by J M D Reid
Why is he steaming? screamed through Ōbhin’s mind as his legs stretched out before him. He ate up the distance now.
In a blur of motion, the hulk whipped his sword from its sash. Ōbhin, despite his practice on the training sands of the Satrap’s palace, could barely follow the motion. The blurring attack struck Jimet on the shoulder and cut deep into his collarbone. The blade split through his back, severing ribs. His strike faltered, the blow becoming clumsy, blocked with ease by the brute’s free hand.
“Bugger my mother!” Carstin cried out.
“Black-cursed bastard!” Ōbhin growled in his native tongue.
The brute wrenched his blade free in a spray of scarlet. Jimet’s corpse collapsed. The woman peeking out of the tent screamed out in shock, her face going paler. The sudden carnage shook Ōbhin like a violet earthquake.
Then he noticed the shape of the strongarm’s sword. It was a thick slab of metal that didn’t narrow to a chiseled point but instead flared into two hooks thrusting from each side of the blade. Spikes of metal that could drive deep into bodies.
“Bloodfire!” screamed Ōbhin as he stared at the famed hooked sword of Bue’csa’i.
At the end of the blistering desert, at the tip of the Ki’mana’s peninsula, warriors swore themselves to the Tone of Fire. Somehow, they had the essence of a ruby gem embedded into their bodies, their blood burning hotter than a foundry furnace.
The hulk brought the blade to his own chest. He cut himself deliberately, drawing the sword’s edge across his torso. It wasn’t scarlet that flooded out, but fire. It burst from him and engulfed his blade. The air rippled from the strength of the flame, a dancing mirage that distorted the placid face of the hulk.
“Elohm’s Colours!” Ust grunted, stumbling to a halt as the hulk’s flaming blade swung at Whiner Creg.
The skinny complainer brought his backsword up in a flashing parry. Sparks flared. Ōbhin ran faster. He charged across the distance. His tulwar hissed as he drew it from his sheath. He stared at that blazing sword.
A worthy weapon to face. A bloodfire of Bue’csa’i. The weight squeezing his heart relaxed. The tone of his actions felt harmonic now. He slid his thumb up to the small point on the crossguard of his curved blade.
He activated the jewelchine.
The bloodfire’s flaming blade drove back Whiner Creg. Backsword flashed in a desperate attempt to keep from meeting Jimet’s fate. The other members of the band already faltered, save for Carstin, who spat out his cigar and whipped out his weapon.
“No!” Ōbhin shouted as his sword hummed. Emerald light flared from the jewelchine in the pummel. The Tone of Earth sang through his weapon, vibrating it, transforming it into a deadly weapon. “Fall back, Carstin!”
Carstin thrust his blade at the brute’s side, exposed when the bloodfire sought to cut down Whiner Creg. In a blur of dark motion and sweeping flame, the bloodfire whirled, the tail of his sash flaring at his waist. His burning blade struck Carstin’s sword, knocking him off-balance.
Ōbhin had twenty cubits to cross. The cold thrill of battle pumped through his veins, sharpening the world. Every sound echoed in his ears. Every movement slowed to a graceful dance. The smells filled his nose.
Coppery blood.
Sizzling metal.
Sour fear.
“Bugger my mother and my father,” Ust groaned.
An arrow buzzed past Ōbhin’s shoulder. The brute flicked up his blade, cutting the missile in half. Carstin had a moment to recover his footing. Determination flashed across his tensed face. His shaggy, brown hair flowed about him as he screamed a wordless war cry.
Ōbhin was ten cubits away.
The flaming blade swept hard. Metal clanged. Sparks erupted. Carstin’s backsword flew from his hand, spinning through the air. Fear flashed across his face. Terror squeezed Ōbhin’s heart. Carstin was one of his few friends.
Five cubits.
The flaming blade swept low. It took Carstin in the leg. In a blurring flash, it severed through his thigh. Carstin’s scream rang in Ōbhin’s ears. Blood fell on the scarlet grass. The follow-up attack slammed the spiked hook at the tip of the brute’s sword deep into Carstin’s chest.
Ōbhin leaped over Jimet’s corpse and landed beside his friend. Carstin crashed onto his back, a sucking hiss filling the air. Blood bubbled with escaping gas from the hole driven deep in his chest. More crimson spilled from Carstin’s lips.
