The Dark Edge Chronicles - Hardwire

Chapter 35: The Reavers' End

The big Reaver took another staggered step back as Mordecai sprinted towards him, the sword of fire held low and ready for first strike.

"B-by the Dark Father!" he managed. Then he was screaming in agony as the sword of fire slashed through his abdomen, nearly slicing him in half in the space of an eyeblink. He fell to the right as Mordecai moved smoothly past him, not slowed an iota by his blade's lethal cut.

Darting between the tents in barely controlled haste, Mordecai's eyes scanned back and forth as he searched for more Reavers to kill. Then they were charging out of nowhere, howling alien-sounding curses as they attacked, swords held high.

In the blink of an eye, battle became dance as Mordecai found himself flowing through a series of intricate moves, each incredibly graceful and ultimately lethal. The blade of fire met blades of tempered steel in loud showers of sparks before the metal swords were falling away, their wielders suffering from deadly cuts to the head and body. And where the sword couldn't strike, feet and hand hammered out with equally deadly force, crushing and maiming with each blow.

Until Mordecai found himself surrounded by a heap of dead, the Reavers who had thrown themselves recklessly at the determined young man easily cut down by the fiery blade and its wielder's grim determination.

"Bravo," a low, powerful voice rumbled from behind the coiled young man.

An oath on his lips for letting an enemy sneak up behind him, Mordecai whirled around the sword of fire held in both hands ready. Only to find a trio of very large men, dressed all in black and holding swords of fire in their own fists. The speaker was the largest of the three, a mountain of a man, all brooding intensity and dark power as he stared at Mordecai from hooded eyes.

Mordecai brought his own look of intensity to bear on the man just as he smiled thinly.

"You have a good hand with the fire sword," the big man rumbled. "Considering I mortally wounded you this morning, Caiphus, I'd say the god fire has made its presence known in you."

"Vestrun," Mordecai ground out between clenched teeth, his face a rictus of rage. "You're the next to die, master of the Reavers!"

But before Mordecai could advance, both hands wrapped so tightly around the fire sword's hilt that they were white knuckled, Vestrun threw up a forestalling hand.

"As much as I would enjoy engaging a completely enraged knight-protector in the prime of the god fire's possession, I'm afraid I must decline, dear Caiphus." The big man's smile grew slightly. "You see, though you may have thrown your own rules of engagement out of the window in your holy and righteous anger to assault our camp, I'm still adhering to the rules and conditions of Jorik's tournament. As is proper."

Instead of letting the anger surging inside him speak, to berate the big man about being proper and rules of engagement as he knew from Caiphus' memories that it was nothing but hypocritical prattle, Mordecai's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he fell silent. Silent but for only a moment, however.

"So, Vestrun, master of the Reavers, let me see if I understand you correctly." With a hiss, the fire sword in his fist disappeared, leaving behind only a brightly glowing Quaydrim crystal, ready to ignite again if the need suddenly arose.

"You're saying that you won't engage me here, in the midst of your power and in open combat. You will, however, accept my challenge and face me on the tournament grounds, as per Jorik's rules of engagement."

It was Vestrun's turn to become thoughtful as he considered what was obviously intelligent and sound reasoning. That coming from a knight-protector that was little more than a boy, plucked from some northern farm on their way down to Jorik's summoning. A boy that shouldn't have the capacity to think in that fashion. Could the god fire have changed him so much, to have given him the ability of higher thinking?