Chapter 58: Durian the Red and Fellswing, the Beastslayer

  Julie reached the edge of the campsite, halting her stride in front of Drian. The man didn’t so much as lift his head, too busy breathing down a grilled fish. His red beard had a sheen of fish fat that glistened in the firelight. She cleared her throat aloud, and after finishing the entire fish, the brutish dungeoneer raised his head to look at her dark form hidden by the orange glow behind her.

  “What?”

  A sickening silence followed, Sigil Lake’s other inhabitants not daring to so much as breathe. Julie stood watching him, analysing him, looking for confirmation before she could open her mouth to speak. Her nerves prolonged the already strained moment, and the man soon lost interest, turning his head back down toward his plate, hand already clutching another fish. He bit down on its head, tearing it off with his teeth.

  “Are you…” Julie asked, her voice cracking under the pressure of her tense body. Drian didn’t so much as lift his head to acknowledge her. “Are you Durian?”

  A log crumbled, its blackened pieces revealing a core of white-hot wood. The campfire stirred and cast more light as sparks flashed and ascended upwards. In the sudden flash of light, the brute’s eye sparked as well—playing off the fire, some would assume, but some of Sigil Lake’s villagers were more hardened than that—steel flashed, and a clang resounded, echoing from the forest edge.

  Grace had vanished from beside Theo in a moment, her open palm withholding a powerful strike. Sherblanc’s hand, inches away from Drian’s throat, held a curved dagger made of sleek, reflective steel. Neither had reached him in time; so fast were the giant’s movements. Julie, the target of his nigh-imperceptible axe-swing, had wide eyes. Touching the skin under her chin, close enough to draw blood, was Drian’s axe. A red droplet slid down the otherwise polished steel. Leaving a trail behind it, the droplet soon fell off the edge of his axe-head, landing on the flat of Havoc, the Woodslayer, the only weapon that proved fast enough to stop the brute’s attack.

  Julie’s axe, even now, shook as her strength pushed it down against the other man’s axe. His muscles were bulging—like hers, only his were much larger to begin with—but they seemed a close match in strength.

  Drian’s eyes widened in surprise, and he eyed the axe that somehow countered his. His head raised from the clashing steel, meeting Julie’s eyes for the first time, and their eyes clashed just like the steel under them.

  “I’d recognise Havoc anywhere—” the man said. “—and its partner. But who are you?”

  Julie shifted, her weight pressing down on their axes all that remained static. She repeated her previous question, this time with an edge to her voice that the others hadn’t heard from her before.

  “Are you Durian?”

  This time, the man shifted the same way, yet the axes barely moved. “No one alive knows that name. Who are you?”

  Julie froze as she realised the man didn’t deny the accusation. In fact, he clearly stated that he recognised the name.

  “I’m Julie,” she said, arms shivering under the constant pressure exerted between them. A clatter started, of steel clapping against steel as both axe-wielders firmed their stances, preparing for another attack. “Julie Woodrow!”

  The man spat at the mention of her name. “Lies.”

  “Durian, please listen to me. It’s really me.”

  He didn’t.

  A gale-force wind exploded out from the brute, Grace and Sherblanc sent hurtling away from the sudden gust. She crashed into Theo, who stood directly behind her, a softer landing than Sherblanc’s, who crashed into the barracks close by. With a groan of wood, the sort-of building collapsed over him.

  Julie stood resolute against the wave of power, somehow blocking the force with her axe, now separated from its enemy’s steel. The fire had blown out, coal and ashes spreading far and wide. Everyone but the two red-haired axe-users was on the ground, some crawling behind the benches to hide from any future attacks with the potential for collateral damage.

  A thundering roar shook the very air as the two axes clashed again, sparks once more flying as they shed the tiniest particles of iron and carbon. Again, again, and again. Heavy swings were met with sturdy blocks, wide arches met with glancing parries. Durian moved quickly, but his axe was faster still. The most impressive display, though, was Julie, the forester, whose expert movements matched his.

  The fighters separated after a flurry of swings, Durian’s breath heavy as he uttered his first words that even had a tinge of patience in them.

  “You wield Havoc like a master,” he said. “How did you get your hands on a genuine Slayer axe?”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  It seemed Julie had been given a single chance to end this without bloodshed. Her next words would decide Durian’s—and her own—future in Sigil Lake, if not either or both of their lives. She stilled her axe, pointed at the man who would cut her down if she showed a single moment of weakness. If weakness was what he was looking for, she’d make sure he’d find none of it.

  “I was given Havoc by Slayer-Smith Axiom Woodrow himself—my father—on his deathbed after the purge of Blacklake. The purge I thought you had died in.”

  The man’s axe lowered, and Julie was on him in a flash; she flew at him, Havoc, the Woodslayer disarming him whilst her knee slammed into his bare chest. They both landed in a crash of clanking axes; Julie’s fist aimed at Durian’s throat as she straddled the mountainous man.

  “Julie…?” he asked, his voice a wheeze from the impact on his chest.

  “Durian?”

  Somehow, even despite the fighting, she still seemed unsure it was really him, whoever he was to her. The villagers started rising to further observe the spectacle that seemed to have died down and had been moved to ground level.

