Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) (100 page)

Marik jerked away from Dietrik’s grip.  “My head’s the
same size it ever was.  There’ nothing wrong with taking pride in your hard-won
abilities.”

“I don’t think that—” Dietrik started, but Kineta
drowned his words under a shouted command to follow her through the crevice.

She returned from the deeper hollow, her unit
following on her heels as they scrambled over the scattered boulders.  Arvallar
lead the Fourth behind the last First Unit mercenary, looking ridiculous at the
group’s head in his rumpled finery and wielding only his dagger.

Kineta shouted for everyone to be silent before taking
her own advice to heart.  She quickly vanished in the crack’s shadows.

Dietrik waited with him to join the tail end with
Sloan.  Neither spoke, each considering the immediate future.  Marik spared
only a single thought that Dietrik had started turning into an old woman
worrier before concentrating on his magesight.  Both sergeants wanted him to
keep a constant watch for enemies.  Since he could not drift the etheric plane
while walking under normal circumstances, his vision would be restricted to its
normal field.  He could distinguish the brilliant auras through the concealing
trees only at the distance any other unit member could see.

It would be an interesting day.  That much he knew for
certain.

*        *        *        *        *

Colonel Mendell’s forces fought hard, using the Taurs
as a wall to prevent the local militia from overrunning them entirely.  Steel
clashed on steel as often as off the curving Taur claws.  Black-armored
soldiers fell, though by far the majority of the screams were ripped from
Galemaran fighters while they were brutally torn apart.  Arrow storms had been
quickly halted when Taur forces stormed the assembled archers, breaking through
the defensive line with terrifying ease.

Mendell stood well back beside his tents and issued
orders to be carried to his officers.  He grimaced at this battle’s prospects.

This sudden attack should not have been possible.  These
Galemarans had kept a close watch on their neighbor’s affairs, true enough, but
his advance’s speed and devastation, like a relentless tidal wave, should have
left them unable to coherently organize for a week!  How could these locals
have found him
and
organized a major assault in only two days?

He had nearly eighty Taurs at his command.  Five had
been killed by crossbow men before he directed the Taurs to take them out of
the battle.  The number of men fighting against his would have caused serious trouble
back home.  These fools knew nothing of the Taurs, nor effective tactics to
use.  They kept lining up to die.

“Colonel!” shouted a man in his guard force.  His gaze
jerked to his rear.

What his guard wanted to draw his attention to was
plainly obvious.  A hundred yards distant, one of his men lay on the ground, an
arrow protruding from his belly.  He twisted and dug at the light snow with his
heels while clutching the shaft.

Beyond, almost too distant to make out, stood a figure
who fired a second arrow.  Mendell squinted to make out the man who nearly
blended with the winter terrain.  His hair was white, as was his garb, but
enough green and brown dotted his clothing to make him visible on the barren
hill where he stood.

So one of those annoying archers had escaped, then
circled in an attempt to back-shoot him.  He had only gotten one of his guards
because he must know that coming any closer would have instantly revealed his
presence.

“Take some men and go deal with that pest!” he ordered
the man who had shouted before returning his attention to the battle.

*        *        *        *        *

The black soldiers ran across the hill, following his
track, Colbey saw from his perch in a different tree.  Such gullible
outlanders, following the tracks he had made approaching the hill.  He scorned
them, though they acted according to his intentions.

Colbey shaded his eyes from the morning sun reflecting
off the snow.  Three soldiers ran, swords drawn, until they crossed the hill
and could see into the slight depression where the land dipped as it met the
Stoneseams.

Yes, his timing had been perfect.  The Dead Man’s
guards topped the rise at the same moment the mercenaries crossed from one
concealing fold in the mountains to the next.  They were exposed against a
white background.

Caught as they were in that instant, it was hard to
discern whether they were sneaking away or advancing stealthily.  The three
guardsmen spent only a moment watching before retreating at a run for their
camp.

Whichever sergeant led the two units had failed to
notice the three black figures atop the hill.  All to the good then.  They
wouldn’t hurry to escape.  These invaders could split their forces nicely and
create the looser formations he needed to slip through.

He leaned back in his tree, relaxing for the first
time in months, watching the guardsmen report to their leader, and waiting to
see how they would react.

*        *        *        *        *

Let your attention wander for just
one
minute, and see what it gets you!

Marik fought between Dietrik and Chiksan while black
soldiers ran down into the shallow depression they had hoped would cover them
until they found the next hidden hollow.  The brief glimpse he’d taken before
the fighting embroiled them had shown as many soldiers on the way as they
already fought.

It looked unorganized, with the amount of space
Chiksan and Marik left between them and the others for their long weapons.  As
a result, a knot of black soldiers attacked them, thinking the thinness in the
line meant a weakness in their defense.

Chiksan’s impressive spear work felled three before
they realized he was to be approached with caution.  Marik killed his first
after setting his strength working in place.  His blade nearly cut through the
‘cure belly’ leather.  While the non-metallic armor held up under his enhanced
strength, the soldier’s body bent under the pressure before being thrown back
into his compatriots.

Marik brought his sword back to his ready position,
eager to show these bastards what sort of fighter they faced.  He waited, then
realized the nearest soldiers were all waiting as well.  They had seen what
happened to their shieldmate and taken defensive stances beyond his sword
range.

The fight raged on around him, and these dirty cowards
were only staring at him!  Well, if they refused to face him like men, then he
would take the fight to them.

