Encounter

Encounter

In spite of his panic, the Blade had not forgotten his training. Rather than trying to draw his sword from his seated posture, he leaned forward and drove the hilt at Zaile.

Zaile shuffled back half a pace and lifted an arm to swat away the attack. As soon as the pommel brushed his skin, Zaile jumped, biting back a scream. Clutching his hand, he looked at the palm between teary eyes to see if it had a hole.

His hand, still stinging, was otherwise unscathed. Gingerly, he moved each finger, rotated his wrist, clenched and unclenched to ensure he had full use of it. He took a quick glance at the Blade who was in no hurry to get up and took a few steps back. No wonder the older folks of Sahjax spoke of Finnardian enchantments with such awe and fear.

Ferric leapt out in front of Zaile with raised fists. Axe raised high, an unblinking Kannu advanced on the Blade, treading softly. Already positioned at the flank, Tiana was on standby, an arrow now free from her quiver.

The panicked Blade stumbled trying to assume a fighting stance and needed his scabbard to regain his balance. The exertions left him gasping for air. It appeared the unnatural vigour that sealed his wounds had yet to restore him to fighting strength. Fortunately, he had recovered his senses.

“Grace of Mercy,” the young man managed with a quivering voice. “You must be hunters from Sahjax. Blessed Divine Father, I thank you.”

“Cram it,” Kannu snarled. “We fighting or what?”

The Blade scratched his head and yielded a strained chuckle.

“Well… I mistook you for a Freak.”

Zaile grunted, looked to his companions, and shrugged. He did not yet trust his new companions enough to have them partake in murdering a Blade.

“I shall make amends,” the Blade continued. “I am Euphon from the house of – Apprentice of the Divine Blade. Are you in search of a Zunarkian?”

“Yes,” Ferric’s eyes lit up. “You fought him?”

“Yeah,” Euphon cast his eyes to the ground. “The craven heretic snuck up on us. My commander secured my retreat.”

“Then what good are you?” Tiana waved her hand. “We don’t need –”

Ferric shot out a hand and cut Tiana short. Unlike the hunter couple, he sensed an opportunity.

“We’ll be more than happy to help,” said Ferric. “As long as you bring something we don’t have.”

“Of course,” Euphon jumped at this offer. “I can find him. And you’re going to need my sword if you’re to hurt him.”

Without hesitation, Zaile lifted a thumb in affirmation. He gave each of his companions such a stare as if daring them to oppose him. None did. Smiling, Zaile extended a hand at Euphon.

“Lead.”

Euphon marched at a brisk pace despite his shaky legs, his face a mask of stone. He mouthed inaudible words that could easily be curses or prayers, pausing only to steal glances at Zaile.

Zaile grew more uncomfortable with each turn of the head. Did Euphon suspect him of the earlier attempted murder? For once, Zaile wanted the man to speak.

“You’re a strange one,” Euphon said at last. “Is your hand still hurting?”

Zaile responded with a stabbing jab, his previously afflicted hand slithering out, stopping just short of Euphon’s nose before darting back to its master. Instead of flinching, Euphon chuckled in good nature.

“Good form,” remarked the Apprentice. “Who taught you?”

“Enemies.”

“The last Fallen my sword touched was out for an entire day,” said Euphon. “But I guess you’re an exception.”

Unsure what to make of this man, Zaile grunted in affirmation. The last benevolent Blade he met was the man named Isondre and since then, the white swordsmen he met were the aloof gatekeepers who said little besides their prayers, “get back” and “be still”. This was – different. Even now as they discussed a plan of attack, Zaile did not once hear Euphon issue an order. When Kannu was not complaining about the Deadwoods that slowly came into view, Euphon and Tiana fired questions at the Apprentice who seemed eager to share his knowledge of their prey.

“I’d rather dive into a pit of Freaks than go in there,” Kannu growled. “This better be worth it.”

