Chapter 24: The dance with the devil

It’s snowing, light, not as heavy as last night. The snow petals scattered and become adrift in the howling wind while carrying the smell of blood and burned flesh with them.

Narse felt like all of his nerves were on fire. He took a deep breath while ignoring the maddened howl, the hysteric laughter, the cackles, and all the unnecessary noises around him.

“Come on. That can’t be all you got. Come on”

The devil’s laughter echoed.

Narse did not reply, steadying his breath while forming a plan to kill the devil standing before him.

The devil was a giant of a man, tall and towering as a great bear and yet his footwork was nimble as the fastest hare Narse had ever seen. His arms were bulks of muscles hammered together on a dwarven anvil, forged and tested through fire and combat. They were long just as they were thick, giving the devil an unfair advantage in reach. That advantage was further buffed by the two poleaxes in the devil hands.

“Come on. Show that to me again,” the devil laughed as he thudded the butt of his pole axes on the ground.

Under the dim moonlight and the flickering glow of torches, the swelling pinkish flesh on the devil’s face twisted, making him even more hideous of a creature. Blood drenched his shoulder, chest and thigh, the wounds Narse inflicted on him was still there, fresh and dripping. Yet, it was as if this giant devil could feel no pain. His left ear was cut off, a slash tore through the chain mail protecting his chest, and a puncture wound on his right thigh, yet the devil showed no sight of suffering, or pain or slowing down.

Narse had never fought anything like this. The devil in front of him was an alien creature that defied everything he had ever known about combat.

“Fight”

“Come on, fight”

“What are you waiting for?”

“This little shit is chickening out.”

The crowd encircled around Narse and the devil roared, showing no concerned of the red dripping wounds on the devil’s body. They treated this fight as if it was a game or a joke and the devil himself was the same. It was as if they had the absolute confidence in the devil’s victory.

Narse did not expect for this battle to last so long, let alone that it somehow became a one on one duel in this manner, fucking bandits pretended to be honorable and what not.

He had thought that Bloodbeard was a lumbering man, clumsy and slow with such size and physics. The devil may look slow and clumsy, but he was anything but slow and clumsy.

Narse crouched, wiping off the blood on his dwarven made sword on the leather of his iron sole boots. He masked his attempt to draw the hidden dagger in his boot, palming it in his left hand. Then he pointed his long sword at the giant devil and resumed the fight, sprinting.

A swiping poleaxe swept horizontally, checking Narse right on his track. Narse forcefully bent his body to evade and using his momentum to dive low, narrowly avoided the second falling poleaxe. The long sword in his hand arced, aiming at the devil’s ankle, missed.

The devil leapt backward, shortened the grip on one of his poleaxe just in time to deflect the pursuing thrust from Narse’s long sword. The fucking bastard had a reflex of a wolf, the timing of his defense was impeccable. Narse tried to press his advantage, dissing out a flurry of hacks and slashes. The devil took another backward leapt, flourishing one of his poleaxe in a wild circular motion, making it impossible for Narse to continue attacking him.

Narse duck and retreated. He cluck his tongue to wipe away his annoyance. He did not allow the devil to breath or inspecting his latest wound, pressing his attack from a different angle. One of the annoying poleaxes was there once again, checking Narse’s movement. He halted, the second poleaxe predictably thrust with impeccable timing, forcing Narse to twist his hip to avoid it and sidestepped the following backhand strike from the devil himself.

The wind wailed as the bit of the poleaxe tore through the air, gazing Narse’s hair. Those two poleaxes, large as they were, looked like twigs in the hand of the devil, impossibly light and deceptively fast. However, that lightness was just an imagination in his mind, Narse knew it from his experience when he first tried to parry it. His sword hand went numbed for a minute the moment Narse tried to deflect the blow with his blade to set up for his counter attack. He would not make that mistake again.

Seeing that he had no chance to press his attack, Narse quickly retreated, stepping out of the devil’s range. Narse knew he had to be extremely patient with an opponent like this. His chance would come eventually.

Narse took a breather, saving his breath as he stared at the cackling devil whose face was red and whose breath was ragged. The fool was wasting his ranked breath for his hysteric laughter while trying to rousing his men. The fool was being caught up by the moment, a big fool, completely undisciplined and yet the most difficult opponent Narse had ever fought.

