Refuge: Kurt's Quest (30 page)

Jackie grasped the hilts of her swords, one hand
over each shoulder, and drew them quickly, stopping her draw in a guard
position. 
Fire
shone with red light along its length, while
Ice
’s
blade glittered with blue.

“Very pretty,” said the Assassin, taking a
short step forward.  “I will use them well when you are no longer around to
wield them.”

Jackie heard the flutter of soft steps on the
stone to left and right, and knew the other assassins were springing into the
attack.  She rotated a blade each way, quickly stepping back at the same time,
just before the Assassin to her front threw her blades into the air and
launched a series of throwing knives at the Immortal.

*     *     *

White Paw settled into a crouch as his ears
picked up the sound of feet on the stone of the raised path.  It wasn’t even the
soft tread of the assassins he had been tracking earlier, but only the
moderately stealthy steps of city bred Ellala warriors.  White Paw and his kin
were not the same level of intelligence as a human, Elf or Dwarf.  They were
about equal in intellectual level as a Chimpanzee, at least as single units.  In
a pack, their abilities went up.  No one really knew what the limit was, though
when a score of them were resonated mentally they were at least as smart as an
average human.  There were no others of his kind within range.  He could
communicate with the others of his kind, barely, but he couldn’t tap into their
mental strength.

He had been trying to decide who to aid with
his psionic powers.  All seemed to be in need, but he could only help one at a
time, and his decision might decide whether that person lived or died.  But it
seemed he was not going to get that chance, as the Ellala he heard appeared to
be coming his way.

Two of the Ellala stepped into the light, still
looking for the wolf.  Both had arrows notched to their bows, halfway drawn. 
And both were only seconds away from spotting the wolf.

White Paw picked his target and sent out an
amplified blast of psychic energy.  One of the Ellala screamed in agony and
dropped his arrow to the ground, bringing that hand to his head, as if he could
provide relief with it.  He couldn’t, and the scream turned into a gurgle as he
lost control of his body and fell to the stone.

The other Ellala picked up the wolf at that
moment, drawing his notch hand back to his ear and shifting his aim.  With a
thought White Paw threw another psychic bolt at the second Elf.  The bolt was
not nearly as powerful as the first, but it was enough to make the Elf lose his
aim.  The arrow came close, and bounced from the stone an eighth meter to the
side of the animal.  As the arrow clattered away White Paw sprang to his feet
and charged at the Ellala he had just struck with his mental bolt.  In less
than two seconds his paws were striking the chest of the Ellala and sending him
in a backward fall, while his teeth reached for the throat of the warrior.  The
Ellala weighed about sixty-three kilos, the wolf a staggering one hundred, and
the Elf didn’t have a chance of stopping the beast.  The teeth met in the
throat of the Ellala, and a jerk of the powerful neck ripped the windpipe open.

At the last second he caught sight of the first
Ellala, dropping his bow to the ground and pulling his short sword from its
sheath.  He turned back to that Ellala, preparing another mental bolt, when he
caught another movement out of the corner of his eye, and realized there was a
third Ellala, taking aim, and the wolf could only blast one of the two
threatening him.

*     *     *

“Shield wall,” yelled Sir Gromli as the Ellala
warriors charged his men.  He stepped forward, holding his tower shield to his
front, bracing his legs.  Two men stepped up to either side of him, linking
their shields, the outer pair curving back a bit to provide some flank
security.

Ten Ellala, all wearing a lighter grade of
armor than his men, all less massive of bone and muscle, slammed into the
shield wall.  Their momentum forced it back a half meter while they tried to
get their swords into action.  Their long blades were unwieldy in such close
quarters, as were the long swords of the Nords.  Several of the Ellala stepped
back and sheathed their long blades, then drew shorter swords that could be
used to stab.

Shit
, thought Gromli as he watched the Ellala come
back with swords thrust forward.  He was able to get one with his own blade
while the Ellala was still out of reach with the short sword.  The Knight’s
blade, glowing with enchantment, punched through the throat of the slender Elf
and out the back of his neck, severing his spine and dropping him lifeless to
the ground.  The knight to his right swung his blade down and into the helmet
of the Ellala facing him.  The blade didn’t penetrate the fine quality helmet,
but the Ellala’s neck could not stand up to the force of the blow, and snapped.

