Page 28 of Blood Fist
Niklas called for more arrows. A young boy fetched him more with a head down. His eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun, finger calluses plucking against the string as he notched another arrow and pulled. Brune didn’t need to follow it to know his aim was true.
The only evidence of the Clansmen archers was their colorful shafts sprouting from the soldiers. Unlike their own force, they appeared to be scattered in the trees and shrubs, hiding until they made their shot before darting to a new location.
In the blur of bodies, Brune caught sight of Osmond. He was just as quick as he was the night before, moving like a ghost. He carried twin daggers the length of his forearms, spinning and cutting, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. His light hair was pulled back from his face, discolored with blood and sweat. He didn’t seem to notice, keeping close to Chief Restrina.
The Chief was a force in her own right. She fought stylistically, almost like a dance. Her staffed weapon spun; blade so sharp it met no resistance. Where Osmond had an almost pleasant smile on his face, Chief Restrina was snarling, eyes wild, teeth bared.
It became clear she had a destination in mind. Her deadly dance was bringing her closer to General Bargrave. A fight to the death between the leaders would certainly decide the fate of battle.
Chief Restrina severed an arm, picking up the dropped sword and driving it through Brune’s battalion commander’s chest. With him out of the way, she was free to go after General Bargrave.
General Bargrave had size on his side. While he was slower than the Chief, his wicked broad sword kept her at a distance. Something she was apparently used to, as she levered her long weapon like an extension of her arm. She would jab and cut, darting out of the way before General Bargrave could bring his big sword around.
The General roared his frustration, sweat dripping down his face. It looked like he was swatting at a bug, so busy frantically trying to get his sword up in time to block the killing blows he was missing glancing strikes. She picked at him, waiting, and watching for the moment he would slip up.
But the General had not been given his reputation, he’d earned it, and his prowess in battle was more than just talk. Chief Restrina dove at him again, hitting the ground to get under his swing. As she stood to get back to her feet, he caught her across the chest with the flat of his sword. She dropped, chest heaving as she reached for her downed weapon.
Bargrave didn’t wait. He kicked her in the face, sending her sprawling. The Chief was dazed and blinded. From the corner of his eye, he saw Osmond scream, grappling with two soldiers as he tried to get to his Chief.
Trapped and weaponless, the woman rolled to her feet and lifted her fists. He could see blood drippingdown her face. Bargrave brought his sword down and she grabbed it, screaming as the blade dug into the bone of her hand. Using the sword for balance, she dropped to her knees and spun under it, coming up to punch Bargrave in the face with her bloodied fists.
The woman was tiny, but she packed a punch. Bargrave’s head rocked back, his sword faltering. Chief Restrina pulled a hidden dagger from her boot, advancing on the stunned Bargrave.
It wasn’t enough.
Feigning more injury than he had, he grabbed Chief Restrina by the neck and snapped her arm over his knee. Her scream was heard across the clash of weapons. Bargrave pulled the blade from her limp, bloody hand and stabbed her.
Jerking in his grip, she clawed and scratched at his hand even as her strength waned. With her scream the battle slowly slowed, both sides watching as Bargrave dropped the woman at his feet. He let her curl over the spreading pool of blood, picking up his broadsword.
What he said to her was lost to distance, but she lifted her head to snarl at him. Teeth bared even as she clutched the bloody mess of her stomach. She never even looked at the blade lifted to take her head, simply stared Bargrave down without flinching.
“BARGRAVE!”
A lone figure crested the hill from the Clansmen side. He was astride a wiry horse, one hand fisted in the reins and the other gripping a sword. The horse snorted at the sight and smell of so much death. Stomping its hooves, its sides heaved as the man pressed it forward, galloping down the hill.
The Clansmen on the battlefield shifted, hushed murmurs making their way like a wave.
He rode past their lines, making no move to look atthe dead or dying, riding straight for General Bargrave. As they approached, his horse stuttered to a halt, whites of its eyes rolling. Hefting the sword, he dismounted and let the horse skitter away, back towards the safety of the hill.
Now that he was closer, Brune could make him out. He was young, perhaps a year or so younger than he was. Tight little braids, beads and teeth woven between the strands held his blonde hair back. He was slight, broad shoulders tapering down to a slender waist. With no shirt on, his tanned skin was littered with faint scars.
He lifted his sword, pointing it straight at General Bargrave. “I am Ridan Oldsun, heir to the Stone Blade clan, and I challenge you.” His voice was grave and confident, brown eyes bright, lips curled in a snarl.
Just like his mother.
The Chief wheezed, blood foaming at her lips. “Ridan…” she groaned weakly, watching him over her shoulder.
He ignored her, his attention never straying from General Bargrave. The big man took a moment to take stock of the situation before laughing. It was a startling sound, one that didn’t belong with the gurgle of people choking on their own blood.
“What kind of alpha sends an omega to fight her battles?” he asked, his booming voice carrying.
“What kind of alpha refuses a direct challenge?” Ridan shouted back, shoulders stiff.
Osmond and several of the closest Clansmen looked to each other, unsure of what to do. They clearly wanted to intervene, but knew it would only spark the flames to ignite the battle again.
Bargrave seemed to consider Ridan. How the general knew he was an omega across a battlefield, Brune didn’t know. When he looked at the young man,all he saw was conviction. Purpose dripping from every inch of the warrior.
“And if I win?”