The Ancient Ones (The Legacy Trilogy Book 3) (44 page)

Then, the worst happened. A crack sounded and half of Salu’s staff went flying over the side of the ship and into the sea. The other half remained in his hand, little more than a handle of wood. He paused to consider the situation, then shuffled ten steps backwards to give himself some room. He threw the shard in his hand over the side, following after its other segment.

‘Salu!’ Leopold called. Some inspiration had taken hold of him, for the old man needed a weapon. With one deft movement, he threw his father’s sword towards the waiting magician.

Whether it was luck or some magic on Salu’s part, the blade flew directly into his upheld hand, snatched tightly into his withered fist. There was something like a grin on the old man’s face, and he nodded happily to himself as he felt the weight of the weapon in his grasp.

The Koians had also taken a moment to take stock, but seeing a sword in their opponent’s hands caused them to set upon him remorselessly. The men struck as one—with fist and foot and elbow—and Salu evaded; a bar of soap between their fingers.

A flash of sunlight on steel followed him, burning a fan of brilliant silver into Leopold’s eyes, and something flew spinning into the air. It landed on one of the bare patches of deck between bodies—a severed hand.

Only Leopold was surprised. The wounded Koian did not yell or pause, and continued to leap after Salu, striking out with his remaining fist. Salu twirled full circle and another rapid slash of his sword severed the Koian’s good arm at the elbow. Stepping aside, Salu let the stumbling warrior pass him by like a charging bull. A neat flick of his sword hand saw the fellow decapitated. Even so, the warrior took four more steps before falling flat.

The four remaining warriors fell back, for something had changed in Salu’s stance with his first shedding of blood. For the first time, their courage wavered. Any remnant of the feeble old man was gone, and now a white-haired tyrant faced them, a relentless sword-wielding butcher who was after their blood.

Salu moved towards them, shuffling slowly but steadily, not willing to let them have any space. The blade in his hand was slick with blood, but with one flick the stain flew free, splattering onto the deck, and it was clean again. The warriors looked unsure, spreading out and changing their stance from one defensive position to another, as if cycling through their repertoire, trying to find something that might keep them safe.

Surprising them all, Salu broke into a sprint. Never before had the old man moved so fast. It took him five steps to reach them, bounding like a tiger, and he had hacked another Koian nearly in two before the men could react. Without a pause, he vaulted for the next closest one, but this Koian was prepared and ducked under Salu’s sword swipe while his companions came at the old man from behind.

All the while Salu kept his head down as he fought, seemingly not needing his eyes to fight. Only occasionally did he glance up to get his bearings, and his pale pupils gleamed in the night like white-hot rings of silver. The rest of the time, he seemed to rely on his hearing, or feeling, or some other instinct—perhaps all of them combined, Leopold did not know.

The three remaining warriors had lost their measured approach and now appeared anxious, as Salu methodically sliced them to pieces.

He stabbed one deep in the chest. The man leapt up, driving himself further onto the blade to get his fingers into Salu’s face. The old man rolled onto his back and threw the Koian from him. Rolling directly to his feet, Salu turned and pinned the Koian to the deck with his sword, twisting the blade and ripping it free sideways through his ribs, tearing up half the decking with it, to be sure the warrior was dead. He went to step away, but even in death the man had hold of his foot and Salu shook his leg to be free.

Salu decapitated another of the warriors, and yet as the man’s head flew free, his fists continued striking in a rapid volley, forcing the old man to dance backwards until the headless Koian lost momentum and toppled.

The last warrior, his face blistered and burned, was desperate and terrified. He dropped to his knees with his back against a mast pole, blubbering and pleading for his life. But Salu was unforgiving. He shuffled slowly into range. He paused, for some reason known only to himself, and mumbled, causing the warrior to breathe a sigh of relief. The Koian opened his mouth to utter his thanks, but Salu would have none of it. He flipped the long sword over in his fist, holding its point downwards like an oversized dagger, and in one motion sliced its tip across the warrior’s stomach. Intestines flopped onto the deck like so many joined sausages. With a twist of the wrist the blade returned the other way, slashing the Koian’s throat from ear to ear. A thin crimson line appeared, spilling blood down his front, while more came gushing out his mouth. The man tipped forwards, stone dead, onto the contents of his own stomach.

