Dagger Lord: A LitRPG Series

by Elliot Burns

  The raider took a route away from the castle and through Halberd’s land. He must have been a master at stealth, since none of the dozens of soldiers and watchmen he passed looked his way. Everywhere the raider went were the signs of a bustling and well-defended kingdom. Soldiers trained in fields near the castle, workmen adjusted trebuchets, and mages wearing the Halberd crest blasted straw dummies with fireballs.

  When the vision ended, Veik found himself back in his throne room. “You didn’t mention any of this to me, Bruce. In fact, after your visit to the lord, you said he was living in squalor.”

  “He was,” said Bruce. “I’ve seen whorehouses with more soldiers in them.”

  “Then how the hell has this happened? He should have no way of getting flek. How did he build all his defenses?”

  “Don’t worry, Lord Veik. Our man in Halberd’s ranks is due to make a report soon. When I meet with him, I’ll be able to update you.”

  “Until then, we had better step down until we are ready to strike. Halberd is much more prepared than I realized.”

  “There is another possibility,” said Bruce.

  “Oh? Do tell…”

  “When I see a raider wandering around with a memory crystal, I have to ask myself; whose memory is it, who stripped it, and why? And not only that, why did they then give the crystal to our friend here? It doesn’t make sense.”

  Veik stroked his chin. It was a habit he had; he liked the feel of his own facial hair. Mainly, he supposed, because his father had never been able to grow a beard, and in that one, single way, Veik had been better than him.

  “I think the young lord wanted us to see this, Bruce. It is a message to us. He’s trying to deter us by showing off his new defenses. I don’t care how he got them. He could have made a deal with the tachers for all I care. I won’t cower like a fucking lamb at the sight of a few trebuchets.”

  “Quite right. Fuck ‘em.”

  “Maybe our man in Halberd’s castle could do more than just report,” said Veik, leaning forward. “Maybe he could take an active part in things.”

  Bruce smiled. “As always, your plan is a song to my ears sweeter than the richest flute.”

  “Thank you, Bruce. Even though I know you are talking out of your arse, it’s good to see you again, and I wish we had time to go for a beer. But we have to forget leisure time for a while, because the destruction of Lord Halberd demands all our attention.”

  “Are we ready, Henry?” asked Bruce.

  Henry Veik smiled. He had been here so long, learned so many powers, that he knew Jack Halberd couldn’t beat him.

  “You know what I can do, Bruce,” he said. “You know what I can…become. We will show Jack Halberd my powers.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Jack hoped that their ploy with the raider had bought them some time, but he got the sense that sand drained out of his hour glass all the same. He couldn’t put Veik off for long, so he needed flek and he needed to get those damned raiders off his fields.

  Sarna said that the soldiers needed at least a few days more training before they were ready to fight, and that Jack required even more. With that in mind, he got himself out of bed early on the morning of his twenty-fifth day in Royaume. The air, warm despite the early hour darkness, carried promises of summer, while the grey clouds smudging the skyline threatened winter. He left the castle and hacked a path through the grass and vines until he reached their training spot.

  The training ground was completely different to when he and Mav had first found it. Elena and some peasants had shepherded bison into it so that they could fill their bellies on the grass to trim it, though Sarna had ordered the beasts away as soon as the pasture was tamed. Straw dummies were placed in a line at one edge of the camp, each of them sporting rips and tears from the soldiers’ blades.

  On the sidelines was a weapons rack covered by a tarpaulin, and there was a chest next to it which could be locked and concealed so that weapons weren’t stolen overnight. Not that it was likely, of course, since it was improbable that a stranger would wander into the glen after dark. Not only was the place innocent-looking from the outside, but the vines and grass they hacked apart each morning to get access grew back overnight.

  Over in the corner was the giant block of stone that the peasants had tried to make resemble the kingdom stone, with disastrous results. Strangely, the metal tubes at its base were full of flek coins again. Did some of his soldiers worship the Arcus? If that were the case, Jack wouldn’t take the coins this time, but he’d make a point of finding out which Arcus colors they followed.

  He trained alone with his dagger while daylight broke. As the sun siblings chased away the last remnants of the night, a din of noise drifted through the vines. Before he knew it, Sarna and the soldiers had joined him, and his peaceful solitary time was shattered as the fiery commander drilled and drilled and drilled him.

  The yard looked smaller when it was filled with his army, and the language that floated around was as blue as you would expect from soldiers trying to beat the hell out of each other. Jack enjoyed it, and he found a camaraderie here that he’d missed when his buddies back home had gone to college.

  Sarna had dispensed with the wooden swords a day earlier, and now the soldiers practiced with real blades using Mav’s alchemical solution that prevented the weapons touching flesh. Metal clanged against metal, and the soldier’s grunts were punctuated by Sarna’s shrill orders and curses.

  “Parry, you swine! Don’t curtsy for him!”

  “To the left! Are your feet made of rocks?”

  “Damn it, you barrel-lugger, don’t just lunge! What are you playing at? Try a little finesse!”

