Milc/C.J. Milnes
patreon
Chapter 33 - We’re all pawns
🕑 Added 2025-01-18 11:59:41 +0000 UTCI hadn’t yet come to grips with my D tier reflexes but they kicked in without me having to reach for them. My left hand snapped up and latched onto the shaft of the spear two inches behind the metal head. The point stopped an inch from my eyes. I ignored the gasps and muttered conversations that spread out like a ripple around me. I shifted my grip, spinning the spear around and burying the tip in the dirt to my side.
“Throwing your best weapon at the start is fucking stupid. Now I have the advantage of range and leverage. Not that I need it,” I rumbled in my most menacing tone. I felt like a child playing the strong man, like a teenager who starts fights on the street to show off to their friends. It went against every habit I’d built over the years: you don’t brag, simply kill them and disappear.
However I’d sensed the need for some drama to put the King in his place and did my best to pretend I wasn’t feeling utterly embarrassed. “I’ll leave this here till we’re done,” I waved a hand at the spear impaled in the turf.
Jetan grimaced and rushed at me, pulling a bronze knife from his back. It was more of a short sword. The leaf shaped blade was the largest piece of metal I’d seen any Areskyn carry. So this was Hakubin’s champion? Time seemed to slow as he crossed the distance. I pulled out an unenchanted stone with my left hand and flicked the pebble into the man’s face. He flinched and dodged the distraction but it threw his strike off. I leaned backwards slightly as the burnished blade passed across where my throat had been.
My left hand lashed out in a short jab, the rough edges of the metal rectangles stitched into his clothes cut into my knuckles a little but I ignored the pain. I felt his body crumple around my blow and he was thrown to the side. Credit where it’s due, the man rolled back to his feet quickly and spat in my direction. I smiled mockingly at him and he snarled in response but he approached much more carefully this time.
The “sword” was more of a dagger by my standards, perhaps the length of my forearm but it was held in a good forward position, ready to slash or stab, and I had to respect the threat. As he crept closer I settled into one of the knife fighting stances I’d been drilling into my warriors.
“He’s using the crouching-strike pose!” said Jandak from behind me. The warriors had been giving names to the moves that I taught them because I didn’t know the originals from Earth. “I bet Urkendyn guts him in four moves!” A couple of the others took him up on the bet, offering their cuts from the ivory as stakes. I ignored them and waited patiently, legs spread, arms held close to my chest.
“Draw your knife,” barked Jetan as he crept closer. “There’s no honour in killing a slave but there’s less in killing an unarmed one!”
“You think you’ll win this?” I asked, genuinely confused. I’d caught his bloody spear in flight, for god’s sake. These people had guts even if they lacked common sense.
He didn’t answer. Instead he slipped his lead foot forward and shifted his weight to it. His rear hand swung for me as he pivoted to bring his rear leg through, revealing a more commonplace flint knife in his off hand that thrust at my core. My right hand slapped his arm away hard enough the stone blade slipped from his grasp and spun away.
My weight shifted to my back leg and I lashed out with a stop kick to the knee of his rear leg as it was moving towards me. There was a satisfying crack as my foot connected. This shifted his momentum again and threw him off balance. Before he could recover my own off hand had flicked out to smash into his cheek and send him tumbling away from me again, his bronze knife scoring a thin line down the outside of my forearm in exchange.
“That’s one,” called Hermune.
“Aurox shit! That was two! The block and the counter aren’t one fucking move you buffoon! I can see why your fang always loses! You’re too slow to grasp the finer movements!” replied Hatrikos. “He’s got two more moves!”
“Technically it was three but I’m happy to agree to two moves left,” said Jandak contentedly, not bothering to argue the point.
The fact my warriors had no doubts about my victory filled me with a strange sense of warmth. They truly had bonded to me as some kind of leader, awkward as it felt. The responsibility sat heavily on my shoulders but I was confident these men would follow me wherever the hunt for my targets led me.
