Stonehand, p.32
Stonehand, page 32
“Domain of Law”
“Most fights,” Old Gant had said, “are over before they start. Opponents are rarely evenly matched — either in terms of gear, talent or experience — so it’s just a matter of time before those advantages tell.”
They listened in silence. They’d all been there long enough now to understand their instructor was at his most dangerous when sounding the most lucid.
“Thus, when a mouse finds itself in a fight with a lion” — all eyes turned to the broken, bleeding figure of the ten-year-old girl lying at his feet — “the only chance the mouse has is to take the lion by surprise. It may be very unlikely, but there might be one opportunity to forestall the fated tide of battle.”
Old Gant squatted on his haunches and reached out to pull the girl’s head upright towards him. Her eyes fluttered open. “One shot, you hear me? The mouse and the lion have an inevitable outcome. It is just a matter of time. Your only chance is to make that one shot count.”
He caressed her hair for a moment, then drove her face into the ground, rendering her unconscious once again.
With that, Old Gant stood, dusting down his hands. “No food for Orban until I see a significant improvement in attitude and technique. Anyone I catch sneaking her food will take her place.”
Of course, no one risked the Stonehand’s wrath. It was ten days before Daine was granted an evening meal.
But by then, she had learned her lesson.
*
The Lady Darkhelm drove her mailed right fist into Gallant’s face.
He had turned slightly at her voice, and the blow caught him flush on the cheek. There was a gruesome crunch of breaking bone, and dark blood spurted into the air as Gallant’s head snapped back.
It was a blow that would have killed any other man. The force of the punch — carrying with it the weight of decades of anger, pain and trauma — would have felled an oak tree.
And yet, though he staggered, the Stonehand did not fall.
Daine lunged forward, closing the gap before her target had a chance to recover, and followed up with an elbow that caught him on the jaw. Shards of teeth, like broken pearls, scattered across the floor.
But she did not stop.
She raised her clasped fists high to bring down a two-handed strike on the top of his head, simultaneously bringing her knee up into his nose.
The Stonehand took his extraordinary punishment in complete silence; the only sounds in the tent were Daine’s breaths coming in heated snarls and the thud, crack and metallic chorus of the Darkhelm’s armour as she struck and struck and struck.
But as fast as Daine was able to deliver the damage, the Stonehand overcame it. His skin resealed, and his bones reknit within moments.
Soon, she realised any advantage of surprise she had held was long gone, and the grinning face of her nightmare was simply, passively, infuriatingly letting her strike him.
She drove one more fearsome punch into his stomach and then stepped back, sucking in air and flexing her fingers as her own broken bones healed in her hands.
“You finished?” The old man’s smile was sardonic. “Glad you got that out of your system. How many times have we played out this little scene? But it always has the same conclusion, does it not? What do you truly see happening next? I beat you black and blue again and withhold your supper? I am afraid we’re a little past that.”
“I agree. We are both too old to keep playing the same roles.”
He frowned, not understanding her words. Nor liking the expression on her face. He was used to seeing the girl angry. He enjoyed seeing her afraid. However, whatever emotion she was currently showing him was wholly alien to his experience.
“So what makes this little farce different this time around?”
Daine smiled. “I have brought friends.” And she triggered
Azam stood first, pulling the blades from his body and tossing them towards the Hyena. She caught them — one in each hand — whilst still lying prone on the floor and then acrobatically flipped upright, all signs of her wound gone.
Daine nodded to the pair solemnly as they took positions around the Stonehand. They smiled back, oddly at peace with what was happening. They had not been healed, they completely understood that. When the countdown on
However, right here and right now — before returning to that eternal rest — they still had a final job to do.
Jessica moved to stand between the other members of the Cackle, swirling her whip back and forth. If she thought it strange that her two companions had been resurrected from lethal wounds, her face did not show it. She did, however, phase in and out a few times as if testing that her Skills remained accessible.
Azam smiled and filled his hands with giant spheres of boiling energy. “Not much point me keeping anything in reserve, is there?” he whispered to the Stepper. “You, however? You need to get out of here alive to take the story back. You hear me?” When Jessica did not answer, he shot a little burst of fire her way. “Do your bit, but no more, you get me? There’s enough of us here where it doesn’t matter either way. No heroics, Jess.” The young woman bit her lip but nodded grimly back in reply.
“Well, isn’t this a collection of fell powers?” Donal asked, moving stiffly to stand on the other side of the Hyena. The Stonehand’s eyes narrowed when he caught sight of him.
“You dead too?” the scarred woman asked bluntly.
Donal winked bank, sketching a few runes in the air that glowed dully. “It’s a bit more complicated than that. After all, what do we truly mean when we say ‘dead.’ Philosophers have long argued . . .”
