by Kal Spriggs
As she lay on her belly in a ditch in the middle of Tucola Forest, Katarina could only hope she made the right decision.
She glanced over at Arren Smith, Bulmor and Gerlin. Each of them lay patient and outwardly calm. She noticed Arren stroke his beard every now and again, a nervous gesture or perhaps just a habit grown common with age. Katarina gave another silent thanks for his presence and for his dedication to the cause. Even Bulmor found his depth of knowledge and intelligence to be an asset, though his tendency to ramble into his fanciful stories irritated her armsman to no end. Still, without Arren and his men, she could never have moved so quickly.
At that thought, she looked again at Bulmor and noticed his closed eyes and moving lips. Katarina bit her lip to contain her smile. She had no doubt that her armsman even now said a prayer to the spirits of his ancestors that she do as she promised him. She had agreed to remain at the rear of the fighting, to stay close to Arren and avoid any real risk. For that promise, he had grudgingly agreed to not leaving her tied up at the camp. Most likely because he doubts I would not get free and come charging in all by myself, she thought wryly.
“Not long now,” Gerlin said, his voice pitched low enough that she barely heard him over the sound of the wind in the trees. “Say... is it too late to give up this life of violence and take up the vows of some of those Marovingian priests?”
Katarina looked over at him and she quirked an eyebrow, “You know many of them are celibate, right?”
Gerlin wrinkled his nose, “Well then, in that case...”
Katarina gave a quiet chuckle at his expression. A moment later though, she loosened her sword in its scabbard and her hand darted to the two wands that hung at her waist. She hoped, as did Bulmor, that the guards would surrender when they saw her numbers. Yet, she somehow doubted that Hector's captains kept such lax discipline in the ranks of those chosen to collect the taxes.
Gerlin raised his head slightly,his dark face filled with concentration as he judged the caravan's position. Slowly, he raised his signal trumpet to his lips. The clear high note seems far to beautiful to signal battle, Katarina thought.
She jumped to her feet, yet Bulmor and Gerlin rose with greater speed and even Arren leapt up like a much younger man. Clearly, combat made him feel younger, Katarina decided, even as she drew her sword and ran up the embankment.
She saw the caravan, thirty yards away. Most of the others had positions closer to the road. Her eyes immediately found Aerion and her heart caught in her chest as she saw one of the guards take aim at him with a bow.
***
Aerion
Aerion set his back against the tree and took a deep breath. Through the trees, the squeal of pigs and the rumble of wagons carried. He listened to that sound, and he waited. For a moment, he remembered his home. Aerion remembered Old Taggart's voice, rough and low, filled with caution, as if every word were some precious coin to spend. He remembered the smell of his mother's apron, rich with the scents of stew and bread and of smoke from the wood fireplace in the inn.
And then he remembered the fires and the screams.
At that moment, a clear trumpet clarion sounded as Gerlin signaled the attack.
Aerion leaped from behind his tree, and immediately spotted the wagons, only thirty feet away. He ran forward, hands clenched on the greatsword. One of the guards on foot, raised a drawn bow, arrow pointed at Aerion. The guard released just as Aerion stumbled. Aerion felt the arrow's fletching kiss his neck.
The guard reached for another arrow. Aerion felt his world narrow, as everything but that guard and his bow vanished. He felt his legs pump him forward. His heart raced, a steady drumbeat that drowned all else out. Aerion felt a cry of rage and fear open his mouth, but he couldn't hear it, couldn't hear anything.
The guard, knocked another arrow. The mercenary seemed to move in slow motion. He raised the bow, drew it back.
And then Aerion had closed the distance. He swung the sword downward, all memory of his training lost, he swung the four foot blade like an ax.
The sword struck the mercenary between his right shoulder and his neck. The blade chopped down through his simple leather armor, and a fountain of blood erupted.
Aerion stumbled back, spitting blood and suddenly sickened. He had to tug hard, foot pressed against the corpse to pull his sword free. Some motion sensed as much as seen caused him to turn. He ducked under a spear thrust and caught the shaft just behind the barbed head. Aerion pulled hard, and suddenly stood, face to face with a blonde bearded mercenary, his eyes wide, pupils dilated.
