Spark of War by J.A. Culican

Author:J.A. Culican [Culican, J.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dragon Realm Press
Published: 2018-09-20T05:00:00+00:00

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Scene 05-C

Sweat trickled down Jaekob’s back as his three opponents regrouped. He adjusted his grip on his spear, his leather gloves creaking. He took advantage of the lull in the fight to glance over his armor for damage or blood.

He was young, so his chest and back armor cuirass was only made of bands of steel, not dragonscale, but his father was wealthy enough to have had the metal tempered in dragon blood, making his cuirass near-impervious even though it was light-weight and looked weak. He had a helmet, made of the same, but didn't like wearing it. It cut down his peripheral vision and hearing.

Dragonscale of every color was used for the armor covering his shoulders, forearms, and lower legs from knees to ankles; those really were impervious to most things. He'd learned that from history lessons as a kid that told of dragon experiences during the second German war. He also had learned there were always gaps and weak points in any armor, where a lucky thrust or skilled warrior might find an opening.

Someday, he'd inherit his father's full dragonscale armor, though if he went through with his idea of abdicating from his position as First Councilor-to-be, he'd have to re-dye them from royal fiery red to something else. If he lived long enough to inherit it...

His three opponents regrouped and tried a new tactic, coming at him in a semicircle, spread in a short line. All three were armed with swords and wore cheap but common chainmail. The warriors looked determined, hard-set on bringing Jaekob down despite knowing who he was. Or because of it.

The feel of his leather gloves around his spear's ironwood haft felt good. He almost felt like his spear talked to him somehow, telling him when his grip was good or weak, when he should strike, when he should block. His father had nodded with understanding when he tried to explain the sensation, and had said that was his blogsang, his dragonblood singing its ancient battle cry. Whatever it was, it felt good. Really good. Almost euphoric.

The three men came at him with the one in the middle slightly back from the rest, while the other two moved to flank him. Simple, blunt, and effective. Jaekob side-stepped to his right, leaving only one man able to strike him. He blocked the man's overhand slice with his spear haft, over his head, and then swung the pointy end down with no loss of momentum; it whistled through the air and sliced his enemy's unarmored hand through the bone.

The man dropped his sword and cried out. As Jaekob shuffled backwards, away from the wounded man, another one grabbed their wounded ally and yanked him out of the way--he landed hard on his back, skidding a couple feet before coming to a stop, and then curled up to cradle his bleeding, demolished sword-hand.

The remaining two attackers came toward him more slowly, which brought a smile to Jaekob's face. They separated, but frustratingly, they weren’t far apart.

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