by Robert Day
Khalan had wandered off after the meal, and Valdieron sensed a silent tension between the two brothers, though they did not speak harshly to each other that Valdieron had heard, apart from a few terse remarks or questions. He could be seen conversing with the other guards, who were seated off to one side around a smaller fire, talking in hushed tones, while three of the guards sat silent vigils around the perimeter of the camp.
Dhalan looked up with a dreamy expression as Valdieron finished, and raised his weapon to peer along its gleaming edge, searching for blemishes in the razor fine metal. “I would give five of my horses to have seen your battle with Javin. Was he as good as is rumored?”
Valdieron shrugged almost indifferently. “I had not heard of him before the fight, so I cannot tell, but he was indeed a superb swordsman.” Valdieron had recalled the fight over in his mind many times since the tournament, using it to better his technique and style. “I know I was a little lucky to beat him. He was the better swordsman, as I do not often have occasion to use two weapons.”
“But that makes your feat even more amazing, does it not?” asked Dhalan with an excited hiss. “That you could match his flying sabers; I would have loved to see his face after the battle!”
Valdieron could well remember the deep look of crushing devastation on Javin's face after he submitted, but the obviously proud warrior had done so without anger or bitterness at the loss, which had touched Valdieron at the time.
“What was your birthplace like, Valdieron?”
The suddenness of the question and its unexpected turn made Valdieron give pause as he pondered the question, wondering at Dhalan's reasoning behind asking it. “It was is a beautiful valley, set at the base of a ring of mountains, with snow-capped peaks visible in the distance through most of the year. The weather is pleasant, and the land beautiful.” He felt a tinge of sadness at the sudden memories and winced wistfully, knowing he would never be able to return to that quiet and uncaring lifestyle. It was a thing of memories, kept locked in his mind and brought forth on occasion to keep them from fading.
“I would like to visit these distant lands one day. I have scarcely been beyond Darishi, save a trip or two into Zarn, but even those were enough to give me wonder at what lies beyond the horizon.” The pensive young Darishi sighed then, almost despairingly. “At times, I wish I could take my horse and ride off, following a straight course to see where it would take me, every new day bringing a different place. I suppose that sounds stupid.”
Wondering whether the words were rhetorical, Valdieron none the less nodded empathically. He also had wished for such a freedom, to roam and be free, like the wind, searching out the distant lands and farthest shores. As a child he had dreamed a lot, alone with his imagination in the woods. They were only dreams, he knew, but everybody had to have their dreams, else what perspective did everyday life have.
He returned his attention to Dhalan, who was speaking of the horses of Tyr, asking if they were all of the same quality of Shakk.
“Shakk is one of a kind. My father told me he was special when he was born, too fine to sell and too good to use on the farm, so he gave him to me as a gift.”
Dhalan nodded understanding, his dark eyes resting on the sorrel stallion that slept nearby. “He would have bred a strong line, if your father had the opportunity. I think he has some of the same bloodline as our own horses. Note the muscled litheness and thick forelegs, bred for the harsher conditions but retaining speed. Strength and endurance: the perfect match when bred correctly.”
Valdieron was able to see the matching traits, although Shakk was slightly more muscled than the southern horses. Valdieron remembered Shakk's sire, an aging Stallion of similar color and appearance, though tinged with grey. He had been for the most part wild, locked in a pasture by himself for his protection, or at least that of the other stallions. Garrik had explained once that it was due to his parentage, a wild stallion and an aloof grey mare, though he had spoken nothing else of it, despite Valdieron's queries. The old stallion had died before Shakk's birth, which had saddened Valdieron as even the wild beast had quieted enough for him to brush it occasionally. He would often sneak away when his father was busy, as Garrik would not allow him near the animal unless it was tethered and secured, but Valdieron had found such treatment unfair and cruel on the spirited animal.
