by Elliot Burns
“Strange weapon,” he said. “I didn’t see that on the rack.”
“Maybe you didn’t look hard enough,” said Jack.
“Ready, m’lord? Third round’s the charm, as they say.”
Jack gripped his dagger. Something about it just felt right in his hands. He had wound the cog so that the weapon was halfway between a dagger and a sword, which would allow him to counter Dingbat’s reach, while not suffering from the movement sacrifice a full broadsword would give him. He liked his new blade already.
Dingbat stepped closer to Jack and held out his hand. Up close he smelled of sweat, but Jack imagined that he himself must reek worse. Dingbat’s palm was stained brown with dirt.
“Shake before the fight?” he said.
Jack grabbed Dingbat’s hand and made sure to squeeze. He’d read somewhere that a strong handshake gave you a psychological advantage. Adrenaline shot through him now, hot and tense, filling him with energy. The third round was his. He could feel it.
Dingbat leaned in so close that his beard almost touched Jack’s cheek. “Lord Veik apologizes that he couldn’t be here today,” he whispered.
“What?”
Jack stepped back, but not in time to avoid Dingbat’s foot, which he planted firmly on his chest and pushed him to the floor. Jack hit the grass with a thud, the wind knocked out of him.
10HP lost!
Status gained: dazed
Wait, had he lost hitpoints? Were they fighting for real now? He’d seen Dingbat apply alchemical lotion to his weapon, so this couldn’t have been for real, could it? He tried to think, but the dazed status made his thoughts swim.
Dingbat loomed above and adjusted his spear. Just as the soldier struck with it, Jack rolled to his side and scrambled to his feet. Gripping his dagger, he put distance between him and his opponent.
“What’s going on?”
The soldier rushed forward and lashed with his spear. Jack stepped to the right, but the tip of the curved blade lashed across his thigh. Hot pain seared across his skin. He touched his thigh, and blood was smeared on his fingertips.
40 hitpoints lost!
Dingbat hadn’t used the alchemical solution on his blade. That was obvious now. The pain spreading across his thigh would have been confirmation enough, but the look of deep aggression in the man’s eyes sealed it. Not only that, but his dazed status had lowered his defence, and it made him feel slower.
The soldier switched his spear into his right hand and began circling. Jack remembered something Sarna had once told him. ‘Watch the man, not the blade,’ she had said.
Although Jack knew he couldn’t die, at least not permanently, that didn’t mean he wanted to experience it again. Not only that but if he fell at Dingbat’s spear, then the man would escape and Jack would get no answers. He needed to know what was going on.
They walked in rotation around each other. The breeze had stopped, and the air of the glen was thick with tension. Jack wound the cog of his dagger to extend its reach.
Dingbat tested him a few times, striking out with his spear. Jack parried the blows, making sure that he didn’t get his blade caught between the large and smaller blades of Dingbat’s weapon. The last thing he needed was to have his spear wrenched from his hands.
He took careful steps in an arc to his right, focusing on the man and not the spear. Watching Dingbat’s thrusts, he began to get the timing of them. It was two steps then thrust, three steps then thrust. It should have been easy to counter.
Jack took a step to his right. Then another. Here comes the spear, he thought. He tried to use smoke twist, but his power wouldn’t work. Smoke-text flashed in front of him.
You are dazed. Powers are temporarily disabled.
And then Dingbat moved to the left, ducked his head and charged. Jack pivoted but not quickly enough, and when Dingbat lashed with his spear it caught him on his left cheek. The blade tip scratched across his skin, and agony welled on Jack’s face like molten lava.
50 hitpoints lost!
He took a deep breath and held it in, forcing himself to internalize the pain. As much as it felt like fire spread across his cheek he wouldn’t betray any sign of it. Hold it in, he told himself, hold it in.
Dingbat’s eyes never left his for a second. He must have sensed he’d found Jack’s weakness because he strafed to the left and charged again. This time Jack leapt out of the way like a matador avoiding a bull. Just as Dingbat rushed passed him, he clicked the cog of his dagger to shorten it, then thrust it into Dingbat’s side.
The shining blade sunk through the gap in Dingbat’s leather armor where it didn’t quite meet. Dingbat wheezed, and then took a step back. Blood dripped from his armor.
Dingbat rounded on him. He charged forward again. This time Jack flicked the cog and sent his spear out at full length. Their blades glanced off one another, and the sing of metal drowned out the chirps of the jacklegs around them.
“It’s nothing personal,” said Dingbat. “Remember that.”
They faced each other ten feet apart. Sweat coated Jacks forehead, his face, his armpits. His opponent took deep, heavy breaths. He was a big man, one built for power rather than stamina, and the strain was starting to show.
“What about your wife? Your children? Was that bullshit?”
“They’re the only reason that I’m doing this, m’lord. Believe me.”
With that, Dingbat gave one last charge. A look of fury shook through him, and his body seemed to tremble with the effort he put into his sprint.