Aerion saw him release the spear, hands going for a dagger at his waist. He brought the pommel of his sword up into his opponent's face. The mercenary stumbled back with a cry.
A shout made him turn, and he saw Quinn on the ground, a brutish looking warrior above him with an ax. Aerion lunged forward, sword extended.
The iron tip of his sword skidded off of the axeman's chainmail. Aerion continued his move and slammed his shoulder into the larger man's back. The axeman staggered away and Aerion stumbled back.
Another man, his face drawn in a rictus of hate, swung a sword at him. Aerion brought up his sword to parry, and a shock went down his arm. The berserk warrior swung again, and again Aerion blocked. He kicked out, desperate to get some room to move, but his opponent caught the blow on his shield and continued his wild attack.
Again and again the madman battered at him, Aerion desperately swung his larger sword to block blow after blow. He backed away, tried to gain some space, but his attacker didn't slow his own pace, and continued to press him.
His feet caught on something. Aerion fell back over a still body. Aerion hit the hard packed road on the flat of his back. The impact drove all the air out of his lungs. Aerion brought his sword up to block as his opponent swung a powerful overhand blow.
The sword struck just inches above the crossguard with a sound like a hammer striking glass and the brittle iron of his sword snapped.
Aerion held the stump of his blade up in shock as the berserk warrior above him raised his own blade for the finishing blow. Aerion kicked out hard. His leg struck his attacker's knee, which bent backwards with a horrific crackle.
The warrior dropped with a scream and Aerion rolled to his feet. He still clutched the stump of a sword. The berserker still swung his sword at Aerion. He crawled towards him, maimed leg dragging. Aerion saw Jasen, a bloody gash down the side of his face, drive a spear down into the berserker from behind.
“Grab his sword, boy!” Jasen shouted. He pointed over Aerion's shoulder. “There's more of them, ancestors know where they came from, but they're attacking lady Katarina!”
Aerion felt a jolt of ice water pump through his veins. He looked over, just in time to see eight horsemen push through a cluster of fighting.
He saw her then. She stood in the middle of the road, only twenty feet away. She had her sword in her left hand, something else in her right. She looked like a scene from a story. She stood like a savage warrior princess, her dark hair back in a braid, her chain shirt spattered with blood.
Aerion blindly reached down. His fingers found the hilt of the sword that had nearly taken his life. He charged forward. Jasen had already run ahead, but Aerion's longer legs easily outpaced him.
He sprinted past Lady Katarina, just as she raised her right hand. He heard her shout something as he raced past. He couldn't hear her words over the roaring in his ears and his own labored breathing.
One of the horsemen reared before him and swung down with a blade.
Aerion ducked under the horse's head, then thrust up on the horseman's left side. He felt the lighter blade skitter off the horseman's greaves and then catch and plunge up under his breastplate.
The horseman sagged, just as the frightened horse sidestepped.
Aerion jerked the blade free and turned, just in time to see two more behind him. Time slowed again as he saw the nearest had his hammer raised, about to descend upon Aerion. Aerion tried to
force his body to move out of the path, but he didn't have time.
He heard Lady Katarina shout something, her high, clear voice cut through the shouts and screams. Aerion watched the hammer descend, saw his death in that swing, with no time to move out of the way or block it.
Then the world flared white.
***
Lady Katarina Emberhill
Katarina grimaced as she stabbed downwards into the unarmored foot of the mercenary who faced her. He dropped his shield with a scream, and she thrust at his open mouth. She felt a grating impact as her sword thrust caught him. She tried not to see the blood that erupted from his mouth as she drew her blade back.
“This is definitely not my fault,” She said. She glanced over at Bulmor. The Ducal Guardsman held two other mercenaries at bay only a few yards away. To her other side, she saw Gerlin trade blows with another mercenary. “I was at the back, away from the fight, it's not my fault!”
