Twig and Barr complied. Though Jerald and Lirk sneered down at them, no one dared to move with the steel of the first man’s blade so close to the wrinkled skin of the king’s throat.
They all stood perfectly still as the two men disarmed the company, demanding each man put his hands up and let them take his sword. No one had yet to dismount, but that was coming. The brigands were piling their weapons to the side of the road, taking care to disarm the guards, and increase their chances of avoiding any conflict. It was a smart move. It occurred to Nikolis that the whole thing was almost too clever, too convenient, for the likes of this bunch.
When the man called Barr came for Nikolis, he had had enough time to think. Vaulting off of his horse, he landed between the king and the rest of the party with ease, immediately putting his hands into the air, as the large man started to back away, pressing his sword closer to the king’s throat.
“A moment,” Nikolis pleaded. The brigands eyed the sword still sheathed at his waist. “A moment is all I ask.”
“What are you doing?” demanded Darus. “Stop at once.”
“Step back, Nikolis,” Rowen pleaded. “It’s not worth it.”
“They’ll never let him go,” said Nikolis, eyeing the king. “They’ll promise to, but they won’t. They’ll ride off with him, and he’ll never be seen again.”
“You don’t know that,” said Darus, suddenly reasonable. “We must do what they say.”
“Isn’t that right?” Nikolis asked of the men holding the king.
“Do as we say, and he lives,” the man replied.
“I don’t believe it,” said Nikolis.
“You have no other choice.”
“No,” Nikolis agreed, “but you do.”
“What?” the man asked.
“I will fight the three of you. My sword to yours. If I win, he goes free. If you win, we will put up no further resistance, and comply with your wishes.”
“How do we know you ain’t lyin’?” asked the man called Twig.
“He’ll swear to it,” said Nikolis, locking gazes with the king.
“How do we know his friends won’t put up a fight, Gett?” asked Barr. “How do we know they’ll go along with it?
The large man, Gett, prompted, “Hm?” in question, when Nikolis did not immediately answer.
“You don’t,” said Nikolis. “But, what do you have to lose? If you win, I’m still dead, and that’s one less man you have to contend with.”
“Our three swords to yours, eh?” the large man asked, his grin revealing yellowed teeth.
“You cannot defeat three armed men,” Rowen Dunn warned, in a whisper. “This is foolishness. It will gain us nothing.”
“What do you say old man?” Gett asked, jostling the king. “Do you agree?”
King Alginor looked down at the steel to his throat, and then up again at Nikolis. Their eyes locked. There was a moment of dread in which Nikolis remembered all of the loathsome stares of his childhood. Then he studied the king and the man holding the sword to his throat, and it all came together. This king, this man, was what stood between peace and justice, and what the villain that held a blade to him represented: murder and theft, depravity, the dark side of the realm. It was all that Arthur Drennen had preached to him, no matter what his differences with the man were.
He had led a sheltered life at Highkeep, he realized. For all of his complaints, it had been as good as any, and a lot better than most. There was food and shelter, and even purpose.
The king continued to stare at him as if boring a hole into his soul, but Nikolis matched that stare with one of his own. His eyes blazed with an inner fire. It was the fire of knowledge that screamed, I know what you did to my mother and father; I know how you disgraced their memory and hid the truth from me. But in the same moment it whispered, I also know what you did for me, how you sheltered and protected me. You are my king, and I will die for you. Trust in me, as you did in my father once.
After a long moment of silence, the king nodded his ascent. Gett released the king to the archer, who trained his drawn shaft on the monarch. “One false move and I’ll put a dandy in him so quick you won’t see the color of the fletching,” the archer warned.
Nikolis nodded, walking toward the other three men.
“You might kill us, but not before the old man’s got an arrow through his skull,” Gett threatened.
Nikolis ignored the comment, stepping forward and drawing his sword in a flash. Twig and Barr were fast behind him, but despite that, he was already laying into Gett with a flurry of attacks before they ever got to his side.
