by Adam Bennett
A mud slicked boot smashed into his chest, sending him flailing through the air, his chainmail doing little to defend against the mighty blow. Isaac crumpled unceremoniously to the ground, breath fleeing his body. His sword lay in the mud, only a foot away, but he could hardly think, let alone move. Two quick steps and his opponent was on him, sword raised high. There was no time to defend, no time to catch his breath, no time for anything.
The sword whistled down through the air, catching the gleaming firelight as it descended, and Isaac knew what came next.
Dead.
The sword arced down and at the very last moment it stopped, point hovering right between his eyes, firelight from the campfire flickering along its gleaming length.
“Dead!” Raceron shouted with excitement. “You’re dead again you useless fuck.” The big soldier grinned down at Isaac, barely winded from their long fight.
Isaac finally caught his breath and reached up to gingerly push the sword point aside. He coughed and sat up, chest and side on fire, the back of his head throbbing only slightly less. He’d landed on the thick steel chain, digging it mercilessly into his already sore neck. He reached up to adjust it back to a more comfortable position.
“I had you! I had you until someone shot me with a fucking arrow!” Isaac glared around the circle of grinning idiots and reached over, picking up the arrow, its bladed steel head bundled in cloth strips to keep it from piercing his side. He was a little surprised they’d been that thoughtful of his health.
“Had me? You? Had me?” Raceron guffawed. “I heard the bowstring tense behind me and let you take the compromised position you little shit. Had me…” He shook his head with mirth.
Isaac stood and turned to face the twins, innocent looks plastered on their matching angular faces. He stepped towards them and snapped the arrow over his knee.
Chell jumped up, instantly angry. “Hey! That was a perfectly good shaft you just wasted! I’ll fucking—”
“Enough, Chell!” Dex’s booming voice rang out across the small clearing. “Take a seat. You interfered with his fight, the arrow is Isaac’s to snap.”
Chell glared at Isaac but said nothing further. He sat back down beside his sister who was grinning at the exchange.
“It was a smart move, boy. Regardless of what Rass says, you did have him. You’re much improved this past month. But an arrow in the side is always a threat in combat. You need to keep your wits about you. Especially when you have the upper hand. No use beating one opponent, only to immediately die to another.”
Isaac nodded reluctantly. “It still wasn't a fair fight,” he muttered.
“Ha! Fair fight he says!” Dex looked around at the group huddled about the campfire, pointing out Isaac with a thumb. “Get a load of this one. Fair fight!”
Most of the group laughed along as Raceron rejoined them by the small fire. Only Tormell and Talent didn’t join the laughter, but then, Tormell had hired Dex’s band of warriors for this job and he didn’t truly belong. Talent... well, Talent didn't find much of anything humorous by Isaac’s reckoning.
“The only fair fight is one you’ve already won, boy!” boomed Dex. He wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning. “Until the fighting’s done, anything goes. Anything except fair, that is. Don't get all caught up in this knightly nonsense you hear in the stories.
“Anyone would think you were a fool, boy, but a fool wouldn't have snapped that arrow to learn which of these two smug fuckers had shot him.” He pointed at Chell and his twin sister Chae, ignoring their feigned looks of outrage and denial. “Use that kind of logic always, and you’ll go far.”
Isaac decided to cut his losses and retrieved his sword from the mud. He sat down in the circle around the fire and began to clean and sharpen his new weapon.
“It was a good fight,” Talent whispered from beside him. “You were on the back foot for most of it, but you saw an advantage and took it. Don't worry about Dex. He’s a good fighter, and a better weapons master. He’ll have you good and trained before you ever face a real battle. The gods know there is no such thing as witches. This farce will be over soon and we’ll go back to fighting real foes. Some of them might even be worth the effort…”
“I still don’t know why I have to wear this fucking chain to practise.”
