The Warded Man
Page 86
“Retreat to the pocket!” the kai’Sharum on Arlen’s side ordered.
“The Core I will!” Arlen cried, charging across to aid the other group. Seeing an outsider display such courage, the dal’Sharum followed, the commander shouting at their backs.
Arlen paused only long enough to kick the tarp away from the demon pit and activate the circle. Barely missing a beat, he leapt into the melee, the warded spear alive in his hand.
He stabbed the first demon in the side, and this time the other men could not miss the flash of magic as the weapon struck home. The sand demon fell to the ground, mortally wounded, and Arlen felt a rush of wild energy flow through him.
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and pivoted, his spear in line to block the razor teeth of another sand demon. The defensive wards along the spear’s length activated before the coreling could bite down, locking its mouth open. Arlen gave the spear a sharp twist and the magic flared, snapping the creature’s jaw.
A third demon charged, but Arlen’s limbs surged with power. He whipped the butt of his spear across, and the wards on its end sheared off half the coreling’s face. As it fell, he dropped his shield and twirled the spear in his hands, bringing it down hard to pierce the demon’s heart.
Arlen roared and looked about for another demon to fight, but the others had been driven into the pit. All about, men were staring at him in awe.
“What are we waiting for?” he cried, charging into the Maze. “We’ve alagai to hunt!”
The dal’Sharum, chanting, “Par’chin! Par’chin!” followed.
Their first encounter was a wind demon that swooped in, tearing the throat from one of Arlen’s followers. Before the creature could climb skyward again, Arlen threw his spear, blasting through the coreling’s head with a shower of sparks and dropping it to the ground.
Arlen retrieved his weapon and ran on, the wild magic of the spear sweeping him along like a berserker out of legend. As his band scoured the Maze, their numbers grew, and as Arlen slew demon after demon, more and more took up the chant of “Par’chin! Par’chin!”
Forgotten were the warded ambush pockets and escape pits. Gone was the fear and respect of the night. With his metal spear, Arlen seemed invulnerable, and the confidence he exuded was like a drug to the Krasians.
Flushed with the thrill of victory, Arlen felt as if he had broken from a chrysalis, made anew by the ancient weapon. He felt no fatigue, though he had been running and fighting for hours. He felt no pain, though he bore many scrapes and cuts. His thoughts were focused only on the next encounter, the next demon to kill. Each time he felt the surge of magic punch through a coreling’s armor, the same thought rang in his head. Every man must have one.
Jardir appeared before him, and Arlen, covered in demon ichor, thrust the spear high to salute the First Warrior. “Sharum Ka!” he cried. “No demon will escape your Maze alive tonight!”
Jardir laughed, thrusting his own spear into the air in response. He came and embraced Arlen like a brother.
“I underestimated you, Par’chin,” he said. “I won’t do so again.”
Arlen smiled. “You say that every time,” he replied.
Jardir nodded to the two sand demons Arlen had just slain. “This time, for sure,” he promised, returning the grin. Then he turned to the men following Arlen.
“Dal’Sharum!” he called, gesturing to the dead corelings. “Gather up these filthy things and haul them atop the outer wall! Our sling teams need target practice! Let the corelings beyond the walls see the folly of attacking Fort Krasia!”
A cheer rose from the men, and they hastened to his bidding. As they did, Jardir turned to Arlen. “The Watchers report there is still battle in one of the eastern ambush points,” he said. “Have you any fight left in you, Par’chin?”
Arlen’s smile was feral. “Lead the way,” he replied, and the two men ran off, leaving the others to their work.
They sprinted for some time, out to one of the farthest edges of the Maze. “Just ahead,” Jardir called, as they banked around a sharp corner into an ambush point. Arlen gave no thought to the quiet, his head filled with the stomp of his feet and the pounding of his blood.
But as he turned the corner, a leg shot out from the side, hooking his foot and sending him sprawling to the ground. He rolled as he struck, keeping a grip on his precious weapon, but by the time he regained his feet, men had blocked the point’s only exit.
Arlen looked around in confusion, seeing no sign of demons or fighting. He had found an ambush, but it was not for the corelings.
CHAPTER 21
ONLY A CHIN
328 AR
SHARUM MOVED IN TO SURROUND ARLEN: Jardir’s elite. Arlen knew them all, men he had supped and laughed with that very evening, and fought beside many times before.
