Immortal Swordslinger 1

by Dante King

  “You’re a funny-looking bastard, ain’t you?” one of the orcs said. He stood in the middle of the road and blocked my way. The others spread out to either side and circled around until they had me surrounded.

  “I’ve certainly made some women smile, but not because I’m funny-looking,” I said. “And you’re the one that looks like more of a joke to me.”

  I hadn’t planned to say it, but I wasn’t surprised to hear my mouth getting away from me. I’d always hated bullies, and these creatures had the look of playground thugs about them. It wasn’t their faces, though those jaws certainly gave them an aggressive look. It wasn’t the muscles bulging beneath their tunics or the crude, angular tattoos on their upper arms either. It was the way they held themselves, with their arms hanging loose and walking with a swagger that said they did all their thinking with their fists.

  The lead orc’s eyes narrowed. “Where you from?”

  “Nowhere you’ve heard of,” I said. I let my own arms hang loose as my fingers stretched and warmed up for action. I wouldn’t start a fight, but if one came, then I was going to make damn sure I would be the one to end it.

  “You saying I’m too stupid to have heard of it?” the orc asked.

  “Not at all. It’s just a long way away.”

  “And you think I’m some country bumpkin who never left the valley I was born in?”

  “Why would you? They say travel broadens the mind, but yours seems broad enough already.” Taunting the creature might have been a bad idea, but I’d already died once, and my patience for random attackers was growing thin.

  “I’ve been out of this valley.” The orc continued from his previous thought as if I’d never even spoken. “Fought for the clans against Takarb the Lady of Pain. Marched all the way to Rotten Falls and back with a naginata in my hand. I bloodied its blade on a dozen of the Screaming Throng. Earned me these.”

  He pulled back his upper lip to reveal gold hoops running through holes drilled in several of his teeth. As he leaned forward, a wash of hot, rancid breath hit me straight in the face. I took a step back and bumped into one of the other orcs.

  “Well?” The lead orc bore his teeth again. “What do you think?”

  “I think you should try eating less meat.” I waved a hand in front of my face. “You smell like you died a week ago, and the undertaker hasn’t turned up.”

  “That’s it, human.” The orc wound back his fist. “It’s on.”

  Thickly muscled green arms reached around me from behind and tried to pin my arms to my chest. If the orcs had hoped to surprise me, they’d failed badly. I’d seen this move coming, even been counting on it. I grabbed one of the arms with both hands, dropped my left hip, and bent forward, heaving as I did so. Just as the orc’s weight was sliding over my back, I jerked my hip up before flipping my opponent right over my head and into the lead orc.

  As the two orcs tumbled in the dirt, the other two rushed at me from either side. A fist flew at my face, but I sidestepped just before the punch landed and let it sail past. The orc wasn’t quite stupid enough to punch his friend, but he was stupid enough to leave his arm out for a moment. I grabbed hold of the limb and twisted as I stepped out from between my opponents. The orc grunted as I dragged him around, spun in behind his back, and yanked the arm up. It wasn’t even a matter of strength, just pressure in the right place. The orc howled in pain as his shoulder dislocated with a popping noise. I pushed him aside, and he staggered away, clutching his injured arm.

  The first two orcs were back on their feet, making it three to deal with.

  Fighting orcs in the ancient Far East? It was my kind of reincarnation.

  “I’m going to mess you up so bad,” the lead orc threatened, “your own mother won’t recognize you.”

  “I’m sure your mother will still welcome me with open legs,” I replied.

  The lead orc rushed at me, and I waited until the last moment to step aside with one leg extended. The orc didn’t see my leg, and he went sprawling in the dirt.

  I decided it was time to stop playing games, so I jumped at the nearest orc and delivered a series of sharp jabs. The orc raised his arms and blocked every other blow, but half of them still got through, and that was enough. My opponent staggered backward, and blood ran from his nose while the flesh swelled around his right eye.

  The orc tried to counter-attack by lunging at me with a gnarled fist. I turned the blow aside with the flat of my hand and swept inside the orc’s guard. My elbow swung into his chest, and there was a crack of breaking ribs. The orc stumbled back while clutching his chest and whimpering for mercy.

  The other orc crashed into me before he knocked me to the ground with a fierce two-handed shove. I rolled as I hit the dirt and then flipped forward in time to avoid being stamped on. I twisted around and sprang to my feet, fists raised.

  The orc stared at me in amazement. “Gothrog,” he said to the lead orc, “I think the human’s an Augmenter.”

  Gothrog was getting to his feet, his face covered in dirt and grazes. “So he knows how to fight. That don’t mean he’s magic, you idiot.”

  The two orcs advanced on me like walking twin mountains.

  “Somebody said I was an Augmenter,” I said. “What do you think that means?”

  “Ha bloody ha,” Gothrog said. “Make out the orcs are stupid again.”

  I didn’t wait for the orcs to come to me. I lunged forward and put an enemy off-balance with a series of punches, then swung my leg around in a body kick. As my foot slammed into the orc’s stomach, the creature grunted, folded over, and landed in in the fetal position.

