Norman Spinrad - The Iron Dream

Legend had it that Stal Held had ordered the weapon forged by a hidden community of captive wizards who had preserved the lore of the ancients through the Time of Fire and far beyond; once the weapon had been completed, Held had slain these evil creatures to a man. By some lost art, these baleful wizards had so constructed the truncheon that only Held himself and the true bearers of his genetic pattern down through the centuries could wield it. The mysterious alloy out of which the weapon had been forged gave it the weight of a huge boulder; no ordinary man could budge it, let alone wield it. But contact with flesh shaped by the royal genes triggered the release of some inexhaustable power within the Great Truncheon, so that in the hand of a hero of the true royal pedigree, the Steel Commander could be wielded as effortlessly as a willow wand, though to those who felt its wrath, it still had the mass of a small mountain. Thus, the Great Truncheon was both the sceptre of the King of Heldon and the ultimate verification of his pedigree. There were those who insisted that all troubles that had beset Heldon since its disappearance during the Civil War were the result of a rule by men incapable of wielding the Great Truncheon; in this view, Sigmark IV had been the last proper ruler of Heldon. Therefore, to pick up the Great Truncheon would be to seize in a very real sense the historic right to rule all Heldon. It was this that Stopa sarcastically suggested that Feric might do.

Yet somehow, there was a mad impulse within Feric to do just that; the truncheon seemed to call out to something deep within his blood, seemed to vibrate his being with a deep, almost cosmic, longing. No doubt many men had felt this; there were many tales of heroes who had sought to heft the Steel Commander and all were cautionary rubrics against the vice of excessive pride.

“Enough mooning over a weapon that no living man can wield!” Stopa finally said, breaking the palpably mystical reverie. “You have your truncheon, and I have mine, and that’s enough for men like us! Defend yourself, Jaggarl”

With this, Stopa ran at Feric, his truncheon high over his head, and brought the weapon down in a stroke that would have smashed a skull like an eggshell.

But Feric had darted to his right, and as Stopa’s truncheon went whistling through the empty air where his head had been, he struck the shaft a glancing blow near the handle which nearly caused the Avenger to lose his weapon. The first clangof steel on steel broke the solemn mood and set the Avengers to shouting boisterously and waving their torches in the air.

As Stopa, recovering with admirable speed, raised his truncheon above his head once more to aim another blow, Feric swung his own weapon in a low arc aimed at smashing Stopa’s kneecap. Stopa fell back raggedly, avoiding the blow, but Ferio was able to get in a quick jab in the stomach with his headball, which caused the Avenger no Bttle discomfort.

However, as Feric withdrew from this thrust, Stopa managed to bring his truncheon down on the tip of Feric’s weapon, sending a shock through the steel shaft into Feric’s arm which stung enough to prevent him from following up his advantage.

The two men backed up a step or two from each other, circled for a moment, then almost simultaneously aimed blows at each other’s heads which resulted only in a mighty crash of steel as their truncheons struck each other dead on. The Avengers roared their approval of this titanic clash of steel on steel, though the strokes resulted in nothing more than jolts to the arms of both adversaries.

Almost immediately, similar parallel strokes, this time at rib level, resulted only in another ringing double-parry.

Recovering from this, Feric struck high, while Stopa came in low. Both men were therefore forced to fall back in midstroke and their truncheons whistled through empty air.

Stopa took five quick steps backward, then came at Feric all in a rush, aiming a downward blow at the head, which was parried, then a slash at his ribs, which fell once more on the steel shaft of Feric’s truncheon, then a similar blow from the other side, which Feric was forced to take low on the shaft of his weapon, sending a lightning bolt of pain up his arm.

For his part, Feric feigned a greater pain from this blow than was actually the case and fell back in seeming disarray as the Avengers hooted and Stopa rushed at him, truncheon held high for a finishing head blow. Suddenly, Feric stopped dead in his tracks, jumped to the side as Stopa’s truncheon came down in a mighty arc, turned, and fetched the Avenger a mighty blow to the leg, which Stopa was just agile enough to take with his buttock.

Stopa howled in pain and continued the downward arc of his truncheon. Feric, from his low position, raised his truncheon slightly to parry this wild blow.

Stopa’s truncheon came down squarely on the center of the shaft of Feric’s weapon as Feric deliberately swept it toward the ground to cushion the impact.

But instead of a fine sharp clang, there was a sickening crack of rotten metal. Feric’s hoary truncheon had been cloven in twain by Stopa’s weapon and he found himself holding the useless jagged stump in his hand.

Stopa grinned wolfishly as he allowed Feric to dart to his feet. Slowly, deliberately, with his truncheon held at chest level, he began to stalk Feric as Feric circled backward. The meaning of this was perfectly clear: there would be no exaggerated gallantry here; Feric’s weapon had been rendered useless by fate, and no quarter would be offered. Nor, Feric thought, would quarter be requested. If it was his destiny to die in this manner, he would meet his fate heroically, battling to the last with whatever came to hand, with his bare fists themselves, if need be.

Stopa aimed a blow at Peric’s head; Feric lept backward. The Avenger took a sweep at Feric’s ribs, which Feric was hard put to block with the remains of his truncheon; once more he was forced backward off balance. Seeing this, Stopa raised his truncheon overhead and smashed down at Feric’s head. Once more Feric was barely able to parry the blow with the stump of weapon left to him—but this time the remains of the truncheon were struck from his hand by the force of Stopa’s blow, and he found himself defenseless.

With a great animal shout, Stopa struck at Peric’s knees, forcing him to jump blindly backward. His feet struck a rock or a root, and he went sprawling. Stopa struck at his head; he rolled away from the blow and the headball of the truncheon buried itself in the earth beside him. Once more Stopa struck at him, and again he avoided the blow by rolling his body. Again and again, Feric barely averted death by rolling away from mighty blows, but each time Stopa was on him again before he could rise to his feet.

Feric rolled one final time as Stopa’s truncheon whistled past his ear; this time, however, he had rolled half onto the wooden pallet holding the Steel Commander. The surprise of this cost him precious seconds; moreover, his upper torso was now spread-eagled over the side of the pallet and he could roll no further. Seeing this, Stopa howled, raised his truncheon high over his head, and brought it down in an irresistible arc.

At once, without conscious thought, Feric reached behind him, grasped the handle of the Great Truncheon of Held, and whipped the Steel Commander into the air to parry the blow. Stopa’s truncheon struck the thick gleaming shaft of the legendary weapon and instantly shattered to pieces.

An incredible, scarcely human cry went up from the Avengers: a low, incredulous moan that almost instantly guttered to silence. Stopa staggered backward a few steps, then dropped the remains of his weapon and sank to his knees, his eyes downcast, his head bowed before him. An instant later, the other Avengers followed his example and assumed this posture of homage, holding their flaming torches erect before them. Even Bogel, thoroughly dumbfounded, could not remain standing in the face of such an historic moment.