Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1) by Alan Ratcliffe Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alan Ratcliffe
horrified at the thought of facing off against a man of such stature, but the sight of the metal arm had put him more at ease. “He will be able to fight one-handed?”
A smirk tugged at the corner of the Archon’s mouth. “His remaining arm will bear the weight of a staff, I believe. Dantes is a most capable servant.”
Cole lifted another quarterstaff from the rack and tossed it to his opponent. The giant plucked it out of the air with his left hand as though it was no more substantial than a reed blown in the wind.
Nervously, Cole began to circle, just as he had before, trying to block out the jeers of his fellows around the training square. More than a few of them were hoping to see his brains dashed upon the floor, he suspected.
As he moved, the giant merely turned to follow, twirling his stave in one hand. The air hummed as it span.
With a mental shrug, Cole struck with snake-like speed, hoping to knock the stave out of his opponent’s hand and put a quick end to the farce. Instead, the giant met the strike with such force it took all his strength to keep hold of his own weapon.
As if taking that as his signal, the giant began a furious barrage. He rained heavy blows down on Cole from seemingly every angle. He was able to deflect a few, more by blind luck than design, but many more landed. One blow to the side of his head left him seeing double.
After a successful parry, he glanced up, and saw Ulf’s mocking face above him, hanging from an upstairs window. The stocky novice seemed to be enjoying the spectacle enormously.
Cole roared and charged forward two steps, hammering away another strike with all the strength he could muster. He used the second of respite it bought him to slide onto his back, his momentum carrying him through the giant’s legs. With cat-like agility he jumped to his feet, and before the giant could turn he swung his stave around and smashed it against his foe’s broad back. With an exultant cry, he raised his arms above his head and turned to the watching crowd.
His triumph was short-lived. The giant swivelled to face him, his smouldering glare burning through the mask’s eye slits. Cole may as well have tried to halt a raging bull with a fly swat.
“Bravo, young man, bravo,” the Archon called across the training square. Cole risked a glance across, to where the white-robed man was clapping appreciatively. “It has been a long time since I have seen any man land a strike on formidable Dantes.” He smiled. “But the fight is not yet over, I fear.”
Cole turned back and readied himself for another assault. To his confusion, however, the giant threw his stave high into the air.
The assembled crowd could only look on in astonishment as the prosthetic arm whirred into life, the metal circles in the joints spinning at dizzying speed. The countless workings of the arm clicked and whirred and hummed, their movements a hypnotic dance that left Cole mesmerised. The arm raised gracefully into the air, and caught the stave effortlessly mid-fall. Mechanical fingers closed deftly around it. The giant met Cole’s gaze. Although his mouth was hidden behind the steel mask, Cole could tell that beneath it he wore a smile.
It suddenly occurred to Cole that perhaps only having one arm was not such a disadvantage, after all.
If the giant’s attacks had been swift before, what followed was nothing short of an onslaught. The staff was a blur as it swung and spun, his metal prosthetic moving at impossible angles of which no human arm was capable. As the mechanical arm came to life, so too did its owner. The giant no longer faced him with feet planted firmly on the ground. He danced around Cole, more agile than a man his size had any right to be.
Cole blocked as best he could, but for every successful contact, half a dozen blows struck him. Every inch of his body ached, and soon he could barely lift his own weapon, let alone defend himself with it.
He jumped back, and dropped his weapon to
A smirk tugged at the corner of the Archon’s mouth. “His remaining arm will bear the weight of a staff, I believe. Dantes is a most capable servant.”
Cole lifted another quarterstaff from the rack and tossed it to his opponent. The giant plucked it out of the air with his left hand as though it was no more substantial than a reed blown in the wind.
Nervously, Cole began to circle, just as he had before, trying to block out the jeers of his fellows around the training square. More than a few of them were hoping to see his brains dashed upon the floor, he suspected.
As he moved, the giant merely turned to follow, twirling his stave in one hand. The air hummed as it span.
With a mental shrug, Cole struck with snake-like speed, hoping to knock the stave out of his opponent’s hand and put a quick end to the farce. Instead, the giant met the strike with such force it took all his strength to keep hold of his own weapon.
As if taking that as his signal, the giant began a furious barrage. He rained heavy blows down on Cole from seemingly every angle. He was able to deflect a few, more by blind luck than design, but many more landed. One blow to the side of his head left him seeing double.
After a successful parry, he glanced up, and saw Ulf’s mocking face above him, hanging from an upstairs window. The stocky novice seemed to be enjoying the spectacle enormously.
Cole roared and charged forward two steps, hammering away another strike with all the strength he could muster. He used the second of respite it bought him to slide onto his back, his momentum carrying him through the giant’s legs. With cat-like agility he jumped to his feet, and before the giant could turn he swung his stave around and smashed it against his foe’s broad back. With an exultant cry, he raised his arms above his head and turned to the watching crowd.
His triumph was short-lived. The giant swivelled to face him, his smouldering glare burning through the mask’s eye slits. Cole may as well have tried to halt a raging bull with a fly swat.
“Bravo, young man, bravo,” the Archon called across the training square. Cole risked a glance across, to where the white-robed man was clapping appreciatively. “It has been a long time since I have seen any man land a strike on formidable Dantes.” He smiled. “But the fight is not yet over, I fear.”
Cole turned back and readied himself for another assault. To his confusion, however, the giant threw his stave high into the air.
The assembled crowd could only look on in astonishment as the prosthetic arm whirred into life, the metal circles in the joints spinning at dizzying speed. The countless workings of the arm clicked and whirred and hummed, their movements a hypnotic dance that left Cole mesmerised. The arm raised gracefully into the air, and caught the stave effortlessly mid-fall. Mechanical fingers closed deftly around it. The giant met Cole’s gaze. Although his mouth was hidden behind the steel mask, Cole could tell that beneath it he wore a smile.
It suddenly occurred to Cole that perhaps only having one arm was not such a disadvantage, after all.
If the giant’s attacks had been swift before, what followed was nothing short of an onslaught. The staff was a blur as it swung and spun, his metal prosthetic moving at impossible angles of which no human arm was capable. As the mechanical arm came to life, so too did its owner. The giant no longer faced him with feet planted firmly on the ground. He danced around Cole, more agile than a man his size had any right to be.
Cole blocked as best he could, but for every successful contact, half a dozen blows struck him. Every inch of his body ached, and soon he could barely lift his own weapon, let alone defend himself with it.
He jumped back, and dropped his weapon to
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