Ōbhin raised his resonance blade, his reward for becoming a lieutenant in the Royal Guard of Qoth. He faced the bloodfire’s flaming sword, the heat kissing his face. His black-gloved hand clenched on his blade’s hilt as he fell into a guard position.
A slight smile, for a moment, twisted the corner of the hulk’s lips.
*
“Stay back, Father,” Avena said, her body trembling as she pulled away from the tent flap. Two men were already dead, and more were charging in. “They’re filthy bandits!”
“Elohm’s bright Colours,” the old man gasped, his hand clutching at the front of his waistcoat.
She spotted the work knife on the edge of the table. It has a serviceable handle of antler with a full tang. She grabbed it, her heart racing. She had to do something. Ni’mod was alone out there. There were so many of them.
“What are you doing, child?” Dualayn gasped.
“Just stay in here,” she said. She couldn’t be helpless and do nothing. The last time she had . . .
She pushed down the swimming, viscous whitewash from her mind and darted out of the tent. Shouts echoed. The men on the ground twitched, blood spurting from wounds. Her heart tightened at the sight. She itched to use a healer or apply bandages, but dangerous men lurked.
Ni’mod’s flaming sword swept before him, driving back a dusky-skinned Tethyrian. The easterner fell back, his curved sword seeming to buzz, an emerald jewel glowing on its pommel. It spilled verdant light that clashed with the crackling fire.
“Stay back!” she shouted at the other bandits. They showed no interest in their companions bleeding out on the ground. She stood firm before the tent, trying to hide the terror surging through her. Her cheeks felt bloodless. Trembles shook her. Ice filled her stomach and stole her warmth. “You don’t want to die!”
“Cut that dark-kissed bastard down, Ōbhin!” bellowed a greasy-haired man holding a blade low.
“Yeah, yeah, you heard the Boss,” a man with a hook hand said. None of them were paying attention to her.
Please, Ni’mod, drive them back, she thought as she stood still. She would protect Dualayn. He was too important to lose. What they’d found this day could save so many lives.
The two easterners fought, Ni’mod’s bare back flexing, rippling with dark muscles. Steam poured off of him as his flaming blade hacked at the lighter-skinned Tethyrian. He backpedaled, feet moving with grace. The light shadowed his face strangely, making his eyes seem haunted to her.
“Oy, Phriliph, grab that girl. Bet she’ll make that big ‘un drop his cleaver.”
The words cut through her mind. She gasped as she saw two of the bandits advancing on her. A scrawny man with a runny nose led the way, his sword held low. He had a dangerous feel to him. At his side, a taller man with a pug nose advanced, a big grin on his face. He stared at her in a way that made her skin crawl.
“You do not want to fight me,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t quaver. “Ni’mod himself taught me to fight. I’ll set my blood aflame and set both of you on fire. By Elohm’s White, I swear it.”
The runny-nosed man sniffled. “I’d like to see that. Do it.”
“Sure,” the other said. His smile swelled. “Let’s see that pretty trick.”
“You don’t want that,” she said. Her feet didn’t want to move. Her shoes felt leaden, holding her in place as the bandits advanced. “I’m deadly.”
“With that little sewing needle?” the runny-nosed man said. He grinned, his teeth stained black from the narcotic Tethyrian weed. “Come on, try ‘n prick me
.”
She swallowed and then grabbed the dagger with both hands, prepared to stab at them.
The taller man just laughed. “Where’d you learn to hold a knife, girly?”
“Stay back!” she shouted. They were only cubits away.
Footsteps thudded. Flames hissed. The giant bloodfire appeared at her side, his sword flashing. She squeaked in shocked revulsion as it swept off the head of the taller man. His body collapsed into a twitching pile, blood spurting out of the major arteries in the neck. The right and left common carotid arteries, rattled through her head from her anatomy lessons. The man’s head rolled to a stop nearby, helmet tumbling free.
“Bugger me Black!” shouted the runny-nosed man as he threw himself back, Ni’mod’s hooked blade slashing down at him. It slammed into the red grass, sparks flaring, blades smoldering as the runny-nosed man fell on his back. A dark stain spread across the bandit’s crotch as he scrambled away.
