CHAPTER 26: CONFLUENCE OF BLADES

Falinor sprinted across the bridge, his sword hilt held close to his chest and his eyes alert for any signs of missiles. But if there were archers among Orchan’Da’s party, none of them loosed shafts at Falinor.

Ahead, giants came across the bridge, their weapons held high and their leader taking up the rear. They came at Falinor, two abreast of each other—no!—Falinor went at them!

He did not slow his rush toward them. If the swordsman was to have any chance against these foes, he had to face them head on—surprise them with his speed and ferocity, his vigor of battle, for he fought for his own life—for that of Orvins and for that of Harrkania’s!

Meeting them, he cried out angrily and swung his arms down in a quick flash of steal. The giant before him blocked the blow, but Falinor, being much smaller and able to move faster than these brutish warriors and their hulking-thick arms, he pulled his elbows back and spun a pirouette as he crouched. Arcing around, he brought his blade across the shins of the giant before him and he fell in a howl of pain, his ally glancing down quickly at the other and reacting defensively.

The giant pulled back, then grunted, inadvertently signaling his attack.

Falinor rolled across his back until he came to his sandals. One of them fell from his foot, but he ignored it. Before the second giant could regain his momentum, Falinor cut back and up with his elbows, then, angling his blade forward. He lashed out with a slash that took the giant across the vambarace.

No blood flowed, but his giant opponent growled in a sharp gritting of teeth and flinched—and that was how the swordsman knew his blade had tasted the giant’s flesh.

Melting back, more giants from behind came forward, one of them stepping over his wounded ally, the one Falinor had taken across the shins.

These two warriors were wholly more prepared than the first two, their faces stony and their eyes glaring. Their hatred of Falinor was like ice and fire as the confluence of their blades against his sounded in the open space.

Falinor cut in to their defense, forcing them both back, their swords flashing defensively as he pressed his attack, the other sandal upon his foot falling off to be lost into the abyss bellow.

Continuing to retreat, his opponents fought desperately, their power and their reach far greater than Falinor’s, but where the giants were superior in that regard, he had speed and agility they could not match.

With a furious growl of bared teeth, Falinor fought the retreating giants, their backs coming into contact with their allies blocking their retreat across tbe bridge. He pressed, jumped, swinging his blade in a vertical arc, then he landed, slid on his feet and swiped horizontally toward the other giant, his sword cutting the air thrice for every block or parry of his opponents.

As the giants were unable to give more ground, Falinor’s attack gained an increased advantage, and with such large weapons, the giants were hard pressed to defend against him.

The one on his left came at him with a swipe of his bared hand in a desperate defense, lashing out with a grunt. Falinor treated that attack as though it were a blade, and brought up his sword, the blow impacting him backward as his blade cut across the palm of the giant’s hand.

The swordsman slid across the stones upon his bare feet, the distance put between him and the giants giving them a moment to recollect themselves as blood dripped loudly over the stones from the wound Falinor had just inflicted. It had been a defensive infliction, one he could rely on if in close combat with the giants.

His opponent held the palm of his hand and growled, his neck throbbing with vanes and his teeth bared. Had the giant not been wearing heavy leather gloves, his hand would have been sliced clean off. Even so, the blood draining from the wound was substantial enough to take him out of the fight for good.

Suddenly the two giants were pushed aside to admit a third, his chained morning stars dangling above the stones. He snarled in a wolf’s grin and brought the spiked spheres above his head, the chains cutting the air like blades as those deadly spikes came in to destroy Falinor.

Images of Joros’ smashed and ruined body flashed through his mind.

He jumped, missing the first attack. As he landed, he dropped to the stones, missing the second morning star as he lowered his head, the wind from the attack fluttering the long strands of his hair across the swordsman’s back.

And even now, another attack was forthcoming.

Gritting his teeth in sudden panic, Falinor scrabbled back and barely made it out of reach as the spiked ball came within a hand’s breadth of hitting him. In his reaction he had angled his blade down and the iron had met indestructible steel in a loud clang that jarred his wrist.

A giant from behind the press of warriors called out angrily and words were flung about. The one with the morning stars glanced back in an almost apologetic manner and muttered some words.

Was the one speaking in the back Acro’Nor?

And then the swordsman realized something as his eyes flicked up to Orchan’Da watching from atop the steps, her weight perched on her hip and the bare skin upon her thighs a blatant seduction, covered by nothing but the shimmering red silk sash that hung between her legs.

