Steel And Flame (Book 1)

by Damien Lake

  It interested Marik, as he watched the lord send another knight against him, how he could read emotion even through that heavy armor. The cool calm of battlefield command had dissipated from the enameled platemail. In its place grew rage and fury at the loss of his men. Exactly how Marik could read this change through the expressionless steel mystified him.

  When Marik’s third knight arrived, a scream drowned the other battle noises. He glanced at Colbey. The scout had dashed behind his adversary, much closer than Marik would have dared, and with a short dagger he pulled from his boot, reached his arm around to stab through the helm’s vision slits, imitating Marik’s sword thrust on the first knight. Unlike Marik’s sword, the shorter blade could not penetrate the entire head beneath the helm. The armored figure staggered in uncoordinated steps while he shrieked, clawing at his face, trying to pull out the dagger puncturing his eye.

  Marik dodged around his opponent before Colbey, with a second dagger, coldly stepped close behind the armored figure. He lifted the aventail chain curtain falling around the knight’s shoulders from the helmet’s base and drove his dagger into the neck through the chink between helm and cuirass. The shrieking stopped. Colbey withdrew his dagger and held it at the ready with his sword, now armed with weapons in each hand as well.

  The third knight facing Marik had benefited from watching the previous two. He remained further back and refrained from swinging fully with his sword, remaining on guard while he followed Marik’s circling.

  Marik adopted more aggressive tactics in hopes the knight would leave him an opening. When the Nolier blocked with his blade, Marik used the war hammer to attack his armor. Invariably, the knight would either shift the blade to catch the hammer’s blow or smash one gauntleted hand against the oncoming hammer shaft to deflect it.

  The knight’s sword was heavier than Marik’s. While his new strength could meet it and prevent the superior size and weight from pushing him back, that came at a cost. In every exchange of sword on sword, Marik’s blade took greater damage. Small dents and chips marred the steel edge. If the fight continued without respite, they would develop into full blown cracks that would break the blade.

  Were the knight less heavily protected by his armor, Marik would have taken a page from Beld’s book and smashed the man’s face with a fist. Except striking the helm in this instance would shatter every bone in his hand.

  His time sense distorted. How long had he been fighting this knight? Marik’s breath panted from exertion. The magical strength pushed him beyond the limits to which his most strenuous training sessions had ever brought him. Worse than that, he felt his power reserves running low again. He would lose his advantage if the fight did not end quickly.

  Marik had been so focused on his own fight it surprised him when Colbey appeared behind the knight without warning. Before the knight could react to this sudden threat, the scout dug at the helm, stabbing at the visor with his dagger.

  The knight twisted harshly and reached back for Colbey. Marik rushed forward. He swung hard, the hammer spike tearing through the helm where it covered the knight’s neck as though it were made from parchment. Under the tremendous pressure, the wooden handle splintered with a harsh snap before the head could rip through the opposite side.

  The knight twitched inside his armor where he lay on the ground. The hammer’s jagged shaft protruded from his neck like an axe from a tree stump. Marik spared a glance to see that Colbey had felled his third foe before turning to help him.

  For the first time Marik heard the cheers and shouts from the Galemaran soldiers behind. Strange how he only now noticed that. To him, the hell chorus of clashing steel, the dying, the arrow song, the desperation and the all-out battle had faded from his ears during his death-match. In fact, the fighting along the line had stopped altogether for a distance east and west after soldiers on both sides stepped back to watch the bout. Their impromptu arena’s area had grown considerably thanks to this. Marik knew not who this lord under the armor might be, but he must have earned his men’s regard.

  Thoughts returning to the remaining warrior, Marik turned as the lord-knight galloped forward. Clearly he had reached his limit. His six knights had been cut down, raising Galemaran morale. Disdaining to dismount as the others had, he rode straight at Colbey and Marik. Perhaps the ethical codes his knighthood demanded no longer held sway since both mercenaries had gone two-on-one to kill the last duelist. Or perhaps he’d grown too furious to care.

