Trial And Glory (Book 3)

by Joshua P. Simon

  The last was Ronav, a man who had little in common with the others. The commander would shake your hand one moment and cut it off the next if he thought you might harm him or his men. Although rough around the edges, Ronav had given Jonrell something neither Amcaro nor Undalain could provide him with, practical experiences and anonymity from the life he left behind.

  Glacar whirled his ax in the air, slowly retreating against the organized chaos of Ronav’s attacks. Steel resonated with each vicious strike. Despite having spent most of his time on the defensive, Glacar grinned ear to ear, fighting with a strange calmness. The two warriors began to trade blows more evenly, pressing and retreating under each swing.

  “Man, they’re really going at it. I didn’t think anyone could last this long against Ronav,” said Cassus.

  Jonrell agreed. He hated to admit it but Glacar fought better than two or even three regular men, flinging that giant ax of his like a small hatchet. The blows the wild man rained down seemed to come faster as the battle raged on.

  “Ronav will finish this soon enough.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Cassus.

  Jonrell heard the doubt in his friend’s voice.

  * * *

  Krytien watched the fight, shaking his head.

  Curse you for not listening to me, Ronav. I told you not to underestimate the man. One Above, it was supposed to be over by now.

  Glacar’s ax whistled through the air, just past Ronav’s ear as the commander ducked under the blow. Krytien’s gut tightened. He needs to end this.

  Ronav came up fast, leading with his elbow, and crashed it under Glacar’s chin.

  Better.

  Glacar fell backward, but not before landing a boot to Ronav’s jaw. Krytien cursed as both men fell to the ground and rolled to their feet, in unison. Like mirror images, each man spat blood, though the spit didn’t quite clear Glacar’s tangled beard and dangled distractingly from it.

  “You thought you had me, old man, didn’t you?” Glacar laughed. “I’ve been playing with you. That last attack was nothing.”

  Krytien watched Ronav work his jaw and squint across at his opponent through the midday sun. “You done talking?” he answered in a voice rough with exhaustion.

  Glacar flashed a bloody grin and laughed all the harder.

  The wild man let out a yell and charged, lashing out with both ax and shield. Krytien winced as Ronav worked to turn away the attacks, some of which slipped through his defenses, scraping against the commander’s heavy plate. Ronav steadily gave up ground to the much younger opponent, shuffling backward and kicking up dirt with each step.

  He can’t get to an opening fast enough, thought Krytien as he watched Glacar counter every attempt Ronav made to regain the upper hand. In all the years that he and Ronav had known each other, Krytien never saw him bested in single combat.

  Krytien held out hope that at any moment Ronav’s experience would win out as it so often had in recent years when the Commander’s speed began to dwindle. But deep down Krytien knew that experience only went so far in a fight against someone younger, faster, and perhaps even stronger. Ronav continued to stagger back, shield arm shaking under each assault.

  Krytien let out a sigh and got to work. Perhaps he won’t learn the truth.

  * * *

  “I think Ronav is losing,” said Cassus in disbelief.

  “No. You’re mistaken,” said Jonrell. He watched Glacar howl as he forced Ronav backward step by step.

  “Maybe, he’s baiting him,” suggested Cassus. “We’ve seen him do it before.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” said Jonrell, even though he really wasn’t. “That has to be it.”

  However, when Ronav had baited someone in the past, he had never allowed himself to take the beating he received now. Blood seeped through gashes in his armor as bits of mail and plate fell away under the onslaught. To make matters worse, Ronav’s battered shield began to drop and his efforts to dodge the worst of each strike seemed less and less fluid than before. Ronav did not appear to be baiting Glacar at all.

  Jonrell felt worn leather in his palm and realized that his hand had subconsciously drifted to the hilt of his sword. He worked the grip ever tighter between his fingers. Find a way to end this, Ronav.

  The commander’s foot slipped under loose gravel as Glacar’s ax struck his shield. Between the force of the attack and the unsure footing, Ronav clattered to the ground.

  Jonrell pushed men aside while working his sword free. A hand reached out and grabbed his arm.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” yelled Cassus over the roar of the crowd.