“Thanks,” she said to Ni’mod. Fear rattled her body.
Ni’mod nodded. “One-handed, Miss. You have better reach and precision.”
She nodded.
Her protector turned as an eastern bandit rushed up, his eyes hard, his chainmail rattling. His blade hummed.
A Demochian resonance blade? she realized as Ni’mod turned and swung his fiery weapon. Here?
*
Does Lausi’s wind sing through him? thought Ōbhin as he charged the fleet-footed bloodfire. The hulk’s speed shocked Ōbhin.
Phriliph lay dead and Whiner Creg stumbled back in terror. Ōbhin may not like them, but he was their companion. He couldn’t stand by and let the bloodfire butcher them all. The speed, the skill. It shook the complacency off Ōbhin like snow kicked off boots at the threshold of a house.
The bloodfire turned from the woman. His green eyes, burning with his inner fire, fixed on Ōbhin. That smile grew as the flaming sword swung in a blurring streak. Ōbhin flicked out his vibrating weapon. It could cut through the strongest steel. Only another resonance blade could parry it.
The bloodfire knew that.
He pulled his attack short to save his weapon. The humming tulwar sliced through the end of a hook. The burning metal tumbled through the air and plummeted into the grass. It smoldered as Ōbhin pressed in his attack.
No holding back. He had to risk all on the stroke of his blade, on his skill, and his speed.
Would it be enough?
A calm gripped him as the bloodfire sent a hacking overhand swipe, swinging fast. Ōbhin ducked low and swiped a diagonal, upward slash at the bloodfire’s legs, a disabling cut. The hulk backstepped, the blade missing by a few fingers. Ōbhin let the attack flow into the next, shifting his leather grip and swiping down at the bloodfire’s neck.
His enemy’s response came fast, burning blade howling at Ōbhin’s torso.
It forced him back. Flames snapped before him, the heat washing over his features. His feet danced across the ground while the weight of his chainmail dragged at him. It was useless against the hook and the flames.
Brutal swings flashed at him. Ni’mod’s face twisted. He’s trying to end me before I can do more damage to his blade.
The hulk held nothing back. Neither could Ōbhin.
His tulwar swept out in an arc for the blade, forcing the hulk to shift back. Ōbhin had an opening he could exploit, but not with his sword. Left hand extending, he darted into the bloodfire’s guard and seized the wrist of the hulk’s sword arm. The heat of the bloodfire’s passion warmed through Ōbhin’s armor. He fought against the brute’s strength as Ōbhin swung his blade in at his foe’s side.
With a snarl, the bloodfire cracked his forehead into Ōbhin’s temple.
Lights flashed before his eyes. The world spun. He hit the ground, groaning. The morning dew covering the grass soaked through his woolen hose. He struggled to think. His entire body felt fuzzy. He blinked. Thoughts cleared.
He looked up to see flaming death slice down at him, a burning hook plunging for his heart.
*
Avena trembled as she watched Ni’mod’s sword screaming down for the foreign bandit. Flames reflected across the coat of chain the Tethyrian wore. He stared up at death with a look verging on relief on his face.
The shadows in his eyes lessened.
The sight so arrested Avena, her attention so focused on it that everything seemed too slow. Death came down for the man. The look on his face was of a grandfather wearily setting down his burden after a long day toiling in the field with younger men.
The streak of darkness flying from the brush shocked Avena out of her reverie as Ni’mod twisted back, his blade slamming into the ground beside the foreigner. An arrow flashed by Avena’s head and ripped through the canvas beyond. Dualayn gasped in shock inside the tent.
The foreigner rolled to his feet and swiped with his curved resonance blade. The air hummed with the violence of his sword passage. Ni’mod’s flaming blade slashed up from the ground, a hacking sweep to deflect the attack. The weapons clashed in a burst of sparks. The delicate resonance blade sliced through Ni’mod’s heavy sword with the ease of a tailor’s scissors through linen.
The end of the flaming weapon sputtered as it tumbled past the foreigner, almost clipping his head. Hair sizzled along the side of his scalp, burning. He didn’t even flinch. A man who’d seen death and didn’t fear it.
The cloying scent of whitewash filled her memories. Her stomach twisted as that thick, rippling white sloshed and dripped. She clapped a hand over her mouth as the nauseating writhe of old terrors sought to drown her once more.
