Seven Swords, Michael E. Shea [readict TXT] 📗
- Author: Michael E. Shea
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“Him?” asked Ca’daan.
“No,” said Jon. He pointed into the smithy. A short pudgy man in dark clothes and a leather apron barked orders at a huge muscular man who hammered on a thick slab of orange iron. Sweat dripped from the large man’s chin. His long black hair hung down, obscuring his face. He wore a tan skin tunic with sleeves down to his forearms.
They watched as he hammered the metal, sparks flying into the black soot covered room.
“Who is he?” asked Ca’daan.
“It looks like a Voth,” said Adrin. Adrin looked to Jon. Ca’daan did not know the world.
“He was once a hero to them,” said Jon, keeping his eyes on the big man. “That was before we killed their king and broke their spirit in the wars twelve years ago. Now they are all slaves. Some sought escape and came down here like he did, but they found little improvement. Servitude is servitude. They were a noble people once, they just never found the weapons to match us. The ferocity of their warriors and the dark magics of their witches could not stop powder and shot.”
Jon turned to Ca’daan. “He will serve your needs well.”
No doubt the man was large and strong. The hammer he swung must have weighed fifteen stones. But how did Jon know him? How did the soldier know a barbarian could fight?
Jon knelt and whispered to Susan. She whispered back for a short time. He stood, looking at her and then to the huge man in the smithy. He nodded to her.
They waited and watched. The large man hammered on the molten iron until it cooled. He plunged the iron back into the white hot flames of the furnace. The fat man barked at the barbarian as he wiped his forehead with his leather sleeve. He walked out of the smithy and around back for a large barrel of fetid water. Jon approached.
The man seemed to take little interest in Jon. Jon greeted him and began to speak. After a short time, the man looked up at Jon, his black eyes intent and filled with hatred or dread or both. Ca’daan shivered at the intense gaze. Jon spoke again, nodding his head slightly. The barbarian watched him as silence seemed to hang between them.
“What did he say?” asked Adrin.
“I don’t know,” said A’deem.
The barbarian nodded. Jon nodded back, turned and rejoined them.
“He will join us,” said Jon. “His name is Thorn.”
As they watched, the huge man, Thorn, returned to the Smithy. The fat man scowled at him and shouted. Thorn ignored him. He walked back to a small corner of the smithy where filthy rags made a floor bed. Thorn reached high above the rafters of the smithy while the fat man continued shouting. He pulled down a large bundle wrapped in dirty oily cloth. He ripped the claw away and the fat man’s shouting ceased.
Thorn held a sword different from any Ca’daan had ever seen. It was huge, nearly four feet long. The blade was wide and thick, like a single slab of sharpened steel. Dark oiled leather wrapped the handle. Thorn rested the huge blade over his shoulder and walked out of the smithy.
The fat man followed, apparently gaining back some of his courage. “Stop him!” he shouted to the mercenary who continued to lean on the pillar. Thorn turned and looked at the mercenary. The mercenary looked back, turned to the fat man, and shook his head.
“I think not,” said the mercenary. “You’re on your own if you want this one back.”
“I will have you marked and chained for this!” shouted the fat man.
“I think I’d rather suffer your wrath than his, fat one,” said the mercenary. “You’d be wise to conclude the same.”
The words apparently struck home. The fat one shouted curses but returned to the smithy as Thorn approached the group. Ca’daan felt fear flow into him. It wasn’t the man’s size or even the blade he held over his shoulder that frightened him. It was something in the man’s eyes.”
The man’s voice was deep and quiet.
“When do we leave?”
Jon led them through the warrior district.
“There is one other I know who may help. The mercenaries seek money. The warrior slaves seek freedom. There are few who care enough for a town they have never seen to risk their lives for it. You must find what they desire and give it to them.”
“What does this last one seek?” asked Ca’daan.
“Blood. And purpose,” said Jon.
Jon stopped them as the warrior’s court opened into a square where three streets meet. In the center of the square stood a statue of a nude man with a spear piercing the mouth of a large worm with the head of a grotesque woman.
A crowd had gathered in a circle on the opposite side of the square. Ca’daan and the others circled to see what the rest of the crowd watched.
Two men faced a woman in the center of the circle of people. The two men wore dark cloaks and buckled leather armor deeply creased from long wear. One of them, darker skinned, had hair braided into two lines. The other, lighter skinned and taller, had long hair tied back into a topknot. Both had diamonds painted over their left eyes. Ca’daan recognized the taller lighter-skinned one. He had asked the man for help a few days earlier and, if the merchant was right, had nearly died for it.
“Sai Routha,” said Ca’daan. Jon looked at him, surprised. Jon nodded.
“Yes,” said Jon. “And even more rare, a Sai Kadam.” He tilted his head towards the woman.
