ALL NOVEL Chapter 52: Knights And Bears
Their party ran towards the village in a scattered mess, soon cresting a small hill and coming upon a sight of absolute chaos.
Houses were burning, men were screaming, and amidst the fog of smoke and noise, combatants fought for their lives. Lucan recognized some of Sir Vicks’s men, though he didn’t see the knight himself. He also saw villagers fighting with spear, axe, and pitchfork. Outnumbering them were Wildermen raiders that cut through villagers as easily as the latter would cut through wheat.
“To me!” Sir Golan yelled, charging the closest group of Wildermen. Lucan and the men-at-arms followed him as close as they could, considering how fast he was.
They smashed into a disordered mob of Wildermen–not that they were orderly themselves–who were busy either tearing through villagers or looting and burning houses. Amidst the chaotic charge, Lucan rammed a wounded Wilderman with his shoulder, unintentionally impaling him on a villager’s spear. He didn’t let his gaze linger on the dead Wilderman nor the terrorized villager with a now broken spear.
Lucan looked around, finding no closeby opponent this time. Then from the corner of his eye, he glimpsed distant movement. Turning in that direction, he saw Lord Arden’s reserve coming to relieve the village. That gave him heart. Things hadn’t been looking good moments ago.
As their reinforcements charged into the village, Lucan found one of Sir Vicks’s men desperately struggling against a raider. The Wilderman had disarmed him and was preparing to swing wide for a killing strike.
Even though he knew that he had to be careful with the uses of his Skills, Lucan still used the Star to streak in behind the raider. In one fluid motion, he hamstrung him, ruining his strike along with his balance. The opposing soldier didn’t waste the opportunity, leaping into the Wilderman’s guard and shoving a dagger into his neck. The dying man croaked something before the soldier kicked him away and nodded to Lucan. Then they both went to look for their next enemy.
Lucan saw their reinforcements challenged by a clump of Wildermen led by what he could only assume to be a shaman. The man wore a sleeveless hemp robe, weaved with small bones and leaves. His muscled arms were crowded with bangles of fangs and spiraling horns. He gripped a thick oaken staff with its head wrapped in cured skin. Before the two groups met, he struck the ground with his staff, and the roots of a nearby tree sprang to life, ensnaring two soldiers with malleability and strength that could rival a giant boa.
Lucan couldn’t watch for much longer as he saw a villager fighting at the entrance to his home. Keeping a Wilderman at bay with a ragged spear that was soon patted aside with the assailant’s axe. The villager received a kick that pushed him through his home’s open door which carried the marks of axe strikes, likely suffered before the villager had armed himself and emerged to defend it.
Lucan followed up with a quick slash to keep his opponent on the back foot. The Wilderman did indeed take a step back, right into an unexpected attack from the villager. The homeowner had stepped up behind the Wilderman with fevered courage, stealing in a thrust with his spear just as the man stepped back. A pained yell escaped the Wilderman and he was distracted enough that it would have been amiss if Lucan didn’t take advantage. So he stepped in with his sword at the front, slapped aside the raider’s axe, and thoroughly slashed his throat. The man went down clutching his neck and making noises that Lucan forced himself to ignore.
Panting, the villager looked at the dying man with wide eyes, then he gazed at Lucan, a brief light of gratitude appearing on his face. The light soon disappeared, though, replaced with a face full of terror as the manic eyes of the villager rose to look beyond him. Without a word, the farmer then turned around and bolted into his home, slamming the door behind him.
Lucan turned with a severe twist of his waist, some instinct telling him to prepare his Star, to which he thankfully listened. His preparation saved his life, as a greataxe came cleaving down to split him in half. Lucan barely had time to move out of the axe’s path, streaking to the side with the aid of his Skill. Then there was an eerily quiet moment where his eyes met his assailant’s. He was the largest man Lucan had ever seen, covered in thick brown furs that made him seem all the more gigantic. He towered over him so high that Lucan had to strain his neck to look at his face. The Wilderman was bald but had a thick beard woven with countless bells–that had somehow not made any noise as he approached him–and he carried the goldsteel greataxe with such ease that one would have thought him carrying a pine staff.
“Gleaming armor and a fancy Skill,” the enormous man said in an appropriately thick voice, proving to Lucan for the first time that Wildermen did indeed speak. “You must be a noble usurper’s brat.” The raider grinned. “Good.” Then his body tensed and he shot off towards him.
Lucan only had a moment to throw himself to the side before the Wilderman reached him. Still, his opponent’s axe followed him in a wide sweep. Lucan ducked under it, but it put him in a vulnerable position, as the Wilderman recovered and brought his weapon to bear to descend from above. In a tough spot, Lucan was forced to expend another use of his Star, moving to the side.
