A great calm came over his mind, the adrenaline high gave way to a higher need; the need for survival. All felt as one in the moment, and Ryland’s breathing slowed down to a steadier pace.
Where his caution was once in place the whole time and frazzled his nerves, a commitment to victory took over; he would not yield until he defeated Lyle or fell in combat. The idea of sustaining injuries no longer worried him, and the similar mindset of the battle against the tearwolves returned to him again.
Ryland walked forth, buckler and axe at his sides, and squarely faced down Lyle with his approach. Lyle felt his demeanor shift, his presence grow more hostile, and hesitated to attack. That is, until the young man was in his range.
Lyle went back to a dazzling display of knife play, with tosses and spins, juggles and feints, but Ryland simply held his buckler up and backshuffled each attack. Lyle then seized his moment and pressed hard with his assault, then stabbed out with his right arm; what happened next shattered the thief’s offense.
Ryland suddenly sprung forth; instead of dodging like any normal being would do in a survival situation, he grabbed Lyle’s arm by the wrist and guided the stab inward and felt the sting of the knife again as he yanked Lyle forward.
Lyle was off-balanced and felt fear shoot through his body, for Ryland had surprised him as he took the hit and used his own momentum against him.
Ryland roared in fury from the attack and as he yanked Lyle forward, swung the flat of his axe with all his might. Lyle’s arm was locked in Ryland’s grip with nowhere to go, and took the brunt of Ryland’s attack head on, as the flat of Ryland’s axe smashed into Lyle’s temple.
Lyle was stunned on his feet from the blow as Ryland swung him around to his left, released Lyle’s arm, continued his spin, and came around with a harsh backswing of his buckler. The small shield directly hit Lyle in his face, as blood gushed out from his nose.
Ryland then flipped the grip of axe, ducked low, and sprang up from his feet with the flat side of the axe head once again the lead of his attack. The upward swing cracked Lyle on the chin and knocked him off his feet, losing his knives in the process, and he landed sprawled out on his back, bloody and motionless.
Ryland approached and put a boot on Lyle’s chest, with his axe pointed to his neck if he were to try anything. Lyle made no movement as his breathing steadied, and clearly was unconscious as his head lazed around. Satisfied with the result, Ryland backed away and visibly relaxed his posture.
“Lyle is defeated; Ryland of Stonetowne is the victor!” Torga called out, which was followed by a loud series of cheers from the villagers.
Even Gerald, who opposed the jarl, had a smile on his face from the fight, and called out to Ryland, “That was a grand battle! You have proven yourself a fine warrior! My respect goes to you!”
Ryland nodded back at Gerald with a grunt, more focused on catching his breath as he rejoined Leila and Kaito while the guards collected Lyle and bound him up in rope. They then took him away to where the jarldom kept people locked up near the storehouses.
“Ryland, that was a fantastic show of skill out there,” Torga said with an eager grin, his green eyes full of excitement. “You’ve once again proven yourself a priceless ally to the jarldom. I’ll take things from here.”
“Can you fight in your condition?” Ryland asked, as he tore a piece of his sleeve off to hold to the open wound at his ribs.
“I have no choice. However, I have something up my sleeve that may be a longshot but could pay off if it works. Leave the rest to me.”
Torga and Gerald went to enter the arena as Leila and Kaito approached Ryland.
“That pressure point technique worked, Kaito. You saved my ass with your battle knowledge again,” Ryland thanked the sanken master with a smile as they bumped fists.
“Friends help friends grow stronger, right?” Kaito replied in earnest.
“Ryland, you’re hurt,” Leila interjected as she gazed at the blood around his ribs.
“A small cut, nothing to worry about,” Ryland said as he lifted the cloth and inspected the wound.
“A small cut? That laceration? That’s bad!” Leila said. “At least let me help properly bandage it.”
“That would actually be nice,” Ryland grunted with some effort as he sat down. “It is bleeding quite a bit.”
