnus Kollrson,” yelled the lieutenant, bringing the crowd to a frenzy.

  A low chant started at the back of the crowd and soon the entire army was chanting ‘Magnus, Magnus, Magnus.’ When the mighty warrior finally made his way to the circle, the crowd was boisterous, almost frantic.

  Soron had seen the effects of bloodlust on troops before. It dulled them to the plight of the enemy, strengthened their resolve and ultimately reduced a warrior’s respect for life. Moments like this, where five thousand men stood cheering and crying for one man to kill another, were why Soron hated the north. Death should not be celebrated like this.

  Pulling his sword out of its protective sheath, Soron readied himself.

  Soon Magnus entered the circle, walking through the crowd of cheering warriors. Soron could see Magnus was carrying a large battle axe. Even in the thickly-muscled arms of Magnus, the heavy weapon looked heavy and unyielding, but Soron knew from experience how dangerous the double-bladed weapon could be.

  Magnus walked to the center of the circle, arms raised, yelling at the crowd. In response to their leader’s roars, the crowd grew even louder. Magnus turned to Soron, giving him a toothy grin then a scowl and a deathly stare.

  Soron knew this was all tactical, from the hyping of the crowd right down to the stare he was receiving now. Magnus had stalled and stalled, acted almost friendly, then created a hostile environment to intimidate Soron. The five thousand screaming warriors should have been enough to frighten a demon, and more than enough to send any normal man into a fright-filled state which would give the large northern warrior a great advantage.

  Magnus had failed to read his opponent properly today. When he looked at Soron, he saw a young warrior and had assumed Soron was like most young warriors. Even when his lieutenant warned him that Soron was as dangerous of an opponent as he had ever faced, he scoffed. A baby-faced warrior, not yet out of his teens, a danger to him, the mighty Magnus Kollrson? No, Magnus had discarded his lieutenants’ advice as the squawking of old women. He would bring the boy into camp, feed him, and be friendly before terrifying him with the screams of his frenzied warriors. Then, Magnus would slice him down like a scared rabbit. It had worked a hundred times before and would again had been Magnus’s faulty logic.

  Still not yet
realizing his own error in judgment, Magnus attacked. With a roar he spun, bringing his heavy battle axe around in a swinging arc. The heavy-bladed weapon sliced through the air intending to crush his opponent in one swipe.

  When Soron’s sword blade blocked his axe’s advance, Magnus was shocked. Rare was the man who could withstand even one of his mighty swings. Giving another loud battle yell, Magnus launched into a series of slashing cuts; if power didn’t defeat his enemy, Magnus would use speed to slice his enemy to bits.

  Soron knew he was in trouble. The first strike of Magnus had been an incredibly powerful blow. It took everything Soron had to block the blow. Now Magnus was coming forward, using the heavy axe like a one-handed sword, attacking with terrifying speed. Magnus might be guilty of using mental warfare to give himself an advantage, but when it came to actually fighting, Magnus was all the legends said he was. The man was powerful, fast, and used his axe in ways Soron had never seen in battle.

  Soron parried, deflected the blows, and survived the onslaught. The crowd roared its approval as the two giant warriors moved in concert. Blades were constantly moving, sparks kept flying as the two weapons constantly crashed into each other. Magnus pushing forward constantly attacking, while Soron parried and blocked, moving back away from the onslaught.

  Magnus was impressed, so often his opponents fell to his first swing. This young boy had survived and was thwarting his attacks, but the boy was constantly retreating. Magnus knew his frenzied attacks would eventually wear down any opponent. He could feel the excitement of the crowd. It was a unique experience for the army to see Magnus actually have to give effort to defeat an enemy. They were enjoying the spectacle. Magnus decided to prolong the battle for a moment or two. He slowed his attack, letting Soron step back out of range for a second. Magnus raised his axe to the sky and yelled to the crowd, letting them bask in his magnificence.

  As Magnus played to the crowd, Soron decided it was time. He had played defense, blocking the mighty axe at every swing, now it was time to bring the attack to his foe. Soron switched his two-handed grip on his sword to a single. Holding the sword in his right hand he pulled out his sword-breaker. The short, compact weapon was shorter than a sword, but with a wider blade and three grooves on each side of the blade, just above the up-curved cross-hilt. When a sword entered the grooves a twist of Soron’s strong wrists would snap the sword or send it flying out of his opponent’s hands. The large dagger was not a great defensive weapon against an axe, but Soron was not planning to use it this way. Soron was about to go on the attack.

  Magnus watched with amusement as his young opponent pulled out his sword-breaker dagger and went to a two-weapon stance, sword held high with the dagger out to the side. Magnus thought the boy was resorting to the change in desperation. Surely the boy didn’t think he could block one of Magnus’s attacks one-handed? Magnus prepared to continue his attack, he would be able to end this quickly now. He was surprised when Soron moved forward.

  The crowd watched in awe as the tides of battle changed. Now Soron was coming forward, his sword and dagger moving in unison. For the first time that anyone could remember Magnus was not on the attack. He was actually having to use his axe in a defensive pattern, blocking the incredibly, fast-moving blades of Soron as he came forward. Soron’s blades sliced through the air in constant motion. Instead of the screams and yells of earlier, now the crowd fell quiet. Never had such a spectacle of fighting skill been seen. Magnus, the greatest warrior of the far north was being tested like never before.

  Soron pushed forward, relentless in his attacks. Magnus was an awe-inspiring warrior when on the attack, but it had been so long since someone else had been the aggressor that his defensive skills were rusty. The mighty and heavy war axe was an impressive weapon on the attack, on defense the weapon was ponderous and less than ideal. Soron did not let the mighty warrior gain a position where he could transition back to the attack. Each swing of Soron’s sword or dagger was quickly followed by one from the other weapon.