  Jack took his brunt of it just as much as the rest of them, which he hoped endeared him to his men. At the least, he hoped that they respected his training efforts.

  They lunched on the smoked meats that Mav brought with him when he arrived at midday. A self-proclaimed master with his Mughal dagger, the thief saw no need to train and instead stayed on the sidelines shouting insults at the sweat-covered men. Elena, meanwhile, had stayed back at the castle to research something about flek fields that was nagging her.

  Before long the twin suns were descending for their slumber, and the tranquil training area was dimmed under a sheet of dusk. Jack was dripping with perspiration and aching all over, but he couldn’t shake the sound of sand draining from his hour glass. He wasn’t ready, damn it, and he needed to take the fields back soon.

  “Pick up your swords and hit your beds, you sorry bunch of fat-arsed swines,” said Sarna. Then, as the soldiers left, she added in a gentler voice: “Sorry if I was especially mean today, lads. You are improving, and I mean that. You’ve earned your kip for today.”

  Jack made no move to leave. If the men were going, he’d stay for an hour and practice his swing on the straw combat dummies.

  “Not getting your beauty rest?” asked Sarna. “Trust me; you need it. Your eyes are baggier than a Tacher’s robe.”

  “I think I’ll stay a while.”

  “Suit yourself. You’ll need to start getting some sleep soon though, Jack. It’s fine to train your arse off. Admirable, even. But if the fight comes to us before we expect it and you’re so bleary-eyed you can’t think straight, it won’t do the men any good.”

  “I know,” said Jack. “I’ll get some sleep tonight. I promise.”

  One of the soldiers hung back after the others left. He was a man so sturdy you could strap barrels to his chest and he’d still be able to move, yet Jack had watched him fight and knew that he lacked speed. He had a bald head and had compensated for this by growing a thick, brown beard. He’d folded down the tops of his leather boots to give himself more maneuverability at his knees, but otherwise, his armor was standard issue.

  “I’ll train with you, if it pleases you, m’lord,” he said.

  He had a rough voice as northern as north could be, and full of grit. The way he held his sword suggested that although he’
d been recruited from the peasant pool, he’d held a blade before now. Come to think of it, Jack hadn’t seen Sarna direct her fury at him as much as the rest of the men. He would be good to train against.

  “I won’t go easy on your ass,” said Jack, with a smile.

  “I’ll pray to the Arcus to save me from your mighty blade,” answered the man.

  “We’ll do some drills,” said Jack. “I need to perfect my parry.”

  “If I might be so bold to say, maybe it’d be better to duel. Best of three. If you can get the measure of a lug like me, it’ll serve you well.”

  “You’re on.”

  They sparred their first round with wooden swords, and Jack matched his opponent blow for blow. The only sounds to rival the clack of their wooden weapons were the chirpings of the jacklegs that hid in the bushes nearby. Jack remembered what Mav had taught him about fighting a stronger opponent, and he tried to force the soldier to overcommit himself. Just as it was beginning to work, the soldier stopped pussy-footing and delivered a blow so hard that he knocked the sword from Jack’s hand. It lay on the grass, splintered at the hilt.

  “One to nothing,” grinned the man.

  “You must have eaten your veg growing up. Your name is Eledrick Nash, isn’t it?” said Jack, knowing he was right because he’d made sure to memorize all his soldiers’ names.

  “Aye, but they call me Dingbat on account of something that happened when I was a lad, and it stuck. Nash ain’t such a good family name, anyway. My brother’s the best that came out of our house. He’s a soldier up north, he guards a Merchente caravan.”

  “And you’ve fought before now, surely? You don’t seem like a man who only just picked up a sword.”

  “Yeah, a little. Fighting’s not for me, though.”

  “And yet you allowed yourself to be drafted as a soldier. Any reason for that Eledrick?”

  “Call me Dingbat. Ain’t the prettiest name, but I’m used to it. Here’s the raw deal, Lord. Me and the missus were just about getting by back when we only had two extra mouths to feed. She was pregnant, and I reckoned that a third extra mouth would stretch the hell out of us. Then she went into labor, and when I saw it was twins it almost knocked me on my arse. Time to pick up my spear again, I told her.”

  “Well if we take back the fields, I’ll see you right for flek, Dingbat.”

  “Then we better get back to it, Lord. We should use real iron this time. You need to get used to hearing it clang.”

  Each of them picked up an iron sword. Jack tested the heft of a few of them, then chose one with a lighter hilt. They each picked up a cloth from a pile on the grass and dipped some of Mav’s alchemical solution onto them, before smearing the oil-like liquid on their swords.

  They met again in the centre of the training ground where the grass had been flattened by a days’ worth of footfall. Some of it had been trampled down to the mud, which made for a slippery surface. Jack would need to be careful to avoid it.

  Dingbat had gone for a weighty-looking sword, one with a thick hilt that wouldn’t have sat right in Jack’s palm, and a blade thick enough to swat a wolf. He held it in the Ochs position, with two hands on the hilt and the blade above his head horizontally so that it aimed at Jack’s throat. Jack knew the pose well, and recognized that it would allow Dingbat some protection while giving him an opportunity to thrust his weapon straight at his neck.

