Forever Knight (The Champion Chronicles Book 3)

by Brad Clark

  He could no longer thrust his sword with any force. He could only use it to parry and slash. And as his strength began to fade, the centurions who now pushed forward were not suffering the same fatigue. Those that had started the battle were now dead or too injured to fight. The reserves had taken their place, providing a much needed push against the knights. Many were easily dispatched, but just as many were skilled enough to be a threat.

  The line of knights that had formed to control the retreat was holding. The centurions, stepping over their own fallen brothers, weren’t too eager to push forward. They might have been physically able to push the attack forward, but something seemed to be holding them back. Marik felt confident that they would be able to manage the retreat and return to the city to rest and prepare for the next assault. Until he caught movement from behind the Taran lines.

  A large group of centurions held in reserve was running to outflank their retreat. The knights on foot, weighted down with armor and exhausted from battle, would not be able to run fast enough to cover the flanking move. The mounted knights noticed this as well and positioned themselves to help defend the Taran action, but there would likely not be enough. Most of the mounted knights were already on the northern side of the battlefield and were going to repel the knights left flank. But there were not enough knights on the southern side to protect their right flank. It would only be minutes before they were surrounded.

  Shouting to his right caused Marik to glance in that direction and be distracted enough to take a glancing blow of his left shoulder. His armor protected the initial blow, but the blade of the centurion short sword slipped between the folds of his leather armor and sliced across his chainmail shirt. He wasn’t cut, but the blunt force of the blow made his left arm go numb, making his shield arm suddenly useless. He countered by driving his sword deep into the belly of his attacker. The death blow gave him just a moment to catch his breath and wonder what was happening on the southern flank. There was lots of shouting, but no words that he could understand. He only hoped that it wasn’t the Taran reserves surrounding them.

  ***

  Conner slowed before he reached the battlefield to catch his breath. He wasn’t breathing hard, but he needed to be sure he was rested enough to fight. He was thankful of all the hard work that Master Goshin forced him to do, and was even more thankful that it hadn’t all left him. It had not been a full sprint from the river, but it had been a steady run. He certainly wasn’t as fresh as the elf, but he did not feel any fatigue at all.

  He surveyed the battlefield as he approached. He was no military expert, but he had learned much about combat while training with the squires. They did not spend all their time on the field swinging swords. Some of their time was spent learning about battlefield tactics. And now he could see those lessons play out in front of him.

  The Karmon force was split between mounted knights and soldiers on the ground. It took him a moment to realize that those on foot were simply knights who had lost their horses. Past the battle, the three catapults were fully ablaze. They would not be knocking down the wall today. Slowly, the knights were being pushed backwards. He quickened his pace as he approached the battle, fully intending to help the knights regain lost ground.

  But then he realized that they were letting the Tarans push them backward as they were simply falling back in a controlled manner. With the catapults ablaze, and the walls secure, maybe their goal had already been met and it was time to regroup. However, coming around the backside were fresh Taran centurions, rushing to outflank the knights. If they were able to cut their line of retreat, the knights would be surrounded and slaughtered.

  His twin Sak’turana’s were sheathed in scabbards at his side. The moment they came out, an incredible flow of energy exploded through him.

  He turned and pointed his swords at the fresh centurions and said to Glaerion, “They’re flanking.”

  Glaerion snorted and replied, “Of course.”

  The elf had already drawn his dagger. He could have run ahead and attacked the centurions alone, but he stayed next to Conner, knowing that the two of them would be more potent together.

  ***

  Queen Elissa put her hand to her mouth as she saw what was happening. After the knights had pushed through the centurion lines to set the catapults on fire, they had started a controlled pull-back. The knights that were still mounted kept the centurions back while those that were on foot were able to move away from the fighting. But she could see what the knights on the ground could not. Their retreat was too slow. Two masses of centurions were suddenly running around the main force. One from the north, and one from the south. When they met, they would enclose all the knights into a tight noose. It did not take any military knowledge to know what would happen then.

  With the knights surrounded, it would only be a matter of time before they would all be slaughtered.

  She looked hopefully at her army as it began streaming out of the main gate. But even if they all were to run at a full sprint, they would not reach the knights in time.

  Toknon, still by her side, let out a hefty sigh and said, “Too little, too late.”

  “What?” Elissa asked, looking up at him.

  He pointed towards the southern flank that was racing around the knights. “Two courageous soldiers against an entire army. Foolhardy.”

  There were more than just two, but those two were the fastest of the group that had come running from the river. As the two men approached the centurions that were running towards them, they slowed to a walk and drew their weapons. One looked like he pulled a dagger from his belt, but the other drew two swords that were unlike any weapon a knight would use. At first, she thought nothing of it, but it was when he started spinning the swords in his hands that the thought came to her. As he engaged the centurions, she knew for sure. There was no mistaking his killing dance. He moved so quickly, so gracefully, just like she had remembered.

