Julian closed his eyes, fumbling with his long knife in an effort to change his grip in time as there was a thud and a wet tearing sound. The black-clad man toppled gently forwards over Julian, who looked up just in time to see Quintillian, haloed in a shower of blood, still running, bringing his new sword up for another strike. With a surprised smile, Julian blacked out.
Kiva was unaware of the lad’s activities as the moment Athas had shouted the call to arms, three more of the black figures had appeared from the brush like ghosts and launched themselves at the Captain. His vision was blurring uncomfortably and an unpleasant weight was beginning to settle on his limbs. Fighting like a demon he struggled, warding off the blows of knives and ducking as best he could, but despite his best efforts, he was already wounded in at least three places, particularly in his shoulder where he could feel the warm trickle of blood down his arm. Unless the others came to his aid, he wouldn’t last too long.
Further along the road, Marco caught up with Athas and Mercurias. The large Sergeant looked around again for Kiva, spotted Quintillian facing off against one of the black assassins, and started to run. At his shoulder as he ran, he heard Marco call out “he just went off his bloody rocker.”
Another assailant dropped from one of the rocks towards the three of them, and Mercurias thrust his blade into the air, catching the man in the side as he fell. The two of them rolled off into the grass as Athas and Marco caught up with Quintillian. The boy was already wounded, a fair gash running down his thigh. He was fighting with the ferocity of a wolverine, but his inexperience and lack of training would be his downfall the moment his rush faltered. Athas glanced ahead to see Brendan and Scauvus bearing down on the Captain. Quintillian was rushing into a group of five or six of them who were deep in a brawl with men of the Company. Behind him, the man he’d just gutted with his blade proved to be far from dead. Unbeknown to Quintillian, the man rolled onto his side, bringing the knife back and in a swing for the lad’s hamstring.
Athas leapt forward and stamped his heavy hobnailed boot onto the man’s arm, causing an audible snapping sound. The knife skittered away from the assassin’s hand, now useless. The big sergeant was just reaching down to finish the man when Marco he ran past.
“Leave him Athas” the other shouted. “We need a survivor.”
Athas looked up after his compatriot, already right behind Quintillian once more. With a sigh, he looked back down at the black-wrapped man and smiled.
“This is your lucky day” he said.
With a swat of his huge hand, he knocked the consciousness from the attacker and rose to his feet to join the others. Ahead, Quintillian launched himself at another man, literally flinging himself onto the man’s back. As the assassin broke off the combat he was already involved in, he raised his knife to his this new threat, trying to reach round behind him, but the boy was already there and had drawn his arm back and thrust, plunging the blade into the man’s back. The man arched his spine in pain, falling backwards like a sack of sand with the boy still on his shoulders. The two hit the ground, the lad pinned and struggling to retrieve his blade, the bulk of which was visible through the assassin’s chest. One of the other attackers dived for the boy’s face, his dagger gleaming in the sun.
“Oh no you don’t.” Marco swung his leg out and caught the diving assassin with a driving kick to the throat. The man collapsed over to one side and, as Marco helped heave the body off Quintillian, Athas arrived and delivered a hard punch to the man’s temple. Marco finished heaving the body away and looked up at Athas. The big Sergeant was grinning like an idiot. He shrugged and then remembered the boy. The two of them looked back down at the floor through the gathering cloud of dust, but the boy was already gone, hacking away at the next man, one of those who faced Kiva.
A noise cut through the din of battle; the sound of a horn echoing around the rocks. Athas and Marco turned in the direction of the sound and took a moment to spot the figure standing on the hill through the dust cloud. A shadowy figure, silhouetted against the late morning sun. As the two watched the figure made a slight bow and then performed a perfect Imperial military salute, before climbing onto the horse beside him. Athas turned back to the melee, only to discover that the attack had ended. None of the black-clad assailants were to be seen, even the wounded or dead. They’d all vanished in a few mere seconds. Athas rushed forward, Marco at his shoulder. Kiva was leaning against a milestone, his face exhausted and bloody, and Quintillian stood only a yard away, his sword and his teeth bared. Athas looked around. Mercurias was back along the track, dealing with Julian where he lay. Marco, Brendan and Scauvus stood nearby and Kiva and Quintillian faced each other, neither smiling. Of the other five there was no sign.
Marco stepped forward toward Quintillian, his hand held out in a conciliatory manner, but the boy ignored him, his attention riveted on the Captain. Kiva looked up at his opponent, his eyes still swimming, and challenged him.
“Come on then boy” he invited. “You want me? You’ll never have a better chance.”
Marco smiled and laughed nervously, his eyes flicking between the boy and his Captain. He cleared his throat and addressed them both. “Come on now. We’ve just fought off a whole bunch of fuckers. You’re comrades …”
Kiva still looked up at Quintillian.
“Is that what we are boy?” he asked in a hollow voice. “Comrades?”
The first blow when it came, came so fast and unexpectedly that Kiva truly wasn’t prepared for it. Quintillian’s sword arced down towards Kiva’s head and only a desperate thrust with one of his own blades deflected the blow off to the side. It had, however, cut a section of the Captain’s hand guard away and taken the skin off his knuckles. Blood ran onto the blade as he hauled himself shakily upright just in time to stop the second blow from landing. Again the lad’s sword was turned away, grating across the top of the milestone and throwing off sparks. Now Kiva was up and, despite the woolly feeling in his head and the heaviness of his limbs, his instincts were still good. The lad advanced on him like a charioteer at the races, sword held in both hands and falling with hammer-blows time and time again. Again and again Kiva turned the blow, giving ground as he backed across the light, springy summer grass. Soon he would have to deliver the lad an injury or he’d succumb to one of the blows.
Thalo appeared from the brush at the other side of the track. Behind him, Bors appeared, his long sword and shield held on one hand and a scrap of black cloth in the other.
“We were…” his voice trailed away as he took in the sight.
Back the two combatants tracked across the grass, the lad grunting with effort and punctuating each downward swing with bitter venom.
“Bastard!”
The crash of steel on steel.
“Murdering bastard!”
Another crash.
“Why can’t you just die?”
More blows.
Athas and Marco followed the two, the rest of the unit close behind, with the missing men gradually returning to the road. Athas was truly unsure as to what to do; the Captain was clearly weakening. Another downward smash of the sword caught Kiva, too weak now to lift his own in time. The blow smashed into Kiva’s body armour and knocked him backwards. The Captain struggled to pull himself to his feet as Quintillian stared at the sword in his hand and the rent in the banded plates of the Captain’s armour. Kiva pulled himself into an upright position and readied his two swords once more.
Quintillian stared at his sword for a moment longer and lunged forward again, his sword raised above his head.