Leopold was not exactly free during all of this, but had been sneaking glances while evading other Eudans that came hunting him. They had crept up the stairs, unwilling to go anywhere near the cyclone of death that was Salu, yet quite happy to harry an unarmed youth.

Leopold edged away, running out of room with them on either side. He took a running leap and grabbed hold of one of the stay ropes for the nearest mast. He hoped no more bowmen took him in their sights, and he scrambled up the thick, knotted rope, out of their reach, until he was halfway up the mast. High above the decking, he perched upon one of the yards.

It was then that Salu defeated the last of the Koian warriors. He had finished the Koian men and half the Eudans without receiving a single blow in return. Each warrior now lay in dark puddles of their own blood, illuminated by the lamplight of the ship. Kali and the Turian soldiers were still busy at the other end of the deck, dealing with the remainder of the Eudans, but it seemed they were well on their way to victory.

Salu now beheld the figure of the Eudan sorcerer still watching from overhead, higher than Leopold and on the next mast over. He went to the rigging and grabbed hold, ready to ascend, intent on reaching him.

He had only raised his leg to the first rung when a shadow swooped down and the sorcerer alighted on the railing beside Toby.

‘Who are you, old man?’ the sorcerer asked, patting the boy fondly on the head with his dark hand. ‘I find it wonderfully intriguing that two such capable magicians should come to my city. I’ve never seen anyone fight quite like that, beyond even my beloved Koian pets. Even Samuel did not grant such a spectacle before he succumbed to me; quite the pity.’

The man was certainly not Prithamon, but the sorcerer’s voice was so similar so as to be easily mistaken for him. This fellow had a squarish chin and a heavy brow, much heavier in build than the red-robed sorcerer.

Salu looked at the fellow gravely, lowered his foot once more from the rigging and moved towards him, striding now with strong, measured steps. Gone was the shuffling. He moved as if killing this sorcerer was his single greatest desire, and he peered at the man directly, with unbridled bloodlust. He more resembled one of the muscled warriors he had defeated than an old man. Whereas before he was bent with age, he now stood tall and strong, his muscles standing out, slabs of flesh bulging beneath his simple garments, with the blood-soaked sword hanging loosely in his grip.

‘And who is this little boy you allow to roam freely during such a bloodbath?’ the sorcerer asked. ‘Have you no compassion for your young? Is his life worth so little? It seems remarkable that he has survived until now in such company. Marranpal, the goddess of luck, is certainly on his side, but ... all good things must surely come to an end.’

He plucked up Toby and let him dangle by one of his feet, his hand clenched around the boy’s ankle. Toby looked up at him and smiled in return.

‘I know you are more than capable of defeating me,’ the sorcerer continued, with Salu halfway to reaching him, ‘but I do not care. I just wonder if you really have such little respect for life as I suspect.’ Salu did not slow or reply. ‘Is he really so worthless?’ the sorcerer asked and held the boy behind him over the water.

‘No! Salu, stop!’ Leopold called, but the man was adamant in his advance, now only two steps from the sorcerer.

‘Very well,’ the dark man stated, and opened his hand.

Toby fell away, disappearing over the side.

Leopold thought Salu may have had some plan to somehow save the boy—that he might spring forward just in the nick of time—but he did not. Toby simply fell, plummeting down and vanishing into the dark waters of the sea with only a small, unimpressive splash.

‘No!’ Leopold cried. He was running and leapt from the end of the yardarm before he realised what he was doing, diving from the dizzying heights. As he whistled past the deck, he saw Salu step in and cleft the sorcerer diagonally in two from hip to shoulder with one sweep of his sword, following the man’s crimson sash with his blade.

‘Fascinating,’ said the sorcerer in his moment of death.

That was all Leopold had time to witness. With the hull of the ship rising past him, he readied himself, balling his hands together as hard as he could to break the dark surface of the sea.

The impact nearly knocked him senseless, like diving through a block of stone. But Leopold continued downwards, kicking into the darkness with determination, desperately searching for some sign of the boy. It was the only time in the whole battle he was glad to be bare-footed, for his feet propelled him down at speed. Boots would not have driven him nearly as well, and would have made the return trip impossible.

