“The kraken was different,” Nikomedes grumbled after breaking eye contact with the older man and turning to leave.
“No!” roared Felix as he grabbed Nikomedes by the collar and hauled him closer, spinning him around to once again lock gazes. “The kraken was no different; only you are different.”
“Am I?!” Nikomedes bellowed. “I am stronger, faster, and smarter than I have ever been!”
“All true,” shouted Felix, matching Nikomedes’ tone and even exceeding it with his deep, grating voice, “and yet if the man who stands before me now leapt into that bay he would never come back out of it—while the boy I saw take the Trial of the Deep two years ago could have found only victory in those dark waters!”
Nikomedes felt his face flush with anger, but something Felix had said resonated deep within him. Still, he could not allow such an insult to stand.
“You have insulted my honor, warlord,” Nikomedes said in a low voice.
“Honor,” scoffed Felix. “You have no understanding of the word; to you it is merely something to hide behind—like your mother’s dresses!”
Nikomedes’ hands balled into fists at his sides as he felt rage course through his body. “I challenge you to the circle, in Naturales.”
Felix nodded as a look of savage satisfaction came over his face. “I won’t need weapons to put you in your place, boy.”
“This challenge is made by Nikomedes, to satisfy a slight against his honor by his warlord and Protector of the Hold, Felix Krastus,” called Eukaria’s deep, smooth voice which echoed throughout the Main Hall. “Combatants are to conduct themselves in Naturales and unarmed, by mutual agreement. This is a battle to submission or incapacitation as determined by the victor. The contest begins now.”
Nikomedes loosened his limbs in the final moments as he stood naked on his edge of the circle, while Felix cracked his knuckles opposite him.
“I will teach you something of honor, boy,” Felix growled.
Nikomedes ran toward the older, thicker man, who did likewise and after only a few steps they clashed near the center of the circle. Felix immediately went for a bear hug, but Nikomedes had anticipated such a ploy and he nimbly twisted his body as he took Felix’ left wrist in his two hands, preventing such a crushing attack from ending the fight prematurely.
But this left Felix right hand free, which he used to smash Nikomedes in the side of the face. Nikomedes’ hearing was drowned out with an overpowering, ringing sound, but he kept his grip on the other man’s wrist as he spun around to present his back to the other man, whose punches now came to Nikomedes’ flank and right arm.
Sacrificing exposure to the blows in order to improve his position, Nikomedes pressed his head and shoulders against the other man’s chest and neck, stretching Felix’ somewhat shorter arm forward as he did so. Felix, being a veteran of many such contests, reached around with his free hand to break Nikomedes’ grip.
But Nikomedes had already achieved control, and with his superior length he had placed Felix’ left hand out of reach. Felix reached up to Nikomedes’ head, and the instant the younger man felt the warlord’s fingers touch his chin he collapsed and twisted his hips, shifting his weight forward and to the right just before he flipped his legs up in the air, turning his body in a clockwise motion around Felix’ left arm.
The older man had no choice but to follow Nikomedes, whose rolling maneuver had placed him on top of the other man—a position he was not about to waste.
Nikomedes spun his legs clear of Felix’ grasping, vice-like hands, and as soon as he was perpendicular to Felix’ torso he grasped the warlord behind the head and delivered a pair of devastating knees to his head. Felix’ nose was flattened into a flat, bloody mess with the first blow, while the second landed against his forehead as the veteran warrior tucked his chin to avoid a follow-up shot to the face.
Felix’ arms went limp momentarily from the second knee and quickly he fought to regain his feet, but Nikomedes pressed his attack. He swept Felix’ legs with his right foot and knocked the older man off balance as he brought a crushing, overhand right down on Felix’ exposed jaw. Nikomedes felt a measure of cold satisfaction as he saw a tooth fly from Felix’ mouth as he lined up a fight-ending kick to the other man’s head.
But Felix lunged blindly toward Nikomedes’ drive leg, and once he had grasped it he drove his shoulder into Nikomedes’ knee. Knowing that to resist was to invite a permanently ruined limb, Nikomedes fell backward and twisted away for all he was worth, kicking out with his free foot as he did so.
