The Last Battle

by Nick Brown

  ‘You really are full of surprises.’

  ‘The other two are dead,’ said Cassius. ‘There’s no need for more bloodshed.’

  ‘Except that I’ve not been paid in full and now I won’t be. You think I’m going to let you two beat me again?’ Gutha glanced at Amarante. ‘She’ll suffice for some compensation.’

  Cassius stepped forward beside Indavara.

  ‘Leave him to me,’ said the bodyguard. ‘There’s a crossroads after a mile that meets the Otomagus road. I’ll meet you there.’

  ‘I’m not going to do that.’

  Indavara didn’t take his eyes of Gutha. ‘He wins, he’ll kill you both and take the girl. Go.’

  You can’t do it, Indavara.

  Maybe the old you. But you’re not strong enough now.

  Not against this.

  ‘Corbulo, go,’ said Indavara. ‘You too, Simo.’

  Gutha grinned as he thumped a hand against the shaft of the great axe. ‘I do believe I might enjoy this.’

  XXII

  They took two of the three horses, with Amarante sitting behind Cassius. He rode the black horse, which he reckoned to be at least eighteen hands tall. Simo had grabbed his pack from the farmhouse, including their meagre supply of coins. The trio were a hundred yards away from the Retreat when Cassius reined in.

  ‘We can’t leave him.’

  ‘You should have taken the last horse too,’ said Amarante. ‘The giant will kill him, then come after for us.’

  Simo caught his master’s eye. ‘Sir, if you fight, Indavara will have to concern himself with you. He will do better on his own. I believe he will win.’

  Cassius did not share that belief. But he knew Simo was right about trying to fight alongside the bodyguard; that would cause more harm than good. Many soldiers and one innocent had already died because of this mission. And there was no point rescuing Amarante from the clutches of Volosus only for her to be claimed by the mercenary.

  Yet this felt like a betrayal.

  He glanced back at the farmhouse, though the two combatants were on the far side. One of them would claim the victory, take the last horse and ride out from the Retreat.

  ‘We go on to the crossroads. But then we wait.’

  Indavara had blocked Gutha’s path to the others. Now the sound of their horses had faded, he knew he was truly alone.

  The mercenary ran a hand through his blonde hair as he advanced, a faint grin upon his face. At least the big bastard didn’t have his armour. But he wielded that huge axe like it was a hatchet. Corbulo’s sword was a strong, lengthy blade but also rather heavy. Indavara knew his main task would be to keep it in one piece until he could land a telling strike: a full-blooded contact with the axe would snap it in two.

  Gutha had the power, the weight and the reach. Indavara had regained some bulk but after so long laid up he had concentrated on stamina. This, speed and agility were his advantages. Perhaps he could tire the giant out.

  With a casual, shuffling advance, Gutha now cut Indavara off, moving between him and the track that led out of the Retreat. Indavara was concerned about getting trapped. To his left was the barn, to his right the sheep pen. If he got pushed towards the dock, his enemy could force him all the way to the river. The very thought of fighting near water spurred him into action.

  Gutha was right-handed, making it easier to attack his left. Indavara side-stepped in that direction, forcing his foe to turn. Eyes locked on the axe, he kept low and took three darting steps. He swept one-handed, forcing Gutha to evade.

  Indavara was not prepared for the riposte. The mercenary’s move swiftly became a charge, axe stretched out in front of him. Indavara’s panicked retreat almost caused him to stumble on the sandy ground. Thankfully, Gutha was still testing him and they circled each other for a time until he closed once more. Sword up, Indavara now found himself backing towards the farmhouse. Gutha kept coming, axe parallel to the ground, ready to swing in any direction.

  Indavara grabbed a glance over his shoulder, to see how close he was to the building. The answer was very close and as he turned back, the axe-head came straight at him. A desperate flick of his wrist sent the sword upward. It connected with the tip of the axe-head and deflected the attack. But Gutha pressed his advantage now, his vast frame seeming to block every route of escape. The swing seemed to come out of nowhere, murderous steel slicing through the air.

