Gods and Guardians

Chapter 46: The Masters of Combat

The arrow pierced Truman's nape, emerging beneath the chin. He fell beside Nimrod, writhing and wriggling. Layman ran back and pushed Set out of the way, just in time to avoid being hit.

'Stay down,' Layman said, 'behind me.'

Damian dived for safety too.

A stream of arrows rained from the trees. Layman drew his second sword and deflected every one of them as they arrived. He even counted them as they came.

...Twenty-nine... Thirty.

Then a new set came. He deflected them as before, except this time, he decided not to deflect the last one. He bent out of its line, divided it in three with the two swords and fetched the tip with a backhand swing returning it back where it came from. Someone groaned and fell from that tree, dead.

Layman posed with swords in a cruciform.

'Show yourselves! I warn you!'

Silence.

Then laughter came from behind a tree. It was loud and hoarse, somewhat patronizing even. He began to clap as he emerged.

'Layman, I do not expect any less from a master of combat like yourself.'

He wore a black leather coat that reached his boots, with dreadlocks and an ugly dentition. Damian thought his face looked familiar but couldn't place it. He crawled to Nimrod, turned his cold face up on his lap and tapped his cheek begging him to wake up.

Layman recognized the man in the dreadlocks. He relaxed his hands and turned to face the man squarely. People dropped down from the trees. 'Leroy,' Layman said, 'you are still wanted even now than ever for all the road robberies of the two kingdoms.'

Damian looked up and at this point recognized the man. He was the leader of the bandits.

'You mean the three kingdoms,' he corrected. 'I am wanted in Meinz too. Anyway, that's not why I'm here. I came here to repay a debt.'

Twenty-nine men gathered behind Leroy, all carrying bows and quivers of arrows.

'What debt?' Layman asked.

'Have you forgotten so soon, Layman?'

Layman dropped his head. 'This is about your brother. Isn't it?'

Leroy gave Damian a brief look as he sobbed over Nimrod's body. 'You have a habit of depriving people of their loved ones. You love to see people cry,' Leroy spoke somberly. He directed one of his men to attend to Nimrod if possible.

'Your brother was guilty,' Layman insisted.

'Of course, why not? Someone must pay for the crimes of the high and mighty.'

Layman's eyes flashed with impatience. 'What do you want?'

Leroy turned to Damian again. The image seemed to call up bitter memories. He threw aside one lower half of his coat, revealing a lofty hilt. 'Today, Layman,' he drew slowly, a long grind between sword and sheath, 'you will pay for what you did to me 20 teneries ago.'

'You are joking, right?' Layman asked incredulous. 'This matter is already settled and forgotten. I don't want any more deaths on this account.'

Leroy brandished the sword slowly and held it in a double grip. 'The worst thing you would do right now is to underestimate me. I beg you, please don't.'

Leroy's man signed as he tried to stem the bleeding. Damian saw them engage with Leroy doing the most attacking. Leroy's fluency was a sort he has never seen. From every direction, he spun attacks and blocks. He spun up and down with every move. He controlled the tempo when he moved with structured steps to accompany his swings. The sound of clanging swords rang in frequency from rapid to one monotonous sound and back.