Leila reached into her belt pouch and pulled out a roll of cloth bandages, and quickly went to work wrapping them around Ryland’s torso. She gained more insight as to why the young man was so strong; his torso was taught and full of muscle, no doubt built through years of hard work, fighting, and smithing like he had told her.
“You seem pretty knowledgeable in the realm of healing,” Ryland noted.
“My mother and grandmother were both skilled at it and left a book on how to do so. I followed in their steps and learned from my grandmother for the first twelve years of my life,” Leila answered.
“Do we have any more of the bloodberries from the IHB?” Ryland asked Kaito.
Kaito reached into his pack and pulled out three bright red berries, with white swirls on them, and handed one to Ryland. Ryland tossed the fruit into his mouth and bit down, as the tart flavor of the juice gushed in his mouth. Ryland found the berries to be akin to that of raspberries and enjoyed the flavor; Head Registrar Geno of the IHB had found Ryland’s like for the healing berries amusing since most hunters didn’t care for the taste.
The berries were an exotic strain, one that the IHB grew much of and gave to hunters, as well as sold to major traders. Bloodberry juice functioned almost like blood itself, for it had extra oxygen and a metabolic primer that, when ingested, helped the body with the recovery process at a sped-up rate.
Ryland swallowed the fruit and exhaled, then grinned and said, “That will hold me until dinner, I suppose.”
Kaito chuckled at the remark, and Leila finished bandaging Ryland. She then asked, “What kind of fruit was that? It looked strange.”
“Bloodberry, courtesy of the IHB,” Kaito explained. “It’s a natural fruit that the IHB grows and gives its hunters to aid with healing in the field. It won’t magically make Ryland’s wound go away, but it will speed up the recovery process.”
“That’s incredible…just what does the IHB have access to?” Leila asked, astounded for the first time at the organization instead of her usual disdain for it.
“Untold amounts. The IHB, along with the World Guard, is an entity that reaches well into the Halthian Rim. We’re still learning as we go, too,” Kaito explained.
The trio then heard a horn blow and turned to see Torga and Gerald in the arena, ready to face off against one another.
“Open challenge for the jarldom will now commence,” Olvir called out and announced among the crowd that had fallen silent. “Both combatants, do you have the weapons you need for battle?”
Torga nodded, with his greataxe brandished. Gerald also nodded in kind, his shield in hand with his blade still at his hip. He then grabbed the hilt, and drew it out, as the ring of steel resounded in the air. His sword was much like the make of the old Hjaal warriors, with a straight blade, a modest guard, and solid hilt. The guard had a runic inscription on it, and all that knew their weaponry saw Gerald had a masterfully crafted blade.
“Very well. Combat will ensue until one cannot fight anymore, yields, or dies. Do you either have any words before we begin?” Olvir asked.
The trio looked on, and were concerned for Torga, as his wounds were still fresh and weighed heavily on him. It was not going to be an easy fight.
Chapter XIV: The Honor of Warriors
“I would like to make some kind words towards my jarl,” Erik proclaimed, which drew the ire of the villagers. He stepped forward and cleared his throat, then said, “Jarl Torga is a fine man who I know has prevailed time and time again, against great odds. Gerald, whose reputation also precedes him, has great power of his own right. Our jarl will have one of the finest challenges before him. Let us stand together and
watch this spectacle!”
Gerald’s men gave a few cheers, while the villagers all looked at Erik in spite.
Isolda pulled Erik close and whispered to him, “Perhaps you should be quiet until the battle finishes. The villagers are none too pleased with you here.”
Erik looked at the villagers and saw they held admiration and support for Torga, far more than they showed in months.
“Why are they still on his side?” Erik said. “I was sure they despised him. And the tearwolves have already been dealt with, apparently? This doesn’t bode well for us. I’ll leave it to the mercenaries on their way from one of the islands I hired to arrive. They should be here at any time now.”
The roar of villagers and Gerald’s men tore Erik and Isolda’s attention away from each other and to the battle in the arena as Torga and Gerald faced off.
Both men slowly circled each other, to better size one another up. Gerald was a larger man than most, but so was Torga. As the two closed the gap between one another, Torga took a light swing of his greataxe and it banged off of Gerald’s shield.
