Saved, But Only Just

The road from Alarston had been a long one, with only endless miles of farmland to occupy the mind. Luthar was frustrated and uncomfortable sat on Stepper for so long. Each night he would make the camp and prepare Chadwick’s meal for him, rub down the horses and try to sleep in the cold darkness. The only thing keeping his mind on the job was the debt he felt he owed Chadwick for the armour he’d bought him.

They’d been on the road nearly a fortnight now, headed for the Port of Elliath, the most southern city in the three kingdoms. Chadwick had said the job was lucrative and Luthar could really establish his reputation in the guild if it went well. They were meeting other warriors for this mission. Guild members normally worked alone so this must be something special.

Stepper had attracted much attention on their travels, one man in Hranstor had offered him a tidy sum of gold for her, which Luthar immediately declined. He had been persistent, until Chadwick had warned him against holding up the affairs of the guild. Luthar felt proud that his steed attracted such attention. He’d built up quite a rapport with the animal, he hoped that she would always look after him well.

Chadwick came to a stop and consulted a dog-eared piece of parchment he pulled out of his breast pocket and looked south, then east, then south again. 

‘Off the road here lad, should come to a mill in a mile or two. That’s the meeting place.’ 

He glanced sideways at Luthar, ‘Nervous?’

‘A little. I’ve never been in a real fight before.’ 

 ‘Not to worry, it won’t come to that. If it does, you stay behind me, and we’ll be fine.’

That was supposed to calm Luthar’s nerves, but it had quite the opposite effect. He could feel the acid in his stomach rising and his hands beginning to tremble on the reins. 

They turned off the main road onto little more than a dirt track between two hedgerows. Chadwick led the way, with Luthar trying to concentrate on keeping the reins steady and stamp out the self-doubt in his mind. 

The sails of the mill came into view over Chadwick’s shoulder, gently turning. The building itself was made of uneven red brick and old mortar, evidently not constructed by professional hands. Luthar thought it seemed a poor building for Knights to fall out over.

As they came to the end of the hedgerow a stout man stepped out onto the track, grinning broadly at Chadwick. He brought his horse to a stop beside the stranger and dismounted, grabbing him in a rough embrace.

‘Ezekiel, meet Luthar, almost as talented a squire as I was. Luthar, meet the man who taught me which end of the sword was sharp.’

‘Pleasure. I’ve heard a lot about you.’ Ezekiel smiled at Luthar, but he noticed the smile didn’t extend to those cold, grey eyes.

Luthar dismounted and shook Ezekiel’s hand, Ezekiel seemed to be sizing him up like a butcher before slaughtering a pig. He was shorter even than Luthar, but strong with it. He was broad shouldered, but muscle had slightly given way to a stomach that wouldn’t have been there years before. Luthar made a mental note not to underestimate him all the same. 

‘Who else do we have with us?’ asked Chadwick.

‘Just us and Flint.’ 

‘Don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.’

‘He’s a good lad, just got promoted actually. Not one of mine though.’

‘That’ll do for me.’

The three of them walked to the little camp Ezekiel and Flint had set. Flint was watching his squire work Ezekiel’s lad with a sparring sword. He seemed to have the upper hand and was pushing his opponent backwards with rapid strokes.

‘Don’t drop your shield, you’re on top now but stay focused.’ Instructed Flint. 

He was so engrossed in the sparring that he didn’t notice the three of them approaching. He was leaning this way and that, like he too was dodging sword strokes.

Just as Luthar drew level with Flint, his squire disarmed his foe and held his sword to his neck. 

‘Yield.’ Cried the lad.

‘Well done, Eric, your offense is coming on fine. Just keep that shield up as you move forward, if you get parried you might lose your head against an experienced fighter.’

He stood up and laid a hand on the other lad’s shoulder, peering down at him.

‘Garrett, be braver son. You’re going to get hit in a fight, not a whole lot you can do about it. If you must take one to give a better one back, then be prepared to do it. Once you accept that you’ll do fine.’

With that he turned to the camp to see the three arrivals watching proceedings with interest.

