Savants of Humanity (The Scholar's Legacy Book 2)

by Joshua Buller

  The excitement from our side could be felt in the air, but at the moment, I had more pressing concerns to worry about. I ignored the gypsies and Riders trying to get my attention as I pushed through the waning battle. There was one fight that meant more than all the others put together.

  And that fight was still raging in the eye of the battlefield.

  * * *

  Hawke and Uraj whirled around Othenidus, both of them coordinating their attacks to strike simultaneously. Their teamwork was impeccable, no movement wasted as they exploited every opening, never letting the Lord of Val'Hala have a moment of rest. Even with all the years I'd fought alongside Hawke, I didn't think I'd ever be able to reach that level of trust with him. Any lesser foe would have been overwhelmed immediately.

  If their attack was a storm, though, Othenidus' defense was a bastion of stone, unyielding to the rain of blows. His scimitar deflected each heavy blow from Uraj's hammer, turning it aside long enough to swat away the slashes and stabs Hawke tried to sneak in with his shorter sword. If one of them tried to get in closer, Othenidus would step in voluntarily and try to overpower them with his superior height and bulk.

  Uraj was strong, possibly stronger than any other human I'd met, but without his essence even he was having trouble controlling the weight of his hammer. He was clearly feeling the sting of Othenidus' power. And yet he managed time and again to swing the hefty weapon with enough force to shatter bone if Othenidus made a single misstep.

  Hawke, on the other hand, was more hampered by his weapon than anything. Sure, he was slower, but his movements still flowed with the grace and poise Sword Tempo offered. Without the usual reach of Symphony, however, he had to move closer to try and land blows.

  It was dangerous enough to come into Othenidus' reach, with his battle-honed skills and ridiculous strength. It was even worse that the short-sword was simply ineffective against the crazed lord's full plate. Hawke aimed for the joints of the armor, but Othenidus read his movements and was always able to subtly shift position so the blade would skirt off his armor.

  I wanted to throw Symphony to Hawke. I knew that if he was at his full power, he would make Othenidus look like a flailing child. It took every ounce of my willpower to hold back, knowing that what Hawke had told me was true. No amount of wishing would stop Othenidus' power; they would have to do that with what abilities they still had left.

  In a bold move, Hawke crouched low and swept in right next to Othenidus' legs. His sword lashed out, seeking the joint between his thigh and groin. Othenidus brought his sword down in both hands to stop the blade, and Uraj saw his opening. He jabbed the end of the hammer's handle into Othenidus' knee, making the warrior stumble off-balance. Uraj pulled the hammer back, preparing to land a decisive blow.

  Othenidus turned his stagger into a step, turning with the momentum he had been given. His scimitar blew away Hawke's sword, nearly making him lose his grip on it. Hawke managed to tumble away from the curved blade, but it kept going, heading straight for Uraj.

  At the last second, the Forge saw the attack and gripped the haft of his hammer with both hands to block. The weapons slammed together, the sheer power behind Othenidus' swing enough to dislodge the hammer from Uraj's grasp. The brass head rocked forward with the impact and smashed into Uraj's face with a sickening crunch. He collapsed next to his weapon, unmoving.

  A depraved sneer crossed Othenidus' face as he raised his sword to deliver the killing stroke. Before he could bring it to bear, Hawke was on him, driving the tip of his short-sword for the plate mail's shoulder joint. Othenidus lowered the scimitar long enough to push Hawke away with a shoulder, but Hawke spun around his back and landed a few nimble cuts on his flank. They carved shining lines along the armor, screeching each time. Othenidus turned on Hawke.

  “He's probably already dead. Let me just make sure; I'll be right with you,” said Othenidus. He sounded like he was enjoying himself. I wanted to retch.

  Hawke said nothing, throwing himself fully into his assault. Othenidus shifted his body with the experience of countless battles, parrying scores of blows with his blade or else letting them careen off his armor. Time and again, he would try to catch Hawke with a swing of his sword that would cleave my friend in two, or try to grab him and crush him the same way he did to Edge. Time and again, Hawke would just barely escape Othenidus' attempts, all the while keeping close enough to continue his barrage of attacks.

