Spiderhunter (Ages of Argainen Book 1)

by Robe

  “Your lack of success does disappoint me,” Argain spoke, “but I do not deny what you have brought about could not be more perfect. The two individuals behind me are captives I intend to use to empower both you and myself to a state no mortal can contest. We must simply wait until they are conscious.”

  “Indeed, Master?” Balanch said. “Are these beings special?”

  “They are,” Argain replied. “It is true that my power flows through them, but in a way potent and very useful to us. There is another task I have for you. Are you rested?”

  “Yes, my Master,” Balanch said. “My actions shall be your will.”

  “Excellent,” Argain said. “I have prepared a small force with my excess strength. You are to join them in their raid of the harbor village.”

  “As you bid, my Lord.”

  Reon gazed out over the water, enjoying the beauty of the sea in its last hour or two of sunlight. It was so vast, a massive body of liquid capable of swallowing their entire vessel, yet it was calm and serene at the same time.

  “Pondering the great beyond?” a voice said from behind, and Chey stepped up beside him.

  “More like idly and thoughtlessly watching the waves,” Reon responded, grinning.

  “You seem a social creature. Why are you not with your friends?” Chey asked.

  “My enthusiasm has driven them elsewhere. Be careful, or you too will be repelled by my misbehavior,” Reon warned.

  “I could use some enthusiasm,” Chey remarked.

  “Speaking of it,” Reon said, “you are skilled with a blade. Would you share some of your knowledge with me?”

  “Of course,” Chey replied. “A Martin will always be happy to share what she or he has learned.” She drew her sword, an elegant but fearsome-looking blade, more similar in design to a rapier than anything. She started by teaching him several moves, mostly proper blocking and retaliation techniques, and then she quickly drilled him on them until he could perform without direction. As her knowledge spanned a broad selection of weaponry, she was able to advise him specifically about his gladius, with which he was growing quite accustomed. Although she had never used one herself, she noted it was well-made and of high-quality metal, but it was nonetheless a cruder weapon. Its wide edge and difficult-to-grasp grip caused a lack of maneuverability, which weighed poorly against the fact that it was a one-handed weapon. The material from which it was constructed and the thickness of the metal made it difficult to keep sharp, so the tool would be most useful in bashing or hacking. She did admit that if he worked hard with the weapon, it would pay off in the future, training his strength and ability to make up for the weaknesses of his tool.

  Reon hung on her every word and then did his best to apply it to his swordsmanship. She seemed young to be such an expert about what she taught, only two or three years older than Reon.

  “The Shen Chor block is one invented to protect against thrusts or stabs,” Chey spoke. “It’s basic, but invaluable, an asset even the most skilled swordsmen frequently utilize. Simply perform an upward sweep starting at your lower left and arcing up to your higher right, catching your opponent’s attack and forcing his weapon into the air. This not only prevents the attacking blow from hitting you, but it can disorient your foe should you use enough power, and it leaves him wide open for retaliation. It is often followed up by a lunge, which is very difficult to avoid or deflect as the original attacker’s blade will still be high in the air.”

  “Ah, my superior,” a man spoke, approaching Reon and Chey. “As proven yesterday by our little spar.” Reon recognized the man as the sailor who had challenged Chey the previous night for a bet, although he looked sober now. With his mess of hair tied on the back of his head in a pony tail, his thick, dark mustache was in plain view.

  “What is it that you want now?” Chey asked.

  “A rematch to regain my honor, if only in your eyes,” the sailor said.

  “You have no less honor than any of the other men here in my eyes,” Chey said. “Losing a battle does not make one less virtuous.”

  “Then I shall use a different word,” the sailor responded. “Perhaps prowess would be a more suitable indication of what I lacked yesterday.”

  Chey sighed and looked sidelong at Reon. “Very well, but you must tell me your name.”

  “I am Benard, fourth in command on this ship and in direct authority of the outside ship hands,” the sailor replied proudly.

