I began to stalk Yaar then, swinging and missing like a madman. I snarled in mock rage when the Pith danced away yet again and then did a contemptuous pirouette, playing to the crowd. The warriors watching hooted and howled with delight, enjoying the show, but I kept my attention solely on Yaar. I paused, waiting as my opponent took three quick steps backward before taking one to the left, then another, and then a third. I tensed. Now he moved to his right, one step, then the second. The moment he took his second step, I dove forward in a tight ball, coming up with Wolf’s Head held outstretched roughly at waist height. The blade of my sword caught Yaar in the middle of his forward feint, cutting through the muscle and sinew of his belly before punching out his back. The little man whimpered, dropping his short sword as he looked down in shock at the cold steel that had gutted him.
“But, how did—” Yaar started to say.
I stood and put my boot on Yaar’s chest and shoved back hard. The little man tried to say more just as blood erupted from his mouth, choking him. Wolf’s Head popped free from Yaar’s torn flesh with a wet sucking sound as steaming entrails fell from him and splattered at my feet. Then the Pith fell on his back and lay still.
I could hear groans and curses echoing across the field as silver changed hands, but I didn’t have time to celebrate. Two warriors were dragging Yaar’s corpse away while Umar the Bleak stepped forward, his eyes dark with purpose.
“Choice of weapons, Hadrack?” Einhard called out.
“No weapons,” I responded, gratified to see Umar’s features cloud with doubt for a moment. I tossed my sword to Saldor. “Just these,” I said as I held up my hands.
“Then fight,” Einhard commanded.
Umar advanced on me, his shoulders hunched, his balled fists held low by his hips. I grinned. This was more like it. I lowered my head and charged forward, catching the other man by surprise as I butted him in the stomach with the top of my head. I heard Umar gasp as air exploded from his lungs, and we fell awkwardly, with me lying on top of the warrior. I swung a fist for his head, my knuckles cracking against the other man’s forehead. I felt pain shoot up my arm, afraid for a moment that I had broken my hand, but I didn’t have time to worry about it as Umar flipped me off him with a grunt. He leaped to his feet, bellowing with rage, trying to cave in my skull with his boot. I twisted aside and rose, then ducked a wild swing. I dropped to one knee and punched as hard as I could with my aching hand, praying it wasn’t broken as I caught Umar in the stomach. The Pith staggered backward, his eyes wide as he tried to draw in air. I didn’t let him as I hit him again, this time using the edge of my other hand as I chopped savagely with it against Umar’s vulnerable throat. The Pith’s eyes fluttered, and he raised both his hands to his neck as I grabbed him by the hair, dragging his face down to meet my uplifting knee. Umar’s nose shattered instantly, blood spraying over both me and the watching Piths as the big man collapsed, lying motionless on the ground. I stood over him, breathing heavily as the Piths started to cheer. I could hear some of them shouting for me to finish him. It seemed Umar was not a popular man. The big Pith’s eyes were closed, but his chest was still moving, and I could hear a high-pitched wheezing coming from his mouth. I hesitated, flexing my injured hand as I stared at it. The little finger felt odd, pinching when I made a fist, but nothing seemed broken.
“You must finish him, Hadrack,” Einhard said.
I nodded, not relishing this part, but it needed to be done. I sought out Lorgen Three-Fingers where he stood among his people, his face now the color of ash. I held the Amenti chieftain’s eyes while I placed my boot on Umar’s neck, then I stood, forcing all my weight down hard until I heard a satisfying crack. I stepped off the dead man and pointed at Three-Fingers. “How are your knees holding up, Lorgen?” I asked mockingly. I cupped a hand to my ear. “Because from where I stand, it sure sounds like they are knocking together to me!”
I made my way back to Saldor as Manek the Quiet entered the clearing. The grey-bearded warrior was perhaps Jebido’s age, maybe slightly older. He’d taken off his tunic, revealing a sleek upper torso covered with battle scars and thick grey hair. The Pith’s arms were heavily muscled, with his right forearm marred by a livid purple scar where something with teeth had latched on to him.
“Weapons?” Einhard asked, looking at me.
“Axes,” I said as I held out my hand to Saldor for my father’s axe.