  A ring started to form around the fight, as gypsies and family members, some of them towing prisoners alongside, watched the two swordsmen in their dance. A few were close to Uraj, looking like they wanted to help, but the Forge was still inside Othenidus' circle of influence. Nobody looked willing to take the step into that territory, not when the one known as the Great had all the power in there. If he noticed, it would be asking for a swift death. I couldn't blame them.

  Ever so slowly, Hawke was leading Othenidus away from where Uraj still lay, drawing him in with the promise that he could deliver a killing blow if he edged just a bit closer. I couldn't expect the others to risk their lives, not after everything they had been through, but if I could just reach him, there was a chance I could wake him up. The two of them had a better chance than just Hawke. But if he were truly dead…

  There was a shout from outside the fight. One of the soldiers broke free from a group of family members and sprinted into the circle. He grabbed a fallen sword from the ground, running straight for Uraj as he brought the steel edge up.

  “FOR THE KINGDOM!” he cried.

  Some of the watchers twitched, torn in the split-second decision to try and help. All of the air went out of me, but my legs refused to move; I was as paralyzed with shock as they were. Even Hawke froze, and I screamed in my mind, knowing he was about to be cut down in his moment of hesitation.

  Othenidus shot forward, hand extended.

  The soldier gurgled as steel fingers tightened around his windpipe, cutting off his breath. The sword tumbled from his hand as he clawed at the armored grasp on instinct. With deliberate, painful steadiness, Othenidus lifted his subordinate into the air, leaving his feet dangling in a wild dance to break free. The soldier's face was turning blue, foam dribbling from the corners of his mouth. His eyes bulged, shiny with the tears streaking down his face as he pleaded silently with his liege.

  “What did I say? DID YOU NOT HEAR WHAT I SAID?” Othenidus bellowed. “THE OLD KINGS ARE MINE! DO YOU UNDERSTAND!?”

  The soldier did his best to nod, even as his face swelled and turned purple. His kicking was growing weak. Othenidus brought him close, still holding him suspended above the ground.

  “If you think I have time for subordinates who can't follow simple orders,” he said in a quiet voice that shook me more than his shouts, “then you have failed as a Val'Halan.”

  He could have broken the man's neck with a simple flick, like I had seen him do more than once already. Instead, he waited until the soldier's twitching had nearly stopped, and in that moment drove his scimitar straight through the man's gut. With that, he finally let go.

  The soldier fell prone, desperately gasping for air, each ragged exhale coming out as a horrid wheeze as he tried to scream. His attempts to clutch at the gaping hole and stem the flow of blood were futile; he was too weak and dizzy to manage. He stopped moving in seconds, but I felt each one tick by like minutes. I couldn't imagine what those few seconds felt like for him.

  Hawke had gone still. He watched the lifeless body of the soldier for a long while. Othenidus saw him and sneered.

  “That's the difference between you and me, Scholar,” he said. “We both want to save humanity from the demons, but I'm the one who understands it best. Humanity needs to be ruled by something. It's our nature. If there aren't boundaries, eventually we'll rip ourselves apart.”

  He nudged his former subordinate with a foot. “Hell, this battle is proof of that, if nothing else. A weak, scrawny bookworm like you could never have the strength to do what has to be done and f
ace the consequences. But I do. I can stop the demons from ever being a threat here ever again.”

  I waited to see how Hawke would react. I thought he might fly into a rage and attack head-on, or maybe argue with the megalomaniac. When he did move, I tensed, but he simply grabbed the hem of his blood-soaked shirt and peeled it off his back and over his head. His pale skin shone with sweat from the fight, his muscles taut with pain, perhaps anger. He proceeded to undo the sash on his kilt and pull that from around his waist, tossing it on the shirt in a pile. Finally, he kicked off his sandals, adding them to the heap and leaving him clad in nothing other than the thin woolen breeches he wore beneath the kilt and his glasses. Othenidus shook his head, looking befuddled.

  “You finally snap? What in the world are you doing?” he said. Hawke wasn't looking at him, but he answered.

