The Serpent's Grasp
If this had been a properly organized military unit, their combat effectiveness would have vanished by now. But the rioters fighting Richard showed no such signs of breaking. They were never a proper unit to begin with. Among these rioters, whether all one hundred out of one hundred remained alive or only ten, no more than four could engage him at any one time. And as he steadily thinned their ranks, even that number shrank further. No one wanted to come near the storm of blood and blades that raged around him.
Yet the one who commanded that storm—the slender woman at its center—would never permit anyone to flee from it. The rioters began to edge away from Richard. The only reason they did not break and run all at once was, paradoxically, because they still held Zylan’s Queen Richelle in awe.
Those standing a little farther from Richard, closer to Daniel’s side, started to whisper among themselves.
“Shouldn’t we run?”
“But Her Majesty the Queen…”
“That woman can’t possibly be a Jihan, can she?”
It never occurred to them that the opponent they faced was the Queen herself, nor that she would never have issued any order to slaughter Jihans.
A voice with a foreign accent cut through their muttering.
“Have you forgotten?”
“What… what do you mean, sir?”
“Her Majesty the Queen commanded that no Jihan be spared—and that every noble who lent them money should be killed as well.”
“But that… how could we possibly…”
Daniel shared their disbelief. He could not even imagine that a knight could be such an impossible being. The flickering light of countless torches made Richard’s swinging sword nearly invisible. Each time that blade cut the air, a hideous scream followed without fail. Only moments later would severed limbs or corpses arc into the sky.
The faces of the rioters watching were as pale as corpses or Jihans; Daniel’s was paler still. Of all those gathered along the riverbank, he was surely the one who most desperately wanted to flee. Yet flight was impossible. He had poured a fortune into this enterprise and staked his loyalty to Count Malong. Failure was not an option.
He seized one man by the collar and snarled into his face.
“Then give me back the war funds I provided, you serfs.”
The rioters froze. Beneath the purple sky and orange torchlight, Daniel’s Jihan features stood out starkly on his face.
“Didn’t you notice we already spent it all on food and drink?”
“Then if you can’t repay it, get out there and obey the royal decree! You worthless serf scum!”
Daniel covered his mouth, clenched his teeth, and lowered his voice. Any more anger and his snake-like fangs and tongue would slip free. The rioters glared at him with the same contempt they would show any Jihan before turning back toward Richard. Daniel heard their muttered curses clearly.
“That damned Jihan bastard. He gave us the money—what more does he want?”
“Heh heh heh…”
He laughed softly, yet loudly enough to be heard above the blood and screams along the river. The rioters spun around, thinking their insults had been overheard, but Daniel paid them no mind. He was laughing because he had reminded himself, once again, of his true position. He had spent nearly all his money and all his loyalty. But he had not yet spent his own body.
Smiling quietly, he lowered his stance.
The deeper the rioters sank into panic, the easier Richard’s advance became. Though he evoked the terror of a demon from hell’s own battlefield, he could not slaughter dozens in a single stroke. It would have been possible only last week; now it was not. A clear mistake on his part. The tip of his sword was beginning to dull. The longsword that had once killed with every precise swing had only managed to pierce an eye in the last exchange. Even so, it was a mortal wound. The rioter screamed and collapsed.
He had to hurry. He knew his stamina was far less than before. So he ruled out any reckless charge and instead drove toward the enemy’s far right in order to seize Daniel, who stood at their far left. It looked like wasted movement, yet it was undeniably the shortest path in both distance and time.
Even a mob without proper command would have a leader. When the leader is threatened, the group converges to protect him. Attacking the leader directly with insufficient force risked only strengthening their defense. In the worst case, it might even force them to establish a real chain of command. Therefore the fastest route was to dismantle them from the outermost edge, sowing terror as he went.
In truth the path was indeed short. The rioters had already lost their will to fight. The violent frenzy that had made them a mob had long since drained away. They had become nothing more than timid sheep, not surrounding Richard but surrounded by him alone. They could easily have fled, yet every time he rode forward slowly and swung his blade they simply shuffled backward, screaming as their comrades were butchered.
The flaw was that while it was the shortest distance, it was no longer the shortest time. To hide the trembling in his sword hand he deliberately flicked blood from the blade and roared.
“Cowards! Are Zylan’s men such cravens? Have you no shame beneath the golden lion banner?”
He could still fight. He could probably drive every peasant from the field or kill them almost to the last man. But that was not enough. He was not merely a knight; he was the realm’s sovereign. He had to crush their fighting spirit and drag the true instigator of this rebellion into the light. Not Malong itself, but the Zylan councilor among the hundred who had conspired with them.