  “It can’t be,” she whispered. Fear and despair left in a flash. Tears flowed from her eyes and her heart was suddenly healed. He wasn’t dead. Her champion had returned to save her.

  ***

  Conner and Glaerion raced past the exhausted retreating knights. Many of them had noticed the flanking move, but were unable to disengage from those that were pushing them back. A few at the rear who were nursing injuries gained renewed strength at the swords that flashed through the air. They remembered him. They remembered what he had done on the training grounds, on the field of battle, and in the defense of the Queen. They too, had heard that he was dead, and the sight of him made them regain their lost hope.

  Conner took in a deep breath right as he brought his sword on a downward slash at the first centurion in his way. It was the last time he would remember breathing for some time. He didn’t just swing his swords, he danced with his opponents, slicing limbs with ease and death with each stroke.

  The reserves had expected an easy fight, picking off the weak and injured from the rear as the main force pushed the knights into them. But their advance was stopped by one man with swords that moved so fast, he couldn’t be stopped. And he wasn’t alone. Next to him was a tall stranger that was just as quick, and just as deadly. He didn’t use two long swords, he only used a simple curved dagger. Between the two of them, the flanking move was stopped in its tracks.

  But, there were too many centurions for just two warriors, despite their skill with a blade. The centurions were stopped only momentarily, shocked at what was happening to them. But they were professional soldiers, highly trained and disciplined. Their human, emotional reaction only delayed their push. Once their warrior skills took over, they would have pushed forward and around the two soldiers who stood in their way. Using sheer numbers to overwhelm the superior swordsmen, they would have eventually fallen.

  With a resounding shout, the knights at the rear of the formation had joined Conner and Glaerion with just enough men to truly stop the flanking move. Tired arms and shoulders were tired no more. Fa
tal wounds were not quite yet fatal. They held the line long enough for the rest of the knights to continue their slow retreat out of the trap.

  Trumpeting filled the air and the push of the centurions slowed. They began to disengage and retreat away from the battle themselves. The knights, already hurt badly, did not chase after, they simply let the centurions fall back.

  Conner and Glaerion continued to push forward, even as the centurions were clearly falling back. The centurions fought back, but not as aggressively, as they knew the battle was over. But neither Conner nor the elf cared. With each body that fell, Conner saw only the body of his good friend Master Goshin fall. And it made him want to just spill more and more blood. He did not see men in front him, he saw them only as the enemy, faceless combatants who only needed to die. And Conner was here to give them their death.

  Glaerion was happy enough to push forward with Conner, as he had his own demons to exercise. Five thousand years of pent up anger was released on the battlefield. The killing of each man soothing his soul just that much more.

  ***

  Elissa watched in complete shock and awe as Conner entered the battle. This was the same boy that she had seen just a few months ago. She had seen him train, had seem him humiliate a well-trained squire on the training grounds, but never could she have imagined the swordplay that she saw. Between him and his tall companion, they changed the tide of the battle. As soon as they stopped the flanking move, other knights joined them to ensure that it would not continue. With each sword strike, she was sure that a Taran would strike him back, but it never happened. He was too quick and too good. And before she knew it, the sound of trumpets echoed from the back of the battle field and it was over.

  It took a few minutes for the front of the battle to fully disengage, but it was clear that the battle had ended. The knights continued moving back without the Tarans pressing forward.

  But Conner and his companion had not disengaged. They pushed forward into the retreating ranks of centurion soldiers, killing anyone that they came across. But it was worse than just a simple killing. It was a slaughter. No single centurion could stand up to either one. Not even two together could stand against either one. It seemed as if they were bound and determined to march through the army, killing each Taran one by one.

  She found herself horrified and fully and emotionally confused. The man that she loved, had always loved, and would always love had come back from the dead. She had barely a moment to process his death, or even accept it. And then, out of the blue, there he was. But as she watched him cut his way through the retreating army, mercilessly killing anything in his way, she wondered who it was that had returned. As the blood continued to flow from his hand, Queen Elissa could handle it no more and finally turned away. With a grim face of his own, Toknon led her down from the top of the wall.

  ***

  Farrus held tightly onto the length of rope that bound Hargon’s hands in front of him. When he had fallen too far behind, Farrus gave the rope a yank, pulling the former emperor forward causing him to stumble and fall to the ground. Hargon stayed on the ground, breathing heavily.

  “Get up!” Farrus demanded, giving the rope a hefty yank.

  But Hargon did not move.

  Farrus drew is sword. “I give you the chance to live, but my patience grows thin. Either get up, or I kill you where you lay. No one will care. Everyone already thinks you are dead.”

  “Fine,” Hargon said. “Kill me. I am already dead.”

  Farrus realized that Hargon was right. He had no motivation to move. His brother would likely kill him anyway. But in order for him to get whatever reward the emperor would give him, he would have to get Hargon there alive. He walked back to the former emperor and straddled his back. Grabbing the back of Hargon’s tunic, he pulled him up. Although Hargon was thin and light, he did not give any help, so it took all of Farrus’ strength to get him to his feet.

