Smithson Ch. 03: The Fight

There's a lot of violence in this story that's not featured in the previous chapters.

The vibration from the steel sword soaks into my arm as it cleaves through flesh and bone. The head of my opponent falls to his left as I slide to the right avoiding the eruption of blood from his neck. There's no time to rest as I heft my shield on my left and flex my right around the sword in my right. I can't tell how long I've been fighting except for the body count I've been accruing. Five men have fallen in front of me. I've stepped over more than ten times that in corpses. As a blacksmith I'm kept to the back of the Calvary, but in the heat of fighting all men find their metal or die.

I feel the movement behind me and my body moves in reaction before my mind can use my eyes to find the target. Luckily, things align inside me before I take the head off the chief of my village. He's smiling as he's had his sword up to block mine before I ever noticed him. The sword is a mirror to mine, as is his shield which holds his house symbol of the white horse.

"My Carl. Apologies. How fare's the day?"

"Stand freely man. The day is ours. I feel as if I could have taken the field myself with this blessed steel of yours." My Carl smiles his broken grin at me. I return it but my blood is still boiling from the days exertions. I find it hard to relax even as I take a moment to see the field is free of our enemy, save the dead.

They came from east, as our enemies often do with the sea to the west and the other clans to the north. These were of a kind we had not seen before, with skin and hair dark, but not so dark as the Ethiop mercenaries from years past. They were thin and short for the majority, but they fought with the fierceness of larger men. I see their work in my fallen neighbors and fellow fighters strewn through the darker bodies of our enemy.

"My Carl, do we know who these were?"

"Eh? I forget this is your first War eh Smith?"

"Yes my Carl."

"Well I tell ya. We never know half the time. When it's fighting between the clans it's easy enough to know cause there's all the posturizing and speech making beforehand. With these fools streaming out of the east, gobbling up anything that's not tied to the hearth, you just kill 'em all and burn the bodies. Now, let's get back home. There's a mug of ale calling my name."

He slaps me on the back and throws his huge muscled arm over my shoulder. We look back toward the village over hillock and glen. As we make our way to the wagons, an itch forms in my back. I think we might have gained extra shadows but when I turn my back, I see nothing but the growing darkness of the failing day. We reach the edge of our encampment where the women have already started to pack the camp into the wagons. In the crimson beams of sunset, it is easy to pick out Esa, my wife. Her red hair always seem to shine like lacquered gold in the fading light. She steals more than glory from the death throes of the sun. I feel the chief stop for a moment and hold a hand to his vision.

"Your wife is a gift from the Vanir Geir Smith. Still opposed to parting with her?" My chief speaks in jest, mostly. My family is an oddity in the village, with my foreign features, my wife's red hair and pale skin, and my son with hair like spun white gold. We make a strange group in a village of mostly dark hair and dark eyed people. It's my smith-work that keeps most sour talk away from my family, but it's Esa's beauty and strength that secured our place in the village. That of course led to much interest in my wife, not all of it appreciated. I laugh off the words of my Carl, to avoid insult, but were he a different man he'd be tasting my fist or my steel.

"Eh, a shame. My but the wonders you must see every night, Smith? Wonderful to be young eh?"

I was about to respond, but my words are silenced by a spray of blood and gore as an arrow erupts from the chest of my Chief. I spin to look behind for the source of the arrow, even as I try to catch my falling leader. Behind us, in the shadow of a lone tree, on a solitary hill, in the field of blood we just left, stand five people. All are cloaked and hooded. One is lowering a bow while drawing another arrow from within the confines of his cloak. I look back long enough to see that the Chief is dead, pierced through the heart, his front doublet soaked in hearts blood. I hear Esa shout my name and I raise my shield arm just in time to catch a second arrow in the slats of wood which make up my only defense.

I'm running. In my first few steps I can hear Esa cry out again, though with more fear then warning. I am the wind. The air is streaming around me, pulling my long black hair behind me like a gale. My heart is pounding in rhythm with my feet as they push me forward to my prey. In front of me, the five throw back their hoods to reveal faces still shrouded by black veils drawn around their heads. Only their dark eyes can be seen with any clarity. As I halve the distance between us the one with the bow tosses it away as the others array themselves between me and the archer.

