The man doubled over at the waist immediately and Randall felt his hands bring the sword’s tip up into the man’s upper chest. The dark, sparkling tip protruded out the man’s back and Randall felt his body leave his feet as he somersaulted over the man, drawing the blade free as he did so.
But you are also quick, the voice added as Randall’s body spun almost too quickly to intercept an incoming attack from a woman at the now-fallen man’s side. I can work with that.
“What?” Randall asked in absolute horror. He had expected to be relieved to have whatever—or whoever—it was once again in command of his body, but the strange, eerily flat voice was far more disquieting than he had anticipated.
He watched as the sword flashed upward, slicing the woman across the forearm and causing her to drop her short, club-like weapon as her fingers spasmed.
Randall turned to see the huge, lumbering man approaching with what had to be the most terrifying axe he had ever seen in his hands and he tried to bring the sword up to block. Unlike in the alley, this time when he attempted to direct his body’s actions he merely felt a flare of pain shoot up his arms.
Please do not do that, the voice snapped as Randall felt himself backpedal quickly. Leave this battle to me! The sword flashed up at the last possible instant and deflected the huge, jagged axe which looked to have a human—or, more likely, a half-elven—skull affixed above the blade.
“Ok,” Randall cried, “but that was too close!” He saw the humans share a look of mutual concern before they came on in tandem, with a new man wielding a spear going high and the lumbering axe-wielder going low.
Randall felt himself move toward the spear-wielder, then reverse momentum and literally flip in mid-air over the top of the mammoth axe. The sword came up and deflected the spear while his body was in mid-air, and while Randall had done his share of tumbling and other displays of physical agility, he had never thought to incorporate those kinds of moves into a fight like this!
Just as he regained his feet he saw the enchanted sword lash out and score a shallow hit to the huge man’s upper arm, eliciting a roar of pain before Randall’s body moved back and out of range.
“Good hit,” he blurted, unable to believe he had seen something like that actually happen in a fight.
Thank you, the voice replied somewhat courteously, before adding, but it would have been a killing blow if you were stronger!
“Y’mock me,” the lumbering brute growled, bringing his axe up and redoubling his efforts as he brought the weapon upward before reversing and smashing it down into the ground where Randall had stood a moment earlier.
Randall watched as he leapt back just in time to avoid the obvious, yet thoroughly destructive attack. Just as the axe hit the ground, Randall felt himself burst forward and, to his surprise, his left foot stepped onto the axe head before his right stepped on the axe’s haft.
“No, no!” he cried as the sword came up an instant too late, and the brute backhanded his chest with what felt like the force of a charging bull. Randall was knocked several feet to the side and as he rolled away his muscles felt heavy and he gasped in pain.
Get up, the voice commanded, it will take some time for me to regain control!
“Ok, I’m getting up,” Randal wheezed as he rolled over quickly—unwittingly avoiding a spear thrust which would have skewered him through the chest as he did so.
Spurred to action, he rolled away several more feet before bringing his feet beneath himself and springing sideways just in time to bring the sword clumsily down onto the spear’s shaft. The impact of the weapons created a loud, cracking sound, and Randall was amazed to see that the spear’s head was now pointed at an odd angle.
“Huh,” he said in disbelief before seeing the other man kick out with his front foot. His woolgathering had cost him the instant he needed to avoid the blow entirely, but he did manage to roll with the blow well enough that he heard no ribs crack from the shot, which hit him at the bottom of his sternum and nearly made him lose his feet.
The other man swung the spear like a quarterstaff, and Randall barely ducked it as he backed away. By now, the large woman and the others had closed the distance between them and the lumbering brute had extricated his axe from the dirt.
“Hold!” he heard the woman command, and the others gave her looks varying from anger to understanding as they stopped their approach.
The huge woman—who was still at least a head shorter than the lumbering, axe-wielding mountain of a man—stepped forward with a wicked, curved sword in her hands. “Ye have a fine blade,” she said with the barest hint of respect, “I think I’ll be taking it from ye…my husband will make me First Yu with such a fine thing in hand!”