“Better be clear about that this time,” Saldor whispered as he handed me the weapon. “Manek is very good with one-handed axes.”
I held up my father’s axe to Einhard. “Two-handed axes,” I added.
“Two-handed it is,” Einhard acknowledged.
An Amenti held out an axe similar to mine to Manek. The older man took it, spinning it in his hands easily as he watched me with experienced and calm eyes. There would be no panic or mistakes coming from this one, I knew. I moved forward slowly, and so did he, until we met roughly ten feet apart in the middle of the clearing. Yaar had tried to use his speed on me, and it had failed, and now I would do the same thing to Manek, preferably with a different outcome.
I held the shoulder of the shaft just below the twin blades with my right hand, the pommel with my left. I lunged forward without warning with the butt-end of the shaft, hoping to catch Manek by surprise. The older man blocked me easily with the haft of his axe, then jammed his elbow hard into my face, staggering me. I felt my nose flatten as coppery-tasting blood filled my mouth. I shook my head to clear the sudden tears streaming from my eyes as I retreated, spitting blood. Manek came after me, sensing he had me as he swung his great axe in front of him like a scythe, trying to disembowel me. I snarled, dodging a slash that tore open my tunic yet somehow left the skin beneath it undamaged, then I hooked my blade on his and dragged the older man toward me. I had Manek suddenly off-balance, and I smashed my forehead into his nose, bloodying him now.
“Two can play that game,” I grunted as we broke apart.
Manek grinned, showing surprisingly good teeth that were stained red with blood. “It does seem only fair.”
I laughed despite the situation, finding myself liking the old bastard. “I killed your brothers without a second thought,” I said as we circled each other. “But I’m actually going to feel bad about killing you. I think we could have been friends if not for this.”
Manek chuckled. “That’s funny, youngster. I was about to say the same thing about you.”
He came at me then, roaring as he swung for my head. I was expecting it, and I ducked, then spun in a crouch, bringing my axe around fast and hard. The blade edge sliced open Manek’s right boot at his calf, tearing a gaping wound in his flesh as it passed. I was off-balance from the swing, and the momentum of the axe pulled me to the ground as the old man screamed in pain above me. But even wounded, Manek saw me vulnerable, and he lifted his axe for the killing blow. I knew I couldn’t bring my weapon up in time, and desperate, I dropped my axe and clutched the haft of his with both hands, stopping the descending blade inches away from my face. Manek cursed at me as he pushed down with all his weight, with warm saliva dripping from his open mouth splashing on my face. But, for all his experience as a warrior, I was younger and stronger than Manek. I twisted my body sharply as I held onto the haft, flipping him off his feet. Then I rolled on top of him as we fought for control of the axe. Slowly, ever so slowly, I gained that control until I had the wooden shaft pressed tightly against Manek’s neck.
The older man was wheezing now, fighting to breathe as I leaned down and whispered in his ear, “I am sorry, brother,” I said, meaning it. “I wish there was another way.”
Manek’s face was turning purple, his eyes bulging as he desperately tried to break my hold, but I had position on him, and I weighed more than he did, so there was nothing that he could do. Finally, once it was over, I stood above the old warrior’s body as I slowly looked around at the now silent Piths.
“The Master will rejoice this day,” I said to them, my chest heavin
g as I tossed Manek’s axe aside. “For now, he will have a great warrior to sit by his side to drink beer and swap lies with until the end of time.”
The Piths cheered then, and I could hear my name being chanted by many of the Peshwin as I stooped to pick up my axe before I walked slowly back to Saldor. I handed him the weapon, wiping the blood from my face as Dace the Fearless stepped into the clearing. “Any advice?” I asked the Cimbrati as I studied the Pith. The big warrior was dressed in a white tunic that hung down over his trousers. His face was blank, looking almost bored, but his eyes were molten pits of hatred.
“Don’t die,” Saldor said with a straight face.
I chuckled and nodded as I held my hand out for Wolf’s Head. “That’s sound advice, brother. Sound advice indeed.” I turned to Einhard before he could ask. “Swords,” I said. “The really long kind with the pointy end,” I added, just to be clear.