His step forward brought not only a grim determination
to the soldiers’ faces but also a brightening of the air all around.  The last
morning cloud passed from between the battle and the sun.  White snow that
already brought a tear to many eyes dazzled in a sparkling field of diamond
dust.  Everyone lacking thin veils instantly squinted, forcing their eyes to
remain cracked open, backing away from the enemies opposite until they could
block the light.

Marik’s veil remained folded in his pack.  His forward
step had placed him with three enemies in a loose half-circle around him.  They
would surely attack should he let his guard slip.

Indeed, the left soldier crouched slightly and started
for Marik, anticipating easy pray. 
I don’t think so!

Easy as taking his next breath, Marik slipped into
magesight, the constant lighting in the etheric as painful as a spring
afternoon.  His broad swing surprised the lunging solider.

The other two leapt as one while his sword was hampered
by the dying man’s armor.  He yanked forcefully, the hard leather fighting him
for his blade.  Under normal circumstance he would not have retrieved his sword
in time to defend against the twin attacks.  These two obviously knew it.

They closed to within fighting distance when he swept
his sword up, deflecting the right blade while twisting to dodge the left.  He
brought his sword around on the follow-through to smash the blade sideways. 
Both men stepped back.  Marik refused to allow them a retreat and launched a
flurry all the more fearsome for his liquid movements with so large a weapon.

He intended to take these two down before working his
way along the line, felling soldiers while they were occupied by his fellow
mercenaries.  Their counterattack nearly cost him his head.

With his enhanced strength and skill, they should have
crumpled within the first few strokes.  But they refused to do so.  They must
be elite fighters in their army.  Their skill was honed and adept.

The right soldier decoyed, feinting to draw Marik’s
strike.  Meanwhile the left man prodded with alternating blows designed to
reveal any holes in Marik’s defense.  Whenever he attacked, they either dodged
the fast strike or else redirected his larger sword’s momentum with their own. 
He could scarcely credit their ability to do so despite the sixth time his
blade was edged aside.

As incredible as it seemed, they were forcing him
back!  Marik realized it after his third step, which replaced him between
Dietrik and Chiksan.  Despite his advantages, these two petty soldiers had
beaten all odds to out-maneuver
him
.

He snarled with teeth gritted and switched to wide
sweeps that took full advantage of his strength.  A muscle-bound oaf like Beld
would have made a serious tactical mistake in using moves that would leave him
defenseless in the moments following the hefty swings.  With his strength
working in play, the sword’s weight felt closer to a dagger’s.  Marik stopped
his larger blade in midair and reversed direction in less than an instant.

The left man had lunged into the gap left behind the
trailing sword.  Marik’s sudden backswing caught him unprepared…except the man
had reflexes to rival a cat on the hunt.

He knew he could not avoid Marik’s blade or block with
his own.  In a split instant he raised his elbow, bending his arm to extend the
defensive plate to its fullest.

Marik’s sword struck the plate.  He hoped the force
might shatter the man’s arm.  Instead, with the arm raised and the man ducking,
the plate snapped back hard against his upper arm.

It caught Marik by surprise.  The soldier had blocked
with his sword arm.  When the plate snapped back, the arm shot forward as it
straightened.  Marik felt his foe’s blade whip into his side and strike his
lowest rib.

His mail stopped the lethal damage.  The blade smashed
hard on the bone.  Pain shot through his ribs worse than any stitch from a long
run.  He thought he felt the bone crack.

Hopefully the swollen channels throughout his body had
strengthened the bones enough that it prevented them from fracturing
completely.

He and the soldier were entangled in each other.  His
friend searched for an opening to attack without harming his shieldmate.  Marik
listed, the pain upsetting his balance despite his efforts.  The soldier, with
his shorter sword, freed his blade first and raised it deliver a finishing
stroke.
  That thing’s going to kill me if I don’t get hold of myself!

Marik fought for balance.  Fought to reposition his
sword.  Or, if nothing else, to leap away before he died!  When the black
soldier’s sword started descending, he knew he was dead.

Neither saw the spearhead darting like a snake until
it had already penetrated the soldier’s exposed armpit.  The soldier grimaced. 
He managed a single glance at the shaft held in Chiksan’s leathered hands
before collapsing.  While the man fell, Chiksan retrieved his spear by
combining an odd twist with a sharp tug.

The second black soldier hesitated.  Marik used the
moment to shift his weight to his left foot.  His right side felt as though a
glass shard were sawing back and forth through his skin.  He forced his body
past the pain and charged before this other black bastard could escape.

They had gotten lucky for a moment.  He would teach
them what it meant to face a warrior of his stature!

This time he swung with caution, keeping aware of the
elbow plates.  Twice they blocked his blade from cutting through the man’s
neck, steel collar or no.  The man fended off Marik’s pounding attacks without
sacrificing ground.

It made him angry.  As a B Class warrior he should be
able to cut his way through a horde of common soldiers like these!  How could
one simple fighter not only cause him so much trouble, but also meet him in
battle as an equal?

The fury gnawed at his control, causing him to make
small errors.  One such error was enough for the soldier to take advantage of. 
His sword slid under Marik’s guard to strike a second blow against his wounded
ribs.

Marik shrieked when the pain ripped his flesh from his
bones.  It was the worst agony he could consciously remember.  He started to
reel before realizing it would be his death.

The pain intensified when he forced his body to move. 
Pain was only pain after all.  It hurt, but his body would still be able to
function if he ignored it.  Marik’s eyes were wide in agony, sweat beading on
his face when he lunged forward.