Priestess of War (The Bowl of Souls Book 10), page 6
“I dunno. I’m perty hard to fit,” he said dubiously.
“You think I don’t know every inch of your body by now? I said, try it on!”
Frowning, he loosened the ties at the sides of the armor. As he pulled the cuirass over his head, he could smell Woodblade’s formula. It had a distinctly minty aroma.
“Well?” she asked.
He rotated his arms and arched his back, then nodded appreciatively. Bettie had been smart about the construction, keeping his particular likes in mind. It was sleeveless and the flexibility of the leather added a nice freedom of movement. “I’d say my wife’s the best dag-gum leatherworker I ever seen.”
“And you’d be right,” she agreed. “Now the best thing about that formula is it’s durn hard to pierce. Almost as good at stopping arrows as plate. Also, with the runing I added, it’ll repel water and fire.”
“And if I get hit by a hammer?” he asked with a knowing smile.
Bettie chuckled. “So you noticed those runes too, did you?”
“That’s some clever work. If’n it works, the stuff actually could be better than plate.” According to the runes he had seen in the leather, the armor had an effect of repelling force that came against it. The harder it was hit, the harder it pushed back. “Does it work?”
Bettie shrugged. “It has its limits. After all, leather don’t hold magic as well as metal does. But I gotta tell you, there’s somethin’ about that sap. It’s like it makes the magic stronger.”
“Bah!” said a small voice and there was the sound of metal hitting the floor.
Lenui looked towards Jacky’s pen and grinned. “That little booger.”
The six-month-old had used the bars of his pen to pull himself to a standing position. He wobbled there on unsteady legs, his hands gripping the bars, a serious look on his face. The sound they had heard was him throwing his hammer out of the pen.
Lenui placed his arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her in close. “Least I didn’t miss his first time standin’ on his own.”
“That you didn’t,” Bettie said and draping her own arm across her husband’s broad shoulders. “Good boy, Jacky!”
Though she was smiling along with him, Bettie was knotted with worry inside. Lenui would possibly be away for months. He was gonna miss a lot of Jacky’s firsts.
She hated that he was going up there to fight this evil and hated even more that she couldn’t go along with him. But she had to let him go and quick, before he found out what had happened to his nephew Djeri. If Lenny heard about that, there would be no stopping him. He’d be off to Malaroo.
Just the thought brought back the horrific memories Willum had shared through the bond the night before; the nightmarish landscape of that behemoth swallowing people up by the hundreds. She swallowed. There was no way she was letting her husband go up against that.
Chapter Four
Deathclaw darted forward, keeping his body low to avoid a sweeping attack. His senses were heightened, his mind in complete focus, slowing the world down around him as he found a narrow opening for his blade. He thrust Star out in a fierce stab.
“Whoop!” cried Cletus, jumping backwards and sucking in his narrow gut to avoid being skewered. “Almost!”
Deathclaw’s attack had left him exposed and the raptoid knew it. In his mind’s awakened state, he could see Cletus’ chain weapon circling back around, the ball on the end aimed at his head. It was coming too fast for him to avoid completely. He arched his back and twisted his head, allowing the weapon to skip off of his cheek instead of making a direct hit.
“Got you!” the lanky gnome said gleefully as he brought the weapon back in and spun it in a tight loop at his side, readying himself for another attack.
Had it been one of the heavy steel balls that Cletus usually used, this glancing blow would have shattered Deathclaw’s cheekbone. That result was something the raptoid would have found uncomfortable, but it would have been an acceptable result. Instead, the small weighted bag on the end of the chain delivered a stinging slap, connecting with a puff of blue powder.
This left him unharmed but marked, a blue spot on his cheek joining several other blue marks on his body. Cletus, on the other hand, was unmarked. This meant that he had so far proved the superior fighter. That was not an acceptable result.
And yet, if your sword strike had landed, Cletus would have been badly injured and we don’t have a way to heal him out here, Justan reminded him calmly through the bond.