She heard a cry of pain and looked up just in time to see eight horsemen push through the fighting, only twenty feet away. Katarina tossed her sword to her left hand and her right hand clutched at her belt. Cycles of practice meant she found what she sought instantly.
Just then, Aerion tore past her in a dead sprint. She didn't know how he could move as fast as he did, yet he closed the distance with the lead horseman before she realized what had happened. Jasen followed his footsteps. The other man could not match his speed.
She watched him duck under the blow from the lead horseman and make an attack of his own. Yet behind him, she saw a pair of horsemen turn towards this new threat.
“Aerion, get down!” Katarina shouted, even as she raised her right hand. Her eyes focused on the closest of the two horsemen, a bushy bearded mercenary, a mace raised, about to descend upon Aerion. Katarina's finger sought the activation rune on the wand. She saw the mace begin to descend. She sighted down the wand, a long shot for the holdout weapon.
The wand acted as a capacitor for energy, it drew in thermal energy in the form of heat, most often in a fire. It stored that energy in a series of runes along its length. Additional runes could focus that stored energy, gained over weeks or days, into a single projection of heat. As a child, Katarina learned how to care for the wands, to ensure they retained a full charge and to avoid overcharging them lest they explode. She had trained extensively with them, knew how to fire them at near and distant targets. From her training, she knew such a long shot would almost certainly be a waste, the wands required precise aim to hit any man-sized target at more than ten feet. At thirty, she would be lucky if she didn't hit Aerion or Jasen.
She felt the wand quiver in her hand. A moment later, the perfect shot blew the mace wielding horse rider backwards out of his saddle in a flash of heat and light.
***
Aerion
Aerion's ears rung and light dazzled his eyes. The horse in front of him reared, and he heard it scream. He stumbled back from the panicked horse and shook his head to clear it. He had no idea what had happened, some kind of magic, he could only assume. Through his tear-filled eyes, he saw a pair of horsemen wheel around, clearly unwilling to face whatever had hit their comrade.
Aerion ran at the nearest one, and caught him by the leg on his shield side. He gave a heave and the man toppled from his saddle with a shout of surprise.
The other man swung his sword down at Aerion, who barely managed to block the strike with his own sword. The horseman put spurs to his mount and the horse leaped away from Aerion.
Aerion heard a shout in his ringing ears and turned to see another horseman bear down on him. He stood his ground for a moment, but then dodged aside to the rider's left side and swung his blade hard at the rider.
The rider caught the strike on his shield. The impact knocked the sword from Aerion's hands and made him stumble backwards. It also threw the rider from his saddle.
Aerion ducked as he saw Arren raise and fire a crossbow straight at him. He heard the hiss of the bolt as it passed only a few inches above his head. Aerion turned to see the last rider pitch from his saddle.
Aerion looked down and then grabbed the nearest sword. The long, curved blade seemed awkward, with its weight towards the front. He looked around, yet for the moment, he saw no enemies. The two men he had unhorsed lay on the ground, one clutched at a broken arm, the other had his arms raised in surrender to Jasen.
Aerion lowered the sword. He took deep, gulping breaths of air. He realized he had to pee. His eyes still stung and his ears still rung. He shook his head, his mind felt sluggish. He reached for his sword scabbard and then stopped as he realized his new curved blade would never fit in his old scabbard.
He started as someone slapped him on the back, “You alright, Aerion?”
He stared at Arren for a moment. The old man seemed taller and his blue eyes more active. He moved without his normal cautious pace and almost seemed to have gained a panther-like grace to his movements. Don't be ridiculous, Aerion thought, he probably just feels younger from the fight.
It seemed strange though, Aerion felt ancient beyond his cycles. “Yeah, I'm fine.” As if to put lie to his statement, his legs began to shake and his knees felt suddenly wobbly. He staggered over and took a seat on a fallen log.
Arren gave him a smile and moved over to talk Jasen.
Aerion had just finally managed to catch his breath when Katarina stalked up to stand in front of him, “You idiot, what did you think you were doing?”
“What?” Aerion asked. His eyes widened and he stared at her in shock.