  “I am Chey,” Chey said, and she gripped Benard’s hand when he extended it. “Reon, perhaps watching our duel will further your understanding of the techniques I’ve explained to you.”

  Reon nodded. “Good luck, to the both of you.”

  “And may the better swordsman win,” Benard said, and he led Chey to the imaginary circle that made up the dueling ring once again. Benard handed her a wooden sword, and the two chose their stances. After a short countdown by Benard, the two engaged.

  Benard was quite a bit more vicious than their first battle, capitalizing on his strength advantage over his female opponent. Chey did not give way to his attempts even slightly though, and she never allowed a direct power play. Instead, she led the fight in a direction of her choosing, outmaneuvering Benard and strafing circles around him.

  Watching the Martin woman’s constant elusiveness, Reon was sure Benard would be become frustrated, but instead, a grin came over his face. “I would think a member of Martin would be much more willing to lock blades with me than dance about as you are.”

  Chey was too focused on the battle to respond. Benard took a risk and threw himself at her, lunging forward, but she managed to elude him again. Impressively, he was able to recover before she had time to attack any of his vitals, and he blocked her careful attempt at winning the duel.

  “You’re not bad,” Benard jeered as they fought. “For a woman.”

  “You’re not bad for a sailor,” Chey retorted.

  Benard was really smiling now, seeming very out of place, as his swordplay indicated a much angrier person was fighting. “Don’t you have something to cook?” Benard asked. “I’ll be hungry once I’ve beaten you.”

  “Fascinating,” Chey said.

  “What’s that?” Benard asked as he repelled a swift strike from her weapon.

  “That a man with such a restless tongue could be so bad with a sword,” Chey finished.

  “Hah!” Benard barked, and the two continued to spar.

  Reon was impressed. Not only were the two matching each other word-for-word, but neither of them had made a mistake in their swordplay. Each strike was met or dodged, each sidestep was compensated for. Even for as long as the battle had stretched, Reon had not seen one place where he thought he could have landed a blow himself.

  “You might as well surrender,” Benard said. “You’re only wasting both of our precious time.”

  “Any more out of you and I’ll be convinced I’m locked in combat with a howler rat,” Chey replied. Shortly after the words were out of her mouth, Benard charged forward again, and then he abruptly stopped, effectively causing Chey to waste her energy trying to dodge. Another well placed strike and Chey was forced to block the powerful blow head on. Her strength no match for Benard’s, she stumbled to the deck. Before Benard could get an advantageous position on her, she rolled and scuttled away across the floor, being forced to the very edge of the dueling ring. Barely managing to get to her feet before Benard attacked again, Chey was still off-balance when the sailor made another lunge attack, but his strike was far too reckless.

  Chey locked her blade up under his and easily redirected it into the air with the Shen Chor, effectively disarming Benard. She pointed her sword at his throat and called victory.

  Reon let out an enthusiastic volley of cheers, followed by the others who had gathered to watch the intense battle. Chey and Benard gripped hands again.

  “You are truly a remarkable fighter,” Benard said. “I would be honored to meet you in the sparring ring again some time.”
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br />   “The pleasure would be mine,” Chey replied, and after handing Benard her wooden sword, she walked back to Reon. She stood proudly beside him until Benard and the spectators had turned their focus to other matters, and then she slouched against the ship rail. “Fighting an opponent,” she started, suddenly breathing heavily, “takes a lot out of you. Particularly when he’s a mouthy one.”

  -

  After one final sleep aboard The Early Dusk, the heroes were ready to resume their mission. As each of them woke, he or she met up in the dining area, eating breakfast and chatting quietly. Everyone was restless with the knowledge that they would soon be landing. Kandon was well enough to join them, although he still looked under the weather.

  “It’s good to see you again,” Dalk said, patting Kandon on the back and sitting beside him.

  “I’ve returned from the dead, it seems,” Kandon said. “At least, that’s how it feels.”

  “You’ll feel better once we’re on land,” Joan said from his other side.

  “That should be soon, right?” Thraun asked.