Ignoring Nikomedes’ efforts, Felix slowly but steadily climbed up the younger man’s leg until he had a hold of Nikomedes’ waist. None of the younger man’s blows seemed to even register as the warlord clasped his hands behind Nikomedes’ back.
Desperate to escape, and knowing that failure to do so would result in the worst defeat he had ever suffered, Nikomedes twisted his body around until Felix’ clasped hands were around his belly. He tried to break the older man’s grip by once again grasping the older man’s left wrist with both of his hands. Nikomedes strained with every muscle in his body, but to no avail as Felix pulled the younger man’s body toward his torso before, unexpectedly, Nikomedes felt his feet leave the earth and a moment later all he could see were stars as the world exploded in a dazzling haze of pain.
He heard something pierce the ringing din in his ears, but Nikomedes was unable to determine what it was at first. He felt sensation return to his fingers, so he flexed his fingers and, satisfied they still functioned, he rolled over to his hands and knees.
“Submit!” demanded Felix. Nikomedes’ sight returned just in time to see the warlord’s foot sweep up into his face, robbing him once again of his senses as the force of the kick spun him over on the ground.
“Submit, you fool!” Felix bellowed, and Nikomedes felt the other man’s fists begin to rain down on his flanks. His voice was markedly lower and quieter as he growled, “Don’t make me kill you.”
Nikomedes gasped ineffectually, feeling his lungs seize up from the punishment he was receiving, but he made no attempt to submit. He lashed out with his hand, only to be rewarded with a trio of well-placed kicks to the gut for his trouble.
I will not allow this man to take all that I am, he thought to himself with grim determination. I have not yet accomplished that which I am meant to!
Then Nikomedes remembered something his brothers had done to him when he was younger, and he tried to clear his senses so he could anticipate the next blow. If it was a punch then he would be unable to employ the technique in time, but if it was a leg—
He heard the dirt to his left scuffle and, opening his eyes just in time, he saw Felix’ foot come toward his head in a savage, deadly stomp which could have very easily ended his life.
Nikomedes spun his body on his shoulders as he brought his hands up to intercept the foot. He succeeded in avoiding the attack—and also in gripping the older man’s leg as he brought his own legs up and around Felix’ leg, bringing the older man to the ground.
In a maneuver which Nikomedes had not practiced in over two years—so as to avoid giving away the advantage at a moment like this one—he pulled Felix’ ankle up against his bruised and beaten side and, locking his own feet together, he twisted the warlord’s leg with all the power he could muster.
Felix cried out in pain, but Nikomedes continued to wrench the warlord’s leg. After a moment Nikomedes felt the warlord grasp one of his feet, and he looked down to see that the warlord was mimicking his own attack!
This was a leg lock known only to a handful of people—all of them kin to Nikomedes, and all of them dead—but in less than a second Felix had secured Nikomedes’ own leg, and the two began to scramble in order to keep their knees from being torn apart by the other.
They fought furiously, but Nikomedes felt his grip on Felix’ foot slip unexpectedly, and the warlord took full advantage of the opportunity by locking in the joint-lock and wrenching with his entire
body Incredible pain shot up Nikomedes’ leg, and he knew his limb could not withstand sustained pressure of that kind.
Knowing he was defeated—and that living as a cripple on account of a failed honor duel was worse than death—Nikomedes reluctantly called out, “I submit!”
Instantly, the warlord’s grip relaxed and after only a momentary pause, he released Nikomedes’ leg entirely before rolling to his feet. Felix looked down on Nikomedes for a long while before offering his hand.
Nikomedes was taken aback by his warlord’s gesture of respect, which he accepted and stood to his feet in front of his warlord.
“Why did you release the hold?” Nikomedes asked in a low voice, careful to keep the spectators from hearing.
“Because,” Felix said before hawking a large gob of bloody spit into the dirt, “this was a lesson in honor, Nikomedes. Now that you know its true face, you must never forget it—and never turn your back on it.”
