“You haven’t failed, Master. I just prefer to practice sorcery off of feel rather than wasting my time on silly exercises.”
Philik’s eyes narrowed. “Those exercises are not silly. I thought I proved that by controlling your mishap today.”
Krytien lowered his head. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, Master. It’s just . . . for me to improve as rapidly as you say I have, then I must be doing something right. I just need more practice.”
Philik sighed. “You do need more practice, but you need to learn the old ways and concentrate on structure first before attempting anything so risky again. Do you realize that no one has progressed in becoming a black-robed mage as quickly as you have? You could be a High Mage one day if you learn to apply yourself. Perhaps one of the best, ever! I’ll write you a letter of recommendation tomorrow to take to Estul Island. There, you will learn from the greatest mage alive. Despite your reservations, I know it’s what you want. Am I right?”
“Yes, but the money. . . .”
“. . . .will be waved once Amcaro reads my letter. Now, it’s late. Go home and get some rest.”
* * *
Krytien woke with a start. He rubbed his eyes.
Twenty-five years ago and that dream still haunts me.
He sat up and shook away the lingering images. His former master never wrote the letter and he never saw Estul Island. Philik died in his sleep that night and Krytien went off to seek his fortunes elsewhere, eventually joining the Hell Patrol.
“No use worrying about it now,” he muttered while rising to his feet. “Plenty enough to worry about today.”
* * *
An hour past dawn, Krytien slipped into the dark tent as his commander snored. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of alcohol-infused sweat. The mage exposed a chubby hand from his black robe. A blue light formed in his palm, brightening slowly until the tent dimly glowed. The snoring broke off and Krytien watched his commander attempt to shield his vision as he peered through cracked eyelids. Red eyes glared for a moment, then the man rolled over, turning his back to the mage.
The room brightened and Krytien added a bit of heat to the man’s backside with his other hand. The groggy figure slipped his hand under his pillow, doing his best to conceal a dirk next to his head. Ronav turned and flung the blade across the space.
Krytien casually stepped aside and the dirk embedded itself in a nearby post. The man fell to his back with a loud exhale of breath as if the effort had drained him.
With Ronav awake, Krytien dimmed the light in his hand and lit a lantern.
“One Above. Can’t this wait until morning?”
“It is morning,” said Krytien. “You look like death.”
Ronav forced his eyes wider and groaned as he sat up, wiping away the crud that had accumulated in the corners of his mouth. He rested his head in his hands and rubbed at his face. “What was I drinking with Effren last night?”
“Whatever it was, you’re not the only one feeling the effects. Our employer is puking his guts up, last I heard.”
“Serves him right. Hand me that water skin.” After long gulps, he took a deep breath, his eyes regaining some of their luster. “One Above, last night was some celebration, wasn’t it?”
“Aye, and I’m sure a lot of people did things they’ll regret after sobering up.”
Ronav’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t even start. Glacar killed two of our own last night.”
“No kidding. General Ahned has the entire camp placing bets on the confrontation they expect to come. He’s put up quite a bit of money against you.”
“I’m sure he has. He still hasn’t gotten over Effren making me commander of the army.” He chuckled. “Let him lose all his pay then.”
“You know, those two idiots were cheating Glacar at dice. It’s not like they didn’t have it coming.”
“That’s beside the point. He’s not Hell Patrol.” Ronav stood up. He stumbled over to a pot in the corner and relieved himself. “You know I can’t just leave something like that alone. Fair or not, he needs to be put in his place before others think they can get away with pushing us around.”
Tightening his trousers, Ronav walked over to a table. “That’s especially true now. With the last rebel army submitting to Effren as their ruler yesterday, our contract is officially up. Some hold a lot of resentment toward us for how we got things done.”
“Effren doesn’t.”
“Aye, he doesn’t. A good man, mostly,” said Ronav, pouring water over his head. He flung his head back and his long mane of black and gray sprayed water behind him. He rubbed at his face again. “But Effren can’t be everywhere. I want those who might still hold a grudge, like Ahned, to know what they’ll get if they try anything. With or without cause.” He paused. “No better way to do that than to take a man like Glacar down.”