The battle became a shoving match, shield
pushing shield, blades trying to find any opening.  After several minutes the
Ellala fell back, leaving six of their number either dead or bleeding out on
the floor, three of them victims of Gromli’s blade, while one knight tried to
staunch the blood of a massive wound to his side and fell to his knees, dying.

“Ware the arrows,” shouted Gromli, and he and
his three knights covered as much of themselves with their shields as possible
as a sleet of a dozen arrows came flying in.  Eleven struck shields and stuck
quivering in the tough wood.  One hit a knight in the shoulder and penetrated
the heavy chain, sinking deep into muscle.

“Here they come,” yelled another knight as
Gromli started to move to help his wounded man.  He looked up to see the Ellala
come rushing in again, and knew that the man would just have to endure the
wound.  They would treat him after the fight, if any of them were left alive.

Chapter Nineteen

Krug smiled as he swung the Black Blade once
again.  He had never faced an opponent with such a combination of strength and
speed.  Still, he was the stronger, and his blade was giving him even more
strength.

[Do not become arrogant, my Master,] said his
blade as it struck the bright sword of the human.  [His sword is powerful, and
with his speed, you are not invulnerable.]

[But I have the Black Armor,] said the Ogre, blocking
the next swing of the human with his armored left forearm, proving the worth of
his plate.

[You must take enough of his energy to feed
us,] argued the Blade.  [Otherwise, he may outlast you.]

Krug barked out a laugh at the thought that
anything could outlast him in combat.  He swung his blade in again, moving much
faster than even his gladiator’s body was used to, knowing it was the sword
that was giving him this heightened ability.  Still, the human got his sword in
the way.  Krug tried to push through, smiling into the grimacing face of the
human.  He moved the man’s arms, then grunted as the large man locked his own
limbs in place and pushed back.

“Impossible,” yelled Krug at the top of his
lungs, taking a step back and bringing the sword into a guard position.  He had
never met a challenger his size or smaller with that much strength.  [This is
not a normal man, fool,] sent the sword into his mind.  [You must steal his strength,
or he will defeat you.]

Krug growled deep in his throat at the Blade. 
I
am no one’s fool
, he thought, stepping forward and swinging the sword
overhead, ready to bring it down on the head of his opponent and split his
skull.  He swung down, knowing that he was on target.  Until the man moved out
faster than he could have imagined, and the Black Blade struck the stone
instead, itself letting out a howl of fury.

The bright Paladin’s blade came back in from
the side and struck the Ogre on the shoulder, rocking him to the side.  The
Black Armor kept the holy sword from penetrating, barely, and Krug knew he had
to gather some energy to feed into the armor and the blade, or he would soon be
completely outmatched.

He started his move, planning ahead this time,
using a maneuver that had served him well in the arena.  The Ogre swung his
blade over his right shoulder, then down in a cross cut that would have sliced
into the human’s shoulder if he had stayed where he was.   Instead, he moved
away in a blur and the swing missed.  Krug stumbled forward a bit, and the
human did what he expected, charging back in with his own sword raised.

And Krug recovered from his fake stumble, his
blade pointed low into the charging human.  The tip of the sword hit the tough
enchanted armor and bounced away, then recovered on its own with a shrill
scream and puncture through the very spot it had bounced from.

Krug laughed as he felt the energy coming up
the blade, as much as he had taken from the demon and more.  The man was dead,
even if he didn’t know it.  Once the Black Blade locked into place it was like
a leech, impossible to dislodge.  It would continue to suck the life force
until there was nothing left.  Already the Gladiator could feel his strength
growing, while the Blade and the Armor glowed with power. 
How much life
force does this human have
? he thought, savoring the flood of power,
contemplating how he was going to crush the man’s companions.

The man then did the impossible.  He swung his
sword down and struck the Black Blade, knocking it free of the wound it had
made.  Krug hissed in disbelief.  The man should be dying on his feet after the
level of energy he had lost.  Instead, he seemed as strong as ever, though he
was backpedaling with a wary look on his face.

