In Over His Head Ch. 07

Mountains quickly whirled 180 degrees the instant she was up on her feet again and sprinted past him as he recovered his swing. As she passed him, she deftly slipped her hook into the top shoulder strap of his armor, then whirled again, slinging the hapless man forward only to trip over and land face first on top of his prone and bleeding buddy. She pounced on top of both of them in a second and grasped them both by the sides of the heads, before crashing them together like cymbals. Both men slumped unmoving, one still gushing blood from the wound on his shoulder. Mountains was up again and coiled once more before the crowds could finish groaning at the gruesome sound of the men's skulls clacking together like hollow gourds.

She ducked sideways out of the way as two people from the inner ring came forward to drag the two unconscious Nords out of the way. She shot Edovan an evil grin, glancing back towards him to make sure he was still watching. He was still perched atop his massive friend's' shoulder, his mouth in the shape of an 'o' as he watched her dispatch the two men with ease. Lizard brain was irrationally loving this, this attention from such an attractive, powerful woman, while logical brain tried in vain to explain that she obviously wanted to kill him, and not in any way he would ever enjoy, not even briefly.

He looked at the third man, her final opponent. He was much older than his allies, his grizzled face covered in almost as many scars as it was close cropped grey whiskers. He'd been hanging back, apparently watching all the action with a cool, calculated eye. This man was solid but not muscle bound, average size for a Nord, and at first glance of no remarkable appearance. He looked like any of a hundred faceless guards or mercenaries, and most would have paid him no notice, but Edovan noticed three things immediately now that he was focused on him.

Firstly, his hybrid leather and steel armor was very worn. Dirty and dented, and seemed to be assembled quite piecemeal at first glance from multiple sources; Nordic, Orcish, a single mostly cracked Elven glass pauldron on his right shoulder, and even bits of dragon bone. But Edovan could see by the way it moved as they circled each other that there were hidden protective plates built IN to it in strategic places: His left shoulder blade, behind his heart, his right side above his hip, (kidney) his inner thigh etc. There was a small bit of extra protection over almost every vital organ, major blood vessel or commonly used avenue of attack. In fact he could see the outer leather was punctured and sewn back together or patched in each of these locations. This man, appeared to have, after the fact, painstakingly reinforced his armor against every single attack that had ever successfully pierced it.

The second thing Edovan noticed was that he was armed to the teeth, literally bristling with handles, hilts and hafts protruding from all the swords, dirks, knives and throwing daggers he was carrying, also all piecemeal and clearly from different sources. Edovan began to suspect that at least some of them had been the very implements that had caused the various holes in the man's armor leaving little doubt as to the fate of his opponents. He was certain the weight of all those blades was easily as great as any full set of mail or plate, and even THEY were placed strategically around his body in such a way as to provide even further protection for the owner while they remained sheathed.

The third thing he noticed was that the old Nord was now showing absolutely no trace of the exhaustion he had exhibited earlier. His stance was now relaxed and his breathing was careful and measured. Either he had remarkable faculties for recovery or, (and Edovan deemed this much more likely) he had been cunningly faking the entire time.

Edovan could sense with certainty that this man was truly dangerous, a fact quickly confirmed by the crowd as they all silently took an extra step or two back as he sheathed his longsword across his back and drew two nasty looking daggers from his sides. Clearly these were his go-to weapons and the blade in his right hand was unnaturally shiny with a dark liquid. They circled each other like spider and scorpion.

* * * * *

Baryk was enjoying this. He hadn't felt this alive in a decade. Not only was he facing a challenging opponent for the first time since he'd had his 30th year with the guild, but the lass was quite the looker, as well. He silently cursed himself that he hadn't been around much to see her grow up around here. Seemed like every time he came back from a job she'd grown at least a head or more taller. Then suddenly, much to everyone's surprise, (and his delight) this past summer her body had apparently finally reached its upper limit and decided to grow OUT instead.

He stared blatantly at the huge quivering mounds of bronzed flesh barely restrained by steel and leather threatening at any moment to spill out right in front of him. He imagined burying his face in that sweet golden valley. He wouldn't even have to bend his knees! Yes. He had been waiting for this moment for a long time. And her public challenge to advance her rank this morning was the perfect opportunity. He would beat her here in front of everyone, and then he would bed her... but first things first.

The kid had talent, he had to give her that. She'd already sent eight of the guild's middle tier fighters to the healers, several of whom would be in recovery for at least a few days, magicka or no magicka. She was fast, strong, and smart, but Baryk wasn't worried because he had the one thing she didn't.

Real experience.

Baryk had done more jobs than anyone still alive in the guild, even the Commander. He had traveled the length and breadth of Tamriel and fought and killed nearly anything you could imagine. He had been in actual wars. Plural. The thousands vs thousands kind, with magicka flying and demons summoned, untold horrors, undead armies, even a dragon! He had the unwavering confidence and certainty of one who KNOWS that not only is he the superior combatant, but exactly why he is, and what weaknesses he can exploit. Baryk had no trouble with high minded concepts like honor, courage, or morality. You didn't get to be as old as he was in this business by letting anyone or anything limit you, including your own morals. What mattered in the end was that you were still standing and your opponent wasn't. You had to be willing to do whatever was needed to make that happen.