Narse reengaged, pacing his attacks and dictating the flows of the battle. He was waiting for an opportunity.

The devil hysterically answered Narse’s relentless attacks with his whirling twin poleaxes. His response was wild and amateurish, yet the length of his poleaxes and arms made it impossible for Narse to penalize those mistakes. The devil would switch his grip once in a while, from a long grip to a short grip and reverse, simple tactic yet extremely effective. Just by shortening the grip on the handle of his poleaxe, the devil’s attacking speed almost tripled, a whirlwind of death and by returning to the long grip, his attack became crushingly strong, impossible to block head on.

Twice, Narse looked at mistress death in the eyes. A concussing blow sent his helmet flying, disappearing into the night, and a wicked reverse backhand took him by surprise, forming a large diagonal cut on his armor. He thought he was going to die both times.

The devil was getting better and better as he kept fighting, the bastard, he slowly adjusted to Narse’s speed, either that or Narse was slowing down to fatigue.

Narse scored a few dozen hit on the devil’s frame, making the cheap chain wrapping around the devil bloody and tattered.

The loss of blood should slow him down significantly and however, the devil was really a devil. His hysteric laughter and his ragged breath echoed within Narse’s ears canal, lodged and refused to go away. The devil never slowed down.

Why can’t he kill the devil, Narse cursed at himself, still palming the dagger in his left hand. The opportunity did not come. His own breath became out of control, ragged just as much as the devil’s. He was breathing through his mouth, never had he fought a battle of such length. Yes, the devil did not become faster, it was Narse who slowed down.

The crowd around Narse was hysteric, a buzzing wasp hive, he could not make out what they were saying through his ringing ears, all these bastards should die a horrible death. Narse tried his hardest to not be distracted from the fight in front of him, and yet his mind sometimes wandered to his brothers, Narik and his brothers in arm and oath.

He hoped they were alive. He hoped that the treachery of those dogs of White Winter came to the light.

Narse took a sharp but deep breath, resuming the fight again. If that opportunity did not present itself, he might as well as create it for himself.

He heavily dragged his sword on the ground with him as he sprinted toward the devil, a giant slab of metal intercepted him, it was the ever annoying poleaxe of the devil again, the same move every single time. Narse halted himself, waiting for axe to pass, then twisted his body to dodge the other, and sidestepped to evade the reverse backhand. He has learned the devil’s rhythm and pattern by his heart. Narse swung his blade, a dust cloud of dirt pelted on the devil’s face.

Startled, the devil swung his poleaxes wildly, the dirt got his eyes. He did not expect Narse to fight dirty, neither did Narse. The last time Narse fought dirty was when he was trained by his late father in swordsmanship. He was beaten thoroughly by his father and just wanted to get back at him just once. He used the same trick.

The devil swung his poleaxes wildly, turning himself into a giant whirlwind of death.

The jeers around Narse stopped, replaced by the dead of silence and then the noises of drawing swords. Narse knew how he’s going to die, in what manner he would die, how his corpse would look, he could easily imagine it, but he did not care. The devil in front of him would accompany him to the hall of mistress death.

Narse swiftly sent his dagger flying through the air.

The rotating dagger nailed the bandit lord head on and the giant fell on his back with a loud thudding sound. After that, true silence ensued, drowning the battlefield.

Narse took another deep breath, watching the immobile frame of the devil himself. The atmosphere around him seemed to freeze, encased in unmelting ice, not that Narse had ever seen the unmelting ice before. He had never traveled to White Winter to see it for himself.

“Are you fuckers just going stand there for all days or are you going fight me?” Narse questioned loudly, brandishing his sword at the surrounding crowd. If Narik, his own blooded brother was to make a last stand, he would probably say something like this.

They howled, charging at Narse with their weapons. Narse was determined to kill as many bandits as he could before he was mutilated and shredded in pieces.

And yet, a thundering noise stopped the bandits, an invisible chain bound them to the ground, then forcefully bent their neck toward the direction of Bloodbeard’s corpse.

How?

Narse silently asked himself.

