Merek's Ascendance (15 page)

The poacher opening the gate didn’t notice
his dead fellow until it was too late and the gate was open. One final arrow dropped him as well. While Merek hadn’t learned to shoot as well as the others, and certainly not the sad man who didn’t appear to miss, he had practiced until he could bulls-eye most targets from fifty yards.

Thorald ran in from the gate, his sword coated in a mist of blood. Julia appeared at his side, but with one look at Merek she took off running up a set of stairs that led to what seemed to be a blacksmithing area. She hid among the forge and the forged, waiting
.

They did not have to wait long.

Exactly as Merek expected, half a dozen poachers left the fort, looking for the source of all the commotion. It didn’t take them more than a second to notice the bodies and the one man still standing, who swung his sword in challenge and beckoned.

No honor amongst the lot of them, all six charged forward at once.
Merek fired off three arrows, though only two found their marks in the chest of one poacher and the neck of another. The former went down with a single shout of pain, while the latter made no noise at all. Julia’s shots were much better, throwing four daggers that all hit their targets. Two poachers went down with daggers sticking out of various body parts.

That left Thorald with two of his own, and he didn’
t seem at all perturbed. The first poacher, a short-haired woman, charged forward with a slash that started in the sky and came crashing down, but Thorald simply crossed his blade and the sword bounced off harmlessly. He then took a mighty swing, slicing a great line into the poacher’s gut. With a spray of blood, she hit the ground.

The last poacher
standing, a man wielding an ax just as large and imposing as Thorald’s sword, swung it at Thorald’s head. Thorald barely managed to duck out of the way, retreating a few steps. His own counterattack met with the same success as the poacher dodged aside.

Then the ax came down, and Thorald blocked it with a yell of exertion. He mirrored the attack, but he was no more able to knock the poacher down than the poacher was able to knock him down.

Who may have won the battle was anyone’s guess, but before they could find out, even more poacher’s joined the fray.

“Figures,” Merek said, knocking another arrow. He only had one left. “I knew this was over too quickly.”

Four more poachers ran at Thorald, with only one stopping to notice the projectiles buried in his fellows. That was the one that received an arrow to his right pectoral, though Merek nearly cursed.

He’d been aiming for the left.

He had no time to chastise himself, because three bandits were still heading s
traight for Thorald, who was too busy with the ax-wielder to notice or care. Summoning every ounce of courage he had, Merek sprinted for the edge and leapt from the roof, screaming a war cry into the world as he fell.

The three of them looked up just as Merek’s body crashed into them, knocking them all flat and setting Merek’s very bones on fire.

Damn it
all,
that hurt.

He pushed himself to his feet, blocking out the pain as he drew his sword. Two men were alread
y up and had swords drawn, but the third seemed to be completely out of it.

Which suited Merek perfectly fine.

Both poachers attacked at once, but Merek was far too quick for them. He dodged one blow that would have split his skull, and blocked another that would have taken off his head. He battled back, his sword slashes quicker than either poacher could keep up with. One had a shield, but Merek kicked it in order to throw the poacher off balance.

The unshielded one sprinted forward, but Merek dispatched him by catching his sword arm before it fell and running him through.
He didn’t dwell on the blood or the sound of the blade puncturing flesh. He didn’t have the time.

Instead, he withdrew his blade and
parried a blow that would have finished him in the same manner, and his counter was so furious that the poacher hid behind his shield to escape it.

His shield didn’t save him from Merek looping around and running his blade down the poacher’s throat, cutting it open in a shower of blood.
The man fell to the ground, pouring blood all over the dirt.

He was so fixated on the poacher and the feeling of unrest in his stomach that he didn’t notice the last poacher sneak up behind him.

Luckily, Julia had.

Seeing a shot for the first time si
nce Merek had entered the fray, Julia let loose with a single dagger. It crossed the space between them in a breath, and buried itself in the poacher’s throat.

It also missed Merek’s ear by about two inches.

He looked at her incredulously, holding up his hands.

“
Sorry!” she shouted.

“That’
s alright,” Merek muttered, “just take off my ear. I have two.”

Merek turned to watch Thorald as he finally gained the upper hand on his enemy, knocking him to his knees with a savage downward strike.

Another removed his head from his shoulders.

“Took your time, I see,” Merek said. Thorald smiled before
jogging to his side. Julia joined them a moment later.

“There can’t possibly be any more of them, can there?”
Julia asked, drawing two more daggers yet again from her vest.

“How many of those do you have?” Thorald asked.

“How many do you need?” was her reply.

“As much as I would love to agree,” Merek replied
in a slightly louder voice, “we should be prepared for at least one more.”

“Why do you say that?”
Thorald asked as Merek headed for the door, sword at the ready.

“
Because every band needs a leader. I doubt any of this lot could claim that title.”

Merek pushed the door open as quietly as he could, looking both directions to check
for anything. What he found was a large room almost entirely dedicated to skinning their captures. Some of them hadn’t even been cleaned yet. Merek could see another room off to the side, smaller and filled with fur beds.

Then his eyes caught his prize, and he smiled.

Both mother and son were in adjoined cages in a pit, each one howling. They had just been moved in, perhaps moments before the trio’s arrival, because the people who had moved them were still present.

