Iron Blooded

Gills found me in my tent at sundown.

I could tell by the look on his face that he was angry. I opened my mouth, but the veteran cut me off.

“You should have told me,” he snapped. “If it involved Vera you should have come to me - I have a right to know.”

I pulled on my boots, taking time to think. Gills stood in silence, fists clenching and unclenching.

“I thought I could trust you,” he said. “I wanted to trust you.”

“You can trust me.”

I rose to my feet.

“Gills, you do have a right to know. But the reason I didn’t tell you is because I knew what you’d do - what I’d do in your place. I didn’t want to see you hanged for some bastard with no scruples.”

I shook my head.

He held my gaze for a moment then huffed a breath, shoulders slumping.

“I understand why you did it,” he said. “But you’re taking York too lightly. The man’s been a career soldier for almost as long as I have. He’s big, he’s strong, and he’s 7 levels above you. What were you thinking?”

“It’s a gamble,” I said. At his look, I sighed.

“Alright, it’s a big fucking gamble. But something had to be done. The 3rd has been looked down on, ridiculed, or at best ignored by the other companies in the Army. It’s time we started to make our mark.”

Gills shook his head but he didn’t contradict me.

“Why are the young so idealistic,” he muttered as he followed me out into the empty air. My men stood around the cookfire waiting for me. As I walked, Hade and Jorgen took up beside me like an honor guard.

I snorted.

“Don’t you two have something better to do?”

“No, Ser.” Said Hade flippantly.

“No point in trying to talk him out of it.” Draxus stood with arms folded, waiting. Beside him Kato and Bjorn looked on. Kato looked somewhere between amused and exasperated.

“And to think, I was really starting to like you Blackbriar. Now I’ll have to bury you.”

He sighed theatrically and I rolled my eyes.

“All of you have better things to do. Now scram.”

Kato laughed.

“If you think that every soldier in the standing Kadian Army doesn’t know about your little duel and is planning to watch then you’re an idiot. The rumors have been spreading like wild fire. Bets have been made, men have been drinking. Why, it’s the spectacle of the fucking season.”

I grimaced as I began wrapping my wrists with strips of linen.

“How do I always end up the source of a bet?” I asked. Kato slapped me on the shoulder.

“Because my dear Knight, you are predictably unpredictable.”

“Why does nothing you say ever make sense?”

“Makes more sense when you’ve had a drink. Or ten.”

A horn blew in the distance and I looked up. The nerves were already prickling at my stomach like shards of ice, and the best I could manage was a grunt as Gills asked.

“Are you ready?”

The crowd was dense around the center of camp. Those not on watch had gathered around to see the spectacle. Some were sitting on the ground, while others stood and waited. A few soldiers sat on tree branches high above, trying to get a better look.

Heads turned and fingers pointed in my direction as I approached. Draxus caught my shoulder and leaned towards me.

“He favors his left leg,” he said. “Puts his whole weight on it when he lunges.”

I met his gaze and nodded.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

So do I. I almost said it but in the end, I could only manage another grunt as I made my way through the crowd. Hade and Jorgen walked with me, pushing their way through the press on my behalf.

At the center of camp, the ground had been cleared of debris. A thick circle had been drawn in the dirt with a branch and It was at least fifteen feet across both ways.

The gleam of the setting sun on armor announced the arrival of the Lord’s. Lord Blackthorne stood atop the raised platform that had been used for the execution. He waited and the excited murmurs of the soldiers died away as they turned to attend their Lord.

“This,” said Lord Blackthorne, his voice ringing out over the camp. “Is a sanctioned duel. The rules are simple. No man or woman may interfere in the combat once it has commenced. There will be no outside help. The duel will continue until one combatant is unwilling, or unable to fight. If an opponent submits, it will be up to the winning party to decide whether or not to accept this submission.”

He glanced first and me, and then at York.

“Do the combatants agree to these terms.”

“I do my Lord,” I said and York repeated the same.

Blackthorne gestured with a hand.

“step forward.”

The crowd began to murmur again. Soldiers turned to look at me as I passed. A sea of eyes and faces. Some smiled, others scowled. I kept my eyes forward, locked on where my opponent now shoved his way through the crowd.

