The Forge of Men Read online

  Without waiting for further confirmation of his hit, he took up the extra line attached to the harpoon and made a pair of wraps around a nearby pillar of rock which measured nearly a meter across. That pillar of rock had previously supported a large, overhanging shelf of rock above, but it no longer served that particular purpose.

  When he had completed his wraps, he began to take out the slack created by each of the creature’s massive, violent spasms as it mindlessly fought to extricate itself. Slowly, but surely, he brought the line in and drew the creature closer to his position—and to its death.

  “Impossible,” breathed Eukaria as she turned to Felix. “Has this ever been done?”

  Felix shook his head. “Never,” he replied as he watched in wonderment as the boy brought the kraken nearer to his own position. “It is clear now that he has planned this for months…but I have never heard of anything like this even being attempted.”

  He felt his Hold Mistress’s eyes searching him for something, but he was too focused on the poetic, timeless, irresistible struggle between man and beast playing out before them.

  “We must help him,” Eukaria said after a moment’s silence.

  Felix whirled on his Hold Mistress with unbridled fury in his eyes. “I will not rob this boy of his victory—and neither will you!” He turned to the other spectators—many of whom had arrived at a similar conclusion to their Hold Mistress’s—with a look of dire warning in his eyes, “None will intervene!”

  Eukaria shook her head patiently. “If he has discovered a method to slay the kraken—”

  “None will intervene!” Felix roared. Eukaria’s cold gaze fixed on him, but eventually returned to the battle playing out in the water, and Felix also returned his attention to the struggle. “This is his battle…and his honor.”

  The boy hauled on the line with every fiber of his being, but the creature was resisting too greatly. Even at merely fourteen years of age he was already the physical equal of most fully grown men, but he knew he did not have the energy to continue the struggle indefinitely.

  Knowing he was running out of time, he tied the line off on a nearby hole in the rock and took up his third harpoon—this one lacking an attached rope. He did not have enough material for four lines, and the third line he had made was already deployed—and integral to his plan for finishing the beast.

  He stepped forward, knowing he needed only ten more meters until the creature would fall into his trap and his work would be done. The fingers of his left hand no longer worked, having locked into a gnarled claw a few seconds earlier from the cold. His forearms ached to the bone, and his legs threatened to give out at any moment, but he needed these last ten meters or all that had gone before would be for naught.

  He slashed the tip of his harpoon across his chest in a criss-crossing pattern, scoring deeply enough that his lifeblood dripped from the wounds down his body and out onto the rocks beneath his feet.

  He bellowed wordlessly at the kraken, and the sea beast screamed in reply with an unmistakable promise of retribution for the wounds he had already inflicted. The boy shook his harpoon in the air and slapped his chest with his temporarily useless left hand, ignoring the pain he felt in that limb as he did so.

  He let all the anger, all the disappointment, all the betrayal, and every other feeling which had brought him to that moment fuel his voice as he screamed at the monster thrashing in the water before him—and it was then that he knew what he needed to do.

  He hurled his harpoon toward the creature and was rewarded by another hit, this one against the base of a tentacle, which began to spasm immediately. He picked up the free end of his third, final rope, and leapt into the freezing water.

  He stayed near the rocks and continued to scream at the creature, bellowing a wordless challenge to it to come and take his life if it dared.

  It was a challenge which the kraken accepted.

  The massive beast surged forward, and for a moment he thought it would kill him before he could do what he came to do. But the moment of panic passed, and having regained his senses he turned and pulled the slack from the line. It came taut quickly enough, and he used it to haul himself to the edge of the outcropping on which he had just stood.

  No sooner had his feet planted against the jagged rocks than his left leg exploded in pain, but he did his best to ignore it. He wrapped the rope around his left arm and, gripping with his right hand, he pulled against the line with every muscle in his body.