  At last, it was just me and Gothrog. The orc lunged at me, hands outstretched, trying to grab me around the throat. I slid my arms up in between my opponent’s, twisted them around, and grabbed both of his forearms. I yanked him down until his face was at waist height, then slammed my own knee up. Cartilage crunched beneath the blow, and when I let go, the big orc fell to the ground. Blood ran through his fingers as he clutched his broken nose.

  “Any of you want more?” I asked, looking around at them.

  They shook their heads, apart from Gothrog who just looked down into the dirt, his face red with fury.

  “I’ll be going, then,” I said. “Have a nice day.”

  I left the groaning orcs to pick themselves out of the dirt and quickly scanned the nearby area for any sign of the fire-breathing sword and the time-traveling orb. They’d disappeared into thin air the moment I’d awoken, and there was no sign of either. I didn’t want to wait for the orcs to bring backup, so I hurried down the road.

  After my fight with the green-skinned orcs, I had even more food for thought. I didn’t know a lot about ancient Asia, but I knew it hadn’t contained orcs, on account of them not existing. So, how come I’d just been ambushed by a group of them?

  I’d assumed that the orb had transported me through time because that was what I’d seen it do before. But what if time travel was just one of its features? What if it could transport a person in other ways as well? Maybe, instead of being flung into the past, I’d been flung into an alternate world altogether, one with magical swords, orcs, and who knew what else. If anybody had told me 12 hours ago that such a place existed, I wouldn’t have believed them. But given the evidence, what other explanation could possibly make sense?

  I was halfway to the city before I realized the other oddity of the situation. The orcs had understood what I was saying and I’d understood them. Either they spoke modern English on this other world or some other power was letting me communicate.

  It was a strange situation, but all I could do was try my best to learn about this place, learn the skills I needed to get by, and seek a way home with as much knowledge as I could gather. Running Blade Security had set me on the course that sent me here. Whether or not they’d ever know what was happening, they were still my employers, and this might be a chance to bring them something of real, surprising value.

  At last, the dirt t
rack reached the edge of the city. Without knowing how people would react to me, I decided I should observe first and learn a little about this place before I spoke to anyone.

  At the edge of the city were crude huts, tiny, ramshackle things thrown together out of bundles of reeds and mismatched planks. Dirty, hungry-looking people roamed between them while watching me warily.

  Past those slums was a roadside tower. Its bottom two floors were made of gray stone, the upper reaches of wood painted black with red trim. Armed men stood on its battlements and at its gates, some of them carrying polearms with long, curved blades, the others bows and arrows. Their armor was made of small, lacquered plates connected by twisted strips of coarse cloth and their helmets were wide cones of treated bamboo.

  Beyond the guard tower stood more buildings in a similar style, all in the same black and red color scheme. The inhabitants couldn’t keep their eyes off me as I passed, and I wondered if I should have done more to blend in. My simple jeans and hoody weren’t all that outlandish, but they definitely didn’t fit in here, even covered in dust and spattered with orc blood from the fight. I’d need to find some new threads at some point if I wanted to attract less attention.

  I reached a large building with a square courtyard out front. Here, rows of children stood together, all dressed in loose-fitting black outfits. They ranged in age from their late teens down to boys and girls of six years old, mixed in together with no apparent pattern.

  As I skirted the edge of the square, the children went through a series of movements, led by a woman on the building’s long balcony. First, they moved their arms down and extended their right legs, taking on something like the basketball triple threat position. Then, their arms rose, palms facing the ground, and their rear legs moved forward. They swung around, left leg swinging up, all acting in unison as if it were a military drill.

  One of the smaller children wobbled and fell. An adult hurried over, and I expected him to help the kid up. Instead, the older man berated the child, shouting at him for being useless until the poor kid was back on his feet. Further down the line, another instructor was kicking at children’s legs, seeing if they had the balance to withstand him, then haranguing those who didn’t.

  Not all the children in the courtyard were taking part in the exercise. Around the edges, some stood or sat in the dirt, watching what was happening. They didn’t have the matching black outfits of the participants and both their clothes and faces were grubbier, their hair bedraggled. I wondered if these were of a lower class, excluded from the privilege of martial arts training. But then, I looked up and saw other watchers on the balconies of tall buildings, among them children in finely embroidered robes, their hair tied neatly back. I figured the opportunity to learn martial arts was a privilege even among this culture’s upper echelons.

  “Enough!” a voice bellowed.

  All across the square, the children froze. Even the watchers stiffened, their eyes drawn toward the instructor’s balcony. Passersby stopped in their tracks, and I decided it was best to do the same.

  A man emerged from the corner of the balcony. He was in his late 40s, with gray hair flecking his hair and beard. His long, green robes were embroidered with a red eagle. Hands clasped behind his back, he looked across the crowd. “Children of Clan Wysaro, do you know the first step on the road to greatness?” he called out in a commanding voice.

  “Yes, Lord Wysaro,” they replied as one.

  “No!” Lord Wysaro slammed his hand against the railing, and the sound echoed around the silent square. “If you did, you would not fail your masters over and over again.

  “The first step on the road to greatness is that of Augmentation. You must not just follow its first forms; you must master them before you reach adulthood. Without that, you will never be accepted into a guild. Without that, you will never learn to enhance your Vigor. Without that, you will never control the arcane skills and martial techniques.”