The others growled hungrily, and Randall muttered under his breath, “Where are you?”
I am here—keep her talking as long as you can, since that appears to be a skill of yours, the voice replied in its strange, inhuman tone. I require more time.
“Ok…” he replied. “Ok,” he repeated, straightening himself, “who is your husband? Perhaps we’ve met?”
The woman sneered and the others chuckled in unison. “My husband is Glu’Rada, Lord of the Black Host and chosen of the Rotting God,” she said challengingly.
“Glu’Rada, huh?” Randall repeated, his eyes flicked to the wagon where Charles had somehow managed to undo the restraints binding the first woman in the wagon. “What does your husband want with all these slaves?”
She stepped nearer and flicked her blade to the side. It was a long, heavy-looking weapon, and to see her handle it in such a manner was more than a little intimidating. “These lands are ripe for the taking,” she gloated, “eight of us came here, and we leave with enough wealth to prompt a migration of the Host entire—soon all will know the name of Glu’Rada and his children…or at least, those by the First Yu,” she declared triumphantly.
“Who’s the First Yu now?” Randall asked unthinkingly, cursing himself for doing so as soon as the words had left his lips.
The woman stopped in her tracks and anger flashed in her eyes. “I’ll not speak the name of that harlot,” she spat. “And ye shall suffer for yer offense, little one!”
“But surely you can’t hope to usurp her based only on a sword,” he countered.
The woman cocked an eyebrow incredulously. “Ye know not that which ye have, do ye?”
Randall felt his scalp go numb, and his hands began to tingle. “No,” he blurted, “and I also don’t know your name. If I’m to be killed here and my most prized possession taken from me—” he felt a shock run up his arms which was more painful than anything else, and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. Straightening himself, he continued, “I’d at least like to know the name of the person who’s going to take my life.”
The woman stopped and looked down her nose at him before giving an approving nod. “It is good ye know yer betters,” she said after a moment’s thought. “Go to yer afterlife knowing it was Yu’Vana, Scourge of The Southern Pass, who sent you there,” she said, raising the wicked, curved blade above her head.
Randall felt another pulse of tingling numbness spread up his arms and across his body. I can deal with this woman—if you will allow it, he heard the voice say.
Randall sighed with enormous relief and nodded his head, “Thanks, I’ll do that.”
Moving with a speed and economy of motion he had not known his body capable of, he saw the tip of the sword lash out toward the woman. The surprisingly quick move caused Yu’Vana to pull her downward, sweeping attack up short in order to block the incoming weapon, and there was a great shower of sparks when the two blades met.
Randall staggered backward, while the towering woman did likewise and Yu’Vana looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and savage glee which set his stomach in knots.
“This will be good,” she growled.
Yes, the voice agreed, seemingly in Randall’s ear and no one else’s, it will.
Yu’Vana leap
t forward with a short, stabbing attack which quickly turned into a pair of criss-crossing swipes at Randall’s chest.
Randall’s weapon remained at his side as he felt himself easily dodge the trio of attacks. Only after Yu’Vana had returned to a ready position did Randall see himself lunge forward with the sword held low and to his right. The glittering blade lashed up much more quickly than he could have managed with the heavy weapon, but Yu’Vana parried the attack easily using the back edge of her curved weapon.
Randall saw his leg kick out at the woman’s knee, and was rewarded with a short cry from Yu’Vana’s lips as his foot locked up her knee just as she was about to take a step backward, sending her scrambling backwards and guarding her leg.
The dark, glittering blade in Randall’s hands flashed out once, twice, three times at Yu’Vana’s midsection and each time the woman parried she lost valuable distance. Her weapon was long and clearly made for keeping enemies at medium distance, while Randall’s weapon was shorter. So it stood to reason that the closer things got, the better his—or, rather, their—chances would be.
