Severance (The Sovereign Book 1)

by Michael Pritsos

  Donovan’s footing was losing its hold as the sand churned to mud beneath him. Someone grabbed his shoulder from behind but he shrugged it off and stabbed out at the man before him. The man pawing his shoulder was Seth. “We have to get out of here,” the high guard yelled above the din. He still possessed his arrow bag with a few shafts left but he had dropped the bow for a shield instead. His sword, the steel longsword Donovan had gifted him after Anapos, was drawn but still clean.

  The captain turned away and took a glancing blow off his shoulder. The boiled leather had absorbed the hit well enough but panic seized him and he drove his shield forward. The iron rim slammed into his adversary’s chest and he lunged underneath with his shortsword to rake under the man’s mail hauberk and into his groin. The metal shriek was eclipsed by that of the Thalassan but Donovan had no time to savor the minor victory. Seth was pulling him back through the ranks towards the horses.

  Xander

  “Pull back,” came the call and those were the sweetest words Xander had ever heard. They were at first uttered by a Gaian captain and subsequently shouted above the din by an officer under him. The Gaian line was falling apart and rolling up like an old map.

  Xander took the moment of respite to reload his pistol and saw many others doing the same. When some had their weapons reloaded they fired them straight away, hitting the backs of retreating men. Most of the balls buried uselessly in mail and leather, causing now more than a stumble. A few lucky ones, however, met their marks in the backs of unprotected heads and necks.

  One of the more lavish Gaian captains looked reluctant to go but a high guardsman was pulling him free. Xander took aim into the crowded crew and fired along with over a dozen other pistols and rifles seizing the opportunity. The captain ducked under his shield and continued on unscathed. He shouted like a man being castrated at the losses of his men who had exposed their backs to Thalassan gunfire.

  A contingent of Gaians lingered, those more loyal to their state, and Xander led his crew toward them through the slop of the bloody beach. His old boots were falling apart, the seams allowing mud and sand to infiltrate the leather and cake between his toes. He trudged forward with Brennus’ crew close at hand. Victor tromped alongside him, holding a five foot-long spear slicked with gore in his right hand and his shield in his left.

  Night had descended on Gaia in full then. A blanket of stars shone brightly to illuminate the travesty Tartarus’ beach had become. The sounds of the waves lapping against muddy sands were whispers from the shore, as if the gods of the sea were intently watching what unfolded with no intention to disturb the events. Bodies were everywhere, Thalassan and Gaian alike, but Xander knew there were more green-cloaked men face down on that sand than anything else.

  Xander brought his crew to the thick of the fighting and there they formed another shield wall. His bronze ax was chipped and bloody but it served him better to use that than the longsword at his hip. The close confines of shield walls clashing left little room to move, let alone swing a sword that possessed a blade nearly a yard in length. He hefted the short ax and struck first against the Gaian he had paired himself with.

  His immediate foe was swift and lifted his shield in more than enough time. Xander allowed his thoughts to drift sporadically while still focusing on the enemy. Gaians became easily flustered when they could not anticipate their opponent’s moves and his enemy’s anxiety showed in a half-hearted attack. He lunged out with a spear that Xander casually knocked aside. The bronze ax bit deep through mail, bone, and flesh in the Gaian’s shoulder and he let out a scream that was instantly silenced when Victor’s spear found his windpipe.

  The shoving began again then in earnest, although to Xander it felt like time had slowed and there was no limit to his own prowess. He hooked his ax on the rim of a man’s shield just to his right and yanked it down. Without waiting to see the killing blow he smacked the broad blade into the exposed face of another Gaian come to fill the first’s place. Xander’s helmet rang and fell when a Gaian to the left brought his shortsword down on the iron but Xander hardly felt it and his assailant was soon dead at the hands of another Thalassan anyway. He hefted his shield to absorb the impact of a bronze ax similar to his own and then swung at the man’s legs. His broad blade smashed through boot leather and bone to hobble his enemy and Xander straightened again with a gruff whoop for joy.