To Luthar’s surprise Flint addressed him first.

‘You’re Luthar then?’ he strode up and thrust out a hand. Luthar took it to shake, the grip was crushing, bones crunched against each other.

‘Let’s see your skills son. You versus Garrett.’

Luthar glanced sideways to Chadwick. An ever so slight incline of the head was all the confirmation Luthar needed. He took Eric’s sword from him and set ready opposite Garrett, waiting for the other boy to make the first move.

Garrett approached steadily; eyes locked on Luthar’s. A split-second glance to his left was all the indication Luthar needed. He took half a step backwards and parried Garrett’s stroke downwards and left. Quick as a flash he rested the blade of his sword against Garrett’s neck before he could straighten back up.

‘Eric.’ Said Flint simply.

Eric stepped forward and took Garrett’s sword, Luthar reckoned he was older than Garrett and a good 6 inches taller. This would be a lot tougher.

Eric set himself opposite Luthar in a slightly more defensive stance, goading him to make the first move. Luthar advanced slowly, looking for a sign on Eric’s face.

Eric kept his distance from Luthar, changing direction slightly with every step. Luthar decided to switch things up a bit and threw a feint to Erics chest. He reacted by bringing his shield across, playing into Luthar’s hands. He changed course at the last moment and went low, catching Eric’s boot with the flat of his sword, upending him.

Seizing his advantage, Luthar advanced and pointed his sword straight at Eric’s throat.

‘Yield.’

‘Ha! How do you like that?’ Flint laughed, slapping his thighs. ‘He’s younger than the both of you and he’s just sat you both on your backsides.’

Luthar kept his face as still as he could, it wasn’t good manners to gloat after a victory. 

‘What they’re saying back at the guild is true then. We’ve got a potential blademaster on our hands!’

‘Let’s not be too hasty.’ Cut in Chadwick. ‘The lad’s still young and got a lot to learn before promotion. Anyway, we have work to do.’

Luthar unpacked Chadwick’s armour from Swyft and helped him into it. Within only a few minutes the six of them were all dressed and ready for a fight. The butterflies were flying in Luthar’s stomach and sweat was beading on his brow. This was about to get real.

‘We’ll watch the road in pairs, me and Garrett first.’ Said Ezekiel. ‘Try and stay out of sight unless we call, don’t want to show our numbers before we have to.’

Luthar headed for the rear of the windmill with Chadwick, Flint and Eric. They sat with their backs to the wall, swords drawn and ready by their sides and listening carefully for any sound of Ezekiel calling.

Hours passed as they sat, the sun sinking slowly in the sky and turning a deep red. The shadows lengthened over them, casting them into a dusky grey shade. Flint and Eric were on watch when finally sounds drifted from yonder side of the mill.

All four of them sprang to their feet, like coiled springs, swords in their hands ready to engage.

‘This is private land; I’m going to have to ask you boys to leave.’ Floated Flint’s voice, calm and steady.

‘We’re going nowhere, this mills ours. Bought it off Sir Milton Holt we did.’ Replied a slow, unfamiliar voice.

‘I’m going to have to insist. This wasn’t Holt’s land to sell in the first place. If he’s got an issue with that, he can come speak to us himself. Happy to stay and wait if you’d care to fetch him.’ Flint was unruffled by the other man’s uncouth tone.

‘Listen here, this is my mill and I’ll go through you to get it if I need to.’

‘That won’t happen, last chance.’

No sooner had Flint spoken his last word then came the sound of drawing steel. The four of them sprung from their hiding place and rushed towards the sound.

A grim scene appeared them when they rounded the mill. A man lay on the ground in a pool of his own blood, clearly never to rise again. Another on all fours clutching his stomach, scarlet dripping from his lips. Only a few yards away Flint had three men engaged, shielding Eric behind him. They were back peddling quickly with two further men in pursuit.

Chadwick was racing towards the battle a couple of steps ahead of Luthar, he let out a yell to draw the attention of one of Flint’s pursuers. The man turned too slowly; Chadwick’s swing took the man’s head clean off his shoulders. Without breaking his stride Chadwick raced after the three already on Flint. 

