Jonis - Rowan Erlking (web based ebook reader .TXT) 📗

of two birds calling to each other and perhaps the hollow echo of the breeze blowing through the stone. It blew past and rustled the leaves near the tops of the trees, also making some of the flowers sway.

Grinning, Jonis bowed to Sisrik, looking him right in the eye. “Glad you noticed. Now, can I participate?”

“You heard us talking.” One man in the group cracked his knuckles.

A glitter flickered across the sparkling blue color of Jonis’s eyes. “Only a little.”

Again there was silence except for footfalls.

“Are we late?” Three other men walked into the courtyard, escorted by the butler who recognized Jonis on sight. The butler took one hard look at Jonis then spun back around as quickly and as stately as possible back into the building.

“Is he in a hurry?” Jonis asked aloud, blinking as if puzzled—though he actually enjoyed the effect he was making.

“The Cordril knows why we’re here,” one man muttered aloud, approaching Jonis with his lifted weapon.

“That will make only it easier,” one of the new arrivals said, drawing a dangerous looking saber from his side.

Watching their heavy footfalls as they approached, Jonis’s heart did a jump. He knew they meant to kill. He placed his hand on his sword hilt.

“Come now! This is not sporting!” Sisirk called out, but yet kept his distance. “If you are going to hunt, give your prey some room for a fair fight.”

“Demon hunting is not a sport!” A smelly hunter charged, heaving a broad axe over his head.

Jonis dived with a kick to his attacker’s shins using the heel of his foot. Everyone heard the crack. The yowl of pain was worse, piercing the inside of their ears.

Rolling over the ground, Jonis immediately hopped to his feet behind his first defeated foe, drawing his sword. “One down, twenty-some-odd to go.”

Sisrik retreated to where the magistrates and judges stood clutching their now shaking hands and their eyes that bulged in fear.

The other hunters moved in.

“Me next!” The one with the saber dived in for his attack. He was a foreigner that wore a tightly wound turban and strange loose robes. The way he moved was like a dance.

Jonis blocked him. Defending himself with each swift stab, swipe, and thrust, Jonis fought this skilled swordsman with every ounce of strength and memory he had. He wasn’t as graceful as this foreign hunter, but he got the job done quite effectively. Face to face. Clenched teeth to clenched teeth. Saber against demon hunting broadsword. Spit and sweat flew as the man drove Jonis across the stones, around the statues, and chipping the works of art in the process.

“You might have to pay for that!” Jonis said after he saw one particularly large chunk break off of a nude couple in an amorous pose.

“I’ll pay with your life!” the swordsman shouted, swinging his blade with a deft hand.

It clanged against the stone. Jonis struck it hard with one chop, ramming pressure against the stone and the elegantly crafted saber in his foe’s grip. The top half clattered noisily to the ground.

“Got any other weapons?” Jonis asked, grinning at yet another defeated fighter.

The swordsman tossed away the broken sword and drew out knives.

Jonis hopped back onto the granite walkway. “Dirty move.”

With a fixed grin Jonis didn’t like, the man threw his blades, swifter than a breath.

Two missed their mark as Jonis dodged. Three, Jonis caught. But one stuck high in his shoulder.

The swordsman cackled, drawing out another shorter sword at his thigh. “Now we finish this.”

Gripping the knife handle, Jonis yanked it out of his shoulder with a cringing wince. The blood flowed freely. “That we will.”

He threw back the four knives.

Staring at his hands and arms, the swordsman collapsed on the ground. Both hands had knives stuck through them as if they had suddenly sprung there. His elbows were likewise skewered.

Jonis picked the other two blades off the ground. Walking swiftly to his opponent, he kicked away the man’s short sword. “I win.”

“No!” shouted another fighter with a sword in hand. The mace-wielding hunter joined him. Both men charged right at Jonis.

But Jonis did not even have to use his sword or the knives to defend himself. Stooping low and swiping his feet at the running attackers, he tumbled out of the way to a grassy patch out of their way, watching the effect. Both toppled over to the other side of the open space. One man lay with the mace in his chest, twitching. The other had fallen on top of him. His luck was that he wore armor.

That man got up and pulled his mace out of the unfortunate hunter’s chest, wiping the saliva dripping from his mouth. “That was dirty.”

Jonis raised his eyebrows at him, rising to his feet. “Dirty? That was self-defense. You two are clumsy.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Bursting into a war cry, the mace-wielding hunter charged ahead. But Jonis merely narrowed his eyes and took aim as the man ran forward, letting loose another knife.

The mace fell out of his hands.

Clutching the impaled hand, the hunter staggered back with gasps—but it stopped him from attacking further.

Jonis smiled, standing where he was. “I see you aren’t ambidextrous. Who’s next?”

The crack of a pistol broke the air.

“I am.”

Lowering his pistol back into his belt, a hunter dressed in a simple waistcoat with two belts strapped on his hips for his holster and a knife sheath nodded to the magistrates with a confident grin.  

 Jonis peered down at his stomach. A stinging wetness oozed into his shirt, warm, and yet he started to feel cold. Staggering forward, Jonis held where the bullet had gone into his body. He halted in front of the triumphant face. Jonis clenched the man’s shoulder to hold himself up. He choked. “You…gave me…the kiss of death.”