Justan watched the two warriors battle from his perch on the rear porch of Beth’s house. He kept his hand gripping the handle of Peace. The weapon’s magic pulled away his emotion, allowing him to focus on their movements. The sparring match was occurring in Sir Hilt’s training circle, a wide area that had been cleared of vegetation. Its only decoration was a ragged wooden training dummy, which both warriors had used to their advantage during the fight.
I know how to avoid a death blow, Deathclaw replied angrily.
Don’t hurt him, though, Gwyrtha added from her position just outside the training circle where she lay, sunning herself on the open ground. She yawned widely, exposing her impressive mouthful of sharp teeth. He’s a nice gnome.
“Ready?” Cletus asked, his body balanced on the tips of the toes of his left foot as he pirouetted, his chain swinging in wider and wider loops. Suddenly, he lurched towards the raptoid, his long arm sweeping forward, sending the weighted blue end at his opponent in a straight line as if it were a spear thrust.
Letting out a chirp of defiance, Deathclaw tossed his sword into the air and spun, letting the chain pass narrowly by. Mid-spin, he pulled a throwing knife from the bandoleer that was slung across his chest. As he came back around to face Cletus, he caught the hilt of his sword with his off hand and threw the knife.
The thrown blade darted for Cletus’ chest.
Justan watched with time-slowed eyes as the gnome turned, sliding his body to the side. As the blade reached the spot where his heart would have been, Cletus’s head shot forward and he caught the knife’s handle in his teeth. At the same time, he jerked the chain back towards him.
Deathclaw snarled in frustration at the gnome’s ridiculous dexterity. He didn’t notice the gnome’s retraction of the chain until too late. The blue bag hit him on the back of the knee with a puff of blue powder. Had it been one of the gnome’s bladed attachments, it might have severed a hamstring.
Cletus laughed in a child-like manner, balancing the tip of the throwing knife on one finger. “This is fun! I like fighting you, Death-guy. Most people can’t slow the world like you!”
“My name is Deathclaw!” Deathclaw hissed.
Though his emotions were sucked away by his sword, Justan was awed by the gnome’s performance. This wasn’t the first time Deathclaw has sparred with Cletus, but it was the first time Justan had watched them do it and it was a dazzling display. “So you can slow the world too?”
Cletus blinked and said matter-of-factly, “For me, the world is always slow.”
Coming from anyone else that statement would have felt like a boastful exaggeration. But from what Justan had seen of Cletus, the gnome didn’t know how to embellish the truth. That meant that somehow, Cletus lived his life in a constant state of high sensory focus.
“Amazing,” Justan said. Not even Deathclaw could do that. He wondered what it would take to defeat him. With Cletus’ combination of dexterity and skill with his weapon, it would be near impossible for a swordsman to do so alone.
“You give him too much credit,” the raptoid complained, his eyes narrowed at the gnome. “He leaves openings. I just have not managed to pierce them yet.”
“Cletus, when was the last time you lost a fight?” Justan asked.
“When I was little, I got beat lots,” Cletus replied. He blinked for a moment and his face momentarily took on a blank expression. It passed quickly. “But one day I won. No one ever hit me since.”
“No one has even hit you?” Justan asked.
“Nope,” said the gnome, pausing to rub his nose.
Just how long ago was that? Justan wondered.
Gnomes live a long time, Gwyrtha volunteered. The rogue horse was still lying on the ground, but her head was up and she was watching them intently.
“Can we fight now?” Cletus’ asked, his eyes bounced curiously between Justan and his bonded. A sudden smile broadened the gnome warrior’s face. “Come on, Mister Sir Edge. You fight me too! I like fighting two scary guys.”
Justan stood, rotating his shoulders. “Why not? This could be fun.”
“I do not need your help!” Deathclaw hissed.
“This will be good practice,” Justan replied. “I doubt he has faced two bonded warriors.”
“Only once. They were real mad.” Cletus said with a shake of his head. “But maybe you two will be better?”
The gnome sent the throwing knife back at Deathclaw with an effortless toss. The raptoid snatched it out of the air and placed it back in his bandoleer, his lip curled in anger.
