CHAPTER TWO - A WARM WELCOME

Julian and Raedrick shared a brief look. This was annoyance they did not need. Julian raised one eyebrow and began inching his hand down toward the pommel of his sword, which hung in its baldric from his saddle horn, a far more comfortable place to keep it while riding than on his hip. Plus, it was easier to draw from there.

Raedrick saw the movement and gave a slight shake of his head. He always wanted to try to talk first. Of course, considering the numbers in this particular encounter, Julian couldn’t really blame him much. He pulled his hand back and looked back at the brigands, waiting for Raedrick to take the lead.

“We don’t have much money,” Raedrick said.

A loud snort was the brigand leader’s initial reply. “And yer gonna have a lot less. Hand it over!”

Raedrick sighed and looked back at Julian again. With a shrug, he said, “Alright. Hand it over, Julian.”

Julian wore a small pouch tied to his belt. Moving very slowly, he untied it and held it up for the brigands to see. It was filled to overflowing. The leader’s expression changed to one of satisfaction. The fellow to his right, wearing an expression of open greed, stepped forward and reached out for it.

“Here you are,” Julian said and moved to toss it to the fellow. He breathed a curse as he apparently lost his grip earlier than he planned and, instead of landing in the brigand’s hand, the pouch flopped onto the ground near Julian’s horse’s feet. “Sorry about that.” He managed a sheepish grin.

The brigand bounded forward and bent over to collect the pouch at the same time as his leader shouted, “No, you idiot!”

The brigand stood back up, Julian’s pouch in his hand, and looked back at the leader for a heartbeat. That was the opening Julian was looking for. He kicked with his left foot, catching the brigand square in the face as he was returning his gaze back to Julian.

With a crunch of breaking bone, the brigand went down, clutching at his nose and jaw.

There was a moment’s shocked pause while the other brigands looked wild-eyed at their comrade. Julian drove his heels into his horse’s side, urging him into a run. The gelding bounded forward, but only made it a few feet. A second brigand, more quick to recover than the others, grabbed at the horse’s bridle and pulled for all he was worth. The world lurched beneath Julian as the horse stumbled and then began to fall.

He cursed again as he launched himself out of the saddle and off to the side. Tucking his shoulder as he hit the ground, Julian rolled to his feet and drew his belt knife. Then he spun around.

Raedrick was on his feet, laying about with his saber. The brigand Julian had kicked was still down. Another had fallen beneath Raedrick’s blade, and the brigand he faced wore an expression of panic as he parried, then ducked, then leapt backwards away from Raedrick’s relentlessly fluid assault. Julian almost felt sorry for the man, having been on the receiving end of Raedrick’s fencing prowess more than once in the sparring circle. Almost.

The archer was nowhere to be seen, though a single arrow was buried deep into a tree trunk not far from where Julian stood. Hopefully Raedrick had taken him out, or they were in trouble. But Julian didn’t have the time to look around for him, as the brigand who grabbed his gelding was charging at him, followed by the scar-faced leader of the brigands.

Julian adjusted his grip on the knife and settled into a loose, ready stance. He forced down a surge of fear as his fighter’s mind calculated the odds of survival for a man who brought a knife to a sword fight. They were not good, in his experience.

Then the brigand reached him and, drawing his arm back, attacked with a powerful cut from Julian’s left to right. It probably would have spilled his guts, but Julian bounded forward inside the brigand’s swing.

The brigand’s sword arm struck Julian in the ribs and he wrapped his left arm around it, pinning it in place.

At the same time, Julian stabbed upward with his knife. The brigand wore an expression of disbelief as the blade entered his neck, severing his carotid artery and trachea. Julian withdrew the knife and the brigand fell to the ground, spasming out the last of his life.

Ten feet away, Scarface came up short, his expression suddenly a mix of wariness and eager anticipation. Behind him, Raedrick was nowhere to be seen, though Julian heard the noise of more fighting somewhere off to the left.

The leader of the brigands smiled, his grin causing the puckered scar on his chin to expand. For a second, Julian thought sure it was going to swallow the other man’s face whole, it grew so large.

“This could be fun,” Scarface said. “Pick up the sword.” His voice was steady and calm despite the grin of excitement on his face. He gestured with his sword point toward his comrade’s weapon, now lying at Julian’s feet.

What was this? Either Scarface was very confident or very stupid. Or maybe both. But Julian wasn’t about to question the sudden generosity. Slowly he lowered into a crouch and, replacing his knife into its sheath, he took hold of the sword.

Scarface came on in a rush, his weapon singing through the air as it descended toward Julian’s neck.

Desperately parrying upward, Julian flung himself away from the assault. The clang of steel striking steel was still in the air as he completed a full backward roll and rose to his feet.

Just in time to meet a second attack from the brigand leader.

Another quick retreat left the cut to whistle harmlessly through the air.

Julian tried to counterattack, but Scarface’s assault was relentless and he found himself driven backward again. And again. The man was good!

Parry, dodge, retreat.