Talent looked peeved at his use of bad language but didn’t bite. After almost a month of travelling with the warband, some of their bad habits were beginning to rub off on him. “You know what Dex said, and I agree. ‘Wear everything you would wear in battle while you practise, and there’ll be few surprises.’ The man knows how to fight every type of fight there is. You should listen if you want to survive your first real melee.”
Isaac liked Davram Talent. He seemed an honourable man who saw the world the way it was and would fight to right any wrongs therein. Isaac had no idea what the man was doing travelling with a group the likes of this. He seemed the kind of man who would be more at home in a king’s royal guard, or galloping the lists in some fancy tourney. He didn't belong with the rest of the group. Regardless, the big man seemed to fit in just fine. Something Isaac himself was finding more difficult than he’d first expected.
Chell stood and walked out of the circle. “You still owe me that arrow, you little shit,” he said as he passed by Isaac and made into the dark trees surrounding the clearing.
As soon as he was gone, Chae piped up, “Don’t you worry about him, Isaac. He’s all bark.”
Isaac nodded, but didn't say anything. Chell and Chae were a strange pair.
Chell returned from the trees tying his leather trousers closed. As he sat, Chae turned to him and in an overloud whisper said, “You should have heard what that little prick was saying about you when you were gone. Fucker said you had no bite!”
Isaac immediately sat up, a denial half formed as Chell turned, eyes filled with rage.
“You fucking what?” Behind him, Chae was grinning ear to ear, looking exactly like a cat with a bowl of cream.
Before Isaac could reply, Chell’s hand whipped out towards him, and with only a quick red flash of firelight to warn him, a blade tumbled through the air directly at Isaac’s face.
With a choked shout, Isaac fell backwards off the log he was sitting on, the throwing dagger passing over him, missing him only by inches. He grunted as he hit the hard packed earth, the pain in his ribs flaring up once more. He sprung to his feet, blade at the ready but Chell had already turned his back, talking to Chae and Saef Scarless as if it were nothing.
Isaac looked to Dex, but the grizzled veteran wore half a smile as if waiting for Isaac’s complaint with baited breath. Isaac shook his head and sat back down beside Talent.
As he was looking for his dropped whetstone in the darkness around the log Chell’s voice rang out, laced with gravel, “Don’t forget to return my blade, boy. You wouldn't want to make the same mistake twice, would you? Not when I’m helping to teach you life lessons...”
Isaac stared at his back, amazed at the gall of the man.
Talent nudged him gently in the ribs. “You should leave his dagger in the dark to rust. And he deserves worse besides.”
After a moment of consideration Isaac stood, sheathed his sword, and returned his whetstone to his pack. He pulled a burning stick from the fire and trudged off into the darkness in search of Chell’s knife.
The search took a good half hour, and when he returned the logs had been rolled aside and the band had retired to their bedrolls encircling the campfire.
Gil sat with his back to a tree, keeping watch. He grunted at Isaac and said, “You take middle watch. Scarless take last. You sleep. Gil watch now.” The hulking brute wasn't much for conversation, but he was a beast to fight against. Isaac had faced him a few nights back and the bout had been over and done in seconds, Gil tackling him to the ground and holding the blade of his huge axe to Isaac’s throat. The only thing he’d learned that night was that he was glad that Gil would be on his side when the real fighting began
.
Isaac set his bedroll further from the fire than he’d have liked, all the prime positions taken while he’d searched for Chell’s throwing knife. It seemed he’d only just closed his eyes when Gil shook him roughly by the shoulder and said, “You watch now.”
He stood watch for three hours, then woke Saef Scarless to take the late watch and crawled back into his cold bedroll just as a light snow began to fall, mostly held at bay by the flickering flames.
The next morning he woke to the bustle of the camp being packed away. He rose and made ready to march. He shouldered his pack and checked his blade in its scabbard, drawing it to clear any frost that might make the weapon difficult to draw. He looked at Chell’s knife and considered strapping it to his pack so the man would be forced to ask for its return.
