Steel And Flame (Book 1) (19 page)

“You,” Janus called, pointing to an applicant farther
down the line, then, “and
you!
”  This time Marik found the gnarled old
root of a finger pointing at him.  It was time, then.  Who had the old man
picked out to face him?  Turning as he stepped forward, Marik saw.

*        *        *        *        *

With the staff wielded by the darkly tanned man
reaching new speeds, apparently surrounding its wielder in an impenetrable
defense, the murmuring crowd around the smaller figure amused him.  Colbey had
arrived when the applicants numbered half the current crowd, having made his
way quickly and without delay.  For ten days he had watched these men.  His
observations gave him no cause for concern regarding their potential as
opponents.  Seeing them live down to his expectations only confirmed his
confidence was well placed.

“Where’s he from?  I’ve never seen someone do that
before…”

“Look a’ that speed!  How you gonna strike inside
there?”

“Glad I’m back here…”

These men had believed themselves fit to pass
judgement on all the previous fighters as well, to Colbey’s vast amusement.  To
his eyes there had been numerous holes in one man’s defenses who’d chosen a
giant claymore sword, but had been pronounced an expert, and no one to face off
against, by these outlanders mulling around him.

Take this one with the staff for instance.  This might
look amazing to these inepts watching, yet the man’s true skill suffered.  With
the weight on the end representing a spearhead unbalancing the entire staff,
the man could not make full use of his talents.  Colbey distinguished the minor
changes in his expression that betrayed the concentration required to wield
this mockup in a manner it had never been intended for.  Even given his skill
with his weapon of preference, there were still several flaws Colbey could have
exploited to manhandle him.

The swordsman should be following the movements of the
hands rather than the staff.  Striking the staff at the same instant it
switched between hands would send it flying through the air.  Or he could press
the attack, blocking the strikes with his blade while closing the distance
between the two combatants.  A staff was only effective if the wielder
maintained a constant distance between the fighters.  If the swordsman closed
the gap, the ironwood length would become a hindrance rather than an advantage.

Colbey noticed the swordsman stumble and the staff
wielder jump after. 
Such
an inexcusable mistake!  The staffsman either
should have made a strike as he jumped or run a few feet north or south and
stepped down to the road.  Either way would have maintained his guard, leaving
his opponent no opening.

The young Guardian watched the staff wielder recover
and finish the fight, though against a real opponent he would have been sliced
to pieces for his moment of stupidity.  He would not last a candlemark in the
village.

The village
. 
Damn, he had been careful to control his thoughts since leaving.  Now they had
wandered during an inattentive moment.  Memories Colbey wished he could have
left behind with the survivors surfaced anew.  Time had done nothing to dampen
their powerful imagery.  He felt his chest tighten under history’s unbearable
load.

After leaving the forest and reentering the fringe
towns, Elder Orlan’s words carried a stronger import than he’d at first
considered.  Wide-spread conflict could be coming to the lands of Merinor once
again as it had so long ago.  Or perhaps not.  Nonetheless, the attack against
a lone village guarding a remnant of those battles felt ominous.  The elder had
tried to convey this to Colbey, though the blinding anger and hatred had blazed
too brightly for cooler, rational thought.

The one positive benefit that derived from his
surveying the forces the outsiders could muster came as a fairly educated guess
about what he should do next.  If conflict struck against the kingdom as a
whole, the first thing to happen would be the dispatching of the king’s
armies.  Service as a soldier struck him as a most unlikely course of action,
due to the backgrounds and histories Colbey believed were required from each
applicant to the army.  In any event, becoming a soldier meant starting at the
bottom.  He had no intention of being subordinate to another man’s whims.

So what then?  Given the nature of the village’s
assailants, he did not believe the kingdom forces could prevail unless they
struck hard from the onset.  As they were unknowledgeable about their foe, they
most likely would fail to commit fully until far too late.  Then they would
rush to obtain as many fighters as possible, and so would snatch conscripts
from any towns left standing, hiring every mercenary available.

This possibility attracted Colbey.  The mercenary
bands were infamous for loose organization and wantonness.  If he could find
the right band, he would eventually bring his skills against those whose
destruction he yearned for.  In the meantime he could remain himself without
strict rules or army regulations choking him.  He might also be able to hone
his skills further in whatever battles the mercenaries he joined found
themselves involved in.  Perfect.

Inquiries in taverns and merchant halls and caravan
staging grounds revealed the information he sought.  The Crimson Kings were the
largest band in the kingdom.  When the nobility contracted fighters, they
usually sought that band first.  In addition, their hiring season was fast
approaching.  With such a standing among the upper class, with such a
reputation as the strongest in Galemar, they would undoubtedly be the first
contacted for the impending battles.  Colbey departed for Kingshome.

And now, watching the fighting men who believed their
skills were advanced enough to gain them entrance into the best band in the
kingdom, Colbey revised his estimates.  If these were the best the kingdom
could offer, could there be any hope for this land if the threat turned out to
be as fearsome as he imagined?

“You…and
you!
”

Colbey forced the wave of memories back into
submission when the old man running the show chose his next pair of carnival
fools to dance and tumble for his amusement.  He must be growing bored, or
wished to hurry the proceedings, for he had paired a young man of average build
with a walking cider press.  This second man easily dwarfed his opponent; twice
as wide and a foot-and-a-half taller.  His arms in a sleeveless tunic recalled
to Colbey the giant Euvea roots, gnarled and twisting through the pool’s placid
waters.