His killer cackled, tossing his hair back. “It is my pleasure.”

“Let me return the favor,” Jonis said, breathing heavily. He leaned in and placed his lips against the hunter’s forehead.

The triumph on the man’s face faded almost immediately. He dropped his gun then collapsed to the ground.

Jonis squared his shoulders, straightening his back. He held out his bloody glove in front of the bullet wound. With a turn, he felt the bullet drop into his palm as the bleeding inside and out stopped.

Chucking the bullet aside, Jonis then loosened the buckles to his gloves. “Now you’ve made me mad.”

Sisrik jumped forward, groping the pale man that lay on the ground for a pulse.

“Not dead.” Standing straight, Sisrik shouted at Jonis, “You are not allowed to use your Cordril abilities! That is against army regulations!”

Shaking his head as his eyes narrowed into blazing blue slits, Jonis tucked his blood stained gloves into his pocket. “It is also against the law to harm a solider in the army. I suppose we are all guilty here.”

The hunters pulled back.

“I’ll take him next.” A middle-aged man stepped forward. He did not look like the others. Though he was armed with swords, weapons of all kinds and had that glare in his eye, there was something more dangerous about him, and familiar.

Jonis walked to the center of the courtyard to meet him, maintaining his watch on his new opponent. He heard murmurs to the left and the right of him, understanding only snatches of it. “It’s the Cordril hunter.”

Peering at the eyes of the hunter across from him, Jonis watched the man draw his flat thick blade from a leather scabbard stitched with a disturbingly familiar design on it. The man’s eyes were gray—not blue.

“He is not a Cordril,” Jonis said aloud.

The hunter grinned. “No. I am not.”

He swung to attack.

Jonis blocked him with his sword, using all his strength. This man was rather strong, thrusting Jonis back with a harsh shove, steel against steel.

“I hunt Cordrils,” the man said.

A tremor ran through Jonis. He staggered back and pointed. “I know your voice. Who are you?”

Everyone stared, watching the hunter charge at the young Cordril.

“Hah!” The hunter hacked at Jonis, clanging against Jonis’s blade that blocked him. “I am your executioner! Murderer!”

Throwing the man off, Jonis leapt back with an acrobatic flip onto the heads of a statue, kneeling. He watched his attacker come from below. “I have killed nothing but demons my entire life. Unless you are a demon yourself, you have no reason to accuse me.”

The hunter hacked off the head Jonis was standing on just as Jonis jumped off.

Dropping to the ground, Jonis thrust out his sword, warning his attacker he would fight back. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

Swinging dangerously, the hunter spat in Jonis’s face. “No. I’m going to kill you.”

Feeling the slime drip down his forehead, Jonis braced his feet against the ground, ready to dismember this hunter, familiar to a distant memory or not.

“For my sister!” the hunter shouted, swinging down on him.

 

Chapter Twenty-two: Up to Lunch

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“A Cordril with a very long memory can be extremely dangerous.”

 

 

 

 

Jonis stumbled backward, only blocking the attack. His arm throbbed from the force of the blow, but he could not strike back. Shaking, Jonis kicked the man away, dashing behind another statue.

“You fiend!” the hunter shrieked. “You coward! You run from our fight?”

Grimacing, Jonis shook his head. “Nope. I merely realized my mother would not want me to kill you.”

“It’s your fault she’s dead!” the hunter screamed, leaping after him.

Jonis blocked, parried, and jumped, scrambling atop another ornate carving of love and lust. He watched as the man kept coming at him.

“I can’t entirely argue with that,” Jonis said.

A stone arm clattered to the ground, breaking into smaller pieces. The hunter stood panting below. He chopped off another limb with a powerful stroke. “Get down here and face me, Cordril!”

“Your beef is with my father!” Jonis shouted down. “He died years ago! Leave me alone!”

“Why don’t you fight back, Macoy?” Sisrik shouted from across the courtyard, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“I can’t hurt him! He’s my uncle!” Jonis cried out, suddenly looking desperate.

A head broke off. The blade nicked the tip of Jonis’s boot.

“Well, he’s trying to kill you!” Sisirk yelled back.

Jonis flipped off the statue, blocking the next strike as he landed. “My mother loved him too much. I can’t hurt him!”

“Die demon!” The hunter thrust in his blade.

Jonis batted it away with a swipe of his sword. “Knock it off! Don’t make me hurt you!”

“Pelina is dead because of you.” The hunter swung another stroke. “I vowed to get revenge for her death. She never wanted you.”

Fighting back, Jonis kicked away the sword, knocking it out of his opponent’s hand. He placed his own sword point at his uncle’s throat.

“You don’t know what she was thinking when she killed herself,” Jonis said, panting as he kept the point up. “I do.”

His breathing slowed.

“I do.”

The hunter stared up at him with searing hate, already feeling his defeat. “Just finish the job, you demon.”

Jonis shook his head. “My mother loved her family very much. I will not kill you.”

He lowered his sword.

“Then you will die!” His uncle pulled out a dagger, thrusting it at him.

Jonis caught the blade in his bare hand, clenching it.

The man tried to shove it in, struggling against Jonis’s grip. Blood dripped from his closed fist and down his arm to the stone. Eventually Jonis wrenched the weapon from his