The warrior barely managed to intercept one of the razor-sharp claws from decapitating him, and Akantha suddenly realized how odd it was for a man with such ornate and mighty armor to opt for that strange bubble instead of a proper, matching helmet. However, everything in this strange place was odd.
A mighty struggle ensued as the warrior tried desperately to bring his sword arm back into the fight. It had been pinned to the wall at the moment of impact, and the demon was simply too strong. That didn’t stop the newcomer from smashing his free fist repeatedly into the monster’s body to no apparent effect, reminding Akantha of her own impotent punches hours earlier. The struggle continued until the demon abruptly climbed the wall, taking the warrior with it.
It happened so quickly that the newcomer appeared unable to react, but while the demon was climbing the wall, the warrior managed to find an opening and deftly spun his sword with his wrist, slicing through several of the demon’s legs. Akantha was amazed at the strength of this man, who with no more than a flick of his wrist had cut through a handful of this latest Sky Demon’s legs.
The enraged demon, having never ceased its horrific wailing, paused momentarily increasing its volume at this latest insult. It managed to keep the man pinned against the wall the entire way up to the ceiling, where it began to dig around in the wall in a frantic fashion for a few seconds before Akantha realized that it was trapping this strange warrior with the same material that encircled the waists of every other human she could see in the room.
“It means to trap you!” she screamed, but she was sure that he would not be able to make her voice out over the shrieks and shouts of her fellow captives. Her heart sank as the lone agent of hope in this hellish prison was pinned to the ceiling.
She watched helplessly as the demon completed its task and leapt to the floor, leaving the strangely armored man trapped. The warrior seemed confused as he fixed his eyes on the strap of living material which pinned him to the ceiling, and he hesitated for some reason which was unclear to Akantha. Surely he can cut loose of his bonds with such a mighty weapon, she thought to herself.
“Use your Sword of Power,” Akantha yelled with excitement and desperation warring in her voice.
After a few agonizing seconds, the man appeared to form a plan. Positioning his feet awkwardly against the ceiling, he drew the blade across his body over the fleshy strap. Without warning, and in another nearly impossible display of speed and power, he cut the strand with a single slash across the band (which was fully twice the size of the band which imprisoned Akantha) and pushed off the ceiling, driving straight at the monster.
There was a great sucking sound as he broke free from the ceiling, and for one glorious moment it looked as though he would come down directly on top of the demon, his blade poised to land the final blow.
However, he fell short of his quarry, and was barely able to get his hand up in time to protect his helmet-less head before landing on the floor. Thankfully for him, the floor of the Hell Ship was much more forgiving than stone or even dirt, and he was able to roll to his feet quickly.
A chorus of warnings erupted from her countrymen, and Akantha heard Fedora’s voice among them. “Get up!” the now shirtless woman shrieked, “Kill the beast!”
Akantha felt almost as though she were part of a crowd witnessing an epic duel between gladiators, and the thrill of the moment combined with their dire circumstances had her heart racing.
The warrior’s fall had robbed him of the strange bubble which had surrounded his head, and Akantha saw the unmistakable look of disgust cross his face after he drew his first breath without it. The wailing sound the demon was emitting also clearly took him by surprise, as he winced visibly at its latest ululations.
The monster charged toward the warrior, who responded with a cry of his own and raised his blade to the side. At what Akantha considered to be well past the last possible instant, he stepped (or rather, leapt) across the monster’s path and severed many of the legs on the left side of its body in a single, powerful stroke. The demon’s momentum carried it into a nearby wall, where it narrowly avoided crushing a helpless Argosian. The sight of her people at the mercy of these creatures sent Akantha’s blood boiling, but she was just as helpless as they were for the time being.
The demon was clearly not pleased that one of its future meals had successfully defied it, and after regaining its posture, it moved more quickly than before and charged straight toward the newcomer. The warrior gripped his sword in both hands, pointing the blade away from his left hip. Akantha was certain he would react too slowly, but he once again displayed nearly impossible speed and power by sidestepping completely across the path of the oncoming monster, bringing his sword up in a mighty blow meant to decapitate the demon once and for all.
The demon, even more impossibly, appeared to have anticipated this and it shifted its weight at the exact same instant. For a sickening moment, Akantha was certain it would avoid the attack altogether and impale the warrior with its greedily clacking claws.
But the warrior was even wilier than the demon anticipated, and while the monster avoided having its head completely removed by the twisting blow, at least a third of its ‘skull’ above the eyes was taken off by the black sword. That sword had white letters of some kind running up and down the blade. Akantha had failed to notice them until that moment, likely due to the poor lighting in the chamber.
Still, the demon was massive, and its momentum caused the entirety of its bulk to slam directly into the warrior, driving him into the wall yet again. She thought she heard the newcomer say something, but there was no way to be sure. The demon’s pincers were moving rapidly and wildly. The warrior’s sword hand was pinned down by his side, both by the bulk of the demon’s body and by the creature’s hand-like appendage on that side.