The cider press must be with friends judging by the
impromptu cheers from the crowd’s fore.  They jostled others with their
exuberant shouting, sending ripples through the crowd, knocking several men to
and fro.  Colbey’s neighbor reeled against him, forcing him into the boulder
he’d stood beside.  He shifted his eyes to glare at the man from the corners. 
As expected, the man, who had begun to make an imprudent comment, shuffled
back, his own gaze intensely interested in anything else.

Colbey had discovered this curiosity the longer he
wandered the outlands.  These men were less dangerous than they believed
themselves to be, yet they instinctively recognized the threat inherent in a
confrontation with a Euvea Guardian.  Simply gazing at a fool causing him
trouble with the force of his skills at the ready usually prompted most to
reconsider.  Obviously this was a natural recognition between the weak and the
strong, as Colbey had witnessed in many animal societies inside the forest.  In
this crowd pushing forward for the best view, Colbey surrounded himself with a
forceful personal space which none of these fighters cared to violate.

Or perhaps his appearance had as much to do with it. 
This time of year the scouts always dyed their hair to match the colors that
the coming winter would paint the outer forest in.  Without a second thought,
Colbey had changed his hair to the almost transparent gray that would soon be
displayed by the leaves in his sector.  The unusual hair color seemed natural
to him after the years spent among the scouts at home.  He reluctantly
reconsidered later, admitting, as much as he hated to, that he might have made
a mistake following the habit here in the outlands.  After receiving several
long stares the bearers were unable to conceal, he studied the surrounding
people and noticed that no others shared the color.

Colbey was not about to live his life trying to please
people he would never meet twice.  With the same pride and obstinacy that
helped him master the Guardians’ training with astounding speed, he refused to
change his hair back to match the fools among whom he walked.

On the tableau before him, he watched the two figures
standing at the tables, answering whatever questions the judges asked. 
Finally, the younger man turned to select a sword from the pile, probably the
same used by the swordsman before him.  He looked nervous while he took his
place for the fight.  The giant claimed the wooden claymore sword used once
before.  His manner when he swung it to get its feel suggested he hardly believed
sparring fights should be fair or safe.

When the fight began, the younger man took the
initiative by closing the distance quickly as his predecessor had not.  Though
the giant wooden replica represented an edged weapon, it still fell prey to
several of the same weaknesses as the staff due to its length.  Colbey approved
the maneuver while the sideline experts questioned the mental state of a young
man who seemed eager to rush to his death.  The smaller swordsman lacked
substantial experience, to judge from many small clues obvious to Colbey, but
he looked to possess fair judgement which usually accompanied an ability to
learn.  Given time, a few battles and the right training, this one might amount
to something one day.

Colbey climbed atop the boulder, easing to a crouch
and settling into the waiting game that frequently comprised a major portion of
the scout’s job in the forest.  He saw.  He listened.  He made his plans.

*        *        *        *        *

If I survive this, I
will
kill that old bastard!

The thought kept repeating in Marik’s mind during the
walk toward the judging tables.  He refused to look at Janus.  That old man
would never have the pleasure of seeing his irritation.  There was no question
that pairing him against this two legged bull had been deliberate.  Marik would
get to the bottom of this as soon as the old man broke cover and stepped into
his line of fire.

For now, he needed to stay alive.

“Your names?”, asked the extra clerk at the table.

“Marik Railson.”

“Beld Friar.”

“Hmmm.  Friar, Railson…..Friar, ah, here we are. 
Fourteenth page, Friar, Beld!” he directed at the other clerks who flipped
pages until they each found what they wanted.  Pages were handed to the
officers, who began reading.  “Thirty-first page, Railson, Marik.”

The clerks found the new pages.  They held them ready
while the officers directed questions at Beld.

“You stated your skills during registration as sword
fighter with capability using a crossbow.  Your abilities include strength and
endurance.”

“It’s what I said.”

“You want to join the band for steady income?”

“Yeah, anything wrong with wanting regular metal?”

Ignoring that, the middle officer continued, “Have you
had any trouble with any law enforcement offices in the past?”

“Might have been a misunderstanding or two.”

“Are you currently wanted by any of those offices
anywhere?”

“Nope.”

The officers paused to read Marik’s sheet.  “Marik
Railson, your stated skills include swordsmanship, moderate herb craft and
weapon and armor repair.”

“Yes.  I’d like to add capability with horses to
that.”

“Horsemanship?”

“No, I’ve never ridden one, but the care of them are
known to me.”

“Animal Handling then.  Why didn’t you mention it
before?”

“I was in a rush during the registration.  I was
thinking of weapon and fighting skills and didn’t think to include my
experiences handling the caravan animals in my hometown.”

“Very well.”  The clerks scribbled on their pages. 
“Next, your abilities listed are ‘strength in training’, that’s a new one,
endurance, accurate hearing and comprehension.  Anything to add?”

“No.”

“Then explain that last one.  I’d like to know what
you meant by it.”

“If I don’t know what I need, I can usually learn it
and remember later.  Any general skills I don’t have I can learn given the
chance.”

“I see.  You say want to join the band to find
somebody?”

After hearing his brief explanation, the officer asked
the same questions about his standing with the law.  Marik noticed the large
man to his left scowling at him.  Was he upset because Marik had listed a
greater number of abilities and thus made Beld seem less capable?  Probably. 
These giant men who thought with their muscles tended to find blameless people
to take out their moods on.