  “He’s going to kill Ronav,” said Jonrell, wrenching his arm free.

  “We’re not in Cadonia. You can’t just interrupt the fight.”

  “Watch me!” shouted Jonrell, angered that Cassus had slowed him. He whipped back around just in time to see Glacar’s ax descending again. Ronav sat exposed, transfixed on the instrument of his impending death.

  I’m too late

  But his commander moved in a blur. Ronav rolled away from the attack and jumped to his feet. Glacar’s crazed eyes widened as his blade lodged in the ground. Ronav struck Glacar in the face with the pommel of his sword. A spray of blood followed the crunch of a broken nose as Glacar’s head rocked backward. Ronav swept the man’s legs out from under him and a moment later stood over the warrior, sword in one hand, ax in the other, both weapons hovering within inches of his opponent’s face.

  Jonrell’s mouth hung open. The roaring crowd had fallen deathly quiet. No one could believe what had just happened.

  “See, I told you he was baiting him,” said Cassus.

  * * *

  Ronav stood over Glacar and Krytien saw the commander do his best to hide his fatigue. The mage let out a sigh. I hope it wasn’t too obvious. But who cares? Ronav is alive.

  Krytien could not hear the conversation between the two warriors. After a few moments, Ronav sheathed his sword and helped Glacar to his feet. He gave the maniac back his ax and pointed him in the direction of the Hell Patrol’s camp.

  One Above, Ronav. You actually went through with it? Even after all of that you still let that animal join us.

  Once Glacar left and the crowd dispersed, Krytien saw just how weary Ronav appeared. His chest heaved with each breath, sweat poured from his face, and blood oozed from open wounds. Yet Ronav would not allow himself to relax. He walked over to Krytien with his usual air of confidence.

  Letting the last of the befuddled onlookers shuffle by, Krytien backed into the shade and leaned against a nearby post. He noticed, all at once, how old Ronav looked. Without his helm, the sweat soaked hair of his commander seemed grayer than before. Blood from a cut on his forehead seeped into the valleys of the wrinkles surrounding his tired eyes.

  Ronav threw his helm down and flung his shield to the side. He set only his sword down with care. Krytien handed him a skin of water and saw Ronav wince as he reached for it. The commander drank deeply and then poured the rest of the liquid over his head. The water ran down his neck and under his mail.

  Krytien did his best not to fidget, but the mage could not keep himself from nervously running his fingers through his long gray hair. He had never seen Ronav like this after a fight, sullen and mouthing silent curses. Even with new injuries, it was common to see Ronav laughing and sharing a joke.

  “Who gave you the right?” asked Ronav, his voice low and even.

  Krytien cocked his head. “What do you mean? I’m not sure I. . . .”

  “Stop. We’ve known each other for decades. You had no right to interfere.”

  “So I should have let you die?”

  “If that was the outcome, then so be it. This victory was hollow. I cheated.”

  Krytien offered a smile, trying to lighten Ronav’s dark mood. “Technically, I cheated, not you.”

  “You’re missing the point. . . .”

  Krytien’s smile faded, tired of dancing around
the subject. “No, you are, Ronav. We make our living by outsmarting our opponents in any way possible.”

  “That’s different.” Ronav hissed. “You know that I don’t believe in using sorcery in something like this. This was one man against another. It’s not. . . .”

  “It’s not honorable,” said Krytien, spitting the word out like a curse. “You and your honor can go to the One Below for all I care. You really are an idiot if you think the Hell Patrol would be better off with you dead and Glacar alive. No direction, no leadership, but Ronav would have his honor.”

  Silence stretched.

  “I didn’t ask for your help,” said Ronav finally.

  “I know,” said Krytien, his voice calm.

  Another long silence. “Five years ago it wouldn’t have been that close. I would have beaten him.”

  “We can’t roll back time. Perhaps you were still feeling the effects of last night.”

  “No. You tried to tell me this morning.” He grunted. “He is better than me.”