Nikomedes did not believe he fully understood what his warlord had meant, but he nodded respectfully before Felix turned and left the circle to a round of applause from the occupants of the Main Hall.
Before he had made his way to the dais on which sat the two chairs—one for the Hold Mistress, the other for her Protector—the door to the Main Hall burst open and a man dressed in the leather armor of a Hold sentry came into the room.
The Hold Mistress made her way to her seat, while Felix beckoned for a robe which he used to cover himself. Nikomedes felt a thrill of excitement at what news the obviously perturbed sentry might be carrying with him.
“Hold Mistress, Protector,” greeted the sentry as he knelt before them, “I apologize for my entry, but I have news from the outlying communities.”
Felix’ face took on a dark cast, but Hold Mistress Eukaria merely nodded serenely. “What news do you bring to the Main Hall, sentry?”
The sentry straightened himself as Nikomedes approached, to better hear the man’s news since his ears were still badly ringing. “Hold Mistress, a war band of Ice Raiders has been sighted on the northern edge of the Hold—”
“How many?” demanded Felix before the sentry could finish his report.
The sentry shifted his focus to the Protector before once again looking to the Hold Mistress. Nikomedes wanted to sneer at the man’s reluctance to respond directly, but he supposed that this particular sentry was more loyal to House Quistus than to its duly-appointed Protector, perhaps owing to some long-standing alliance between the sentry’s family and the Hold Mistress’s.
At the Hold Mistress’s signal to answer Felix’ question, the sentry swallowed visibly before replying, “Fifteen hundred, girded for war.”
Nikomedes looked up to his warlord, who ground his teeth at this news. The entire Hold held only three thousand bona fide soldiers who could take up arms on short notice, but only half of those were veterans of any real ability with the other half being either too young or too old for Nikomedes’ liking.
“Who leads them?” asked Hold Mistress Eukaria, her voice even and measured, as though she were asking for a report on the weather.
The sentry glanced to Felix before replying nervously, “Kratos leads them, Hold Mistress, under the banner of Hold Mistress Zorba.”
A rush of whispers circulated throughout the room, and Nikomedes saw a look of disdain cross his warlord’s face as the Hold Mistress turned to her Protector pointedly.
“I thought we had reached an understanding with the Hold Mistress of the Anthopolous, Protector,” she said ominously.
“We had,” Felix growled, “but Kratos has never been one to respect tradition, let alone honor agreements which do not suit his purposes. How long until they reach the Citadel?” he asked the sentry.
The sentry shook his head slightly. “They will arrive within two days, Protector.”
“Two days?” roared Felix as he bolted to his feet. “How is it possible for such an army to cross half of the Hold proper before being detected?!”
The sentry lowered his eyes to the floor. “Our sentries appear to have all been captured by the invaders before word could be spread, Protector.”
Felix stormed down the steps and grabbed the man by the collar. “This stinks of betrayal, sentry,” he said in a dire, threatening tone. “How did you manage to avoid a similar fate?”
The sentry met the warlord’s gaze at first, but then looked away in shame as he replied, “I did not. I too was captured, but Kratos released me with instructions to return here and relay what I had seen.”
“So you do his bidding now?” Felix spat and hammered an uppercut into the sentry’s gut, doubling the man over and sending him to his knees. “What else did you see, sentry?” he practically hissed the last word.
The sentry gasped for breath, but Nikomedes knew it was a light punishment for such a failure. Any grievous failure of duty demanded that far stiffer punishment should be administered to every last member of the failing unit, but the timing of the sentry’s report was obviously a critical component of his warlord’s response.
“The Hold…Mistress is with…him,” the sentry spluttered. “But Kratos says…this is a matter of…honor. The Hold need not suffer his wrath.”
“What do you mean?” Felix demanded, lifting the man to his feet. “What nonsense is this?”
The sentry shook his head vigorously as he regained his breath. “Kratos says he will meet with you under a flag of truce in two morning’s time to discuss…resolution.”
