The Chosen (7 page)

Garret’s mood deteriorated in an instant. He knew well that some day he would receive an injury in battle. Chances were he would receive many. Never had he imagined though that with only two days’ worth of training he would be facing probably the most feared and respected opponent in all of Valdadore, perhaps the whole of Thurr. Garret had not feared injury before but he certainly did now. Before the announcement, getting hurt in battle was a possibility with an unknown time or place. Now however, injury was nearly guaranteed and Garret could find no way to look forward to it. Apparently his thoughts showed plainly upon his face.

“Courage, Garret, today you face a normal man. Philip and I will not be using our blessings. This is just a test of what you have learned, and a lesson on controlling your emotions in the heat of battle,” Sirus stated.

This new knowledge had the intended effect and Garret actually felt better about the coming fight. Man to man, Sirus and he were nearly equal in size. Sirus obviously had experience on his side, but Garret had youth. Without his blessing, Garret thought, Sirus was just another man. This boosted Garret’s confidence ten-fold. Garret quickly planned his fight. He would use speed to his advantage and try to wear Sirus out. If he could constantly be on the offensive, Sirus would be forced to counter all of his blows. When the older man was tired, Garret was sure he could achieve victory.

Garret’s simple plan was finalized in his mind as he watched Philip lead Zorbin across the field where he himself had been only a short time ago. Returning his attention to the man he was to battle, Garret observed as Sirus unsheathed a long broadsword of his own. The older man took a few steps back, and flexing his knees he raised the large sword directly above his head. Garret recognized the stance as one he had been taught that could be used both to attack and to defend. Sirus was keeping his own intentions a secret.

“Whenever you are ready, young hunter,” Sirus said with an expression as smooth as glass on his face.

Garret pulled the long blade from the sheath strapped to his back and mimicked the stance of his opponent. Lunging forward, Garret brought his massive blade down in a powerful arc aimed at Sirus’s shoulder. Sirus dropped to one knee, buying him valuable fractions of a second before the blow would land. Sweeping across with his sword at the same time, it connected with Garret’s blade, driving it wide of its mark, cutting nothing but air. Garret had not anticipated the move, and the momentum of his swing being interrupted caught him off guard and caused him to lose his balance just briefly. It was all the time Sirus needed to recover from the blow and launch one of his own. Following the arc his blade had made when he used it to defend himself, Sirus allowed the weight of the steel to carry the blade down and around and again past his opponent. When the blade was clear of Garret, Sirus quickly jerked it back in the direction it had swung from. Thrusting it, he drove the flat edge of his sword into the back of Garret’s knee.

Garret yelped not so much in pain as surprise when the sword struck. Already off balance the blow drove Garret’s knee to the ground. Collecting his thoughts, Garret reeled back to his feet and rounded on his master, just in time to see another blow sweeping through the air at chest level. Garret nearly did not respond in time. Raising his sword as quickly as he was able, Garret deflected the blow, but not entirely. Though Sirus’s blade did not strike him directly, it glanced off his own blade, slamming into his left shoulder. Pain exploded through Garret’s body. The blow had not pierced his mail, but it had landed true enough to cause damage.

Garret had to rethink his strategy. Sirus was obviously not slowed by his age, a mistake Garret was learning from quickly. Instead of keeping the older knight on the defensive as he had planned, it seemed the roles had been reversed from the beginning. If Garret did not alter his tactics he was not likely to last long. As Garret and Sirus both recovered from the last bout, Garret revised his approach. He recovered a fraction of a second before Sirus, but did not launch his own counter attack. Instead he used this one moment to watch the older knight’s movements. As Sirus again arced his blade through the air towards Garret, it was met this time with a prepared defense. This time Garret was easily able to deflect the blow with the tip of his blade. When the blow was diverted, he then stepped closer to the older man and, changing his grip upon his massive sword, he drove the pommel home into the center of Sirus’s chest. Garret had landed a blow, though not with his blade, but he had hit his mark and heard well his opponent’s sudden loss of breath. It was a small victory, but it was one he had earned.