The woman wore a gray cloak and hood. Black hair fell across her light-skinned face. She wore high boots and high breeches that left her thighs mostly bare. A tight chestguard protected her chest but left her stomach bare. Her hands were covered under the gray cloak.
“The red witch wants her prize back,” said the dark-skinned Sai Routha. A chain encircled his waist and ended attached to the hilt of a short curved sword sheathed on his side. “Give it to us and we can avoid this show.”
“It is a rare thing for a Sai Routha to negotiate for anything,” whispered Jon.
“The witch paid us a lot of money to retrieve it,” said the taller Sai Routha. “And we will.”
The woman didn’t move and didn’t speak. The dark skinned man growled low and deep in his throat. Silence rolled over the crowd.
The light-skinned Sai Routha drew his two swords with practiced ease. Each single-edged sword gleamed in the high red sun. The darker Sai Routha drew his curved sword and with a yank had the chain whipping around his waist and a small weighted dagger attached to the end.
The two men moved apart to opposite sides of the woman. Her gaze shifted between the two men but she did not move. The lighter Sai Routha reversed the grip on one of his swords, took a relaxed stance, and crossed the swords in front of him.
The darker Sai Routha began a series of rhythmic swings with the chain. The complexity of the weapon made Ca’daan dizzy.
The chain wielder kicked the dagger as it swung in and it shot towards the woman’s eye. She turned a split second before it pierced her. So close was it that Ca’daan thought it had hit her.
Immediately the sword swinger was on her. His blades swung, cut, and twirled but they never touched her. She bobbed, arched, and sidestepped every attack, sliding in the sand on the heels of her boots.
The chain swung again and the woman twirled low, her gray cloak fanning out. It twirled over her head and the sword swinger ducked as well. His swords swung again, one in a wild arch, the other in a long stab. The woman sidestepped the stab and struck. Her open gloved palm smashed into his face and she kicked him hard in the chest. He fell back, sliding in the dust at the feet of the crowd.
The chain swung again. The woman moved but the chain’s blade cut a long gash in her cloak. She twisted and the cloak fell away.
In a flash, the woman drew a scorpion-hilted saber. The red sun gleamed from the silver edge of the black blade.
The chain wielder drew back and began to swing the chain again in large overhead arcs that made the whole crowd duck. Silently the sword fighter stood and rose up behind her. The chain wielder smiled at her. The woman smiled back.
The sword swing nearly decapitated the woman. She ducked and parried another attack with her saber. The woman punched hard into the light-skinned Sai Routha’s chest. The sound was deep and the man groaned. One of his swords dropped and he clutched at his chest. He fell back, his leg twisting at a wrong angle. Blood bubbled up in time with his racing heart beat from a triangular shaped hole in his chest guard.
The woman held up her fist to the man, showing him the triangle spike palm knife she held before he died.
The chain swung again, hitting her arm and sending the palm knife into the crowd. Someone cried out in pain but Ca’daan could not see what had happened. The chain twirled and caught the woman’s sword arm around her wrist and the guard of the rapier. She grimaced as the chain went taut.
The crowd went silent again as they heard the chain straining. The woman’s feet skidded in the dirt under her boots. She clenched her teeth and the man smiled at her as he slowly pulled her closer, wrapping the chain around his forearms. The wicked sharp point of his curved blade shone in the midday sun.
The woman spun and released her grip. The scorpion-hilted saber shot through the air. The dark skinned Sai Routha nearly fell over. He twisted and went to one knee. The saber rang off of his chestguard buckle and then struck the ground past him, the chain still tangled in the claws of the scorpion guard. It quivered in the ground.
The crowd’s silence hung in the air. The woman, disarmed, stood. She relaxed and breathed deep. The Sai Routha stood as well, his head dipped. Ca’daan heard something wet falling to the ground. He saw blood running from under the Sai Routha’s armor into a puddle at his feet. The man fell dead to the earth.
Ca’daan couldn’t make sense of what had happened, but he clearly saw the results. Immediately the carrion feeders of the city began to strip the Sai Routha bodies. One found a thick leather purse on the belt of the dark-skinned chain wielder but when he saw the look in the woman’s eyes, dead blue eyes shining in the sunlight, he tossed the bag to her feet and raced into the crowd.
They left her sword alone as well. Buried tip deep into the hard earth. One bold fellow carefully unwrapped the chain from the scorpion claw guard and ran off with the strange exotic weapon. He was careful never to touch the sword.
Adrin whistled and the sound startled Ca’daan. The crowd began to break up and fade away returning to their business.
Jon, who had held up Susan so she could see the duel, whispered to her. She shook her head. The huge man, Thorn, continued to watch the woman as she pulled her saber from the sand and sheathed it under her cloak.
“I have to ask her,” said Ca’daan,
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