The Forge of Men

by Caleb Wachter

  Nikomedes knew that to argue with him would be to invite more attention than he wanted at this point—and he could feel the eyes of the assemblage, which was no fewer than two thousand strong at this point, weighing heavily on him—he nodded, “Very well.”

  “Good boy,” Kallistos said approvingly, causing Nikomedes to tense at hearing the disrespectful term masked by the silver tongued Kallistos’ congenial tone. “Our team’s fate rests with you now, Nikomedes. I have agreed to quit the field if you cannot best him.”

  Understanding the gambit for what it was—a sure way for Nikomedes to earn new enemies, either among Zenobios’ cadre or among Kallistos’ own for failing to do his part in advancing them in the tournament—Nikomedes squared off with Zenobios. The other man gave him a piteous smirk before circling, and the duel began in earnest.

  Wasting little time, Zenobios launched a series of probing attacks which Nikomedes blocked using brute force and obvious techniques. He knew that doing so would make it appear as though he was indeed being cagy, or reluctant to reveal his real abilities, but he thought that by relying on his brute strength more than he should that he might mislead the onlookers well enough that they would not suspect him of possessing anything resembling his true agility and speed.

  Zenobios, however, did not appreciate the display and he followed up the initial outburst of probing attacks with more serious ones. Keeping his feet firmly beneath him, Nikomedes blocked and parried classically while offering the occasional counterattack designed purely to keep his foe off-balance.

  Zenobios landed a few glancing hits to Nikomedes’ greaves below the cut of his armored kilt, and Nikomedes found it more difficult than he had anticipated to avoid using his speed and footwork as he usually did.

  Their blades clashed as Zenobios pressed forward, narrowly missing a quick, upward stab aimed at Nikomedes’ chin which very possibly could have killed him. The practice blades, while having their edges blunted, still had sharply tapered tips which would break through a man’s exposed flesh almost as easily as a fully-sharpened blade would if given the chance.

  Nikomedes decided to give ground in an effort to draw his opponent into overextending, but Zenobios did not pursue. He instead backed up a pair of steps and assumed a crouch, prompting Nikomedes to drive forward with a series of brutal, overhand attacks that slammed into Zenobios’ shield.

  Zenobios attempted a counter kick to Nikomedes’ knee, but Nikomedes checked it by turning that knee into his foe’s shin. The crack of his metal shin guard on Nikomedes’ metal greave echoed throughout the field, eliciting muffled sounds of primal glee as the crowd watched the two warriors do what they had been bred and trained to do.

  Nikomedes’ shield cracked from a well-timed thrust of Zenobios’ sword, but Nikomedes swept his foot at his foe’s near leg and managed to hook his instep behind his opponent’s calf. With a sharp, upward jerk, Nikomedes pulled his opponent off-balance just enough that when he drove his now-cracked shield into Zenobios’ own, the other warrior was sent staggering backward and Nikomedes lunged in for the metaphorical kill.

  He slammed his sword into Zenobios’ knee as the other man’s legs skittered this way and that beneath him, and Zenobios fell over as he backpedaled away from the onrushing Nikomedes. The other warrior turned the fall into a backward roll which brought his sword back up into position, but he had been forced to abandon his shield in order to do so. It was now only a matter of how long it took, and what method Nikomedes employed, before Zenobios was defeated.

  Nikomedes varied his attacks as he drove the other warrior toward the fortress’ wooden ramparts, keeping Zenobios from launching any kind of meaningful counterattacks. He landed a trio of strikes in rapid, unbroken succession against Zenobios’ pauldrons, with the last knocking his opponent’s sword arm out of blocking position just long enough for Nikomedes to slam him in the face with his shield.

  The shield, which had cracked dangerously earlier, split completely into two pieces from the force of the mighty impact and Zenobios was laid out on the ground in a sprawling, motionless heap. He could soon be heard drawing loud, snoring breaths while bloody spittle ran past a handful of broken teeth and dripped down the side of his mouth.

  A cheer rose up from the crowd, and Nikomedes turned to see Kallistos’ gleaming eyes narrow slightly before he too joined in the celebratory mirth.