  Once on his feet, Farrus leaned forward and said in Hargon’s ear, “You have body parts that you do not need. Your tongue, perhaps? I could do without having to listen to you. And your fingers? I can keep your hands bound without fingers. Or maybe I just chop off your arms and tie the rope around your waist. You will do as I say and I will end your life quickly when the time comes. If you do not, I will make every moment of the rest of your life miserable.”

  He gave Hargon a two-handed shove in the back, sending Hargon face-first back onto the ground.

  Farrus started to step forward, but noticed something on the ground. Right where Hargon and first fallen, there was a small box. Without thinking, he quickly bent over and picked it up. It was not dirty or wet, in fact it felt a bit warm. Hargon was slowly crawling into a kneeling position. His face had struck the ground first, leaving a smudge of dirt and snow. Farrus pulled him back up to his feet.

  “Now, are you ready to see your brother?”

  Hargon turned and spat in Farrus’ face. Farrus let out a loud laugh. “I take that as a no. It does not matter, for he will surely want to see you.”

  With a tug of the rope, Farrus continued towards the army encampment. He did not want to be confused with being a part of the fighting, so he skirted the battlefield far to the east along the tree line of the forest. If he had been able to walk straight from the river directly to the Taran army camp, he would have made it in no time at all. But the longer route was the safer route.

  The battle was fully engaged by the time he reached the tree line. As he turned north to head towards his army, he could watch the fighting unfold from a perfect vantage point. As a veteran combat soldier, he was impressed at the skill and courage of the Karmon Knights. Their ability on the field of battle had reached mythical proportions and what he saw did nothing to change that legend. Heavily outnumbered, they attacked with vigor and a tenacity that the centurions could not match. In a pitched offensive, the Tarans would have prevailed due to sheer numbers, but the losses would have been devastating. But their goal was obviously not victory, but the destruction of the three catapults that were chipping away at the wall.

  He was pleased to see the army commander respond with a classic flanking move. It was what he would have done, and any junior level commander would have done as well. He was a bit surprised that the Karmons had not kept a reserve force in place to counter such a move. It likely meant that their reserve forces were limited, or even non-existent. Or maybe the Karmons felt overconfident with their ability to perform a quick strike on the catapults and they could retreat once their goal was met. Regardless, he looked forward to the demise of the Karmon forces. It would only be minutes until the flanking move would be complete and the knights would be surrounded.

  The rear of the knight formation responded, but it would clearly not be fast enough. That was when he saw the two men running to cover the flanking move. He knew it would be futile for them as two men would never be able to stop so many centurions. Then he smiled as he recognized them as Hargon’s companions. Even from this distance, they matched the description that he had been given.

  But then they drew their weapons.

  He had never seen combat like that. They moved so fast, with such precision, that just the two of them were able to bring the flanking move to a halt long enough for enough knights to come and fully stop it. His hope for justice of his seventeen men went away and his anger grew.

  He did not wait to see the final outcome of the battle as they had reached the perimeter of the camp. He gave the rope another tug and walked faster, pulling Hargon along with him.

  ***

  Marik took a moment to reflect on the fact that he was still alive. All the training that he had ever gone through, even the short battle against Thell had really not prepared him for the ferocity of this fight. Taran centurions were not only good, they were professional. They did not turn and run when faced with death. They pushed forward, just like a Karmon Knight. He was hurt from a handful of cuts and slices. Nothing deep or worrisome, just painfully annoying.

 
He struggled with the strength to put his sword back into his sheath. He was much more exhausted than he expected, which is something he had always been told, but did not quite understand. He had training regimens that were truly as hard as the past hour of combat, but they had not left him this completely exhausted. He was glad it was over, as he was not sure how many more times he could have swung his sword.

  The knights had fully disengaged and were now safely turning away and heading towards the city. The centurions had backed off as well, heeding the call of their commanders to retreat. The battle over the catapults had been won by the knights. The walls would stay intact for the time being. Without the ability to completely conquer the knights, the centurions wisely called a retreat. They would regroup and regather their strength. They had no reason to press the fight as they had time on their side. Marik wished that he had a force of knights in reserve that he could use to press their attack, but they were spent. Even the greatest warriors on the planet needed time to rest and recover from their wounds. They could not afford to wait too long, though. They needed to be willing to stay on the offensive and possibly break the will of the Tarans.

  Shouting to his right caused him to twist his body and look in that direction. He grunted from a wound to his side. At first, all he could see were centurions running away, and then he saw why. Two men were cutting through the retreating soldiers, killing anything in their wake. It took only an instant for him to recognize one of them. He had seen that fighting style in action too recently, but it could not be Conner. He had seen him cut down from a dozen crossbow bolts. Even if he had somehow survived that, it would be months before he would be in any condition to lift a sword, much less dance with one.