  “Maybe you're right, Othenidus. Maybe there are more similarities between us than I'd like to admit. At the same time, though, there are a lot of differences. This scrawny body you mentioned, for one. I can't become any stronger than I am; my healing won't let me.”

  Hawke looked far from scrawny, but it was true that he looked petite next to the raw might Othenidus bore so easily. Even a glancing blow from the Great would do serious damage without Hawke's powers to protect him.

  He started walking forward, still talking, still staring at the bloody soldier. “I'll never command an army as large as yours. I probably couldn't if I wanted to. I will never be able to crush those who stand in my way like you can.”

  He kept advancing, his feet squelching in the red and brown slurry, leaving a trail of footprints. Othenidus seemed keen to take the challenge, and stood his ground. His scimitar stood ready in his grip, waiting for Hawke to come into reach. Hawke didn't slow, and he didn't speed up. He just kept marching forward.

  “There is one major difference between us, though. You were right about that.” Hawke lifted his eyes to lock with Othenidus'. He was just a few steps away. “I know when I can't do something on my own.”

  Othenidus spat. “Sentimental rubbish.”

  Hawke took another step, and the scimitar cleaved through the air, faster than I had seen Othenidus move before. It should have cut Hawke in two.

  With a flourish of my short-sword, Hawke knocked the blade just far enough off course to duck under it. He darted right next to the hulking soldier, his sword a mirage of slashes. Othenidus reached down to grab him, but just as quickly as he had snuck in he slipped away, adding a few more cuts to the ones he had just delivered.

  None of them fazed the Great, but before he could bring himself back on balance, Hawke darted back into the fray with a dozen attacks, then another half-dozen. He moved faster than he had earlier, and I thought maybe Othenidus' power was weakening. I still felt that void of power, though. It couldn't have been that.

  Othenidus' attacks grew more frenetic, his anger bubbling to the surface as snarls and growls. He swung the great sword in one hand and lashed out with his free hand to try and crush Hawke, but every time, he was able to just evade. He seemed to almost shrink as he found holes in Othenidus' attacks to slip through.

  Then it hit me; that was why he disrobed. He could move more nimbly without the weighty, flowing garb dragging at him. It also gave Othenidus less to potentially grab. He might have a chance, if he could avoid long enough for his sword to find one of those joints in the armor. He could still manage.

  But Hawke was tiring, and the Lord of Val'Hala seemed to have a limitless reserve of stamina. His attacks kept coming, each one as deadly as the last, and Hawke was shining with perspiration from the effort of dodging. Each strike seemed to miss by just a bit less, a few of them brushing close enough to leave red welts on Hawke's bare skin.

  Then the scimitar shot forward, too fast to follow. There was no way for Hawke to get out of the way in time. At the last instant, Hawke's sword snapped up and they crossed blades. As he fought to push away the killing edge, a massive hand crashed into his chest and flung him to the ground. Othenidus pounced on him, his blade pressing into Hawke's guard while his hand sought to crush my friend outright. Hawke fought to lift the hand pinning him, but it only budged the slightest bit. His face contorted as he used every ounce of his strength to force Othenidus back.

  “Give it up, you rat!” Othenidus said, grinning. “You can't overpower me! Or do you expect one of these other vermin to come to your rescue?” He raised his head just enough to sweep his eyes over the gathered crowd. They all flinched under the madness in his gaze, myself included. He wanted us to try. We might have overwhelmed him if we all went at once, but the first ones to go would surely die. No one was eager to be the first.

  “I-don't-need-them—” Hawke grunted.

  Othenidus pressed harder, and the tip of his scimitar dug forward into Hawke's shoulder, drawing a great deal of blood. Hawke groaned through clenched teeth, his arms shaking as he used the dregs of his energy to keep the sword from cutting any deeper.

  “After all that about knowing when you can't do it alone! I knew you were full of it!” Othenidus let loose an evil cackle. “Go on then, kill me yourself! Do it!”

  “I-don't-need-to-” Hawke grunted. “I-just-need-TO-WAIT-FOR-HIM-”

  “Wait for who?” For a second, Othenidus raised himself to look for Hawke's supposed savior. For a second, he relaxed his grip on Hawke.

