by Kris A Hiatt
Baros nodded his head.
“Yes, Archbishop,” Yelsn said with a bow.
Chapter 3
“And who are you supposed to be?” the guard asked as he neared.
“You know who I am,” Treace told him. The man was standing in the same spot just a short time ago.
“Treace?” the man asked.
“Go tell him that The Wolf has come for his sword,” Treace instructed. If the man would have bothered looking at his face instead of the armor and flowing cloak, perhaps he would have recognized him sooner.
“You’re The Wolf? You’re kidding, right?”
Treace tried not to take offense to the words, but the way the man said it got under his skin. They only knew Treace as a boy. He was no longer that little boy who was scared of a bully. “Go and get him. Tell him The Wolf is here to see him.”
“This should be fun,” the man said.
Treace hoped it would be. He took a deep breath and reminded himself to keep calm. He promised Kiril he wouldn’t hurt the man, at least not permanently anyway. If it came to a fight, which he thought it would, then she made him agree to use practice weapons. She was adamant that she was going to join him, but he knew Wren would only use her to fuel the fire. Treace would not have any of that. He told her he needed to settle this on his own. Reluctantly, she agreed.
“I finally get to meet The Wolf!” Wren said excitedly as he exited the manor with his wife behind him.
“Yes, finally,” Treace said sarcastically.
That stopped Wren in his tracks.
“Is this a joke?”
“The only joke here is you,” Treace told him.
“You expect me to believe that you’re The Wolf?” Wren asked, offering a chuckle afterward.
“What you believe is irrelevant,” Treace told him. “I’ve come for my sword.”
“I’m not giving it to you,” Wren informed him.
“Then should I do as you suggested and take it from you?”
“The only thing I suggest is that you leave.”
“You said that if the sword was indeed The Wolf’s, then why doesn’t he just take it? But I’m not an ass like you. I’m not going to just take it. I’m going to give you a chance to fight for it.”
“You want to fight me?” Wren asked doubtfully.
“I do,” Treace confirmed. “It’ll be fun. You’ve hated me your whole life. Now you get the chance to beat me. Prove to the world that you’re better than The Wolf.”
“I’ve beaten you many times. Hell, you cried half the times I beat you.”
“You beat up a child when you were a man. Now it’s time you faced a man for a change,” Treace told him. “Only this time, you’ll be the one on the ground crying.” He was fed up with all of it. He offered to buy the weapon. Wren refused. He told the man that he was the one who crafted it. He still wouldn’t hand it over. Even the fact that The Wolf stood in front of him asking for it back didn’t matter. Now Wren had just made fun of him for crying when he was beaten up as a child. The man was an ass. It was time his was handed to him.
“You two aren’t fighting over a damned sword,” Emiah told them angrily. “The stupid thing isn’t worth dying for.”
“We’d be using practice weapons, of course,” Treace said. He didn’t think anyone would be crazy enough to fight to the death over a sword.
“We’re not fighting at all,” Wren said. “The sword is mine. Period.”
“Take the fight, boss,” someone said. “We’ve already bet on it.”
Treace looked around. Several men were huddled together watching the scene play out. Among the group was the guard whose name Treace couldn’t remember. The rest weren’t familiar to him. Apparently the rest of the guards also found out The Wolf had come to visit.
Wren looked around as well. It looked to Treace like he was weighing his options.
“Take the fight,” Treace echoed before adding sarcastically, “Boss.”
“How’s the odds?” Wren asked.
“Five to one,” the man replied.
“For him or me?” Wren asked, furrowing his brow.
“Him.”
“So which of you idiots took his side then?” Wren asked, looking the group over.
The men looked around uneasily.
“Come on, fess up,” Wren instructed angrily.
“We all did,” one said.
“Then how the hell is there a bet if you’re all betting on him?” Wren asked with confusion and anger in his voice.