Of course, none of that took into account the fact that Yu’Vana had choke-powder concealed in her sleeve. She used it just as Randall’s weapon was about to launch a fourth, potentially crippling blow to her now-exposed leg.
His eyes began to burn and his nostrils were filled with the sharp, burning sensation associated with that awful material. Randall had actually been exposed to it before, when the Federation soldiers had ‘dispersed’ a crowd of protesting Three Rivers natives by showering the crowd with the horrible stuff. A few people had even died of respiratory complications incurred shortly thereafter, and that thought was foremost in Randall’s mind.
Staggering backward and nearly falling to his knees, it was all Randall could do to keep from reaching for his eyes—actually, he did attempt to do so, but was rewarded with a painful, shocking sensation to his hands when he did.
Do you know how to fight? the voice demanded in its atonal voice.
“No, I don’t!” Randall croaked in agony. His eyes were swollen halfway shut after just a few seconds of exposure, and his voice sounded more like a toad’s that a person’s.
Then you must trust me, the voice said. Do not attempt to break my hold, or you will surely die by this woman’s hand!
Randall nodded as he squinted just in time to see Yu’Vana approach with her weapon held high, poised for a killing blow. “Look out!” he yelled, and no sooner had he done so than his sword flew up in a tight arc to intercept Yu’Vana’s weapon.
But Yu’Vana had far more power behind her attack than his arms had brought in defense, and Randall’s wrists popped in excruciating pain. He was amazed the sword never left his fingers.
Randall felt himself roll to the side and just as he came up to one knee he saw his hands go up—one on the hilt, the other toward the tip of his sword’s blade—and block another punishing, would-be deathblow.
His left palm—the one which had been against the blade—felt as though it had been hit with a mason’s hammer. He squinted through his nearly-closed eyes to see a not-inconsequential amount of blood go streaming down his arm. His fingers, too, appeared to be unresponsive as he watched his body stagger back from the oncoming warrior woman. “My hand!” he cried.
“Ye shall lose more than that,” Yu’Vana growled, bringing her sword down again, and Randall saw his own weapon come up barely in time to intercept the blow and turn it aside. Even though he—or rather, whoever was in control of his body—managed to bring his own weapon into the path of Yu’Vana’s weapon, he had barely enough strength to turn it away enough to avoid losing his left arm.
You must trust me, the voice said, the sound of which pierced through the haze of battle. Will you trust me?
Yu’Vana brought her sword up, and Randall—only able to see through one eye—nodded. “I will,” he agreed, his tone somewhere between resignation and despair.
“Ye’re damned right, ye will,” Yu’Vana growled as she spun her body in unison with her sword, clearly meaning to decapitate Randall where he was.
Randall—no longer able to see even a little—felt his right, sword-bearing arm come up and his feet dig hard into the ground. The air was filled with the sound of shattering glass, which was quickly followed by a shockwave which nearly sent Randall flying. He felt himself run forward and bring the sword up before reversing his grip and stabbing it downward with as much force as he suspected his body was capable of generating and there was a loud, horrible scream.
He felt his arm wrench the sword from side to side, and the screams grew louder until they ceased entirely.
“Now what?” Randall asked under his breath as he stood there motionless, panting from the exertion. He was thankfully still not in control of his body, but with no eyesight he was still shocked that whoever it was that controlled him was able to bring Yu’Vana down.
Now, the voice replied, we hope you can convince the survivors to flee rather than face our wrath.
Randall couldn’t believe his ears. “Great,” he muttered, wincing at the pain in his left hand, “some plan—how long did it take you to come up with that?”
Do not be a fool, the voice hissed, dissuade them, and do it now!
Straightening himself as much as he could manage, Randall felt himself turn slowly. Remembering that the marauders had been in a circle, he cleared his throat quietly before saying, “Your leader lies fallen…”
There was a momentary pause, after which the voice urged, Her demonic weapon is destroyed.
