He needed to make the fight one-on-one, and he needed to do so quickly, so he performed a risky maneuver he and his brother had learned while watching roving firebreathers—public performers who would douse sticks both long and short with flaming oil before engaging in elaborate dances which often ended with the performers swallowing the flames at the ends of their sticks.
Bringing the spear up across his shoulders, he stepped forward and used his neck as a pivot point while whipping the spear’s tip around in a counterclockwise rotation. The speed generated with the move was impressive, and Nikomedes let his arm extend to its maximum length from his body as it reached the raider who had joined in support of his leader.
The spear tip tore the bandit’s throat open as its black, glassy tip sliced through his flesh like it was warm animal fat. The wound sent a spray of blood into the air—some of which landed on the bandit leader’s face—as Nikomedes brought his spear back into a ready position just in time to parry another attack from the now blood-soaked leader.
Seeing hesitation in the leader’s eyes, Nikomedes decided against another flashy, high-risk attack as he drove forward, pressing his newfound initiative against the lumbering, but surprisingly powerful warrior.
The other man knew his weapon far better than any bandit had a right to, and he nearly broke Nikomedes’ spear shaft with a well-timed blocking attack that saw Nikomedes’ weapon briefly pinned against the dirt. But Nikomedes recovered before the heavily bearded man could stomp on his slender weapon with his armored boot.
Nikomedes saw that Herodotus had already slain one bandit to the rear of the group, and his motions had prompted the others to abandon their bows in favor of their spears as they moved to encircle him.
Knowing his fellow would soon fall to the raiders’ combined attack if he did not join him, Nikomedes pressed the attack against the bandit leader. He swiped, stabbed, and lashed out with his weapon, but the other man knew more than he did when it came to the peculiar nature of the weapon.
Every attack Nikomedes made was easily blocked, so Nikomedes made one, final act of near-desperation as he decided to attack his opponent’s hands rather than his body.
The decision surprised the bandit leader, who had seemed poised to launch a counterattack but instead gave ground as he worked to keep his relatively exposed hands from the path of Nikomedes’ spear tip. Nikomedes did not think he could actually get a fight-changing hit by striking the other man in the hand, but if he could move the man’s spear out of position for just a moment…
The opening came and Nikomedes lunged forward, releasing his grip on the spear as he did so while grabbing for the last remaining javelin at his back while unleashing a long front kick aimed at the bandit leader’s chin.
The bushy-bearded leader seemed surprised by the turn of events, but managed to awkwardly block the kick with the butt of his spear. In doing so, he bit as hard on Nikomedes’ feint as the younger man could have hoped he would, and Nikomedes followed up the kick by jamming his javelin into the other warrior’s upper chest near his neck.
The weapon buried several inches into the other warrior’s chest, but Nikomedes was alarmed to find that it had not been his javelin, but one of the raider’s arrows he had drawn. Remembering that he had taken the quiver from him as part of his disguise, Nikomedes drove his shoulder into the other man’s chest and the two were driven back as the bandit leader fought desperately to keep his feet beneath him while blood poured out of the fresh wound in his chest.
The bandit leader actually kept from falling, causing Nikomedes to snarl in anger at being thwarted, but before he could adjust his strategy the leader’s back crashed into the nearest wagon’s front wheel.
The wheel shattered and the wagon itself tilted immediately, spilling grain onto the ground—and onto the embattled warriors, who were now locked together as the bandit leader had managed to grip his spear in both hands and used it to pin Nikomedes to him with bone-crushing power.
The man was strong—stronger even than Nikomedes—but he was certainly not as strong as Kratos. Nikomedes fought his left arm free and flailed behind himself as he tried to secure a grip on another arrow, or his javelin, but they were slung across his back so as to be available to his right hand—a hand which was wedged between the spear’s shaft and the bandit leader’s side.
“You’re good,” the warrior grudged, seemingly mindless of the arrow sticking perilously close to his throat, “but now you die.”
