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Short Stories Adventure The Wanderer
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The WandererThis story may contain adult content. |
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| Written by Alamo St-Jean | |
| Wednesday, 09 April 2008 | |
| Last Updated ( Thursday, 10 April 2008 ) |
Many times I have fallen in battle, many lovers I can remember, many men I betrayed, many places I have visited.
I can remember piercing the ribcage of a man on a cross.
I mastered the sword and the bow in many countries both forgotten and lost.
I have fought in trenches, smelling of vomit, armed with a bayonet and a pistol.
I was a pilot for the confederation and crashed my ship on asteroid XM-Zeta-0389.
I have worn armors of leather, brass, iron, kevlar and energy.
I can remember a time when the world went nuclear and the earth became a wasteland.
This body that I inhabit at the moment is the one after this event. I have clear visions of the men, women and children running away from the cities and the sea of flames. The sky was raining acid and ash upon the world. I have survived the hordes of hooligans on the road. I was bitten by a two-headed snake and the world faded for a time.
Then I was born again.
In this world, I am a sword master, a traveler of the old ways, a king in exile, a warrior to a lost cause.
Sitting at his table, alone, the stranger was drinking his ale. Strangers weren't appreciated this far into the land of Oüpp.
To them he looked like a soldier or a mercenary, the kind looking for trouble, seducing their wives and their daughters, carrying ill will for the crops.
The truth is he hadn't a place to call home anymore. A king to some, a thief for others, Taza-Mann had been destroyed by the Dragons of Mir-Talona. He had led his men gloriously chanting the battle hymn of old, he had severed the head of the Great Gray Worm mounted on its back, flying a few hundred feet into the air and crashed violently with the beast on the side of Mount Kir and survived somehow. But devastation and darkness came nonetheless upon the land and this time there was too many armies to fight and they carried weapons of the old people: cylinders, carrying the thunder within, something he vaguely remembered being called "guns" in his past lives.
A group of drunken bearded men decided it was taking the stranger too long to finish is ale. So they went, all five of them to rout him out, with the intention of kicking is arse all the way to the River Of Gold if need be.
The oldest of the group, who had gray at his temple and many scars from battle long forgotten but all but him, came a few inches from the man's face and said:
"We d'not appreciate your kind ‘round ‘ere, bug off and we'll let ye liv'o resist, as I expect from the look o'ye and we'll slice ye down and feed'ye t'our dogs."
The Wanderer just kept drinking his ale patiently, savoring it but his hands were aching for action at the slightest sign of danger, longing for it, for the adrenaline surge that comes afterward.
"What ar'ye deaf old man? Arr, so he is! Less'teach our guess how'to reply p'litely, so we will!"
The man just dodged sideways as the axe came raining down for where he had just been, slicing the wooden table in two. In two quick motions he was directly behind the men, his swords already drawn. He motioned for them to get outside.
"This concerns no other than us. Leave the good people of Jerl at their meal and let's be done with this."
They went outside and by then, half of the inn's patrons had joined the frenzy and hatred of the drunken men. They were either shouting or drawing weapons of their own, most of them had been improvised on the spot, or they were creating a neat circle around the small mob of men, roughly twenty of them, as more and more passersby were curious as what was happening in the street and decided their errands could wait a bit longer.
Confident in their actions, they decided to fight one after the other. The first man, more a boy than a man, to attack the Wanderer was a young red-hair, tall and muscular from working on the farms but who probably never had a real taste of combat before.
His head was on the ground the moment he moved in front of the stranger. The mob was shocked by this for a few moments and the drunken man who had barked at the Wanderer, was shouting at everyone to kill this devil, this murderer and this son of a dog.
The Wanderer parried the incoming attacks, coming from all sides, first two axe swings and then he riposted with a quick thrust to the thighs of the attacker, then one table leg was kicked back and slammed the holder of it square in the face. They both fell down. Then he danced with the remaining men.
Millenniums spent mastering diverse weapons had giving him knowledge no man could possible possess. He had learned first to fight with wooden sticks, then with short roman gladiuses, then Zweihänter, and diverse weapons of different eras all the wait up to energy weapons... This clearly wasn't the first time he had fought this many men at once nor was it the last time.
Frenzy overtook the mob and errors they made. By the first minute six of them were already lying dead on the dust street. His twin swords, forged with the knowledge of the old people kept slicing and vibrated, creating a humming sound to his every move; marking the rhythm with a gracious response of his attuned muscles and rewarding every hit with a singular high-pitched note.
By the second minute three quarters of the men were down, a half were wounded.
The leader finally came into the fight himself, he was the last of the attackers still standing. He too, carried twin swords, although they were not as gracious and light than the Wanderers Titanium forged blades, they were fine pieces nonetheless and they had on many occasions been tainted by the blood of soldiers, mercenaries and innocents.
They both entered into battle stances, both men veterans of wars, scars marking their features. The Wanderer held his right blade overhead and slightly bent, pointing at the man's face, the other was closer to his body, ready to take defense if need be. The bearded man was standing half-crouched, like a coiled snake, ready to leap and attack, his two swords raised like fangs.
For a complete minute they just circled each other. Everyone outside of the circle was watching silently two masters who were about to clash steel.
To the fighters though, the world aside, didn't exist anymore.
Then suddenly everything went into motion, swords were clanging so fast, time and time again. Every movement so blurry it was hard for the spectators to register all of them. The Wanderer seemed to have gained the upper hand though; he had pierced the man's defenses three times already, drawing blood on his thigh, his cheek and his left arm.
Desperate the bearded man shouted:
"Who ar'ye, ye faithless dog!?"
"No one of importance to the likes of you," the Wanderer replied.
The duel went on for another two minutes; the Wanderer never seemed to make mistakes, his reflexes were still better than a boy's, even though his mane was white.
The bearded man's swords went suddenly flying into the air; his forearms were still holding the hilts. He cried in pain but his cry sounded more like bubbling water as blood was gurgling in his severed throat.
The circle kept silent. The Wanderer was panting, taking his breath back. Fighting against 23 men had tired him after all it seemed.
He went back into the inn. Nobody dared make a move; they were still awed by what had just happened before their very eyes.
He came out after a minute. His bag slung on his shoulders, his blades wiped clean and sheathed on his back. He went passed by them without a second glance. He thought: No matter how many lives I will live, men will always be the same no matter the country, the color of one's skin or his religious beliefs... I should have learned that millenniums ago.
The Wanderer never came back to Jerl; although he has conquered the Throne of Taza-Mann back, reclaiming his rightful title and re-establishing peace on his lands. But that my friend, is a tale for another day...
Comments (1) |
 04-10-2008 21:35, I liked the first paragraph.Very intruiging. The story was good, enjoyed the fighting scenes,very descriptive.Like to see more stories based on this. » Reply to this comment... |
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