When I reach the first I'm moving as fast as the air around me will allow. I think the first misjudged me for my people are known for their size and strength, not agility. These foes have not counted on the blood of my mother's people.

I hold my blade low as I reach the first of them. I jump and lunge with a cut faster than quicksilver. My leap has put my blade suddenly at the height of my opponent's neck. My momentum and the speed of my sword arm pierces his neck even as he tries to bring a huge curved blade to bear from beneath his cloak. I fall with him, but as we reach the ground I roll toward his companions as he falls to the ground clutching his neck. His vain attempts to stop the spurting blood last only a moment before he stills. I stand within sword's reach of the next two who stand together at either side of me. As I find my feet, one of the assailants is already into a swing with his great curved sword. I catch his swing with my sword and hear the unmistakable sound of steel colliding with steel. I curse my luck. Most of those we faced today were armed with only iron of a quality that my steel could sever weapon and man together. If these men were of the same ilk as our earlier foes, they are better equipped, and better trained.

I push back on the caught blade and raise my shield in time to catch a blow from its brother. The impact splits the wooden slats sending splinters of wood all around me. I throw the useless ruin of the shield into the face of the man on my left where the iron ring catches his brow, knocking him to the ground. I cut and slash at the man to my right. He has no shield but the massive sword is wielded by both of his hands so that my blade finds no purchase in his flesh. The man to my left is cursing in some Eastern tongue as he picks himself up and throws the remnants of my shield back at me. I catch the iron circle in my open hand and shake loose the wooden splinters. My sword arm brings a might blow that is easily blocked but leaves open my opponent's right side allowing his head to be crushed by the iron circle. I see the long shadow of the man behind me shift. I drop to my knees and pivot around in time to slash open my foe's belly even as he had raised the great sword over his head to finish me. Entrails pile onto the earth with a wave of blood. The man lives long enough to try and return some of the contents of his mid-section into him, before my sword enters his shoulder and finds its way to his heart.

I turn now to my last two opponents. The closest has discarded his cloak and wields two slender short swords, each no longer then my forearm. He is the largest of all of the five, though I won't make the mistake of my foes and judge on appearance. The archer still stands behind him. The smallest of the five and still cloaked. That one is the leader. I can feel his mind appraising me, sizing me up, even as his compatriot circles the base of the hill.

The short swords begin to rotate and spin in the large man's hands. In a few seconds the blades are a blur of glinting steel. We circle each other again as he attempts to put the sun in my eyes. I keep my eyes locked on my opponent while my vision searches the ground immediately around me for something to even our armaments. The two weapons of my foe are going to make it difficult for me to do anything but defend with only my sword. Finding nothing but the splintered remains of my shield and the bodies of my previous opponents. I assume the most basic stance my father taught me.

For years I sought to learn the forming of steel from my father, but his first lessons had been the use of metal in its many forms. I learned the sword at the age of six. I could pick a lock at ten. I stood behind the iron plow at twelve. I'd worked his most complex iron puzzles till my fingers bled until the day he put the first hammer in my hand. These things had skilled my mind and body, so that when my father taught me the forge my body was ready to etch the skill not only in my mind but in my muscles and my bones.

Here and now I find myself reaching back into those things etched into my very physical form, for anything and everything that can keep me alive in this fight. I hold my legs, one in front of the other, as if I've stopped mid-stride. I keep my weight poised on the balls of my feet. My right hand is gripping the sword almost loosely, while my left hand cups the base of the sword offering me the most options to react whenever my opponent is finished impressing me with the speed of his blades.

My opponent brings his arms to sudden stillness, with a short blade overlaying each forearm. The sharp thin curving blades run from wrist to elbow. He brings his hands together at his waist and bows. I smile to him but I don't move from my stance. He exits his bow and assumes a stance of his own. Still the blades are pointed away from me and running down his arms. Behind him, the red embers of the sun are fading. I take a deep breath and commit to contact.