My new reflexes left me incredibly overpowered against a single human opponent. I wasn’t just playing with Jetan but neither was I taking the challenge very seriously. His movements, fluid and fast as they might be to one of the others, looked like a fly trying to crawl across honey to me. Well perhaps not that slow but instead of moving so fast you might blink and miss a stroke it was like watching someone fighting underwater.
“Surrender and live. I get to keep the spear,” I offered Jetan as he recovered and cautiously tested his left leg. He winced as something ground against bone when he put weight on it. He glared up at me and spat once again. If I was going to change these people, and I suspected I was, I decided to work on getting them to do something other than spit when they got pissed off. It was a tell if nothing else.
Jetan advanced slowly. He didn’t swipe his blade back and forth to try and drive me back, he held it rock steady at his hip. I was certain the tip was aimed at my groin and I briefly wished for an armoured loincloth. As he crept closer the sweat and pain on his face became obvious. Once he felt he was close enough he made his move. It wasn’t good enough.
The long dagger stabbed forwards for my guts but my left hand snatched his wrist as it crawled towards me through the air. At the same time my right hand shot forward and grasped his left bicep. My weight shifted as my right arm strained to lift the man upwards and my left guided his blade to his own throat.
The leaf of bronze stabbed upwards beneath his chin and the tip drove through the relatively thin bone that lined the base of his skull. A gush of blood sprayed out, painting me a brighter crimson than the king. We finished in a tableau: My left hand holding his own fist under his jaw and my right suspending his body by the man’s left arm.
I released my grips and Jetan fell to a heap at my feet. I looked up and the King blanched, backing away slightly. I could only imagine what I looked like, fresh arterial blood smeared across my face and covering my tunic. It was unprofessional to have nicked the artery with that move but it illustrated my point to Hakubin just as it had painted me red.
Normalis Humano slain.
Ten Souls gathered.
The King drew a breath, no doubt to order the rest of his men to attack but Jandak interrupted him.
“Three moves. That’s a sixth share from each of you!” the swarthy man laughed. “Haylin! I’ll buy you some wine when we reach Gethanel!”
I bent down and pulled Jetan’s blade from his own brain. I swiped it in the grass and held it loosely in my hand. Hakubin glared at me but closed his mouth slowly.
“To the victor, the spoils,” he announced loudly. “Your master will appreciate the weight of bronze you’ve won, slave. Kril, take your loot. Jetan will be buried tomorrow with full honours.”
“Most gracious King, I thank you. We will set off for the shit-sitters at noon. Lots of ivory to trade!” called Kril as he came up beside me. “Hatrikos, please remove poor Jetan’s armour and bring it to my tent?”
“Of course, Dreamer,” Kos said with a self satisfied tone in his voice. He’d lost the bet but the end result of the fight was more than enough to offset the annoyance.
“You’ll have to take your slave north again in spring. I won’t have him bring down the giant's wrath on my people,” said Hakubin. “But for now… welcome home uncle and the mighty warriors of Herm and Hatrik!” Hakubin backed away then spun and headed towards the new camp. The mob of Herm and Hatrik people at the rear parted to let the royal party through. The horsemen peeled away and galloped back to camp, bar a pair of troopers who waited while Kos removed the bronze hauberk Jetan had worn.
“But I want the head!” snapped a boyish voice loudly and a woman's tones tried to shush him.
“Wait!” I called out. I grabbed the giant's head by the remains of his hair and strode forwards. The weight of the thing not slowing me was noted in the eye’s of the royal warriors.
“Here, boy. Take it with my blessing!” I called and tossed it across the last few metres so it bounced at the young man's feet. His face went pale but then he began barking orders to warriors twice his size. After a hissed argument Hakubin threw up his arms and stalked away. The head was collected and carried by a pair of infantrymen, trailing behind the three in bright red tunics..