“Not bad. But I know you can swing with more force than that, Torga!” Gerald retorted.
Torga held his greataxe sideways as Gerald swung his shield out to bash and blocked the blow. The jarl staggered back and winced as pain shot through his side.
“Come now, that little swat shouldn’t be that bad!” Gerald called out. “I know you’re stronger than that.”
“That little love tap? I was just giggling at how light that shield must be,” Torga jested back with a grin on his face.
The two approached one another again and Torga took a much harder swing, one with intent and force behind it and Gerald put up his shield to catch the blow. The force of Torga’s greataxe knocked Gerald’s shield down, which staggered the man for a second.
“That was much better! I felt that one in my arm; the title of ‘Axe-Smasher’ is well-earned!” Gerald called out. He then rushed Torga with an attack of his own and shoved the boss of his shield forward.
Torga met it in kind with a wind up and a sideways chop, much like a lumberjack would fell a tree. The greataxe smashed into the wood and splintered a few pieces off from Gerald’s shield before the challenger from Falmod returned with a slice to the right.
Torga jumped back and loaded another swing at his shoulders, then let it strike the shield boss with unabated fury.
The loud clang of metal on metal pierced the air as Gerald grunted and grabbed his shield arm. Torga’s blow had enough impact to jar the mighty warrior’s arm, and it visibly showed.
Meanwhile, Torga’s breathing had grown labored, and he fought off the pain that throbbed at his ribs and leg, which prompted Gerald to push forward in a desperate opening. He bashed his shield as Torga blocked with his prized weapon, the blow enough to knock him backwards off his feet.
Gerald looked at Torga with disgust and bellowed in sudden outrage, “Who in the world is this that I face before me?! Have you grown so weak that you barely can defend yourself?! This isn’t the Jarl Torga I know! It’s no surprise you can’t defend your own village!”
Torga coughed as he painfully rose to his feet and leaned on his greataxe to help prop him up.
“What a sorry excuse for a jarl! Have you no shame?!”
From the edge of the arena, Leila shouted back, “THAT’S ENOUGH, GERALD!!! YOU WILL DISGRACE MY FAMILY NO LONGER!!!”
Gerald turned to glance over at Leila as Torga coughed, “Enough, daughter! This is between he and I!”
“No! I’ve had enough with your name and reputation being sullied! The village has been sieged because of your second, his friend, and your associate, Erik! We have the evidence to prove it, too! There was a tearwolf attack yesterday during the hunt where the alpha injured him!”
Gerald paused, then retorted, “Convenient lies to cover for your father now! Torga, get a grip on your daughter already!”
“She tells the truth!” Gida cried out as Gerald looked towards the little girl. “Leila and Jarl Torga are not liars! They have helped us!”
Gerald saw Djorn and a couple guards pull a stack of tearwolf bodies on a sled into view, which gave the man some pause. He assessed what he saw before his eyes, then looked back to Torga.
“…Jarl Torga, is this true?” Gerald asked, his tone more even.
The horn of the gates sounded again, which was followed by group of guards that surrounded three men.
“What is it now?” Gerald said, but froze when he saw who was with the guards, and when some of them bore the white and red colors of Falmod.
“Who are they?” Ryland asked, as Leila’s eyes widened.
“That’s…the jarl of Falmod and the jarl of Galnir…with High Jarl Ostein,” Leila choked back, which gave all in the village cause to watch.
One man was a short and stocky dwarf, with a shaved head and silver beard. His light blue eyes rested under a furrowed brow and took in the view of the arena before him. The second was a man with a clean-shaven face, long red curly hair, pale skin, and brown eyes. In between them, a man with olive skin, long silver hair, brown eyes, and a black and gray beard, with a crown atop of his head.
“Gerald!” the red-haired man cried out. “What in Manus’s crown are you doing?!”
“Jarl Targus…I am challenging Jarl Torga,” Gerald replied uneasily.