He squeezed Nikomedes’ torso as he bucked his hips upward, sending Nikomedes’ back into the ruined wagon above them. The warrior spun Nikomedes over before they came back to the ground amid the still-spilling grain, and Nikomedes knew that he could not retrieve a fresh arrow from the quiver—and that he would not survive long beneath the mighty warrior.
Then he made a realization so obvious he actually roared in anger that he had not thought of it earlier. He reached his left hand for the arrow protruding from the bandit leader’s chest, but the leader was crafty and had expected it. He adjusted his grip and stance in such a way to prevent Nikomedes from pulling the arrow free.
The only thing Nikomedes could reach was the right side of the man’s face, so he made hooks of his fingers and raked them across it, barely managing to sink one into the man’s lips.
Ripping with all his might, Nikomedes’ finger tore the side of the warrior’s cheek completely out, causing the other man to scream in pain—though his grip remained firm and unbroken.
Again Nikomedes reached up, but this time the warrior tucked his chin and Nikomedes could not reach his head. But by ducking his head, the bearded warrior had exposed the hilt of a concealed blade beneath the furs covering his back, and Nikomedes grabbed that blade with his left hand, tearing it free from its sheath and prompting the bandit leader to release his grip on the spear to defend against the newfound weapon.
His right arm now free, Nikomedes conceded the sword hilt to the other man before a contest could begin in earnest. Instead, he reached for the arrow still buried in the other man’s chest and tore it free, loosing a torrent of blood as he did so.
The bandit leader snarled and their eyes briefly met before Nikomedes jammed the arrow up beneath the bandit’s jaw, driving it five inches into the other man’s skull by way of his mouth.
The bandit leader’s body seized briefly but he continued to fight, so Nikomedes wrenched the haft of the arrow sideways, causing a violent spasm to grip the bandit’s body.
It took only one more violent jerk on the arrow’s shaft to not only snap it off, but to send the bandit into a death rattle which permitted Nikomedes to retrieve his vanquished foe’s mighty, yet surprisingly lightweight spear. Gripping the spear, he was about to set off to join his comrades when he heard a great cry from the canyon where they had originally planned to ambush the bandits.
A stream of raiders began to pour from the mouth of the canyon, and Nikomedes knew he and his comrades had overplayed their hand by trying to retake the caravan without first awaiting reinforcements.
He counted no fewer than a dozen bandits as they surged toward the caravan, and just as Nikomedes turned to flee he heard a muffled cry from atop the grain wagon.
Looking into the wagon’s bed, he saw a small bundle which moved slightly between the weak, muffled cries, and without thinking he grabbed the bundle before breaking away from the wagon. Still holding the leader’s spear, he fended off a nearby bandit’s attack one-handed while cradling the softly crying baby in the crook of his left arm.
He needed to find a place to put the child down safely in order to deal with the bandits, but another raider quickly joined the one Nikomedes had warded off, and the two began to press him with a series of reasonably well-coordinated attacks.
Even one-handed, Nikomedes was able to react to their moves—often before they began them, since their technique was painfully obvious—and blocked each incoming blow, even managing a lucky counterattack which saw the wavy-shaped tip of the bandit leade
r’s spear bite deeply into the bandit’s leg.
Crying in pain, the wounded bandit fell to the ground, leaving the task of dealing with Nikomedes to his ally. Nikomedes felt his back press against a large rock, which he moved behind before placing the baby on the ground. With both hands once again available for the fight, he drove the well-crafted spear into the bandit’s guard. With only three moves, he maneuvered for a killing shot and took it, plunging the spear into the bandit’s lightly armored heart and driving him to the ground, where he quickly died of exsanguination.
Nikomedes looked and saw Herodotus fighting a pair of bandits with his sword and shield in hand, but he had already taken several hits to his legs and arms which slowed his movements. Nikomedes saw Vasikus hurl a javelin at the incoming horde of bandits, temporarily slowing them in their murderous charge toward Nikomedes.
“The spear,” one bandit cried, gathering his wits long enough to point at the weapon in Nikomedes’ hands, “it is mine!”