Leafless, towering trees, spread their gnarled, raven claws, weaving an eldritch web under the scarlet sky. Zaile lifted his head once and resolved not to do it again. Suddenly, Kannu’s account did not seem all that unlikely. He squeezed his eyes shut, furrowed his brows furiously and filled his lungs. He stole a glance to his right and found Kannu doing the same thing, with the addition of a muffled prayer to the Divine Finnardi.

As planned, once amidst the withered titans, Zaile stationed himself to the left of Euphon, who was tasked with finding their way to the Zunarkian. All verbal communication was replaced with simple gestures, which suited the boy just fine. Having taken a few dozen paces, Zaile stopped and lifted one finger, indicating he found no trail. The others responded in kind.

The stench of decay grew more potent the deeper they waded into the forest. Muffling his nose with one hand, Zaile trotted on with his dagger at ready. A flicker in the shadows caused him to turn. More dry wood. Zaile frowned before carrying on. Kannu, rather than taking those chances, hacked down every branch in his way, heedless of the noise he made.

Zaile looked to Euphon and could not help but question the man’s methods. Rather than checking for footprints in the mud or looking for broken twigs, he would close his eyes and poke at the thin air with extended fingers, almost like the probing of a blind man. Guided by what Zaile could not fathom, the Blade continued on confidently with his shaky feet.

Then it happened. Up ahead, Ferric lifted a clenched fist.

Danger.

Immediately, Zaile bounded up the nearest tree to get a better view of what had alerted Ferric. With narrowed eyes, he peered through the thick wall of branches. After scouring the landscape below, he noted a dot in the distance, something that did not belong in this forest. Overcame by a swivet, he bounded back down.

It was not the Zunarkian.

Dressed in white, his silver collar distinguished him from Euphon. Dark, brown locks, mixed with sweat and blood clung to his pale face. He was short an arm and a leg and his lips took on a shade of purple. Judging by the red trail behind him, he had lost the limbs well before arriving under this tree. Yet he still lived.

Never had Zaile witnessed a Finnardian so gravely injured. Even the Peacekeepers stationed in the inner circle of Settlements, far from the elites of the Divine Blade, were easily more than a match for the best Fallen warriors. He was beginning to think that not meeting the Zunarkian might be a good thing.

“Guardian Rondel,” Euphon murmured with great urgency. “I knew you’d survive. I’ve brought assistance –”

Zaile missed the rest of the conversation, drowned out by loud crashes in the distance. Covering his ears, he looked up for thunderclouds but found no clouds. He glanced over at his companions to see that no one heard it. Then, just as suddenly as it came, the noise subsided, dethroned by an unnatural silence. All sound died. At last, he heard the weak voice of the man Ferric called master.

“…leave,” the Guardian rasped between laboured breath. “He’s coming.”

“Good. I have witnessed and tasted his power,” said Euphon. “It’s time I avenged our brothers.”

“Shouldn’t we tend to him first?” asked Tiana. “I doubt he’ll last much longer.”

“Don’t worry. Guardian Rondel is a first-class healer. It’ll take more than this to kill him.”

Heedless of the feeble protest, Euphon waved a hand, signalling for the hunters to form a ring. With him at the centre, the Apprentice began his ritual, a sword dance accompanied by a fervent prayer. Letting out a great shout he punched the blade into the earth and concluded the ceremony. Eyes closed in intense concentration, a motionless Euphon clung to his weapon like a statue.

Zaile frowned. With no audible or visible signs, it was hard to know whether the spell had taken effect. He stole a quick glance at the equally dubious Kannu and Tiana. Inhaling deeply, Zaile tightened his grip around his dagger, preferring to rely on cold steel rather than the ethereal unknown.

“A ward,” Ferric remarked in surprise. “I’ve never seen a black collar lay one down. Will this work?”

“If I do not move from this spot,” Euphon replied. “It should.”

“Very reassuring,” said Kannu sarcastically. “Just in case, Tiana.”