Julian gave up more ground, and found himself leaving the copse and treading on the bare rock near the riverbank. Bending his knees to avoid a high cut, he attempted a riposte.

Somehow Scarface’s high cut became a descending parry that knocked the thrust aside. Then Julian found the wind driven from his lungs as the brigand leader spun around and drove the heel on his boot into Julian’s lower ribs.

He tumbled to the ground, unable to breathe and awash with pain from his ribs. He felt as much as heard Scarface’s blade descending toward him and forced himself to roll over and raise his own sword.

Steel met steel again as the force of the cut’s momentum drove the two hilts together in the air above Julian’s body.

For a moment, the two men looked at each other through the frame of their entwined blades. Finally able to draw a breath, Julian saw that Scarface had barely broken a sweat and was breathing normally. He smirked, a mocking twist of the lips that carried no small amount of disdain, and leaned in, driving the two blades slowly downward despite Julian pushing upwards with all his strength.

“Ready to die?” he asked.

Julian knew he wasn’t going to be able to keep the sword from falling for much longer. Already his arms were shaking from the strain of resisting.

Julian abruptly stopped fighting it and rolled with the force of Scarface’s push, driving the swords to the ground beside himself. At the same time he kicked upward and to the side, catching Scarface on his hip. Now it was the brigand leader’s turn to tumble to the ground.

In the brief respite, Julian bounded to his feet and backed away, gingerly feeling at his ribs with his left hand. The brigand leader flipped to his feet easily and assumed a ready stance, his blade held loosely in both hands with the tip pointing at Julian’s eyes. He inclined his head in salute for a moment, the mocking smirk gone from his face.

Then he attacked again, and again Julian was driven back.

He gave ground with each exchange and only avoided severe injury on one occasion because of the mail shirt he wore. All the same, he accumulated several small cuts where his parry or dodge wasn’t quite fast enough.

Scarface remained untouched.

The roar of the falls was louder now. Between parries, Julian glanced over his shoulder and was shocked to see that he had retreated almost all the way to the edge of the river, only twenty yards or so from the drop off.

The glance cost him. Julian barely hopped back from another attack, but still took a deep cut in his thigh. He was running out of time and space, and now his balance was off as his thigh protested every movement. Julian attempted another counter, a rising cut toward the brigand leader’s armpit.

He found his eyes growing wide with surprise as Scarface executed a highly stylized, spiraling parry that ended with the tip of his sword hooking beneath Julian’s hilt. A flick of Scarface’s wrists pulled the sword from Julian’s hand and left him with a deep cut in the meat of his thumb.

The sword clattered away somewhere off to the right. Stunned, Julian took a half-step back and raised his hands. This couldn’t be happening!

The brigand leader sneered and snapped off a quick salute with his sword. “Well fought,” he said before he began to move forward.

Frantic, Julian retreated again. Wait. Raedrick, where was Raedrick! Julian looked back toward the copse, but there was still no sign of his friend.

Scarface swung at him, and Julian leaned far backwards to avoid a cut that would have taken his head off. All the same, he felt the tip of the sword cut a line across the bridge of his nose.

He stumbled back and suddenly found he had nowhere else to go as his heels reached the edge of the rocks overhanging the river. Pinwheeling his arms for a moment to regain his balance, Julian glanced down at the swirling, frigid water as it rushed to the lip of the falls.

This was it. He never once imagined it would end this way.

He looked up again just as Scarface attacked with a backhanded swing that was again headed for his head.

In desperation, Julian moved forward and raised his right arm. Scarface’s wrist struck the bones of his forearm.

Julian cupped his hand over the brigand leader’s wrist and drove his palm upwards toward the back of his elbow.

The sharp CRACK of breaking bone preceded Scarface’s scream of surprise and pain by a heartbeat. His hand spasmed open, dropping the sword at Julian’s feet, and his eyes went wide with shock, then wider still with dread as Julian pivoted about his rear foot and, using the arm as a lever, hurled the brigand leader over the edge of the rocks.

His arms and legs flailed at the empty air for a second, then the brigand leader splashed into the river. He bobbed to the surface quickly, but just as quickly began to sink again. Heavy boots and armor made swimming difficult, Julian thought with a certain satisfaction. He watched as Scarface splashed with his one good arm, trying with all his might to avoid being pulled under.

“Help me!” Scarface cried, to whom Julian couldn’t guess since he certainly had no intention of lending a hand.

The current swept the hapless man toward the drop off. His swimming attempts became more frantic as he looked with horror toward the approaching edge.

“Help! Please!” he screamed.

Then he reached the edge and dropped out of sight. His last long scream of despair carried over the falls’ roar for a moment, but was quickly overwhelmed.

“Well fought,” Julian said.

Glimmer Vale is the first book of the Glimmer Vale Chronicles, an ongoing heroic fantasy series set in a world of valor and magic. It will be published here, one chapter per week, on Tuesday.

If you enjoy it, please consider purchasing a copy of the book. It is available directly from Michael's website and on virtually all of the online bookstores:

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Thanks for reading! See you in the next chapter!