  His ecstasy was cut short when he felt fire rip through his leg. He jerked back before his enemy had time to twist the shortsword but it had already punched through his tattered boot and exploded through the back of his right calf. A hand pulled his mail from behind and yanked him back into the second row where once again time lapsed into the swiftness of normalcy. All around men were falling to blows delivered by their enemies, lives shattered by spears and swords lancing into open spaces in the lines.

  Xander’s leg was throbbing and his boot filled even more to accompany the wet sand and mud with blood of his own. He watched as the small Gaian shield wall again began to crumple and absently loaded his pistol while his men, Brennus’, and another two commanders of Pontos laid waste to this contingent of Tartarus’ defenders. When they fled Xander felt as likely to vomit as jeer them like his comrades did. He picked out one lone defender who was holding off two Thalassans at once with a look of exhilaration on his bearded face. The pistol fired and the Gaian was struck plum in his forehead to die before his body hit the ground.

  Tartarus’ forces were scattered by then, with some small groupings of men trying desperately to hold their own against Thalassans in masses of three, four, sometimes even five crews. Nevertheless, Xander ordered Victor to take the surviving crew towards the city and slay any more of the archers that might be lingering on houses and shop buildings. The youth nodded, hardly suppressing high spirits at the notion of leading men himself, and sprinted around two small shield walls dueling. Brennus and his crew moved to help those Thalassans.

  Xander knelt down in the sand to check his leg and heard a shout nearby. He turned to find Caedmon staunchly protecting Saija as she lay bleeding on the beach. Two Gaians, separated from their bulk, were intent on killing the wounded woman and her defender. Xander gritted his teeth against the pain and ran, planting the bronze ax between one bastard’s shoulder blades while Caedmon was free to focus on the other. There was a flurry of strikes as they exchanged swings before the Gaian’s leg was pierced by a thrust, he sank to the earth for a heartbeat and Caedmon’s longsword took him in the neck.

  “Son of a bitch,” Caedmon cursed sourly. He plopped down next to Saija and examined her further. An arrow had punched through her cuirass to bury itself deep into her lower left side. She was fading in and out of consciousness but the flow was minor and no crimson had welled to her lips to preface internal bleeding.

  “I think she’ll be all right,” Xander assured his friend.

  “She’d better be,” Caedmon said without looking up. Xander wondered for an instant if his friend was weeping but Caedmon forced a nervous laugh. “She’s one tough bitch.”

  “I heard that,” Saija complained though the words pained her. Caedmon uncorked a flagon of wine and gave it to her to sip, then poured a bit around the shaft. Saija arched her back and searched aimlessly for something to squeeze. Caedmon gave her his hand.

  “Xander,” Murchadh’s voice came from behind. “They’re wheeling cannons closer to strike the beach.” He pointed vaguely behind him. “Will your men be able to—”

  An explosion sounded in the distance and Xander’s world became a blur of sand and wood. He swiveled about to find Murchadh stumbling from a great pit where a five pound ball lay in the center. The watchman was clutching his head and screamed suddenly, his hands coated in blood from where driftwood and sand had erupted violently into his face. Xander rushed over to him and hoisted him up onto his shoulders to throw him down next to Saija.

  “My eye!” Murchadh screamed. “My fucking eye!”

  The right side of his face was sheeted in bloo
d. Two long streaks of torn flesh led to where his eye was coated in viscous crimson. Xander found no words but patted him once on the shoulder before turning about again. He hefted his sword but there was no need. Victor and Brandon had abandoned the idea of the archers and had swarmed their men towards the two cannons at the edge of Tartarus’ streets. Those dozen Gaians had no time to reload but dumbly they tried to cram powder into their sakers before a barrage of gunfire cut them down. Victor sent two dozen of the troops into the city and with the rest began swiveling the cannons towards remaining contingents of Gaians still fighting on the beach.

  Xander’s nose crinkled as the stench of battle hit him. The metallic scent of blood was there, earthy sweat, sourness of urine, and foulness of voided bowels. The smells comingled to create a dominant reek that lingered in the atmosphere with its palpability. The scents had surely been there for a while, but it was only during the pauses in battle that one gets to experience the finer points.