Tiana scaled the wooden giants as thought her hands and feet were claws. Perched above like a hawk, she dropped a pebble to indicate she was ready. No sooner had her rock thudded against the soft mud, a shadow shot out of the trees. Zaile met it with a stab and the next thing he knew, the blurred figure slipped pass him and he fell face first onto the mud. Rolling back onto his feet, Zaile dove after the creature and found air.

Batting aside a whistling arrow, the intruder zipped towards Euphon before Kannu leapt into action. The silhouette took to the air, sailing over the sweeping axe with the grace of a dancer and sent an airborne Ferric straight into the dirt.

Zaile raced in from behind with harrying slashes and thrusts, unable to find this seemingly shapeless foe. A black streak departed from the mass and delivered a sharp, snapping strike to his wrist. Wincing, Zaile fought the numbing pain to retain hold of his knife.

“What is that thing?” cried Kannu. “Is that him?”

Ferric climbed back to his feet with a groan and turned to Euphon.

“I can’t see him. You sure the spell is working?”

“You touched him, right?” the Blade roared back. “That means I’ve taken away his luck. Now hurry up and finish him!”

Halt.

Zaile felt a most curious sensation, as if someone was speaking inside his head. Bewildered, he narrowed his eyes at the creature that refused to take solid form. Was it talking to them? Seeing the looks of his companion, he could tell they heard it too.

Step aside, men of no faith. My quarrel lies with the white devils.

“Make me.” Ferric taunted as his body trembled with visible excitement.

A Templar slays not a godless man. Step aside.

Kannu set upon the Zunarkian faster than Tiana’s arrows, his axe a tornado of steel that would reduce anything caught to mince, man or Freak. Zaile realised then that had Kannu fought like this, he would not have survived their first meeting.

Yet, the axe proved no more successful than his dagger. The shadow claiming to be a Templar moved in impossible directions, uninhabited by mortal boundaries. Within moments, it wrongfooted Kannu and with two outstretched appendages, sent the hunter tumbling into a tree.

Ferric, planting himself between the Templar and Euphon, confronted him with open palms rather than clenched fists. With whip-like arms, Ferric clawed at the Zunarkian with malice, his fingers tearing through earth and wood alike, as if they were forged from steel. His footwork, an unending sequence of countless shuffles, allowed him to stay with the ethereal foe, matching each one of his attempts to get to the Blade.

Zaile, joining Kannu, formed a three-way pincer against the slippery enemy. Exchanging a quick nod, Kannu swept low, forcing the Zunarkian from the ground once more. Already soaring, Zaile descended with a two-handed thrust just as Ferric came from below, stabbing skywards at the shadow with his fingers.

Zaile drove the Zunarkian into the ground. Behind the veil of shadows, there was definitely something solid at the tip of his blade. He did not have time to celebrate as he was thrown away. Tumbling, Zaile scrambled back up.

Beneath the black silhouette was a large man. Unshaven and ungroomed, it was hard to tell where the hair ended and the beard began. Built like a mountain, scars and a lone necklace garnished his bare body. With tattered pants and no boots, he seemed a savage beast wrapped in human skin. On his back was the pommel of what must be a colossal sword. His very being, so overwhelmingly virile, made for a strange contrast with the priestly voice.

Brows deeply furrowed, the man was studying a dark cloak, his fingers tracing the brilliant slashes of blue and purple. After much nodding and murmuring to himself, he tossed the shawl over his shoulders. With a wry grin, he faced the hunters, as if suddenly reminded of their existence.

“Solmis Beram,” there was an unmistakable edge in the deep, calming tone. “Disciple of Saint Bladestorm, Templar of the Rieva Shrine. I beseech you, godless brothers, for the last time, to stand aside.”

Zaile studied the man with unblinking eyes. After hearing countless tales about the feared demons of the west, he half expected a talking Freak, not a man few sizes smaller than Kannu. His hunting instincts however, honed by many brushes with death, told him that the inhuman agility was but a fraction of his might.

Ferric clutched his head as he shook uncontrollably. Fear had replaced bravado. The sight of a Zunarkian warrior brought all his worst nightmares to life. With an enraged shout, the Graystar hammered his chests repeatedly to beat the jitters out of himself.