I begin with open aggression. My legs are burning as I scream and shoot forward. I point my sword in a line that leads from my hand to the heart of my opponent. I crouch low and run with all the speed I can muster. I am an arrow shot from the bow of the earth. When I reach but a single stride from this killer, he leaps with barely a flinch of cloth to give forewarning. His body curls into a tight ball and sails over my head. I keep the astonishment buried behind the blood pumping in my head. I try to stop my momentum but here under the cover of the tree the grass is wet with the dew of the failing day. I can't maintain my stance but I do keep my feet. I cut to the right and spin in the direction in time to catch the first blow from behind. My vision catches up with my sword arm in time to see the beginning of a flurry of blows unheard of in any of the wars of my fathers.

The veiled figured is moving his blades so fast that the best I can manage are vague guesses where to put my sword to keep my head on my shoulders. The blades and the ends of his arms are a blur of motion I can't follow. With no shield I'm barely able to keep the cuts mitigated to my arms. After a few seconds I'm a bloody mess. Blood is running freely down my arms and weakening my grip on my sword. The blows and cuts are not strong or deep, but the speed and increasing number of my injuries is more than concerning. I must go on the attack.

When next my opponent must be expecting a parry, instead I increase the strength of the swing, catching his blade and causing a momentary pause in his attack. I begin attacking with foot and fist, while my sword continues to do a middling job of occupying his blades. Soon my blood is covering both of us, and though I have slowed the addition of more cuts on my body, I'm making almost no damage with my weakening physical blows against the muscled form beneath the black cloth of my opponents apparel. Suddenly my opponent spins and plants a kick to my sternum that sends me flying. My sword falls from hands. I land on my back as the breath of my body leaves me. I can hear Esa screaming somewhere.

I feel it again. The tether of my heart. The beating filament of the love of my family. Without opening my eyes, I know exactly where Esa is. She's coming. The distance between us shortening with every thump of the tether between us. She's afraid. What will happen when she gets here? I climb to my knees, but I can't open my eyes. I can only see the red burning string that leads to Esa. She's coming. When she gets here they will kill her just as they are surely about to kill me. Or worse they will take her, and I would almost wish she would die with me before I trust her fate to the whims of these killers.

I open my eyes and see my foe standing over me. Both of his slender blades are raised as he moves to take my head, thinking me already defeated. Most of him is obscured by my black hair, which has fallen in front of my eyes. I raise my hands but they are so weak. A bolt of terror shoots through the chord and I feel something spark in me. A burning ember re-ignited by this burst of emotion from Esa. It goes from ember to raging inferno in-between the beats of my heart. The hair in my vision becomes threads of burning gold. The swords come down.

"No." When I speak, it is with the rage of the angry mountain. My hands each catch one of the fast moving blades and I feel the steel bite into the flesh of my palms. I close my fingers around the metal and slide my hands down to the hilts. The blood left along the steel steams and bubbles. When I reach the hilts the steel is like clay in my hands. I break the blades off and let them fall to my hand while some of the metal has actual become molten and drips off my palms. I look into the eyes of my foe and see surprise and absolute terror. When I speak, my voice is far deeper and more terrible then I have ever heard from my own throat.

"What is your name?"

"I am Assad. What in the name of the nine hells are you?"

"Assad. Burn." As I speak his name my hands grab his head, with each hand wrapping around and over the features of his face. As my flesh touches his, fire erupts from beneath them. The fire spreads quickly and where the blood from my earlier injuries had dried on Assad's clothing now bursts into more flame. I think he screamed, but in seconds his body is a charred husk. I throw his bones to the side and advance on my next opponent.

The small assassin standing next to the tree removes her veil and shakes loose long brown almost black hair. The female form hidden underneath the cloak is revealed as is the beautiful almond face of the woman I am about to murder. Esa is still running to me, so I must deal with this last opponent before she arrives.

"So. A spirit walker? Demon possessed? What is the nature of your power cursed one?"

I try to respond with something witty, but out of my mouth the deep rumbling voice of the earth says only, "Burrnnn".

