Rise and Fall (Book 1)

by Joshua P. Simon

  “Makes sense.” He paused, still looking at the breastplate. “Is this the man you have working for you at night when you sleep?” asked Jonrell, looking up.

  “Yes,” said Cisod, tilting his head.

  “How hard would it be to find another to take his place?”

  Cisod let out a curse and looked down. “I knew it.”

  “Sorry, but I need someone with considerable skill. The extra steel came in from Lyrosene this morning.”

  “The portcullis?”

  Jonrell nodded.

  Cisod blew out his breath hard. “I’ll meet with him tonight and give him the details.”

  “So you can find another then?”

  “Yeah, I’ll make due. That’s what we all do any way, isn’t it?”

  “More or less,” Jonrell smiled. “You know I appreciate all your work.”

  Cisod raised a hand. “Don’t get all emotional on me. I’m just following your orders. If you appreciate my work so much, then I’d just as soon get back to it.” He waved a hand. “As you can see, it is only piling higher.”

  Jonrell nodded. “You’re the commander here.”

  “Is that so?” he asked, a slight grin forming around his cheeks.

  “Well, within reason that is.”

  “Always a catch.” He picked up a gauntlet and began looking over the work. “I’ll see you at dinner then.”

  “See you at dinner,” said Jonrell.

  * * *

  It was almost time for lunch but Jonrell had much left to accomplish before worrying about a meal. Lunch usually consisted of a heel of bread and some dried meat that he could grab and eat on the way while making his rounds. Today looked to be no different.

  He had set up the medical building next to the armory so that patients would benefit from the forge’s heat. Wiqua was placed in charge of organizing and training the medical staff. At first, the Byzernian was adamantly against taking command since he was uncomfortable with being in charge. Yet, when Jonrell told him it was not up for discussion, Wiqua bowed his head and submitted.

  With that on his mind, Jonrell walked into the building. Wiqua sat cross legged on the floor near a wood burning stove in the middle of the room. In front of him several rows of men and women sat in silence as Wiqua explained key information of the human body. Jonrell shook his head. He had half-expected that the brown-skinned man would face the same adversity that Yanasi did with the archers, or the bitterness Kaz had dealt with since arriving. Yet here, no one seemed to notice the short man’s complexion. They were only interested in his knowledge. Such a sight gave Jonrell hope for Kaz.

  Maybe if he dyed his hair gray, spouted off bits of wisdom, and bowed his head in humility it would help? He thought of the look Kaz would give him if he even suggested that he act as Wiqua and chuckled.

  “Ah Commander, I apologize. I did not see you enter,” said Wiqua looking up from the eager faces. He stood and bowed before his students. “Please excuse me for a moment. In the meantime, do your best to review what I just went over.”

  To Jonrell’s surprise, each of the heads gave Wiqua a slight bow in return. Amazing.

  “I see that leadership suits you after all.”

  The old man smiled. “Leadership? Not in the way you’re thinking. I simply teach what I know and they listen. I must thank you for sending me such an eager bunch of minds. They thirst for knowledge in a way that makes me smile. I only wish that I was not teaching them to prepare them for war.”

  Jonrell shrugged. “You’ll have no argument from me. I wish I wasn’t doing any of what I’ve been doing day in and day out but I see little choice.”

  “So you say,” said Wiqua in a hushed voice.

  Jonrell ignored the comment and inclined his head back toward the group who quizzed each other in small circles. “It looks like their studies are coming along well. That gives me one less thing to worry about. What about your other responsibilities?”

  Wiqua sighed. “Far less enjoyable than teaching eager minds, but I’ve made sure to lend them my attention. Our supplies here are fully stocked as you can see.”

  “And the other medical outposts?”

  “None have completed construction and are ready for me to begin stocking.”

  “We need them ready in time. Having those smaller pavilions set up near the outer wall can make a huge difference in saving a limb or life.”

  “You have my complete agreement. But I keep being told that these things take time.”

  “I’ll look into it.”