The skull buckle drew his eyes to her waistline and up her bare stomach to where her ample cleavage was pressed tightly together by her battle raiment.

She was an attractive sight to behold.

He knew she still intended to have Falinor—either to satisfy her lust, or to enact a ritual she had presumably been about to inflict upon the swordsman.

He smiled.

Maybe in another life, Orchan’Da.

The giant before him grunted loudly and the chains rattled as he swung the morning stars forward. They slammed into the black stones, chipping them and filling the air with the smell of hot iron.

But the attack had been… halfhearted?

Something became clear to Falinor, and he said, “You cannot kill me.”

The giant looked at him and snarled.

Falinor glanced up to the top of the steps. “They cannot kill me!” he called to Orchan’Da as he spread his arms wide. He turned his body and grasped his shoulder with one hand to stretch his muscles. “Why not come down and face me yourself, giantess?”

She laughed.

“Why should I do that, Falinor, when I can have you brought to me?”

“I will not come to you easily, giantess.”

“Then we shall find out.”

“Stop flirting with me and send your warriors.”

She laughed again, her head falling back far enough to show her top row of teeth. Then, putting her finger under her nose—she truly is enjoying this!—she sobered. “You heard the man. Bring him here!”

Falinor flourished his weapon arrogantly as he laid eyes on the giant in front of him. “This makes things interesting. Now come at me!”

The giant bared his teeth and lumbered forward, his chains swinging, but in a manner that bespoke to Falinor of an intent not to harm him. She really did want him brought to her alive.

This was the best of tidings possible and his excitement from the knowledge that he would not simply be cut down, gave him confidence and vigor.

He laughed haughtily.

“Come, giant!”

*

With her heart pounding like a drum, Harrkania picked through the treasure piles scattered about and atop the altars. Surely the sword was here, heaped with the rest of the gold and the silver and the precious stones and fine silks?

She glanced about, saw the hilt of a blade. Her eyes widened and she ran to the weapon, her excitement soaring, but as she reached out to grasp the weapon, she realized the sword could not possible be her mother’s sword. It was too short, too silver and gleaming. She drew the weapon anyway, finding a short sword with a thin blade. There was a green stone lodged in the center of the cross guard.

In the distance to her right, Falinor called out on the bridge and laughed. She looked at him, watched as he spread his arms arrogantly among a few giants lying wounded on the ground before him, their movements slow and pained—but they were not dead.

Was he actually defeating them on the bridge?

That surprised the princess, and it spoke well of their situation more so than anything else at present.

She had no time. The longer Harrkania had to search for her sword, the longer Falinor had to hold off Orchan’Da’s warriors—and he would not be able to do it forever. The giantess redoubled her efforts. If she had found this sword here, then perhaps her mother’s sword was not far away from her right now. She picked up a large urn and it scraped against the stones. It was heavy. She lifted the lid and peered inside. What she found was not what she had been expecting. There were stones of a lesser value, filling it to the brim.

The princess cared not and she growled in frustration.

Where is it?!

Glancing up, she realized much of the treasure could have been here for many, many years, far past that of her own lifetime. There were piles and piles, most of it of items surely not of the giants. This was loot, offered up to—

She was distracted when that sighing breeze pushed past her. Harrkania glanced up at the visage of the statue leaning over the altar of blood, its eyes black orbs inset with rubies. This place gave her she shivers.

The sword.

What would her father the king do? Where would Alun’Dar put the queen’s heirloom blade? She glanced about.

It would not be heaped with these other trinkets.

She moved to another pile and looking about it, tried to find where the sword might be. It was clearly not here among these offerings.

Would the sword even be an offering? Had it ever been offered up to this demon’s likeness?

The giantess swallowed and realized her hands were shaking. Falinor cried out and the sounds of skirling swords rang through the air.

Her heart jumped in her throat as she lurched to the edge of the chamber near the drop off and saw him doing battle with the giants—her people, if not House of Dar giants.

Settling, her heart tried to pummel her less as the princess realized Falinor was still holding his own quite well—and seeing that, she thought she was wasting time.

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She jerked around, her eyes darting this way and that for any signs of a sword. Any sword!

Bu there was none, save for the statue. She looked up at the statue of the Demon Messenger, at the blade in its hand. It was not her mother’s sword.

She shunted her hands down to her waist in frustration, the sword in her grasp cutting through the air.

“Where is it?!”