She steps back and darts behind the tree. I lose sight of her. As I step around the tree I find nothing. My foe has escaped. I below and feel the earth shake with my anger. The ground beneath is withering with the heat of my body and mindless rage of my mind.

With no opponent I try to relax, to find some peace and perhaps cool the raging fire of my heart and mind as it leaches out and burns the world around me. I look back where I walked up the hill to the tree and see that my blood has dripped into a burning trail of grass that will grow out of control if left unattended. I try to take deep breaths but everything is hot and the burning inside me is getting stronger. The fire is growing from inferno to the desolating hate of the desert sun. I hear Esa coming before I see her. I feel her drawing near through the tether between us. The tether is no longer a chord, but a burning white bar of light, that is almost piercing my waking vision. She is walking up the hill behind me, and I address her without turning to look at her, afraid of what she'll see.

"Esa stop. You must not come near me. I can't control it." I think my voice is my own again, but I speak with the fear for her which grows inside me. The shaking deep rumble of the earth fills the final sentence. Esa is undeterred and continues her trek up the hill, stepping around where my blood has burned the landscape.

"I've nothing to fear from Geir Smith. The father of my child and the holder of my heart can birth no fear in me." As she closes the distance between us, her voice drops in volume, but I can hear her in my heart and the bond that we share. She reaches me, but I still can't bear to look at her. Her arms wrap around me and I brace to hear the screams of my burning wife.

"I love you Geir. Let me help you."

There are no screams, but I hear the crackle of new fires. I turn, still in the space of her arms and find my wife, with her clothes set ablaze. She begins to pull the burning cloth from her body. As her milky breasts come into view I discard the remains of my own tattered and sooty clothing. I press my hands to her shoulders and expect to see blood trail where the cuts on my hands touch her skin. There is nothing though. I look at my right palm and see no sign of injury. Wisps of steam, or something like it, seep from the place where the wound had been. Esa touches my face and brings me back to reality, if that's what this can still be called. I stare into the sunset eyes of my wife and kiss her till we both can't breathe anymore. She's moving her legs between mine and with a light push I fall to my back into the ash covered ground. The remaining embers of the fires tickle my back and I feel the heat radiating out of me and reigniting some of the fires. Esa straddles me and I slide easily into her. We are one again. Our heat mingles between us and agitates the air causing a wind that lifts Esa's hair to flow around her head like a red aura. She is moving in a way I've never felt before, or perhaps there's a new part of me that is alive in a way that it wasn't before. My cock doesn't move in and out of her so much as explore the space within her. I'm sliding left and right, touching every side of her secret place.

It's true ecstasy. Esa's eyes are closed as her hips roll over me like waves. I'm following her motion with my own slow regular rolling motion but her slight downward motion is met by slight upward motion. There is little sound between us save for the rustle of burnt grass and the occasional moan or grunt.

A new sensation starts at my scalp. Like being stuck with thousands of nettles, the sensation moves across my face and down into my chest. The hair that is still in front of my face loses its glow as the sensation settle into my groin. It's reminiscent of the time in the forge, but this time the glow is preceding my release. I can almost feel a literal ball of heat settle into my seeds. I make a final surge into Esa as the heat leaves me and enters her. My release is strange as it seems to come all at once instead of the continuous release of pleasure and fluids from my body. It is a bolt of pure ecstasy the nearly robs me of my senses. I sit up and wrap my arms around my wife. I kiss about her neck and chest. She holds me. The release has done nothing for the harness of my cock.

Esa is mewling and crying. Her hands are caressing her breasts and pulling at the nipples. She pushes me back to the ground and begins a new assault on my cock. Now it is all physicality. She is slamming down onto me as fast as her legs can manage. I feel the normal sensation coming to my cock now. I roll her over and pull her legs up into my arms and press myself into her as fast as I my hips can manage. Her cries are spurring me to greater speed and penetration. With a final gasping thrust, Esa's body tightens down on me ringing me of my seed. Eventually she rolls me back over and we try to catch our breath.