“I understand, but you could always let the new guy handle him. He may be small but Kroke has more than a knack for killing a man. . . .”
“Kroke? If we weren’t friends, I’d slap you for that. When have I ever let someone fight my battles for me?” He shook his head. “And if I can help it, I’d rather not kill Glacar. Like you said, those two recruits had it coming anyway.”
“You’re not going to ask him to join us, are you?”
He shrugged. “Never hurts to have another fighter in the group.”
“He’s more than just a fighter. The man’s an animal. You didn’t see the destruction he created during the last battle. The crazed lunatic was covered head to toe in gore and grinning the entire time.”
Ronav’s mouth twisted into a smile. “If you’re trying to talk me out of this, you’re doing a poor job of it. You know I like a challenge.”
“This one’s different,” said Krytien. “Since he’s so new to Effren’s army, you haven’t seen him fight up close yet but. . . .”
“One Above. You’re acting like I can’t beat the man.”
Krytien chose his next words carefully, not wanting to wound the pride of his commander and friend. “It’s not that, it’s just. . . . Can’t we push this off another day? I mean, you’re still hungover.” Krytien watched Ronav sway on his heels.
Ronav slapped Krytien on the back as they headed toward the tent entrance. “Quit worrying. I’ll be fine. All I need is some food in me.” He pushed back the flap, letting in the morning sun. He squinted and rubbed at his eyes. “You coming?”
“Can I at least give you something for the hangover?”
Ronav laughed. “Why? I gotta give the poor fool some kind of an advantage.”
* * *
Jonrell grunted as clanging steel sounded across the crude battle circle and echoed in his ears. Surrounded by a chanting crowd, mostly of soldiers from Effren’s army, Ronav leaped at his opponent, pressing him with a flurry of blows. Glacar’s double-sided ax parried each of Ronav’s attacks and the spectators cheered in satisfaction.
Despite all we’ve done for them, they love us little.
Jonrell felt anxious watching the battle unfold as the two combatants hacked away at each other. He knew little about Glacar except that the warrior’s reputation had grown quickly in the few months since joining Effren’s army. In that time, many spoke of his fighting prowess with both awe and fear. Jonrell could certainly see how Glacar had developed such a reputation as none had ever stood toe-to-toe against Ronav for so long without being overwhelmed.
The circumstances surrounding the confrontation were, in Jonrell’s mind, muddled at best. During the previous night’s victory celebration, Glacar had killed two new recruits of the Hell Patrol. The huge man had called them on their cheating and the recruits drew their swords.
Well, one did at least.
The other lost his head before his sword had cleared its scabbard.
Right or wrong, Jonrell knew the validity of the recruits’ deaths mattered little to Ronav. He would never allow such an act against his men to go unpunished.
No matter what. Never a doubt in his mind.
One thing that always impressed Jonrell about Ronav’s leadership was the confidence that emanated from him, even in the bleakest situations.
Jonrell had only looked up to three men in his life. The first was Amcaro, a powerful High Mage from Cadonia who instructed him in various fields of study during his youth. Another was Lord Undalain. Undalain and his wife, Lady Jaendora, acted like parents to Jonrell after his mother passed—more than his father ever had.
The last was Ronav, a man who had little in common with the others. The commander would shake your hand one moment and cut it off the next if he thought you might harm him or his men. Although rough around the edges, Ronav had given Jonrell something neither Amcaro nor Undalain could provide him with, practical experiences and anonymity from the life he left behind.
Glacar whirled his ax in the air, slowly retreating against the organized chaos of Ronav’s attacks. Steel resonated with each vicious strike. Despite having spent most of his time on the defensive, Glacar grinned ear to ear, fighting with a strange calmness. The two warriors began to trade blows more evenly, pressing and retreating under each swing.
“Man, they’re really going at it. I didn’t think anyone could last this long against Ronav,” said Cassus.
Jonrell agreed. He hated to admit it but Glacar fought better than two or even three regular men, flinging that giant ax of his like a small hatchet. The blows the wild man rained down seemed to come faster as the battle raged on.
“Ronav will finish this soon enough.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Cassus.
Jonrell heard the doubt in his friend’s voice.
* * *
Krytien watched the fight, shaking his head.