The Stonehand roared — a terrible, atavistic sound that had no place in the throat of a human — reducing them all to silence. There was some sort of Fear Skill there, and despite at least two of the party having nothing left to fear, its impact upon them was noticeable. In response, Daine triggered
Looking around, she grieved the loss of the Hyena and Azam. They were both tough and uncompromising warriors she had come to respect during their time in Swinford. They had discussed the inevitability of their deaths should Daine fail to put down the Stonehand, and they had accepted that as part of this mission, but seeing them in this liminal state — not dead, yet not alive — was profoundly painful. Still more deaths on her conscience. More examples of being too little and too late.
But this was not the time for sorrow.
Looking over at the Dark Warlord, she was unsure what to make of his revival. Physically, he looked like he had merely been out for a brisk afternoon walk. Indeed, other than the blackened scorching covering his robes, it would be difficult to say he had experienced any inconvenience at all. Daine raised her eyebrows at him, and he gave a “maybe/maybe not” gesture with his hand. She was unsure what that meant.
The group encircling the Stonehand exchanged one last look, and without another word, they attacked.
*
Azam kicked things off, hitting Gallant with ball after white-hot ball of energy. The Stonehand’s clothes and hair caught fire, and an overpowering stench filled the tent as the old man screamed and burned.
Ignoring the flames, Daine stepped in close, seeking to keep Gallant’s focus on her to give the others freer rein. She threw another huge right hand, but despite Azam’s constant bombardment, the Stonehand had enough of his wits about him to move to the side, and the fist sailed past.
He turned to follow her momentum and was about to strike at Daine’s unprotected flank when the Hyena sailed in, knives flashing. Gallant took a number of cuts as he reached out to grab her by the throat, lifting her into the air. Daine brought a thundering chop down on his arm, and he released the assassin, who slid down and around his legs, seeking to hamstring him.
At the same time, Jessica’s whip flicked out into the Stonehand’s face, causing no damage but distracting him for the moment Daine needed to grab hold of both of his wrists.
Gallant and Daine met eyes as he sought to break her grip, and she battled to maintain it. As their war played out, Azam continued to throw fireball after fireball into the man’s back while the Hyena slashed and slashed at his legs, avoiding his wild kicks and stomps.
*
Donal watched on with a distant look on his face. This was a curious fight. Two near-immortals locked together, almost as if in an embrace. For all her Strength — and that so greatly increased since her Class Evolution — Daine was obviously at the disadvantage. And yet she held on as, inch by inch, this unstoppable force broke the immovable object’s restraints on him.
Puffing out his cheeks, Donal was in the curious situation of not really knowing what to do. He had hit the Stonehand with a pretty innovative — even if he did say so himself — runic array that had seemingly done very little.
He had, of course, no end of tricks left up the smoking remains of his sleeves, but if that complex working achieved nothing, were any of them going to be remotely productive?
Well, no point standing around like a spare part, he thought. Following Daine’s lead with
*
Sweat poured down Daine’s face.
It took every ounce of her resolve to hold the Stonehand in place, and she could feel him slipping free. In her mind, she could see the next few moments of the fight playing out.
With a jerk, he would throw off her grip, then reach down to catch the Hyena — nearly through to the bone with her frenzied strikes. A few blows to the head would break
He would kill the others first. Because he knew that would cause her the most pain.
Then they would fight for the final time. And — as he had done so many times before — he would win.
The fury of the unfairness of that bloomed in her, and she strained to pull his wrists back together.
His eyes were on her, mocking. As if he were letting her play out this little game until he tired of it. “What happened to you!” Daine shouted directly into his face.
She was shocked to see the impact of her words. Gallant’s face went slack, and his eyes opened in . . . was that fear. “I don’t know.” All his resistance to her hold vanished, and she was able to clamp his wrists together. He pressed his head forward as if to whisper a secret in her ear. “I can’t remember, girl. There’s gaps. So many gaps. Sometimes I don’t even know who I am.”
Then, as soon as it arrived, the moment passed. A snarl replaced the trembling lip, and he burst out from her restraint with an explosive movement.
*
The Hyena felt the change in the battle above her and cartwheeled away. Shaking her head when the wounds she had inflicted healed as soon as she ceased her assault, she retreated out of the Stonehand’s reach — they certainly did not need him getting hold of her knives — and moved next to Azam. By the slowing of his attacks, the Bombardier was clearly nearly out of mana.
“You ever seen anything like this?” Despite everything, Azam’s tone was even. “Can’t remember the last time something I hit didn’t stay down.”
“We’re hardly the ones to talk,” the Hyena replied, preparing to renew her assault. She paused as the bodies of those the Cackle had slain at the start of this ill-fated mission rose up and moved to attack the Stonehand.
Jessica phased next to them. “I’ve rarely felt so redundant. I’m not sure he even knows I’m attacking him!”