  There was nowhere to go but down. Gutha adjusted when he saw the duck but still missed his target’s skull by a couple of inches. Indavara landed on his arse, back scraping the wall. The axe screeched as it struck the building. Fragments of brick landed in his hair.

  He hadn’t time or space to bring the sword to bear. With Gutha still off-balance from his swing, Indavara scrambled away to his left. He was on his way up when a huge boot caught his trailing foot. He fell, rolled away from his foe, sprang up again. Aware too late that Gutha had closed the distance he raised the sword just as –

  The axe-head caught him above the nose. He staggered, legs buckling. His eyes filled with a dizzying fog. He could feel the paralysis of the stunning blow. The killing blow would come next.

  No.

  He swung wildly, heard Gutha cry out.

  His vision began to clear. The mercenary was holding his jaw. Somehow the long eagle-head sword had got through his defences and sliced the skin open. It wasn’t a serious wound but it was bleeding badly.

  Lucky.

  The calmness had gone from Gutha’s eyes. He bared his teeth.

  Maybe not.

  Gutha shifted to a two-handed grip, ignoring the steady flow of blood now colouring his grey tunic.

  Indavara found himself withdrawing towards the sheep pen. He reckoned a big sod like this wasn’t much used to getting hurt. After all, he did like his armour. And who would be stupid enough to take him on? Had anyone taken him on? Indavara felt a sudden surge of confidence.

  It quickly evaporated when Gutha stomped forward. With three quick steps, he rolled his wrists and chopped diagonally at Indavara’s head. Indavara knew he couldn’t get the sword up in time and dropped under the attack. Gutha swept back at him immediately, and only by spinning away did Indavara stay clear.

  With any normal-sized enemy, he could have got close enough to land a strike. Getting inside his defences wasn’t much of a prospect either. And if it went hand to hand, the giant could tear him to pieces.

  Wondering how close he now was to the pen, Indavara wasn’t ready for the hack that sliced down at him out of the sky. To achieve this speed and surprise, Gutha had used only one hand. This meant that with two hands on the sword, Indavara could parry. He stretched up to cut the distance – and impetus. The axe blade struck the base of the sword, close to the handle, shuddering weapon and arm. But the eagle-head sword held together. Gutha seemed surprised but recovered swiftly.

  With the weapons locked together, he moved Indavara’s arms to one side and drove a kick at his midriff. The impact knocked Indavara off his feet and sent him flying through the air. His back exploded with pain as he struck the top rail of the pen, smashing through the wood and landing on grass.

  He could hardly breathe.

  He realised he’d lost the blade.

  Got to move. Move!

  Lifting himself off the ground, he watched Gutha step over the lower rail, a satisfied grin on his face. The shattered wooden remnants of the higher rail lay across the mud and grass.

  ‘I have to say I’m impressed. Not many people would get up from that.’

  Indavara would have concocted a reply but was more concerned with his next breath. His chest felt as if it was being squeezed in a vice. He backed away. The pulsing pain was still there but no worse.

  Nothing broken. Now where’s that—

  Gutha picked up the sword.

  ‘Very nice workmanship. I think I shall keep it. The axe is doubled Noric steel. Cost me twelve aurei, would you believe? It’s served me well.’

  He has two weapons. I h
ave none.

  Not good.

  Indavara retreated, looking around for something – anything – he could use to defend himself. He passed a wooden trough half full of water. Too heavy. Other than that, there was only sheep shit.

  And sheep.

  Only now did he notice their anxious moans and quick-moving feet. There was a dozen or so behind him, trapped inside the square pen, fleeing the battling men.

  Arms and weapons by his side, Gutha marched after him. His cheek was still seeping. The sight of the wound gave Indavara a little hope.

  Subtly changing the angle of his backward path, he ensured the sheep stayed to his left and were pushed into that corner. Snatching a backward glance, he saw that he was now only twenty feet from the rear fence.

  ‘Running out of space,’ said Gutha.

