As anyone not living under a rock knows, Sep, the Daddy o' Story Hours (Piratecat being the Grandaddy), just updated his Wyre epic. I felt inspired to toss my hat into the ring as well.
Chapter Seven
Upon the narrow, marble causeway connecting lake-shrine to cathedral, Baden of Axemarch and Pandios of Margive did their level best to kill one another.
Baden’s dwarven companions and Pandios’ Imperials formed a silent ring around both combatants. Beyond them, along the shoreline, hundreds of Selûnites jostled to better see the fight. Their soprano cheers greeted each stroke, lilting and bloodthirsty. Baden could not help but hear the elves, and the sounds enraged him.
Pandios drew first blood. The Apian’s wide-bladed sword found a crease in Borbidan’s armor, sending fire throughout Baden’s hip. The dwarf pivoted, felt the hot blood flowing down his left leg, and swung.
Swing, stab, swing, stab. It was a hard combat, an even fight, and neither warrior gave ground. Baden quickly marked the experience and skill of his opponent; this was no rûcken screamer or wool-headed gnoll he now fought. As dangerous as the cave troll had been, Baden was more accustomed to fighting such giant beasts. Whereas the troll had been brutal and immensely strong, Pandios was skilled and quick on his feet. The Apian’s sword seemed to be everywhere at all times, striking outward with the speed of a viper.
Baden grunted as the sword found his flesh yet again. His right arm went numb, and the dwarf considered loosing his shield to better grip Borbidan’s axe. The marble floor of the causeway was soon slick with blood, most of it Baden’s.
Pandios slipped, his guard momentarily down, and Baden stepped forward to deliver a vicious cut. Borbidan’s axe met only air, however, and Pandios’ riposte was nearly deadly. Baden grimaced in pain.
The Apian stepped back, breathing heavily, marked by only a few superficial wounds. Baden was uncertain whether the foreign soldier was allowing him a respite, or delaying the action so that more of Baden’s blood – and hopes – would drip onto the marble underfoot.
Pandios lowered his sword. His voice, when he called, was carried over the gentle waves of the Mead Lake. It was filled with the authority of one accustomed to command. “Are you pleased, elves?! Have you not seen enough?”
Baden stepped forward, quickly, just as the Apian was finishing his shout. Borbidan’s axe – finally! – struck home, though with the flat of the axehead.
It was now Pandios’ turn to stumble backward in pain, and Baden’s to lambaste the onlookers. “Ye damned Moonies! To the fires with you and your trollop goddess!”
- That was rather less refined than Pandios’ call.
If you haven’t noticed, Ilvar, I’m losing this fight. Now shut it.
The crowd reacted violently to Baden’s insult. Derisive words spilled onto the causeway in a wave. Most of the insults were in elvish, but Baden could understand them thanks to Ilvar’s possession. For the second time, the dwarf seriously considered charging into the wehy-faced onlookers. If he could sunder the heads of a few Moonies, he would count his death well-served.
Pandios lashed outward with his gladius, missing, and Baden saw another opportunity. Careful now, for he knew the Apian was adept at showing an opening where there was none, Baden swung. The axe clove through the Imperial’s shield, nearly severing the man’s forearm, and Pandios fell backward onto one knee.
Pandios was as good as dead. Baden could now kill him, he knew, if only he pressed his advantage. But something checked him. The dwarf stepped back while Pandios regained his feet.
The Apian shook the shield from his shattered arm. He touched the blade of his sword to his helm in salute.
Hoth stepped from the ring of dwarves and Apians before the battle could be rejoined. His already-ruddy face was crimson with rage. “Enough of this, I say.” The Ironfist dwarf gestured toward the elves with his axe. “Let us march down this causeway and make them damned pointers answer for what they done.”
A few of the Apian soldiers hefted their swords, apparently in favor of Hoth’s tone even if they did not understand his words. At a look from Pandios, however, the Imperials stepped back.
“We have all agreed,” Pandios spoke so that only his men and the dwarves could hear, “to this fight. Let us remember our word.”
Baden nodded. A great sadness was upon him, and his rage was nearly spent. He felt weak, light-headed, and his wounds burned like fire. “Pandios, guard yourself. I come.”
The dwarf charged, screaming, and the Apian leapt to meet him. Axe and sword flashed once, twice, again. The elves erupted into cheers amidst the clangor of steel on hauberk and iron on breastplate. Blood misted around the fighters, sprinkling upon the white marble and the grim faces of the closest dwarven and Imperial spectators.
Suddenly, it was over.
***
Baden was hard-pressed to recall the stroke that felled Pandios. The Apian simply dropped, all strength gone from him, to lie supine upon the marble. The circle of blood beneath him spread outward in a slow tide.