The pincers continued their frenzied clacking, and the warrior swatted them away with his free hand when they came too close. He fought to extricate himself, but the monster was too massive. It was badly wounded, but the demon had not yet conceded the life and death struggle.
They fought for position for what seemed like an eternity, with the fate of Akantha’s people quite clearly in this strange warrior’s hands. If only I had a weapon! Akantha thought bitterly.
With a mighty shrug of his shoulders, the warrior managed to create enough range of motion for his free hand that he was able to plunge it into the open head of the demon. There was no finesse to the way he ground his hand inside the thing’s head; the warrior appeared to want his enemy to suffer, and suffer it did.
With a mighty spasm, the monster’s body twisted and convulsed, throwing the warrior across the room in the process. Clearly, the monster was in its death throes, and Akantha found savage satisfaction watching its final moments.
It writhed and jerked on the ground for over a minute before finally coming to a rest, and it was only then that Akantha could take proper stock of the damage this new warrior had inflicted on the abomination. It was frankly amazing that the creature had not died of shock much earlier, since nearly half of its legs were gone. A plethora of cracks ran along its carapace where the warrior had repeatedly smashed it with his gauntleted fist, not to mention the fact that it was missing nearly half of its head!
Akantha’s eyes narrowed as she thought how best to proceed. A warrior like this one, with this battle alone, had earned him dozens of ballads and inclusion into the legends of her people. He would not have undertaken such a great personal danger without expecting much in return, and Akantha knew exactly what he wanted.
There was only one thing on this ship that she suspected held enough value to warrant the attention of such an obviously accomplished warrior, and that was her. Or, more specifically, it was her title as Land Bride of Argos. Where this man had come from, and why she had never heard of him were questions to which she desperately wished she had the answer, but that would have to come later.
The warrior, who was still leaning up against the wall, looked
at his fallen foe and slumped slightly. He closed his eyes and drooped his head forward. The gesture caused him to simultaneously groan and wince, as he brought his heavily gauntleted hand up to his neck.
The action unbalanced him, and he staggered away from the wall but did not fall, managing to find his feet after a few stumbling steps. There was something different about the way this man moved, and Akantha was certain that it had something to do with his obviously enchanted armor.
He looked up at her fellow captives, and some of them were pointing to his sword and gesturing for him to cut them loose, Fedora Glaros among them.
Akantha was not jealous of her neighbor, but to say that Fedora Glaros was well-endowed with feminine charms would be something of an understatement. Akantha had been assured during her history lessons that wars had been fought over less ample bosoms, and the warrior’s eyes naturally fell (and began feasting) on their garmentless splendor.
The warrior hastily looked away after an eye-widening second, and Akantha was surprised. A man of his accomplishments would have no problem availing of the affections of women, but it was almost as though he were embarrassed by the sight. Akantha’s eyes narrowed even further. This one is unpredictable, or is it merely a ploy? she thought to herself.
His eyes naturally came to his true quarry after looking away from Fedora’s naked torso, and he locked eyes momentarily with Akantha. He cocked his head slightly and furrowed his eyebrows, as if surprised by something he saw in her face, which only served to heighten her guard. She did her best to keep her face a cold, courtly mask of indifference.
After a few moments, the warrior moved toward the nearest Argosians, as if to cut their bonds. He had almost reached the first woman, when there was a sound from the ruined portal where he had entered the chamber.
The newcomer muttered something under his breath in a foreign language and turned to the door. Akantha was surprised to hear that his voice was higher than she expected. She reminded herself that a warrior is judged on his merits and accomplishments, not his appearance or physical traits, but it was surprising to hear such an impressive warrior speak in a voice which was usually only found among balladeers.
He ran back to the door, his steps covering almost as much ground as the fastest of the demons. No sooner had the warrior arrived at the portal than those green-colored, pincer-wielding demons did likewise.
The warrior’s reactions were incredible, and his blade lashed out so quickly that it was a blur, neatly slicing the first creature through its midsection. The strike unbalanced him momentarily, but he regained his footing and blocked the portal with his body and blade.
What followed was perhaps the most amazing display of combat Akantha had ever seen. Every strike crippled or killed a Sky Demon, and while his maneuvers were simple and uncomplicated, he fought fearlessly with preternatural speed and power. It was clear this man had not only trained extensively, but also had a natural aptitude for combat. It was not surprising to reach this conclusion, but Akantha marveled as he fearlessly sliced, stabbed, kicked and punched at the doorway, until the portal was effectively blocked by the bodies of his fallen enemies.
Not a single Sky Demon had made it into the chamber past his savage dance of death, and Akantha was certain that this man had already killed as many Sky Demons in ten minutes as her entire militia had managed at the Stathis farm hold.
The voices of her fellow captives were nearly silenced by the display, and Akantha could not help but also be awed. It was said that Hypatios Nykator had once held a gatehouse alone for an hour, killing a hundred men in the process. Akantha could not think of another living man who had accomplished such a feat against trained warriors, let alone against demons!
