Again Garret took the defensive and waited for Sirus to attack. It only took a second for the man to recover, and when he did, he launched another attack from overhead. Garret saw the assault coming and raised his sword to deflect yet another of the man’s blows. Garret was not prepared for what happened next, however. Just as the momentum from Sirus’s swing would have brought their swords crashing together, the older man twisted his torso and altered the path of his blade. Twisting his wrist and stepping slightly aside, Sirus’s blade swung down and around Garret’s defense. Because Sirus had had to alter his momentum and angle of attack, much of the swing’s power was lost, but he still dealt a great blow. Sirus’s sword drove deep into Garret’s thigh, only stopping when it hit bone.
Mind-numbing, agonizing pain assaulted Garret’s senses as the cut and torn muscle fibers and blood vessels pulled apart from one another opening the rend in his leg further. His first reaction was a mix between a yelp of surprise and a snarl of rage as bile rose in his throat. Blood gushed out from the wound in copious amounts and every time he placed weight upon it, a fresh shot of pain followed. Garret mentally washed the pain away, much as he had done during his stamina training. Where it had previously filled his mind now was numbness and rage.
He recovered from the blow more slowly than he would have liked to, but was still able to deflect the next assault. Bleeding like he was, Garret knew his time was limited. It would not be long before the loss of blood would weaken him and his vision would begin to fade. Garret had to end the battle quickly. Sirus had dealt him a great amount of damage, limiting his ability to move quickly, but he had also done something else entirely. He had taught Garret that he did not necessarily need to stick with all the maneuvers he had been taught by Philip, but he could alter them depending upon the situation. It was a risk to leave yourself exposed as Sirus had done, attacking like he had. However, without risks, how could one enjoy the reward?
Garret deflected yet another blow and then Sirus attacked again with a mighty downward swing. Garret knew if he tried to block it the way he had done before he would likely get a matching injury to his other leg. Acting almost on instinct, instead of blocking the strike, Garret let it come at him, as if he would make no attempt to thwart his opponent. Waiting until the very last fraction of a second, Garret rolled his shoulder back as far as he could thus causing the blow that was aimed to cleave his arm at the shoulder to slide down the front of his mail tunic. Sparks rained from the blow as steel met steel and Garret could not help but grin, having escaped the blow. As Sirus corrected for the momentum of his sword, Garret lashed out viciously with a wide swing of his own blade.
Sirus had obviously not anticipated the move from his injured pupil and was caught off guard as Garret’s blade tore through his arm and chest, breaking one of his ribs. Garret realized then that pain did not affect Sirus as it did normal men. As a grizzled veteran who had received nearly every type of weapon-related injury known to man in battle, the blow Garret dealt him barely slowed him down.
Blood gushed from both Garret and Sirus but now it was again an even match. Garret could not easily move or shuffle his weight, but Sirus was forced to wield his huge sword with only one arm. Garret was well aware that the next man to land a blow would likely gain an advantage that would lead him to victory, yet neither was yet ready to give the other that opportunity. As both men labored to keep pace with one another, they each bled profusely upon the ground, its surface becoming slick with gore. Each of them was sweating heavily. Neither would relent
Fighting on, both foes struck out time after time at each other, yet found no openings. Again and again their blows were deflected. Sirus often changed his style of fighting from fast ferocious blows to slower, more precise strikes, but Garret was an apt pupil. He managed to quickly adapt and find a defensive style for each of Sirus’s attacks. The older man would now win easily.
Garret fought on for what felt like hours, neither gaining or losing any ground. His wounds refused to stop bleeding with the constant exertion, but the flow had slowed to a trickle. Garret was light headed, his vision blurred at the edges, his limbs heavy. Yet he refused to give in to defeat. He attacked time and again as the occasion presented itself, but it was to no avail. Every swing of his blade was greeted by Sirus’s defense. It was only a matter of time, though, and as such he would not give up.