  Magnus was shocked. He could not remember the last time someone advanced the attack against him. The boy was strong, even one-handed, his attacks had enough strength to meet his own blade without being pushed back. Magnus had to step back and use his axe to block the quick-moving blades. He could not believe that such a young warrior, hardly more than a boy was able to match him blow for blow and now was bringing the fight to him. Magnus refused to believe any man could use two one-handed weapons and block one of his full swing;, he would win this battle right now he decided. With one last roar he spun, going back on the attack, bringing his axe around in a wide arc the same way he had started the combat. But this time his young opponent was using two, one-handed weapons, no way would the boy be able to stop this blow. No way.

  Soron sensed Magnus was getting desperate. When the mighty warrior spun around, Soron was ready. He crossed his weapons, allowing the sword to sit in front of the dagger. His sword easily slid into one of the sword-breaker’s grooves. This locked the weapon into place, no matter how hard Magnus swung his sword he would not knock free one of the blades. When the mighty axe crashed into his own weapons, Soron was pushed back by the mighty blow, but his weapons held, blocking the desperate attack. Soron pushed forward with his sword freeing it from the groove of his dagger. He then went into his own spin, pushing down on his sword, forcing Magnus’s axe down while his other arm whipped around in a short arc bringing the deadly dagger around into Magnus’s now defenseless, upper body.

  The dagger sliced through Magnus’s neck. The shower of blood told its tale, as Magnus fell to the ground. The silent crowd watched in horror as their leader fell to the ground. For the majority of the crowd, Magnus had been god-like in his ability to defeat any enemy. To have him be defeated was beyond comprehension.

  Soron stood and waited. He knew not if the far northerners would honor his right to safe passage now that he had defeated their leader. If they did not, he would die fighting, taking as many of his foes with him as possible.

  The lieutenant who had introduced Magnus to the crowd re-entered the circle. He walked up to the corpse of the fallen giant and leaned over to make sure the man was indeed dead. To no surprise he found no signs of life. Magnus Kollrson, greatest warrior of the north, was dead. The lieutenant addressed the crowd. “Soron Stoneblood has defeated Magnus Kollrson. Let no man here deny Soron safe conduct from the battlefield.” The lieutenant paused before continuing. “Tonight we shall have a feast. We shall celebrate Magnus and send him off well to the gods. Tomorrow, the clan leaders shall assemble and vote on a new leader. We travel no farther today.”

  The crowd muttered, some of them had been under the rule of Magnus so long they had forgotten what it was like to have a choice in leadership. Many of the men looked around, which clan was strong enough to rise to power now that the shadow of Magnus was gone? Soron was now forgotten; they had more important things to think about. The future of the far northern clans was changing and would be decided soon. The individual clans started to break off to discuss the events. The lieutenant led Soron away, while the clans began to discuss life beyond Magnus.

  When the lieutenant and Soron were alone, the man stopped and addressed Soron. “You have done the north a great service. Magnus was mad for power. How he ever thought he could hold the entire north was crazy. Even if we wiped your people out, we would not be able to hold your lands. As soon as our army returned home your people would rise up to retake what was yours. Magnus cared not; he wanted to be a conqueror, a killer of kings.” The lieutenant paused, taking his time to think over the implications of Magnus’s death. “Tomorrow, it is likely that I, Sokka Orrikson, or Karl Himmerson will be voted leader. Our clans are the strongest and will gather the most votes. Regardless of who is voted leader, some of the clans will be angry that their leader was not chosen and will break off. Neither Karl nor I will continue on this stupid and senseless attack against Amradin. Tomorrow, we shall return to the far north.”

  S
oron absorbed the words of Sokka Orrikson. War had been prevented. Soron thanked Sokka, “I am glad to hear that, Sokka. Many people would have died, way too many people. If you become leader, know that my father’s iron is likely available to you, but you will have to trade for it. We will not be conquered.”

  Sokka smiled, “I doubt anyone is going to try conquering Amradin, home of Soron Stoneblood, killer of the mighty Magnus Kollrson, any time soon. Perhaps we shall send a trade envoy to your people next time instead of an army. May you return to your people in peace, Soron Stoneblood.” Sokka shook Soron’s hand in respect and then turned to head back to his own clansmen.

  Soron flinched at the name Sokka had given him. Soron Stoneblood, killer of the mighty Magnus Kollrson, was not a name he wanted. Nor would he be returning to his people any time soon. Soron was heading south. He was tired of battle and needed change. Amradin was safe now, he could leave without guilt. Soron smiled as he started his journey south. Finally, he was headed on an adventure that might not end with swordplay.

  Chapter Four

  Soron was only a week’s travel into the south before his wish to avoid swordplay was tested. He had passed through the high Applomean Mountain Range pass with no incidents and was traveling down, leaving the mountains for the forests of Southern Solotine, when he came across a situation he could not ignore. A small caravan of travelers was being attacked by a large force of men. The caravan guards were outnumbered and would quickly be defeated. Soron did not hesitate; he quickly joined into the fray, siding with the outnumbered traders and their few guards.

  Soron charged into the battle, rushing into the largest concentration of attackers, who at that moment were attempting to finish off the guards before attacking the less-skilled-in-combat tradespeople. Soron slew three men before the horde knew what was happening. Large for a northerner, Soron was huge compared to these southern men. He moved like a wraith, cutting through the attackers. Chaos ensued as the men found themselves going from aggressors to victims due to this strange, large and ferocious man. Soon the remainder of the attackers fled in fear.