  “It’s really you, Julie Woodrow. I thought I was the only one left.” While impossible to judge by the air seeping out of his lungs as something resembling a voice, he seemed ready to cry.

  “You are Durian?” she asked again, needing to hear him say the words so she could finally close the matter.

  “Durian Ashborn, known as Durian the Red, hidden for most of my life as Drian the Red, partner and wielder of Fellswing, the Beastslayer. Yes, Julie, it’s me.”

  Her fist retracted towards her torso, which fell onto the man’s chest. She cried aloud as her head fell next to his in a deep embrace. Whispers and murmurs sounded as the villagers started talking amongst themselves while helping the last ones still on the ground up. Theo was among the last up, Grace helping him after apologising profusely for being sent flying into him. As he stood, he could hear Julie’s sobs in rhythm with the fall and rise of her back.

  With the dust and ash settling, Theo looked to everyone else, seeing if they were fine. Hank had already gathered Hunter, Fischer, Moody, and Oakley to dig out and check on Sherblanc. Wen had assisted the younger Phoebe up and was still holding the smaller woman in a protective wrap. Bella was inspecting Wen’s arm, where a scratch could be seen in the dim evening light. Theo couldn’t find Willam.

  Julie rose to her feet, sniffling and sobbing even still. She reached her arm down for Durian to take, pulling the giant up with a flex of her strength.

  “How are you still alive?” she asked, wiping away the wetness on her cheek.

  Durian shrugged, unable to remove Julie’s sorry form from his attention. It was as if she was everything to him at that moment. Why would he fix his eyes elsewhere? “I…dunno,” he said, thinking back. “Woke up on a carriage with this scar,” he said, touching his cheek without shifting his eyes. “The carriage rider had sewn it up and everything. I never found Blacklake again.”

  “It’s gone,” Julie stated as fact, causing the man’s eyes to drop to the ground. “Everyone was…killed.”

  “Figured.”

  Julie turned, remembering the audience spread out around the sad remains of the campfire. She gasped in apology, finding everyone still present and not cleaning up a building, and sharing a hopeful, thin smile with them.

  “So sorry, everyone. This is Durian, he’s…where’s Willam?” she asked, eyes opening wide as they jutted around the entire camp in search of him. Wen shrugged, having not seen where he went, as did Theo and Grace. Bella answered:

  “I think he walked off towards the farm some time ago.”

  Julie raised her hand to her chest, clasping it with her other hand and rubbing it in worry. She turned to face Durian with a sudden snap. “I have to go. We’ll talk later. I’m sure the others have questions…please stay. I can’t bear to lose you again. We’re all that’s left.”

  She darted off before Durian or anyone else could get a word in, heading towards the Barge and the farm on the opposite side of the town. Durian remained standing, his gaze wandering to observe his observers. Theo, a member of the council and protected by Grace in case things went horribly wrong, stepped forward to officially meet and greet the man. The hazel-haired priestess by his side carried a deep tension in her very bones, showing she was alert and ready for anything—making the situation more dangerous as Durian had to do the same.

  “Hi, Durian,” Theo said. He reached his hand towards the towering bulk, open and as welcoming as he managed.

  Durian eyed it, then Grace, his expression wary. He then shifted, looking in the direction Julie had run in before facing back, accepting Theo’s much smaller hand in his.

  “Sorry for this,” said the man.

  “I don’t understand much of it, but I gather you two have a troubled history. I’m Theo, part of Sigil Lake’s town council.”

  The man released Theo’s hand, stepping towards him instead. Theo moved out of the way while Grace’s stance lowered to the ground to prepare for an attack. It never came. Durian stepped just behind them and stooped to pick up the two axes littering the ground. He inspected both Havoc, the Woodslayer, and his own axe, the one whose name Theo hadn’t been able to overhear. He smiled a hearty, longing smile.

  “We come from Blacklake. It was a smithing village far east, hidden in the mountain ranges. Our wares were the best in all of Aera, and our smithing techniques even better. You can recognise true Blacklake steel by its dark tone and red sheen. They said the steel turned dark under the clouds of the town’s smithing furnaces, its red hue from reflecting our blood-red hair.”

  “What happened to the village?” Bella asked. She’d torn a piece of cloth from her shirt to wrap around Wen’s arm. The bruise must’ve been worse than Theo had thought at first.

  “The purge. Town was wiped out. Someone must’ve learned we kept the best weapons and armour for ourselves. Among them, Fellswing, the Beastslayer—” he said, lifting his own axe. “—and Havoc, the Foeslayer. A set of powerful weapons, called Slayer weapons, was made some time before the purge. Each weapon took the full concentration of one of our greatest smiths—Slayer-Smith Axiom Woodrow—and months of labour to form. The weapons…his axes…are said to have a will of their own.”

  “I thought Havoc’s title was—”

  “Let’s leave that to Julie,” Theo said, stopping Wen from potentially causing more trouble among the red-haired, slayer-axe-wielding warriors. “Should we expect another fight or any other trouble out of you or Julie?” he then asked, turning kind eyes away from the hostess.

  “No.”

  “Do you plan on staying here or moving on?”

  “If you’ll still have me…”

  “Okay. Let me be the first to welcome you to Sigil Lake, Durian. Don’t let the lacklustre surroundings fool you; Sigil Lake can be pretty exciting.”