With her head swiveling, Harrkania loped among the treasures and decided to do a quick sweep of every altar, going around them. Her mother’s blade… It was a large sword, straight of blade and though it had a sheen, was not a gleaming ornament like that of the polished silver sword in her grasp, save for the ornamental skulls. There was a half skull on the cross guard with smaller skulls on the hilt.

Nothing like that existed among the treasures.

Which meant she had to look elsewhere.

Dammit!

“Falinor!” she called partially in frustration but mostly she simply whined, and yet, she wanted to warn him that she needed more time. “I cannot find the sword!”

Her eyes began to fill.

She wanted to grab something, to throw it. To scream—and she did. She pulled an urn over and growled her fury at it. It crashed to the floor, spilling pearls and silver trinkets about across the floor as though the inanimate object were all the cause in the world for the giantess’ inability to find what she so desperately saught.

“Alun’Dar!” she growled. “Where did you put my mother’s sword?”

*

As a smaller man, Orvin was not overly fast. But speed was not what he needed now anyway, despite his frantic running through the temple’s corridors, his remembrance of Falinor telling him to be careful of traps a distant memory that, at least right now, he was not taking any heed of.

And yet, he was still alive—no traps sprung.

He sprinted down the stone corridor lit by torches and glowing orbs. The floor angled upward, forcing him to push harder to maintain his speed. Why there were no steps here, he did not know.

When he reached the top, another light source came in from the side. He ran to it and found portals with a view of the main chamber they had crossed through. Glancing through, Orvin could see the bridge below and the golden statues arching their arms over Falinor and the giants doing battle.

On the other side, the princess screamed and threw something, but at what, he could not say. She still glanced about, moving and turning with frustrated motions. He understood her feelings. Orvin too was beginning to feel his own frustrations.

None of this bespoke of good tidings concerning their present circumstances. He needed to find the exit. They were counting on him.

And yet, this corridor had led him nowhere!

Turning amidst the many urns and tapestries of battles fought long ago, most of which were faded from an era past, Orvin took another passage, his torch still held high, though he did not know why, as he had no need for it.

Feeling that he was wasting time, the learned man swung it violently to gutter the flame out of existence. The acrid smoke wafted up into his eyes and stung his nostrils. “There,” he said, trying to calm himself. “That is much better.”

He looked at his hand around the haft. It would not make the best of weapons, but if he had to fight, at least it was something, and if he needed light, then he would have it as well.

The water jugs on his back were empty, but still weighed him down, along with his other supplies, which were few, but they all served to the same purpose. With a shrug, he pulled his pack higher onto his back. He would need the contents later, so he did not leave his pack behind.

Shoes tapping over the stones, sand gritted underneath him as he took another corridor to his right. There were stairs leading back down. He then found a series of chambers and he stamped into them. His footfalls echoed loudly as his eyes searched for any signs of a corridor leading out of this place.

Breathing heavily, he then laughed, a stifled outburst of surprise, amusement, and frustration. Orvin spread his arms. “Why am I in this chamber looking at burial boxes?”

This was not the way.

He left immediately, his breath coming in and out quickly as his brow began to become damp with perspiration. Despite the chill of the temple, he was burning hot. Orvin continued down a hall which descended back down to the same level as the others. This was correct!

That was right, was it not?

How long can Sir Falinor fight those giants n the bridge? he wondered. I need to hurry!

The exit corridor would be on this level, just like the entry corridor. It was logical to assume such a thing, and no other hints of the temple’s ancient construction indicated that he should think otherwise, and so Orvin decided to maintain his search with this premise in mind.

“One must be structured and logical when solving problems.”

He could almost hear the princess complaining behind him, but he kept moving, stopped near a corridor leading to his left, again, farther from the chamber below. Much father. And in the wrong direction. He had thought there were corridors in the back, behind the horrible demon statue leading in the direction of the God’s Eye.

Perhaps he was searching in the wrong area.

The small man, a teacher, writer, and at least as far as Alun’Dar had been concerned, a spy, he knew not the particulars of dungeon crawling or adventurism. He was no treasure hunter himself.

He made a noise if frustration.

Orvin could not be blamed for making mistakes!

Eventually he came back to the main chamber, but further back behind the massive statue. He could see the two arched tunnels leading out where the treasure and Harrkania were.

Instead of searching for another corridor that led out of the temple, he turned, his eyes wide at the many altars covered with the bones of dead warriors. He knew them to be dead warriors, for some of them still wore their armor, or grasped at the hilts of their swords.

Something about them all, was wrong.

They still had skin, and yet it had dried and become desiccated over their bodies.