Krug, almost lost in the surge of energy
flowing through his body, followed, sure that he would kill the man with his
next strike.

*     *     *

Jakisanda swore again in what was almost a
prayer to his God, Bothar.  He was the mightier priest, of that he was sure. 
And he was also sure that the Dwarf was the better fighter. 
And that damned
hammer
, thought the Death Priest.

The hammer was not a God Weapon, like the sword
the big human carried.  Of that he was positive.  God weapons had a look and
feel to them.  This did not have that look or feel, but it was still powerful. 
If forged by a mortal, it had been a master craftsman who had spent
considerable time on it.  Its built in enchantment was powerful, but when the
priest added a spell to it, it was power incarnate.

Jakisanda mouthed the words of another
offensive spell and tried to touch the Dwarf.  While not a life priest, the
Dwarf had many defensive spells linked to the Law Gods, and so far everything
the Death Priest had thrown at him had been deflected.  Jakisanda was pretty
sure that a touch spell would work, hopefully paralyzing the other Priest.  The
problem was touching the canny Dwarf, who was constantly moving and keeping his
shield up.

The Black Hand of Death came within centimeters
of touching the Dwarf, before his heavy shield knocked the hand away. 
Jakisanda stifled a scream as the edge of the embossed shield hit his wrist. 
If his hand had not been enveloped in the death energy he was sure it would
have been broken.  As it was, it hurt like a bitch, and he lost the feeling in
his fingers for a moment.

Now the Dwarf came on the offensive, looking
over his raised shield with his hammer drawn up by the side of his head, ready
to strike like a snake when he came within range.  The Death Priest drew his
dagger, his only weapon, and held it to his front.  The Dwarf smiled as he
advanced, and Jakisanda saw his own death in the eyes of the Priest of Law.

A crossbow bolt came out of seeming nowhere,
striking the helmet of the Dwarf.  The almost pure Mithral deflected the bolt,
but the Dwarf flinched and looked away for a moment.  In that moment the Death
Priest shouted a word of power, and his dagger telescoped into a long, thin
blade, black as night and reeking of death.  With a lunge he went over the shield
and sliced into the left side of Garios’ neck.  The Dwarf staggered back with a
strangled cry, the poison working quickly into his system.  The Death Priest
yelled in triumph and charged in, his victim almost helpless and sure to get
weaker by the moment. 
Bothar will feast on a new soul this day
, he
thought as he aimed his blade toward the throat of the shorter Priest.  And the
God of Death was always appreciative of the soul of an enemy to torment.

*     *     *

Marshal Ellessa Ellisandra thrust at the other
Ellala once again, and once again the Ranger both moved out of the way and
struck his sword aside.  The blade followed the deflection with its own thrust,
and Ellisandra barely got his body out of the way.  He was sure Fenris was
going to run him through, his seemingly living blade finding an opening in the
Marshal’s armor, when his two men came in from either side and forced the
Ranger back.

The two Ellala warriors continued their attack,
trying to use their numbers to defeat a superior swordsman.  Unfortunately for
them, Fenris could be very economical in his motions, and he did not have to
move as far in the defense as the offense.  He knocked both blades aside, one
after the other, then again.  He followed the last block with a thrust, and one
of the warriors staggered back, left hand to bleeding shoulder.

The other warrior tried to take advantage of
the Ranger’s interest in the one he had just wounded with a swift attack, only
to run into the flashing blade that defeated all of his moves.

“I thought you brought your best with you,
Marshal,” said Fenris with a smile.  “I’m disappointed.  If this is the best
that you have, we should have invaded you years ago.”

But not all of your people are as good as you,
or you could have
,
thought the Marshal, coming in beside his man and joining in the attack.  The
Marshal knew he was outclassed, how all of his people were in this particular
fight.  He was no coward, and was not willing to give up the fight just because
he might not survive it.  If Fenris were free to join any of the other battles,
they would swing against his side in an instant, and they would roll up his
force before he could rally them.

