The Legend of Eli Monpress(322)

Back by the cabin, Sted straightened up. “What do you think?” he said, spreading his arms wide. “Still feeling cocky?”

It took all of Josef’s determination not to look away. There was something incredibly wrong, something vastly inhuman about the black thing growing out of Sted’s left shoulder. It hung crooked from his frame, a foot longer than his still-human right arm and twice as large, bulging with muscles that twitched and spasmed. But most horrible of all was the spot where the black arm connected. Just below his shoulder, Sted’s pale skin and the black abomination met in a twist of red, raw flesh.

At once, everything came together. The fast movement, jumping through shadows, the arm … Slorn may have thought it was impossible for a nonwizard to become a demonseed, but Josef knew those signs well enough. He looked down at his injured sword. They needed a different strategy.

Straightening up, Josef flipped the Heart in his hands and plunged it point first into the ground. He could feel the metal clinging to his skin, warning him not to do this, but there was nothing else to be done. If Sted was a demon, then fighting him with the Heart would only make him stronger and the Heart weaker. There would be no winning that way, and so Josef let the Heart go. The moment his fingers left the wrapped hilt, he felt his wounds seize up. A tide of pain and dizziness swept over him, and he nearly fell. He planted his feet at the last moment, steadying himself in a fighter’s stance, and thrust his hand toward the bandits standing at the edge of the circle.

“Sword. Now.”

He heard the bandits shuffle, but he kept his eyes on Sted. The enormous man looked skeptical for a moment, then he nodded, and Josef heard the familiar sound of a blade sliding from a sheath followed by the thunk of metal on the dirt beside him. Without looking, he ducked down, hand sliding across the leaf litter until his fingers found the hilt, and brought his new sword up with a flourish.

Sted’s face broke into a cruel smile. “You’re going to fight me with that?”

Josef glanced at the sword in his hand. It was pathetically short, more like a long knife than a sword, and dull gray with tarnish.

“It’s a blade,” Josef said. “That’s all a swordsman needs.”

“Really?” Sted grinned wide. “Show me.”

The words had barely reached Josef’s ears before Sted was on top of him. Josef caught Sted’s open claws a second before they landed in his head, digging his feet into the dirt as his poor, dull sword fought to hold the parry inches from Josef’s face. Above him, Sted’s eyes began to glow like embers, and the dull metal of the sword started to hiss as Sted’s claws bit into it. Hiss, and then vanish.

Josef ducked and rolled, breaking the parry and dragging his sword to safety, but Sted didn’t let him go. He lashed out, claws digging through Josef’s shirt and into the flesh beneath. Josef gasped and rolled away, but it was mostly instinct. His head was getting fuzzy as he scrambled in the dirt, wiggling out of Sted’s grip just in time to catch the next swipe on what was left of his sword. But even as he raised his arm, he felt his muscles going slack. The damage from the Lord of Storms that the Heart had been holding back for him was building up again. His vision was dimming until he could barely see Sted break his parry with a sideways swipe. The sword tumbled from his fingers, breaking into pieces as it hit the ground, and Josef would have followed if Sted had not grabbed what was left of his shirt.

“What is this?” Sted’s voice roared in his ear. Josef felt his feet leave the ground as Sted lifted him by his collar. “What happened to your back? You’re so bloody you can barely stand. Is this how you face me? Is this the best you can offer?”

Josef tried to point out that Sted had been the one bellowing at his door, not the other way around, but all he managed was a choked gurgle. It was very hard to breathe with Sted holding him up by his neck.

Sted dropped him with a disgusted grunt. Josef landed hard on his side, and for a moment all he could think of was the pain. When his mind at last cleared enough to focus on things outside his body, he found he was being lifted up by several of the bandits while Sted’s booming voice shouted out orders.

“Get him to his sword. It’s the only thing keeping his carcass alive. We’ll take them both back to camp.”

Someone said something Josef couldn’t hear, and Sted roared in anger.

“No, we’re not going to kill him! No one is to touch him without my permission! Josef Liechten is my fight, and I will have it proper and on my terms if I have to kill every one of you sorry bandit dogs! Now get his sword in his hand! You’ll never lift it otherwise.”