“Never,” another bellowed, and Nikomedes was glad for the brief respite provided when the group took shelter from Vasikus’ aim behind the ruined wagon and immediately began to bicker amongst themselves.
Turning quickly, he tore a long piece of cloth from the rags and furs he had taken from the second bandit scout’s corpse. Satisfied it was long enough, he knelt behind the rock and fashioned a sling for the baby before securing the child tightly against his chest.
Having the baby suspended there would hinder his movements significantly, but it would also allow him maximum speed as he made to flee the bandits should they choose to pursue. Facing down the original group, after eliminating the scouts, had been a daunting but doable task. With the addition of another dozen fresh warriors, however, it was true insanity to think that victory could be found against them by the three guardsmen.
So after securing the child to his chest, Nikomedes gripped the spear and made to aid his comrade, Herodotus, who had just received a wicked blow to his leg that sent him reeling to the ground.
Adjusting his grip on the spear, Nikomedes briefly tested its weight before hurling the weapon at the raider who was about to end Herodotus’ life. The spear arced ponderously through the air, traveling in a path not so different from the edge of a rainbow, before landing in the bandit’s back and sending him crashing to the ground in a boneless heap.
His fellow raider, who had been the one to send Herodotus to the ground, whirled around to see Nikomedes draw his final javelin and launch it on the run. The bandit actually dodged the missile, which nearly skewered Herodotus as he fought to regain his feet, but by the time the bandit’s weapon was up Nikomedes was already upon him.
Nikomedes wrapped his left arm across the baby while firing his left leg at the bandit’s head, taking the ragged-looking raider completely by surprise with both his flexibility and speed. The raider fell to the ground and Nikomedes continued his run, grasping the shaft of the spear which had felled the first bandit.
“Can you run?” Nikomedes asked tightly upon reaching Herodotus’ side. The bandits had apparently resolved their dispute over who would claim ownership of the spear—a spear Nikomedes had no intention of relinquishing, since it was the best weapon available to him—and were moving en masse toward Nikomedes and Herodotus.
Vasikus, however, had become locked in combat with three raiders near the foot of the far hill. He fought valiantly, but it was clear that he would soon fall to the bandits if nothing was done.
“Your javelin,” Nikomedes commanded, holding out a hand impatiently.
Herodotus quickly drew and slapped one of his two remaining missiles into Nikomedes’ hand, and without even testing it for balance Nikomedes hurled it toward the center bandit fighting against Vasikus.
He missed his target completely, but by the time the bandit whirled around to see the origin of the weapon, Herodotus had already handed Nikomedes his final javelin.
With a much clearer aim, Nikomedes hurled the javelin at the raider to the left of the one who now faced him. He had only seconds before the mass of fresh raiders was upon him, but he would not abandon his commander just yet.
This final javelin struck true and took the raider in the shoulder, sending him whirling and crashing to the ground like a child’s spinning toy. Before the first raider could return his attention to the task before him—that task coming in the form of Vasikus—the older guardsman stabbed him in the chest with his sword, unceremoniously kicking him off the blade before retreating in the face of the oncoming horde.
“Help Herodotus flee,” Nikomedes shouted to his commander just before the first of the bandits came into range of the Spirewood spear.
Nikomedes saw the eyes of the men who had been charging toward him waver, as though they were uncertain of how to proceed, so he took the opportunity to lash out with the spear at the nearest bandit. He was faster than the bandit expected, and nearly landed the spear’s tip inside his guard, but the bandit managed to scramble away behind an awkward parry.
The bandits moved to circle him, but he could tell they were more than slightly fearful. They had already seen him slay a handful of their fellows with a weapon that was not his own, and a quick look at their ranks told Nikomedes that none among them was even half the warrior that their slain leader had been.
If he could display sufficient ferocity, they would likely permit him to leave with the child. But if he failed to do so with his first attempt, they would very likely swarm him—and no amount of training can permit a single man, however talented, to defeat a dozen in close quarters.
