Chapter 5

  From the rooftops Udo could see everything. He could see the Militiamen moving towards the town center, some being intercepted by small squads of the Baron’s men, and others moving on unimpeded. Then, he spotted a knight that got separated from his men.

  An ideal target!

  He ran over to the knight, tile crunching under foot as he pushed his leg muscles hard to catch up to the knight before he could find his men. As soon as he was in range Udo leapt from the roof and held his sword in a reverse grip, tip aimed downwards towards his prey. At the last second the knight sensed something was wrong, his entire nervous system lit up, screaming at him that he was in danger, and instinctively threw himself aside, avoiding being gored by a hair's breadth.

  Udo’s sword sunk into the brick like it was butter, going in about five inches before coming to a stop. Any normal sword would have broken from the forces put upon it, but the Baron has deep pockets, and Udo had always wanted an enchanted sword. Udo tried to pull his sword out, but it wouldn't budge. Udo cursed under his breath as he pulled harder and stomped on the brick it was imbedded in.

  What in the name of the Ula are these bricks made of?

  The knight charged at Udo, shouting obscenities in Bczerci with longsword held high. He slashed down at Udo, who rolled out from under his strike and backed up to a window. The knight stepped forward and thrust at Udo, who jerked his head to the side at the last second, allowing the sword to shatter the low quality glass behind him. Udo kicked the knight in the chest, using the ledge of the window to brace himself as he pushed him up and away, sending the knight soaring through the air before crashing into Udo’s embedded sword, which bent at an odd angle and almost snapped.

  Udo elbowed the window to clear off any remaining glass and vaulted into the house, which thankfully was unoccupied, to look for anything to use in his defense. The only thing he could find that had any weight and was sturdy enough to defend against the knight’s bastard sword was a cast iron pan. He sighed and went to grab it.

  “Gods, this feels dumb as hell, fighting off someone with a frying pan. I'm turning into Frederick Zingler.”

  He jumped back out the window and swung at the knight, who could not stop his momentum in time to dodge Udo’s strike and so was forced to block. The weight of the frying pan almost knocked the sword out of his hand, but he managed to keep his grip and stepped back to see what weapon Udo had found.

  “Pffft. What is this? A Hans Brueckner novel?”

  The warriors shared a small chuckle and Udo saluted with his sword, raising it vertically in front of his face and raising it high at a forty five degree angle before falling back into his guard, a gesture of respect between duelists, symbolically requesting Alaric accept whoever falls into his hall. The knight returned the gesture, and as soon as he fell back into his own guard they were both charging at each other. Udo lashed out at his head, but at the last second switched the path of his pan to strike his opponent’s wrist, using every ounce of strength to overcome the sheer weight of a cast iron pan. The knight raised his sword and Udo’s pan swung under it harmlessly, just barely missing his chest because of the odd angle of attack. The momentum too simply much for Udo to do any more fancy maneuvers, pulling him down and forward. The knight maneuvered to the side and struke Udo with the pommel of his sword, making him stumble diagonally and, combined with the weight of the pan, forced him to use to momentum and arms to roll across his back a few times before getting back to his feet.

  The knight pressed his advantage and swung down at Udo’s head. Udo used every ounce of strength in his body to stop in place and crouch on the balls of his feet, cracking the brick underneath as they dug in to stop his momentum. He used his pose to launch himself forward before dropping the pan and raising his arms in an X as quickly as he could, catching the knight's arms at the wrist. He shoved the knight's arms to the side and elbowed him in the face before pulling him in, wrapping his arms around his head and kneeing him repeatedly in the chest. He could feel the armor denting under the force of his repeated strikes, the armor over Udo’s knees had a small half inch knob in the middle of it for this exact purpose.

  The knight managed to push him off, but only after Udo had done a number on his armor and possibly broken a few ribs with the sheer force of his Gifted One knees, ducking out from under the grapple before grabbing his opponent's face, stepped his back leg forward past the man and wrenching Udo to the side as hard as possible all in the blink of an eye, using his extended leg as a pivot point to unstead Udo. He flew through the air and smashed into the ground, pushing himself along to maintain his momentum and make distance before crashing into his sword, knocking the brick free of the ground with the sword still stuck inside it. The ends of the brick aligned with the edge of the blade, turning it from a longsword into a kind of warhammer. Udo lifted it unsteadily and grunted in annoyance. The brick added a surprising amount of weight to the tip of the blade, making it extremely unwieldy.