That thundering noise came from the bandit lord’s poleaxe, burrowing itself on the ground with a raining cluster of dirt pelted on it. That giant body rose, impossible, an impossible feat, and yet the devil came back from the grave.

Narse’s dagger was held in between the devil’s jaws. The devil spitted it out and laughed while Narse and the crowd around him were standing, staring at the devil, stunned.

“That was close,” the devil laughed, his bulky shoulders shook, “That was very close, guard.”

How?

Narse could not understand how the devil did it, catching his dagger with his jaws while being blinded.

“And what were you maggots trying to do? Did I not tell you to stand and watch this fight?” the devil roared at the silent crowd and they exploded into a rousing cheer.

The devil laughed, then hit one of his poleaxe on the ground, “Silence,” he demanded and the crowd died away.

“That was surprising, guard. What else do you have in store? What kind of move, what kind of tricks you still keep inside your pocket? It’s about the damn time for you to reveal them,” the devil cackled vilely, “Because, I am going to show you mine now. You are a worthy opponent. It would be a shame if I did not face you with my best move.”

The devil then married his poleaxes.

“My sincerest prayer to Wonten…”

What the fuck is he doing? Narse thought to himself as he stood, rooted to the ground.

“O valorous protector…”

It can’t be. It’s impossible. Wonten is a just god, he’s only giving his divine gift to the worthy one.

“Please bestow this worthless self your divine blood.” The bandit lord completed his chant. A red aura framed his body. He has succeeded conjuring the spell Divine blood of Wonten and casted it on himself. The devil then looked at Narse, “Did I surprise you, guard?”

Narse did not reply. He could not move his lower jaw.

“These poleaxes, they are custom-made, you see? They were magic staffs disguised as poleaxes. That’s how I manage to cast my spell.” The devil explained.

Narse did not reply this time as well.

“Oh,” a gloating glint flashed within the devil’s eyes, “So you was surprise because Wonten would lent his divine aid to a person like me? That’s understandable. I used to ask the same question myself before. Why did Wonten bestow his divine gift on someone like me?”

The devil chuckled, “I ask myself the very same question every single day after discovered that Wonten would give me his divine blessing whenever I need it. Why me? And then, you know what? I laughed. I laughed after realizing how stupid I was. The answer was in front of me all along. Wonten is a just god, he only lends his divine gift to the one who he deemed worthy, someone who is just and valorous as himself. That means I’m just, Wonten considered my actions as just. He approved my action.”

How?

Narse could not believe it. How could this devil be just and worthy of Wonten’s gift?

“So are you just going to stand there and watch or are you going to fight?”

The devil asked. He heard Narse asking his men the same question and used it against Narse.

Narse did not move. He just stood and stared at the devil himself.

“If you don’t feel like moving, then I will,” the devil said, “My prayer to Wonten, protect my arms with your divine marrow O valorous protector,” and casted another spell, encasing his weapons in a swirling dark aura. Then, he leapt into the air with his poleaxes.

Only his reflex saved Narse, he dodged, leaping backward. Rocks and dirt pelted his body like a storming hail, only that they came from his feet. It’s hurt. The devil hit the ground like those giant boulders hitting against the walls of Madukat. The ground gave way to his strength, dent, a cloud of dirt, and a crater with the devil standing in the middle of it.

The crowd around Narse broke away, giving more ground for him to move around. They were terrified by the sight and destruction of this devil. His weapons would have been destroyed by the impact had they weren’t protected by the “Divine Marrow of Wonten.”

“You avoid it. That’s great,” the devil laughed, then sprinted toward Narse with large and powerful strides, his poleaxes sailing.

Narse sprang, narrowly avoided his dead three times in a row, simply because he has remembered the devil’s usual fighting pattern in his heart; a horizontal strike, a thrust and a backhand strike, he avoided them, barely. They were faster than before and stronger.

Narse no longer fought with his calculated insight, he had no time to think. He just let his instinct and reflex took him. He dodged by instinct and ran by instinct.

A front kick put a large dent on Narse’s armor, sent him reeling on the ground. He could not breath, it’s hurt so bad, and he was already leap backward to absorb the blow, it did not help much. Narse had no time to find his breath, just rolling on the ground to evade the devil’s pursuit.