“No, Justan. I must defeat him alone,” Deathclaw said, then added through the bond, Do you not believe I can?
Justan understood the frustration in his thoughts. Deathclaw was unused to accepting defeat and yet it was all he had received at the hands of this gnome. His pride had been bruised. Unfortunately, from what Justan had seen, the likelihood of the raptoid defeating Cletus was slim. At least with the parameters of the fight set as they were now.
Justan grunted and put Peace away in its sheath, allowing his emotions to flow back over his mind. Clinical detachment was not what Deathclaw needed from him at the moment.
“Cletus, I believe that Deathclaw can hit you,” he said confidently. “And he can do it without me moving from this spot.”
“He can?” Cletus said with an eager smile.
Deathclaw cocked his head at Justan. “What do you have in mind?”
Justan addressed Cletus. “But if he is to fight his best, you must put away your sparring bags. Use your regular weapons.”
Cletus gathered the ends of his chain in his hand, but hesitated. “If I do this, I will hurt him.”
“Does that bother you, Deathclaw?” Justan asked.
The raptoid’s eyes narrowed. “I do not fear pain.”
“Okay,” Cletus said with a shrug. “I will try not to kill him.”
He removed the two practice bags from the chain and reached into his vest to withdraw shiny metal implements. On one end of the chain he clipped a curved blade. On the other, a steel ball. Both items were engraved with tiny runes.
Justan switched quickly to mage sight to see if he could determine their uses. Their glow was dull, a mix of black and blue, likely just reinforcing magic so that the implements couldn’t be damaged. He didn’t see any spirit magic on the implements but he noted that there was a soft white glow to the chain.
“Deathclaw, give me your sword,” Justan said.
The raptoid narrowed his eyes, confusion flooding the bond. “Why should I do this?”
“It only slows you down,” Justan replied. He glanced over at Cletus, who was polishing the curved blade implement with the edge of his vest, humming tunelessly to himself. “Your sword work is not your strength.”
Deathclaw frowned. He had put a great deal of effort in his training and his skill with the weapon had grown greatly from what it was at the end of the war. He had even modified the fingers on his right hand to improve his grip.
Don’t let that bother you. You are good, Justan explained through the bond. In fact, he figured that Deathclaw was as good as most Academy trained swordsmen. But Cletus is different than other opponents. From what Willum has told me, he is a special talent even among gnome warriors. You won’t defeat him with Star. You will win because you are a raptoid.
Begrudgingly, Deathclaw held his sword out to Justan. Very well. What would you have me do?
This is no longer a regular sparring match. Your goal in this fight isn’t to defeat Cletus. It is only to mark him, Justan sent, reminding Deathclaw of his old raptoid tradition of stalking dangerous prey.
If a raptoid pack knew they couldn’t defeat an enemy, they would follow the beast around and harry it for weeks, getting in just close enough to slash it with their claws. Over time, the beast would tire. Sick from infection and lack of sleep, it would become easy to defeat.
Just cut him? Deathclaw said, looking down at the long claws of his left hand.
That’s all? Gwyrtha asked with a snort, laying her head back down on the ground. She rolled to her back, letting the sun warm her belly.
Justan ignored her, keeping his thoughts directed to Deathclaw. He has not been wounded in battle since he was a child. You will be the first warrior in decades, perhaps centuries to do so.
This is a worthy goal, Deathclaw decided with a nod. He pointed to Cletus. “This fight does not stop until I cut you, Gnome.”
Cletus blinked and looked up from his polishing. He grinned and nodded. “You think so?”
Deathclaw pulled the sword sheath off of his back and tossed it to Justan. He grew more eager as he thought about it. “Do not hold yourself back. Your weapon will not kill me.”
Cletus’ smile widened at the confidence in the raptoid’s voice. “Okay!”
Justan slid Star into its sheath and watched with interest as Deathclaw went into a crouch, his arms raised at his side as he stalked the gnome. Cletus twirled his weapon. As the two warriors circled each other, Gwyrtha began to softly snore.
