by E A Hooper
Jek tossed him across the road toward the harbor, and Odestrog rolled several yards after he landed. For a moment, the Cragslayer thought he’d lose consciousness, but the anger building inside him kept him half awake.
“My prince,” Odestrog screamed, spit and blood flying from his mouth. His body felt numb with pain, but he forced himself to his feet as Jek stomped toward him. “He was my friend. He was like a brother to me.”
Jek hurled the full weight of his body into Odestrog, and they both crashed through the wooden boards of the pier. They landed in cold, shallow water, and Odestrog felt his body being crushed under Jek’s weight. The izan’s face looked half-delirious and covered in blood from the constant pummeling, but his body still had strength to fight. Jek grabbed Odestrog’s arms, holding him in place, and then wrapped his tail around the man’s neck while pushing his head under the shallow water.
Odestrog felt the tail slither and tighten around his neck. He still saw Jek’s face through the water, but when he tried to punch him, he realized his arms were being held. Odestrog jerked his body, trying to push away the massive izan, but he couldn’t budge his foe. He tried to knee Jek but didn’t have room for sufficient force.
With his air running out, Odestrog turned his head as much as he could and bit his teeth into Jek’s tail. He clamped his teeth down, but he felt the tail’s muscles tighten harder around his neck. He gnashed his teeth, trying to chew and gnaw through the scaly skin. When he felt blood in his mouth, he squeezed his jaw as hard as he could.
Above the water, Jek screamed and let go of one of Odestrog’s arms to punch him in reaction to the pain. The water slowed the punch, and Odestrog barely felt it, but he used the opportunity to reach up and strike Jek in the neck one more time.
Jek reeled back, coughing for air. As Odestrog started to rise, however, the izan wrapped his fingers around the man’s head and slammed him back into the water. Jek shoved his face into the sand a couple of feet below the water, and the human flailed to escape. Odestrog dug his hands and feet into the sand and pushed his head above the surface.
“Just die already,” Jek said, his voice cracking with pain and sadness. “I didn’t even want to kill you. I only wanted a good fight. This is your prince’s fault for killing my friend.”
“Your friend killed my prince,” Odestrog screamed, breaking Jek’s hold and tackling the izan into the water.
Odestrog didn’t have the strength or stamina to hit Jek with his best attacks, but that didn’t stop him from pounding away at the izan. Jek struck back with harder but less frequent punches until the shallow water turned red with both their blood. Odestrog could feel one of his blows had broken one of Jek’s ribs, so he jammed his elbow into the izan’s side several times.
Jek screamed and kicked Odestrog off him. The izan laid in the cold, shallow water snarling and panting. He struggled to stand, but the sand shifted below his feet and he fell back into the water.
“Stand and fight me,” Odestrog shouted, his words slurred from his beating. “Fight me like a warrior.”
“So cold,” Jek cried, scrambling away from the water.
Odestrog chased after him and tackled Jek into the stone wall below the start of the dock. He punched the izan’s ribs three more times but then paused to gasp for air. Jek had become still and wasn’t fighting back, but the izan tried to stay on the sand where the water couldn’t reach.
“Why won’t you fight back anymore?” Odestrog screamed. “I failed my prince. The least you could do is fight me to the death.”
Jek stared at him with wild eyes.
Is he afraid? Odestrog wondered. Is he angry? Sad? All three?
“Naya,” Jek muttered, staring at the water. “I’m sorry, Naya.”
Odestrog took a step away from the izan. They locked eyes for several seconds as Odestrog panted for breath and Jek curled against the wall.
“This fight is over,” Odestrog said, pausing momentarily. “I’m sorry about your friend.” He turned and took several steps away from Jek. His eyes scanned the dock for a ladder.
Loud splashes sounded behind him, and he turned to see Jek running toward him. He sidestepped the izan, but Jek’s tail wrapped around his leg. Jek continued into the shallow water, dragging Odestrog through the sand.
“What the hell are you doing?” Odestrog screamed. “You lost.”