  “A fine hit, Nikomedes,” Kallistos congratulated, “I doubt he even saw it coming.”

  Nikomedes nodded stiffly, turning to see that Kapaneus’ team had already finished dismantling the fortress he had helped build. “What happens now?” Nikomedes asked as he discarded his ruined shield and collected the one which Zenobios had brought.

  “Unfortunately,” Kallistos replied before grinning mischievously, “or fortunately, depending on your point of view, there are still nine competitors standing: our five and Kapaneus’ four. The rules state that we must continue to battle until fewer than half of the original number remains,” he explained, “after which time—assuming one team has been completely vanquished—the remaining teams may opt to advance to the next round by mutual agreement, or continue battling as they may prefer until only one team’s members remain standing. Occasionally this results in the first round doubling as the final round,” he said as he directed his men with silent hand gestures to move into the mock fortress.

  Nikomedes did not trust Kallistos any more than he could throw him—a distance he suspected would be approximately four meters under optimal conditions—so he kept almost that exact distance between himself and the self-appointed leader of the Red Team.

  “While we did agree to eliminate Zenobios before moving against each other, Kapaneus and I have made no agreement which would end the battle once the requisite eliminations have been made,” Kallistos continued, “so it would behoove us to man the fortress since Kapaneus is not well-known for his patience. As our newest member, it will be your honor to receive their initial charge alongside Flavius. We will reinforce you as needed.”

  Nikomedes assumed ‘we will reinforce you as needed’ actually meant ‘we will watch with barely-concealed glee as Kapaneus and his men beat you black and blue, cheering for you to sap their energy before the rest of us enter the fray.’ But this tournament was more about gaining knowledge about his adversaries than it was about earning the highest honors possible, so Nikomedes nodded and took his place to Flavius’ left as Kapaneus and his men jogged across the field with their weapons drawn and the spring of purpose in their strides.

  The four warriors of Kapaneus’ team, including Kapaneus himself, formed a line facing the fort’s side which Nikomedes now guarded. The fortress’ wall was designed in such a way that it was nearly impossible to fit more than two men into a single face while providing them with sufficient range of motion to allow for proper battle movements.

  Kapaneus stood at center left on the four man line—directly across from Flavius—and Nikomedes braced himself as the man to the center right of the enemy line slammed his shield into Nikomedes’ own while Kapaneus did likewise to Flavius.

  Before the impact of the shields, Nikomedes was impressed by how well-coordinated Kapaneus’ movements had been with his fellow warrior. They looked to be perfect copies of each other in that moment as the lowered their shoulders and drove into Nikomedes and his teammate.

  A furious assault followed, with Kapaneus and his companion driving Nikomedes and Flavius back with the ferocity of their perfectly-coordinated attacks. But they made very few genuine attempts to strike Nikomedes or Flavius, opting instead for keeping pressure on the two men with deliberate attacks that were clearly designed to tire the Red Team warriors.

  Flavius’ feet became entangled—likely owing to a foot sweep from Kapaneus that Nikomedes did not see—but rather than pouncing on him, Kapaneus stepped back during the brief pause as Flavius scrambled to his feet.

  Moving deliberately, Kapaneus backed away several paces until the fresh warrior to his side stepped int
o his place and continued the assault with fresh muscles driving each of his blows.

  Had he cared about the outcome of the fight, Nikomedes likely would have shouted at Kallistos to flank the enemy, but he was more interested in seeing how the enemy commander’s men behaved than in securing victory. Keeping square to his opponent, Nikomedes slammed his sword into his foe’s thigh during a brief opening. The blade clanged off his armor, but Nikomedes had cost the man his footing for a brief moment so he pressed forward.

  The warrior fell back and before Nikomedes could land another blow against his armor, the fresh companion behind him moved to flank Nikomedes after he had strayed no more than a step beyond the relative safety of the fortress’ buttressed wall.

  Parrying the newcomer’s attacks, Nikomedes saw Kapaneus drift a few steps toward him and he quickly decided to withdraw back to the fortress rather than face three of the enemy warriors at once.