Laughter arose at that, and I waited as Lorgen Three-Fingers pressed a broadsword into Dace’s hand. The Amenti chieftain said something into the big Pith’s ear, rubbing his back, and the warrior nodded, his face set in stone.
“Begin,” Einhard called.
Dace the Fearless stalked toward me purposefully, his sword held low by his side. He struck without hesitating the moment he was in range, growling low in his chest as I blocked his blade. I felt the vibration of the collision all the way to my shoulder, and I realized the Pith was enormously strong. Dace swung a second time, his face showing no emotion, and again I blocked him, feeling that familiar shock to my arm. But this time, Dace lashed out with a boot at the same time, catching me in the chest. I stumbled backward into the mass of Piths watching and cheering behind me, and several of them shoved me forward, right back toward the oncoming warrior. I ducked as his blade brushed the top of my head, and I stabbed at the big man’s leg, gratified to hear him grunt as the tip punctured his thigh. That was the only reaction I got from Dace though, and even as dark blood started to seep through his trousers, the warrior came after me with the same expression on his face.
I moved back, crouched and ready as Dace attacked with single-minded determination. The Pith warrior was hugely strong and unswervingly focused, but as the fight progressed, I realized that even though his swordcraft was very good, mine was better. I could beat this man. I just needed to be patient and careful until the right opening appeared. We fought back and forth across the clearing in silence, with the cheers of the Piths and the persistent clash of steel on steel the only sounds as we both searched for the momentary opening that would end a man’s life.
Dace finally took an impatient backhanded swing at my face and missed, but that miss left him open and vulnerable for a heartbeat. That’s all I needed. I swooped in, raking Wolf’s Head down across his chest. The big man staggered from the blow, and he grunted as blood began to well up from the rent in his tunic. Dace paused to look down at the seeping wound, and then he cursed—the first words I had heard from him—before he attacked again. I parried an overhand strike, then a second as I gave ground, our blades ringing before I took the offensive, pressing the big Pith backward. Both of us were gasping for air now, and I could see blood dripping freely onto the grass from the Pith’s wounds. I knew sooner or later the bastard would have to weaken.
Our blades met again, locking, and I twisted my wrists to get above his sword just as Jebido had taught me, using brute strength to force his weapon down and around, hoping to disarm him with a quick sideways motion. But Dace was a strong man, and he held on stubbornly as we struggled until finally he used his shoulder as a battering ram to knock me away. I stumbled back three paces, expecting him to keep coming, but the big Pith hesitated, and I saw the first sign of an actual expression cross his face. It looked like confusion. Dace blinked and wiped at his eyes, wobbling as his sword wavered. I grinned. The bastard had lost too much blood.
I waited just in case it was a ploy, but I guessed by the tense look on Lorgen Three-Fingers’ face that it was not. His man was finished, and he knew it. Dace dropped to his knees, the sword in his hand falling limply to the ground, his eyes lowered. I cautiously approached and kicked his weapon away.
“You fought well,” I said as I stood over the defeated Pith. “You have honored your tribe.”
Dace looked up then and he smiled black teeth at me. “Honor has no place here,” he spat. His eyes were full of hate and triumph as a knife suddenly appeared in his hand.
The wounded Pith lunged at me, heedless of my sword as his knife came for my face. I tried to twist away, but I wasn’t fast enough, and I felt the sting of the blade as it raked along my skin, just missing my eye as it cut open my cheek. I cursed and fell backward as blood spurted while shouts of anger and protest arose from the watching Piths. Dace was on his feet, no sign of weakness now as he bellowed and barrelled toward me, his arms outstretched.
The bastard had deliberately aimed for my eye, I realized—not to win, but to cripple me enough that Lorgen could finish me off under the law. I felt an overwhelming rage take over me, and I brought Wolf’s Head up and around as the big man ran at me, lopping off his right hand that held the knife. The warrior screamed in shock, gaping at me as dark blood began to gush from the stump. I didn’t hesitate, and I rammed my sword’s hilt into his blood-covered chest. The Pith fell to his knees as I quickly reversed Wolf’s Head and struck again, taking the warrior’s left hand this time.