  “Thank you,” Wiqua said with a bow.

  “Do you need anything else? I know I haven’t spoken with you much lately.”

  “It would be a huge benefit to our staff if you could provide us with even one mage.”

  Jonrell shook his head. “I’m sorry but I can’t spare anyone to come to your aid. We will be at a huge disadvantage against Tomalt as far as sorcery goes. I’ll need all the mages I have along the wall in defensive support. I’m afraid you’re it.”

  “You do understand that without sorcery, many more may die. Other methods of healing only go so far.”

  Jonrell sighed. “And many more will die if the men are not protected from the attacks. It is not an easy decision to make Wiqua, but one I am burdened with.”

  “And one I do not envy, Commander.” Wiqua bowed. “Very well. I have voiced my concern. Is there anything else you require of me?”

  Jonrell shook his head. “No, you may return to your students.”

  Wiqua bowed again. “Good day, Commander.”

  * * *

  His sword sliced through the air in fluid motions, parrying each attack. Kaz shifted, pivoted, bobbed around each stroke. A glimpse of the blunt weapon, void of any edge, reminded Kaz that this was all supposed to be a drill and that he wasn’t supposed to kill these men. However, the set in their shoulders, the determination in their jaw, made him wonder if they understood that the battle had not yet begun and this was simply an exercise. He was not their enemy.

  Kaz jumped lightly over the soldier diving at his knees, bringing the dull blade down as he landed, striking the fallen man’s back. “Dead!” he heard someone yell. A growl of frustration lined another’s voice as a new man was pushed into the ring, joining the five others still circling. “Here, have another then,” shouted Glacar. “The last one died too quickly,” he said laughing.

  It was the fourth straight day that Glacar had coaxed him into fighting the men they were supposed to be training. Glacar and he did not share the same opinion on how best to train a group of men with little base skills. Though Kaz understood the value in sparing, he felt it best to build the men up with the fundamentals and then slowly increase the speed of the drills. As it was, most could not even maintain a proper grip on their swords. Glacar, however, preferred to throw a man into the fire to see if he would burn bright or fizzle out.

  The two had butted heads on the issue more times than not. To prove his point, Glacar boasted that he could beat any number of men because of the way he learned to fight and challenged Kaz to do the same. Kaz could not back down from the challenge.

  The first day he fought two challengers, the next three, and then four. Today, it was six and to make the situation harder, the first three men Kaz had eliminated were quickly replaced.

  Kaz’s approach so far had been to allow the men to attack him first so he could counter their moves. He was barely winded, but it looked like Glacar would keep replacing men until Kaz tired and fell to someone’s sword stroke. Kaz knew he would be ridiculed for his defeat, regardless of the odds. If he was going to succeed he would have to change to an offensive approach.

  He ducked under a sword blade, dashing forward into the press. He dodged away from an inept sword blow and shouldered the chest of the man who swung it, knocking one attacker into another. He raked his blade across the stomachs of both men as they fell. Using the momentum of his blade, he swung around, low to the ground, and clipped another soldier’s leg. Th
e man let out a yelp as he fell.

  The last three men were crouched and ready for Kaz to strike. However, he startled them all by backing up and looking away. Kaz raised his sword and pointed it at Glacar’s throat. “Stop,” Kaz shouted. The bearded warrior turned in surprise, just as he was ready to push two others into the ring. “This is pointless.”

  “Are you saying you can’t win? You admit you were mistaken?”

  “No. If you want to prove a point, then step into the ring yourself and quit hiding like some coward. I do not wish to hurt those we should be training. But you,” said Kaz, his anger rising, “that is a different matter.”

  “You black devil,” said Glacar unlooping his battleaxe. “I’ll kill you for that,” he added, stepping into the ring and kicking one of the fallen men aside. “All of you get out of my way.”

  “Your ax has an edge. You can’t do that,” shouted one man.

  “Yeah,” said another. “That isn’t fair.”