Deathclaw made the first move. He ran towards the gnome and ducked down low, his chest close to the ground to avoid the slashing end of Cletus’ weapon. The blade missed him by inches and Deathclaw leapt towards the gnome.
Cletus slid to the right, letting Deathclaw slip past him and into the arcing path of the weighted ball. The raptoid arched his back, bending over backwards to avoid the attack. He then was forced to drop to the ground and roll to the side as the slashing end swung down from above to scrape the dirt where he had been.
Justan nodded in approval. Deathclaw’s mind and senses were in complete focus, enabling him a complete awareness and control over his body that only he could achieve. He contorted, avoiding the slashing and bashing attacks of the gnome’s weapon while somehow managing attacks of his own. He struck at Cletus with his wicked claws and slashes of his barbed tail.
Cletus, however, was every bit as agile and seemed to have an almost unnatural sense of what Deathclaw’s every move would be before he made it. The gnome spun and hopped and ducked, acrobatically dodging each strike. The only way that Justan knew he was having difficulty with Deathclaw was the fact that Cletus had stopped making comments and odd exclamations.
It was truly an impressive display. Several minutes went by without either of them managing to land a blow. Then the tone of the battle shifted. Cletus had taken control of the fight, leading Deathclaw around the circle, keeping him at bay with frequent sweeping attacks. Finally, tired of taking only the openings that Cletus gave him, Deathclaw let himself be hit.
He waited for the bladed end of the weapon to sweep towards him and darted forward, twisting his torso slightly to lessen the severity of the wound. The blade was sharp. Its edge cut through the tiny scales of his skin starting at his right shoulder and continuing at an angle across his back, just skipping across the bone of one rib. Deathclaw lunged at the gnome, his claws stretched out before him.
Cletus, his eyes wide with surprise, rolled backwards onto the ground and kicked upwards with both feet, sending the raptoid up and over him. Deathclaw arced over him and hit the ground in a roll.
“Close!” Cletus gasped as he came to his feet, more wary of the raptoid who was already coming back at him.
Hot blood poured down Deathclaw’s back. Justan watched with slowed vision while sending tendrils of thought through the bond to probe the raptoid’s injury. Several layers of muscle had been cut, something that would have hampered Deathclaw’s movement had his body not been so adaptive to injury. Other muscle groups were already taking up the strain while his regenerative powers kicked into gear.
The two fighters were now outside of the training circle. Deathclaw lurched after Cletus, who was backing into the space between Beth’s home and the guest house behind it. The gnome spun the two ends of his chains in front of him defensively as he considered the best form of attack.
Gwyrtha’s eyes opened suddenly and her mind perked up from sleep. Beth is coming. I smell her and the baby.
Alright, Justan replied absently, his mind bent on the fight. It was difficult to aid Deathclaw’s healing while the raptoid was moving so fiercely.
Gwyrtha rolled over and came to her feet, looking into the trees in the direction of the Grove. And that Tarah woman is with her.
“Hi, Gwyrtha,” said a young disembodied voice and out of thin air, a small elf child appeared. She looked to be one of the Jharro Grove elves, with dark skin and black hair, but she wore clothing in the Roo-Tan style and white ribbons were woven into the intricate braids that framed her face.
Gwyrtha snorted. Hi, Esmine.
Esmine’s insubstantial form patted Gwyrtha’s nose and turned her eyes onto the two warriors. She disappeared and reappeared next to Justan. “What’re they fighting for?”
“Sparring,” Justan corrected briefly, completely absorbed with the battle.
Esmine folded her small arms. “Oh. Boring,” she said and disappeared again.
Beth and Tarah soon appeared on the trail, approaching the house. Beth carried Sherl-Ann in her arms and walked at a brisk pace. She was wearing her usual garb, a brown blouse and a pair of baggy pants that were gathered at the ankles.
Tarah followed behind her, wearing the green and brown leather armor that she had gotten from Bettie, her gray staff held loosely in one hand. The woman was drenched with sweat, having just finished an intense training session with Tolynn. Nevertheless, her exhaustion didn’t explain the blank expression on her face.