  His gaze drifted across the crowd before settling on a group near the back. These were the oldest of the group, all in their late teens or early 20s. Among them was a young man with delicate features framed by long bangs, the rest of his hair bound in a tight bun. His eyes were narrowed, his expression intense, as if he were stifling some deep disquiet.

  “You are the children of Clan Wysaro,” Lord Wysaro continued, still looking at the young man. “Your clan expects only the best of you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Lord Wysaro!” they shouted in unison.

  As the students returned to their practice, I walked deeper into the city. The color schemes of the houses changed from one neighborhood to the next, and there were often guard towers at the places where the different areas met. I wondered if these were the territories of clans, like the Wysaro I had seen training together, or if there were other divisions at play. One thing was clear—this was not a city at peace with itself.

  Alone and lost, I figured I’d start looking for places of interest. Driven by instinct rather than design, I found myself at a great crossroads near the river, where a bridge of pale stone stretched out across the fast-flowing water. The place was bustling with people, from merchants leading donkeys and driving waggons to monastic-looking figures in blue robes with shaved heads. Here, signs pointed to different parts of the city, directing travelers to their destinations.

  Looking up at one of the signs, I saw symbols both similar to and different from those in the Himalayan temple. To my surprise, I realized that I understood what they meant. Still acting on instinct, I decided to follow the road to the Ember Cavern.

  The road took me out of the crowded heart of the city toward a less intensely occupied area of large, low, pale houses in the shadow of the mountain. As I made my way up the street, I was surprised to find a locked gate and half a dozen armed guards blocking the way.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” one of the guards asked, glaring at me.

  “To see the Ember Cavern,” I replied.

  “Yeah, right.” The guard looked me up and down. “Dressed like that, I reckon you belong at the Unwashed Temple.”

  The rest of the guards laughed, and he pointed along the foothills of the mountain.

  Again with the bullies. But it was one thing to fight rogues on the road, quite another to fight guards in a crowded city.

  “Thank you.” I bowed my head.

  I clenched my jaw after I turned in the direction the guard had pointed. The guards laughed some more, and my nails bit into my palms as I clenched my fists. Why did I bow to that idiot? It had been a reflex, and now, I was regretting it. Surely, he wouldn’t have attacked me if I’d failed to give him a show of respect, but maybe it had been wiser to do so.

  I walked down a long street until the houses ended amid increasingly steep hills and rocky outcrops. There, the peak of a curved roof protruded from the landscape of rocks and trees.

  A roof just like the Himalayan temple back on Earth.

  Chapter Three

  My feet were filthy and aching from walking barefoot for miles along dirt streets and rock-strewn tracks, but I didn’t care. The sight of something familiar, even something as strange as the temple, lifted my spirits. I was still confused about where I was and uncertain about what the future held, but now, I had something to anchor my thoughts, some direction to head in.

  I quickened my pace and headed along the road toward the edge of town. The city around me was full of wonders, from the spectacular houses with their ornately carved pillars to the market stalls I’d seen down by the bridge, full of exotic fruits and vegetables, run by men and women in bright, flowing robes. The exotic could be bewildering when there was nothing familiar to tie it to. I needed somewhere to rest and regroup, to muster my thoughts, and where better than a place that I’d been to in my own world?

  As I strode up the street, out past the houses and up a winding path between rocky outcrops, I realized that there was more than a desire for calm pushing me on. If that temple existed in both wo
rlds, then maybe it would give me a way to cross back. Perhaps it held its own orb, able to take me back to the place where all of this had started. This was my best hope of making it back to reality.

  No, not to reality. The dirt between my toes and the stains on my hoody told me that this place was as real as any I’d ever been to. Perhaps back to a different reality—one with an Ethan-shaped hole in it.

  The trail became steeper as it ascended, twisting and turning through the rocks. I was starting to flag, the heat of the day getting to me. The last thing I’d eaten had been breakfast, an hour before I’d set out on the helicopter flight to the Russian base. Since then, I’d been through two fights, a chase, and miles of walking. Hours had passed, half a day at least. My stomach was gnawing at itself and I wished I’d taken the time to pick up food while I was in town.

  Except that I had no local currency, nothing to trade apart from the clothes on my back, and I was damned if I was going to become a thief just because I was hungry. I might be in a different world, but I was still the same person. No one could take that from me.

  At the top of the path, the temple gates stood open. I’d expected the temple to look newer here, in a world where people still used ancient tools and architectural styles. Instead, it looked even more worn down by the years. Stones had fallen from the tops of the walls and lay scattered at their feet. Loose tiles sat askew on the rooftops, threatening to slide away at any moment. Paint peeled from the beams. Dirt and lichen mottled the gateposts.

  A man stood in the gateway while sweeping dirt from the flagstones with a frayed broom. He was hunched over by age, and long white hair fell past his wizened face. His robes were frayed, white cloth turning to gray from stains around the edges, bound around the waist with a strip of faded red silk.

  “You did well fighting those orcs.” The man’s voice rattled like dice in a cup. “Out on the road.”