York swaggered to the edge of the circle as if it were made for him. He, like me, had his wrists wrapped with Linen strips. He was shirtless, and the bulk of him was impressive. He was built like Draxus, though his neck wasn’t nearly as thick. He stood at least a head taller than me and his eyes seemed to dance with sadistic light.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

As he bounced from foot to foot, cracking his neck, I realized something about him I hadn’t before.

York was a performer. He was a man who adored the attention he received and enjoyed the power it gave him. He was a competent soldier and was likely a good fighter to boot. But he was proud, and there was a chance I could use that to my advantage.

York took a swig from a canteen and swished it around his mouth, spitting onto the ground.

I stepped to the edge of the ring and rolled my shoulders forward and backward, loosening my arms. York smirked when I pulled my tunic over my head and tossed it to the ground. A few soldiers in the crowd laughed.

I understood why. Next to a man York’s size, I was small. My build was lean, but my shoulders and arms had grown since joining the army. I had never been a big guy, and yet, that had never mattered where I grew up.

I stretched my legs and then my back, bouncing from foot to foot to warm up my muscles. I was going to need any advantage I could get.

York stepped into the circle, and he smiled then. A cruel smile - the smile of a predator cornering injured prey. My palms were sweaty and I wiped them on my trousers. There was a time for fear, and it wasn’t now.

I drew in a breath, feeling the air expand in my lungs. Then I blocked out the sounds of voices as I squared my shoulders and stepped into the ring.

Lord Blackthorne leaned on the sheathed blade of Dawnbringer, hands draped across the handle. All around the circle grew hushed. Newly lit torches crackled and the sound of insects drifted up from the swamp.

In other circumstances, it might have been peaceful.

“Ready,” called Lord Blackthorne. His face was calm in contrast to the Count’s Son, who stood beside him. Dacon’s shoulders were tense and his eyes betrayed his worry. The sight almost made me smile.

I waited in tense silence until Blackthorne dropped his arm.

“Begin!”

York lunged so quickly that if I hadn’t been expecting it, he might have caught me off guard. Air stirred my hair as his fist whipped past my ear, retracting just as quickly.

I managed to dodge another jab, but had to dance away from a third.

Damn, he was fast. I had assumed my own size and natural agility might give me the edge of speed, but as it was I was barely able to track his movements. I dodged to the side, raising my fists to deflect a blow aimed at my chin.

York’s teeth were gritted in a brutal smile as he dropped back to circle me.

“Where all that bluster?” he crooned. “Not so mouthy now are ya boy?”

He snapped out another jab, and as I dodged aside I saw his weight shift. The hook clipped me on the cheek. Even as I turned aside to distribute the momentum, the blow still made my head ring.

I tried to dance back, nearly stumbling as I moved to get clear. I could taste the salty tang of blood on my tongue.

York backed off, switching his stance and rolling his shoulders. He was toying with me now, wanting to draw out the fight.

I tracked his movements, looking for weaknesses.

“Come on now lad” he mocked. “Don’t go soft on me now. It was you who asked for this beating, was it not? So come and take it like a man, eh?”

I snorted.

“Your attempts at bait are weak, as is your manhood.”

Several soldiers in the crowd laughed. York’s smile slipped. With a growl he came for me and this time I was ready. I stepped forward ducking beneath his punch and up under his guard. His face twisted in surprise the moment before I struck.

My uppercut slammed into his jaw so hard his teeth clacked together. I felt the impact through my knuckles all the way to my elbow and snarled with satisfaction when his head whipped backward.

My celebration was premature. As I went in to follow up, York recovered. I dodged his first punch but the second caught me in the ribs. I stumbled back, trying to put distance between us, but York only followed. His smile was back now, curling his lips and making him appear almost devil-like.

It was then that the disparity in our base stats would become painfully apparent.

His attacks came faster, and with no pauses in between. I managed to block three but was caught by the fourth, the fifth, and the sixth before I could recover. I was backed up against the edge of the circle now, only feet from the crowd.

In moments York had closed the distance, his eyes burning with triumph.

My ribs and sides burned where I’d been struck.

Skill Activated: Iron Blooded

“Ah,” I said. And I smiled.

York stepped forward, snarling like an angry bull.

It was his own size that did him in.