“Perseveration!” he exclaimed to himself as he pointed a finger into the air. And there were many weapons there as well, along with sarcophagi lodges into the recesses of the walls.

Orvin glanced about, marveling at the stone boxes nestled into the walls. They spanned all of the walls. The sword. It was here.

It had to be!

He gasped, his heart slamming in his ears. “Harrkania! Harrkania—in here!”

She could not hear him.

He ran through the corridor and out into the sacrificial chamber where he found the giantess in tears, a trinket of some object or another in her left hand and a small gleaming sword in the other.

She looked down at him, surprised. “Orvin? What—what are you—“

As he had run into this chamber, a thought had hit him. He had thought of this area as a chamber of sacrifice, and the one behind him as a chamber of burial?

“Orvin?”

The learned man shook himself. “Princess!” he said excitedly. “I have found your sword!”

Her eyes widened as she brushed the back of her hand across her nose. “What?!”

“Well,” he said with a stupid shrug, “I have not… exactly found it but—“

The skirl and clash of swords amidst the shouts of the battle on the bridge distracted him. The princess glanced that way as well.

“Is Falinor all right?”

“No,” she sniffed. “Take me to the sword.”

“Um,” he said nervously. “Yes. This way! Come, now, Princess. Falinor is fine. Come this way.”

He guided the distraught giantess into the burial chamber, and despite soothing her—and being in a rush while Falinor fought to keep them safe from the giants on the bridge, the learned man could not help but be distracted from his sudden revelation of this place, which was, to say the least, a horrifying prospect.

He glanced up at the princess as her eyes widened. Sacrificial altars and burial chambers…

Orvin swallowed hard.

But he said nothing.

“Yes!” she said, a smile appearing on her face. “It must be here! Orvin! Help me.”

The giantess began searching through the weapons on the racks.

And that’s when he saw the sword.

His heart lurched.

“Princess?”

*

As Orchan’Da watched Falinor fight Acro’Nor’s warriors, she licked her lips, enjoying every delicious moment of his raw swordsmanship, his foolhardy bravery against a far larger force that he could not possibly hope to win against, all in an effort to resist her. Her!

It all served to heighten Orchan’Da’s desire for him and she was nearly ready to join in that fight herself. To fight him, in hand-to-hand combat, to subdue him and violate his body was stirring her passions enough to make her breathing hot and heavy.

While Harrkania flailed like the useless princes she was, the other one—the scrawny little man that served as her wet nurse—appeared from farther inside where the burial chambers resided. She did not like them back there, but what could she do?

Harrkania and that little man seemed to speak among themselves and then they ignored the treasure entirely. Whatever was happening among them, something had changed, as they rushed into the burial chambers together.

She snarled wordlessly and, narrowing her eyes, she called out in the giant tongue, “Acro’Nor! Enough of this. Send your warriors to deal with Harrkania’Dar and her pet!”

With a nod, he gave the order.

*

Falinor took two steps back, his sword held defensively before him.

While the giants did not have permission to kill him, Falinor held a great advantage against them, but even so, holding them off was tiring work, so he had to pace himself.

He breathed deeply, slowly.

And then Orchan’Da called out an order to Acro’Nor—an order that would put Falinor on the offensive, now, for he believed the only way to keep the giants from crossing the bridge was to maintain a strong front, the strongest of fronts.

The giant with the morning stars glanced over his shoulder as Acro’Nor issued orders in the giant’s tongue, and while he was distracted, Falinor lunged forward, keeping his footfalls as light as possible while maintaining complete silence. The giant behind the one at the front called out, but it was too late.

He attempted to deflect Falinor’s blade with his rattling chains, and succeeded partially, but the swordsman had been quick and exacting. Despite the attack being mostly thwarted, he managed to pass the cold hard steel through the soft tissue of the giant’s throat.

Jumping back, Falinor at first thought the wound inflicted to be merely a scratch as the giant flinched and reached up with his hand. Failing to press his fingers to his throat, the full damage the wound had caused revealed itself, and thick blood spurted out once—then twice.

Eyes wide and rolling about wildly, the giant fell to his knees, and grasping his throat. Two of his allies from behind glanced at him quickly as he fell and thrashed in a puddle of his own blood.

Their eyes carried deadly intent.

It seemed they did not enjoy watching their allies fall to Falinor’s blade—a human’s blade.

With what must have been an infuriating smirk, he shook his head. “Don’t forget, that your sorceress”—he pointed up to her above the steps—“wants me alive.”