“I’m protecting my other friends,” Jek shouted. “I’m taking you to hell with me.”
Jek continued until the water was over his head, and his tail pulled Odestrog into the cold, ocean water. The izan’s heavy body didn’t float whatsoever, and he held his breath and continued to march into deeper water.
Odestrog took a deep breath before Jek pulled him under the surface. He felt the izan pulling him farther and farther down. He reached toward his leg and grabbed the tail. Before he could uncoil it, Jek wrapped his arms around Odestrog. The izan squeezed with his tremendous strength as it marched into deeper waters.
The Cragslayer struggled to break the izan’s powerful grip. The water grew darker, and Odestrog felt his body growing colder and number. Finally, he became still and stopped struggling.
Chapter 14
Myamere heard footsteps racing behind them as they hurried through the fog. He turned and drew his blade just before the steps reached and blocked a sword swipe from the spotted wyrgen.
Their blades clashed, and the two men stepped back and readied themselves.
“Myamere?” Roz shouted, turning back.
“Just go,” Myamere commanded. “Find Lucien.”
“I love you,” Roz replied, her footsteps continuing toward the dock with the Islanders. “Don’t you lose.”
“I love you too,” the Godblade shouted. “And you know I won’t.”
The wyrgen held his curved blade up in a defensive-looking stance. “Young lovers, eh? I’ll be sure to spare your life when I defeat you. There’s nothing I hate more than taking away someone’s love.”
Myamere looked the wyrgen up and down. A very lazy stance, he contemplated. But what worries me is how relaxed he seems. He’s seen a lot of combat for sure. But to look so calm and collected while fighting on foreign soil—is he arrogant or a master of composure? Either way, I need to defeat him quickly.
“Are you great-willed?” the wyrgen asked.
“No,” Myamere replied. “Are you?”
“My body serves as a gateway to a secret space where I can store an indefinite number of objects. Mostly, I keep swords, tools, and supplies for our journey. So, you don’t have to worry about that affecting our battle. Now, show me how the people of this land fight.”
The Godblade took an aggressive stance, and then he jumped forward with fast swipes. The wyrgen blocked the attacks, but Myamere continued to strike from different angles. The wyrgen held his guard, stepping back with each hit.
“Looking for an easy opening?” the wyrgen asked. “That’s a nice style. Aggressive, but you leave little opportunity for counter-attacks. I assume it’s not used for killing blows, however. Just a way to test someone’s defenses? Is that one of your Kys that Lucien showed me in memories?”
“Dorom Ky. A simple style, but it has its uses.”
“Interesting. I’m glad I came to this land. It seems there’s a lot I can learn here. Would you like to know about my style?”
Myamere raised his sword to strike. “I don’t have time to waste. I need to get back to Roz.”
The wyrgen lowered his blade to the Westerner’s surprise. “You Terans seems like you have a lot of disjointed sword styles that are better in certain areas. It’s interesting, and I’m sure it’s useful when you know several that balance each other, but in Fey’al, we focus on broader schools of thought for sword combat. My school was popular in the northern parts of Fey’al that have been untouched by war for centuries. It started with a simple dojo that taught people how to protect themselves from bandits, but over one thousand years, developed into an entire school of thought for prote
cting people. So, my school is as old as Ter’al’s oldest surviving kingdom. There’s no sword Ky you know of that’s as developed as my style. It will be difficult to harm me with disjointed styles.”
Myamere dove forward, switching to Bestalt Ky. He swung aggressively, but the Fey’an ducked and stepped away from each swing. The Godblade followed with a long, one-handed swing, and the wyrgen was forced to raise his blade to block. However, the moment their swords touched, the foreigner shifted his weight and pushed Myamere the other way.
The Godblade almost stumbled but caught himself in time. He spun around, expecting a counterattack but discovered the enemy had used that chance to increase the distance between them.
“Are you going to fight me?” Myamere shouted.
“I am fighting you. If I’m honest, you’re very good. I didn’t expect to find someone like you my first day in Ter’al. Are there a lot of swordsmen like you here?”