  Unlike the bandits—who, aside from their leader, he had essentially slaughtered while on patrol—these men were prime physical specimens and bore finer equipment than he had ever carried. The real problem, however, was that each of them knew how to use that equipment.

  While Nikomedes had pressed forward, Flavius had gained the advantage over his own adversary and sent him to the ground. Kapaneus was briefly out of position to properly cover his ally, having paid too much attention to Nikomedes, and Flavius drove the tip of his blade down at his opponent’s briefly-exposed neck before diverting it at the last second to avoid a lethal blow.

  The prone warrior grunted his surrender before tossing his sword aside, rolling out of the way, and assuming a three point kneeling stance to indicate he had been defeated.

  Kapaneus took full advantage of the lull and slammed his blade into Flavius’ shield, giving no quarter to the honorable action of Nikomedes’ teammate which had spared the life of Kapaneus’ teammate. This blatant lack of honor angered Nikomedes more than he had expected it to, but he kept his focus on the fresh enemy before him and parried the other man’s attacks—attacks which had just become significantly more serious following the elimination of his teammate.

  But Nikomedes had sparred with Felix for two years, and Felix was a legitimate warlord in his own right. These men each had a chance to surpass Felix, given enough time, but so far Nikomedes had seen little to suggest they were already his superior in a duel. He knew they, too, were holding back secrets which would only be revealed when they were truly needed and would do the most good. But he had seen nothing of Kratos’ brute force or Felix’ methodical, almost relaxed movements when he had dueled Nikomedes years earlier, seemingly knowing each of Nikomedes’ moves before even he had known he would use them.

  “Counter-charge!” he heard Kallistos’ melodious voice call out from his back, and soon after he heard metal-clad boots hit the ground. But he could not afford to take his eyes off his opponent, who feinted and thrust with well-practiced precision and kept Nikomedes moving backward until he was side-by-side with Flavius.

  Kapaneus began to move with savage ferocity, abandoning the patient, siege-like approach he had begun with and before he had made five moves, Flavius was down on one knee with blood pouring from his nose. He made the sign of surrender, and Kapaneus turned a burning gaze toward Nikomedes as he and his teammate sought to eliminate Nikomedes before the rest of the Red Team could reinforce him.

  Nikomedes would not be defeated so easily by such a cheap, transparent ploy. Keeping his movements painfully slow, it was all he could do to minimize the damage as Kapaneus and his ally sought to deliver potentially lethal blows to his head, neck, and groin. His armor helped tremendously as it absorbed blow after blow near, but not directly to, the areas his opponents targeted, but he knew that each blow that landed against him would take several days—or possibly even weeks—to properly heal.

  He kept as calm as he could under their tremendously well-coordinated, savage attacks, and just before Nikomedes felt his back hit the timbers of the fortress, Kapaneus was forced to abandon his pursuit in order to turn and defend himself from Dareios’ blade.

  But in spite of the odds being evened, Nikomedes found his mobility severely hampered as his back foot struck the base of the wall behind him. His foe, likely sensing the opportunity to end him once and for all, feinted with a swipe aimed at Nikomedes’ hip—an almost certain precursor to a shield bash to his face, which would be nearly impossible to defend against in his current, cramped quarters.

  So Nikomedes did the only thing he could do: he accepted the blow to his hip, feeling a lance of white pain shoot down his leg when it landed. Before the sword had struck him, he dropped his shield. Immediately before the blade had impacted on his armor, he drove forward and grabbed his foe’s sword arm at the wrist with a vice-like grip.

  The warrior seemed genuinely surprised at Nikomedes’ strength, and Nikomedes squeezed as hard as he could before shucking the man’s arm down with such force that he felt something give in his opponent’s arm. Still holding his adversary’s wrist, Nikomedes slammed his sword into his foe’s shield with brutal force, making no attempt at finesse as he did so.

  Nikomedes wanted the onlookers to think of him as a ‘dumb country boy,’ as Kephus had put it, so he used raw, flatfooted power as he slammed his blade repeatedly into his foe’s shield. After a handful of such blows, he sundered the shield into a handful of flying wood chips, causing his foe to quickly drop to a knee and make the sign of surrender before Nikomedes’ blade could land against his head.