The large man fended off the slender blade with his own thick shortsword, but it was clear he was already hard pressed. The moment Nikolis had beaten back Gett, he had to turn around and face the others. Twig came at him with a weak slash that he easily parried, but then Barr was there as well, with a heavy-handed chop that he had to spin to the side to avoid. Then Gett had regained his footing, and was coming in with as many hard, heavy slashes as he could manage, all directed at Nikolis’ most vulnerable parts.
Nikolis caught them all deftly on his blade, and turned them aside, but then again, could not take advantage of any opening, because he had to turn back and step over Twig’s slash, and then level a series of blows at Barr to keep him off balance.
Gett was strong and angry, though, and he was the one most to be feared. He was already back at Nikolis in a moment’s time, coming in with an overhead chop that would have cloven Nikolis’ skull in two, if he had not ducked and rolled behind the large brigand.
He came up and leveled a kick at the back of Gett’s knees, sending him to the ground, then sprang forward over the man’s back to send a thrust Twig’s way. The skinny brigand yelped, and fell backward, but it was all Nikolis could do to turn and parry another blow from Barr. The two exchanged thrusts and slashes for a few moments, while the other two got to their feet, and then Nikolis was being attacked from all sides again.
After turning aside another viscous chop from Gett, he managed to turn and scrape Barr across the forearm with the tip of his blade. The brute only grunted, growled and came on with more fury, as if he were having a contest of strength with Gett, as to who could swing their sword the hardest, all the while Nikolis’ prone head was the target.
As the attacks came on, he spent so much time spinning in a circle, deflecting blows from all sides, ever on the defensive, turning, turning, turning, that he began to grow dizzy. Through sheer force of will he fought off the feeling, and instead launched himself at Twig, clearly the weakest of the bunch. It would have been his preference to take out one of the other two, probably Gett, first, as they were stronger, but he did not have that option. Instead, he turned about and created as big an opening in the other pairs’ defenses as he could manage, so that he could then concentrate on Twig.
He knocked the man’s blade to the side over and over again, turning what was already a weak grasp on his weapon, into a horrible one.
Though he did have to turn back to fend off first Barr, and then Gett once again, he was back at Twig as fast as could manage. Finally, the man’s arm seemed to have grown so tired that he let his blade dip precariously low, so low that Nikolis was able to level a thrust inside his defenses, and score a hit on the man’s right shoulder, causing him to drop his blade. There was no time to revel in the success of his attack, however, as now Gett was at his back.
The large man slashed at his leg hard enough to draw blood, and it was all Nikolis could do to jump away and stop the man from taking off half of his calf. When he stood firmly again, pain now searing down his leg, Barr was there, hacking at his head. Nikolis ducked, and pushed into the man, sending him sprawling.
Twig made an attempt to heft his weapon in his offhand but was even worse with his left than he had been with his right. Nikolis deflected the blade to the side, and gave the man another wound, this one on his left forearm. The sword fell to the ground again, and so did Twig, whimpering all
the way.
Gett was at him with no time wasted, and Barr was getting to his feet. They decided to stand side by side and come at him in a combined effort. Both came in with swords swinging, and Nikolis was hard pressed to fend off all of the blows. He had to give ground; retreating so far back he came nearly to his companions’ horses. For a moment he hoped that someone might help him out, but then he remembered that if any one moved the king would get an arrow in him for the effort.
Nikolis came back at Gett, strongly, making himself ignore Barr as much as he dared. He pushed himself at the large man, thrusting, slashing, beating the man’s sword back, and forcing him backward, gaining ground, hoping to knock him off of his feet. But Gett was strong, and then Nikolis had to duck to avoid a blow from Barr and focus his energies on the second man again.
Finding an opening in Barr’s defenses he thrust low, and managed to wound the man in the thigh, causing him to halt and clutch at his leg. Nikolis spun back just in time to catch Gett’s blade on his own, pushing it out wide, and then sending a flurry of attacks back at him.
