Death After Death

“What are you doing,” the driver hissed. “They’ll kill you.”

“They’ll certainly try,” Simon said, too quietly for the other man to hear, as he trudged off the muddy roads and into the wilted fields.

Simon noted that despite the concern in his voice, he didn’t stop the wagon. That was smart. Risking getting stuck a second time at this moment would be the dumbest thing anyone could do. He wasn’t worried about that, though; the men in that wagon didn’t seem especially inclined toward selfless acts.

When he walked through the field, his traction got much better immediately as he stomped across the grains that should have long since been locked away in the granary. The strangers didn’t come out to meet him, though, until he was almost to the village. Instead, they moved away from him and toward the road.

Simon shook his head at that. “Fight me, not them,” he growled to himself.

He knew he’d have to use magic in this fight, but he was trying to hold off as long as he could. He wasn’t as young as he used to be.

When one of the ragged looking men stepped out to meet him, Simon’s appraisal of the situation changed. These weren’t bandits, they were deserters. That made them an order of magnitude more dangerous. Still, he kept his hand off his sword for now, but only because it would invite trouble that much faster.

“Where are your friends off to, old man?” the soldier nearest to him called out as he approached them. No one was afraid of Simon, and no bows were pointed in his direction. Most of those were with the group that had set up a ways off to deal with the caravan. They were waiting for some order, though, and for now, they just stood there.

“Those poor bastards?” Simon asked, trying diplomacy. “They were just giving me a ride. I wouldn’t worry too much about them. They’re just skin and bone like the rest of us.”

“I dunno,” the man said with a scowl, “Even a skinny ox will still feed us for days. We’re the King's men and at liberty to scavenge whatever supplies we need to continue the fight. Now, hand over your coin purse, and we’ll let you off with a warning.”

“If I give you my purse while you spare the caravan, Simon asked?” He didn’t care too much about his gold at this point, but it was probably worth more than anything that group had. It would have been a good deal for everyone. The caravan would go free, the deserters would get paid, and Simon wouldn’t have to waste any more magic. Sadly, he didn’t think this guy was smart enough to go for it.

“Why would I do that when I have archers?” the deserter asked. With a whistle, he pointed at them, and they started to draw arrows. “See - men like us, we can do two things at once. Now, hand it over before I take it.”

“Yes, but what if you don’t have archers?” Simon asked.

The man’s face twisted into a look of confusion, and he took a moment to enjoy it before he pointed and said, “Dnarth Vrazig.”

Distant lightning wasn’t a spell he used a lot anymore, but it never disappointed and came down from the sky like a bolt from the blue, killing one man immediately before jumping to one or two others. Simon didn’t know if they would live or not, but the damage was done, and their shot was spoiled as suddenly everything came into chaos.

“Shit, he’s a warlock,” the deserter said, taking several steps backward as he fumbled with his sword. “He’s a—”

Simon didn’t let him get away, though, and matched him step for step, drawing his blade. There was no fear in him to slow him down, though, and he beat the other man for a draw, stabbing his sword through the other man’s chest before he could draw his own sword and parry.

No, that wasn’t quite right, Simon realized as the man stumbled backward and onto the ground. He had brought his sword up in time, but Simon’s blade had cut right through it so easily that he hadn’t even noticed the resistance. That surprise was matched when he realized that he’d gone right through the man’s chain mail just as easily.

“Woah,” Simon gasped in surprise, “What in the hell is this?”

He looked down at the blade for a moment. He had no time to study it in any detail now that the alarm had been sounded and people were moving on him, but he felt an overwhelming desire to do so just the same.

The blade’s scabbard had seen better days, but the weapon itself gleamed. He wasn’t even sure it was steel. There wasn’t a spot of rust on it, and the lines and runes that had been carved on it were clear and bright. No, they’re more than bright, he realized. There’s no light to reflect in this gloom. They’re glowing.

At a glance, Simon didn’t recognize any new words of power. There was no word of vorpal or laser sword, but there was definitely more to learn once the fighting was done. Now, he had to turn to fight the other men who were running at him, and Simon turned to face them as the gleaming blue-gray lines shone across his magic sword.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

The first parry he made with the blade was almost his last, as it turned out. That wasn’t overconfidence or anything, not really. Instead, as he raised his blade to parry the overhand chop, he sliced right through the blade again, and the solider that he was fighting thrust the blade further in, taking advantage of the unexpected opening and striking a glancing blow that deflected painfully off of several ribs.

Simon grunted in pain as he took the man’s head. If that warrior had been much better, he would certainly be dead by now. He considered using a healing spell, but he could still move well enough and didn’t want to be distracted while two more men drove toward him.