  That gave Hawke enough time to literally tear himself out from underneath the scimitar and drive his short-sword into Othenidus' shoulder.

  The Lord of Val'Hala roared in pain. He stood, the blade still stuck in his left arm, blood trickling down its length. Hawke lay on the ground, a smile creeping across his tired face. He had wounded the Great at last, but he was clearly spent. His own shoulder bled even worse, and he had given everything for that one flesh wound. He had nothing left.

  Othenidus ripped the sword away, his expression filled with venom. He gave a cry of rage and brought up his own sword to impale Hawke.

  He never saw the brass hammer slam into his knee.

  Armor crunched and bone splintered, a grisly mix of sounds matched only by Othenidus' outcry as he crumpled under his own weight. He managed to keep to a knee, but he was blinded with pain, his head lolling around to find the source of his misery.

  If only he could have turned around, he might have had time to react to Uraj's fist. As it was, the gauntleted knuckles met his jaw with a jolt and the sound of breaking teeth. Othenidus swayed on one knee, as if unsure whether he wanted to fall. Gravity helped make the decision for him, and he toppled over with a clatter. He didn't stir.

  The void of his power withdrew in a quiet rush, its wielder no longer able to sustain it. Like a weight was lifted off the battlefield, our forces let loose a deafening cheer. Somehow, we'd managed the impossible. We had put down the mightiest military force in all of Astra.

  Without the intimidating barrier looming in front of me, I rushed forward to help Hawke. He sat up, clutching at the ragged, messy wound gouged into his shoulder. Uraj was still rubbing at the purple swelling on his face, but he offered a hand up to Hawke. My friend took it, smearing blood across Uraj's palm, and shakily hoisted himself to his feet.

  Even as I approached, I could feel their essence welling up, free from the constrictions of Othenidus. By the time I reached them, Hawke's shoulder was already knitting back together, and the bruising on Uraj's face had faded to red. It only took seconds more before neither looked any worse for wear, aside from the drying blood streaking Hawke's left side.

  “It's scary how quickly I came to rely on this power,” said Uraj.

  “You're telling me?” said Hawke, rubbing his unmarred shoulder tenderly. “I can't remember the last time I feared for my life like that.”

  Others tried to come forward and check on them or offer congratulations, but Uraj and Hawke alike shooed them away. They took the hint, hurrying off to help secure what remained of Val'Hala's army. Hawke retrieved his clothing while Uraj shouted for some chains to secure O
thenidus. After all we'd seen, I doubted anything less would be able to contain him.

  “I guess that means you aren't going to kill him,” I said. Uraj leveled his gaze with me.

  “No. Enough blood has been shed here today. There's a lot that needs to be done, now that Othenidus has been deposed. Before any of that, though, we need to make sure we follow proper form.”

  Hawke returned, fully dressed. He reached towards me, and I realized with a start that he was asking for Symphony back. With everything that happened, I had forgotten I was even holding it. The old lacquered sheath was still tightly gripped in my hands. I felt sheepish as I handed it back.

  “Thanks for keeping Symphony safe, Micasa,” Hawke said with a smile. I smiled back, trying my best to hide my guilt. I doubt he knew I used it, but that just made me feel bad about going behind his back about it. I hoped he would understand, when I told him. Eventually.

  Hawke sighed. “I guess we should get this farce over with.”

  “You're still technically an absent king, Hawke. You don't have to do this with me if you don't want to,” Uraj explained. Hawke gave him a weary look.

  “There's some unfinished business I need to attend to with him. And, whatever you call me, these are still my people, the people I'm trying to help. I need to do this.”

  “As you wish,” said Uraj flatly. “The trial will commence in thirty minutes.”

  * * *

  “Rise.”

  At Uraj's signal, Vance poured the bucket of water over Othenidus' head. The Lord of Val'Hala awoke, sputtering. His eyes were glazed as he struggled to figure out what was going on. He tried to stand, but his legs had been bound in thick chains, and a few brave Mad Riders held him down by his shoulders. The chains looped around to his arms, holding them behind his back. Blake stood behind him, the Twins poised to take his head off at a moment's notice.