The Codex Lacrimae: The Book of Tears

Chapter 4: The Battle of the Underjordisk Elv: Aurelius

A few minutes before Clarinda dropped into the rushing waters, Aurelius watched in disbelief as the hatchet sped back to him—the thought occurred to dodge it, but then the weapon flew snugly into his hand. He glanced at it.

Had the hatchet grown after hitting the giant's head?

The flat blade certainly seemed to be broader and thicker, though its edge was just as sharp as it had ever been; but the claw opposite it seemed to have flattened somewhat and become denser, taking the aspect of a mattock. He adjusted his grip on the handle; that, too, had gotten heftier.

A werewolf leapt in front of him, no more time to dwell on the change. He swung the hatchet hard into the creature's face. It fell, and Aurelius rushed past him to confront the still-approaching rock giant.

"You're not what you were, Taliesin, but I know you," the giant roared, swinging his quarterstaff at Aurelius. "We'll finally have our revenge!"

The Hospitaller ducked smoothly under the stave, aware of crimson energies trailing its arc. Anticipating a quick reverse thrust from his opponent, he vertically checked the giant's wooden bar with the hatchet. Yellow light crackled along the weapons when they collided with a shudder. They battled, weaving back and forth, the giant's quarterstaff against Aurelius's sword and woodsman's tool.

Andvari and Traeg blasted the undead Wilde Jagd with orange pulses of sorcery, while the four dwarvish brothers tirelessly defended the left cave entrance. Oxen and wolves screamed while dying in flames from the Death Archers' arrows.

Clarinda shouted something to Aurelius about using the hatchet, but he already knew that it had some unique, helpful properties. He noted that some skeletons were nearing her position—he needed to slay this giant and get back to her side.

Mindful of the giant's stance and shifting weight, the Hospitaller closed on his opponent, feeling strangely as if he were in the midst of a sparring session years ago with Devrone di Magglia. However, unlike those past times when he practiced with a staff in an inland meadow on Italy's Amalfi coast, now he fought with hatchet and sword in a subterranean battleground.

"If you can, Servius, always turn disadvantages into advantages," Devrone had repeatedly told him as they sparred, bringing all his expertise as a former Crusader to the benefit of his ward.

The clacking of their oaken staffs broke the quiet of the olive grove near the monastery.

"If your opponent feints and you've already committed to a thrust or strike," Devrone continued day, "don't try to fly backward, nor give an awkward parry. Some instructors would have you slip your guard hand and try to reverse the hit, but I say use your forearm guard as a shield and take the blow, then keep moving forward. If you can keep your balance, it's usually the last thing that anyone expects and can open up entire new dynamics for combat."

Nearby, two other boys, Nicolo (a Venetian) and Alexios (a Greek) trained with quarterstaffs with Brother Tomas. They shared Aurelius's summer visits to Santa Maria di Corrazo, but he'd never learned if their presence was for his own development or theirs.

When they'd finished sparring and the others had returned to the monastery with Brother Tomas, Aurelius had asked Devrone, "Why am I training with Alexios and Nicolo?"

"You know the answer. They're peers of similar ability, and you need competition to develop. Tomas and I are grown men, but in a few years all of you will be stronger than us. Training to each other's strengths and weaknesses now will make you stronger later."

"That's just it, Master—they're not my peers. One's the son of an emperor, and the other's the son of the doge of Venice."

"You beat them daily," Devrone said, "and I believe that you might have a chance at beating me in a couple years, even though you'll only be fourteen."