Jack waited as long as he could. Blood dripped from his face wound and onto his nose and lips, and his salty sweat stung his eyes.
As the man’s spear loomed close, Jack parried the blow with his own, striking with a strength he never knew he had. He hit the pole so hard that the blow shook it. When Dingbat was right next to him, Jack grabbed him by the arm, held him close, and plunged his dagger into the man’s side where his leather armor didn’t fasten. It was a sickening sensation, one of sharp metal piercing flesh.
Dingbat fell to the floor, writhing in pain and clutching his side as if he could stem the flow of blood. Crimson smeared the grass stalks around him. Jack wanted to sink to his knees. Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him and he felt his own hot, sticky blood mixing with the sweat and drenching his face.
“Veik must know that I can’t die,” Jack said. He was so overwhelmed that even words were difficult. “Why did he send you, Dingbat?”
The man coughed. Blood stained his lips and his chin. Jack wanted to look away; taking a life was a grim thing, much more so when it was one of his own supposed soldiers.
Dingbat coughed. His life was leaking away as sure as the blood that gushed from his wound. He tried to sit up, but couldn’t. The last of his energy was gone.
Jack crawled over to him, grabbed him by the hair and forced him to look at his face. “Why, Dingbat? Tell me why he sent you.”
Dingbat groaned. His face was ghost white. “He’s going to attack soon,” he said. Eledrick ‘Dingbat’ Nash left out and final, raspy, breath, and then he never spoke again.
Level up to level 16!
- HP increased to 901
- Stamina increased to 783
- Mana increased to 814
-Base Attack increased to 28 [65 with dagger]
-Base Defence not increased
- Base Speed increased to 41
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The meeting room looked a little crowded these days. Jack sat at the head of the table in his lord’s chair, though he found it was becoming more uncomfortable as his rule progressed. Bluntfang dozed by the hearth, just far enough away that the spit and crackle of the embers didn’t burn him. Sarna sat on one side of the table and played with her haladie, while Elena studied the parchment map they had spread on the marble surface. Mav rested his sling arm and leaned back in his chair. Despite his arm injury, he looked to be in better shape than before. Maybe he had been working out.
A new fig
ure stood in the corner of the room and watched over them like a shadow. Jack still wasn’t sure that it had been wise to invite Crowley Drach to the proceedings, but the Magier Alchemi was vital to their plans. For his part he behaved himself, content to stand and listen rather than antagonize Elena and Mav, who held him in a mix of fear and disdain.
Mav had once again brought an array of snacks to the meeting. The part of the marble table not covered by the map instead held venom-grilled jacklegs, and field bisse meat cooked in wine that the peasants had given Jack for his gravedigging efforts. There was a bowl of poached rotflies than none of them had ventured to touch.
Mav picked up one of the flies and crunched it between his teeth. “Spend as much time in dungeons as I have, and you’ll learn to be less picky about what you eat.”
“We need to get rid of the raiders for good,” Jack said, starting the meeting. “If they venture from the flek fields again, it’ll be clear that I’ve lost control. There are peasants out there who just lost the food that would have seen them through the winter. I need to make it right, but I need flek to do that.”
Sarna placed her haladie down. “You’re right, Jack, I know you are. But you have to remember – the raiders are warriors through and through. They’re tougher than the balls of a stone golem, and they’re hardened by years of squalor. Our soldiers are getting better, but they still aren’t ready.”
“What sort of lord am I if I can’t take vengeance for my people? This meeting isn’t to discuss the option of an attack; I’m settled that we’ll take back those fields in three days’ time. What we need is a plan. I’m inclined to march over there and shove my dagger up their leader’s ass and wind the cog, but maybe we need a little more finesse.”
After he said this, Elena looked at him approvingly. Jack wondered what he’d said to earn her admiration. Maybe it wasn’t what he’d just said, but an accumulation of things. He knew that he’d changed since coming to Royaume; the title of lord was starting to fit him more and more.
For too long now he’d been putting off tackling the raiders. He told himself he was waiting until everything was perfect and that they were completely ready. The fact was, that nothing would ever be perfect, and waiting for such perfection just showed a lack of faith in himself. It was time to shake that away.
“What news is there of Veik?” he asked.
“We sent some of the watchmen and a couple of soldiers out scouting. No sign of Veik’s men marching this way yet,” said Sarna.
“Then the crystal must have worked, Hopefully, he thinks we have much greater defenses than is the case. That should keep him away while we take the fields. Thank you for that, Crowley.”
All eyes turned to the mage in the corner, who gave a grim nod. Sunlight shone through the window and illuminated his mask. His long, silver hair looked silken under the kiss of Royaume’s suns.
“So, a plan, then. Let’s see what we’ve got,” said Jack. “Crowley, have you made preparations?”
Crowley nodded. Jack realized that by staying in the corner of the room and saying little, the mage wasn’t just being mysterious. It was strange, but Jack could have sworn that he was nervous about being here. Perhaps he just didn’t like speaking in front of people.
“When will they be ready?” asked Jack.