Dace was sobbing now as I kicked him contemptuously onto his back. Then I started to work on him, cutting and slashing with fury as I took his feet one at a time, then his arms at the elbows, then at the shoulders. Dace had long since fallen silent as I worked, and he was probably dead by now, but I didn’t care. I hacked and cut with a savage, single-minded rage as thousands of Piths watched in somber, awed silence. I kept slipping and falling in the bright red blood as I dismembered Dace limb by limb, but it didn’t stop me. I don’t think anything could have. Finally, there was nothing left to chop off the blood-drenched torso other than Dace’s head. I stood, panting over what was left of the Pith warrior, my sword crimson and dripping. I spit in contempt on Dace’s corpse, and then I took his head with one swing of my sword. I stooped and picked up the decapitated head by the hair and held it in the air.
“You see this, you bastard!?” I screamed at Lorgen as I shook the grisly remains at him. “This is the fate that awaits you, too!” I whirled the head by the hair, then threw it as Piths dodged aside. The gory missile landed three feet from Lorgen Three-Fingers, and I laughed at the look of dismay on the chieftain’s face as he stared down at it. I stumbled back to Saldor, then turned and waited, my chest heaving.
“You truly are a Pith,” Saldor whispered beside me in admiration.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to say all along,” I gasped. Several warriors started to drag Dace’s torso and whatever else of him that they could find from the blood-soaked ground, giving me a much-needed moment to catch my breath. I glanced at my heavy rectangular shield where it lay in the grass. Einhard had said to fight Lorgen with sword and shield, but using the Gander one felt like a mistake to me. I had won over many of the Piths today, I knew, but fighting with something so obviously Gander might turn whatever good-will they now felt for me away. “I’ll need a Pith shield,” I said to Saldor. “I can’t fight with mine.”
Saldor nodded in understanding as he unstrapped his shield from his back and held it out to me. “I would be honored, brother, if you would accept this one.”
“The honor is mine, brother,” I replied, accepting the round shield with gratitude. Lorgen Three-Fingers reluctantly entered the clearing, already looking like a beaten man as he flexed his hands impotently by his sides while he awaited my choice of weapons. “Swords and shields,” I called out to Einhard. “We end this like warriors with swords and shields.”
Einhard nodded. “So be it,” he said. “Swords and shields it is.”
Nedo appeared with a yellow and red shield, as well as a sword. The youth said somet
hing briefly to his father as he handed him the weapons, then he gave me a baleful glare before stepping away from the clearing. The wound on my cheek was still bleeding, and I was having trouble breathing from my nose, but other than that, I felt in surprisingly good shape. I strode toward Lorgen Three-Fingers, brimming with confidence.
“Come, old man,” I grunted. I smashed Wolf’s Head on my shield. “Let’s finish this.”
The battle that followed did not last long. Lorgen Three-Fingers, for all his brave talk, proved to be a slow and unimaginative fighter. I could see before even the first blow was struck that the man had accepted his fate and his heart just wasn’t in it. Lorgen had dishonored his people by putting that knife under Dace’s tunic, and he knew that even if he managed to kill me, his tribe would no longer accept him as their chieftain. The Piths had a code of conduct when it came to man-to-man combat, and Lorgen had broken that code in a way that could never be forgiven. To this day, I can’t understand why he did it, as he had to have known what the consequences would be, even if he had won.
When the deed was finally done, and Lorgen Three-Fingers lay dead, I dropped my sword and shield and fell to my knees in the center of the clearing. I closed my eyes as the Piths cheered me. I had won the Tribal Challenge, and with it, control of the Amenti tribe. But what was I going to do with that control? Would the savage warriors actually follow and obey me? I had no idea, and at the moment, I didn’t even care. I just wanted to stay where I was and not move.
I heard a sudden commotion in front of me and I opened my eyes wearily. Nedo was running toward me with a sword clutched in his hand, his eyes mad with hatred. I reached for Wolf’s Head desperately, already knowing that I was going to be too late. Then Nedo grunted as a thrown lance caught him in the belly. The youth staggered backward, letting go of his sword as he clutched at the haft of the lance with both hands before dropping to his knees.
The Wolf At War Page 24