“In his current condition and with saboteurs at his throat? As well as his village struggling?” the dwarven jarl, Argor boomed in his thick Hjaal accent. “And you dare accuse him of no honor?!”
High Jarl Ostein held a hand up and said, “Gerald, you seem to be misled. We have convened from our meetings with Jarl Torga, and there is enough evidence to prove that his own advisors, Erik and Isolda, along with the ones of Lyle and Boswick have indeed attempted to siege and dethrone him via conspiracy. While we are each responsible for maintaining our own strength as different jarldoms, we each have a duty to be strong as a collective for our great land of Hjaalren. This we must never forget.”
Gerald gave pause, then turned to face Torga, who was visibly struggling to stand on his feet.
“…was the tale of the tearwolves true?” he asked with more understanding. Gerald badly wanted to resume their fight, but he had to know the truth first as well.
Torga sighed, then lifted up his shirt to reveal the bites and claw marks on his ribs that had started bleeding again, which made Gerald’s eyes widen at such a sight.
“So, it’s true…then you’ve been fighting injured this whole time?! But…why?!” Gerald asked, flabbergasted.
Torga coughed and replied, “Because…my jarldom is at stake, my people that I love dearly…as well as my honor. And despite my injuries, while I couldn’t bear the idea of losing my jarldom…but I especially couldn’t stand losing my honor and integrity when all goes wrong.”
Gerald’s lips pursed as his arms went slack by his side. He looked to the faces of the villagers all around as their eyes held nothing but concern, and admiration for their jarl once again, which shattered all belief that Gerald held of being the one to save Hemmigatr from Torga.
All in attendance watched with bated breaths as Gerald turned to face Torga, then slowly walked towards the jarl, his shield and sword by his sides. Torga remained on his guard, ready for anything, until Gerald stopped no more than five feet in front of him. Suddenly, Gerald threw both sword and shield to the ground, the armaments clattering on the ground. Gerald sniffed as his eyes were wet and held out his arms again.
“Honorable Jarl Torga,” Gerald spoke with some effort through the lump in his throat, “I cannot continue this battle in good faith. I would sully my honor thrice over to Jarl Targus and the people of Falmod, as well as my ancestors. This is not the old way of our people, to fight a man who had traitors at his neck for months, and to stand injured before another warrior. No, you have won this fight with no doubt. I would not have such a hollow victory in taking you on in your current condition.”
Gera
ld kneeled down, bowed his head, then added solemnly, “You may have my head for even daring to undertake such a challenge in a way like this.”
The jarls and high jarl watched with stoic faces and knew that such a surrender was to put one’s character before their own life, which revealed that Gerald was indeed of honest mettle to the end, despite his eagerness for power.
Gerald heard footsteps approach him as his gaze stayed on the ground and saw the boots of Torga before him. He held his breath and awaited the final blow to strike the back of his neck and had made his peace with death. After a few seconds, the greataxe of the jarl fell beside the two of them. Gerald exhaled, and slowly looked above to see the smile of Torga.
“Arise, Gerald Thick-Hair,” Torga calmly spoke, to which Gerald did. Torga clapped a hand on the man’s large shoulder and continued, “I would not so wastefully take the life of one of Falmod’s warriors, especially one so integrious as you. You were misled by Erik, as were we all. We can have a friendly rematch another time, if that suits you. Until then, Falmod would be better with one so strong as you still among the living.” He then held his arm out with an open palm.
Gerald sniffled, then eagerly clasped forearms with the jarl, then shouted out, “Jarl Torga, I will not waste or shame your kindness! If anything, I will remain a steadfast friend of Falmod to the Hemmigatr jarldom from here on out!”
The villagers and Gerald’s men all erupted into cheers and cries of joy as the jarls and high jarl watched with smiles and tears of admiration on their faces and knew that the honor of their people had prevailed in such a scenario.
Leila hurriedly entered the arena and ran to her father, then put an arm around his back and said with a tear in her own eye, “Come now, let us get you back to the longhouse so you may rest. You’ve done enough.”
The Winter's Hunt Page 12