Beware the Ills: Part 25
Haukter swings the rod upwards in a blurred swing, letting loose another string of darks into the troop’s gawking faces. Tongues, eyes, and mouths are skewered by the long darts. Men gurgle and fall, twisting around as their skin swells. They’re all dead and dying, the entire formation of troops. There had to be twenty of them. I’m impressed. Haukter runs past the writhing clump, and towards the woman’s tent at the end of camp. He’ll be there. I start to draw my sword. I don’t know why. The captain cuts the distance in a deep sprint. Haukter twirls the rod with a stinging wail. More darts cut the shrinking empty air. The man spins his spear leisurely, knocking aside the darts with the curved point. A few make it past the wheeling point, but the man just ducks casually down as the darts whirl overhead. One of the darts hits an idle soldier standing behind him. He immediately falls, twisting and screaming in the patchy snow.
Haukter calmly reaches behind him with his left sleeve and digs between a pair of the hides on his back. He pulls out a colossal circular blade, which narrows to a sharp metal handle. The weapon looks like an axe head, only with no handle to balance out the swings, and just a tiny tail of metal to grip it with.
The weapon looks ridiculous and unbalanced. I’m not sure what appeal he sees in it.
The man stops, pauses, and examines the blade. A shadow trails the obscene edge. It looks like some sort of narrow chain has been attached to the little drip of metal where Haukter grips it. The man motions with his pale hand to the troops around him. They form another shield-locked line between him and Haukter. The clammy man wants to test the weapon Haukter has just exposed.
The wind picks up, and the cold howls and shutters the trees. Good confrontation weather.
Very good.
Haukter swings the blade out of his thick sleeve towards the men. He doesn’t twirl the black chain a few times to gain momentum. He’s got enough strength to swing the blade by himself. I’m impressed. The blade flies flat towards the line of troops. Haukter pulls on the chain, and the blade drops to leg level. The shields quickly adjust to the new striking point. The blade closes the distance, and just when it’s about to collide with the clean brown line Haukter twists the chain and sends the blade spinning into the torsos of the men before they can even think. Limbs split, torsos topple, and blood spurts out from the line in narrow gurgles. The ranks fall apart in split chunks. They look like sausages slightly torn open, with the filling falling out.
I hate sausages.
The scarred captain has had enough, and leaps towards Haukter through the hacked line. He leaps high in the air, pulling his legs back till they almost touch the spear head curled behind his shoulders. He wants to test Haukter’s leverage and strength. He needs to figure out how strong he might be beneath those animal hides. The dark hook and pointed spear snap down like a steel trap. Haukter leaps in the air abandoning gravity and leverage to deflect the coiled strike. A brown scaly sword peeks out from Haukter’s left sleeve. The weapon looks segmented and divided into sharp chunks, like squares of uneven bone that had been fused together.
The two collide with a metal-laden thunder, so loud it shakes the trees.
A wooden claw flies out from Haukter’s other sleeve. It’s massive, with each figure curled into piercing points. There are more than five fingers though; in fact, there are too many points to count as they blur about the air. The captain ducks below the flailing and artificial paw. He collapses onto the ground in a tight roll, deserting his spear. His few pieces of armor picking up spots and streaks of snow. He’s on his feet. A man in the columns throws him a short sword with a gold handle. He grabs the blade eagerly and throws it as Haukter lands and steadies on the red-blotched snow. Haukter twists nimbly aside with his wide form and the sword flies screaming into the white and green nothingness of the woods.
Haukter runs sideways into the columns, barely leaving any footprints. I’d think with all those hides he’d be weighed down. The men dive out of his way in fear, not even one stands to fight. He’s luring the captain into the woods, where he’ll have an advantage in close range. Judging the distance between the trees, the captain won’t be able to counter Haukter’s attacks as easily.
It’s a good strategy. Haukter’s full of them today.
The captain follows him closely. His strides are long and far apart. He glides over the snow like an ugly horse. He might be faster than Haukter actually, or at least when Haukter has been weighed down by the extra animal flesh. I must follow the chase. I can’t let the show outrun me. I’m on the ground and turning my boots through the jagged hills of patched silver green. The trees whisper about the fight, they want to watch too. They’re always spectators.
Blue follows me. He’s panting already in cloudy gasps. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. These chases and lifestyles, are they getting to him?
The troops bumble and rattle into the woods after their captain. A few fire arrows, which pop and clatter into the thick trees. Haukter and the captain cross hills and streams quickly. The forest thickens to a maelstrom of velvety limbs and towers. Haukter stops abruptly and watches the horde of men approaching with their pale captain leading the charge. Haukter stands perfectly still, and in one large childish gesture, takes a deep fur juddering breath. He slowly breathes out a small cloud into the cold air. More arrows split the woods in harsh black lines. A few come close to Haukter amongst the crowded trees. Haukter casually knocks them away with his flapping sleeves. They look indecent, like his hands were pads of dirty flesh. The arrows fall dead and dainty against the sturdy trees. The sound echoes across the forest and tremulously through the endless snowflakes.
The captain has burst through the trees and into the cluster where Haukter waits. The captain swings down at Haukter again with the curved hook of his spear facing him. They clang again as Haukter’s sleeve swings up to counter the blow. Arrows fly in from the right of the combat. Haukter knocks them away with his other sleeve and spins free of the captain’s spear. The captain lays the spear across his shoulder and jumps into the air stabbing down at Haukter in iron bursts. Haukter immediately becomes pinned beneath the onslaught, and the captain lands leisurely next to him. Haukter struggles to match the speed with his enormous sleeves. The captain swings the long spear around his body and off his shoulders, striking Haukter horizontally across the chest and sending him into the trees.
That’s the strategy the captain should’ve used on me. He used no strategy. I’m glad I saw this side of him. I knew he had it in him.
Haukter recovers and moves close to the man. Another good strategy. The long spear used by the captain has a disadvantage in this close combat. The wooden claw has dropped out of Haukter’s left sleeve. It stabs and swings at the captain, who jumps back dodging between trees and branches. Men from the columns have routed Haukter and charged in behind him to outflank his position. Twenty men rush with their shiny short swords drawn. They collapse on Haukter in one metal sparked clump. The grunts might have the upper hand. A few arrows crack into Haukter at nearly point-blank range. Their smacks echo across the valley, and back to the shore and Shingles.
Everything echoes on this forsaken island.
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