“You charged right into the middle of those horsemen, they would have killed you!” Katarina seemed more than upset. She still held her sword in her left hand and her right clutched tightly at something. With shock, Aerion recognized one of her wands.
His mind flashed back at his charge. He felt his stomach churn as he remembered his run towards the horsemen. Yet at the same time, he felt that fear he felt at the time, not for himself, but for Lady Katarina. The realization seemed to slide something into place in his mind, and he felt the weakness in his arms and legs fade, found a center of confidence return to him. “They were after you, Lady Katarina. I couldn't let them hurt you.”
“You big dumb fool–”
“Boy has a point,” Bulmor's gruff voice interrupted.
Katarina spun, mouth wide in surprise. “But-”
“I might have gotten between them and you had your wands, but eight mounted men could have broken our entire attack,” Bulmor said. He looked over at Aerion, “Could have been real messy if they had time to get momentum and charge. As it was, Aerion and Jasen held them long enough for us to turn and stop them.” He gave a single nod of approval. “Good job, boy.”
“Thank you, sir,” Aerion said.
“Now, then, Lady Katarina, we've prisoners and wounded, and I think you need to be out doing the leader thing, rather than chastising the boy for putting himself at risk and giving you a scare,” Arren said, a small smile on his face.
“What?” Katarina said. For some reason, Katarina flushed. She shook her head, and looked as if she wanted to say something, but finally just stalked away.
“You are lucky to be alive,” Bulmor said. “I've trained her since Hector killed her father. I wouldn't have thought she could make that shot, not if her own life depended on it.” The old warrior stared at Aerion for a long moment, “I guess you've the High King's own luck.”
Aerion frowned, “That explosion, that was her wands?”
“Just one of them.” Bulmor said absently. His attention had returned back to Lady Katarina, Aerion saw. The Ducal Guardsman followed her with his gaze as she moved from one wounded fighter to the next. “The smaller one, otherwise we'd be pulling bits of you out of the trees.”
“Oh.” Aerion felt his stomach turn over. Bulmor seemed to have exhausted his quota of words. He gave a nod and started in the direction of Lady Katarina.
Aerion looked over at Arren, who still wore his small smile. “W
hat's funny?” Aerion asked. For some reason, that smile made Aerion feel uncertain, like the old man knew something that Aerion didn't... or something at Aerion didn't want him to know, anyway.
The older man shrugged, “Just thinking, Aerion.” He leaned on his staff, “So, boy, mind helping an old man with some healing?”
Aerion pushed himself to his feet, “Of course. Who was hurt?”
Arren walked towards the wagons, his face went somber, “Brekka and Kerl are dead. The riders attacked them first.” The old man bowed his head slightly and the brim of his floppy hat obscured his face. Aerion felt a shock, he had barely known either of those men and he realized he would never get the opportunity now. He walked beside the old man in silence for a moment. He gave a silent prayer that the spirits of the Tucola Forest would welcome the spirits of the fallen.
“Darren's got a bad gash on his arm, but I'm more worried about Brenner and Lyle. Brenner's got a nasty head wound, he's unconscious and barely breathing. Lyle was also in the group the horsemen attacked, and he's got a spear buried in his guts.”
Aerion winced. He'd seen a hunter from Watkowa badly gored in his stomach. It had taken the man days to die. “Can we do anything?”
“I know some things,” Arren said. “But I can use your help, and... I ask permission to tap your body's energy.”
“My... energy?” Aerion asked. He stopped in his tracks.
“You've mageblood,” Arren said.
“Mageblood? What does that mean, what is it?”
“Its...” Arren shrugged, “Well, it means a number of things.” He caught Aerion's arm and drew him forward again. “For one, it is inherited, so it means that one of your ancestors had contact with either a mage... or a sorcerer.”
Aerion felt a chill run through his body. “A sorcerer? But I thought they were nothing like mages.”
“They both practice what some people call blood magic.” Arren answered. “Living creatures naturally create and store energy and altering the blood of a person and some animals allows access to that energy for blood magic. That's called mageblood. It's how some people do magic such as spellgrafts and how sorcerers and mages are able to do their big spells.”