Akantha was almost certain that she saw a look of disdain on the newcomer’s face when the corpses blocked more demons from entering. Or was it despair she had seen on his face? She honestly could not tell, but she decided it must have been disdain at being dissatisfied with the challenge his foes had presented.
Persus had once said that figures of legend only served to make little boys feel inadequate. There was little doubt that tales of this warrior’s exploits in this place would do exactly that to even grown men, if anyone survived to tell of them.
Alarmingly, the demons began methodically pulling the bodies of their kin away from the doorway. Taking advantage of the lull, the warrior drew his breaths in a deep, measured rhythm. His chest piece did not move as she had expected it to do while he breathed. He was obviously tired, but there was also clearly more fight in him and he had a strange look on his face which Akantha could not read. Such a titanic effort should have drained a man of every last ounce of strength, but this warrior looked as if he were fit for hours of this effort.
The demons returned as soon as the doorway had been cleared, and he went back to his incredible display of swordsmanship immediately. This time, however, the pincer-wielding demons were accompanied by the smaller, wasp-like demons with the noisome weapons.
While the larger, green-colored demons occupied the warrior, the smaller ones climbed through the top edge of the doorway, their legs somehow allowing them to scurry on the ceiling as easily as the floor. The warrior’s quick reactions managed to bring his blade up and through the first demon to breech the top of the door, but two more quickly made their way past his reach. Akantha’s heart sank; it was now only a matter of time before he would be overwhelmed.
Still, he held his ground and managed to slaughter every approaching pincer-wielding demon, while also killing better than a third of the smaller ones as they made their way through the doorway.
In truth, Akantha doubted there was a better strategy. If he fell away from the door, the heavily armored ones would pour in and surround him. If he stood his ground, it was only a matter of time before the smaller ones would accomplish the same feat.
Without warning, one of the small ones dropped from the ceiling above the warrior, its weapon poised to strike at his naked head. “Above you!” Akantha yelled, but her countrymen had also shouted their own warnings and her voice was drowned out by the din.
The warrior’s unpredictable footwork took him out of the path of the falling demon, and he only seemed to notice it after it landed on the floor. The dark-skinned man unceremoniously stomped on its upper half with his massive metal boot, and Akantha felt a thrill at the cracking sound its death made.
The warrior looked down at his sword reproachfully, as though he were cross with the weapon for some reason. Akantha could not believe her eyes, but the moment passed and the dark-haired man barely had time to lurch sideways to avoid an incoming set of pincers, clearly intending to relieve him of his head.
He leapt away from the demon that had come so close to decapitating him. Then, inexplicably, the man struck a spear-thrower’s pose, pointing the tip of the blade almost directly at Akantha. Then perhaps the most surprising thing to happen since this man’s arrival occurred: he spoke, and Akantha could understand him.
“Here, take the cursed thing and cut yourself free,” he snarled in the Old Tongue (generally only used by Ladies and lawgivers) before hurling it, and when it landed it was stuck point-first in the floor between Akantha and Fedora. The black hilt rested temptingly against the wall, where she could reach it if she wanted. “There’s been nothing but trouble ever since I picked it up!"
Akantha was speechless. It was like something out of legend! This strange warrior had just offered to let her bear his sword, a Dark Sword of Power! Akantha would never forget his manipulation of events or cross nature, but she could forgive at least some of these shortcomings in light of his truly heroic efforts. She reached for the hilt and a cloud of emotion overtook her, as she felt like she was taking a step out of reality and into legend.
Then she remembered something he said just before throwing it. Cursed? Akantha wondered, and her hand hesitated, What in the name of Men did that mean?! None of the Dark Swords of Power were cursed, at least not that she had been taught.
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Her eyes narrowed to slits as her blood boiled, and she retracted her hand. Not only does he give me little choice in accepting his offer, but he offers me a cursed sword!? she seethed silently.
She could not let this stand. Some things are worse than death, and curses were among them. She owed it not only to the Argosians with her in this place, but also those still in Argos not to become Sword Bearer of a weapon which might bring with it great calamity, as cursed weapons were known to do. Better to lay down their lives here and now, than to subject their families and fellows to whatever evil ravages awaited them should she accept a cursed blade.
It was said that a blade from the east, whose name shall never again be uttered by unanimous decree of the Hold Mistresses, brought with it seven years of calamity including early winters, volcanic eruptions, earthquakes which toppled even the greatest ramparts. Plagues of insects devoured all crops, and disease claimed half of those living in the Hold of the Mistress who had accepted the foul blade. Akantha was certain that even Leonora’s advice to do the best one can with what is available would not have extended to willingly bringing a curse into the heart of Argos!
This man would explain himself, and he would do so before Akantha decided whether or not to bear his sword, and in so doing accept him as her Protector. She owed it to her people.
The story continues in Chapter Twenty Five, Book One of The Spineward Sectors Novels: Admiral Who?
Admiral's Lady: Eyes of Ice, Heart of Fire Page 14