Again Garret took the defensive and waited for Sirus to attack. It only took a second for the man to recover, and when he did, he launched another attack from overhead. Garret saw the assault coming and raised his sword to deflect yet another of the man’s blows. Garret was not prepared for what happened next, however. Just as the momentum from Sirus’s swing would have brought their swords crashing together, the older man twisted his torso and altered the path of his blade. Twisting his wrist and stepping slightly aside, Sirus’s blade swung down and around Garret’s defense. Because Sirus had had to alter his momentum and angle of attack, much of the swing’s power was lost, but he still dealt a great blow. Sirus’s sword drove deep into Garret’s thigh, only stopping when it hit bone.

Mind-numbing, agonizing pain assaulted Garret’s senses. His first reaction was a mix between a yelp of surprise and a snarl of rage. Blood gushed out from the wound in his leg and every time he placed weight upon it, a fresh shot of pain followed. Garret mentally washed the pain away, much as he had done during his stamina training. Where it had previously filled his mind now was numbness and rage.

He recovered from the blow more slowly than he would have liked to, but was still able to deflect the next assault. Bleeding like he was, Garret knew his time was limited. It would not be long before the loss of blood would weaken him and his vision would begin to fade. Garret had to end the battle quickly. Sirus had dealt him a great amount of damage, limiting his ability to move quickly, but he had also done something else entirely. He had taught Garret that he did not necessarily need to stick with all the maneuvers he had been taught by Philip, but he could alter them depending upon the situation. It was a risk to leave yourself exposed as Sirus had done, attacking like he had. However, without risks, how could one enjoy the reward?

Garret deflected yet another blow and then Sirus attacked again with a mighty downward swing. Garret knew if he tried to block it the way he had done before he would likely get a matching injury to his other leg. He therefore acted almost on instinct. Instead of blocking the strike, Garret let it come at him, as if he would make no attempt to thwart his opponent. Waiting until the very last fraction of a second, Garret rolled his shoulder back as far as he could thus causing the blow that was aimed to cleave his arm at the shoulder to slide down the front of his mail tunic causing nothing more than a few sparks. As Sirus corrected for the momentum of his sword, Garret lashed out viciously with a wide swing of his own blade.

Sirus had not anticipated the move from his injured pupil and was delightfully surprised as the young man’s blade tore through his arm and chest, breaking one of his ribs. Pain did not affect Sirus as it did normal men. Sirus had received nearly every type of weapon-related injury known to man in battle. These days they barely slowed him down.

Blood gushed from both Garret and Sirus but now it was again an even match. Garret could not easily move or shuffle his weight, but Sirus was forced to wield his huge sword with only one arm. Both of them were well aware that the next man to land a blow would likely gain an advantage that would lead him to victory. Neither was yet ready to give the other that opportunity. Both men labored to keep pace with one another. Both of them bled profusely upon the ground. Each of them now was sweating heavily. Neither of them was relenting. They fought on, striking out time after time at each other, yet finding no openings. Again and again their blows were deflected. Sirus often changed his style of fighting from fast ferocious blows to slower, more precise strikes, but Garret was an apt pupil. He was able to quickly adapt and find a defensive style for each of Sirus’s attacks.

They fought on for what felt like hours, neither of them gaining any ground. The wounds refused to stop bleeding with the constant exertion, but the flow had slowed to a trickle for the both of them. Garret was light headed, his vision blurred at the edges, his limbs heavy. Yet he refused to give in to defeat. He attacked time and again as the occasion presented itself, but it was to no avail. Every swing of his blade was greeted by Sirus’s defense.

Garret thus far had been able to thwart every one of his leader’s attacks, but he was unsure how much longer he would last if the blood continued to flow. Garret knew if he did not end the match in a few minutes time it would end when he passed out. His muscles ached from the exertion, his leg was nearly useless, but he was not yet spent. Garret mustered all of his strength. It was time to take another risk.

Deflecting yet another attack from Sirus, Garret waited patiently for the next swing to come. He lifted his blade high above his head in a stance that prepared him for both offense and defense. He had used the stance several times and knew it would not give away his intentions. As anticipated, Sirus swung his sword hard in a horizontal line aiming at Garret's abdomen. Garret waited until Sirus was beyond the point of no return, then, with all his might, he drove his blade down through the air. Both men landed their blows. Both blows ended the battle. Neither would be able to continue. As Sirus’s blade ripped through Garret’s side rending apart flesh and muscle and nearly half of his lower organs, Garret’s blade removed Sirus’s ear and continued down the side of his neck to cleave through the man’s collar bone, several ribs and his lung. Both men released their swords. Garret released his to attempt to hold his organs inside his abdomen before falling heavily to the ground. Sirus released his not of his own volition. Garret’s attack had nearly completely removed his good arm from his body all the way up to his collar bone. Garret blacked out. Shadows filled his vision and all sounds became muted, and he found much deserved rest. Sirus, on the other hand, though his lungs were damaged, yelled for Daniella to come see to their wounds before passing out himself. The battle was a draw. It had not been the victory Garret had hoped to claim, but he had matched a man with years of battle experience, and neither of them had lost or won.