The ground exploded once again. Narse heard a ringing noise in his ears as he sprawled to his feet, trying to retain a firm grip on his sword. He had no strategy to fight a devil like this.

The bits of the devil’s poleaxes came for Narse again. He avoided the first, could not avoid the second, a crushing blow from above, the devil changed his pattern, Narse has made a wrong guess.

His trusted sword flew out of his hands, clanking off the ground, kept rolling further and further away.

“Impressive,” the devil commented, “You actually block my attack. Nobody has managed to do that.”

Narse said nothing, sprawling for his sword, he could not feel his right arm. His left arm only slightly better. Somehow, he managed to deflect the blow with both hands.

Bloodbeard did not give chase. He stood and watched as Narse ran to retrieve his weapon.

Narse saw his sword lying flatly on the ground, a large chip on the perfect dwarven work, understandable. Was it anything else but a masterpiece of dwarven smithery, he had already died with his sword. Narse tried to pick it up.

He couldn’t.

His sword arm was unresponsive. Narse turned his sight on his right arm and suddenly, his body was assault with a searing pain. His sword arm hung loosely to his shoulder. It’s hurt, Narse gritted his teeth, as tears blurred his vision. He picked up his weapon with his trembling left arm. He could barely hold the weapon with his paralyzed fingers. It was not just his left arm, his entire body was shaking, and his sword was shaking.

“You have lost, guard. Surrender. I will allow you to live out of respect for your swordsmanship,” the devil said his damnable words.

Narse said nothing, pointing his sword at the devil instead.

“I see. What a shame,” the devil scoffed, exploding into a giant blur.

The world turned dark all of a sudden, a violent twisting world of pain.

It hurts, it hurts so fucking bad, he had no idea where it hurts but it hurts and he could not see anything.

Narse could feel his teeth chattering against each other. He could not breathe. His mouth tasted like metal. His ears ringing, no other sound, just ringing. Sword, where is his sword.

Sword, where are you?

Suddenly, his chest was assaulted with a searing pain that spread through his entire body, he heard a crisp crack echoed from within. He could not groan to the pain, only a wheezing sound came out of his throat.

“You live.”

Narse heard the voice of the devil echoed within his ringing ears.

“Amazing.”

Sword, where is my sword? Sword, where are you?

“Oh? A fellow worshipper of Wonten, I see. Praise be Wonten. Give praise to Wonten, guard, he saved your life.”

That was the last thing Narse remembered as his consciousness faded to black.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Why did you allow that man to live? He killed your men and fourteen of mine.”

The tiny witch hunter shouted at Bloodbeard. His face reddened with anger and shame. A foul smell emanated from his body, the pitiful bastard must have soiled himself from the attack of that guard.

“Wonten protects him. Who am I to challenge Wonten’s judgment?” Bloodbeard replied while letting his men to treat his wounds. He showed the little man a broken wooden idol of the faceless god he kept within his palm. This little idol was what protected that guard from the bit of Bloodbeard’s axe. Bloodbeard heard his skin hissed as the red hot brands came to contact with his skin.

The witch hunter backed off, his face twist to the hissing sound of the brands on Bloodbeard’s skin.

“What? Never seen how a bandit treat his wounds?” Bloodbeard asked.

The creases on the face of the short man told Bloodbeard everything he needed to know. “Salves were a luxury for us. Healing spells? Unless we sack a temple of Essence and put our cocks inside those priestesses of Niwdar and fuck their brains out and make them our women, there is no healing spell. So, this,” Bloodbeard pointed his forefinger at the jar of cheap wine in his henchmen’s arms, “And this”, and the fiery red brands hissed on his skin, “And this,” and the rags wrapping around his forearms, “These are our healing spells and salves.”

“You don’t feel pain?” the little man asked.

It seemed that Bloodbeard’s guess was wrong. He snickered, amused at the thought. His snicker increased the number of creases on the little man’s face.