After a moment however he grinned, feeling reckless. He said, “Chell, your blade, friend.” And with no more warning he flicked the knife over the smouldering embers at Chell as he turned to face Isaac.
As if he knew what to expect, Chell calmly raised the green apple he was holding and with a soft shick, caught the incoming blade deep in the fruity flesh. He smiled. “Thank you, Isaac. I was wondering where that had gotten to.” He pulled the knife free, cut a cheek from the apple, and lifted the slice to his mouth, pinned between his thumb and the blade. “Nice throw,” he said, and popped the piece into his mouth. He tossed the remainder of the apple to Isaac with a smile and turned back to packing.
Isaac caught the fruit, bewildered. After a moment he shrugged, took a bite, and made ready to leave. Yes, Chell and Chae were very strange indeed.
They made six leagues that day by Isaac’s best guess, and near seven the following two, which brought the party to the foothills of the Delgon Mountain Range. The snow had been steadily decreasing as they travelled and spring approached, but the peaks were still wreathed in white. Tormell said that the range was covered in snow year round, but Isaac didn't believe him. How could it snow in summer?
He’d faced Saef Scarless the night before and had fared little better against the man than he’d done when fighting Gil. Something about the man’s savage attacks had been different than the first time they’d sparred. Saef had attacked mercilessly, driving Isaac across the small clearing, tripping him in the trees. It had taken everything he’d learned to keep the razor sharp blade at bay.
The constant training had set an ache deep in his bones and he wasn't sure he would make it to the top of the mountains without some serious rest. He’d had the second or third watch every night since they’d left Junhill Ride four weeks earlier, and the long marches coupled with the brutal training and sleepless nights were combining to take a serious toll.
After his run in with Chell, most of the band seemed to have warmed to him, obviously approving of his approach to dealing with the troublesome man. Talent had disapproved, but he would never condone throwing a blade at someone, warranted or not. The one time Isaac fought the man they’d sparred for the best part of an hour, Talent parrying his blows with ease but never striking back amid growing boos from the onlookers. Eventually, Dex had declared it a tie, but Isaac knew that Talent had the best of him. Dex hadn’t assigned Talent to spar with Isaac again.
“Let’s make camp here.” said Dex from the front of the band. “There’s enough light for another league or so, but it's all uphill, so let’s get a little extra food and rest and tackle the hills tomorrow at first light. Prepare a fire and then get ready, Isaac, you’ll be fighting Chell tonight.”
Chae laughed from somewhere behind him, a short raucous giggle. Chell seemed to have forgiven Isaac for the comments he’d never actually made, and yet there was still steel in the man’s eyes whenever Isaac looked at him.
Half an hour later the fire was roaring away and a brace of geese Chae had shot down earlier in the day was cooking nicely. Dex stopped Isaac from sitting. “You two might as well fight while the food cooks and get it over with.”
Isaac stood and pulled his sword free of its scabbard, adjusting the thick chain hanging around his neck as he moved clear of the fire out into the space between the river and the stand of trees to the north.
When he turned, limbering up his sore muscles, he was surprised to see Chell still sitting on a log by the fire. He turned to ask Dex what was happening. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chell’s hand flash out towards him.
He jumped clear of the spinning blade with a shout of protest, and saw that Chell had thrown again, the second blade on the tail of the first, aimed exactly where he had jumped.
The fat pommel of the spinning weapon slammed into Isaac’s chest right over his heart, knocking the wind out of his lungs nearly as efficiently as Rass’ boot had done three nights earlier.
“Dead!” proclaimed Chell, and with that he turned back to his whispered conversation with Chae.
“Horseshit! You hit me with the handle!”
“Do you want me to stick you next time?”
“You can’t have done that on purpose…” Isaac said, but he wasn't entirely sure about that.
“Check the first blade if you don't believe me.”