  Kapaneus was the nearest enemy he could see, and the warrior easily dispatched of Dareios with a surprisingly effective—if also surprisingly predictable—series of feints and jabs which ended with the butt of Kapaneus’ sword slamming into Dareios’ eye after the other man’s shield had been driven out of position by a well-placed kick that drove his shield arm across his body and nearly sent him to the ground.

  The pommel strike did that and more, as the sickening crack of bone could be heard an instant before a roar of approval came from the crowd, and Kapaneus turned just in time to see Nikomedes bearing down on him.

  They were out in the open field now, and Nikomedes knew he would be able to better judge the ability of what was likely his top competition for the Land Bride’s hand when they fought away from the makeshift fort.

  Nikomedes’ blade lashed out, nearly catching Kapaneus on the cheek before the other man withdrew and got his body into a proper defensive crouch. Nikomedes made a series of textbook maneuvers, throwing in a long foot sweep just to gauge his opponent’s reaction times, and noted that Kapaneus’ movements also seemed deliberate and methodical. It was clear he had more ability than he was ready to show, and Nikomedes knew it was best to hold to his original plan of gathering information rather than going for a flashy finish.

  They exchanged twenty blows against each other’s shields while thrusting, swiping, blocking, and stepping without deviating from the main principles governing a sword-and-shield duel. Their footwork seemed a mirror of the other’s, and even Nikomedes was forced to admit that he held no strength advantage over this man. Even though Kapaneus’ teammates had been almost identical in terms of physical dimensions, it was clear that Kapaneus’ muscles were simply more powerful than those of his teammates.

  Unlike the decision to hide his true speed, Nikomedes saw no harm in letting his full strength show through so he took every opportunity to showcase his raw muscle power. The highlight of such displays came when he spun just inside of Kapaneus’ guard and drove a push-kick into the other man’s chest with enough force to topple an unsuspecting cow. Kapaneus somehow kept his feet beneath him as he backpedaled away from the blow, never losing control as he did so—he did, however, require no fewer than eight steps to fully regain his balance, while Nikomedes knew from personal experience he would have needed no more than six to do the same.

  Nikomedes surged forward as they drew near to the bench on which the Hold Mistress sat, and he heard the crowd cheer at some b
it of action behind him but he kept his focus on Kapaneus. His foe clearly felt the eyes of the nobility on them, and Kapaneus snarled before unleashing a torrent of new attacks which were markedly faster and more fluid than the previous ones had been.

  The crowd stood to their feet—including Kephus, who looked on with a discerning eye from the edge of the platform on which the Hold Mistress’s bench sat—and it was all Nikomedes could do to avoid using his superior speed to defend himself from the unorthodox, totally unexpected series of attacks which he now endured.

  He heard a collective gasp after they broke apart but before he knew the cause of their dismay, the world spun into blackness as he felt himself crash into the dirt. It was only after wiping the grit from his mouth that Nikomedes realized he had been hit from behind. Rolling to a knee, he looked up to see Kallistos standing over him with a triumphant look on his face.

  “Good show, Nikomedes,” he said with false conciliation as a mix of approving cheers and boos of consternation came from the crowd at the edge of the field, “better luck next time, and all that.”

  “You lying bastard,” he growled, but before he could get to his feet he felt Kapaneus’ boot slam into his gut.

  “Did you somehow get the impression we were friends?” Kallistos asked as Nikomedes fought against the urge to gasp in futility after the thunderous boot of Kapaneus slammed into his armor. “Really, boy,” he said scathingly, his voice loud enough for the crowd to hear, “you know what they say about love and war…or did you not have time to learn such wisdom during your many days spent working whatever field you grew your food in?”

  The crowd roared in laughter, clearly reveling in Nikomedes’ downturn of fortune. Nikomedes looked up to see Kapaneus lining up for another kick, giving him a hard look as he did so—a look which told him to surrender or receive another kick to the liver.

  Seeing Kallistos bring his blade up into a ready position and move toward him, Nikomedes assumed a three point kneeling stance and growled, “I submit.”