He had come from a poor fishing village further north up the coast and learned the trade with his family before being conscripted into his first war. For him, fighting often was a lot like fishing. Sure, you could just blindly toss your line in over and over again hoping to get lucky, but the best catches came from taking your time and thinking things out.

First: He had to bait the hook.

"Well, lass... you've done a good job so far. But playtime is over. Time to see how you handle a real man!" he quipped.

Mountains didn't blink.

"A real OLD man, you mean? You sure you want to do this graem? I might send you to retirement early," she responded in like.

Baryk sneered. "Aye, lass, I will be retiring soon. I'm gonna retire right between those golden thighs of yours..." he said, eyeing her up and down.

He was trying to make her angry. He knew she had a hot temper and could be impulsive, and impulsive people made mistakes. Her instincts and reflexes were some of the best he had ever seen. He knew if he simply came at her she would tear him to pieces. But if he could goad her out of her normal defensive posture, make her make a move, his years of experience and calm composure would be to his advantage.

He saw the expected flush on her cheeks and the flash of fire in her eyes.

Second: Now to set the hook...

"I can see you thinking about it. But don't worry your pretty little head. I know it's your first time so I promise to be gen-..."

The strike came fast, almost faster than he could believe. Her speed was incredible, and only his own reflexes, honed by years of surviving battlefields (plural), saved him. In an instant she had closed the gap between them and lunged low before throwing a massive uppercut with her right that just missed his chin by literally the length of his salt and pepper whiskers. In the split second she was vulnerable, his darkened dripping blade flashed out. "And THAT, lass, is why you always wear protection!" he said as he snickered to himself.

The enormous Nord barely winced, but spun away from the blade, and crouched low in her customary defensive posture. A three inch thin red line had appeared on top of her thigh and blood began to well.

"You cowardly guar! You POISONED me?!" She bellowed, the shock and outrage plain on her face. Every vein in her neck was starting to bulge with seething rage.

"No worries, luv. You're not going to die. Just a little something to make you a tad bit more manageable. I am old after all, not as fast as a hot young thing like yourself. Just evenin' the score that's all," he said nonchalantly.

For the first time in the fight, Mountains looked uncertain, unsure of herself, and whatever he did to her.

"Try it again I'll shove that blade up y--"

She grunted, cutting off her own words, as he rushed her. Blades met hook and buckler in a series of strikes, all of which she deflected easily, and with a flourish at the end, she caught his unsullied blade in her hook. With a deft twist of her wrist, she snapped the blade in two like a twig. Both opponents then whirled away from each other, but now there was a matching red line welling crimson on her opposite knee.

"Well that's a pity. That was one of my favorite blades..." he said, catching his breath. His trick wasn't working. And he knew he was going to have to end this quickly or he was going to be in trouble.

"That was also the only one I had that wasn't treated, but as you can see I have plenty more," he told her, the sun glinting off of the many daggers and knives on his person.

He silently drew a longer dirk with a wavy blade from a sheath on the back of his belt. It, too, glistened with the same translucent brown substance, but the blade shimmered like someone had hammered midnight into a metal.

"You have literally picked your poison..." he sneered at her.

Mountains was literally shaking with rage. Her skin had gone from bronze to copper and every muscle, every fiber of her being, was taut like a bowstring pulled almost to its breaking point.

Her voice, when she spoke, however, was low and dark like some kind of huge beast.

"You're not the only one with tricks up your sleeve..." she promised him.

Mountains suddenly raised her right fist into the air and made a sharp up and down pumping motion. There was a loud shiiiickkkkk noise as the dwemer buckler on her right arm that was attached to her bracer slid slightly downward and then locked into a new position. A series of short but razor sharp blades suddenly sprung outward from the rim, along with 3 large spikes that now protruded from the outward facing surface. What had been mostly a defensive weapon was now, in her hands at least, capable of tearing a man to pieces. And judging from the flames dancing in her ice blue eyes, she intended to do just that.

As Baryk cocked an eyebrow at this surprising development, she suddenly swung her left fist in his direction in a wide arc. There was easily 20 feet between them with no hope of connecting, so he almost missed the small hook now hurtling toward him on the end of a thin metal cable. He dodged to the side quickly and raised his new dirk to parry, which was exactly what she wanted him to do. In mid air the hook had somehow separated into two hooks opposing each other, which now locked themselves around the wavy blade. She savagely flung her left arm up and back, easily tearing the weapon from his surprised grip, sending it tumbling in a high arc through the air, over the wall of the keep, and presumably into the ocean below. The hooks then released and retracted back to her bracer by some unknown mechanism before the dirk had even disappeared from sight.

Now it was Baryk's turn to be mad. Now THAT had been a custom ebony blade that he had personally commissioned for a king's ransom in gold from an aging master artisan, and now he would have to wait until his next long and perilous trip to the mainland to get it replaced. But he didn't have time to dwell on the loss, because nearly 300 pounds of murderous Nord was hurtling toward him at unbelievable speed. He barely had time to draw his skyforged rapier.