  Krytien handed Ronav another skin of water. He tried to move the subject away from the past and into the Hell Patrol’s future. “So, you actually let him join us?”

  “We can always use a fighter.”

  “If you can control him. That’s quite a gamble.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe I can help him redirect his anger. Make sure he saves it for the battlefield. If I recall, I wasn’t too different at that age.”

  Krytien shook his head. “If you say so. But you still had good in you, Ronav. I see none of that in Glacar.”

  Ronav laughed. “It’ll work out.”

  The mage saw his friend trying to act like his old self. But the actions were forced and the mannerisms contrived. Losing affected him more than I thought it would. But why wouldn’t it? A man like Ronav who prides himself in being the best is going to struggle with knowing he is no longer the man he once was.

  Krytien shook away his thoughts. “A messenger came by just before the fight started. Effren wants to see you.”

  “He better not want to drink again.”

  Krytien smiled. “It seems he wants to discuss the terms for our dismissal now that our contract has been fulfilled.”

  Ronav nodded. “Better go see him then.”

  “You don’t want me to see what I can do for your injuries first?”

  Ronav shook his head, casting Krytien a sidelong glance. “No, I’ll let Hag care for the worst now and tend to the rest later. I’ve had enough sorcery in me for one day. I think I want to feel these bruises for a little while.”

  * * *

  “He let Glacar join us,” said Cassus, a sense of wonder in his voice. “I didn’t expect that to happen.”

  “I’m sure he has his reasons.” Jonrell replied as they walked back to camp.

  Yanasi came up beside him and tugged at his arm. She spoke in a soft voice. “Did you want Ronav to win?”

  Jonrell glanced down and smiled. “Of course I did.” Even after a few meals, Yanasi had already started to look better. And if nothing else, she was clean. Still need to do something about that wild hair though.

  “Oh. I thought you’d be happier then.” She looked confused.

  Cassus laughed.

  Jonrell gave him a scowl. “I am happy he won. It’s just that something didn’t seem right.”

  “Even when something goes the way you want it to, you find cause to complain,” said Cassus.

  It was the look on Ronav’s face. It’s like what he did surprised even himself.

  Jonrell noticed Yanasi nervously looking behind her. “What’s wrong?”

  “That man. Cord. He’s watching us,” she whispered, grabbing Jonrell’s hand.

  Jonrell glanced behind him and met Cord’s eyes. The soldier scowled, but had the sense to walk away.

  “Looks like he’s not going to let your little meeting go,” said Cassus.

  Jonrell shrugged. He nodded to his right where Ahned bore holes into Ronav’s back as he talked with Krytien. “He won’t be the only one. Ahned lost a lot of money today.”

  Cassus grinned. “Well, he is the idiot who bet against Ronav.”

  To read the rest of the story, click here.

  Excerpt of Hero of Slaves - A Blood and Tears Novella

  Chapter 1

  “C’mon Cassus. Hurry up.”

  “I’m going as fast as I can,” Cassus huffed, trying to keep up with the other boy running through the castle grounds ahead of him.

  “Well, go faster,” said Jonrell. “I don’t want to lose.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have made the bet to begin with.”

  The tip of Cassus’ foot hit a protruding stone. He pitched forward and smashed his face against the ground, biting his cheek. Blood welled in his mouth.

  “You can rest when we finish!” Jonrell yanked Cassus up before he even had a chance to spit.

  Cassus wrenched his arm away. “Why are you so bent on me doing this? The bet with Wilken was for you to run the length of the castle before the supper bell rang. Not me. If you don’t want to lose the money, then leave me behind.”

  “One Above, Cassus. My father’s the king. It’s not about the money. And you know I’ve run this plenty of times.”

  Cassus frowned.

  Jonrell sighed. “I know it bothers you that the others give you a hard time when I’m not around. I thought it would help if they could see you pull this off too.”

  “I don’t always need you to watch out for me, you know.”

  “I know. But you’re my best friend. That’s what I’m supposed to do.” Jonrell grabbed Cassus’ arm again. “We can still make Wilken look the fool. Now push the pain away and just worry about the next step.”