Garret thus far had been able to thwart every one of his leader’s attacks, but he was unsure how much longer he would last if the blood continued to flow. He knew if he did not end the match in a few minutes time it would end when he passed out. His muscles ached from the exertion, his leg was nearly useless, but he was not yet spent. Garret mustered all of his strength. It was time to take another risk.
Deflecting yet another attack from Sirus, Garret waited patiently for the next swing to come. He lifted his blade high above his head in a stance that prepared him for both offense and defense. He had used the stance several times and knew it would not give away his intentions. As anticipated, Sirus swung his sword hard in a horizontal line aiming at Garret's abdomen. Garret waited until Sirus was beyond the point of no return, then, with all his might, he drove his blade down through the air. Both men landed their blows. Both blows ended the battle. Neither would be able to continue. As Sirus’s blade ripped through Garret’s side rending apart flesh and muscle and nearly half of his lower organs, Garret’s blade removed Sirus’s ear and continued down the side of his neck to cleave through the man’s collar bone, several ribs and his lung. Both men released their swords.
Garret, dropping his blade, attempted to hold his organs inside his abdomen before falling heavily to the ground with a sickening thud. Still conscious, he watched as Sirus released his own blade, though not of his own volition. Garret’s attack had nearly completely removed his good arm from his body all the way up to his collar bone. Though it was not precisely a victory, Garret had not lost
With shadows filling his vision, all sounds became muted, and he wished for much deserved rest. Sirus, on the other hand, though his lungs were damaged, managed to yell for Daniella to come see to their wounds before collapsing to the grass and blood covered ground. The battle was a draw. It had not been the victory Garret had hoped to claim, but he had matched a man with years of battle experience, and neither of them had lost or won. With his vision failing, the world consumed by shadows, Garret blacked out.
* * * * *
Philip and Zorbin stood across the field from where Sirus and Garret began their fight. Zorbin hefted his giant battle hammer in his hands knowing that with this weapon, any blow that landed true would end the match quickly. Philip stood opposite the dwarf and drew from his belt a pair of matching narrow short swords. Barely longer than a dagger, the entire weapons from point to pommel were only as long as the man’s forearm and hand. They looked dainty in comparison to the dwarf’s stout hammer. So much so that Zorbin actually grinned at his opponent’s choice of weapon. The truth was, however, that both of them held an advantage and Zorbin knew it. Though the dwarf could probably end the fight with a single, good blow from his hammer, it was an unwieldy weapon, cumbersome in its size and fairly easy to anticipate. Philip’s blades were indeed short, requiring him to get dangerously close to his opponent to land a blow, but they were light and he was agile.
“Ready for a bit of fun, Zorbin?” Philip asked.
“Let us battle, you and I,” Zorbin replied.
Zorbin raised his large hammer until the head of the great weapon was over his shoulder. Lunging forward at his opponent, the dwarf swung the massive weapon down to crush his opponent’s chest. Only his opponent was no longer where he had been just a fraction of a second before.
Dancing nimbly aside, Philip stepped out of harm’s way and darted directly behind the dwarf. Zorbin recalled that Philip liked to play games with his opponents and, felt the very next instant as his opponent pushed the tip of one of his small blades through a ring in his armor, pricking his back ever so slightly. S
pinning immediately, Zorbin swung the massive hammer as he turned, building up dangerous bone-crushing momentum. Philip barely had time to leap back out of the path of the large weapon as Zorbin brought it to bare. So close did the blow come, in fact, it so nearly hit Philip that Zorbin watched his hair move from the whoosh of wind that followed the weapon’s track through the air.
The battle continued with Zorbin swinging and missing Philip who nimbly danced just out of reach with each new attack, annoying Zorbin to no end. The massive hammer made the his recovery slow, giving Philip plenty of time to retaliate after each swing with a strike of his own. Each time the hammer’s head swung past, Philip darted in. Shoving his pointed blades through the rings of the armor he would not only cut his Zorbin, but shear small sections of mail off with each blow. They fought on for a great while in this fashion and before long the mail that Zorbin once wore lay in tatters over his shoulders and he bled from dozens of shallow wounds. He knew he was losing.