Movement from Kaz at his feet caught Valdieron's eye as the big cat spun his head around to peer into the darkness, his ears pricked and twitching as if catching something. It was not unusual for the cat to do this, his natural predatory instincts ever alert for small prey, but when he began to growl deep in his throat - a wary, uncertain sound, Valdieron suddenly became curious. Looking around, he saw the other guards still gathered together, though Khalan was missing. There was no sign of the other guards who were positioned beyond the range of the firelight. The bright fire was enough that Valdieron's eyes could not see into the darkness as he could if it were totally dark.
Suddenly Kaz was up in a crouch, his head low as he continued to stare into the darkness, continuing to growl. Then with a surprised hiss he sprang back, clawing at his neck and Valdieron saw a small dart embedded in the cat's fine fur. Realizing they were under attack, he was armed in an instant, and Dhalan was standing across from him, also holding his sword as he scanned the darkness intensely, surprise and anger shown on his face.
“Hara'kar! Exiled clansmen.” His words came as one of the guards reeled and fell, three darts visibly embedded in his upper body. Another pulled a dart free from his arm and tossed it away, but Valdieron realized some form of poison must have coated the darts, as he swayed unsteadily holding his weapon.
“Defend the horses!” yelled Dhalan. Valdieron spun as several dark figures emerged from the darkness near the line of animals. He could see they were dressed in dark furs, their faces striped with a dark paint. That they were Darishi he could not really determine, but they carried bows and swords like those of Dhalan’s tribesmen.
A piercing roar from off to the side halted Valdieron as he began to leap towards the Hara'kar. In the turmoil Kaz had sped off, the dart obviously not enough to stop the young Moorcat, and the painful scream of an injured man followed, but was cut off to echo through the darkness.
Realizing Kaz would have to look after himself, Valdieron turned and dashed towards the horses. He felt a sudden stinging pain in his left shoulder, and looked down to find a small point of blood seeping into his shirt where a dart must have pierced his flesh, but struck bone and been thrown away. He hoped whatever poison it carried had not been able to infuse his blood as he turned his attention to the dark attackers.
Now he was better able to see the Hara'kar as three loomed up before him, silent as ghosts. They were Darishi, but their heads were shaved and their faces camouflaged with dark paint. Their eyes, however, glowed pale emerald, not unlike the red glow of Llewellyn’s Elvin eyes when viewed in darkness.
The three Hara'kar moved to circle him, so Valdieron rushed straight towards the middle figure, hoping to catch them by surprise. He guessed by their eyes that they could see in this semi darkness, probably using magic of some sort to do so. With his knowledge of night- vision gleaned from long conversations with Llewellyn, he rose up before the warrior, his sword raised, but as the Hara'kar moved to intercept his blade, he sidestepped. This brought the figure into full view of the large fire Valdieron had placed behind himself, and the Hara'kar jerked away with a painful shout, averting his gaze.
Valdieron had the perfect opportunity, but rather than kill the Hara'kar, he slammed the pommel of his sword into the man's temple, knocking him out as he slumped limply to the ground.
With his momentum moved to the side, he spun with a look over his left shoulder. The Darishi on that side was shuffling towards him for a thrust, but Valdieron's sword clashed against his curved scimitar with a sparking clang that threw the weapon wide. With his torso spinning, Valdieron followed it with an arcing crescent kick that caught the Darishi acr
oss the face, bringing a spurt of blood as it tore his lip and broke his nose.
Valdieron spun, sensing the third Hara'kar approaching, and barely managed to get his sword up to deflect an arcing slash that would have left him considerably shorter had it connected. As it was, it sliced off his blade, past his face, so close that he could feel the wind of its passage.
Unfortunately for the Hara'kar, the unexpected parry by Valdieron left him open for attack, his sword high and away. His eyes shifted past Valdieron, alerting Valdieron to his companion who had been kicked in the face. Val sliced his sword down across the man’s exposed chest, cutting through the thick hide of his jerkin. The Darishi screamed in pain, and although the wound was not fatal, he reeled away as blood gushed over his chest.