  “Xander!” Caedmon’s voice snapped his attention back to the present. Suddenly the smell was gone and he wheeled just as a horseman was bearing down on him.

  The mounted Gaian was wielding a falchion, a single-edged sword that cusped to deadly point. The back of the blade served only as that, for it was a half centimeter wide and thus had no cutting use, just extra metal to give more strength to the blade. Xander lifted his ax to parry the savage cut from the Gaian’s sword. An awkward clang followed and Xander looked at the haft where his ax-head had been just moments before. The horseman was curbing the beast some twenty yards away and turning for another charge.

  Xander sprinted to close the distance and drew his longsword midstride. The rider was about to force a gallop but balked resulting in a trot that Xander would have laughed at in any other situation. He swung his shield with full force right into the beast’s muzzle. The palfrey whinnied and rose on its hind legs, throwing its hooves at its assailant while the rider leaned over to get a swing out. Xander hit the beast again with the bronze shield boss and in a frenzied panic it toppled over with a thrashing of its powerful legs. The Gaian screamed as his leg bones shattered under the weight of the animal and Xander walked over to plunge his blade into the man’s neck. The palfrey stilled then. It was not pain or fear that eased the beast. It seemed at a loss on what to do entirely.

  Xander looked over to where Caedmon was carrying Saija towards a group of Thalassan soldiers all nursing wounds around one physician. Despite the fact that his job had been bloody and terrifying that day Xander felt for the man. As soon as he dropped her off he went back for Murchadh. The watchman was unconscious in the dirt but his wound would need the most immediate care. There must have been over forty Thalassans all awaiting one man’s attention and his night would feel as though it would never end. He began examining the corpse before him to try to learn rank or anything. High guardsman perhaps? He wondered.

  “A lieutenant,” a voice announced behind him. “My lieutenant.”

  Xander looked to find another Gaian horseman. He had dismounted and Xander noticed he was the captain who led the southern half of Tartarus’ army. He was wealthy though he only wore leather armor. The Gaian was tall as well, and his blue gaze looked vaguely familiar but Xander could put no point on it.

  “Well, Gaian,” Xander started. “At least you had the decency to dismount, I suppose. Even still, it’s best if you move on. This battle is lost for your people.” His voice spoke with a confidence he did not feel. Truth be told he felt like a pauper before this man, whose garb was muddy from the battle but evidently of the finest quality. Xander felt that he must have looked like anyone, minus the silver chain draped around his neck. His boots were tattered and bloody, his iron helmet dented and left somewhere on the battlefield, the chainmail on his chest gray and cheap, and the longsword in the lieutenant’s corpse ugly and notched.

  The Gaian’s dark blue gaze flew open in disbelief. “You are a son of Nemo,” he said, revealing his mind’s probing. “Xander, son of Nemo.”

  Xander freed his longsword from the Gaian lieutenant’s throat. He glanced about but it was clear he was alone in this. Caedmon and Saija were gone, over half the Thalassan army was eradicating Gaian contingents, and the other men were waiting restlessly by the town’s outskirts. They were not allowed to loot Tartarus until every last soldier was “either dead, or fled,” according to Arkouda’s orders.

  “Can’t be too many of you,” the Gaian continued. “Xanders, I mean. So then you must be the little investigator who looked around after that Thalassan whelp’s murder.”

  “One and the same,” Xander proclaimed. “At least it’s nice to hear that some Gaians admit foul play.”

  “Well, I was there,” the Gaian said with a chuckle. He drew his own sword. Unwashed, it had dried blood smeared along the metal. Still the short blade was something beautiful to behold. “He begged for life but I gave him none. It was my own mind that pulled the trigger.”

  The trigger on Xander’s own holstered pistol snapped back when the Gaian spoke the words but the weapon was not loaded. Xander glanced down at the weapon on his chest and a dread began to creep into his heart at this man’s power. He staunched the flow of fear like stitching up a wound and allowed rage to replace it. “You killed Daemyn?”