“My father was an alchemist once. He’s an alchemist, more like an alchemist apprentice. That bastard never passed his exam, not once. He failed and failed and failed again and again. But he kept taking them anyway. He was determined to impress the chief alchemist. He kept bitching about how the council never recognize his talent and how the council hated him and kept failing him. He’s determined to rectify that, you see?” Bloodbeard grabbed the little man by his shoulder and held him there.

“So, one day, that bastard tied me and my mom to a kitchen chair, telling us that he has succeeded to create a potion that would put the best potions in the king’s city to shame. He’s only need someone to volunteer to drink his concoction, he said. Do you know what he did to my mom and I after that?” Bloodbeard asked, brought his face closer to the hapless little man.

He was trembling. His entire body was shaking like a dying dog. Bloodbeard could not help but wonder how a man like this could be a part of the Inquisitor of the Great temple. They were supposed to hunt witches, those skin changer devils who took the husk of the women they killed as well as their identity. They farrowed fire and disasters in their path, heathens, godless devils. How could a man like this face off against devils like those?

“Do you want to guess?” Bloodbeard asked.

The sound of dripping water and the mocking cackles of his henchmen was the only reply Bloodbeard received, so he moved on with his story.

“I sat and watched the entire scene, you know? My mom kept telling me that it’s all okay. It will be fine. That my father would not hurt me. And my father, when he heard that, he shouted at us. He screamed at my mom that his concoction was a potion, the best in the world, the best of all the potions, of course it will be fine. Then he shoved that potion down my mom’s throat. That potion was purple, you see? And all potions were supposed to be red or green, even I know that as a child. But my father was so excited about this concoction of his that he seemed to never realize it.”

The little man suddenly twisted his face to pain.

“My bad, I did not mean to hurt you,” said Bloodbeard, realizing that he was crushing the man’s shoulder with his iron vice. He released his grip but still put his hand on the man’s shoulder. Then he continued, “You know what? My mom started convulsing after that, her nose bled out. Her mouth was foaming and blood was coming out through that gaping hole on her neck. I don’t know what that potion my father concocted was supposed to cure but it was eating my mom’s throat, you see. And she died, of course she would. Anyone would die if they had a hole that large on their neck,” Bloodbeard demonstrated to the little man with his other hand, showing how big the wound was. “Do you know what my father said after that?”

The little man shook his head, clearly wanting no part in playing the guessing game with Bloodbeard.

“Oh,” Bloodbeard mimicked the surprised voice and manner his father had when he said the word, “That one is a failure, he said, don’t you worry son, I will make sure that the next one I feed you will work. He said that and disappeared to his work room, leaving me and my mom inside the kitchen for I don’t know how many days.”

Bloodbeard patted his hand on the little man’s shoulder, asking “Do you know what I did back then?”

The little man just shook his head.

“I did what any child would, crying, of course, I cried. Then after I was tired of crying, I begged the gods to save my mother. I crawled on the ground while being bounded to the chair toward that magic scepter my father forgot and left behind in the kitchen. That bitch Niwdar, they praised that she was a kind woman, a merciful goddess, yet she refused to save my mother, that stuck up bitch. I prayed to her for days, nonstop until I lost my voice. Still, she refused to save my mom. And people still pray to her, I don’t understand why. She is the shittiest goddess among the two.” Bloodbeard cursed.

“Then my father finally remembers about me and my mom. He came back for us with a god-know-what-that-was potion of his. It’s dark, cloudy dark, like mud, you see? He then pulled my chair up and well, shove that thing down my throat with a prier. That thing, it tasted like the rotten guts of fish and horse shit combined together. That was the last time I know what pain is. It’s excruciating. It burns and it hurts so fucking bad that I started cursing my own father. I cursed him to die a thousand dead, I prayed to the gods to lend me their divine intervention to kill my father while rolling on the floor and pressed my body against my father magic scepter. Only Wonten listened to my prayer. Only Wonten answered me.”

Bloodbeard showed the little man his palm, “Then with these hands, I snapped the rope and strangled that bastard to dead.”

The little man trembled, his face pale white devoid of vitality. Bloodbeard grinned, removed his hand on the witch hunter’s shoulder and stepped back. “That potion I drank, whatever it was, it took pain away from me.” Bloodbeard cackled, waving his henchmen to finish the patch work on his wounds. They sealed his cuts with the hot brands and pour wine over the cauterized brands, then wrapping the rags over the burned flesh.