  “Yes. I’ve spoken to the captain’s second,” Auric answered. “We’ll arrive just after the sun appears over the horizon.”

  “Are we ready for what’s out there?” Dalk asked. “And have you managed to recruit certain help?” As he said this, he looked sidelong at Hazzul who was seated nearby.

  “I have… although he is shy still,” Auric replied. “He will do what he can.”

  “And what is he getting out of this?” Dalk asked.

  Every member of the party quieted and looked at Auric for the response. “Well, I suppose he’s getting the satisfaction of saving innocents. He appears to be aware of what Argain is capable of.”

  “You haven’t offered him anything?” Dalk inquired further.

  “No, and I won’t, unless he barters for it,” Auric said. “He does not appear to be a greedy man, just a strange one.” Dalk gave Veese an uneasy look, but he nodded to Auric in acceptance of his decision.

  A hollering came from above deck, and the party, as well as most of the other passengers seated in the dining room, rose to see what the commotion was about. As they made it through the crowd, up the stairs, and onto the deck of the ship, they could hear a man in the lookout’s position high among the sails.

  “Land bound!” he shouted. “Land bound!”

  The group moved to the head of the ship to see what the lookout saw and were greeted by a sliver of land, barely visible on the horizon. It wasn’t long before The Early Dawn was near to the piece of earth, and they could make out the terrain of the Kingdom of Martin. It was much less green than Lon Gairdas and far less etched and civilized than Rathelstat. There seemed to be fewer trees, and those that existed were occupied by leaves of a dim lime color. Along their journey, the weather had gotten significantly warmer, and now, as they approached this new continent, the temperature could almost be described as hot.

  “Oluld,” a nearby sailor said to the passengers. “As many times as I’ve docked at Oluld, it’s still as fine as the first.”

  “Will we reach it soon?” one of the passengers asked.

  “Not more than ten minutes now,” the sailor replied. “The land embraces us.”

  As the vessel approached and began the docking process, Reon thought he saw people running about and even fighting. Someone clad in all-black armor was riding along the dock and, to Reon’s horror, striking out at the nearby civilians with a weapon.

  “They’re being attacked!” Reon shouted.

  At Reon’s warning, the nearby people on board noticed as well and began crying out in uncertainty. Some called for the ship to be turned around, but the vast majority of the passengers urged the ship onward. Screams could be heard from the nearing village, making it clear the entirety of Oluld was under attack. It was not long before The Early Dawn was within swimming distance of Oluld, and some of the people on deck leapt off the vessel into the water to bypass the docking process and help those on land. Chey was among them. The companions, however, decided to remain on the ship until it docked properly, as none of them were particularly impressive swimmers.

  As they waited, they could make out Oluld was under attack by a menacing group of brigands, all of which wore black armor so complete that not an inch of their skin was visible. The riders were mounted on black horses that almost appeared to glide rather than run. All of their helmets were unique, some of them featuring horns pointed in varying directions, and others with headgear shaped like wolves or other predators. Upon witnessing the actions and armament of the attackers, none of the companions could think of anything other than how definitely Argain had reached Martin before they had.

  When the dock was close enough for the passengers to leap from the ship to the receiving jetty, they went, Auric leading as they vaulted over the rail of the ship. They drew their weapons and rushed to aid in the mass chaos.

  The dark-skinned Martins were not falling easily to the attacks of the raiders. Each of them, unless taken by surprise, had their weapons drawn and were engaged in furious combat with the brigands. However, they were at an extreme disadvantage; the raiders were fully-equipped for combat while the Martins fought with only what they had on them in everyday circumstances, which luckily included their weapons.

  Dalk pulled his sword and rushed forward to aid two men who were trying to protect a group of younger people from the assault of one particular brigand. Their fight proved difficult as the attacker was mounted and using a weapon of much greater length.