  Glacar ignored them as he rushed Kaz, howling obscenities with each step and throwing all his weight behind an overhead blow. The mercenary was quicker than he appeared and much faster than the men Kaz had been training with. Kaz stepped away. He swung toward Glacar’s back but the mercenary swiftly recovered. The shaft of his battleaxe slammed into Kaz’s practice sword.

  “You’ll have to do better,” said Glacar. He twisted his ax down and over in an attempt to dislodge the sword from Kaz’s hand. Kaz jabbed his elbow hard into Glacar’s stomach. He followed the elbow up with a punch to Glacar’s kidneys and then a headbutt to his face.

  Glacar only grunted, pushing Kaz back a few feet. Blood ran from Glacar’s mouth and into his ratty beard. He spat. “You’ll pay for that,” he said in a low voice. His shoulders heaved with each breath.

  The two men circled each other, each probing for an opening. Shouts, boos, and curses from the onlookers reached Kaz’s ears. He was surprised to hear some of the anger directed at Glacar. He wondered what caused even one man to cheer for the grimy mercenary.

  Why would anyone stay loyal to such a man? Even now he is pushing his men aside with no regard for their well being. Apparently when the alternative is me, a great many would stay loyal.

  “I’m waiting,” said Kaz. He spun the practice sword in his hand and coiled up to prepare for the next attack.

  Kaz saw the shift in Glacar’s hips and readied himself. Sure enough, the mercenary let out another yell, but as Glacar brought his ax up, a man carrying a large shield smashed into him and knocked him to the ground. Kaz watched Glacar roll and bounce quickly to his feet.

  The mercenary stopped short of attacking the new opponent when he saw the sword point at his face and the man who wielded it. “What in the name of the One Above is going on here?” The training yard fell to a hushed silence as their commander spoke. Jonrell’s voice was full of anger, his eyes as cold as a sheet of ice.

  “Why aren’t you asking that black devil what’s going on?” asked Glacar jabbing his ax toward Kaz.

  “Because you are the one I placed in charge. What happens here is ultimately your responsibility. And when I find two of my men fighting each other, I’ve got a major problem with that. Now, do you care to tell me what’s going on? Because if you can’t even follow the simplest of commands then maybe I need to put someone else in charge here.”

  Glacar’s eyes narrowed at Jonrell and then flickered over to Kaz before turning back to their commander. “Ten years I’ve been with you.” He shook his head. “No, I don’t think I feel like answering your question right now.” He nodded back to Kaz. “You want someone else in charge, let your pet do it. We all know you’d rather have him at your side.”

  If Jonrell was surprised at the response, he failed to show it. “If that’s your wish then so be it. Tomorrow, you can report to Crusher and work on clearing the woods. I’m sure he can use a strong back. For now, take the rest of the day to cool off. This will not happen again.”

  Glacar glared at Jonrell and turned to Kaz, spitting at his feet with a grunt. “This ain’t over,” he muttered as he left the practice circle and pushed his way through the crowd.

  Jonrell looked around. “Maybe it would be best if everyone had a break. But before you leave, understand this: Kaz will be your instructor. He will speak with my authority and therefore any slight to him is a slight against me. I do not tolerate such behavior in my army. If you cannot abide by my rules, then leave tonight and join Tomalt and the other cowards and traitors who would turn their back on their own country.” He paused. “Training will resume after lunch. You may go.”

  Several men cast each other looks but eventually the group dissipated and mumbled conversations broke out.

  The whole castle will know the story before the next group arrives for training.

  Jonrell resheathed his sword and approached Kaz. “You may want to put that away now. I doubt I’d beat you in a fight,” Jonrell said with a slow grin creeping across his face.

  Kaz followed Jonrell’s glance and realized he still held his sword at the ready. He stood straighter and lowered his sword.

  “Better. So what happened?”