Nikomedes had never heard of such an army being mobilized in this area without it ending in bloodshed. He had heard of Kratos, but only scraps of information and rumors, and those scraps suggested he was ruthless in the extreme—so ruthless, in fact, that it was widely believed no Hold Mistress would take him as Protector in spite of his savage efficacy on the battlefield.
During his nine years at Eukaria’s side, Felix had successfully defended the Hold against invasion three times. Twice a peace had been negotiated on the field before significant loss of life, and the third time—when Nikomedes was only twelve, and shortly after his family had moved there from Argos—had nearly destroyed the Hold, but they had rebuilt to near their original strength in the past few years.
“Is there anything else?” asked the warlord, and when the sentry shook his head Felix called, “Guards!” A pair of heavily-armored men stepped forward promptly, and the warlord looked at the sentry with utter disdain, “Detain this…sentry until the Hold Mistress can determine his punishment.”
After the guards had led the sentry from the Main Hall, Felix turned to Eukaria expectantly.
The Hold Mistress inclined her head slightly as she stood. “How many soldiers are stationed within one day’s march from the Citadel, Protector?”
Felix grasped the hem of his robe across his chest and met his Hold Mistress’s level gaze. “The Citadel holds House Quistus’ two hundred men at arms, along with my own force of four hundred. The mercenaries and various free bands we have contracted number an additional hundred, bringing the current strength of the Citadel to seven hundred able soldiers.” He turned pointedly to the assembled nobles of the Main Hall before continuing in a hard, commanding voice, “Half your Houses are within a hard day’s march, so I expect no fewer than four hundred of your able men to answer the Hold’s call and return here in armor before the Ice Raiders arrive. The rest of you are to assemble your forces and come in reserve, using your designated rallying points before reinforcing our position.” He turned to Eukaria, who nodded her approval from her perch on her chair.
When no one moved to do as they had been instructed, Nikomedes stepped forward in all his naked glory. “You heard the Protector: move!” he bellowed, his voice echoing throughout the hall.
At that, the assembled nobles quickly exited the Main Hall. After giving a curt nod to his Hold Mistress, Felix turned and followed the nobility’s example with Nikomedes on his heels.
Chapter II: Blood for Blood
Two days had passed and
Nikomedes stood at the wall of the Citadel beside Felix, who was making final preparations. It was still two hours before dawn, but the sentries had spotted Kratos’ army and Felix had insisted on seeing them with his own eyes as soon as he was able.
They had seen nothing in the hour they had stood vigil, but then the horizon suddenly lit up with hundreds of torches. You will see us when we wish you to see us, Nikomedes mused, as he understood their message. It was an effective intimidation tactic, but Nikomedes was not afraid for having sighted the enemy—he had been looking forward to the opportunity to test himself in real battle.
“There they are,” Felix muttered. “Kratos always was overly dramatic.”
“You know him?” Nikomedes asked warily. He had detected something in his warlord’s voice when he had first spoken of Kratos, but had been unwilling to press the issue until this moment.
“I do,” he nodded distantly, “since we were young men.”
“Why does he march against the Hold?” Nikomedes pressed.
His warlord shook his head as he gripped the edge of the wall tightly. “He does not march against this Hold,” he explained, “he marches against me.”
Nikomedes’ brow furrowed. “I do not understand,” he admitted. “If his quarrel is with you, then he should challenge you in the Main Hall as is our custom.”
Felix laughed hollowly as he clapped Nikomedes on the shoulder and gave a short, hard squeeze. “He does not care for our customs…or our traditions.”
“What do you mean?” Nikomedes asked before noticing that all of the torchlight in the distance had disappeared.
“Kratos, along with a small group of…shall we say ‘dissidents,’ does not believe in our ways,” Felix explained, choosing his words more carefully than Nikomedes had ever heard him do. Intrigued, the youth leaned forward on the stone wall’s ledge and said nothing. “He,” Felix tilted his head toward the darkness, “and those like him, felt…betrayed when I made my disagreement with their beliefs public. Not long after I left them behind, they tried to kill me…but they failed.”
The Forge of Men Page 3