Valdieron had not delivered a killing blow on the Darishi, not only because he had no desire to kill him, but because the stroke was a precursor to a backward thrust at the last Hara'kar. Stunned as he was, the Darishi did not react in time as Valdieron met him, his sword reversing under his right armpit with a backwards grip, its keen tip driven backwards into the man's side, debilitating but perhaps not a mortal blow. The man screamed as his weapon dropped to the ground, though drowned out as another of Kaz' roars echoed through the night. This one was not one of a hunter catching his prey, however, but of pain and anger. It trailed away, and was not followed by another as Valdieron strained to hear over the din of battle and the clamor of the frightened horses.
A sudden anger overcame him as he faced the Hara'kar he had sliced across the chest. The man, tall and well built, was clutching at the wound with one hand as he stood facing Valdieron, his face a mask of pained determination. Had he noted the change in Valdieron, he may not have been so eager to continue the fight.
With his sword still held in the reverse grip, extended behind him, Val strode purposefully towards the Darishi. The warrior turned in his stance, his sword help high and wide, prepared for a fast attack. It came, arcing down as Valdieron's sword swept to meet it. The two blades met with a singing clang, angling off each other so that Valdieron was side on to the Darishi, who, with bloodied hand, was reversing his sword for a thrust at Valdieron's unprotected side.
Valdieron spun back quickly, hooking his sword against the thrusting scimitar, pulling it away from his body. This left the Darishi open, and this time Valdieron did not hesitate or check his blow as he sliced back up and across the man's body, cutting through stomach and chest. The Darishi fell back with another agonized scream and hit the ground, jerking spasmodically is his death throes.
Spinning, Valdieron surveyed the battle as he tried to push the echoing cries of the dying man from his mind. One guard fought four dark figures near the fire, and even as Valdieron watched he was overcome, skewered from two sides. The body fell beside those of his companions and a few dark Hara'kar. He could hear the clamor of fighting in the distance off to the side, but how far away he could not tell. Several horses were gone, but he was relieved to find Shakk was not one of them.
Guessing there were probably many Hara'kar still nearby, he quickly moved to his saddle and saddlebags. Checking for danger once more, he gathered them up and moved to Shakk and cut the Stallion's tether. The big horse was nervous; his wide eyes showing fear at the sounds and smells of the battle, but Valdieron’s presence and soothing words calmed him slightly. Draping the saddle over him, he strapped it on quickly. He was about to leap onto Shakk when a sudden thought for Dhalan made him hesitate.
“Run, Shakk. I must stay, but I will call you.” Valdieron slapped him on the rump with the flat of his sword, setting him off into the darkness, where hopefully he would be safe.
Turning back, Valdieron found the four Hara'kar who had dispatched the last guard were running at him, joined by another two from out of the darkness. All carried sabers or scimitars, darkened like their faces for concealment. There was still no sign of Dhalan or Khalan. A body lay on the fire, throwing up billowing smoke, but it was not one of the brothers. The putrid smell of burning flesh and hair made him gag slightly, but only helped to fuel his anger and determination.
Outnumbered six to one, he recalled his training in the Combat Ambit against multiple foes. Stooping, he picked up the saber of the unconscious Hara'kar he had clubbed with the pommel of his sword and swung it testily. It was well weighted, with a short hilt and slender blade, not as long as his sword but longer than a scimitar.
He considered running, wondering why he had not simply rode away on Shakk. The grievances of the Hara'kar and their grudge against the Darishi did not concern him. Yet he could not leave without at least finding out what happened to Dhalan and Khalan, and there was also the unknown fate of Kaz.
Needing some sort of assistance, he searched for something else that may aid him, but found nothing. One of the fallen Hara'kar had a bow slung over his shoulder, but to use it he would have to drop his swords, and he would have no time to even get off one shot before they were on him.
He had his daggers, however, one at his waist and the other in his boot. Needing one hand free and conjuring a hasty plan, he flipped his Dragonsword into the air, catching the flickering firelight as it spun several times in a singing twirl. As if entranced by the sparkling display, the Hara'kar diverted their attention to the sword, but sensing a trick, they turned back in unison, slowed defensively.
But by then, one of them was crouched, screaming as he gripped his left shoulder, blood already dripping through his fingers where one of Valdieron's knives had pierced it deeply. The other, thrown with less accuracy, hit hilt first against another's leg, painful but neither deadly nor debilitating.