Down he went, kicking deeper and deeper into the darkness, leaving the lights of the ships far behind. It was as if he were plunging into another world dominated by darkness, cold and silence ... until something did glimmer below him in the deep.

He kicked towards it and saw Toby sinking before him. The boy was looking directly at him, not even attempting to save himself, and precious air billowed from his mouth as he smiled and laughed in the water. His face was pale and tiny bubbles were stuck to his cheeks and nose.

Leopold pursued him down, fingertips almost in reach. It took one more kick to close that tiny, vital distance. He grabbed hold of Toby’s shirt and turned about, kicking upwards as hard as he could, feeling the drag of the boy in his hand, weighing him down like a bucket of solid marble.

Leopold’s lungs were burning and the distant light from the ships seemed hopelessly far, but he could not give up. His chest craved for air, and the despairing desire of dropping the boy and saving his own life threatened to waylay all other thoughts. He pushed such temptations aside and forged on, kicking hard, accepting that he would reach the surface with Toby or die trying.

With only one hand to aid him, his ascent was painfully slow. He could hardly control his thirst for air any longer, straining to stop himself from gulping in mouthfuls of salty water. Then, he broke the surface and took a wild heaving breath. He brought Toby up beside him, pulling the boy’s face into the air, panting to get some for himself.

Nausea threatened to choke up his throat, and between struggling for breath, holding down the contents of his stomach and keeping Toby above water, he kicked towards the ship. He grabbed hold of the boarding netting and clung his fingers onto it will all his trembling strength.

‘Toby!’ he cried, for the boy was not breathing and his eyes were rolled back in his head. ‘Toby!’ he gasped and shook him as hard as he could, which was difficult given the situation. He thought about climbing, but exhaustion meant it a fantasy. He tried to yell, but his voice was lost, a feeble whimper.

He would have to save the boy here, in the sea.

He shook the fragile child and choked out his name. He heaved him up with one hand and threw Toby face down over his shoulder, then hopped up and down, poking his shoulder into the boy’s stomach, with little more than hope that such an action would squeeze the water from his lungs.

The boy convulsed and water jetted from his mouth. He emptied his stomach over Leopold’s back and Leopold pulled him down, manoeuvring the boy into a one-armed embrace.

Toby smiled up at him and looked at Leopold with happiness, coughing up a watery giggle.

‘Toby!’ Leopold said, feeling beyond relief. He almost wept with joy, then and there. ‘Why can’t you bloody-well learn to swim? Why don’t you just do what we say and stop getting yourself into trouble?’

‘Toby!’ the boy shouted with enthusiasm, spraying more water,

Leopold waited until some strength returned, then climbed up the netting, step by difficult step with Toby hanging from one arm. Painstakingly, he made it to the top and dropped the boy over the rail as gently as he could. He followed after, falling over the edge, saturated with utter, unbounded relief.

****

The main deck was a carpet of bodies. Salu was sitting on a step with Leopold’s sword discarded beside him. Somehow, Toby had the strength to pluck himself up and waddle beside him. He faced the old man, smiling.

Leopold staggered over to beside them both, bent and picked up his sword and slid it back into its sheath, sending up an unexpected jet of water as his blade plunged into the soaked scabbard. His head ached with every movement, his body wracked by spasms of pain that tore through his muscles, but he would say his piece.

‘After all the men you killed, couldn’t you even stop their sorcerer from dropping him over the edge?’ Leopold asked, panting.

Salu looked to the boy. ‘He lived,’ the old man replied, a barely audible grumble. He was turning something over in his hands—a thick bracelet of red and gold from the wrist of the slain sorcerer.

‘Because I saved him!’ Leopold declared in a rage. ‘He almost drowned and I almost drowned saving him! All you had to do was stop the sorcerer from dropping him! Was that not simple enough?’

Salu grunted in response, rubbing the trinket with his fingers.

‘Emperor Leopold!’ Kali said, running up to him. ‘The last of the Eudans have locked themselves below. We shall have the door down soon and then that will be the last of them.’