My loot was tied onto an aurox while the horsemen gathered up Jetan’s corpse and walked it back to town across a ponies haunches. We waited for them to set off before we began to follow. My warriors moved out into the tribe leaving Jandak and I to guide the now skinny aurox down towards the gate in the palisade.
My troops moved among their kinsmen, laughing, joking and bragging. I caught snatches of conversation that tended to revolve around great days ahead for the tribe and exaggerated retellings of our adventures where whichever warrior was speaking was the hero. I smiled to myself as I slipped the bronze knife into the sheath I’d taken from the body and attached it to my belt.
“Boy.” Hatrikilo’s voice was cold as he approached me.
“Trikilo?” I replied. If he wanted to call me boy then I’d use the familiar form of his name without permission. It was the first time I’d done so.
He snorted a laugh. “Here.” He passed me a stone mace. “You broke your last one. Now you’re a man.”
“Not a slave?” I asked as I hung the heavy weight from the hook all Areskyn belts had for the purpose.
“Not a slave. You’re a free man of my family. My brother will approve my decision,” he said drily. His own belt currently lacked a mace and I felt a surge of gratitude.
“So this loot is mine?” I asked grinning as I pointed at Jetan’s armour and weapons.
“Could any of us take it from you?” he asked, slightly bitterly. “You’re the gust that leads the storm, aren’t you? The strong wind, stronger than the wind behind you, that heralds change.”
“It will be change for the good, Hatrikilo,” I promised. “I can lift the Areskyn up. I won’t do it out of kindness. You are worthy people, if a little rough around the edges, but I’m not the only Shikrakyn on Urth right now. My enemies can do everything I can and I’ll need good men at my back. Men to lead my forces where that is necessary, a tribe to give me refuge when I need it.”
“We won’t be pawns in the games of the gods,” Hatrikilo snapped. “If you’d sacrifice us for your own ends I’ll kill you myself.” This sense of duty to his family and tribe was part of what forced me to like this grumpy old man. I had some lieutenants and a witch doctor already. I needed a general.
“We’re all pawns to the likes of the gods, Trikilo. It’s like an ant complaining about the anteater. I won’t spill any blood I don’t have to and together we can teach your people to fight clever, not hard.” He gave me a serious stare for a moment then grinned at me and winked.
“I like the sound of that!” he chuckled as we continued down into a town whose king wanted me dead. For some reason I wasn’t too concerned about the threat: Hakubin’s time was coming soon enough.
The outdoors stable area was much larger than I’d seen at Areskit in the north. Hundreds of sturdy ponies filled the enclosed paddock. We made our way through the encampment, my Fangs orbiting around me to keep everyone back. The story of the fight had spread quickly. Kril’s familiar tent appeared to one side and the old man, Trikilo and myself ducked inside.
“We’ll remain on watch tonight,” said Jandak as I moved past him. “Don’t worry about a knife in the dark.” I nodded gratefully to him and stepped inside. Kril built a pile of kindling and carefully threw a stone into the middle of it to light the central fire. The orange light flickered up and threw strangely familiar shadows across the chests and shelves.
“You leave again tomorrow,” said Hatrikilo simply.
“Can’t stay here with that much wealth. Hakubin will contrive some way to steal it if we linger,” muttered Kril as he examined the layout of his goods on the shelves. He grunted in satisfaction after checking the contents of several pots and pouches. “Your people did well when they moved my things.”
“Gethanel is the best choice,” rumbled Hatrikilo as Kril began making ched.
“What’s it like?” I asked.
“Shit-sitters are all the same. We should stay in the Hatrik part of the camp tonight, no wandering about looking for booze Dreamer!” Hatrikilo ordered firmly. Kril gave him a sneering look as he tossed a pair of enchanted stones in one hand but nodded reluctantly before bending to see to the tea.
“No point tempting fate,” Kril muttered as he poured hot water into a pot full of bitter leaves.