So when Valdieron’s sword fell and he bent to retrieve it, there were still six foes before him, starting to fan out, though the one with the shoulder wound was rising slowly at the rear, his face twisted in pain. He held his weapon firmly in his left hand, and Valdieron cursed as he realized the wound would not have as great an effect on the man's swordplay as he was obviously left handed.
With a resigned sigh and a quick prayer to whoever may have been watching or listening, he hefted his twin swords and darted towards the nearest Hara'kar. If he was to have any chance of surviving, he had to reduce their numbers as quickly as possible.
On the first move his speed and surprise allowed him to defeat the Hara'kar, his low thrust startling the man who thrust awkwardly at him, trying to backpedal to give himself room, and more importantly, time. But Valdieron closed on him and knocked the thrust aside with a determined sweep and lunged low to complete the kill. The bloodied saber came free as the man stumbled back, his own saber flying wide as he screamed and clutched at his stomach. He writhed on the ground, his screams cutting through the night as he pressed against the wound that would not kill him for many minutes.
Valdieron spun away from the man; rising and bringing the bloodied weapon back over to chop down on a scimitar arcing at his stomach. Both weapons quivered from the force of their connection, but the saber held firm and the scimitar was knocked aside. There was a moment's opening in the Hara'kar's defense, but another saber thrusting at him from the side forced Valdieron to use his Dragonsword to defeat it.
Flanked by opponents, and with two coming straight at him, Valdieron gambled. He spun to the left, kicking out at the Hara'kar whose saber was locked with his sword. Taken by surprise, the Darishi grunted painfully as the kick caught him below the ribs and he stumbled away, half from the force, and half in an attempt to evade the blow.
But that left Valdieron exposed at the back, and he could almost feel the bite of the cold scimitar as he raised the Dragonsword over his head and looped his saber behind him, hoping to ward off any blow as he began to roll away to his left. Whether through luck or an uncanny perception of what the Hara'kar was doing, the saber intercepted a sweeping attack, not with any force, but enough that it pressed against his back, dampening the blow as it slid across the thin weapon. Still, the scimitar bit into his upper back as it swept past, and as he rolled and came
to him feet, he winced at the stinging pain of the wound.
If he was surprised by the failure of his lethal attack, the Hara'kar did not show it as he arced another chop at Valdieron. The chop was not high, so Valdieron used a cross block, the hilts of his weapons locking to stop the scimitar.
Instead of trying to disengage, the Hara'kar almost surprised Valdieron with a kick aimed at his groin. Seeing it coming, Valdieron twisted his own right foot and blocked the kick, catching the leg on the shin. The Hara'kar grimaced and began to disengage, but Valdieron extended his leg after the block and mirrored the attack he had foiled. With a choking grunt the Hara'kar went down, gasping for breath and coughing painfully as he rolled onto his side.
Expecting to be faced with the remaining four Hara'kar, Valdieron spun to find them before him, but they made no move to attack as they glanced off to the side. Following their looks, Valdieron spotted the dark form of Khalan emerging from the darkness, carrying the limp figure of his brother.
Valdieron could not tell if the older brother was dead or unconscious. Khalan knelt almost reverently and gently laid him out near the fire, as if its warmth might revive him, despite the smoldering skeleton that lay within its flames. Then Khalan glanced up, as if woken from a trance, and his eyes were suddenly filled with hatred and anger, where before they were emotionless. He glared at Valdieron for several moments, his hand lowering to his Saber’s hilt as he rose.
“I want him alive. He will pay for my brother's death.”
Valdieron gasped in shocked disbelief, wondering how Khalan could blame him for Dhalan's death. He had little time to think or voice a denial, however, as the four Hara'kar converged on him, while the one he had kicked in the groin was rising unsteadily, and Khalan was advancing slowly.
Despite his skills, built through long hours training during day and night, there was no defeating the Hara'kar. Even as they advanced, he felt his arms leaden with fatigue, and although they were obviously not trying to kill him, several strikes drew deep cuts which began to sting as his sweat mingled with the blood which seemed to cover his entire body.