  Still better than a frying pan, thought Udo.

  The knight rushed forward and slashed down at him, Udo parrying the strike and allowed the blade to slide down the length of the blade, slamming into the brick and breaking some of it off. Udo tried to lift it and attack but the brick’s weight, while less than before, was now lopsided, making it even harder to wield properly. The knight chambered his sword back and aimed a thrust at Udo's neck. He thrust his shoulder forward, deflecting the strike with his pauldron and chambering a side-kick in the same motion, releasing it with unbelievable speed and force. The knight threw himself to the side to avoid the kick and visibly winced as he took a few steps back. Obviously his ribs had taken some damage and he didn’t fancy getting that close to Udo again, giving Udo exactly what he needed: space.

  Udo quickly lifted his longsword and smashed down onto the brick road, finally breaking the brick stuck on his sword into an explosion of debris and clay powder. He gave his sword a few test swings and smiled, the sword felt right again. He briefly inspected the blade, finding no chips and a razor sharp edge before he leapt forward, aiming for the knights head with the point of his sword. The knight moved his sword to swipe away the point of his blade, but at the last second Udo's backhand raised and blade dipped below the knight's, stabbing at the exposed place in which his breastplate met his leggings. The knight couldn’t react fast enough and Udo’s blade hit home, stabbing all the way through his thigh. He could feel the bone separate as the tip of his blade connected with it and continued forward, clanging against the inside of the knight's tassets.

  The knight screamed at the top of his lungs and fell down on one knee. Udo pulled his sword out and swiftly grabbed it by the blade, raising it and slamming the guard of his blade into the knight’s neck armor like it was an pickaxe, feeling the guard's cold steel crack the knight’s spine, killing him instantly. Udo pulled his guard out and kicked the knight to the ground. The knight let out a small moan and lay on the ground, motionless. Udo looked around and sighed, deciding that getting back on the roof would be too much of a hassle. Udo gave the knight a sword salute again before he started running down alleyways, looking for a pulley or some conveniently placed boxes, anything to help him clamber back up so that he may continue his hunt.

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  The Baron stalked around the rooftops looking for a patrol or squad small enough that he could take them on alone. He had one flash bomb, three loaded pistols with nine extra cartidges, and a fragmentation grenade he found in a box near the gatehouse. The flash bomb was a masterpiece designed by Imperial craftsmen reserved for only the richest of high-born nobles. It had its own contained fuse which lead to a concoction of chemicals which would create a great flash and send out a small amount of shrapnel, all you had to do was pull the tab and the fuse would light, detonating in five to eight seconds.

  The fragmentation grenade was much simpler, an iron ball filled with gunpowder which required a match or something similar to light the coarse black fuse sticking out the top. Judging by the length of it, it would explode in three to five seconds. The Baron’s pistols were flintlocks, as long as there was powder in the flashpan and barrel when the hammer struck the flints, the spark would be enough to ignite the powder, creating a high volume of gasses which propel the bullet out of the barrel far faster and with much more force than even the most powerful of crossbows. However, with all the running around and acrobatics the Baron was doing, it was likely some of the powder would flitter out at some point.

  After skulking around for a bit he found a small squad wandering around, only six men total, all militiamen armed with sabers. The Baron moved to a roof closest to the ground so he wouldn’t break his legs when he jumped and waited for them to move underneath him. They were marching in a diamond shape, one at the front and back with four men in-between them. The Baron jumped down and landed on the man in the back, the blade of his saber piecing the man's throat and came out through his flank, his body crumbling beneath him and breaking the Baron's fall. The Baron stood up and fell into his stance, standing with his front shoulder facing them, saber arm forward with the blade held vertically, off hand at the small of his back.

  “Well?”

  The alley they were in was only wide enough for two of them to come at him at once, and so they did. The militiamen charged him at the same time with sabers held high, screaming in fury at their comrade's death. They both slashed at him, one from horizontaly and the other vertically downwards. The Baron stepped to the side and blocked simultaneously, dodging the vertical strike and stopping the horizontal strike. He used the momentum of the vertical strike against the militiaman, grabbing his arm with his off hand and pulling so that he fell face-first into the wall. The second man was about to strike again, chambering a thrust up by his head, and the Baron prepared for it, having a very clear picture of what the man would do. The militiaman aimed at the Baron's chest, and as soon as he let it loose the Baron ducked under it and dashed forward on his knees, allowing the blade to pass comfortably over his head and slicing the man’s thigh as the Baron slid past, coming up behind him and stabbing him through the back into his heart.