Needing to change his style of fighting or lose a prolonged battle, Zorbin quickly formulated a plan and waited for his opportunity, which came quickly enough as Philip was growing bolder with every strike Zorbin missed.
Swinging his huge hammer horizontally to drive Philip back and away from him, Zorbin watched as his weapon once again missed its mark. But this time Zorbin was waiting for the strike to come. As Philip danced in behind Zorbin’s passing hammer to strike yet again, the dwarf released the grip of his weapon with one hand and, making a fist, used all his might and the momentum gained with the swinging hammer to drive the punch straight into his opponent’s sternum. The blow landed with a bone-crunching thud and Philip staggered back several paces to recover with the shock of the blow written clearly upon his face.
It was apparent that Philip was not used to actually getting hit as he staggered, still reeling from the blow. Zorbin thought to make use of the opportunity, but it became apparent quickly that though stunned, Philip was far from out of the fight. Swinging his huge battle hammer again, Zorbin missed as his opponent ducked beneath his swing driving one of his blades into the dwarf's side, burying it all the way to the hilt.
Releasing a deep, thundering yell of pain as the blade slid into his flesh and then back out again, Zorbin cried out in anger and pain, but he wasn’t the only one yelling. Another painful cry, echoing his own, came from halfway across the field in a deep menacing howl that penetrated the air like wind gusting through tall trees. Zorbin looked past his opponent who stood between him and the other source of the sound. His opponent, Philip was focused on the battle, the rest of the world was lost to him and he did not even hear the cry from behind him. If he did, Zorbin thought briefly, he probably mistakenly thought it to be an echo of the dwarf’s cry bouncing back to them from the buildings beyond, but he was sadly mistaken.
Zorbin stood witness as Xanth rose from the ground and, digging his long talon-like claws into the soil, he lunged forward into a dead run. Zorbin was watching Xanth’s approach which caused him to again get struck with Philip’s sharp blades, this time a quick thrust to his gut. The pain was immense, and pinpricks of light exploded in Zorbin’s vision as he struggled to remain in the fight. He couldn’t allow himself to lose focus again.
Half doubling over in pain, he heard a deep snarl crack through the air. An image of Xanth upon Philip’s back flashed in Zorbin’s mind which, with the agony of his most recent injury, he could not help but think the image a welcome sight. He opened his eyes, fighting to stand erect once again, and turned to face his opponent. No more than had he located Philip again, who nimbly danced away moving as if to leap back in with another attack, he saw a black shape hurl itself through the air towards the man.
Sinking his claws deep into the flesh upon Philip’s back, Xanth drove the man to the ground. The wolf was bigger and heavier than the knight and they came down in a bone-shattering crunch that sent both man and beast rolling across the blood stained and ring mail littered earth. Zorbin watched as Xanth regained his feet first and again lunged at the man who had harmed his master. Philip rolled onto his back in time to see the giant wolf lunge at him again, but it did him little good. Xanth came down, a fury of muscle, fur, and claws upon the knight who squirmed to break free of the giant beast, invoking his blessing as he struggled. With speed unlike any other living thing, Philip pummeled the animal that had him pinned to the ground with blurred fists to little avail. With the wolf upon him, snapping his jaws at Philip, it was evident that speed alone would not be enough to save him.
Zorbin stood like a statue watching the event play out, unable to react to what he was seeing. He knew he should call Xanth off Philip but could not find his voice. He had never in his life seen Xanth act as violently as he was at this moment. He watched Philip wriggle beneath the great wolf, and watched still as the man tried to fight the beast, his friend, off with his fists. It appeared for a moment that Philip had given in. and stopping his assault on the animal, Xanth began to remove one of his huge paws from the man’s chest.
