“How was their armor marked? Their shields?”
“The shields were marked with words and a sword, Master,” Tur-uck said. “I do not know the words. Their armor had a device of an eagle, here,” he said, indicating the left breast.
“Blood Lords,” Chansa snarled. “Very well. Tur-uck, you are made a sub-leader as of now. Of course, you must fight to retain your position, but you have it. Good job coming back; I’m willing to accept that it was not for lack of courage.”
With that the True Master strode away and Tur-uck sagged in relief.
“I would have had your head off for disobeying orders,” the Lesser Master snarled.
“I live to serve, Master,” Tur-uck said, falling to hands and knees. “My neck is yours to strike.”
“Get up,” the Lesser Master said. “Your life is Marshal Chansa’s to take and his decisions I don’t question. I’ll assign you a sub-group. Don’t fisk up or I will have your head.”
“Yes, Master,” Sub-leader Tur-uck replied, rising to his feet and admitting that maybe he wasn’t having such a bad day after all.
Chapter One
As the axe clanged off his shield, Herzer knew he was having a bad day.
His opponent was as fast as he was and darned near as tall and strong. Furthermore, Herzer had never in his life fought someone who used an axe with such effectiveness. The weapon had a meter and a half metal-covered shaft and his opponent used it as a combination of quarterstaff and axe to great effect.
Herzer Herrick was a young man just nearing his twenty-fifth birthday, a shade over two meters tall and broad in proportion, with black hair and dark green eyes that, as now, slitted into fiery intensity when he was in combat. His face had a long scar on the cheek and more scars crisscrossed his unguarded forearms, visible proof of his many battles.
Herzer flickered the tip of his longsword forward and was rewarded with another one of those nasty spin and catches, the haft of the axe clanging into his blade then the head sliding down to trap it. Before he knew it, the butt of the axe was hammering into his shield and he leapt back, disengaging his blade with difficulty.
“Think you’re tricky?” Herzer panted.
“Very,” the man said. He began spinning the axe overhead, clockwise, moving back and forth lightly on his feet. “Trickier than you, Major. As you’ll learn when I kill you.”
Herzer knew there was a reason to the motion but he couldn’t divine it. The axe could slam down but with all that momentum there was no way that his opponent could use it for an effective block. Especially if he came in low. He circled to the left, then lunged forward in a shield bash, his sword held low at his side, point angling upward to slip through chinks in his opponent’s armor.
It took him a moment to realize what was happening as the axeman brought the spinning circle of steel downwards and neatly kicked the sword out of midline. The axeman rode the shield bash backwards, actually loosing contact with his axe as it spun around the fulcrum of Herzer’s useless sword. Then his shield was wrenched outwards as a tremendous blow struck him on his chest armor.
“Kill point,” the judge said. “Break.”
“Kill point?” Herzer protested, looking down at the blue mark. The axeman had first pulled his shield outward, then used his own energy to hammer the reverse point of the training axe into his armor. He supposed it would have punctured the armor and given him a wound. But he’d had, and fought with, far worse.
“In space,” Colonel Carson said, pulling off his helmet, “that would have opened up your armor and vented your atmosphere. It’s a kill. Trust me.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not going along on your mission, then,” Herzer said, grinning. “On the other hand, I can think of two or three counters to that move. All of which would leave you disarmed, or dead, or both. How many do you have in your bag of tricks?”
“Hopefully enough,” Carson said with a grin. “We’ve been training for this mission for two years and from what Miss Travante tells us, New Destiny had yet to even begin to plan when she… errr…”
“Megan generally uses the term ‘escaped,’ ” Herzer said with a grin. “I generally say something like ‘blew that popsicle stand.’ Sometimes she doesn’t get the humor.”
“I see,” Colonel Carson said, somewhat uneasily. While it was true that he outranked Major Herrick, there was no one in the army of the United Free States, with the possible exception of Duke Edmund Talbot, who was more famous. And with his engagement to the new Key-holder, Countess Megan Travante, Herrick’s career was presumably unlimited. Carson was well aware that he was probably dueling with a future boss and certainly someone with the ear of some very important people so he chose his words carefully. “I don’t say it will be a cakewalk, unless they intend to just let us steal all the fuel and do nothing about it. But we should be able to handle anything they throw at us.”
Herzer grimaced despite the careful phrasing and shrugged.
“Colonel, with all due respect,” he said, carefully, “I would strongly suggest that you not even think that. New Destiny is, in many ways, better at this war than we are. They are better at intelligence gathering, they are better at… call it ‘special systems’ development and they are not stupid when it comes to tactics. I’ve taken that attitude before and it bit me in the ass. So has Duke Edmund and it bit him in the ass. I would strongly suggest that you assume New Destiny is going to throw something you’ve never seen at you, that is game winning, and plan for it. Otherwise, it’s going to bite you in the ass. And there won’t be a second shot at this mission, sir.”
Carson sighed. “So I’m aware.”
“Big pressure, sir,” Herzer said, nodding. “Welcome to the world-saver’s club. Admission is hard. Staying in is harder,” he added with a grin, holding up one arm that terminated in a complex prosthetic.
“You haven’t had that replaced, I notice,” Carson said, walking over to the racks and putting up his armor and weapons.
“Well, Megan has access to the power,” Herzer admitted. “And Mistress Daneh, or even her daughter Rachel, is more than capable of doing the regeneration. But…” He looked at the device and clicked it thoughtfully. “It has some things it does better than a hand and, in general, I’ve found that those are useful. Maybe if we ever win this damned war I’ll have it replaced. Until then, I think I’ll keep it. Great for opening beer bottles.”
“And speaking of Lady Megan,” Carson said, smiling. “Where is your fiancée?”
“Getting ready for the Foundation Ball, sir.” Herzer grimaced, looking up at the wall mounted chronometer. “Which I’m also supposed to attend.”
“Hanging out with the nobs, eh?” Carson said, smiling. “Why don’t you look happy? Plenty of majors would like an opportunity to bend the ear of the Army commander, for example.”
“Well, honestly, I can bend Duke Edmund’s ear any time I’d like, sir,” Herzer said, shrugging. “And if he thinks it’s worthwhile he’ll bring it to Minister Spehar, which carries more weight than a major doing it. But, honestly, sir, it’s four hours of standing around making polite conversation with people who will take your words and use them as a knife in your back. Then there are the after-dinner speeches. I don’t even get to sit with Megan since she’s real high society and I’m just her… fiancé. I’ll be down in the peanut gallery with the lowlifes like… well… colonels and select members of the House of Commons.”
“Sounds idyllic,” Carson said with a chuckle.
“Thanks,” Herzer replied, putting away the last piece of armor. “I hope to see you again before your mission, sir.”