  “Aye,” the Gaian said and took a few paces forward with the casualness of strolling on a beach not littered with death. “It was me, Donovan, son of Egil, First Captain of Tartarus… all that bullshit makes little difference though. He’s dead now.”

  “You made a mistake telling me,” Xander said and took one limp forward.

  “Why’s that?” Donovan asked as if he genuinely wished to know. “In a matter of moments the world will go back to what it was. Only you won’t be here anymore to tell of those last moments for you.”

  “Fuck you, Gaian,” Xander spat.

  “Your friend had the same foul mouth you do,” Donovan replied.

  Xander ran forward through the pain in his leg, and Donovan ran those last few paces as well. They both wanted to attack, to lead the dance, but despite Xander’s eagerness Donovan was quicker. At the last instant Xander abandoned his swing and brought the shield up instead to halt a thrust at his face. The wood rocked him for half a heartbeat but he lanced out with his blade anyway. The battered longsword missed wildly and Donovan kicked Xander in the chest. He stumbled backward but kept his balance as his lungs felt aflame. He’s toying with me.

  “And oh how fun it is,” Donovan said and leapt forward with a stab at Xander’s belly. He caught it on his shield and his vision suddenly filled with the Gaian’s shield rim. His nose was pouring crimson down his lips and he blinked constantly as he walked backwards to get the stars from his sight.

  Donovan went forth again and Xander parried this time, bringing his own shield up to clash with the Gaian’s. They exchanged like that twice more before Donovan tired of it. He drove his steel down on Xander’s shield over and again, knocking the wood into Xander’s wrist until he felt like his arm was splitting under a hammer. He screamed at the cracking of his wrist’s bones but managed to swing a foot under Donovan’s to splay him on his back. Xander followed with a slash that would have taken the Gaian’s head halfway off but Donovan lifted his shield into the strike to spiral the weapon off to the sand.

  Xander dived onto the Gaian murderer, throttling him with bare hands. Donovan lifted the shortsword to drive it into his attacker but Xander grabbed that too, and with a moment of childlike barbarism bit into his hated foe’s fist to release the weapon. Donovan shouted as the pain lanced through his hand of severed flesh and tendons. Xander spit a mouthful of blood onto the sand and drove the crown of his head into Donovan’s face.

  When Xander eased off the fallen Gaian he plucked up the steel shortsword and held it at the murderer’s throat. Donovan eyes flashed open and the steel point would not budge no matter how hard Xander pushed. The Gaian captain snatched the weapon and Xander turned to run and tangled his legs over the corpse o
f Donovan’s lieutenant. Without thinking he snatched up the fallen falchion and swung the blade back with full force.

  Donovan had tried to halt himself as he realized Xander’s mind but his body did not respond swiftly enough. The iron falchion cut through the air, leather, and muscle, to rest halfway into one of his ribs. The pain showed on the Gaian’s face as a rictus of clenched eyes and furrowed brow. Donovan almost instantly dropped his own sword at the severity of the wound. He dropped to his knees and held onto the hilt as firmly as he could yet it seemed a child’s task for Xander to kick it away. The Gaian captain’s hands fell to the earth and lingered there beside his knees. Xander pulled the blade from his side and a rush of blood replaced it. Though that would be enough to make any man pass out, Xander still drove the point of the falchion into Donovan’s abdomen until it nearly reached his spine. The Thalassan pulled the blade back out and lingered for a moment with hatred creasing his brow.

  “You can’t,” Donovan began. He winced as agony raced through his stomach and chest. His thigh was bleeding copiously as well, sheeting his black trousers on one side even darker than the other. “I gave your friend a quick death.”

  Xander leaned forward and spat full in Donovan’s face. “That’s what I think of your mercy.”

  Donovan grimaced and placed a hand over the hole in his belly to staunch the flow but it was no use. “You have won nothing today,” he snarled. “Gaia’s forces are three times that of those pitiful islands you fools call home. There will be more like me.”