Curse you for not listening to me, Ronav. I told you not to underestimate the man. One Above, it was supposed to be over by now.
Glacar’s ax whistled through the air, just past Ronav’s ear as the commander ducked under the blow. Krytien’s gut tightened.
He needs to end this.
Ronav came up fast, leading with his elbow, and crashed it under Glacar’s chin.
Better.
Glacar fell backward, but not before landing a boot to Ronav’s jaw. Krytien cursed as both men fell to the ground and rolled to their feet, in unison. Like mirror images, each man spat blood, though the spit didn’t quite clear Glacar’s tangled beard and dangled distractingly from it.
“You thought you had me, old man, didn’t you?” Glacar laughed. “I’ve been playing with you. That last attack was nothing.”
Krytien watched Ronav work his jaw and squint across at his opponent through the midday sun. “You done talking?” he answered in a voice rough with exhaustion.
Glacar flashed a bloody grin and laughed all the harder.
The wild man let out a yell and charged, lashing out with both ax and shield. Krytien winced as Ronav worked to turn away the attacks, some of which slipped through his defenses, scraping against the commander’s heavy plate. Ronav steadily gave up ground to the much younger opponent, shuffling backward and kicking up dirt with each step.
He can’t get to an opening fast enough,
thought Krytien as he watched Glacar counter every attempt Ronav made to regain the upper hand. In all the years that he and Ronav had known each other, Krytien never saw him bested in single combat.
Krytien held out hope that at any moment Ronav’s experience would win out as it so often had in recent years when the Commander’s speed began to dwindle. But deep down Krytien knew that experience only went so far in a fight against someone younger, faster, and perhaps even stronger. Ronav continued to stagger back, shield arm shaking under each assault.
Krytien let out a sigh and got to work.
Perhaps he won’t learn the truth.
* * *
“I think Ronav is losing,” said Cassus in disbelief.
“No. You’re mistaken,” said Jonrell. He watched Glacar howl as he forced Ronav backward step by step.
“Maybe, he’s baiting him,” suggested Cassus. “We’ve seen him do it before.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” said Jonrell, even though he really wasn’t. “That has to be it.”
However, when Ronav had baited someone in the past, he had never allowed himself to take the beating he received now. Blood seeped through gashes in his armor as bits of mail and plate fell away under the onslaught. To make matters worse, Ronav’s battered shield began to drop and his efforts to dodge the worst of each strike seemed less and less fluid than before. Ronav did not appear to be baiting Glacar at all.
Jonrell felt worn leather in his palm and realized that his hand had subconsciously drifted to the hilt of his sword. He worked the grip ever tighter between his fingers.
Find a way to end this, Ronav.
The commander’s foot slipped under loose gravel as Glacar’s ax struck his shield. Between the force of the attack and the unsure footing, Ronav clattered to the ground.
Jonrell pushed men aside while working his sword free. A hand reached out and grabbed his arm.
“What do you think you’re doing?” yelled Cassus over the roar of the crowd.
“He’s going to kill Ronav,” said Jonrell, wrenching his arm free.
“We’re not in Cadonia. You can’t just interrupt the fight.”
“Watch me!” shouted Jonrell, angered that Cassus had slowed him. He whipped back around just in time to see Glacar’s ax descending again. Ronav sat exposed, transfixed on the instrument of his impending death.
I’m too late
But his commander moved in a blur. Ronav rolled away from the attack and jumped to his feet. Glacar’s crazed eyes widened as his blade lodged in the ground. Ronav struck Glacar in the face with the pommel of his sword. A spray of blood followed the crunch of a broken nose as Glacar’s head rocked backward. Ronav swept the man’s legs out from under him and a moment later stood over the warrior, sword in one hand, ax in the other, both weapons hovering within inches of his opponent’s face.
Jonrell’s mouth hung open. The roaring crowd had fallen deathly quiet. No one could believe what had just happened.
“See, I told you he was baiting him,” said Cassus.
* * *
Ronav stood over Glacar and Krytien saw the commander do his best to hide his fatigue. The mage let out a sigh.
I hope it wasn’t too obvious. But who cares? Ronav is alive.