  Kaz thought about telling Jonrell that if it wasn’t for the obligation he felt to him for all of Jonrell’s help, he’d have slit Glacar’s throat long ago. He finally had enough of the ridicule from Glacar and he was unwilling to take it any longer. He thought about saying many similar things but decided against it. Still, he owed his commander a response. “Glacar hates any man who he feels threatened by, especially one whose color is so different. Today, I had enough.”

  Jonrell stared at him for a moment. “Is that it?”

  “What more is there?”

  “So you were ready to kill him?”

  Kaz shrugged.

  Jonrell shook his head. “I’ll talk to him again later tonight after he’s cooled off. I’ll make sure he stays as far away from you as possible. I need you both.”

  “You need every able body you can find. So move me and keep Glacar here to train the men. I think many will take you up on your offer and leave.”

  “Perhaps. But it is a chance I’m willing to take. I’ve watched you both instruct the men. Glacar is a fierce fighter, but that does not make him a great teacher. He fights from pure passion and instinct. You fight off of instinct as well, but there is a reason behind what you do. You don’t waste a single move. Right now, these men need that structure. They need something to fall back on when things get heated.”

  “I will do my best.”

  “I know you will. That’s why I’m talking to you now and not Glacar.”

  * * *

  Fluid as a gentle stream, the blade swept around his body. The sword sang with each slice. His feet padded lightly across the yard like that of a prowling wolf, twisting and turning, in balance with every stroke. Each thrust was as quick as a striking snake. He was at peace.

  Kaz could not recall where the memories had come from, but it didn’t matter because where his mind had forgotten, his body remembered, flowing from one sequence to the next. He recalled countless forms that simulated the various scenarios of a sword fight. Some one-handed, some two. Others required the use of a shield or dirk held in the person’s off hand. He knew hundreds of them, all tucked somewhere in the depths of his mind.

  Each night after he finished training the men, he practiced in isolation. Each time he lifted his sword at the ready he would remember another drill, dancing to and fro across the open ground, jumping over obstacles, ducking, bobbing, and weaving. Many nights he didn’t even need to imagine an opponent for one often presented itself to him. Flashing images from what he assumed was his past faded in and out of his conscious. The only commonality was that his old life was a bloody one.

  He knew the images were real. They had to be. The smell, the feel of warm blood touching his skin, the yells, and cries of battle ringing in his ears. There was too much detail for it to all be his imagination. Yet his recollection always stopped
at those desperate faces dying under the stroke of his sword. His former life seemed to be one that was entirely filled with death and destruction.

  Yet, each pleading voice, each distorted image of pain, suffering, and anguish never deterred him from returning night after night to his forms. Maybe he was reliving those harsh moments to come to terms with who he truly was. He hoped deep down that something would spark a different memory.

  There had to be more to my life than just blood.

  He was here now in a strange land, set to go about killing a new host of people. The only difference was that their skin was unlike his. He remembered the men he killed on Slum Isle while saving Jonrell.

  He assumed that if he ever could return home, he would not be a welcome sight since all his memories dealt with destruction. Would it be better to be hated among my own kind where it would seem they have reason? Here, any hatred seems to stem from one thing.

  He had a couple of people he could call friends, especially Jonrell who had stuck his neck out for him on many occasions. But those relationships were few. He could see how hard it was on anyone who showed him the slightest bit of kindness. His presence often seemed to do more harm than good, even with the men he trained. Some had come around a little since the confrontation with Glacar. They listened more intently to him than they had to Glacar, but what did that mean?

  Probably just trying to understand my accent is all. Either that or they are doing it out of fear for what Jonrell will do to them. Outside of the training ground, none of them even acknowledged his existence and he wondered again why he was still here.

  The answer was another reason he practiced each night. While others found joy in drink, song, and fellowship, Kaz had resigned himself to seeking his own form of happiness in the feel of steel in his hands and the memories of battle. Those haunting images of his past seemed the only time in life he knew joy. Battle. War. Death. Three things it seemed he had a knack for. Maybe that’s why he stayed on with the Hell Patrol then. With an army approaching, perhaps he would be truly happy again.