The Godblade raised an eyebrow. Is he just going to keep talking? Is this a distraction, or is he trying to read me?
“No answer?” the wyrgen questioned. “I know we’re fighting, and the situation is tense between our sides, but that doesn’t mean you have to be rude. I only wanted to know if this land has more swordsman of your skill and ability.”
“I’m something of a rarity,” Myamere replied. “Now raise your blade and get ready.”
He sprinted toward the wyrgen, and their blades met again. He attacked more aggressively than before and constantly pressed forward to prevent the wyrgen from slipping away. The clanging metal drowned out the other noises in the distance, and Myamere felt like the rest of the world had vanished in the fog. He could only see the foreign threat in front of him, and the boards below their feet.
The wyrgen kept his movements minimal, often moving his blade just before Myamere’s blade reached him. His eyes became more serious as the Godblade continued to push him toward a dock, and Myamere could see his muscles tensing more with each blow.
Myamere pushed harder. His attacks became faster and sharper. He traded the long swings of Bestalt Ky for the quick jabs of Brailei Ky, and the wyrgen had to jump and jerk his body to avoid getting stabbed. Almost as soon as his enemy seemed to adjust, Myamere switched again to the even more aggressive Rin Ky. He gnashed his teeth, growing more ferocious with each strike. He shoved his opponent closer to the end of the dock.
“This is why I’m called Myamere the Godblade,” he shouted, swinging a powerful, horizontal slash.
The force of the hit knocked the wyrgen off balance, and he rolled away from another strike. He raised to a crouched position at the end of the dock, his feet inches from the ledge as Myamere rushed forward, his blade raised for a killing blow. The wyrgen’s chest pounded, and his fur dripped with sweat as he raised his eyes to the fierce human.
The wyrgen kicked off the dock, leaping toward Myamere as the Godblade raised his sword. He swiped his long, curved sword with a fast, jerking motion. Myamere’s quick reflexes and sharp eyes didn’t follow the swing, but he could see the intent and perfect timing in his enemy’s eyes.
That wasn’t a wild attack, Myamere realized, toppling to the dock. It was a perfect swing. His whole body reacting to me at once with perfect alignment, speed, and power. I’ve never seen an attack so perfect.
He grabbed his bloodied chest. The wound felt shallow, but the long cut had gone across his left thigh, chest, and then hit deeper into the underside of his arm that had been exposed when he raised his sword. Myamere forced himself to stand, but when he tried to raise his right arm, he shouted in pain.
“I damaged your dominant arm, so you couldn’t keep fighting me,” the wyrgen said between exhilarated breaths.
Myamere looked at him in shock. “How did you time that so well?”
“I admit, it was very difficult against someone like you. But it’s what I do best. In Fey’al, they call me One-Slash Bardil.”
Bardil circled around Myamere and walked toward the fog.
“Wait,” the Godblade called. He struggled to hold his sword in his right hand, so he placed his left hand on the handle and raised the blade. “We’re not finished.”
Bardil gave Myamere a sad look. “Young man, I told you I’d leave you alive for your love.”
“We’re not finished.”
“Yes, we are. You fought well, and you should be proud. If we fought ten times, I’d bet you’d win half of them. But not this time, unfortunately.”
The Godblade stomped forward, ignoring the blood trickling down his body. “I told you,” he huffed. “We’re not finished.”
Myamere charged forward, ignoring the pain. He slashed wildly, giving Bardil no time for counterstrikes. The Feyan continued to move back, step by step, into the fog as he had done on the dock. The Godblade could feel Bardil reading him, looking for an opportunity to strike.
“Young man, don’t make me kill you,” Bardil warned, distancing himself from Myamere. “I’ve taken enough lives in my time, and I always hate to take more.”
Myamere panted for breath and glared at the foreigner. “My prince’s uncle foresaw Ter’al’s doom because of your group. I can’t let you go.”
Bardil replied with a confused look. “Ter’al’s doom? We’re only explorers here on behalf of the emperor. How will we lead Ter’al to doom? I mean—the previous empires have a dark history, but the Idious Empire is different. The emperor has the wisdom and knowledge of all the emperors before him going all the way back to the Galcian Empire. The divine line has learned and matured since those days.”