Finally, he saw evidence that the large man was breathing hard, growing tired. It wasn’t a lot, but it was something. He brought his sword down and managed to rake the tip of his blade across the arm of Gett’s off hand. The man still kept a firm grasp on his weapon, but dark blood now ran steadily down the opposing arm.
Barr came at him, but it was clear the man was now favoring his leg, not half as quick as he had been before. Nikolis came back with a series of low thrusts, followed by a series of high. Barr had to back up to keep Nikolis’ sword away, and with his leg in its current condition, it was clear it pained him. There was still anger on the man’s face, but now there was also fear.
Nikolis turned back to deflect another blow from Gett, and then was back at Barr. Finally, he managed to open a wide enough hole in the skinny brigand’s defenses, to thrust at his sword arm. Barr cursed and clutched at the wound, but fought on, trying to slash at Nikolis. His attack was slow, however, pained. Nikolis swept the brigand’s legs out from under him with ease, sending him crashing to the ground, and then spun back to parry a series of heavy blows from Gett.
Gett’s face was red with anger. It was clear he was trying to ignore his two downed companions, for he bared his clenched teeth, roared, and came at Nikolis with as mean a slash as he could manage. Nikolis sidestepped and let the charging man fly past, then came at his opponent’s exposed back. A well-placed thrust caught the large brigand below the shoulder, and another was scored above his hip, before Gett came back around and charged again.
Nikolis deflected all of his blows with ease, but he underestimated the man, for with brute strength he pushed into Nikolis and slashed downward, catching him in the forearm of his off hand. Blood now flowed down Nikolis’ arm as he fought to regain his balance. Gett roared again, and slashed at Nikolis, who raised his sword in defense. The strength, the ferocity, was so great in this blow that it sent Nikolis arm flying out wide. When he sought to come back in to fend off Gett’s latest attack, the hilt slipped in his hands, and his sword went flying off to the side.
At that moment Nikolis knew real dread for the first time. He felt as if this may very well be the end, and at best, he had jeopardized the king’s life for nothing. He had to roll forward to get past the rushing form of Gett and then come up on his feet. The large man came at him with a series of hard blows all of which he had to leap backward, and sidestep, to avoid. It was not easy work, nor a tactic he was well practiced at.
After continually moving around the man, he ended up in a precarious position with his back to the trunk of a tall oak tree. As Gett rushed at him, sword high, he waited until the last moment, and then ducked and rolled forward. The brigand managed to lodge his sword deep into the tree, and had to fight to work it free, giving Nikolis enough time to come up beside his sword and take it into his grasp again.
When Gett finally had his weapon out of the trunk, he spun around to swing at Nikolis again, but was stopped short when a slender blade caught him between the ribs. Nikolis held his sword aloft, allowing Gett’s own momentum to put several inches of the steel into him. The large man dropped his own weapon immediately and fell to the ground.
Nikolis wasted no time, pulling his blade free from the fallen brigand, and rushing over to the shocked bowman. In one quick slash he turned the bow away from the king, and cut bow and bowstring in half, leaving the archer grasping at broken pieces in his hands, and sending his drawn shaft racing off into the wilderness.
The shocked assemblage could only stare as Nikolis put his blade to the ground and rested upon it, breathing hard. “They’ll survive,” he said of the brigands, though to whom he was not sure. For some reason, and he was glad of it, it still mattered to him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The king had taken his coat. After his fight with the brigands the old monarch had walked up to him, slowly, not saying a word. Then he had put out a wrinkled hand and asked for the grey mantle of Nikolis’ post. That had been days ago. The small troupe had taken back to the road afterward and then not long after, the rest of the party had caught up to them.
Nikolis sat astride his fine stallion with his shoulders slumped, keeping his head down, staying to the rear of the line. He did not engage anyone in conversation, did not make eye contact with any who might try to speak to him. Over and over in his mind, he kept replaying the events of his encounter with the brigands. What did I do wrong?