Baden tore his helmet from his head and tossed his axe onto the ground. He knelt, cradled Pandios’ head, and removed the man’s helm. Baden grew tired of cradling dying friends. “Easy now, Pandios, go easy.”
Pandios smiled. It was an exceptionally brave act. The Imperial spoke, softly, his words disjointed and in a tongue Baden did not understand.
Baden felt someone push past him. It was Pemm. The tall dwarven priest wordlessly knelt beside Pandios. Baden heard rather than saw the Selûnites begin to surge onto the causeway; folk have always enjoyed witnessing the last moments of a dying man.
Pemm, however, meant to disappoint.
The priest of Moradin touched Pandios’ brow, murmured a word, and suddenly the Apian’s blood ceased to spill from his many wounds. A crescendo of outrage boiled outward from the white-cloaked elves.
Baden realized he had wrongly judged Pemm. “Thank you.”
“Thank Moradin.”
“Stand, Pemm.” Baden turned to face his death at the hands of the oncoming mob, surprised at how calm – and how good – he felt. “It is time to die.”
***
One of Pandios’ men – one of the two that had been grievously wounded - did not wait for the Selûnites to reach him. The Imperial drew his sword and, lumbering jerkily, charged into the white horde. Amazingly, against all odds, the soldier stood his own for a few, hectic moments.
That is, he stood his own until the priestess stepped forward. Her aquiline features were hard with wrath. The San’a’lul pointed at the Imperial, almost disdainfully. A ray the color of moonlight shot forth. The man fell, dead, without a sound.
Baden hefted his axe. The oncoming fight would be a quick one for him. Already he was near death, vision blurred from the loss of blood. So be it.
A voice cut through the pandemonium. It came from the thin elf Baden had last seen standing behind the San’a’lul’s throne. His face showed no emotion, but his elvish words were sharp. “You – who were once the San’a’lul – did that which is forbidden.”
The charging elves stopped as surely as if they had ran into a wall. Silence fell like thunder. Baden stood, flanked by Tamil and Hoth. Dwarves and Imperials watched, weapons ready.
The priestess’ face, already pale, drained of all color. The sudden horror in her voice was unmistakable. “N-no…no! I will repent-”
“You will not.” The thin elf gestured to the crowd. “Seize her.”
The priestess struggled feebly against the many arms that now reached for her. Her pristine, ivory vestment was ripped from her and she was lifted and carted toward the shores of the lake. The thin elf ignored her; he walked calmly forward to stand above the slain Apian.
The elf produced a thin, clay tower. He crushed it in his hand as he uttered divine words. When next he spoke, it was in the Imperial tongue. Baden was uncertain what was said, but Pandios’ men seemed to relax. A few of them walked over to kneel by their fallen captain’s side.
The thin elf removed a silver tube from within his cloak. He unstoppered it and poured a fine, sparkling dust onto one palm. His chanting, when it commenced, possessed an other-worldly quality. It was gossamer and moonlight, whisperings and music.
Baden swiveled his head toward Pemm. “What does he do?”
“That which many cannot.” Pemm’s face was unreadable, but his eyes were dark with awe. “He brings back one who has been killed.”
Baden blew air through his whiskers. He retrieved his axe, took a knee, and watched. Beyond the chanting the elf and the dead Apian, the crowd had carried the priestess into the lapping, cold waters of the lake. Two burly elves, faces cruel, tied her feet and hands. They bent her backward – like a crescent moon – and held her beneath the water.
As the former San’a’lul went to her death, Pandios returned from his. The elven priest stood. “The cycle is rejoined.”
Baden, feeling as dumbstruck as an ox at the slaughterhouse, painfully regained his feet. He took a few paces toward the elf. “Sir,” Baden began, licking his lips nervously, “may we leave this place?”
The elf nodded, eyes flat. “Your priest must remain. He attempted to intercede in the justice of the glimmer. You and your other durven companions are free to depart. As are the Imperials. Come not again into my demesne.”
Baden did not know whether to weep or roar. He took a long, steadying breath. “I will not leave my companion because he sought to spare a life-”
“Then you may remain, as well, with our blessing.”
Baden was beyond words. A feral growl rolled upward from the pit of his chest.
Pemm walked forward, hands at his side. He spoke to Baden, though his eyes were upon the elf. “I accept this judgment, and shall remain.” Pemm turned to fasten an eye on Baden. “Do not argue on my behalf, for you are not my superior and little understand the ways of the divine.”
Baden, who had recently upped his estimation of Pemm, found his former thoughts returning. “You were ordered to travel with me.” …and if you depart, shall I then remain forevermore a nil-thain?