Azam and the Hyena shrugged. “We’ll keep the pressure on while we can. Remember, no heroics!” Azam said sternly to the young woman, then watched in horror as the Stonehand tore his former guards and Mages apart. “This isn’t a place for heroes.”
*
The sacrifice of Donal’s minions bought Daine a moment to reassess. The Stonehand was simply too strong, too fast, and healed too quickly. She couldn’t conceive of what it would take to defeat him.
Gallant ripped his former bodyguard in half and moved towards Donal — correctly identifying him as the cause of that latest gambit.
This was not right, Daine thought.
And, with that thought, did she hear the faint rattling of dice?
Gallant was always powerful. But not like this. She thought of all the times she had faced him in the arena. He had always won, of course he had, but she knew she had hard-pressed him at times. Three decades on, how was he more formidable? She knew the decline of age was on him when the King had changed his Class into Mentor. So how was he still capable of wreaking such havoc?
Daine grabbed at Gallant’s shoulder and spun him around. Azam hit him again with a fireball, and his skin blackened and then healed in an instant.
“Whatever happened to you is not right,” she said, head swaying back to avoid a thrown fist. “No matter what you did, no matter who you were, this is not justice.”
The Stonehand raged at her, spittle flying from his mouth. The words he yelled were barely comprehensible, just a string of invective. All against her.
The noise of rattling dice increased. Daine could sense she was supposed to do something — to decide on a course of action — which would set the dice in motion.
He leapt at her, fingers clawed into talons to gouge out her eyes. Daine blocked and then tried to push him away. But one of his hands locked around her throat, squeezing.
Still, the dice rattled, waiting for her.
Daine reached to the Goddess for aid but found a pair of eyes looking sadly — helplessly — back at her. I don’t know, the Goddess whispered in her mind. I can never see beyond this moment. I don’t know!
He was a monster. But what had been done to him was monstrous.
There needed to be justice for what he had done. But he, in turn, deserved justice of his own.
Without knowing why, Daine activated
And the dice were cast.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
“Fixed Moment in Time”
All colour bleached out of the world. It was like reality had become a shadow play on a linen screen. All sound beyond the tent was muted to be replaced by a dull hum. A soft breeze added to the sense of unreal desolation.
Gallant sneered. “Was that it? After all this, that was your final move? Someone was not paying particularly close attention during our lessons. How many times? If you save your best and last until the very end, it needs to be worth it.” With that, he ripped a hand clean from Daine’s grasp and struck her a blow to the face that echoed around the oddly silent grey landscape. Her head snapped to the side with the impact but immediately swivelled straight back to meet his surprised gaze.
“On that, we can agree to disagree. It seems pretty worth it right now.”
And Daine struck him back.
Throughout their long association, Daine had hit the Stonehand many times — not least in the hammering she had inflicted bare moments ago. The sheer depth, breadth, and range of his healing capacity, though, made any amount of damage essentially meaningless. Eliud had once described to her how — during the first meeting with the man — he’d hit him with his full elemental power, melting Gallant to the bone. But the Stonehand had merely laughed as his tissue and skin reknitted to his bones.
So, Daine had experienced the transient success of rocking the man back.
This time, however, it felt different. Indeed, the look in Gallant’s eyes told her that he felt the difference. He stumbled backwards a few steps, raising a hand to his split lip. A drop of grey blood appeared at the corner of his mouth, and as all in the tent watched, the cut did not close.
“Oh boy,” whispered Donal,” someone is in trouble . . .”
You have just a few moments, a voice echoed in Daine’s head.
Daine could feel the Skill draining her Stamina reserves at an extraordinary rate. She would have already bottomed out if her pool had not substantially increased during her Class Evolution.
“So, he’s normal?”
Gallant Stonehand is not, and has never been, one of mine. Whatever malign influence has twisted this man into what stands before you no longer has a say, until the Skill runs out.
Daine needed no further urging. She stepped forward and crashed one fist after another into the old man’s body. The Hyena stepped forward to help, but Donal rested a hand on her forearm and shook his head.
“Not this time. Leave it to the lady.”
With all the colour leaked from the world, the Stonehand’s blood flew from him in strange grey gouts. Daine drove a kick into his knee, snapping the bone in two and following up with a backhand to crash him into the floor.
Kneeling over him, she continued to pound blow after blow into his head until the man stopped seeking to defend himself. Sensing it was at an end, she grabbed the front of his tunic, lifting him upwards for a final, decisive strike. As she coiled her fist backwards — flooding her body with every dormant Skill she possessed — Gallant’s remaining eye flickered open, and his mangled mouth crooked upwards in a macabre grin.
“Always knew it would be you. To end it. Good on you, girl!”
Daine struggled against all her belligerence draining away. That voice — with none of the mocking cruelty — was one she remembered too well. Because it had not just been beatings and horror, had it? There had been times, near the end, when they had connected differently. When they had been able to talk more as equals rather than combatants.