  * * *

  Cassus’ legs felt like water, and his muscles burned as he raced through the jungle. The weight of the crying Byzernian girl in his arms did little to ease his pain.

  Just worry about the next step.

  He pushed aside thick, green leaves, dodging the slimy vines cascading from the trees.

  At least the arrows have stopped.

  “Did we lose them?” Horan asked, shifting his own small passenger in his arms.

  A ball of bright orange fire zipped past Cassus’ head. The heat from the sorcery sucked away the precious air his tired lungs needed. The ball slammed into a tree fifty paces ahead with a cracking roar. The burning trunk snapped, descending into his path. Cassus quickly changed course to avoid the rising flames, and shifted again to avoid the next ball of fire.

  He spared a glance back.

  “Does that answer your question?”

  Cassus couldn’t see his pursuers through the masses of plant life, but he heard their shouts. He held the girl tighter in his arms, and willed himself to go faster.

  “Hurry,” Cassus called. “The old man said the river was this way.”

  They raced along, skirting over old, moss-covered logs and outcroppings of half-buried rock.

  Cassus slid down loose black dirt into a small ravine, doing all he could not to fall over while the girl clutched frantically at his shirt. He caught his balance at the bottom, and set off again, ducking under the low-hanging branches. His heart leaped as the sound of rushing water prickled his ears.

  Almost there. We can do this.

  An intense wave of heat engulfed him as the ground exploded, lifting him into the air. He crashed into the jungle’s undergrowth. Branches snapped beneath him. Dirt rained down, sticking to his sweat-covered neck. A dull hum buzzed in his ears.

  Cassus blinked. He pushed himself off the young girl, realizing her sobs had gone quiet. The tip of a broken branch protruded up from her chest, poking through her thin shirt. An ever-growing spot of blood encircled the stake.

  No.

  The spear of wood had pierced the girl’s heart, but Cassus checked for a pulse anyway.

  Nothing.

  He whipped his head around looking for Horan and the boy. He saw two lumps resting thirty feet away nea
r a patch of scorched earth. Wisps of smoke fluttered upward.

  He scrambled over to them, stopping short as a light breeze brought him the smell of charred flesh.

  Cassus didn’t bother checking either figure. Their smoking clothes, bubbling skin, and frozen expressions gave him the answer he needed.

  He choked back tears. He’d weep later. Still out of sight, the rushing water of the river howled so loudly, he felt he could reach out and touch it.

  I’m the only one left.

  Cassus wanted to stay and bury them, but he didn’t have the time.

  Move.

  He took a step and froze. Six figures wearing an assortment of leather and mail held drawn swords. He saw two more on either side with notched arrows trained on him.

  Between the humming in his ears and the shock of the situation, he hadn’t even heard them approach.

  “Cassus! You’re a hard man to catch,” a voice shouted from behind.

  Cassus slowly turned, afraid any sudden movement might give the archers a reason to loose their shots. A man of medium build and height strode through the jungle wearing a sleeveless leather jerkin. Thick folds of skin dangled from his bare arms and another swayed from his neck, masking any semblance of a chin.

  Raker can’t call him Lord Roundness any longer.

  “It’s taken me months to set this ruse up. I was beginning to think it wouldn’t work. But the mighty Hero of Slaves came through. That’s what the Byzernians are calling you, I hear.” Melchizan chuckled over that with his men.

  Cassus’ eyes shifted to the three bodies near him. He thought of those in the village he had also failed to save.

  “I’m no hero,” he mumbled.

  Melchizan’s smile vanished. “No, you’re not. You’ve cost me a lot of money.” He walked up, lowering his voice. “And your friends embarrassed both of us.” He jerked his head toward the green-robed mage nearby.

  Cassus’ eyes flicked to the mage. The hair on the man’s scalp grew in patches around burn scars that worked down his face and over the place his left ear should have been.

  When Cassus had heard the stories about what Jonrell and the rest of the Hell Patrol had done to Melchizan at sea, he had laughed for days. But when reports surfaced that their former employer had somehow survived and entered the slave trade, that laughter had died.