Chapter 52: Knights And Bears

Chapter 52: Knights And Bears

Their party ran towards the village in a scattered mess, soon cresting a small hill and coming upon a sight of absolute chaos.

Houses were burning, men were screaming, and amidst the fog of smoke and noise, combatants fought for their lives. Lucan recognized some of Sir Vicks’s men, though he didn’t see the knight himself. He also saw villagers fighting with spear, axe, and pitchfork. Outnumbering them were Wildermen raiders that cut through villagers as easily as the latter would cut through wheat.This chapter was first shared on the Ñøv€lß1n platform.

“To me!” Sir Golan yelled, charging the closest group of Wildermen. Lucan and the men-at-arms followed him as close as they could, considering how fast he was.

They smashed into a disordered mob of Wildermen–not that they were orderly themselves–who were busy either tearing through villagers or looting and burning houses. Amidst the chaotic charge, Lucan rammed a wounded Wilderman with his shoulder, unintentionally impaling him on a villager’s spear. He didn’t let his gaze linger on the dead Wilderman nor the terrorized villager with a now broken spear.

Lucan looked around, finding no closeby opponent this time. Then from the corner of his eye, he glimpsed distant movement. Turning in that direction, he saw Lord Arden’s reserve coming to relieve the village. That gave him heart. Things hadn’t been looking good moments ago.

As their reinforcements charged into the village, Lucan found one of Sir Vicks’s men desperately struggling against a raider. The Wilderman had disarmed him and was preparing to swing wide for a killing strike.

Even though he knew that he had to be careful with the uses of his Skills, Lucan still used the Star to streak in behind the raider. In one fluid motion, he hamstrung him, ruining his strike along with his balance. The opposing soldier didn’t waste the opportunity, leaping into the Wilderman’s guard and shoving a dagger into his neck. The dying man croaked something before the soldier kicked him away and nodded to Lucan. Then they both went to look for their next enemy.

Lucan saw their reinforcements challenged by a clump of Wildermen led by what he could only assume to be a shaman. The man wore a sleeveless hemp robe, weaved with small bones and leaves. His muscled arms were crowded with bangles of fangs and spiraling horns. He gripped a thick oaken staff with its head wrapped in cured skin. Before the two groups met, he struck the ground with his staff, and the roots of a nearby tree sprang to life, ensnaring two soldiers with malleability and strength that could rival a giant boa.

Lucan couldn’t watch for much longer as he saw a villager fighting at the entrance to his home. Keeping a Wilderman at bay with a ragged spear that was soon patted aside with the assailant’s axe. The villager received a kick that pushed him through his home’s open door which carried the marks of axe strikes, likely suffered before the villager had armed himself and emerged to defend it.

Lucan used another Star, leaving him with only five more, if he remembered right. This time the star only took him half the distance and he paced the rest. The Wilderman noticed him and spun swiftly to parry a probing thrust.

Yet his eyes soon cleared,, and he could only see the form of the Wilderman filling his vision. The man’s axe was raised for a finishing strike, and Lucan knew that he couldn’t hope to move, let alone stop it. He saw the blade of the axe lighting up with that eerie hot glow once more, preparing to melt its way through his plate and pulverize his insides.

Then his father was there.

The glow of the greataxe was met with the glow of a Wraith Strike, which didn’t fizzle out this time. The Wilderman’s eyes widened in surprise before he hopped back and settled himself in a proper stance for combat.

Lucan’s father circled his opponent, no doubt trying to turn the fight away from him. But soon, he had no choice but to clash with the Wilderman. And clash he did.

In a daze, Lucan could only describe what he saw as a storm of Skills. Both combatants used their Active Skills as many times in the span of a few moments as Lucan could use in a day. Then they separated, both breathing evenly. Again, they dashed towards each other and clashed, another storm of Skills ensuing. And Lucan realized that the Wilderman had been toying with him.

The two men soon reached an impasse as their weapons cinched and the Wilderman tried to pull his father close as he had pulled Lucan moments ago. But Sir Golan Zesh didn’t fall forward. He did something that Lucan couldn’t perceive and his weapon instantly slipped off the axe, then he was behind the Wilderman, a trail of dust flying in his wake. The Wilderman swept his axe around quickly, trying to parry an anticipated strike, which didn’t come. Returning the favor that Lucan had just been given, his father delivered a kick to the Wilderman’s gut that carried his whole strength and weight. The raider flew, not as high or fast as Lucan had, but he flew, then he hit the door of the villager’s house, tearing it off its hinges and disappearing inside. Sir Golan Zesh followed him in.

Lucan could only hear clashes and see the occasional flash of light. The yells and grunts of both men echoed in his ears and he couldn’t tell who had the upper hand in there. His body refused to move, and his eyes shifted from side to side, hoping to see something that they couldn’t reach. He saw the wooden beam that he’d hit and snapped through. He saw Cordell barring the path of a shaman who manipulated his bone bangles into white armor and spiked armaments. He saw even more reinforcements reaching the village and clashing with Wildermen, half of whom were fleeing with their ill-gotten gains. Loot was hauled away or abandoned when the need arose. Some raiders fought and some raiders absconded with their hauls.

The crashes inside the house came to a stop. Lucan’s eyes shifted to the door and remained fixed there until the Wilderman was thrown out like a straw dummy. He rolled on the ground twice before getting to his feet, gasping for air. Blood was covering one side of his face from a deep cut on his bald head, and he was leaning to one side as though suffering from an injured leg or a broken rib. Still, he gripped his greataxe and looked severely at the door from which Lucan’s father soon emerged.

“What in the frosts are you?” the Wilderman wheezed.

“Golan Zesh. By the grace of King Athelstan Baroun, I was made a knight of Barwalis seventeen winters after my birth. I have only one son and heir. You tried to murder him. Allow me to return the favor,” Lucan’s father said. “With more competence.”

Then a bolt of lightning flashed nearby and Lucan only saw white.