He cleared his throat again, nodding his thanks before continuing, “And her demonic weapon is destroyed. All I want is my slaves returned to me; do that, and I will bring no further harm to you. Do it not…” he trailed off, unable to think of anything further to say.
“You have no sight, friend,” he heard the familiar man say, “tis not a hard thing for five fresh warriors to bring down one blinded one—even if he carries a magical weapon.”
Randall had to agree with the other man’s assessment, but he cleared his throat as he felt himself turn in the man’s direction, pointing the sword toward him. Unsure what to say, Randall tried to keep his voice from quavering, “You don’t sound too sure about that.”
“I’m shar,” the lumbering oaf rumbled, and Randall felt himself whirl toward him.
“Stay back!” he cried with more than a hint of desperation in his voice.
“Indeed,” the first man said, and Randall heard a faint, rhythmic sound in the distance, “methinks you are in no shape to contend with us. In fact…I’ll even let you live, if’n you hand over the sword—Yu’Vana was far from beloved by any of us.”
There was a grunt of approval from the others, including the towering axe-wielder. But Randall shook his head emphatically, “You’ll have to pry this sword from my cold, dead fingers.”
There was a brief silence and Randall allowed a sliver of hope to enter his mind that he might have dissuaded them. He also noted that the rhythmic, beating sound was coming closer.
“Have it your way,” the first man snarled, and Randall felt himself spin around and bring the sword up in a blocking maneuver of some kind. There was a clang of metal on metal, followed by Randall leaving his feet and rolling across the grass several feet before turning and blocking again.
He tried to force his eyes open so he could see, and he managed to do so just enough to see the lumbering brute swing his axe down at an angle which would have cleaved him from shoulder to hip. He felt his body fall toward the huge man and narrowly avoid the blade of the axe—but he still took the axe’s hard, wooden haft to the side of his chest as his good arm drove the sword deep into the brute’s torso.
The man grunted and Randall forced his eyes open just in time to see the oaf’s eyes roll back in his head and fall to the ground, nearly taking the sword from Randall’s grip as he did so.
But somehow he held onto the weapon and saw a glint of something large and shiny mov
ing fast just beyond the wagons, but his body spun too quickly for him to register what it was.
The voice which rang through the dark night sent shivers down his spine, bringing flashes of his final days in Three Rivers to his mind—and filling him with absolute dread.
Chapter XIV: A Fabulous Rescue
Midnight, 1-13-5-659
“If thou wouldst quarrel with that man, thou wouldst quarrel with me,” came a loud, metallic-sounding, heavily distorted voice—a voice which sounded exactly the same as the Senatorial Guards who had abused Randall at Three Rivers the day before he had fled!
He forced his eyes open just a crack and saw a brightly armored figure on horseback riding down on the small group of men, who were scattering like ashes in the wind before the oncoming rider. The warrior wielded a huge, glowing, Whitesteel blade in his hand as though it were no heavier than a knife. He brought it down in a practiced motion that decapitated the nearest marauder—the last remaining woman of the group—before riding on toward the brigand with the broken spear.
Randall was able to force his eyes open enough to watch what was happening, and he saw himself lunge forward jerkily and nearly stumble. He looked up to see that his quarry appeared to be another spear-wielding bandit, and he felt himself regain his footing just before charging headlong toward the man—who clearly intended to dismount the rider with his spear.
Randall heard a muffled cry to his right but he kept his eyes on the man before him, who had still not noticed his approach. Randall felt his hands bring the enchanted sword over his head and he uttered a primal battle cry as he closed distance with his quarry.
Seconds before the mounted rider barreled into the now-planted spear, the brigand holding the spear turned slightly to face Randall. The small change in his weapon’s aim was enough for the mounted rider to swat the spear aside as the horse charged by, and as the rider went by Randall saw his glittering, metal blade come down through the man’s shoulder to stick in his chest, which pumped blood profusely out onto the ground as he fell in a heap.
Joined at the Hilt: Union (Sphereworld: Joined at the Hilt Book 1) Page 17