“Because the bet isn’t if I’ll beat you,” Treace told him. “It’s on how long it will take me to do it.”
Wren gave him a hateful look before turning his gaze upon his men.
The spokesman nodded his head.
“You bastards,” Wren hissed as his face turned a deep purple. Then much angrier he yelled out, “I’ll take every one of those bets. And double them! I’m beating this little shit like I’ve always done!”
Treace smiled. He always could goad Wren into a fight. He was happy to have done so again. “Get the practice gear,” he told one of the men, who immediately hastened off to do so.
He walked over to the training area, removing his swords as he moved. Their weight would be awkward since he wasn’t used to them being on his back while he fought. He didn’t want them to fall out or bother him in any way during the fight. “When I win, I get the sword,” Treace said to Wren.
“When I win, I get your armor too.”
“So that’s what it’s always been about,” Treace told him. “You’ve always wanted to be me. That’s why you kept me from training with Exodin. That’s why you wanted the sword. That’s why you married Emiah.”
“Those bullshit comments don’t even deserve a reply. But, to be clear, this,” Wren said, holding the sword in front of him before placing it on a nearby bench. “Is what we’re fighting for.”
Treace didn’t think before he spoke his previous words. In fact, he was more or less thinking aloud. He didn’t mean it to be so accusatory, and looking at Emiah’s face, hurtful. He winced at that pained expression and wished he could take back what he said.
“Here you go,” a man said, handing him two practice swords.
“Thanks,” Treace replied, pausing to take off his cloak before he accepted them.
“How will we know who wins?” Wren asked after taking a sword and shield from another man.
“When you give up,” Treace replied.
“Or when I beat you unconscious again.”
Treace could only shake his head. He doubted Wren had the skills to back up his words. He wrapped his swords in his cloak and placed them on the ground.
“You two are both idiots,” Emiah announced.
Treace barely heard her. He was busy focusing on what needed to be done. He walked into the middle of the training area.
“Shut up woman,” Wren told her as he joined Treace.
“Are you ready?” Treace asked, tired of Wren being such an ass to Emiah. He wanted to shut the man up.
“Let’s dance little dog.”
Treace was instantly reminded of Disdane then. He pictured that giant sword swinging down at him. His muscles instinctively twitched and he shook his head to clear the thoughts.
Wren stepped forward, allowing his shield to lead the way.
It wasn’t new to Treace, it was the same technique Exodin used. It made sense that Wren would use it since he did spend at least a little time training with the man. Treace moved to his right. It kept Wren’s sword arm further away, but it also kept the shield in line. He wasn’t going to wait for Wren to make the first move, however, so he slid to his right even further, and quickly. He brought his left sword up and brought it back toward his left, trying to connect with the shield.
Wren either allowed it to strike the shield without moving, or was too slow to react. Treace thought it was the latter.
“I thought you’d be faster, given how much Exodin praises you,” Wren told him from b
ehind his shield.
Treace didn’t bother to reply, instead he again slashed into the shield with his left sword. He had assumed that Wren couldn’t fight, or at least very well. He had doubted that he took Exodin’s training seriously, but the fact that Wren calmly sat behind his shield gave him pause. Perhaps he had spent more time with Exodin than Treace originally thought.
Wren accepted the blow with his shield but did not counter.
Treace swiped again at the shield, this time crouching lower and contacting the bottom part of the shield.
Wren didn’t react at all.
He repeated his attack and again his opponent didn’t move.
Treace slashed again with his left, but this time he followed it up with a stab from an upraised right arm as he stood up to his full height.
The strike slid along the top of the shield and he felt it thump off of Wren’s head. Had he been wielding an actual sword, it would have sliced him open. But since he was using a wooden practice sword, it was most likely going to create little more than a bruise.
Cheers and jeers could be heard from the gathered men. Treace paid no attention to them.
Wren backpedaled but stayed behind his shield.
“A solid strike to the head. Normally that would end a fight,” Treace pronounced. “Do you yield?”