  Marik grabbed what etheric energy he could in the single available moment. He exhaled hard, his body exhausted, barely setting his strength working into place before the lord-knight reached them. The horse screamed in a high-pitched shriek. They dove to either side. Its hooves were completely shod in iron, not merely the undersides as was traditionally the case. Catching a hoof to the head under normal circumstances would kill. With these, no doubt his head would burst like a dropped melon.

  When he regained his feet he saw that the watching soldiers on both sides had stepped back, to widen the dueling field even more. The horse would have lacked room to turn before and repeat the charge. Noliers shoved back enthusiastically to allow their lord’s mount the space it needed. Galemarans shoved back too in order to avoid the combat-trained beast.

  The lord-knight charged at Colbey while Marik scrambled to the nearest fallen armored figure. Colbey dodged death from both the war-horse and the giant blade by leaping aside. His quick action afforded him no chance to launch his own offensive. Following the charge, the rider stormed at Marik, yet pulled up short. Marik had planned to dodge aside so the horse could stumble over the armored body…except this Nolier saw through the pathetic ruse.

  Instead, he hauled sharply on the reins. His horse to reared and lashed out with its hooves.

  Marik jerked back. He tripped over the armored corpse in the same fashion he had meant for the animal. The horse regained all four hooves to advance on Marik, the massive sword raised above its rider’s head.

  But it did not fall on Marik. Colbey dashed from behind, intent on hamstringing the horse. The lord-knight saw him coming. He turned his mount surprisingly fast and lashed at Colbey with the downward blow before spurring his horse onward.

  A second time the agile scout escaped while Marik regained his feet. On the arena’s far end, the lord repositioned to charge anew.

  Colbey jumped to Marik’s side. “He’ll expect us to split when we dodge,” he hissed from the corner of his mouth. “He will follow you to his right since that is his smart hand’s side. Follow me instead. And we must get rid of the horse first.”

  Marik nodded minutely while the rider bore down. He prepared to dodge alongside Colbey rather than to his left, seeing, as the mounted figure neared, that the scout had guessed correctly. The reins were wrapped around the armored left hand, held to the right over the horse’s neck, in preparation to being yanked in that direction.

  The horse loomed, frothed saliva flying. Marik imagined he could feel hot, damp breath blowing back his hair. A flash of movement signaled Colbey’s leap at the same moment he unleashed his own coiled muscles. As he dove to safety on Colbey’s heels, the rider turned his horse to give him a clear angle for cutting down at the place he had anticipated Marik. Instead, he found nothing but empty air. When Marik thudded to the dirt, the furious lord sawed harshly on the horse’s reins to turn it.

  Colbey dashed forward, sword in hand, then was forced to dodge when the lord kicked out with a pointed steel sabaton. The Nolier spurred his horse into motion. He withdrew from Colbey’s reach and readied a new attack for Marik.

  While Colbey had made his attempt on the lord-knight, Marik considered how to fell the horse. Full barding of chainmail curtains hung down to its ankles. The hooves were shod completely in metal to give the horse an extra advantage in combat, yet for a short distance above the hoof stretched bare skin. This would be the only place vulnerable to attack, except he could only strike it while the horse galloped.

  The chainmai
l bounced up and down while the hooves beat their rhythm upon the ground. When the hoof descended to the dirt, the chain still bounced upward. That would be the clearest moment to attack. Since he could not run as fast as the horse, even in the confines of this ring, his only chance would come while dodging as the horse stormed past.

  Here his chance came. The lord-knight whirled from Colbey to ride at him, choosing to dispatch the least agile and troublesome of the pair first.

  Marik held his blade low, waiting for the right moment.

  I have to dodge right again; to his left. Slashing down from a horse on your dumb side is ineffective, especially with your reins in that hand, but he might expect me to go that way since I did last time. Only one thing to do…

  With the horse still several yards away, Marik shuffled a few steps to his left like a nervous soldier terrified at facing the superior warrior any longer. The lord-knight began turning to follow.