  Time seemed to slow as he fought against the taut, and his leg once again exploded in pain but he fought through the agony and continued to pull. Then, without warning, the line went slack and his body turned just in time for him to see the kraken’s spear-like tentacles descend toward him in what would certainly be a death blow if uninterrupted.

  The kraken surged toward the boy, who moments earlier had leapt into the water in what was certainly a moment of foolish, primal rage. The boy had realized his mistake quickly and had swam back to the safety of the rock, but Felix knew it was too late.

  The colossal beast’s spear-like tentacles rose up like the legs of a spider before it strikes, and came down with the clear intent of ending the boy once and for all.

  But an instant before they pierced the boy’s body, the rocky ledge above the kraken inexplicably gave way and crashed into the beast’s body in an avalanche of sharp boulders.

  The creature howled in agony as boulder after boulder smashed into its body, and even from such a great distance Felix could see the creature’s carapace crack under the force of the repeated impacts from the large, jagged rocks. A stench quickly arose in the air, and for the first time in his life Felix knew the smell of dying kraken—it was a sensation he never would forget for as long as he lived.

  Boulders continued to tumble for several seconds, the combined weight of which slowly took the kraken’s body to the bottom of the shallow, rocky inlet. A pool of dark, red blood bloomed upward from where it had gone down, and Felix heard a great cheer arise from the spectators. They had come in the hope that they might glimpse the mighty kraken before it killed and consumed the young boy, but they had seen something else entirely.

  They had seen something legendary.

  Felix caught a glimpse of movement from the rocky outcropping, and his breath caught. He found himself willing the boy to stand when he saw the young man sputter and cough as he rolled to his side on the sharp, lethal rocks mere inches from the splashing water of the icy bay.

  The boy coughed and seized as he fought to clear his lungs of the foul water, and eventually he succeeded to the point where he could once again draw breath. He lay there for a few minutes, feeling the pain of his wounds amplify as the bloodlust which had previously fueled him left his body.

  Knowing that to remain where he lay was to invite a death by cold, he fought to his knees and a lance of white-hot pain shot through his left leg. He screamed as he fell to his side, clutching his thigh where the pain was greatest. When he could do so, he looked down and saw the ragged, deep puncture wound to the outer half of his left thigh. It was bleeding less than he had expected such a grievous wound to bleed, but that was likely owed to the cold.

  It was only then that he realized the kraken had stabbed him with one of its tentacles while he had fought to spring his rockslide trap. He knew that if he had been poisoned by the creature’s many spines, he would have already ceased breathing, and that realization filled him with a savage, primal delight that he used to bolster his spirit, which was fading quickly in the bitter cold.

  He removed his loincloth and used it to fashion a tourniquet for his leg, and when that was finished he gritted his teeth and fought to his feet. When he was once again standing, he scanned the nearby, rocky beach until he found the onlookers who had come to witness his execution. Having become intimately familiar with this stretch of coastline over the previous months, he knew the quickest—and safest—way to reach them, so he set about the task of doing so.

  After sev
eral agony-filled minutes, he found himself approaching the group of fifteen spectators. He ignored all of them but Hold Mistress Eukaria and her Protector, Felix. He made eye contact with Felix, who had a strangely blank look on his face and made no gesture of acknowledgment as the naked boy approached.

  Limping with each painful step, he finally came to stand before the Hold Mistress. His teeth wanted to rattle in his head from the cold, but he clenched his jaw to keep them silent. Every inch of his body was exposed to the elements, but he did not care about the aching, numbing cold; he had done that which he came to do and would now claim his prize.

  “Kneel,” instructed the Hold Mistress coldly, and he did as instructed, lowering himself gingerly to his good knee while keeping the other leg stiffly straight.

  Eukaria looked down at him with that expression he had come to despise above all else: the look of entitled authority.

  After a lengthy pause, the Hold Mistress waved her hand to encompass the spectators. “We have come as witnesses to a Trial of the Deep, as is the customary rite of the dishonored or disgraced of these lands who wish to end their line with dignity. Do you so attest?”