“Two days. As long as I do not get any more interruptions,” Crowley said.
Jack stood up. “Then there’s nothing else for it. Sarna, get the men ready, please. Crowley, make sure that you’re finished with your stuff by the morning of the battle. Elena, I’d like you to spend flek on new leathers and swords for the soldiers so that they look pretty for the prom, and I want the rest to go toward buying grains and food from anywhere who’ll sell to us. These are to be distributed to the peasants.”
“All your flek will be gone after that,” said Elena.
“I know. We’re gambling everything on taking back those fields. But if we fail, then it will all count for nothing either way. I’ll be on the training ground with my dagger for the next two days. And don’t worry, Sarna, I’ll make sure I get plenty of sleep.”
“What about me?” asked Mav. “I could use some rousing orders.”
Jack smiled. “We’ll need you and your mughal soon, Mav. Even if you’re fighting one-handed. Until then, stay out of trouble.”
“And keep the fuck out of my dungeon,” added Crowley.
“As long as we stick to our strategy and stay together, we will all come through this,” said Jack, unsure if he even believed his words himself. “Thank you all for your help so far. When this is done, I’ll see that you get to celebrate like never before.”
Chapter Thirty
Sarna had told Jack how important it was to rest on the eve of a battle, yet as much as he tried to catch it, sleep eluded him. Another piece of her advice, directed at everyone this time, was how vital it was to eat a hearty meal before a march. After a steak breakfast cooked by Mav, they rounded up the soldiers and left Castle Halberd. The morning sky was awash with clouds and there seemed to be electricity in the air, as if the land fizzled under the spell cast by a mage.
Jack and Sarna led a gentle trot from the front, with Mav and Elena to the sides. Marching behind were Jack’s army of soldiers, hunters, men-at-arms, tinkers, and watchmen. It was hardly a conquering force of Roman legionnaires, but it was an army nonetheless, and the thuds of their boots on the dirt path were enough loud enough to announce their presence to anyone nearby.
When they passed the peasant village, Jack saw that every man, woman and child was hard at work tending to each other’s fields. At the peasants’ own insistence, those whose fields hadn’t been scorched by fire weeks ago had divided up some of their land to give to villagers who had lost everything. It was touching to see.
By the time the flek field loomed into view, every step forward of Jack’s horse sent a jolt of nerves through him. Since getting to Royaume he’d fought atronarchs, field wraiths, wolves, raiders and assassins, yet this battle made him anxious. This wasn’t a game. If he lost, he couldn’t just try again. Losing a battle would make Henry Veik stronger, and that lessened Jack’s chances of escape.
He hoped they were ready, but deep down he felt that they weren’t. There was no choice but to fight now, and they were as prepared as they could be given the time they had to work with. Jack had spent flek raising their soldier count, and he’d bought them all new leathers that offered bonuses against projectiles. He’d equipped them with gleaming silver swords that bestowed on them a combat bonus.
On they went, their horses kicking up dust, their army marching in step behind them. Every so often Jack glanced at Elena, who flashed what he guessed was supposed to be a reassuring smile. Sarna was all business today; her gaze was fixed firmly on the flek fields that loomed ever closer.
After two hours march, he saw the cracked ground and yellow tremor lines that marked the flek fields. They spread out a fifth of a mile in all directions. The smell of sulphur was rife, and a hazy mist hovered over parts of the field, left over from a recently-exploded flek hole. Way across it on the opposite side was their enemy.
Not far from their camp, giant, slug-like creatures sucked flek from holes in the ground. Their pus-ridden bodies rippled with each movement of their mouths, and even from far away, Jack heard squelching sounds as they slurped. Most people would have called it repulsive, but he found it fascinating. Looking closer, he saw that the creatures had harnesses attached to them so that they could be controlled easier. Guards with lightening-infused spears stood nearby.
One slug backed away from the mound and belched, spraying a glowing yellow liquid everywhere. Three guards approached. They seemed to have a healthy respect for the creature. One grabbed it by the harness while the others held their spears at waist height, ready to strike if there was trouble. The slug allowed them to lead it toward a wide steel drum, where it puked a stream of yellow.
“You’ll never forget the first time you see one of those jelly-s
acks vomit,” said Mav.
A shudder of nerves took hold in his stomach. He decided that they would be his last; his first test had come, and he would face it with a confidence. These were his fields, that was his flek, and he was taking it back.
Sarna was the first to stop. She tugged on her horse’s reigns and held a hand in the air. The clomp of boots ceased behind them. The soldiers were only yards at their rear, since Jack and Sarna had measured the pace of their horses carefully.
“That’s the end of our march for today,” said Sarna.
With their horses halted and the marching stopped, there was a curious silence. That was when they heard the screaming. It sounded like a man being eaten by ants while having hot pokers pressed against his skin, such was the ferocity of the cries. It was hard to listen to, and Jack would have even preferred the roar of a pack of forest wolves or the buzzing of a rotfly swarm over this.