“Am I breathing?” Wren asked.
Tired of Wren not willing to yield, Treace rushed forward, leading with his right sword, slapping hard against the shield. He followed it up with another strike from his left, coming from right to left. He pressed on, striking at the shield with both swords, driving it wide to the left.
Wren kept the shield in line and managed to remain behind it. He had to be pushing hard to keep it in place.
Treace switched tactics then, reversing his attacks to go from his left to his right; the same direction Wren was pushing his shield.
With the power of Treace’s blows and with Wren already trying to move it in that direction, the shield slid to Treace’s right. He knew the opening wouldn’t be there long. He slapped his right sword into the shield once more and brought his left sword over the top, aiming for Wren’s sword hand.
He felt it connect solidly and Wren cried out in pain. Treace heard the wooden sword rattle off of the ground. Treace pushed hard on the shield, driving Wren backward. Treace used his foot to pull Wren’s sword to him and then kicked it backwards, putting the weapon safely out of Wren’s reach. The fight was at its end.
“The fight is over,” Treace declared.
“I don’t think so,” Wren replied.
“You’ve no weapon,” he reminded him. Why must the man be so stubborn?
Wren moved forward, and quickly, then slammed hard into Treace with his shield.
Treace skittered back, kicking Wren’s sword further away as he did so. If the man wanted to prolong the fight by only using a shield, that was up to him. But Treace had no intention of letting him pick up his sword again.
Wren backed up, still staying behind his shield.
Treace rushed forward, dropping his left sword as he did so. He grabbed the top of Wren’s shield with his open hand and pulled hard to bring it wide to his left and to the ground.
Wren was no match for his strength and once the right side was open, Treace began slamming the sword repeatedly against Wren’s pathetic body.
The man raised his arm in an attempt to cover his head, but many strikes still found their mark. He couldn’t match Treace’s skill.
The crowd cheered at the spectacle.
It was clear this was over now. There was no way Wren could possibly win. He had to give up. Treace was about to ask Wren to yield. He opened his mouth to do so, but just as he did he noticed Wren release a handful of dirt that was headed directly for his face.
He turned his head and closed his mouth and eyes as the dirt collided with his face. He spat out dirt and blinked rapidly to clear his eyes. Even though he was a shit, it surprised him that Wren would turn to such dirty tactics. No true warrior would ever throw dirt in another fighter’s face.
When he turned back around and opened his eyes, Wren was several paces away with his back turned to him. He shook the remaining dirt from his hair and face and blinked a few more times.
Once his vision was clear, Treace stomped forward, ready to beat Wren into submission. He was sick and tired of Wren pretending to be up to the task. There would be no doubt who the winner was. He drew back his sword arm just as Wren turned around.
“Wren, no!” Emiah screamed.
A glint of sunlight off of steel caught Treace’s eye just as his sword connected with Wren’s side. He felt his shirt tear and felt cold metal briefly touch his side. Wren had a real sword in his hand! Only luck and the weight of his blow to Wren’s side had saved him. An inch to the right and his side would have been ripped open.
“Time to die, dog!” Wren told him with a sneer on his face.
Wren was clearly unhinged. They weren’t just words to get under his skin this time. Wren’s face was red and he kept clenching and unclenching his jaw. The man’s breathing came in rapid gasps rather than breaths. It was obvious to Treace that the man wanted to kill him.
Treace backpedaled, trying to put some distance between him and his foe and get closer to the sword he dropped. He realized that even if he did pick up the practice sword, he was in for a tough fight against someone with a true weapon.
“Damn it, Wren!” Treace yelled. He had the man beat! He was done for. All he had to do was give up. Instead, the bastard grabbed a real weapon. “That’s not fair. Put it down!”
“He’s right, boss,” one of the men called out. “It’s not fair.”