Rolling to the side Philip attempted to crawl out from under the beast, but the wolf would not let him gain his feet. Bloodied and angered, Zorbin watched as Philip struggled in a rage to be free, and clawing at the ground to pull himself from beneath the beast, his fingertips brushed one of his lost blades. Stretching as far as his body would allow, the knight took up the razor sharp blade before rolling onto his back to again face Xanth. Philip drew back his arm, preparing to strike as Zorbin stood frozen, watching the battle play out before him.
“Release me!” Philip yelled in anger at the beast.
Xanth spotted the weapon and baring his razor sharp teeth he growled a deep menacing growl. But his growl was cut short, quite literally, by Philip’s blade as it plunged into his flesh. What was a growl turned into a yelp of pain as Philip drove his blade up into the unprotected belly of the animal on top of him again and again.
Xanth took his paw from the man’s chest and stepped back a pace, al anger having fled from the animal’s eyes. The blade had likely pierced more than one of his organs. Xanth whined like a kicked dog as he shrank to the ground, blood dripping from his fur like a bucket filled with holes.
Zorbin the dwarf watched as Philip plunged his dagger into Xanth’s underside and something inside him snapped with Xanth’s cry of pain. Power flowed through his body and his ability to move was restored. Fear for his lupine companion guided his actions and his mind and he strode forward toward his opponent. Whispering a few words silently into the daytime air, Zorbin was engulfed with light momentarily followed by a deep concussive boom in which the dwarf exploded, doubling his size, quadrupling his strength. When the light faded something clicked inside his mind as if a door had been unlocked and opened, and it were as if a whole new world was revealed to him.
Two things happened then simultaneously then to the dwarven knight to be. He first felt the immense rush of power of Gorandor as it flowed through him like a torrent without bounds. It not only allowed him to sustain the blessing given to him by the god, but also took away much of his pain and relieved his drained body. Second he felt a presence in his head, a familiar presence and he knew by instinct whom the presence was as visions of images flashed passed his eyes.
Seeking out this new entity in his mind to make a connection, Zorbin located the consciousness of his friend Xanth who lay injured upon the ground only a few feet away. Linking himself to the beast mentally, images began to flood even faster through his mind of all the beast's memories and thoughts.
Unable to stop the gushing river of images, Zorbin gave himself into the flow and allowed himself and his thoughts to be caught up in it. Feeling, Tasting, and smelling the memories, it was as if the memories granted to him by Xanth were his own. When at last the two had melded together mentally, another flash of light exploded just paces away from Zorbin followed by yet another blast of sound. Xanth regained his feet. If he had been huge in comparison to other breeds of wolf before the transformation, he was a giant
of a beast now. His newfound strength seemingly allowed him to ignore the pain of his injuries and rise again to protect his master.
As Xanth envisioned himself again pouncing upon Philip, this time a resounding “No” was heard within his head. The wolf turned his intelligent eyes upon his master who stood shaking his head. Xanth relaxed his muscles knowing well his master’s meaning.
Zorbin Ironfist turned to Philip who stood shaking his head with a look of mixed fright and excitement. The fight was over, of that he was sure. The human didn’t stand a chance against both the Xanth and himself, especially now that they had been blessed. It was apparent that Philip didn’t know what to think of it. Zorbin had never heard of an animal being blessed by a god before, and presumed that this was Philip’s thoughts as well.
Watching as his opponent attempted to regain his composure, he saw Philip look across the field to where their commander was supposed to be sparring with Garret. Following the knight’s gaze, Zorbin was surprised to see both Sirus and Garret upon the ground and Daniella working her blessing upon them. Looking himself over, Zorbin hoped Daniella was able to conserve some strength as Philip had cut some deep gouges over a good portion of his body. Philip needed attention too. Not only was his sternum crushed, but he had several broken ribs and bloodied gashed torn open by Xanth. Turning his attention to his wolven brother, Zorbin inspected Xanth’s wounds. They were several, and some deep, but nothing that looked immediately fatal.
Still in his blessed form, Zorbin watched Philip’s approach through images granted to him by Xanth’s eyes. The man approached out of concern, not aggression and so the dwarf made no move to oppose him.
Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) Page 38