Isaac stooped to pick up the knife that had struck him and turned to go find the other in the dying light of the sun. The first blade was buried to the hilt in a tree only five paces distant, exactly in the centre of the trunk and at the precise height of Isaac’s heart. With a sigh he pulled the dagger free and returned to the ring around the fire, the smell of roasting goose causing his mouth to water.
Isaac handed the blades to Chell and mumbled, “The throw was true.”
“That it was.”
“I still want a rematch.”
“And you’ll have it!” boomed Dex. “But not tonight.”
Isaac opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it, took a seat between Saef and Talent, and set about sharpening his unused weapon.
After they’d eaten, Tormell stood and approached Gil. The great brute of a man sat separate from the rest of the warband, well clear of the blazing fire, gnawing on a goose leg. He looked up with a grunt.
Tormell said, “I wish you’d reconsider that chain, Master Gil.”
Gil said nothing, tearing another hunk of goose flesh free of the bone with his teeth, eyes gleaming in the firelight.
Tormell raised a hand, a thick chain of steel links held within. “As I explained when I hired this warband, I’ve done much research since my brother and I encountered this witch. Her magic will not work around items made of unnatural materials. I need you to wear this if we are to have any chance against her craft. It will be a difficult fight even without her being able to act against us directly. Her stickmen will require all of our effort.”
Gil still said nothing in reply, the bone stripped clean of the greasy meat. He tossed it aside and began to suck his fingers clean.
Tormell was clearly irritated by this and his voice rose in pitch slightly. “You understand, this woman is dangerous. She killed my brother as if it were nothing. She trapped me in a cage of thorns for weeks before I was able to break free. I know we were but cartographers in the wrong place at the wrong time, but even so, it’s best if you agree to wear the chain. I know it’s uncomfortable, but it’s better than death.”
Gil reached up to his neck and looped a thumb through a thick black iron chain already hanging about his neck. He pulled it in Tormell’s direction as if the chain were all the explanation required.
“Yes, I know you have your own chain, but I fear—”
“Gil’s grandfather kill witch. Wear this. Gil’s father kill witch. Wear this. Now Gil kill witch. He wear this.” He let the length of black chain fall back to his chest. Isaac was surprised by this. If he’d had to guess, he would have thought that Gil and Talent had shared the same opinion on the existence of witches. He’d thought it was perhaps the only thing the pair did agree on. Instead it seemed that Gil’s disdain at every mention of witchcraft stemmed from a belief in his lineage from a clan of witch slayers. Where Talent
bristled at the mere mention of witches, Gil, it seemed, scoffed at the threat they could possibly present.
“I understand, Master Gil, but my research suggests that that is simply not—”
“Gil. Wear. This! Kill witch.”
With a grunt Talent stood from beside Isaac and stalked off towards the darkening trees, muttering under his breath. Isaac heard ‘superstitious idiocy’ and ‘waste of time’ before he disappeared from sight beneath the thick canopy.
Gil turned away from Tormell and began to dig through his pack, clearly done with the conversation.
Tormell turned, defeat in his posture, and returned to his seat by the fire. He looked across at Dex. “I explained the importance of this when I hired your warband, for quite a hefty sum I might add. Here we are, a month later, only a week or so from our destination, and some of you still don't believe me.”
“I’d say most of us don't,” said Saef Scarless getting a laugh from Chell and Raceron.
“But… you paid up front, so we’re at your service,” said Dex, giving Saef a rough look. “Witch or not, we’re your team till the end. We’ll get the job done.” He turned. “You’ll stand the last watch tonight, Scarless. I’ll take first, and tell Talent that he’s got the middle one for storming off.”
Isaac didn't believe his ears. No watch tonight? Before Dex could realise his obvious mistake, Isaac unrolled his bedroll by the fire, climbed in, and was soon fast asleep and dreaming.
***
Isaac was hard at work in the High Horse Tavern, carrying pitchers and tankards to the patrons, cleaning spills, and generally doing everything Old Daeron didn't care to. His stained apron was getting threadbare from overuse and he’d soon need to buy a new one.