  To counter, Jack began circling clockwise and took up the Vom Dach stance, holding his sword vertically so that the hilt protected his neck and face. This would allow him to match many of his opponent’s blows without much movement and should protect him from Dingbat’s neck thrusts.

  They circled each other like two wary animals, each planting boots firmly on the grass and avoiding the mud, lest they throw away round two with a slip. Dingbat had a piercing stare, one that was all whites of his eyes. It was so dark now that only the glowing jacklegs and chirpers gave off any light, forming a spectral audience from amongst the vines and bushes.

  Dingbat lurched toward him mid-step, but Jack was wise to it. The soldier had hoped to lull him into a false sense of security by his circling, and Jack was ready. Their metal blades clanged. Jack’s biceps tensed and shook as Dingbat pressed his weight forward, but he held out. There was a screech of metal as their blades slid off each other.

  When Dingbat stepped back he planted his heel on a spot of mud and lost his balance. It was only for a millisecond and not enough for him to fall, but in righting himself he turned slightly to his left, and his change in stance was enough for Jack to slip in and slice upwards.

  His blade shimmered as it came within an inch of Dingbat’s neck, and the force of it knocked Jack back a step.

  “That’s one-one,” he said, more out of breath than he’d like to admit.

  “Not the prettiest of points, m’lord, but a slip’s a slip, and on the battlefield, you would have had my head. It’s time we decided this once and for all.”

  “Yeah,” said Jack. “We’re losing the light.”

  “Let’s make this a quick one. Do you mind if I change weapons? Iron swords aren’t my thing.”

  “I didn’t know we had anything else.”

  “The thief found another weapons rack,” said Dingbat.

  “Go ahead,” said Jack. “I’ll see what there is.”

  The first weapon rack only had the ten-a-penny iron swords. They were made by a smithy years ago and had been left to collect dust in a room on the east wing of the castle before Elena had rescued them. They were standard issue, blunt-as-hell blades that could still kill a man, but would be the envy of no self-respecting army.

  The second rack was more interesting. It must have been a new addition since Jack hadn’t seen it before, and he was surprised that Mav hadn’t mentioned finding it. This one held weapons that, although still ancient, were varied, at least.

  Dingbat stood at the rack and traced his finger along a flanged mace, a maul, and a pike, before finally settling on a ranseur. This was a smaller version of a spear, and the end held a much longer blade than standard, with two smaller curved blades at the side. It could be used at medium range to both inflict damage and deflect attacks, and was especially useful when an opponent’s weapon was caught between one of the curved blades and the main one, since one twist of the ranseur would yank it away.

  “Ready, m'lord?” called Dingbat behind him.

  “Just a second.”

  “The chirpers are getting bored, m’lord,” called Dingbat.

  As he looked at the weapons rack, Jack started to get a peculiar feeling. He felt as if he was being tugged forward by some invisible hand, as if spectral fingers were pulling on his leathers.

  After having the same feeling when he first got to Royaume and had been led to his kingdom stone, Jack had learnt to trust whatever instincts worked their powers on him. He followed the sensation, walking by the weapons rack and toward a tangle of vines and bushes that nobody had bothered to clear. The feeling moved to his right, so he turned that way.

  On he walked until he came to the kingdom stone replica on the far side of the training ground. Dingbat must have thought he’d gone mad. Perhaps he had, but if that was so then it had happened long before now. If insanity was his ailment, then it had set in before he’d gotten to Royaume.

  At any rate, the feeling abruptly stopped when he reached the stone. He couldn’t see anything except the stone itself, with its carved face that was made to resemble a halberd, and the metal tubes on the ground that were filled with flek. Did the tugging sensation want him to take the flek? No. What would be the point of that, mid-duel?

  It was a glow just beyond the kingdom stone. Jack came to a tangle of vines. It would have looked impenetrable in normal circumstances, but now he saw that deep in the middle was a glowing yellow light. He carefully moved the vines aside, reached in, and pulled out a long bundle of cloth.

  He pinched the cloth and swung it back to reveal a blade. It was a dagger blade and made of
steel smelt with crystal dust, meaning it would take a hell of a lot of force to break it. Twisting it, Jack heard a click and saw that the blade extended to four feet long. Moving it the other way, the blade retracted, and he found that if he unwound the cog until it wouldn’t budge, the blade was the size of a standard dagger. Going the other way, it extended as long as a full-sized pike.

  Item received: Gear Blade

  [A blade that can be attached to a dagger, and then extended at will, giving you a better reach.]

  Sweet! This was a great find. Jack fitted the new blade to his dagger and then twisted it in his hand, marveling at how beautiful his dagger was.

  “It’s getting late, lord, and I hate an even score,” shouted Dingbat.

  Jack faced him, dagger ready. After applying the alchemical solution to his blade, he met Dingbat back in the centre. The soldier held his spear with one hand at the base and another in the middle.