To do that, slaughtering every peasant would not suffice. No—even if he let every peasant escape, he must at all costs capture Daniel. Yet he had never imagined Daniel might flee or hide. He had never expected that destroying a peasant rebel band of fewer than a hundred would take so long.
If only I had stirrups.
There were no stirrups, and his own weight felt far too light compared to what his body once knew. Without proper mass behind his cuts he had to exert far more strength, draining his stamina at an alarming rate. Naturally it took more time. The route he had chosen for shortest distance and time was correct only in distance; time had already been lost.
Hiding his impatience, he raised the sword high above his head. At that moment came the sharp snap of a bowstring. Instinctively he dropped low. A storm roared past and a broad, flat arrowhead grazed the back of his skull. He felt his tightly bound hair burst free. Had the arrow flown vertically it would have split his head open.
He stared in shock at the archer. A warbow, of course. The man had drawn the string to his ear and shouted in fury.
“Coward, am I? Jack of Penhill stands before you, witch!”
Richard nearly lost his mind. A witch! To call the ruler of Zylan and protector of her Church a witch, regardless of the body he wore!
He spurred his horse straight at the warbowman. The peasants between them were trampled beneath Bonnie’s hooves. The archer lost both his bow and his head in a single stroke. Richard drove on, bursting through the mob. Turning his back on Venterum Castle had taken considerable time; turning it on Polbury took almost none at all. He could not decide whether this was fortunate or disastrous.
The peasants had completely lost their will and were fleeing. Chasing and cutting them down one by one would be exhausting. Yet there was only one road, and Daniel wore gaudy, conspicuous clothing. He need not fear the Jihan slipping away in the chaos.
Richard smiled with genuine pleasure as he rode, sword flashing. Besides, a Jihan could not truly die until Judgment Day. Unless burned to ash, even a severed head could be reattached. How convenient. And on a battlefield, convenient things never lasted.
Night had already fallen. Torches did not burn forever; several had already sputtered out. In the darkness that one or two remaining flames could scarcely pierce, it lunged from the shadows.
“Hiiiiiigh!”
Even Bonnie, who had fought with astonishing courage, recoiled from the black shape that burst from the gloom. She reared, hooves flailing. Richard tumbled from her back. He was not injured, yet he could not rise at once.
The black shape bellowed in the Derim tongue.
“Die, Richard!”
“Daniel!”
Daniel slammed both hands down on Richard’s right arm, pinning the sword. Weapon neutralized, Richard instinctively jabbed at Daniel’s eyes with his left hand. He missed. He was overpowered with ridiculous ease. Daniel’s fist smashed into his eye instead. Light exploded across his vision; his head snapped sideways. He swung back, but the blow felt weak.
“Accursed whore! Die! Die! Filthy bitch! If not for your kind—!”
“Jihan filth!”
The stench rolling off the Jihan made it hard to breathe. Gritting his teeth, Richard struck back. But the difference in height and reach was absolute. Even his hard-won skill could not bridge nearly three feet of disadvantage; it was a wall he could not scale.
Daniel drove his knees onto Richard’s elbows and hammered down with his fists.
“You, a mere human! If not for your kind we could have remained in paradise forever! Because of you our first race was exiled! We lost eternal life! We lost every blessing! Only the curse remains! Because of you! This land belongs to our chosen people. It is mine to rule—I, descendant of King Samuel! Not a whore like you!”
His eyebrow split. His lip burst. The taste of blood, metallic and salty, filled his mouth. Richard laughed at Daniel. The punches stung sharply, yet the Jihan was not using his full monstrous strength.
“What’s so amusing, whore?”
Richard answered in the Zylan tongue.
“Your girlish little fists amuse me, you cursed Jihan bastard. You hit like a girl. Are you the whore? Such a waste of power. Hit me like you mean it.”
It was nowhere near enough to subdue him. Jihans might be strong, but to Richard—who had taken blows from true knights many times—it felt like nothing more than tickling. Instead Daniel’s body stiffened. That a prince and king would speak so crudely was shocking enough, yet the insult of being called girlish struck him far harder.
The pale Jihan face grew even whiter, then flushed crimson in an instant. He twisted his mouth into a sneer.
“Very well. You say I seem like a whore? Let us see who the real whore is.”
He twisted his backward-facing hands once more and crossed them before Richard’s chest. Richard’s eyes flew wide. The gesture’s meaning was unmistakable. A cruel smile curved Daniel’s lips; his forked, serpentine tongue flickered around them. The crotch pressed against Richard’s belly stirred as well.
Savoring the panic on Richard’s face, Daniel tightened his grip. Beneath the darkened sky, Richard’s pale, perfect breasts spilled into view.