My boot connected with the inside of his left knee and he stumbled.

He tried to arrest his fall with his other leg but his boot slid in the mud. I saw the moment he realized that I had set him up - saw the triumph in his eyes drain away.

Then I came for him.

My fist caught him in the nose and knocked him back. He hit the ground hard, trying to break his fall with his arm, but I kicked it out from under him. York snarled and tried to rise to but my knee caught him in the head.

He coughed, strings of blood dribbling from his nose and mouth. He tried to crawl away on his hands and knees but I followed landing a kick to his ribs, and then another. York fell to the mud, wheezing as I planted a boot on his back.

“I submit,” he wheezed. His eyes glared hatred even as he said the words.

“You win, Blackbriar.”

All around the faces looked on in silence. Among them Ser Connel, Gills, Vera, and the 3rd watched. It would be easy to end things now, to call my win and walk away. But even as I thought it I knew it was impossible.

York was the type of man who would hold a grudge and wait for his time to strike. It wasn’t enough to break his body - I had to break his spirit too.

I had to send a message.

Reaching down I seized the Sergeant’s thick wrist and pressed down with my boot, holding his torso in place. I twisted his arm up and back until his growl turned into a whine.

“I submit, Blackbriar,” he said through panting breaths. “I said you win.”

“I do not accept the terms of your submission.”

With one sharp movement, I jerked his arm backward. York’s eyes bulged as his shoulder dislocated.

I twisted his wrist the other way, hearing the pop as his elbow followed. Only then did he scream.

His good hand scrabbled at the mud but I simply walked around him, slamming my heel into his hand and hearing the snap of bones bones.

The sound of his scream made my stomach twist, but I kept my face a cold mask. There could be no weakness here.

I let him crawl away then. He glanced over his shoulder at me, face bloody and eyes wide with fear.

“Leave me alone,” he said through a mouthful of blood as I approached. “I give up. You win. You win Ser William.”

I gripped his boot and drew him backward, his arm bent at an odd angle. When I had dragged him to the center of the circle I gripped his hair and drew his head back.

“Say it,” I said coldly. “Say it loudly so that they can hear you.”

Tears of anger and humiliation gathered in his eyes. For a moment he clenched his jaw and I reached down, twisting his thumb backward. He cried out and the tears spilled over.

“I give up” He sobbed, shoulders shaking. “I submit, you win Ser William.”

I released him and stood, meeting Blackthorne’s gaze. There was approval in his eyes but I wasn’t in the mood to receive it.

“I am satisfied my Lord,” I said.

Blackthorne inclined his head.

“Ser William of Blackbriar is the victor.”

I turned my back and strode for the edge of the crowd. Men parted for me like water. I searched the faces until I found who I was looking for.

Sharp blue eyes met my own. The healer tilted her head at me but there was no weariness in her eyes. Instead, there was something else… approval? Calculation? I was too tired to tell. The exhaustion of the long night and the following day weighed on me like a blanket.

Without a word, I turned and strode for my tent.

The Healer followed me, her steps quickly overtaking my own as made my way into the camp. Wordlessly I held the flap of my tent open for her, and she stepped inside.

“Let me see you,” she said, raising a hand. Her palm was warm against my cheek. I felt the tickle of her magic as it healed the the soreness in my jaw. I tried to hide the sudden trembling of my hands but she saw them and glanced up at me.

“Sometimes,” she said. “Sending a message is necessary.”

“I know.”

I didn’t want to look at her - didn’t want to think about what I’d done.

“William.”

The sound of my name on her lips made me look around. Her head was tilted to the side, thoughtful as she gazed at me.

“You are not a cruel man,” she said. “You are simply inevitable. I’ve watched you come up against odds and circumstances that should have defeated you time and time again.”

Her fingers traced the side of my jaw.

“You are a stubborn force of nature.” She said. “But don’t waste time mourning what you are.”

I swallowed and nodded.

“You’re right,” I rasped. “Or at least I know you’re right in theory. But in practice…” I let my voice trail away.

The Healer made to drop her hand but I reached up and took it in mine.

“What is your name?” I asked her. Her face was heart-shaped and her eyes vibrant as she studied me.

“Joanna.” She said at last.

I held her gaze and smiled.

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