  The assailant did not see Dalk where he approached from behind, though, and when he struck at the person on horseback, the blow fell cleanly. However, despite the accuracy of the attack, the knight was barely affected, simply turning its horse and striking back at Dalk with its greatsword. Forced to absorb the attack on his blade, Dalk staggered and almost fell. As if barely troubled by the massive weight of the weapon, the raider lifted its sword and made for a second attack. Dalk was forced to the ground this time, sent tumbling by the sheer velocity of the blow.

  The two Martins advanced to help Dalk, and the raider turned toward them with another sweep. Dalk pushed himself to his feet and thrust his hand outward, trying to help the men in trouble. He focused a cloud of cold at the black knight, causing it to turn in confusion. Dalk’s conjuration of cold had done little more than make his opponent uncomfortable and, in perfect control of its mount, the being suddenly rushed forward, its weapon raised. Dalk heightened the force with which he propelled cold at his target until visible sleet was streaming from his hand.

  As his opponent slowed, Dalk focused one final blast and shouted in effort, his hand jerking forward suddenly. The raider was struck with a concentration of ice that knocked the weapon from its hand and froze its arm in an upright position. Disarmed, the knight had little choice other than to flee, and it galloped away on its steed, leaving the battle to the other raiders.

  As his companions rushed ahead of him to engage the raiders, Ziem slowed his pace and surveyed the battle; there were at least a dozen of the black-clad knights in his sight, all mounted with a large variety of weaponry among them. Ziem centered himself and returned to a state of mind in which he found his power most controllable. A stray raider swept past him, swinging a large battle axe as it went. It targeted a particularly vulnerable group of people as they attempted to flee from the conflict, and the horse it rode sped up in pursuit.

  Ziem lifted his hands, and between them, a brilliant spark began to crackle, growing larger as Ziem fed his energy into it. With a precise gesture, Ziem released the welled electricity, and it spat out from between his hands in a bolt of white, striking the mounted attacker from behind. The raider seized up as the lightning met its armor, its body shivering for a moment and then going limp. Sitting unconscious in its saddle, the rider’s steed passed the citizens and ran out of the battle.

  The sounds of fighting drew Ziem’s attention, and he turned to see another raider thoughtlessly slaying
the Martins in its path. This knight was much more decorated, with shiny, silver-trimmed armor and a particularly fearsome helmet sporting great wicked horns jutting forward on either side. It wore a tremendous, red cape that flowed to one side as it fought, and a deadly-looking spear was gripped in one of its hands while a shield was strapped to its other arm. Before Ziem could react, the raider was charging forward and, with strength unmatched, it impaled one of the Martin defenders as he tried to clear the path of the knight. With no thought, it shook the dying man from the end of its weapon, and turned to find another victim.

  After a brief moment in which the shock of what he’d just seen subsided, Ziem bolstered his energies, amassing another ball of electricity between his hands. He let the ball grow until the lightning crackling off of it became difficult to manage, and with another hurl, he launched the bolt at his target. Alerted by the loud crack of Ziem’s attack, the raider turned and blocked Ziem’s lightning with its shield. Suffering little more than a stagger, the lightning was gone and the raider was turning its horse to charge at Ziem. With scant time to think, Ziem began gathering another ball of energy with increasing difficulty, but as the raider drew near, Ziem panicked and let the energy expand too quickly. As the beast and its rider reached Ziem, electricity exploded from Ziem’s hands, throwing the boy backwards and causing the horse to rear up.

  With a tumble, Ziem escaped the crushing hooves of the horse and pushed himself to his feet, only to realize that his attack had barely affected the raider. In moments, the horse was upon Ziem again, and he only had time to dive to the side of the creature. One of the horse’s hooves caught him as he tried to evade it, and he felt his left forearm twist abnormally. It was only once Ziem was on the ground that he felt the pain. At first, he tried to contain the agony, but too quickly he realized he was not strong enough. Blinded by pain, he screamed and tried to cradle his arm.

  Auric looked around to find his allies after helping several Martins protect a pair of elderly people from the bloodthirsty blades of the raiders. He had time only to spot Reon as the pyromancer pummeled one of the raiders with fireballs before the sound of hooves drew his attention astray.