“What do you mean, he has the knowledge of the previous emperors? He’s greatborn?”
“There was an ancient emperor called Nomin. His grandfather was the first emperor to gather great-willed from across Fey’al. He himself was born of his father’s marriage to a great-willed. When the Galcian Empire fell, he passed his power and wisdom to another to take his place as ruler. And they passed that power. And they passed that power. All the way to today.”
“You don’t mean Lucien, do you?”
“No, his power only has a vague similarity. The Emperor glows with divine power. He is invincible. Incorruptible. Untouchable. This is the divine power that makes him the rightful ruler of Fey’al and the world. He could take this land by force if need be, but he prefers peaceful measures because he has the knowledge of all the emperors before him. All their great failures and success. Their wisdom and right to rule. It’s the only true right to rule in this world. No one can claim lineage to ancient rulers. No one else can see beyond their limited lifespan, to learn and grow over millennia.”
“That doesn’t give him a right to rule our land.”
“Lucien showed me this land’s history. It’s constant wars. It’s selfish leaders. It’s isolationist nations. Fey’al is one land. One people. Eventually, the Idious Empire will be the only empire—an entire world united. That’s the will of the emperor.”
“And if we refuse?”
“Why would you refuse the ultimate peace? A perfect world?”
Myamere lowered his sword and grabbed his bloodied chest. “The world will never be perfect. If you have to force people to join your empire, it’s already not a perfect nation.”
Bardil tightened his hands around his hilt. “You don’t understand. You primitive people can’t see the big picture that our emperor sees. We’re not here as conquerors. We’re here as friends.”
The fog grew thinner, and the two men looked around them. Myamere saw two bloody shapes on the brick road a short distance away. Even from that distance, he could recognize Mulcir’s tattered clothes.
“My prince!” the Godblade screamed, walking toward the bodies. Tears pecked his cheeks when he realized both people must’ve fallen from high above.
“Naya?” Bardil said, gaping at the bodies. “You poor girl. What have the savages done to you?”
Myamere’s chest rose and fell with heavy, furious breaths. He gripped his hilt with both hands and then faced Ba
rdil.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Bardil told him, his voice full of sadness. He raised his curved sword, readying for battle. “I know you won’t stop now, so I’ll be sure to give your lover my condolences, young man.”
The Godblade roared and rushed at Bardil. Their blades met, both men’s muscles shaking with fury. Their steel edges rattled with several strikes, and then Myamere punched Bardil in the nose with his left fist.
Bardil stumbled back, and Myamere pulled his left hand back to his hilt and pursued with a strong, downward slash. However, the wyrgen side-stepped and distanced himself, staring down Myamere with teary eyes. The Godblade gave him no time to relax and followed, screaming and slashing. Bardil blocked and dodged and eyed for openings. He almost went for a strike, but the Godblade threw himself headfirst, smashing Bardil in the nose with his forehead.
Blood dripped down the Feyan’s nose as he stepped back until he touched the wall of a building. He gasped for air and placed the bottom of his boot against the wall. His stature stayed tall and calm, but his muscles shifted.
Even in his enraged state, Myamere’s sharp eyes caught the subtle change. He’s ready for his strike.
Despite knowing exactly what Bardil was planning, the Godblade dove forward with a swing. The Feyan pushed off the wall with his boot and rolled under Myamere’s attack. Bardil stopped and pivoted his body as Myamere’s blade bounced off the brick wall. He jumped toward the Godblade and thrust his sword with all his weight behind it.
Myamere used the momentum of his sword bouncing off the wall to throw the tip of his blade backward as he spun around. The tip sunk into Bardil’s eye, and the foreigner’s thrusting blade merely grazed Myamere’s side
Bardil gaped as his sword fell from his hands, and his remaining eye widened on Myamere. “You really are—Godblade.” His head slid off the tip of the blade, and the Feyan toppled to the ground.
