“Listen up,” Garret began. “We've ourselves a small army of creepy-crawlies out there, so don't go getting too far ahead of yourselves,” he began. “Sword-casters, do not expend yourselves by using mana. Use the sword techniques you should have drilled into your very souls by now and you will survive. Remember your training and do not panic no matter how bad things get,” he said.
The four boys glanced at each other, wondering if this would be their first battle of many, or their first and last. “Archers,” Garret called out to the ones behind the sword-casters. “Stay within bow-shot, and infuse if necessary. Otherwise, aim for the gaps between their scales around their shoulders. That should slow them down enough for one of the sword-casters to take it down fully,” he said, giving the signal to fan out into formation.
The bow-casters pulled back and spread out – two on either side – while the sword-casters spread themselves a little to form their own miniature boar's head. Garret pulled back towards the rear center to get a better view of the battlefield, while one of the seniors took his place. The glicks were still approaching the downed cart. The four boys rode in formation behind the more experienced synners. As they got closer, Thoma got his first look at a glick up close.
It was a humanoid creature, with olive green scales that ran from the top of its head to the base of its feet, and down its back forming an external spinal cord that ran from its hip up to the base of its neck, fanning out towards its arms, and running down their lengths. Its mouth was mostly covered in needle-like teeth that dripped poison to aid digestion of its prey. Rows upon rows of these teeth lined the inner part of their mouths. Is there even a cure for that? Thoma thought. Its strong leg and arm muscles underneath the scales made it a formidable enemy for an initiate synner, and Thoma began feeling something he'd never truly felt before.
Fear.
It came over him like a blanket of ice being unrolled on his abdomen and flowed throughout his body. He could feel his hands shaking, and his heart beating faster, while his lungs were desperately trying to pump enough air to compensate for the thumping in his chest. His palms began to sweat, and he could feel his leather gauntlet beginning to become soaked through.
His hair was blowing in the wind, but for a few strands that were stuck to his face and forehead from perspiration. The two swords had never been so comforting to have as his horse kept its pace without missing a beat. He was still seventy-five meters away from the glicks when he heard Garret call out. “Draw your swords!” he shouted.
His right hand reached over his shoulder, and grabbed the hilt of his riding sword and he pulled it out of its leather bound scabbard. The hand and a half sword gleamed in the morning sunlight. It was as sharp as he could get it - which meant it could shave the hair off a face if needed - and he gripped the blackwood and leather wrapped handle as tight as he could. The intricate criss-cross wrapping of the leather was so perfectly engineered, that even should one's hand be covered in blood, it wouldn't slip out of hand.
This was an advantage, due to the fact that it was primarily used on horseback and was much lighter than the longsword synners were known to use. The pommel - as was the custom of every synner school - had the school's and synner's name inscribed in runes wrapped around it. The guard had been forged square, then twisted - made to look like a daemon’s horns - and curved upwards at the edges. The guard ended in two sharp points, curved inwards towards the blade to avoid having the guard itself stab into the user.
One hundred meters.
Thoma looked over at Edryd, and saw he was already getting into striking position – leaning forward with his sword's hilt at the height of his chest, with the point aimed forward – and decided to get into the same position. “Alright, boys, remember their weak spots: shoulder blades, armpits, backs of their legs, groin and under their chins,” one of the older synners said, as if he were sounding off items on a grocery list.
“Got it!” Thoma replied. He looked over at the synner who'd given the advice and instantly recognized him as Roburn of Helvir – one of the senior synners, who'd been on numerous hunts. His charcoal black hair being shaved on the sides and the long interwoven braid running down what hadn't been shaved had been his trademark for the past decade.
“Thank you for the advice,” Thoma said. “Eh, no need to thank me,” Roburn replied. “I’m sure you’d do the same, if our places were swapped,” he said. Thoma nodded sincerely and looked ahead towards his approaching foes.
Twenty meters.
The boys riding on both his left and right side made choosing a target that might not be another's a difficult task, but he managed. He locked on to it, and focused on striking it at the right moment.
Remember to lean into the cut to make sure the bastard doesn't get back up, he heard the Master’s instructions in his head once more.
Ten meters.
The time to strike was close at hand, and he could already feel his muscles tensing up. He followed the muscle tension in his lower back and briefly shifted his weight back in the saddle for extra momentum. The sword in his right hand was beginning to rise up behind him, with his arm slightly bent and flexed, preparing itself for the impact to come.
Five meters.
His target had approached just as he had calculated, and he began his swing. The added momentum from the Celer's speed would add much more force to the blow, in comparison to simply swinging on the ground. He leaned his head forward, - his chest almost pressed against his horse's nape – and he swung. The sword cut through the air, finding its target.