Two more Ellala came up to join the fight, and
Fenris was forced back, barely keeping the blades from his blood.  [Back him
into the corner,] sent the Marshal to his three men, glancing back to see the
fourth getting his wound under control, soon to rejoin the fight. 
We’re
going to kill this fool, then attack one of the others from behind and take
them
.  There was no panic on Fenris’ face as he was forced back, though he
had to realize that getting trapped, getting his mobility taken from him, would
mean his end.

Would that I had more men as courageous as he
, thought the Marshal
as he stepped back and let his now quartet of men force the enemy Ellala back. 
And where are the rest of my people?

*     *     *

How in the hells does someone so big move so
fast
,
thought Glassini as she dodged the cold sword once again.  One of her assassins
had not been able to dodge the same blade, and now crouch by the wall holding her
left forearm, the hand of which had shattered into ice crystals and lay
scattered over the floor.  The other was still on her feet, looking for an
opening which never seemed to appear.

Glassini backpedaled, the human following her
with long strides, both blades swishing through the air in a whirlwind.   She
still didn’t understand how someone who was much more massive than her, or her people,
taller, more muscular, and a human to boot, could move with such grace and
speed.  She barely got her blades up in time to block the two magical weapons,
feeling the heat and cold coming through the hilts of her own swords.  Her
wrists shivered from the force of the blows, and she was not sure how much
longer it would be before one was knocked from her grasp.

The dark face of the human contrasted the white
teeth of her smile as she drove in, and the Master Assassin felt fear run
through her.  It was a feeling she was not used to.  People feared her, not the
other way around.  The flame sword came in, fast, faster than she could react,
and she was sure she was dead.

The other assassin came in from the side with a
thrust, and the flame blade moved that direction, faster than anything should
have been able to reverse direction.  The blade knocked aside one of the swords
of the assassin, then touch her forearm with the flat.  The black clothing of
the assassin burst into flame, and the woman leapt back, waving her arm, which
had to be receiving bad burns.

The human went for the kill, running after the woman
with her blades poised.  Glassini almost followed her, then considered that the
human, with her better than Ellala hearing, would take note of the pursuit and
turn on her.  Either killing Glassini, or forcing her back with nothing
accomplished.  Not that saving her fellow assassin would be nothing, but the
dying part bothered her, a lot.

Instead, she sheathed her blades in one fast
motion and sent two darts after the human with a flick of her wrist.  One of
the darts struck the chain and bounced away.  The other hit her in the side of
the neck as she started to turn.  With a gasp the human dropped the ice blade
and raised a hand to her wound.  She staggered in her step as the most powerful
fast acting poison known on the planet sped through her arteries to heart and
brain.  She gasped again, this time a much weaker sound, dropped her flame
blade, and fell to her knees, her hands catching her before she continued the
fall.

She should already be dead
, thought the Master
Assassin, looking at the impossible human and shaking her head.  She grasped
her right hand blade tightly and walked forward, her other hand reaching for
the woman’s helmet.  
Let’s see how you survive after I take your head.

*     *     *

Kralisis Lasidera had been a mage for most of
his twenty-five hundred odd years of life.  He had achieved Master’s rank on
his thousandth year as a practitioner, well ahead of the curve for his people,
who, with their long lives, didn’t burn as brightly as those of the shorter
lived races.  But, because of that life span, they learned to control much
greater powers than any human or Dwarven magic user.  Yet here he, stood, an
Archmage of his people, facing one who had only been practicing magic for a
little over a year.  Before that, he had been from a world where they didn’t
even believe in magic.  Yet the human controlled energy that the Archmage
couldn’t even begin to imagine.

And fire seems to be his friend
, thought the Archmage,
watching as one of his other Masters, one specializing in lightning, fired a
bolt into the human that should have electrocuted a platoon.  The human shook
for a moment, his hair standing on end, but otherwise shrugged off the bolt as
the fire around him burned brighter for a moment.

He uses the flames to fortify and heal his body
, thought the Ellala
with amazement.  Fire was a destructive force, and most mages were only able to
use it for that purpose.  Some wizards of legend were said to be able to use it
for healing, but no one in the memory of living Elf. 
Yet here is one that
can do it, at least with himself.  And the only way to stop him is to hit him
with the opposite of his power.