  A chorus of ‘aye’ came from the unusually silent crowd, and the Hold Mistress nodded in satisfaction.

  “In keeping with our traditions, you have been stripped of your name as part of your bloodline’s disgrace and your dishonored lineage has been stricken from our records,” she said in an officious, unreadable tone. “But it is the privilege of one who successfully completes the Trial of the Deep to take up a new name—one that does not bear the stain of dishonor or shame of his past life. What is your chosen name, boy?”

  The boy felt anger rising in his belly at her cold words. “I would take the name of my father, Archimedes, as my own,” he said hoarsely, the defiance he felt seemingly warming his body against the numbing cold.

  Felix’ long knife was out in a blur and pressed against the boy’s neck before he knew what had happened. “Your Hold Mistress grants you a new life and you spit in her face!” he roared. “I should bleed you here—on your knees, where you belong—and toss your carcass to the deep!”

  “Felix,” came the Hold Mistress’s deep, commanding voice, and the Protector withdrew his blade but his eyes were molten fury as he took a step back in deference to his Hold Mistress. “This young man was perhaps unaware of the limitations placed on his choice, so I will explain them to him.” Eukaria stepped forward and, looking down on the still-kneeling boy, explained, “Your father’s lineage is corrupt, and any living product of his loins shares his disgrace—if you insist on taking his name then you must die a traitor’s death, as he was found to be such a traitor by failing to discharge his sworn duty. There is no other limitation placed on your selection, so choose carefully…lest my Protector make good on his threat.”

  The boy ground his teeth in anger. The entire purpose of my taking the Trial of the Deep was to undo the stain on my family and move forward with honor, he thought bitterly. And since any living progeny also bears father’s disgrace—

  His lip curled into a contemptuous sneer as he lifted his eyes to lock with the Hold Mistress’s own. He saw Felix tense to his left, but he knew how he could gain victory here—for himself and his family.

  “Very well,” he said coldly, “I have chosen my name.”

  Eukaria stepped back and gestured for him to stand. “Then arise, no longer a boy but a man, and proclaim your name for all to hear.”

  Felix’ fingers tensed on his long knife’s hilt, and the boy looked him in the eyes as he stood slowly from his awkward, kneeling posture. “I take the name of my brother, who gave his life honorably in service to the Hold during the Red Dawn,” he said after regaining his feet.

  Felix’ grip relaxed on his dagger as he shot a glance to his Hold Mistress. Eukaria regarded the boy with a strange, hollow expression before she nodded in agreement. “I shall see to it that word of your deeds in this place echo throughout the land, bringing even greater honor to your brother’s name.”

  Felix nodded as he slid his long knife back into its sheath. He approached the boy and clapped him on the shoulder, and the two shared a moment of respectful silence before the Protector turned to the spectators and bellowed, “All hail Nikomedes, the kraken slayer!”

  Chapter I: A Matter of Honor

  The massive hammer smashed down against the ground where Nikomedes had stood a mere instant earlier, and he fought to maintain his balance as he brought his blade up in a counterattack directed at Felix’ lead arm.

  But Felix was a veteran of twenty years, and he easily sidestepped the younger man’s attack as he delivered a punishing kick to Nikomedes’ thigh. It was all the younger man could do to keep his feet as Felix brought the massive hammer Glacier Splitter back up in a broad, sweeping arc.

  “Any fool knows that the blade is best for duels,” growled Felix as he brought the deadly, massive, stone-headed weapon toward Nikomedes’ abdomen. “But for field battle against less-skilled warriors, especially those relying on formations, nothing compares to the hammer!”

  Nikomedes’ legs were shaking as he leapt over the sweeping hammer and rolled to safety before popping back up onto the balls of his feet. Two years had passed since he had slain the kraken, but for Nikomedes it seemed like a lifetime. Felix, Protector of Eukaria’s Hold, had conscripted him into his own private fighting force and insisted on weekly ‘lessons.’ Those lessons had at first consisted of nothing so much as brutal, punishing demonstrations of just how much damage his young body could endure.