They growled, their swords bared and their frustration evident.

Acro’Nor snarled up at them, but Falinor had no idea what was said. Whatever he ordered, it had an effect on the group of giants as a whole.

The two at the fore lunged forward, their arms moving and their blades flashing, though their reach was not intending to inflict deadly blows upon him. Carefully, he defended against those reaching blades that, at most, might manage to wound him in the arm or the hand.

Expertly, he deflected those blows, wondering what was going to happen next. After Orchan’Da had called down to them, their behavior had changed. It was clear to the swordsman that they had a plan.

The giants at the front then pressed together to make room for a third warrior. He growled, lumbering across the bridge. Falinor struck out, his sword clanging against the giant’s defense, but he stepped back, deflected the blows from the other two and pirouetted as he arched his blade. He took the third in the back of the shoulder as he passed Falinor on the bridge.

This caused the warrior to snarl in pain and lose balance. He cried out and fell over the edge, but just as Falinor was dealing with him, the other two giants pushed passed. Swords flashed, and their fists came at him, one of them striking the swordsman and failed mage across the head. He fell, rolled and dodged a strike of the next giant behind them.

With a growl and a grunt of pain caused from the blow to his head as well as the bumping and knocking sustained by rolling about the hard black stones, Falinor made it back to his feet, his blade held high.

He snarled with anger and frustration that two of them had made it past—past where they were heading across the bridge unhindered, clearly making their way for Harrkania and Orvin!

The swordsman glanced back and called out. “Harrkania!”

The giant before him struck again, but Falinor gave ground, returned with a blade strike of his own as he lunged forward. The giant back-stepped, and Falinor grunted, pushing and lunging forward as his blade licked forward like the tongue of a deadly serpent.

Over his shoulder he called again. “Orvin! The giants!”

His opponents moved in with long-reaching strikes.

Falinor gave ground.

They were waiting for him to make mistakes, so this time he did not glance over his shoulder. “Look out! They are coming.”

The giant before him smiled and said, “They…”—he lunged forward with a powerful overhand strike—“CANNOT HEAR YOU!”

Falinor dodged the blow as the giant’s sword hit the stones, then he took two steps back, raising his sword defensively.

He swallowed, glanced about the giants before him—giants who would just as soon kill him had their mistress’ intent not been different.

Acro’Nor called out from behind, but the giant facing Falinor heard him not, or at least, seemed to not care in the slightest.

Falinor was certain he had snarled up a warning to the giant not to kill him.

Another sword strike came in horizontally, but Falinor dodged the blow by bending at the waist. The giant seemed surprised, and attempted a similar attack with an arch of his blade from the other side.

Falinor jumped back, used the giant’s momentum to attack while he was unready to defend, but still his opponent managed to bring up his blade.

Unfortunately for him, Falinor stretched out with his leg and kicked the giant in the belt, the blow just hard enough to make him flail for balance, and perhaps he would have caught himself.

But for Falinor’s quick blade strike across the giant’s chest, he was unable to save himself as the gash across his chest, sending hot bloody spray forward as the giant howled in fury and fear as he went over the edge.

The giants behind took stock of what had just happened to their alley and they muttered between themselves.

They inched up carefully.

Falinor shook his head in frustration, but chose the path of arrogance, to frustrate and anger these giants. Their rage could be a terribly dangerous thing, but indeed it was also a terribly stupid thing for any warrior fighting a deadly duel of blades.

“I can do this all day!” said he, his tone full of contempt and superiority. “How many of your friends do I have to kill before you understand that, Poke and Joke?!”

Their eyes narrows. “You, human,” one said, pointing a finger as he raised his powerful arm, “will be our sorceress’ meat.”

The other laughed like a wolf, a vicious predatory laugh devoid of any compassion or honor for a fellow warrior—even if he was a human. It was no loss for Falinor.

“Fuck toy.”

They laughed.

That actually stung the swordsman. He felt his outrage as genuine a thing as the threat of the edge on his blade. “Not if I can help it!”

Falinor lashed out with his blade in a quick overhand strike, one that allowed him to flourish his sword back into a quick grip of both hands.

Had it not been for those two giants after the princess and Orvin, which struck a chord of fear in Falinor already, he knew he would be in hot water right now. He wanted to glance back, to call out a warning once again to the princess, but he could not. These giants were attempting to take him down for their sorceress, and they had just succeeded in angering him.

Now he was going to kill them.

Gods, I hope you can handle two giants, Harrkania!