  Marik dashed back to the right, dodging low, his sword point trailing along the ground, cutting a furrow in the dirt. When the horse’s head passed inches away, he brought his sword up in a speeding arc, whipping it forward and low.

  The horse screamed loudly, but not in battle fury this time. Still traveling forward, the horse’s motion, and everything else, slowed to a near standstill for Marik. Slowly tumbling to the ground, the severed hoof and ankle spun lazily, a gleaming blood spiral spilling through the air behind. As the spiral’s outer curves widened, the strangely elegant line broke into elongated ovals, then perfect spherical droplets shining wetly. The horse continued for a long moment until it finally started to tumble almost majestically, its head lowering while it tilted to one side, thick saliva streams breaking away from billowing lips. Its screams were inaudible to Marik inside the bizarre null-time.

  A heartbeat before the impact, hardly any time at all yet consuming ages while Marik watched, the lord-knight fought to throw himself clear from his mount. He freed his feet and tossed aside the reins, but his leap could not separate the two entirely. The crash of armored man and horse into the ground at running speed, as well as the horse’s shrill screams, could be heard by every fighter around the center catapult.

  Time resumed with no warning while the lord thrashed nearly as much as his horse. He finally escaped the dying animal before Colbey could close and finish him in the confusion. This Nolier showed surprisingly few injuries for a man just thrown, and strength to match Marik’s magically enhanced own. The lord-knight recovered his sword. In bare moments he advanced on them.

  One wing on his helm had bent though he showed no other sign of his fall. His speed was amazing, especially considering the amount of armor he bore. He quickly fell on Colbey, forcing the scout to back-step, then suddenly turned to lash at Marik.

  Marik blocked the first blow. It rang through his entire arm. He stumbled when a second blow fell against his blade and might have missed blocking the next if Colbey had not attacked in a frenzy.

  The scout pulled out all the stops. His speed was incredible to behold. A storm of blows rained down on the lord-knight, most caught or deflected. Several connected with vital spots no longer vulnerable under their steel coating. Colbey’s blade bounced off, leaving not so much as a scratch on the red-stained armor.

  Marik moved behind the lord-knight in an effort to attract his attention so Colbey could find a weak point. The lord took exception to that. He stepped to his side, allowing neither the advantage of his back.

  They rushed him from the front and split to either side. Thus occupied, both were able to land several blows that would have ended the fight were it not for the damnable armor.

  All three stepped back from each other to reevaluate. Colbey and Marik considered the situation, and the lord-knight began circling in preparation for his next assault. The cheers from the Noliers and the Galemarans battered Marik’s ears. He knew this could go on until nightfall at this rate, so decided on his next move with little regard for the danger involved.

  “Colbey, I need you to keep him busy for a moment. Occupy him, then leave me an opening for one solid strike.”

  The scout asked no questions. He only nodded once. Marik had no time to consider what this acceptance as a battlefield equal might mean from Colbey. There would be opportunities to ponder later. If later came.

  Their enemy advanced. Marik let Colbey meet the onslaught alone. He dropped his working to replenish his energy stores. Wherever the cursed mages were, they had left damned little energy in the mass diffusion. All around, the sea of warring men looked like a hundred-thousand candles suspended in blackness.

  He briefly remembered Tollaf talking about the mix of magic users in both armies. Actual mages numbered the most in both, but they would be drawing primarily from the line flowing near the Hollister. Still, he thanked any listening gods that neither side had recruited any mages beyond the ones already striving against each other, else there might not be enough of the diffusion left for him to gather what he needed. Trying to draw from the line would surely attract the attention of Nolier’s mages.

  Marik visualized the matrix of his exhausted muscles and their channels. This time he also envisioned the energy flowing through to reinforce the bones in his arms and his legs as well. He hoped it would work, never having studied them closely, and he prayed it would enable his body to withstand the stress the next few moments would put it through.

  Once he touched his power and opened the flow, he felt the soaring strength flow through his entire being. Mere feet away, Colbey traded blows, losing ground to the lord-knight’s awesome skill. He moved to his right, leading the Nolier into a slight turn. Marik sensed his opening coming when the lord extended high to block a strike aimed at his head.