There was a man clad in armor almost as solid as Thorald’
s, with a hand ax strapped to his side and a helmet that hid his features. Two more poachers were there, one raven haired woman with eyes that had no spark, no light in them, and a man.

The man looked… familiar.

Merek stared at him, thinking hard. He knew that face from somewhere. The long brown hair, the red face paint…

Then it clicked.

That was the poacher he had taken out the first time he had rescued the bears. Clearly, he hadn’t learned his lesson.

“You can come in,” the poacher in the armor said, “you’re letting in a draft.”

Merek pursed his lips in annoyance, angry at losing the advantage. Then again, there were only three of them, and they numbered three. It should be an even battle.

They three of them marched in, each with weapons drawn and ready.

“Heard the commotion,” the chief said, “I thought there’d be more of you. Or did those useless riffraff actually manage to take a few of your men down?”

“
No,” Thorald said, “we wiped the floor with them.”

“Figured. Knew this batch was next to useless. Alright, what do you want?”

“Your head,” Merek said, spinning his sword as he jumped into the pit. Thorald followed clumsily, while Julia stayed up high and circled them.

“Well, well.
You seem quite sure of yourself. You look like a knight. What’s a lowly knight doing in my camp?”

“
Hard of hearing, this one,” Thorald said, circling to the right.

“
Maybe we should speak slower,” Merek replied, mirroring him.

The poacher chief didn’t seem to take offense, which Merek found both admirable and annoying. An angry opponent was one who was not in full control, thus a bit weaker, more prone to mistakes.

At least, so he had read. It didn’t look like he was going to find out here.

“Funny. We catch those bears, and five minutes later here you are. What a coincidence.”

Merek smirked, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Crazy world we live in,” Thorald said. The woman with the dead eyes stared him down, while the familiar poacher was practically chomping at the bit to get at Merek.

“Enough,” the woman said, “die!”

She charged forward, drawing a mace as she did so.
Thorald raised his sword to block the opening blow, shouting in laughter.

The man jumped forward as well, swinging a sword wildly.
Merek dodged to the side, letting the man slash to his heart’s content. And he did just that, pulling his sword in every conceivable direction
except
for any direction leading to Merek. Finally, after a full ten seconds of not even needing to raise his blade, Merek rolled his eyes and stepped forward. He blocked the first strike before kicking the man in the midsection.

The next strike was blocked and before the man could react, Merek jammed the hilt of his sword against the side of his head.
He hit the ground a moment later.

“
Really?” Merek asked with a look at the fallen man as the poacher chief drew his ax.

“I never get tired of seeing him jump around,” the chief shrugged.

Merek shrugged again. It was rather amusing.

The two began to circle, neither one caring about the struggle happening only feet away.
The chief stared at him, eyes narrowed, and his thoughts were impossible to read.

Merek was having enough trouble reading his own.

It hit him suddenly, like an icy punch from a gale. Every other battle, it had been quick. The bandits, the poachers, everything. No time to think, no time to question. He just jumped into the thick of battle. But here, now…

He had walked into this one on purpose. This was no training match, no one who would pull up at the last second to spare him injury. These weapons were real. This fight was real.

He kept his face perfectly poised, though it took most of his effort to do so. He couldn’t let the poacher chief see the absolute terror that was crawling through his guts, making him want to turn around and run.

That didn’t stop him from feeling it.

Merek was scared, more scared than he could ever remember being. Not under his parent’s rule, not at the mercy of the elements. They kept circling, Merek losing his nerve with every step. He was out of his league. What was he thinking, trying to…

Shut up.

He unconsciously shook his head, chasing away the train of thought. The bears needed help. His friends had followed him in, and he wasn’t about to abandon them.

His grip on his sword tightened, and
his gaze focused.

Fight!

Merek charged forward, and the chief met him. He swept with his ax, aiming to cut off Merek’s head, but Merek ducked at the last moment and jammed his blade forward. The chief barely dodged aside, the blade scraping against his armor.

The two separated
and circled once more before meeting again, ax and sword connecting with a mighty clang. They separated again as they sized up each other.

“Are you dancing or fighting?” Thorald laughed, still deep in battle with the woman who seemed to be completely uninterested in what she was doing.

“Do I make fun of how you fight?” Merek replied without taking his eyes off of the chief.

“Of course not. Because there’s nothing to make fun of!”

Merek rolled his eyes, spinning his sword once to refocus his mind fully.

This time it was the chief who charged first, bringing
the ax down with renewed ferocity. Merek dodged to the side, swinging his sword at the chief’s flank, but the chief raised an armored arm and blocked it. The counterattack missed by an inch, and it forced Merek to his back. The chief swung the ax straight down, aiming to bury it in Merek’s chest, but Merek wasn’t there when the ax came down.

His roll away from harm carried him several feet away, and he kicked to his feet quickly.
It was a good thing too, because the chief was all over him. Ax and sword met twice, each blow forcing Merek back. He gave the ground willingly. It was okay. He had a plan.

He sidestepped the next vertical strike, striking back with a flurry of strikes. None of them was enough to pierce the armor, but he could see several dents and scratches start to appear. Though which would give first, armor or armament, was impossible to guess.

Merek had no interest in finding out.

Sword in one hand, he gripped
his cloak in the other. When the chief lunged again, Merek dodged to the right and threw his cloak in the path. The ax ripped into it, getting lodged in the cloth. The momentum pulled Merek around, just as he expected.