The Tethyrian swung death at Ni’mod.
*
The heat of the bloodfire’s severed blade kissed Ōbhin’s face. He felt the singe of his hairs burning back to his scalp as his tulwar answered in a slashing riposte. Emerald light bathed his enemy’s dark face, reflecting upon the green of the man’s irises.
Acceptance washed over the bloodfire’s ebony expression.
The resonance blade sliced through the man’s head without feeling a hint of resistance. A clean line bubbled with red. The man stood upright for a moment, like his body remembered being alive, then he collapsed. The top of his head spilled off to the right and bounced off a shoulder. Then the hulk fell forward at Ōbhin.
He leaped back and lowered his vibrating blade, his heartbeat slowing. A pool of blood soaked the red grass, spreading through the tangle of shoots towards Ōbhin’s brown boots. With a press of gloved thumb against the pommel, the emerald jewelchine died. The blade’s vibrations ceased.
“Black’s foul piss,” grunted Ust, the bandit leader sounding awed as he stood nearby.
“Ni’mod,” the watching woman groaned, hand clasped over her mouth, face paling.
“What is it, child?” a man called from inside the tent.
“What are you all standin’ around for?” demanded Ust. “Get your Black-cursed arses moving and seize them.”
Ōbhin sheathed his blade, the air thick with the coppery scent of spilled life. Dark memories flashed as he looked away, his eyes flicking across their dead and falling on Carstin. His friend wheezed, blood bubbling from the wound in his chest. A thick lake spread from his severed leg. Three steps carried Ōbhin to him. His chainmail rattled as he knelt down, boots creaking. He pressed his black-gloved hand over the sucking wound. The heat of life bled through the leather.
“Ōb . . . hin,” croaked Carstin. “Bad?”
Ōbhin nodded as the other bandits surged around him. Rough laughs echoed, though they held a flinty quality to them. Brittle.
“Damn,” Carstin groaned. “I met her, you know.”
“Her?”
“Laun . . . dress . . .” Words came slow. “Face like . . . like . . . the sun.”
Ōbhin shook his head. This time, he stared into the dying man’s eyes. No walking away. He’d be here to the end.
“Hey!” Ust shouted, his voice booming. “You get that pretty arse back here, girl.”
*
Anger boiled through Avena. She lowered her hands from her mouth and wrenched her gaze from Ni’mod’s body.
The rough and dangerous man surged into the tents, ransacking the camp. They didn’t even care about their fallen friends. One was obviously dead. She didn’t need her training in anatomy and physiology to recognize the severity of his injuries. He’d died before Ni’mod had completed his swing.
The other one would join him.
No, not all the bandits had ignored their friends. The one who’d killed Ni’mod, the Tethyrian, knelt down and stared at the dying man with compassion on his reddish-brown face. The darkness that had wreathed him before vanished as desperation animated him.
He cared for the dying man. She studied him and diagnosed a collapsed lung. He would die slowly, drowning in his own blood.
Compassion battled against her anger at these Black-stained men who’d attacked them. She’d studied medicine from Dualayn and assisted him many times in his laboratory back at his manor home in Kash. She had aided him in healing the sick and poor of the city. He was here to find ancient knowledge to increase his medicinal skill.
And these loathsome men had attacked them.
“Please, please, don’t do that,” Dualayn groaned in the background.
“Quiet,” snarled the leader. He stood paces away, watching Avena and Dualayn. “Be thankful you’re wanted unharmed. Mostly.”
She glared at him. He chewed on Tethyrian weed, the brown drug staining his teeth. He spat to the side, not caring that one of his men died. Compassion found an ally in her: defiance. Stubborn fury swelled in her. He wanted her to stay put when she could help save a life.
The Colours of Elohm lie in all men’s souls no matter how dark the stain hiding them, she reminded herself. The right thing was to save a life. Ni’mod was gone. The other bandit’s soul would rise up to Elohm’s mercy or be dragged down by the weight of his inequities. She could do something for the last man.
One person cared for him. The Tethyrian. That was enough for her. She could hate the rest, but she would despise herself more if she stood there helpless. She would never do that again. She’d learned to heal for that very reason.