Bloodbeard asked the little man, “What was we talking before? I remember you was asking a question.”

“No, it’s nothing.”

“Good, I thought so. Report what happened tonight to your master and ask him how long must I keep playing this pretending game. This siege, the longer it last, the more unrest my boys would be. If it is not going according to the plan, I will to go south with the boys next weeks and start sacking all the villages and towns on the way.”

The little man nodded his head and started running. Ah, the poor fellow really did soiled his pants, Bloodbeard thought while his men were pointing their fingers at the brown stain on the witch hunter’s robe with hysterical laughter.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The sun rose from the eastern horizon, a red sun on a red sky, a perfect painting.

The caws of the black birds filled the atmosphere, the crows were feasting on the piles of corpses presenting in front of the southern gate of Madukat. Among that flock of crowds, there was a large mountain eagle pecking on an eye ball of a corpse and started gulping the eye down its throat, paying no attention to all the angry cawing of the black birds.

What a fitting scene, Bloodbeard secretly laughed while watching that husk of a mountain eagle feasting on the corpses.

An eagle is generally considered as a noble bird, proud, mighty and powerful, yet when hungered, it too would pick up scraps and corpses to keep itself alive just like the crows.

Bloodbeard walked toward the towering wall of the golden city, his henchmen followed him closely from behind. He can see that his appearance has caused a big stir on the wall, a gloating grin flashed on his face. He felt great after taking a short nap. The boys reported to him that they had all the guards who escape from his ambush last night caught or killed, good news, just like he has expected. Bloodbeard loved it when his plan came together.

This’s enough, Bloodbeard nodded his head, stopping just a little distance outside of arrow distance.

“Put them here, boys,” Bloodbeard shouted and his henchmen started pounding the stakes they brought with them on the ground. Soon, the boys planted a row of stakes just like Bloodbeard has told them, “Bring them here,” Bloodbeard waved his arm and soon his boys brought the prisoners with them.

The boys tied those bloodied prisoners on the stakes. They were those fools who dared to come out of the city walls of Madukat to attack Bloodbeard. Their bodies smeared with blood and grime. Bloodbeard’s boys have stripped them of their shiny armors and cut their tongues for today’s demonstration.

“Madukat, I’ve come to bargain.” Bloodbeard shouted.

His voice was loud and roaring. Bloodbeard did not need his magic casters to cast “Echo” to transmit his voice.

The guards who manned the wall began to stir when they saw hundreds of their brothers being tied to the stakes, all bloody and wounded, some missing an arm or a leg, some half dead, some already dead and some were about to die.

“I have told you that I will guarantee your safety if your lord surrender. But, it seems that my words did not reach you. You try to trick me the day before and these brave men, they were after my head last night. A pity, truly a pity, they were close.”

Bloodbeard laughed while stroking his wild beard. His boys cackled while looking up at the dismayed face of the guards standing on the wall.

“Therefore, a demonstration is required. These men, these brave men, they are most unfortunate since they will play a part in my demonstration to show you Madukat that my words should not be taken lightly. Boys,” Bloodbeard waved his hand and his henchmen came forward with their blades flashing.

The walls of Madukat cried out upon seeing their brave sons being chopped to pieces, mutilated while being bounded to their stakes. They prisoners groaned but they could not make any intelligible sound, their tongues had been cut.

“Madukat, these brave men did not have to die. If only your lord honor his words and surrender to me, these men did not have to die in this horrible… horrible manner,” Bloodbeard shouted, “I’m a forgiving man. I forgive you Madukat for looking down on my words twice. You see? I’m not the devil people paint me to be. However, I will not show you any mercy the third time. The next time you violate my trust, I swear to the gods that I would have you all killed, every last one of you, man or woman, boys or girls. I will make sure that my boys will see to it.”

Bloodbeard stood and watched the reaction of the men on the wall until all the groaning and moaning ceased. He retreated to his camp while issuing another ultimatum to Madukat. He gave the golden city another day to surrender.

Nevertheless, Bloodbeard knew that this city would never surrender to him and his boys.