“What is this?” Arlen asked, though in his heart he knew full well.
“The Spear of Kaji belongs in the hands of the Shar’Dama Ka,” Jardir replied as he approached. “You are not he.”
Arlen clutched the spear as if afraid it might fly from his hands. The men that closed on him were the same warriors he had eaten with a few hours before, but there was no friendship in their eyes now. Jardir had done well in separating him from his supporters.
“It need not be this way,” Arlen said, backing away until the demon pit at the point’s center was at his heels. Distantly, he noted the hiss of a sand demon trapped within.
“I can make more of these,” he went on. “One for every dal’Sharum. That’s why I came.”
“We’re capable of doing that ourselves.” Jardir smiled, a cold split to his bearded face. His teeth flashed in the moonlight. “You cannot be our savior. You are only a chin.”
“I don’t want to fight you,” Arlen said.
“Then don’t, my friend,” Jardir said softly. “Give me the weapon, take your horse, and go with the dawn, never to return.”
Arlen hesitated. He had no doubt Krasia’s Warders could replicate the spear as well as he. In no time at all, the Krasians could turn the tide of their Holy War. Thousands of lives saved, thousands of demons killed. Did it matter who took the credit?
But there was more at stake than just credit. The spear was a gift not for Krasia, but for all men. Would the Krasians share their knowledge with others? If this scene was anything to go by, Arlen thought not.
“No,” he said. “I think I’ll have to keep it a little longer. Let me make one for you, and I’ll go. You’ll never see me again, and you’ll have what you want.”
Jardir snapped his fingers, and the men closed in on Arlen.
“Please,” Arlen begged. “I don’t want to hurt any of you.”
Jardir’s elite warriors laughed at that. They had all devoted their lives to the spear.
But so had Arlen.
“The corelings are the enemy!” he screamed as they charged. “Not me!” But even as he protested, he spun, diverting two spear tips with a twist of his weapon and kicking hard into the ribs of one of the men, sending him crashing into another. He dove into the rush, coming up in their midst, whirling his spear like a staff, refusing to use the point.
He cracked the end across one warrior’s face, feeling his jaw break, and dropped low as he followed through, smashing the metal spear like a club into another man’s knee. A spear thrust cut the air just above him as the warrior dropped screaming to the ground.
“The Core I will!” Arlen cried, charging across to aid the other group. Seeing an outsider display such courage, the dal’Sharum followed, the commander shouting at their backs.
Arlen paused only long enough to kick the tarp away from the demon pit and activate the circle. Barely missing a beat, he leapt into the melee, the warded spear alive in his hand.
He stabbed the first demon in the side, and this time the other men could not miss the flash of magic as the weapon struck home. The sand demon fell to the ground, mortally wounded, and Arlen felt a rush of wild energy flow through him.
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and pivoted, his spear in line to block the razor teeth of another sand demon. The defensive wards along the spear’s length activated before the coreling could bite down, locking its mouth open. Arlen gave the spear a sharp twist and the magic flared, snapping the creature’s jaw.
A third demon charged, but Arlen’s limbs surged with power. He whipped the butt of his spear across, and the wards on its end sheared off half the coreling’s face. As it fell, he dropped his shield and twirled the spear in his hands, bringing it down hard to pierce the demon’s heart.
Arlen roared and looked about for another demon to fight, but the others had been driven into the pit. All about, men were staring at him in awe.
“What are we waiting for?” he cried, charging into the Maze. “We’ve alagai to hunt!”
The dal’Sharum, chanting, “Par’chin! Par’chin!” followed.
Their first encounter was a wind demon that swooped in, tearing the throat from one of Arlen’s followers. Before the creature could climb skyward again, Arlen threw his spear, blasting through the coreling’s head with a shower of sparks and dropping it to the ground.
Arlen retrieved his weapon and ran on, the wild magic of the spear sweeping him along like a berserker out of legend. As his band scoured the Maze, their numbers grew, and as Arlen slew demon after demon, more and more took up the chant of “Par’chin! Par’chin!”
Forgotten were the warded ambush pockets and escape pits. Gone was the fear and respect of the night. With his metal spear, Arlen seemed invulnerable, and the confidence he exuded was like a drug to the Krasians.