*****

Philip and Zorbin stood across the field from where Sirus and Garret began their fight. Zorbin hefted his giant battle hammer in his hands knowing that with this weapon, any blow that landed true would end the match quickly. Philip stood opposite the dwarf and drew from his belt a pair of matching narrow short swords. Barely longer than a dagger, the entire weapons from point to pommel were only as long as the man’s forearm and hand. They looked dainty in comparison to the dwarf’s stout hammer. So much so that Zorbin actually grinned at his opponent’s choice of weapon. The truth was, however, that both of them held an advantage. Though the dwarf could probably end the fight with a single, good blow from his hammer, it was an unwieldy weapon, cumbersome in its size and fairly easy to anticipate. Philip’s blades were indeed short, requiring him to get dangerously close to his opponent to land a blow, but they were light and he was agile.

“Ready for a bit of fun, Zorbin?” Philip asked.

“Let us battle, you and I,” Zorbin replied,

Zorbin raised his large hammer until the head of the great weapon was over his shoulder. Lunging forward at his opponent, the dwarf swung the massive weapon down to crush his opponent’s chest. Only his opponent was no longer where he had been just a fraction of a second before.

Dancing nimbly aside, Philip stepped out of harm’s way and darted directly behind the dwarf. Philip liked to play games with his opponents and, being so inclined, he pushed the tip of one of his small blades through a ring in the dwarf’s armor and pricked his back ever so slightly. The dwarf spun around immediately, swinging the massive hammer as he turned, building up dangerous bone-crushing momentum. Philip barely had time to leap back out of the path of the large weapon. In fact, it so nearly hit him that he could hear and feel the whoosh of air that followed the weapon’s track through the air. Philip decided quickly that he did not have time to play games with the dwarf.

The battle continued with Zorbin swinging and missing Philip who nimbly danced just out of reach with each new attack. The massive hammer made the dwarf’s recovery slow, giving Philip plenty of time to retaliate after each swing with a strike of his own. Each time the hammer’s head swung past him Philip darted in. Shoving his pointed blades through the rings of the armor he would not only cut his opponent, but shear small sections of mail off with each blow. They fought on for a great while in this fashion and before long the mail that Zorbin once wore lay in tatters over his shoulders and he bled from dozens of shallow wounds.

Zorbin needed to change his style of fighting or lose a prolonged battle. He quickly formulated a plan and waited for his opportunity, which came quickly enough as Philip was growing bolder with every strike Zorbin missed. Swinging his huge hammer horizontally to drive Philip back and away from him, Zorbin watched as his weapon once again missed its mark. But this time Zorbin was waiting for the strike to come. As Philip danced in behind Zorbin’s passing hammer to strike yet again, the dwarf released the grip of his weapon with one hand and, making a fist, used all his might and the momentum gained with the swinging hammer to drive the punch straight into his opponent’s sternum. The blow landed with a bone-crunching thud and Philip staggered back several paces to recover.

Philip was not used to actually getting hit. In fact since being blessed, the only ones to have ever landed a blow on him were his fellow knights in sparring. The inability to use his blessing annoyed Philip and he decided it was time to end the battle once and for all. No more games, no more opportunities for the dwarf. Ignoring the pain in his chest that came with each breath, Philip darted back into Zorbin’s range. This time when the dwarf swung his heavy weapon and missed, Philip drove one of his blades into the dwarf's side, burying it all the way to the hilt. There was a deep, thundering yell of pain as the blade slid into his flesh and then back out again, only Zorbin wasn’t the only one yelling. The painful cry came from halfway across the field in a deep menacing howl that penetrated the air like wind gusting through tall trees. Zorbin looked past his opponent who stood between him and the source of the sound. Philip was focused on the battle, the rest of the world was lost to him and he did not even hear the cry from behind him. If he did, he probably mistakenly thought it to be an echo of the dwarf’s cry bouncing back to them from the buildings beyond.