“I’ve always wanted to fight a Zunarkian,” a cackling Kannu brandished his axe. “Stand back boys, this one’s mine.”

“Fight you say…” Solmis snorted. “Try me, maggot!”

All civil pretence abandoned, Solmis unleashed a feral battle cry. Zaile covered his ears in pain. It took him a moment to realise he trembling as if his bones had gained a will of their own. Kannu stopped dead in his tracks. Whatever courage Ferric mustered deserted him. Euphon, perhaps by the virtue of his blessings, remained upright and unfazed.

Winding up his arm, Solmis marched forward with languid gaits. Then he swung, sounding a loud clang usually heard in the forge when hammer hits steel. Kannu went limp and fell without so much as a twitch. The punch had left a dent in his plate, making it appear comically frail.

Ferric challenged him with half-hearted a poke to the throat that would kill any man. Solmis responded with mocking laughter followed by a sharp, short elbow strike. Coughing up red froth, Ferric doubled over and dropped to his knees, unable to even open his eyes.

Zaile dove, tackling Ferric moments before Solmis brought his foot down in an earth-tremoring stomp. Laying down his incapacitated companion, Zaile straightened and pointed his dagger at the Zunarkian. As if to give himself strength and courage, Zaile expelled his lungs and charged.

Legs pumping faster than he ever had in his life, Zaile aimed straight for the groin. A rising knee forced him to change course. Rolling aside, he hacked at the leg, narrowly missing as Solmis shuffled just out of reach. On his feet again, Zaile raced to get behind the man only to be deterred by a back kick that forced him to pull back.

Arms folded, Solmis regarded Zaile with a curious stare. The other two men he vanquished were undoubtedly more skilled, yet this scurrying rat was the only one putting up any semblance of resistance. His movement, combined with the black knife, presented him some uncertainties.

“First you pierce my guise,” said Solmis. “Now you blur my vision. What is your name, boy?”

“Zaile.”

“I’ll remember you, warrior.”

Within a blink, Zaile found Solmis in his face. He felt something, perhaps fingers, brushing over his chest. Immediately, Zaile collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. Rolling and thrashing about, he fought the drowning sensation till he lost all strength. Slowly, his ability to breath returned. From his peripheral, he saw Euphon squaring off against Solmis, his sword raised high. The Zunarkian Templar wore a cruel grin, making no effort to disguise his derision and mirth.

“Where is Krugo Arcman?” he asked. “Where is that mongrel?”

“Grace of Mercy,” Euphon replied with a prayer. “Grant me strength to smite heresy in thy name.”

Zaile turned his head in time to witness Euphon’s blade shatter upon the adamantium that was Solmis. The Apprentice studied his broken sword for a moment before letting it fall out of his hand. With an audible sigh, Euphon shot a look of askance at the heavens. Silence answered him.

“I wish for my friends to be spared,” said Euphon. “I shall give my life exchange.”

“Admirable,” Solmis smirked. “But you give me what is already mine.”

“I know what I am worth. I am Euphon Lufeir, grandson of High Guardian Vantis Lufeir. Are you not satisfied?”

Having recovered control of his limbs, Zaile fumbled about and found his knife. Slowly, he crawled towards the Zunarkian, praying he would go unnoticed. As he slithered over the sludge, Zaile heard footsteps, the soft, deliberate treads of a hunter watching a prey. Alarmed, his eyes darted left and right. It was then he noticed that the dying Guardian under the tree had vanished. Then came a prayer.

“Forgive thy humble vessel for daring to touch Divinity.”

Solmis spun around but was too late. Rondel, no longer on the verge of death, emerged from the thin air wearing a coat of blinding light. Now standing on two legs, the Finnardian warrior charged, unleashing a palm strike with his remaining arm. Hit square in the chest, the Templar shot into a tree as though he was a quarrel fired from a crossbow.

“What are you waiting for?” Rondel roared. “Run!”