Flushed with the thrill of victory, Arlen felt as if he had broken from a chrysalis, made anew by the ancient weapon. He felt no fatigue, though he had been running and fighting for hours. He felt no pain, though he bore many scrapes and cuts. His thoughts were focused only on the next encounter, the next demon to kill. Each time he felt the surge of magic punch through a coreling’s armor, the same thought rang in his head. Every man must have one.
Jardir appeared before him, and Arlen, covered in demon ichor, thrust the spear high to salute the First Warrior. “Sharum Ka!” he cried. “No demon will escape your Maze alive tonight!”
Jardir laughed, thrusting his own spear into the air in response. He came and embraced Arlen like a brother.
“I underestimated you, Par’chin,” he said. “I won’t do so again.”
Arlen smiled. “You say that every time,” he replied.
Jardir nodded to the two sand demons Arlen had just slain. “This time, for sure,” he promised, returning the grin. Then he turned to the men following Arlen.
“Dal’Sharum!” he called, gesturing to the dead corelings. “Gather up these filthy things and haul them atop the outer wall! Our sling teams need target practice! Let the corelings beyond the walls see the folly of attacking Fort Krasia!”
A cheer rose from the men, and they hastened to his bidding. As they did, Jardir turned to Arlen. “The Watchers report there is still battle in one of the eastern ambush points,” he said. “Have you any fight left in you, Par’chin?”
Arlen’s smile was feral. “Lead the way,” he replied, and the two men ran off, leaving the others to their work.
They sprinted for some time, out to one of the farthest edges of the Maze. “Just ahead,” Jardir called, as they banked around a sharp corner into an ambush point. Arlen gave no thought to the quiet, his head filled with the stomp of his feet and the pounding of his blood.
But as he turned the corner, a leg shot out from the side, hooking his foot and sending him sprawling to the ground. He rolled as he struck, keeping a grip on his precious weapon, but by the time he regained his feet, men had blocked the point’s only exit.
Arlen looked around in confusion, seeing no sign of demons or fighting. He had found an ambush, but it was not for the corelings.
CHAPTER 21
ONLY A CHIN
328 AR
SHARUM MOVED IN TO SURROUND ARLEN: Jardir’s elite. Arlen knew them all, men he had supped and laughed with that very evening, and fought beside many times before.
“What is this?” Arlen asked, though in his heart he knew full well.
“The Spear of Kaji belongs in the hands of the Shar’Dama Ka,” Jardir replied as he approached. “You are not he.”
Arlen clutched the spear as if afraid it might fly from his hands. The men that closed on him were the same warriors he had eaten with a few hours before, but there was no friendship in their eyes now. Jardir had done well in separating him from his supporters.
“It need not be this way,” Arlen said, backing away until the demon pit at the point’s center was at his heels. Distantly, he noted the hiss of a sand demon trapped within.
“I can make more of these,” he went on. “One for every dal’Sharum. That’s why I came.”
“We’re capable of doing that ourselves.” Jardir smiled, a cold split to his bearded face. His teeth flashed in the moonlight. “You cannot be our savior. You are only a chin.”
“I don’t want to fight you,” Arlen said.
“Then don’t, my friend,” Jardir said softly. “Give me the weapon, take your horse, and go with the dawn, never to return.”
Arlen hesitated. He had no doubt Krasia’s Warders could replicate the spear as well as he. In no time at all, the Krasians could turn the tide of their Holy War. Thousands of lives saved, thousands of demons killed. Did it matter who took the credit?
But there was more at stake than just credit. The spear was a gift not for Krasia, but for all men. Would the Krasians share their knowledge with others? If this scene was anything to go by, Arlen thought not.
“No,” he said. “I think I’ll have to keep it a little longer. Let me make one for you, and I’ll go. You’ll never see me again, and you’ll have what you want.”
Jardir snapped his fingers, and the men closed in on Arlen.
“Please,” Arlen begged. “I don’t want to hurt any of you.”
Jardir’s elite warriors laughed at that. They had all devoted their lives to the spear.
But so had Arlen.
“The corelings are the enemy!” he screamed as they charged. “Not me!” But even as he protested, he spun, diverting two spear tips with a twist of his weapon and kicking hard into the ribs of one of the men, sending him crashing into another. He dove into the rush, coming up in their midst, whirling his spear like a staff, refusing to use the point.
He cracked the end across one warrior’s face, feeling his jaw break, and dropped low as he followed through, smashing the metal spear like a club into another man’s knee. A spear thrust cut the air just above him as the warrior dropped screaming to the ground.