  Indavara side-stepped to his left. The sheep were making more noise, the fence groaning under the press of their retreating bodies. He reckoned they would have fled towards the farmhouse if not for Gutha, who had shifted to cut off his escape. The fence groaned again. If it broke, he’d have no chance at all.

  Now.

  With a roar, Indavara spun and charged the sheep. They had nowhere to go but away from the corner. Fleeing past him, they caught Gutha off guard. The first few avoided the giant but those behind were less able to see what was ahead of them. When one struck his leg, he lashed out with the sword, cursing the animals.

  Indavara was right behind them. He launched himself off the ground, arrowing his shoulder straight into Gutha’s stomach. He’d half expected to bounce off but the mercenary crumpled and toppled backwards. Indavara landed on top of him. He knew he had to hit first.

  He’d already drawn back his right fist when something flashed towards his head. He pulled back and Gutha’s left hand struck only a glancing blow.

  Just a hand. He’s dropped the axe.

  Glimpsing the right hand – and the sword – coming towards him, Indavara sprang clear. A second later, he heard the blade slap into the ground.

  The axe was lying only a few feet away. He was almost there when he realised he had badly underestimated the man’s speed.

  Turning, he saw that Gutha was not only up but about to swing at him. There was no chance of getting outside the sweep of the long blade – only inside.

  He leaped straight at the mercenary again. The swing came too late, Gutha’s hand connecting harmlessly with his shoulder.

  Indavara drove his head upwards, smashing into Gutha’s chin. Hearing a pained grunt, he took advantage, hammering his fist into the man’s gut: once, twice, three times, four. Before he could punch again, the giant wrapped him up in a bear hug. Arms locked around Indavara’s shoulders, he now lifted him off the ground.

  Indavara tried – and failed – to suck in a breath. He tried to knee the bastard in the groin but he was too close; he couldn’t move his leg far enough to get any power. Stars flashed across his vision. He twisted his head, managed to get his mouth clear enough to grab half a breath.

  He heard a rib crack. Pain spliced into him. He tried to wrestle one of his arms free. No chance. He lashed out with a boot. It made no difference.

  He did it without thinking:

  His teeth at first scraped along the tunic but then he bit harder. The bastard’s chest was all muscle but with another bite Indavara caught skin. He held it between his teeth, jerked his head back.

  The mercenary shrieked, his grip loosening for a vital second. Indavara had space to kick again and he struck a knee with his boot. The giant cried out.

  He knew then that he was right: Gutha wasn’t used to being hurt. But he couldn’t stay close to him.

  It seemed his enemy agreed.

  ‘Yaaaah!’ Letting Indavara drop to the ground, Gutha grabbed him by the neck and under the arm. Lifting, then twisting, he drove him headfirst towards the ground.

  Indavara got his arm down first and tucked his head in, ensuring his neck, not his back, took the impact.

  It hurt.

  But not enough to stop him moving. He crawled clear on his hands and knees, forced himself back onto his feet. He spat out half a mouthful of tunic, blood and skin.

  Gutha looked down at the newest red stain now colouring his tunic. He wearily picked up the axe.

  ‘Do you ever know when you’re beaten?’

  ‘Not so far.’ Indavara circled around him and recovered the sword.

  Back to where we started? No.

  He could see it clearly now. This big bastard had immense strength and plenty of skill. But he was no street fighter. No gladiator. He didn’t know what it was like to truly face death. Fight on time and time again. Get up again and again and again.

  No gladiator.

  Indavara did not take another backwards step. As he advanced – lunging, feinting, sweeping, stabbing – Gutha seemed to slow with every movement. Sweat shone on his face.

  Indavara had no intention of giving his foe another chance to take his life. He had fought too hard, survived too much. His back hurt and his shoulder hurt and he could feel his rib bone moving around but he’d known much, much worse.

  The eagle-head sword arced through the air, knocking the axe-blade aside. Indavara thrust double-handed at Gutha’s stomach then chopped at his jaw. The mercenary sprang back, knocked the second strike aside with the axe.