A blood curdling cry from Flint rose above the clash of steel on steel. He fell to the floor limply before Chadwick and Luthar reached him. Eric’s resolve broke and he turned and ran, without an attempt to engage.

Luthar felt the adrenalin surge through his veins, blood pumping he was catching Chadwick. His grip tightened on his sword, jaw set tight he aimed for the smallest of the three men, stood slightly apart.

He led with his shield, blocking a badly aimed swing from the man. His sword met steel for a second, then slid into flesh, bones cracking and shattering. Both fell to the floor, the man’s face frozen, eyes wide and lips slightly apart. Energy surged through Luthar as he pulled his sword out of the wound in his adversary’s chest, blood covering his mail.

A figure flew past Luthar’s right shoulder, bringing him back down to earth. Chadwick had been sent reeling from a blow on his bad shoulder. Two men advanced on him, one on each side to escape his defence. Without thinking, Luthar, set his course for the closest man, a brute with unwashed brown hair and a hooked nose that looked broken.

He saw Luthar coming and faced him, mouth curled in a sneer, casually swinging his sword as if he was taunting a sparring partner.

‘Think you’re tough eh boy?’ he said.

Luthar didn’t answer, concentrating on the brute’s eyes for a sign of attack.

He came for Luthar with a high overhead strike, destined to cleave him in two. Luthar sidestepped and drew the blade of his sword along the man’s side, just below his arm where his armour lacked protection. 

‘Agh!’ he yelled, stumbling forward holding his wound with his left hand. ‘You little…’

Luthar didn’t wait for the rest, he swung a backhand strike at his neck, feeling a crunching impact as he hit the man’s spine. He crumpled, life abandoning him in a swift second.

Luthar spun around looking for Chadwick. He spotted him on his back, trying to scramble away whilst defending against furious blows from the last man. His strikes were fast and strong but not well aimed, for that Luthar was thankful. He was across the few yards that separated them in seconds, aiming for the weak spot at the neck.

The man wasn’t quick enough to react, Luthar’s sword found his neck, cutting like a knife through butter. He sank to his knees, eyes wide with disbelief and blood gurgling out through his lips and down his front. One last cough and shower of blood, then he fell face down into the mud, inches from where Chadwick lay panting and injured.

Luthar held his hand out to help Chadwick to his feet. Wearily he grabbed it and struggled to stand, breathing heavily.

‘Better late than never.’ Was all he said.

Ezekiel appeared at Chadwick’s shoulder, wiping blood off his sword with an old piece of cloth.

‘All in one piece?’ he asked.

‘Just. Mostly thanks to young Luthar here.’

‘Seems he’s as good as you said. Saw him cut down three men just now.’

Ezekiel’s words hit Luthar like a hammer. His throat felt dry, and blood pumped in his ears. He’d ended the life of three men, three families without a father or brother tonight, because of him. Tears pricked the backs of his eyes.

A firm hand found his shoulder.

‘Your first is never easy lad, I was the same. But if it wasn’t for you today the guild would have lost three good men and its reputation in these parts. It doesn’t feel it now, but you’ve done the right thing many times over today.’ 

There was a softness in Chadwick’s voice he’d seldom heard before. Almost like the tone of a father comforting a favourite son.

Luthar sucked in a deep breath and forced his head high and shoulders back. He spotted Garrett in the corner of his eye, helping a very weak Flint to his feet. He nodded to Chadwick and Ezekiel, then made to help Garrett.

Blood was flowing freely from a gash on the right side of Flint’s head, covering him and Garrett. Luthar grabbed his left arm and helped him back to their small camp to see to his wounds.

They set him on the ground propped up against the side wall of the mill. Soon enough there was a fresh linen bandage wrapped around his head and a flask of ale in his hand. Luthar looked around their little band of warriors, each stared into the fire with only the company of their own thoughts. 

Suddenly, Chadwick broke the silence.

‘I think it’s time the guild promoted you lad.’ Was all he said, eyes burning into Luthar’s.