The axe struck nothing, and the Wilderman snorted, seemingly annoyed. Lucan tried to use the time needed for his opponent to recover to slip in an attack of his own. Holding nothing back, he streaked in towards the Wilderman’s side and slashed with his Wraith Strike. Surprisingly, his large opponent proved himself limber enough to evade his strike, using the weight of his moving axe to lever himself away from Lucan’s slash.
Lucan stepped in, unwilling to let go of his advantage, and followed up with another Wraith Strike. This time, the Wilderman blocked his sword with his axe. Lucan realized a little too late that the Wilderman was using a Skill himself. The goldsteel of his weapon was glowing a hot orange that was cause for alarm. The two Skills met, and Lucan’s fizzled out like a candle snuffed out by the wind, a sign that the opposing Skill was much more potent. His sword soon settled in the crook where the axe’s head met its metal shaft, then the Wilderman twisted his weapon and pulled down, dragging Lucan along.
Finding himself overextended, Lucan had no choice but to expend yet another use of his Star, streaking forward in the same direction the Wilderman had pulled him, going beyond him and distancing himself enough that the follow-up strike couldn’t reach him. Still, the posture with which he had moved caused him to stumble and fall on his side at a time when he would trade anything for balance. He rolled to the side as the Wilderman winded up for another strike.
The anticipated attack didn’t come. Instead, the Wilderman swept the axe through the empty air above Lucan and pulled himself forward with its moving weight. Lucan was just getting to his feet when he found his enemy in front of him.
A kick that he couldn’t have anticipated took him in the chest. He flew through the air, hit something and went through it, then was arrested by the grace of a solid wall.
His vision was blurry and wheezes instead of breaths escaped his throat. He struggled to squeeze in some air and mostly failed. Had the giant’s kick dented his plate? He didn’t know, for he still couldn’t get his bearings. His throat was constricting, his chest was complaining, and the relief of sweet air just wouldn’t come.
Yet his eyes soon cleared,, and he could only see the form of the Wilderman filling his vision. The man’s axe was raised for a finishing strike, and Lucan knew that he couldn’t hope to move, let alone stop it. He saw the blade of the axe lighting up with that eerie hot glow once more, preparing to melt its way through his plate and pulverize his insides.
Then his father was there.
The glow of the greataxe was met with the glow of a Wraith Strike, which didn’t fizzle out this time. The Wilderman’s eyes widened in surprise before he hopped back and settled himself in a proper stance for combat.
Lucan’s father circled his opponent, no doubt trying to turn the fight away from him. But soon, he had no choice but to clash with the Wilderman. And clash he did.
In a daze, Lucan could only describe what he saw as a storm of Skills. Both combatants used their Active Skills as many times in the span of a few moments as Lucan could use in a day. Then they separated, both breathing evenly. Again, they dashed towards each other and clashed, another storm of Skills ensuing. And Lucan realized that the Wilderman had been toying with him.
The two men soon reached an impasse as their weapons cinched and the Wilderman tried to pull his father close as he had pulled Lucan moments ago. But Sir Golan Zesh didn’t fall forward. He did something that Lucan couldn’t perceive and his weapon instantly slipped off the axe, then he was behind the Wilderman, a trail of dust flying in his wake. The Wilderman swept his axe around quickly, trying to parry an anticipated strike, which didn’t come. Returning the favor that Lucan had just been given, his father delivered a kick to the Wilderman’s gut that carried his whole strength and weight. The raider flew, not as high or fast as Lucan had, but he flew, then he hit the door of the villager’s house, tearing it off its hinges and disappearing inside. Sir Golan Zesh followed him in.
Lucan could only hear clashes and see the occasional flash of light. The yells and grunts of both men echoed in his ears and he couldn’t tell who had the upper hand in there. His body refused to move, and his eyes shifted from side to side, hoping to see something that they couldn’t reach. He saw the wooden beam that he’d hit and snapped through. He saw Cordell barring the path of a shaman who manipulated his bone bangles into white armor and spiked armaments. He saw even more reinforcements reaching the village and clashing with Wildermen, half of whom were fleeing with their ill-gotten gains. Loot was hauled away or abandoned when the need arose. Some raiders fought and some raiders absconded with their hauls.
The crashes inside the house came to a stop. Lucan’s eyes shifted to the door and remained fixed there until the Wilderman was thrown out like a straw dummy. He rolled on the ground twice before getting to his feet, gasping for air. Blood was covering one side of his face from a deep cut on his bald head, and he was leaning to one side as though suffering from an injured leg or a broken rib. Still, he gripped his greataxe and looked severely at the door from which Lucan’s father soon emerged.
“What in the frosts are you?” the Wilderman wheezed.
“Golan Zesh. By the grace of King Athelstan Baroun, I was made a knight of Barwalis seventeen winters after my birth. I have only one son and heir. You tried to murder him. Allow me to return the favor,” Lucan’s father said. “With more competence.”
Then a bolt of lightning flashed nearby and Lucan only saw white.