He had acted with his heart perhaps, had let his passions take over, but he thought enough rational thought had remained in his mind so as to dictate appropriate action. There had been no time to quibble or argue, after all – the king’s life had been in danger. Should I have deferred to the more veteran guardsmen? None of them had seemed ready to do much. Action was needed. At least that’s what he had thought. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
During the fight Nikolis had felt numb to any other thoughts or sensations. The dance was all that had mattered, moving to perfection, outmaneuvering his opponents. When it was over, though, all of the aches and strains and pure pain from scratches and larger wounds, came rushing in.
Withered old Nob had seen to Nikolis, applying a clear, greasy ointment to nicks and cuts, and linen bandages to his larger wounds. A few had required stitches from Nob’s nimble fingers. One would guess him an agile youth, if they saw him with needle and thread.
The pain was worse the second day, when the areas around the largest cuts grew progressively tender. Shortly thereafter it began to feel as if the wound went completely through the muscle, down to the bone, as the ache was so unbearable. Of course, it hadn’t, or he would’ve needed more than ointments, bandages and a few sutures.
When the pain started to dull the itching came, and it was all Nikolis could do to keep his hands from picking at the forming scabs. A time or two, when he did give in to scratching, old Nob always seemed to be nearby, ready to cuff him on the back of the neck, as if he was a child.
Nob had seen a battle or two; that was certain. The cascade of wrinkles that ran down his face had not all come from age. Limited as his own experience was, Nikolis could only imagine the stress and anxiety that came from a lengthy campaign, entrenched about an enemy holdfast, or in the fifth day of a forced march. Nob shared these stories with Nikolis in bits and pieces, as he changed his bandages. It gave Nikolis an excuse to relate to someone, to pass the time, without risking talking to anyone who might question him about what had happened.
For some reason he did not worry that Nob was going to ask such questions. The man kept to himself; this journey seemingly no special event for him. Such happenings seemed simply to be his life. Nikolis couldn’t say the same for the rest of those around him. The servants had no shame – they looked at him directly and exchanged whispers as they passed. The guards and noblemen were a little more discrete. They waited until they had passed him by, until they were almost out of earshot, to begin discussing the latest gossip as to what his
fate was to be.
Finally, one day, the pressure grew so intense that he did ask Nob about the situation, about what he might have heard. He hoped the man would give him an honest interpretation about what was going on. “Best to stay quiet,” was all Nob said, though, in response. “Best not to ask questions. Best to wait and watch and see what comes your way.”
Though the words were kind, the advice possibly sound, Nikolis could not stop thinking about it. As the days wore on and his confidence grew, he dared to approach Dunn and Camber and Lewin. But when he did, they avoided looking at him. Dunn seemed almost fearful or concerned, while Camber and Lewin looked angry. King Alginor had made little to no appearances as of late, so even if Nikolis did manage to gather the courage to say something to him, the opportunity seemed unlikely to present itself.
With all of this on his mind, he took only passing interest in the changes in the environment around him, as they moved along. Though a few differences in his immediate surrounds did appear that were so striking they could not be denied or ignored. The road became well packed and then they reached places where it was lined with smooth white stones. Eventually the dirt beneath them was covered with larger, smooth white stones that paved it from end to end, and as far ahead as the eye could see. Patrols of lightly clad guardsmen in blue and white made appearances and a strange, pleasant smell, which Nob called, “sea air,” drifted in on the winds.
Even these minor distractions, though, did little to sway Nikolis’ thoughts. Wallowing in misery, it seemed as if nothing could banish his dreary mood. That was at least until one morning, as they were cresting a rise in the road ahead, and he saw something that chased all other thoughts from his mind.
The entire entourage came to a halt and everyone stood and stared at the spectacle ahead. Guards, forgetting their training, let their weapons drop and common children rushed ahead and peered out from between legs and cartwheels. The road ahead wound down and down into lush, green hillside, until it met a massive wall of white stone, that itself wound to the left and right into the hills beyond. Nestled inside this enclosure was the most impressive sight Nikolis had ever laid eyes on.
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