  But after nearly a year and a half—and dozens of broken bones—Nikomedes had begun to hold his own for minutes at a time against the brutal warrior.

  This latest ‘lesson’ had already gone for over a quarter hour, which was a personal best for Nikomedes—and he had no intention of submitting to Felix this time.

  His roll had successfully brought him out of the hammer’s previous arc, but in a maneuver that required as much agility as strength, the other man swung the hammer up over his head and, using his body’s momentum, reversed the hammer’s course and swept it toward Nikomedes’ legs.

  Nikomedes timed his jump perfectly to clear the weapon’s path and brought his mid-length sword down in a short, chopping motion aimed at Felix’ near leg.

  It was only after his feet had left the ground that he saw the trap for what it was and, despite Nikomedes’ best efforts at avoidance, Felix stepped forward and issued a brutal knee to the younger man’s groin as he easily stepped inside the path of the blade.

  Nikomedes struggled briefly but Felix dropped the hammer and caught him in a crushing bear hug, and the sixteen year old knew he was done for. He had failed to submit to Felix once before, and it had cost him a trio of broken ribs which had taken three months to heal. He had no desire to repeat that incident.

  The blade fell from his fingers and he yelled, “I submit!”

  Felix’ grasp lingered a few moments, but he relented before Nikomedes felt his ribs pop and the young man fell to the floor gasping for air.

  Felix stood over him before collecting the massive hammer called Glacier Splitter. After a few seconds, Nikomedes was able to regain his feet as he continued to take deep breaths. The physical exhaustion was not enough to cause him distress, and neither was the blow to his groin—he always wore a hardened, leather codpiece for protection against such an attack. It was the psychological impact of such a sudden reversal of fortune that had him angry at himself for such failure.

  “You still view battle as an exercise in skill and physical ability, Niko,” Felix chided. “Battle is nothing if not a brutal and unpredictable struggle for survival, and if you do not learn that lesson soon you will not survive long enough to wish you had.”

  Nikomedes had never heard this particular criticism before, and in spite of his disappointment at his own failure he was curious what Felix meant. He drew himself to his full height, which was several inches taller than Felix, who was broad a
nd powerfully built in the torso. Nikomedes was tall—over two meters—and he thought his musculature to be perfectly balanced. He was neither too thin nor too thick, so he was able to blend his natural agility with his overall length and power to great effect in martial endeavors.

  The truth was that only a handful of men in Felix’ private fighting force of fifty men could defeat Nikomedes in personal combat now, and each of them was at least a decade his elder and vastly more experienced. In terms of pure, physical ability, Nikomedes had no equal in the entire Hold—and he was not yet finished developing physically.

  “Do you mean to say I lack ingenuity?” Nikomedes pressed in his deep, rich voice. He was genuinely offended at the possibility of Felix thinking him a dullard.

  Felix threw his head back and laughed in obvious surprise. “Boy, at sixteen you can already think on your feet like a veteran twice your age,” he shook his head. “No, Nikomedes, what I mean is that no matter how strong, or fast, or clever you might be, you will never achieve your true potential until you understand—really understand—the truth of battle.” The older, burly man bit his lip for a moment before squaring his shoulders, “When I saw you leap from the cliff as a fourteen year old boy, I thought you knew it already.”

  Nikomedes bristled at the slight and he squared off on the older man. “I care not for your approval, Felix,” he growled. “You are my instructor and my warlord, but you are not my father.”

  Felix’ lips parted in a thin sneer as he pushed forward, bumping his chest into the younger man’s. “That is your other weakness, boy,” he barked, “pride! I have seen it slaughter men in droves while the Demons below cackle with delight!”

  The two locked eyes for what seemed like an eternity to Nikomedes before he finally took a step back. He had lost the duel, and to disrespect the warlord carried a high price—one he had no desire to pay this day.