This time, he didn’t parry with the edge. He used the side of the blade to block the blow of the first man’s broadsword before he cleaved off the arm that was wielding it with the counterstrike. While he tried to process what had just happened, the man behind him with a spear thrust forward. Rather than trying to dodge in his current state, he lopped the point of the spear and the foot of wood that followed it off directly. He still took a quarterstaff-like blow to the gut from the spear that doubled him over for a moment, but even as he grimaced in pain, he decided it had been the best choice.

The spearman was looking at him warily now, but the swordsman was busy screaming in shock. “My hand, he took my fucking hand!” the man bellowed.

Simon feinted at the spearman, grimacing himself from the sudden movement, but the man was smart, and even as he drew a dagger, he jumped behind his maimed companion. Simon took the opportunity to finish off the injured man with a quick thrust that ignored the pot helmet he was wearing.

“There’s still time to run,” Simon said calmly. It wasn’t because he cared about his opponent's life, of course. It was because he could feel himself starting to run on empty. He was more tired than any spell warranted, and for a moment, he thought to blame the sword, but it didn’t feel like a magical drain. It was deeper than that. Bloodloss, he thought to himself. That only further increased his sense of urgency.

“Why run when I could kill you and take your fancy sword, you devil,” the spearman answered, flashing him a smile that was missing a few teeth. “You might have some neat tricks, but you can barely reach me, can you?” As he spoke, Simon gave a few half-hearted slashes, but the man danced back out of reach. He might only be armed with a dagger now, but he also had a pretty good eye.

“You think a Warlock can’t hit you for ten feet away?” Simon smirked, trying to decide if he wanted to waste on the spell.

“Doesn’t matter,” the warrior spat. “I know my friends can reach you from there…”

Simon only had the barest urge to turn, but he resisted the oldest trick in the book, and he paid for it with an arrow in the back. “Fuck,” he growled, staggering back a couple steps as two others landed close by. He wasn’t alone, Simon remembered. He’d know his lightning probably hadn’t gotten all of them, but…

His opponent took that moment to strike, but Simon was ready for that one at least. Though he’d been looking intentionally weak, he had more than enough strength left to carve this guy up. He brought the sword up in a swing that took the warrior's arm at the elbow before he brought it down in a vicious strike that cut him in two from clavicle to groin.

That was his last gasp, though, and he fell to one knee as he tried to survey his surroundings. There were still three left that he could see and maybe more that he couldn’t.

For the moment, Simon ignored hypotheticals and dragged himself against the closest building as best he could. Then, once he had some cover, he tore open his shirt so he could get a good look at that wound. He healed it with a word of healing after only the quickest of inspections, opting to skip a minor word so that he could try to ease the blood loss rather than just close it.

It worked, and he instantly felt better. The thing resulted in a jagged scar, and he doubted he’d healed all the musculature correctly, but right now wasn’t the moment to worry about such things. Instead, he slowly got to his feet and peeked around the corner, sword in hand. He would have preferred to heal his arrow wound, but the arrowhead had a barb on it, and there was no way he was healing it until he’d removed it.

He saw all three advancing toward him but decided they weren’t grouped up quite closely enough yet. So, he retreated deeper into the ruins of the village, making noise as he went to try to get them closer together.

“Surely we can talk about this,” he yelled, feigning weakness. “I’ve got coin!”

“We want your head, old man!” one yelled.

“You’ll pay for what you did to Trenton!” another called out.

Despite their anger and his best efforts to act like he was bleeding out, they were still being extra cautious. That made sense since they had some idea of what his powers were, but even so, he found it to be frustrating as he weaved between buildings slowly while the arrow in his back dug ever deeper into his kidney.

“I’m going to be pissing blood for a damn week,” Simon cursed as he tried to find the right vantage to strike them down.

He jumped when a red light suddenly appeared behind him, sending a long silhouette out ahead of him. Simon spun around with blade in hand and found the portal he hadn’t even been looking for yet.

He shook his head and turned away again. If the group had been the goal, then he was sure that this or the bridge they were going to cross had the portal he was looking for, but he still had three assholes to deal with, So if he bounced, he’d pretty much be guaranteeing himself that he’d have to do all this again next time.

Still, now that he knew where the finish line was, though, he could afford to burn a little hard. Simon leaned around the corner and spotted where two of them were positioning inside a house on the far side of the square from him for some ambush. “Meiren!” he shouted, enveloping the entire interior of the place in fire before the roof fell in on them. They died screaming, but Simon didn’t care. He was already looking for his next, and hopefully final, target.

Simon found him attempting to flee near the edge of the village. He would have let him go, too, except for the fact that the idiot was heading in the one direction he couldn’t allow. He was running right back to the retreating caravan.

Simon sighed and finished the fight with another word of distant lightning. It wasn’t such a strong spell, but it made him see stars as his vision greyed out for a moment. By the time he recovered, the fleeing man was dead.

So, Simon started back toward the portal he’d seen earlier. It looked nicer on the next level, and if he was about to cause himself unspeakable pain to heal up, he at least wanted to get out of the rain and mud.

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