  But he was only defending now. The effort, the pain, the concentration; it all seemed to be catching up with him. His breath came in feverish gasps. His eyes had lost their coldness. He was afraid.

  Switching to a one-handed grip, Indavara now used the long blade to land any strike he could. He sliced across Gutha’s fingers, caught his wrist, even landed the tip on his upper arm. He drew blood with half a dozen wounds. The mercenary’s weapon was heavy but his arms looked heavier.

  For a moment he held his ground, swept at Indavara who simply lowered the blade and watched the axe-head fly past him.

  Now? Not yet.

  He switched hands. His left was not so dextrous but it was better than most people’s right and gave Gutha plenty else to worry about.

  And now it was the mercenary with the fence behind him.

  Sweep. Chop. Lunge. Cut.

  Gutha couldn’t react; couldn’t regain the initiative. He was reduced to simply sweeping the great axe back and forth. But now it seemed to be weighing him down.

  Now? Not yet.

  Indavara just did enough to keep him on the move; saving his energy, knowing his enemy was losing his.

  The fence was close. Soon the giant would be forced to attack.

  Indavara only needed one moment.

  The axe was getting lower.

  Now.

  He moved right, swept in towards Gutha’s shoulder. The mercenary got the axe across but his arms were tired. Indavara sliced down, chopped into his elbow. Metal struck bone.

  The giant roared. Blood dripped from yet another wound.

  Again.

  Indavara lunged forward, cut up, hit the other elbow.

  Again.

  Indavara went to the right again, feinted at the shoulder, rolled his wrist, chopped in under the weak defence. The tip of the eagle-head sword lanced across Gutha’s stomach. And now he crumpled, collapsing in on himself like an empty waterskin.

  Indavara leapt high, unleashed a lightning slice that cut flesh and hair from the side of the giant’s head. The bloody clump bounced off his shoulder on its way to the ground. He staggered, fell to his knees.

  ‘All right. All right.’ Gutha dropped the axe and raised his hands. ‘You win, gladiator. You beat me. It’s over.’

  No. You tried to take my life. I take yours.

  Gutha watched him, seemed to know there would not be mercy.

  He lifted his chin, exposing his neck. ‘Then at least make it quick.’

  The trio withdrew to the trees. The two horses had been tethered in cover and Simo had just finished bandaging Amarante’s wounded ankle. Cassius had donated a tunic sleeve and was glad to see t
hat it had not yet soaked through with blood. She could also walk on it though it was evidently causing her pain.

  His mind flitted between imagining the fate of Indavara and recalling the death of Volosus. He did not spare much of a thought for Bibulus but drew considerable satisfaction from eliminating the enemy agent, not that he could have done it without Amarante.

  As Simo wandered back to the crossroads to look for Indavara, Cassius walked over to her. She was sitting on a small log, hands clasped.

  ‘You were very brave back there. I only wish I had thought of that first.’

  ‘You did your part,’ she said without looking up. ‘How much longer are we going to wait?’

  ‘As long as we have to.’

  She shook her head and looked away.

  Cassius squatted down in front of her. ‘Indavara has saved my life on many occasions. I at least owe him that much.’

  ‘The giant will kill him. You want to wait until he rides here to kill us too?’

  ‘That’s why we’ve hidden ourselves.’

  She shook her head again.

  ‘I know you just want to get across the river. Believe me, I do too.’

  Only now did Amarante look at him. ‘What’s over there for you?’

  ‘Allies. Safety.’

  ‘But the war. Won’t you have to fight?’

  ‘I’m hoping my superiors will decide I’ve done enough.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘Sir!’ Simo beckoned Cassius towards the road.

  ‘Excuse me.’ Checking that he still had the dagger tucked into his belt, he made his way through the trees and up the short bank where Simo stood. Neither of the roads that met here was paved, though they were wide and seemed well-used. Cassius hoped to see Indavara approaching.

  In fact, there were a number of riders coming from the south: one on horseback and five others on ponies. As they got closer, Cassius noted that a woman sat behind the man and that the others were children of varying ages. All the mounts were heavily-laden with bags.