To Treace the words sounded sincere. He dared a glance in the speaker’s direction and noticed most of the men appeared to be surprised at the move. “Give me a sword,” Treace ordered. If Wren wanted to fight with real swords, so be it.
The man started to pull a sword but Wren’s words gave him pause.
“If any of you do, you’ll be fired. Your families will never work here again,” Wren warned. “You’ll all starve in the winter and I’ll laugh when they bury you in the spring. I just hope you’ll outlive them so I can see you weep over their bodies.”
The man slid the sword back into its scabbard and shook his head slightly before looking down. “Bastard,” he spat.
With their leader silenced, it was obvious that the rest were not going to be of any help and they looked away. Treace wasn’t sure if he was ready to call them cowards, but he was disappointed. He ignored them and looked back to Wren. The man was fast approaching. Treace bent low and picked up his other wooden sword without taking his eyes off of his enemy.
“Wren! No!” Emiah pleaded.
Wren ignored her words and began slashing viciously with both hands on his sword. Treace did his best to completely avoid them, but some he had to try to deflect wide. It didn’t take him long to realize the truth of his predicament. He couldn’t continue to parry attacks with wooden swords. They were gouged severely and wouldn’t take more than a few more direct attacks before he thought they’d be cut in two.
Wren paused his flurry of attacks. “I’d offer to let you yield, but I’d much rather kill you.”
Wren wore a wicked smile after he spoke. Treace realized that if he didn’t do something different very soon he would be skewered. He dared a look to where his own real swords were, wrapped inside his cloak. He knew he wouldn’t have time to reach them and unwrap them before Wren could strike him down.
“You’ll never make it there,” Wren assured him, still smiling that wicked smile.
“Wren, you stop this!” Emiah commanded.
“Shut up woman,” Wren told her. “Your last warning.”
“Or what? You’ll beat me some more? You’ll abuse me some more? You’re a damned tough guy aren’t you? Beating up on a woman. You make me sick you bastard,” Emiah spat.
“Isn’t she lovely?” Wren asked with a crazed wide-eyed
look.
Treace thought about retreating, but only briefly. Wren was the bully that Treace had dealt with his entire life. He refused to run from this bully again. It wasn’t an option for him anymore. He was going to see this through.
Even though his skills surpassed those of Wren, if Treace didn’t find a way to either get a real weapon in his own hands or take the one out of Wren’s, he’d be hard pressed to get out of this fight alive.
Treace went on the offensive then, trying to knock out his opponent. He slashed hard with his sword, aiming for Wren’s head, knowing full well that Wren could either bring his sword up to parry, or to stab straight ahead and most likely end the fight then and there. But doing the latter would also mean he’d have to accept the blow to the head. Wren could simply duck and do both, but Treace was counting on the man not having the experience to do so.
As Treace predicted, his sword clanged hard against Wren’s as the man quickly brought his weapon in line. Treace snapped off a powerful punch with his left hand, happy to feel his fist, and pommel, crunch into Wren’s face, hoping it was enough to send the man to the ground.
The blow staggered Wren, but, to his credit and Treace’s amazement, the man did not fall. Instead he defensively slashed at Treace with his sword as he took a step back. It never had a chance at connecting, but it did keep Treace from following up with a second strike.
Wren was clearly dazed. Treace’s gamble was about to pay off. One more solid hit and he was sure Wren would go down. The bullying, cheating, wife beating ass was finally beaten. Treace had victory at hand once again. He was about to step forward and claim it when movement from the right caught his eye. Treace turned his head to see Exodin and Rinin sprinting toward them. Rinin, who looked much older than he remembered, was only a few paces away from Wren. Exodin, while only a few steps behind, had his eyes set on Treace.
Wren either heard their approach, or saw Treace look in their direction, because he turned his head just as Rinin crashed hard into him.
Rinin had led with his shoulder and Wren was sent flying through the air before landing hard on his back. His head bounced hard off of the ground and the sword flew from his grasp.