He cursed himself for taking his eyes off her, even for just the second as he watched his prized blade sail over the wall into the sea. But no matter. He had tricks aplenty, more than she could ever hope to parry. In the split second he had to react, he shook a small capsule from its hidden pocket in his sleeve and hurled it at her. It exploded in a thick purple cloud of smoke that almost filled the entire clearing and enveloped her completely in an instant. It was a desperate ploy to slow her down, throw her off, anything to interrupt her charge The cloud was designed to be so acrid that any normal person would have been stopped in their tracks trying desperately to breath as their lungs burned for clear air.

But Mountains was anything but normal.

He silently timed her in the swirling cloud, trying to gauge exactly where and when she would emerge.

He never expected her to actually accelerate after she'd disappeared from sight.

Baryk never saw the massive fist that erupted from the cloudy smoke, level with his chin. But he couldn't miss the impact. He was struck square, his head flying backwards nearly a foot or more, as he almost toppled over. The crowd grimaced at the sound of bone crunching as her bare fist plowed into his face, blood and saliva spraying outward as his head savagely twisted to one side.

Lesser man would have been obliterated, possibly even died, their skulls unable to absorb the massive impact. But Baryk was no lesser man. Battle-hardened, toughened by decades of combat, his body honed by his punishing lifestyle, he was staggered, but still standing, and more importantly, still conscious. It also didn't hurt that he had taken five potions and used two defensive scrolls before the fight had even started. That was also the only reason he wasn't decapitated when the bladed buckler came sailing out of the smoke on his left aimed straight at his neck. That and the elven glass pauldron on his left shoulder.

He instinctively hunched his shoulder forward and up, deflecting the deadly disc upward as it glanced off his shoulder piece. He expertly rolled his body backwards to the ground and over his shoulders and back into an upright position. He wiped his mouth and spat a bloody tooth out on the ground.

Even with his protections, his face looked misshapen, and flecks of blood and broken tooth dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Pain was exploding through his entire face, and his vision had started to blur. But he could see she hadn't come out unscathed either. The hilt of the dagger he had still held was protruding from her bare thigh, just below the hem of her leather shorts, right next to the slash he'd given her earlier. As he'd had tumbled away from her he had hurled it, and it had struck its target.

Not that it seemed to make any difference, in fact it only seemed to enrage her further. Now it was his turn to dodge, block, and parry ,as a series of savage but predictable swipes and blows rained down on him. He was holding his own, but barely, and she was slowly wearing him down with her superior size, strength and speed.

He decided it was time to reel this one in. It all depended on one huge gamble though, and If he was wrong... well he'd probably end up very dead, or at the best, crippled for life. One thing was for sure, he was definitely going to lose if he kept going the way they were now. As if to punctuate that point, he missed a low block on his left hand side, and the razor encircled shield bit into his hand. The actual blades just missed his gauntleted hand on either side, but he felt the shock wave of excruciating pain shoot up his arm as several bones broke. It was now or never.

Pushing the pain away like the professional he was, Baryk waited for his opening. He would only get one shot at this. The giant continued her assault, raining down punishing blows in a steady but predictable pattern, purposely trying to exhaust his endurance. He began to leave himself open on purpose, on his right side. Trying to lure her in. He guarded lower and lower with each strike. Then suddenly she lunged forward at his shoulder as he'd hoped, trying to hook into the shoulder strap of his armor. But Baryk was ready.

As she lunged, he suddenly spun to his right and skewered the extended hook with his blade, like a thread through the eye of a needle. Then, with a single fluid motion, he drew back hard and fast and slung the weighted hook out and behind him in a wide arc. In the blink of an eye the thin but incredibly strong line paid out several feet before pulling tight, sending the hook in a wide orbit around them. He could tell by the confused look on her face that he had taken her completely by surprise, but he had no time to savor it.

As he spun to face her again he crouched low and dove between her legs with an agility far greater than anyone his age should possess, tucking and rolling expertly over his shoulder and back to his feet just after the hook, still carrying full momentum in its orbit, swung over him. He turned and sprang upward from behind her, latching on to her back like a child would ride piggyback. Before she could react, the line, still drawn tight by the hook, had come around the front and across her exposed neck. Baryk quickly grabbed it with his right hand and with a rapid twisting motion wrapped it around his bracered forearm before pulling it even tighter, trying to cut off her air as the thin metal bit into her tan skin.

She staggered backward, spinning this way and that, trying to dislodge him from her backside. Her left arm was pinned to her chest by the line, and her right was flailing backward at him, ineffectual. She was hampered by the fact that it was encumbered by the buckler, which was now sporting razor sharp blades, making it nearly impossible to strike him without severely injuring herself in the process.

Baryk spared himself a quick glance at the crowd and could see by their stunned looks that this sudden reversal had taken them all by as much surprise as it had his opponent. There were frenzied cries as people rushed to throw money back on the grizzled veteran, and even more anguished cries of those who suddenly saw their fortunes evaporating.