  Another man with a small handaxe came at the Baron, who wheeled the militiaman who he stabbed around and block the strike with his body. The ax sunk snuggly into his chest, and the Baron pushed the body forward onto his attacker, causing him to fall on his back. The Baron stepped forward and flicked the tip of his saber into the bottom of the man's chin, feeling the tip of the saber clonk against the inside of the man’s skull.

  The man he had thrown into the wall earlier had gotten up and was moving towards him, saber held high. The man in front of him was about to slash at his head, so he rolled backwards, tripping the man running behind him and dodging the swipe at his head. The tripped man had his fall softened by the corpses of his friends. however he struggled greatly to find his footing, the shifting clothing and flesh under him stopping him from getting back on his feet.

  The Baron decided to try something he heard about fighting outnumbered in a town: Run away.

  He lifted his pistol and fired, nailing one of the three men remaining straight through the nose, dropping him like a puppet with its strings cut. As soon as he fired the shot he returned the gun to his holster and spun around, sprinting away as fast as he could. From behind him he heard one of them yell “DAMN IT! AFTER HIM!” in Bzcerci, exactly what he wanted. He ran for a bit, just fast enough to look like he was trying to get away but slow enough to keep the militiamen in sight. One of them was faster than others, and he pulled ahead of his comrades

  It’s working perfectly, all I have to do is isolate the fastest runners and kill them one at a time.

  The Baron turned a corner and hid in a deep doorway. The fastest runner ran into the alleyway ahead of everyone else and as soon as he passed the Baron slashed at his the nape of his neck as hard as he could, severing his head in one clean motion. The Baron's face got sprayed with blood, splattering against his face and eye patch, and he turned the corner to finish off the last man. He was greeted by a very small dot in the distance, the last man remaining running for his life.

  “Fair enough.” The Baron muttered to himself.

  He found a roof close enough to the ground for him to jump to, and from there made his way to the square after reloading his pistol. There he found that 50 men had formed up, there were no knights there but he could recognize the garb of someone from the Orkney Isles, with their plaid skirts and leather armor with chainmail underneath, as well as the right side of his head shaved and the left side braided, marking him as a Berserkeri.

  I still don’t really know what that term means, but it keeps entering my mind when I look at Fergus.

  Being a Berserkeri, he would be armed with either a handaxe and another short one handed weapon, or a two handed axe.

  “Maybe I’ll challenge him to a duel, if I remember right Orkney men tend to go for that kind of thing.” He said out loud to no one in particular.

  "‘Suppose I could spare just one round.”

  The Baron drew his pistol and shot near Seamus’s feet, which got the attention of the whole square. Seamus didn’t seem all that startled by the sudden noise, not even flinching as the debris from the bricks bounced off his massive shins, sauntering over to pick up a dane ax leaning against a well and looking up at the source of the shot.

  “‘s that a challenge, mate?”

  His voice was deep and scratchy.

  “Ya gonna keep firin’ lik’ a babay or ya gonna fight meh lik’ a man?”

  The Baron laughed loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll make my way down there, so long as none of your men get too big for their britches, so to speak.”

  “Aye, ther’ll be no worries fer that!"

  He turned to address his men.

  "Lads! No fightin’ tha’ kindly auldjin, yah? This is Seamus's fight and Seamus's fight alone, got that! Aye’ll 'ave tha ‘ead a’ whoevar butts in on our wee lil’ scrap ‘ere!”

  The Baron nodded and clambered down from the roof top and sauntered over to the square like he owned the place.

  “Braeve man, aye? Ya ken aye’m a Berserkeri ya? No many a’ ya Empire dogs be itchin fer a fight wit tha men a’ Orkney.”

  The Baron saluted with his saber, raising it vertically in front of his face and pointing the tip to the sky at a forty-five degree angle.

  “Well, I like to think I’m a bit special. Let's have a good fight!”

  “Aye’ll be tha judge o’ that.”

  The Orknier hoisted his axe above his head in a fighting stance. The Baron lifted his saber so the blade would rest on his opposite shoulder and began to inch forward.

  Now that he was a bit closer he could see that Seamus was a giant, probably around 6ft 8, maybe even 7 feet tall. His muscles were rock hard, the man looked like a greek statue, though maybe it was more poignant to call him a Celtic statue. This fight would not be as easy as he had hoped.

  Is this a mistake? The Baron thought to himself and he squared up against the massive Berzerkeri.