He gave a grunt of exertion as the sword bit into the scales on the glick's forehead, splitting them open. His sword sliced through the scales, bone, and the underlying fleshy material that was the monster's brain, and gave a sound akin to an egg being crushed. His sword reemerged on the other side lathered in thick, green blood.
He breathed heavily, as copious amounts of adrenaline flowed through his veins. The glick had been his first kill as a synner, and he wanted more, feeling a fire in his gut that few others would understand. He continued riding forward, and another two targets came into sight. He swung again at one target, the same egg-crushing sound came as a result for the first, while the second was crushed under his horse’s hooves.
Batch, Edryd and Irun were also feeding their swords, and in the first few minutes of battle, the three had already killed at least seven glicks between them. Roburn – not wanting to miss out on the killing – began his sword song. He jumped off his horse and began charging his first target. Just before he arrived, an arrow struck the marked one square between the eyes. The glick let out a ghastly squeal like a slaughtered pig, and Roburn glanced backwards to the general direction the arrow had come from. He couldn't find who'd fired the arrow, but he could guess who it was.
Thoma kept riding forward, slaughtering at least two more glicks before he was taken by surprise. A glick jumped up from his left side and knocked him off his horse, taking him to the ground. Damn, that hurt! He thought as he landed on his right shoulder. The glick scrambled to its feet after the fall and began to head towards Thoma who was only just recovering.
The monster threw an overhead claw down to his right side, and Thoma pirouetted out of the attack as gracefully as he could, given that he was still a little dazed from the fall. He gathered his wits for a moment, and another strike came towards his gut. He jumped back on the balls of his feet, and almost slipped due to the rain-soaked ground from the previous day. Even with the handicap, he managed to curve his body to avoid getting hit.
His riding sword had fallen out of his hand with the fall, and with the barrage of attacks, he focused on not getting struck while trying to find a small opening to draw his sword from his hip. The monster attacked again, this time trying to slam his head to the ground, and he stepped aside. With a bit of his momentum's help, he drew his longsword with a wire wrapped handle and twisted guard.
He managed to distance himself a little from the monster. His guard was poised, with his sword held up at head height, left hand gripping the pommel, and right hand choked up on the hilt by the guard. His left leg was more extended than his right which supported the bulk of his weight. His abdominal muscles tightened to keep himself steady through the pain from the fall.
The monster stared intensely at the boy and his sword, and Thoma grinned in response. “Come at me,” he said as threateningly as he could. The creature began to flick his scales together, with the purpose of challenging the young warrior. Thoma furrowed his brow, and the glick showed its horrid teeth in response. It came forward, with the same squealing sound he'd heard before, only this time much more vicious and hateful. He stood his ground and awaited the perfect moment to strike. It came at him like a dog to meat, sprinting as quickly as its legs could carry it. When it got within striking range, Thoma pushed hard from his right leg, turning on the ball of his left foot, and jumped. The movement sent him into a spin and the rest of his body followed suit. The sword came down from the right side with added force from the spin and struck the monster's collarbone, splitting its torso into two, uneven, bloodied chunks. Green blood sprayed across his face and covered his jerkin. “Damn, that stinks!” he exclaimed with a disgusted look on his face.
Garret had seen the attack happen and grinned pridefully.
Roburn's sword was singing a beautiful tune of slaughter and gore, while the archers kept back and provided cover fire for the lesser experienced synners. Their broad-head arrows and ash shafts with alternating goose wing-feathers performed perfectly against the glick's hard scales. The wind made it a little more difficult to be as precise as they usually were, but they'd been trained for that over the course of years. Their arrows – shot from sixty-pound recurve riding bows – soared through the air and struck their marks with incredible precision, even with the morning breeze.
Edryd's sword and horse were covered in glick's blood. He seemed to be holding his own, when Thoma saw him. Looks like he’s holding his own, he thought. The saddled, young synner was fighting voraciously when a glick knocked him off his horse in the same manner that Thoma had been just a few minutes before. “Edryd!” Thoma yelled, and sprinted to help his best friend.
Edryd didn't have as bad a fall as Thoma had had, but he was still hurt from it. A few of the neighboring glicks turned and saw the young synner desperately trying to get back on his feet and grab his sword at the same time, and began to charge him. Thoma continued running towards Edryd with his sword in his right hand, flowing behind him in the air. Edryd managed to get into his guard position - with the sword low, and the point aimed behind him. This provided for an excellent uppercut position, and it was his favorite for groups of attackers during training. The four glicks who were charging him all came at different speeds - some faster than others - and he was ready for them. He can’t take them all at once, I have to do something, Thoma thought.
Comments (0)
See all