Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 21

Sergeant Valerius Linder had no intentions to go to hell today. His schedule was packed.

By midday he was supposed to pick up the autopsy report from Skylar of the investigation squad. Then a quick trip to Brittlerock again, to make sure everything was in order in the mine-- which it usually wasn't when he was absent.

Still he yearned for a year long break from that place. But where would he go?

Back home?

That door had closed for him long ago. In fact, the whole purpose of drowning himself in work was precisely to avoid this pang of longing, for home was a rare luxury that he left behind many years past.

He turned to Corporal Clearstrike instead, glorious with her spiked helm and double bladed battle-axe.

"Let us see your skills with that axe of yours, shall we?"

✦✧✦✧

Before anyone could do much in the way of attacking and counter-attacking however, the chestnut mare Rendarr had brought panicked and kicked the leader of the Drisian soldiers squarely in the chest, sending the fairly large man flying back. He slammed against a tree trunk some dozen paces away and landed in a heap.

"Well, well," said Linder with a grin sly enough to rival Farren's own, "quite a lucky horse, this one. Wouldn't you agree, Corporal?"

"I'd take that as flirting, were we not surrounded and outnumbered," said Farren and rolled across the leaf strewn forest floor and dodged another arrow.

"Helm! Take out that damned archer, will you?" she shouted and reached into her cloak.

"Aye, Corporal!" said Helmer.

He turned to see Helmer pulling the arrow out of his thigh with a grimace. The boy then seized the vial of healing medicine Farren tossed toward him the next moment, downed it and unsheathed a long-knife from his boot. With the blade between his teeth, he scampered up a tree and vanished behind the branches.

Linder doubted Helmer had learnt all that in the training camps. The proud look on Farren's face was telling enough.

On his right, Gray drove his sword right through the visor of one of the Drisians. Rendarr was clobbering another's shield-- his blows desperate, competing with Gray as though this were a tournament in the Iron Arena.

Linder smiled.

"You may have won in the tournament, Corporal Tonlin," he said, calmly making his way over to the bandit's corpse they were examining earlier, "but Gray truly remains the best of all."

Rendarr growled at that, and changed his strategy. He dodged this time, letting his opponent's blade hit the air, which left the Drisian soldier exposed.

He lurched to sideways, and sank his sword deep into the Drisian's side-- gave it a savage twist, and yanked it out.

"Well, can Gray do this?" he said, standing over the corpse of his now dead opponent.

This was Gray's turn to go into a rage of slaughter. Blood spilled in a crimson rain, and the clashing of blades drowned the soft sounds of the woods around them.

All I need to do is to rile them up against each other, and I'll have two of the finest warriors at my side.

A shrill battle cry pierced his ears the next moment, and warm blood splattered across the side of his face. He looked up to see Farren's axe swing in a wide arc, mere feet from where he crouched beside the corpse.

By the Gods.

He had never seen anyone quite as lovely as her when she chopped the Drisian's head clean off. The strength of her strike sent the severed head spinning through the air.