“I will see that Moradin’s Word is informed.” Pemm’s tone brokered no defiance. “Go, Baden Dost, nil-thain, whilst you yet can.”
Baden scowled, his confusion only matched by his anger at the senselessness of it all. He glared at the elf. “And the Imperials – may they depart as well?”
“All save for the one you fought. He lives because your priest did what should not have been done. The glimmer will take him this evening, and his death will complete the cycle.”
Baden had heard enough.
“Bugger that, bugger you, and bugger your glimmer.” The dwarf stepped close to the elf, his whisper like that of a lover. “’Tis a good distance between you and your Moonies. How many, do you think? Three, four? Maybe five strokes of me axe. I’ll whittle your white ass down as sure as any sapling – long before any help arrives.”
The elf, if he was afraid, did not show it. “You may go, or you may stay. You may live, or you may die. These questions have not been answered.” The thin elf raised a steady finger. “What has been answered is the fate of your priest and the fate of the Imperial you fought. I have spoken.”
Baden tightened the grip on his axe…
…then loosened it. “Hoth,” he called loudly, not realizing the Ironfist dwarf stood less than a pace behind him. “Take Tamil. Make it known to the Apians that they can leave this place. I will find you in Val Hor.”
“Like hell.” Hoth rested his own axe over one shoulder, eyes on the elf before him. “Baden, you take Tamil. You go. I will find you in Val Hor. I’m a wee bit tired o’ watching others swing axe and sword; I figure it’s time I joined some o’ the fun.”
Baden ground his teeth. He would need to sit down, and soon, or he would collapse. “Hoth, you are a Captain of your clan. I am not. I do not even have a clan.” Baden searched his friend’s face. “I am asking you to do this. Not ordering you. And I ask you as a friend.”
Hoth studied Baden intently. Finally, he reached out and gripped the dwarf’s shoulder. “I do this for you. Next time one of us gets to play the hero, ‘tis my turn.”
Baden nodded, his relief so sudden and strong that he nearly whimpered. “Go, then. Now.”
***
Within the hour, the causeway was empty save for Baden and the unconscious Pandios. A storm rolled toward them, tossing the waves of the Mead, causing water to splash and run over the blood upon the marble. The wind ripped and moaned as the sky grew dark.
Baden leaned back, sighing, enjoying the stinging rain upon his face. He rolled to one side, fumbled within his rucksack, and withdrew two bottles. “Well, Ilvar, I’ve got one o’ each.”
- What are they?
“One’s a healing draught, the other some o’ Bellows’ whiskey.”
Baden hefted both bottles in his hands, staring at one then the other. In the end, it was an easy decision.
***
Baden stood, helped Pandios to his feet, and belched loudly. The smell of whiskey mixed with that of the rain. “No more whining from you, ye damned Ape.* You look a fair bit better than me, now, I would think.”
Pandios smiled weakly, though his face was now flushed and healthy. The two warriors gathered their weapons and marched, both leaning upon one another, into the scant shelter provided by the shrine at the end of the causeway.
“If we leave this ground, they will kill us.” Pandios spoke matter-of-factly as he tossed his helm and sword at the base of a pillar. The shrine’s roof kept them from the worst of the rain, but water still managed to shoot inward between the columns.
Pandios sat next to the dwarf. “To where did my men go?”
“I do not know.”
“And what of your men?”
“Two have left, a third decided to remain.”
“Remain?” Pandios’ eyes widened. “Why?”
“I do not know.”
The Apian sat quietly for a moment. “You have a strange island, friend, filled with strange people. Why do you choose to stay?”
“I do not know.”
“What do you know?”
“I know that I have half a bottle o’ brandy that’ll melt yer insides after one swallow.” Baden stared hard at the Apian from beneath bushy brows. “And if ye don’na stop askin’ me fool questions, then I ain’t gonna give you none.”
Pandios laughed, and the sound banished the cold and wet. The Imperial leaned forward, accepted the flask, and took a long pull. He coughed, returned the bottle. “Now, friend…” Pandios blew air through his mouth, eyes watering. “Now I know why you choose to stay.”
Baden took another drink, wiped his beard with the back of his hand, and eyed the bottle as druid might the entrails of a sacrificial goat. “We may not have your aqueducts and your arenas and all them other things I hear be on the mainland. And most folks hereabouts seem to like to kill one another. Elves are asses, you humans always want to fight one another, and even my own folk are too stubborn to poke their heads from out ‘neath our caves….”
Baden grinned in spite of himself. “But, damn all the gods and their world, we got good whiskey. That’s enough for me.”
***
* ‘Ape’ is, like most racial slurs, a rather unimaginative epithet for Imperial Apians.
