The Dark Edge Chronicles - Hardwire

Fire and Blood

Mordecai was still pondering the possibilities and generational lines when he found the tent's interior becoming lighter with dawn and the twin suns' return to the morning. And he was still pondering them after washing and dressing before gulping down a bowl of hot porridge and chewing up a couple of pieces of stone-ground black bread.

It was only when he found himself standing on the field of battle, now cleansed of the bodies he had left littered over its torn and roughened face the day before, that the god fire's anger surging through his veins finally swept the ponderings away. As the trumpet sounded to begin the second day of battle with the young knight-protector having the use of the Quaydrim, the fire surged hot and absolute through him, searing away any doubt or fear. Eyes narrowing, he focused on the big Reaver that had marched out from their camp to face him, his purpose once more foremost in his mind: destroy the Reavers and sweep them off the face of the planet!

And instantly he noted that the big Reaver was no ordinary psionic vampire sheathed in black leather. No, it was one of Vestrun's lieutenants staring hard at him as his red armor began to form in readiness for combat.

Mordecai became even more thoughtful as his own green armor began to encase his body, summoned by the god fire and the memories of the knight-protectors that had gone before him. If he faced one of the lieutenants instead of the good dozen or so Reavers that were still left after yesterday's slaughter, then that could mean that Vestrun was getting serious about stopping him. He could only assume that this Reaver was more skilled than any others were thus earning his place at Vestrun's side. That, or he was just more devious and evil.

A tight smile touched the man in black's lips. No matter: either way that Reaver was going to die!

"Ready to dance, Reaver?" he hissed tightly, his Quaydrim sword snarling into existence in his gauntleted hands as he smoothly moved into a ready crouch.

"As ready as you, knight-protector," the big man grated in return as his face vanished behind his armor's visor. But, before it disappeared, Mordecai could see the hard look of determination chiseled onto the handsome features. This little battle could prove to be much more interesting than any that he had the day before!

And it didn't take long for this battle to be radically different from any from the day before. As Mordecai braced himself for the charge that had become typical of the Reavers and their initial attack, Vestrun's leftenant dropped into a crouch of his own. But, instead of reaching for his fire sword or any of the other weapons strapped to his belt, the big man pulled his hands into a gesture that Mordecai knew only too well.

"Hup!" he barely had time enough to say before he was throwing himself roughly out of the way of a seething ball of psyken energy that darted through the space he had just occupied. As the knight-protector hit the dirt the crowd that had gathered again in the stands burst out into loud cheers, leaving no doubt as to whom they favored. Just like their king, Jorik leaning back with his arms crossed and an oily smile of satisfaction on his face at seeing the young knight-protector abruptly on the run.

Even as light as it was, Mordecai's Quaydrim armor made movement awkward, as he quickly discovered in his attempted to roll back to his feet. He was barely back to his feet, and unsteadily at that, when the second psyken blast was launched.

This time the lean man in black had no chance to react; struggling to get his feet under him in time to make another move, Mordecai wasn't even ready to stand, little yet defend himself when the second blast darted through the air to hammer him squarely in the chest. In an eyeblink the blast washed over him, the impact easily picking him up to hurl him flailing backwards through the air.