He eyed the circling warriors, noting with grim satisfaction that the bandits appeared uninterested in his now-fleeing companions. It seemed the spear was the raiders’ primary focus now, which suited him just fine.
One of the raiders worked up sufficient courage to scream and charge toward Nikomedes with his thin, obsidian-tipped spear. Nikomedes turned and parried the attack, nearly disarming the man in the process.
While his back had been turned, however, another warrior had lunged at him. He was barely able to spin out of the path of the second spear but he did manage to slam the butt of the heavy weapon into the raider’s face, likely sending several of the man’s teeth down his own throat.
And then it turned to chaos.
Spears thrust in at him in a wild, uncoordinated series of stabbing motions as their wielders kept as much distance as possible from him while still attempting to sheath their weapons in his flesh. He blocked, parried, spun, and ducked the blows in a desperate series of frantic reactions that took place far too quickly for him to even register what was happening in real time. It was all he could do to be mindful of the child strapped to his chest—and doing so cost him several minor wounds to his legs and torso as he was forced to accept blows that would ordinarily have never penetrated his defenses.
The men continued stabbing their spears from maximum range until, luckily, Nikomedes’ parry with the heavy, iron spear tip sundered a pair of spears, sending their wielders backpedaling cautiously and creating an opening in the previously closed circle.
It was an opening he took every advantage of, lunging through and stabbing the rightward bandit whose spear had been cleaved in two. The raider went down, and Nikomedes used the spear for leverage as he ran toward the other momentarily-disarmed combatant and delivered a powerful kick to his groin. Nikomedes’ metal shin guard—one of the only pieces of his armor which was not pure leather—slammed into the man’s most sensitive region with enough force to lift him from his feet prior to sending him to the ground in agony.
Spinning his body as hard as he could, he pulled the spear free of the first weaponless bandit and raked it across his companion’s chest. The strangely curved design of the spear tip was surprisingly effective at ripping through the thin scraps of leather which covered his body, and the bandit’s screams marked Nikomedes’ exit from the broken circle of men.
But they were determined not to give up, and the raiders picked up th
e bows of their fallen comrades as they prepared to take him down from range.
One of the hand carts was nearby, and Nikomedes dove behind it just as the first arrows began to rain down on him. One such arrow took him in the thigh, but it barely buried its head in his body so he tore it out and tossed it aside as he scrambled to the relative safety of the cart.
That cart was mostly empty, with only a few scraps of meat and bone inside—presumably from one of the livestock animals which had originally been part of the caravan—so Nikomedes lifted its handles onto his shoulders and moved away from the arrow-launching raiders as fast as he could do so while standing at a crouch. If he stood any taller, the cart would provide little cover from the deadly missiles, which thunked into it and the ground before him with predictable regularity.
One such arrow landed near his right shoulder blade, causing him to briefly drop the cart and cry out. When he gathered the cart once again, he spared a glance at the pursuing raiders and found that only three of them on his trail with the rest having opted to fire arrows at him as he veritably crawled away.
He knew he could not escape the pursuing raiders while lugging the cart, but he also knew that every step he took placed precious distance between himself and the bow-wielding bandits. He churned his legs with pounding force for several seconds before dropping the cart, grabbing the spear—which he had wedged into a nook in the cart’s sideboards—and turning to face the trio of bandits who were at least as interested in reclaiming the spear as they were in ending his life.
He parried a thrust with the Spirewood spear, turning the enemy’s weapon aside as another spear stabbed for Nikomedes’ neck. He swayed to the side, causing the obsidian blade to slice through the air so near to his face that, if he had been determined to do so, he was certain he could have seen his own pupils in the black, glassy surface of the razor-sharp tip.
Gripping the shaft of the spear before its wielder could withdraw it, Nikomedes cradled the enemy’s weapon on his shoulder and yanked down as hard as he could while pivoting on his back foot, dragging the bandit forward and causing him to stumble into his ally.
The Forge of Men Page 23