  Time to roll the dice, let Lady Fate decide his future and see what happened.

  Marik poured every last bit of energy through his channels, then rushed forward, feeling the muscles in his legs seize around the bone nearly as tightly as the last time. Severe tension threatened to twist his legs in half while massive, painful cramps gripped his entire lower body. He forced himself to ignore it. Pops like bubbles burst throughout his flesh in painful spasms he hoped signified no serious damage. His arms, too, tightened when his muscles burst forth with godlike strength beyond anything he had ever known in his life.

  He swung from the side. Marik watched the lord’s helm turn to meet his motion, yet the Nolier’s speed could not close the distance fast enough. Marik’s sword crashed full length across the enameled breastplate with the force of a hurricane. His bones stressed further. He knew with sickening certainty they would never be able to hold.

  Something broke…though not his bones. His blade, carried through many battles and faithfully cared for, shattered. The blow’s force broke it into countless shards of flying steel after the multitude of nicks and cracks fractured under the tremendous impact. They rebounded off the enameled breastplate, streaking arrow-like as the dam splinters had when the black powder ignited. Still clutching the hilt, Marik felt fire erupt in his arm when shrapnel tore into his flesh. He gave silent thanks that his swing had turned his face away. Off-balance momentum kept him spinning so he collapsed hard into the ground against his wounded arm.

  The blow lifted the lord-knight from the ground and hurled him backward. His sword fell while he twisted through the air, his body rotating like a falling leaf. He landed several feet away on his back. Marik looked past his pain. The magnificent breastplate had suffered fantastic damage. A fine network of cracks covered it in a spider’s web. Fragments along the line where Marik’s blade struck had fallen away during his flight.

  The knight squirmed feebly on the ground. Marik lacked the strength to move. A deathly void filled him, and he realized he had used his entire reserve in one blow. That his bones had not shattered like his blade could be counted a miracle.

  Colbey moved instead. While the lord-knight lay dazed on the ground, he walked forward, sword in hand.

  The frozen Noliers shouted and su
rged forward, but were too late to stop the scout from resting his blade point against the wound in the armor. With one shove, he pierced the flesh beneath.

  Marik fought through his agony to stand, grabbing the few remaining licks of energy from the etheric within his reach. Not much, but it fought off his overwhelming exhaustion when he bent to retrieve the lord’s weapon. The massive sword, as large as a claymore, nearly toppled him. He was unable to lift it in his current state until he reinstated the working. Weariness gripped him so thoroughly that the working only restored him to his normal strength level.

  Tiredly, he turned to face the Noliers. But they had not been the only fighters to surge forward. The Galemarans, content to watch until this point, leapt to defend their champions. All around, fighting resumed, except one Nolier had yet to rejoin the battle.

  Nearby, the lord-knight’s banner bearer stared at his fallen master in confusion. He did not notice Marik when he walked over to him, yet jumped back with a yelp when Marik heaved the large blade, chopping at the pole supporting the banner with his last strength. The bearer nearly dropped the pole in shock.

  He held fast though, his oath to wield the banner-pole through fire and catastrophe still at odds with his lord’s death. Despite his tenacity, the massive sword had already done its damage. The pole cracked under the banner’s weight. It split where the blade had marred the wood. A moment later the fluttering crest fell from its proud heights to the bloody dirt.

  The bearer stared in horror at the downed banner, then at Marik, then fled back toward the Hollister. Several of Noliers who had rejoined the fight with less conviction quickly followed.

  Marik slowly made his way through his own lines to a place where he could sit and rest. Other Noliers across the field retreated from the fall of their lord’s banner, leaving the fighting men outnumbered by the Galemarans.

  He watched from his seat beside the remaining catapult. The massive sword leaned against his shoulder and blood trickled down his arm as Marik followed the battle’s final acts. Noliers increasingly abandoned the fight, leaving those behind in greater peril. The Galemaran command reformed. In a half-mark, the remaining Nolier army fled in a rout.