Chapter 22

Yren had re-sheathed his swords into the scabbard hung diagonally across his back and was staring at the ground, his dark blue eyes watery and pained. He’d killed. Twice. The first was from a trap he devised. The second directly from his sword. It gnawed at him. He was having trouble focusing and when he closed his eyes he kept seeing the cold, dead faces of the two people he’d killed staring back at him in accusation.

He couldn’t help going over and over the two deaths. He couldn’t help but wonder if he should have spared the two somehow, if he shouldn’t have tried to wound them or maim them instead. He kept asking himself if there had been another way, a way to neutralize them but still keep them alive.

Off and on, tears streamed down his face – but he kept his face averted from Ardt. He didn’t want the man to see him cry. He didn’t want Ardt to see the guilt in his face.

Would Teran be able to read his face? Would she be able to see what he’d done? Would she still love a man who’d killed? Would Bena? Would Issa? What would Elva say to him, knowing he’d killed?

Please Deia, Mother of All, he prayed. Please help to ease my burden. Please do not turn your face from me, knowing I’ve killed two of your children.

Please Kyr, Goddess of the Mysteries and of Magic, he continued, praying to the goddess of his youth. He didn’t call upon her as much as he used to, but he always included a short prayer to her before bed. Please grant me the wisdom to know if I’m on the right path. Please grant me peace.

He was going back over the fight, such as it was, yet again. The unseeing eyes of the two dead people accused him in his mind. He felt the world spinning, felt almost as if he were running but not able to get anywhere. He was so thirsty all of a sudden but it was a thirst he wasn’t sure he could ever sate. It felt like his entire body was ready to dry up and blow away.

He was so caught up in his grief he almost missed the whisper in his mind. He almost missed the feeling of metal coming close. He almost missed the feel of the four metal weapons in an alley just across the street.

He half turned towards the back door. “Another two are coming,” he said clearly, trying to mask the anguish in his voice.

Holy Deia. Holy Kyr. Please let them pass me by.

He knew they wouldn’t. Deep inside, he knew they would be coming through the door he’d patched; it was closed but it wouldn’t hold for shit. He knew he was going to be called on to kill again.

He drew a deep breath and slowly, tenuously, blew it out. He hated the way the air trembled over his lips. He drew another, deeper breath and closed his eyes. He let the breath out, trying to let the anxiety he felt go with it. He was only partially successful – but it would have to do.

He drew his swords and stepped back, feeling the back of his armor settle hard against the rear wall. He willed himself to stop moving, to limit his breathing. He willed himself to become a statue, a part of the wall. He needed to be invisible, unseen.

Ardt swallowed hard as it happened again, his hands trembling slightly where they gripped the hammer. He watched his adopted son move back, standing with his back against the wall. Then, slowly, the young man faded from sight, his blue armor literally disappearing in front of his eyes. Ardt took a step forward before he could even think about it but stopped himself and stepped back. Whatever was happening was beyond him. There was something else at play, some kind of magic; maybe Deia was coming to their aid? He had no idea if this were Yren’s doing or something else – but now was not the time for questions. Those would have to come later.

He’d not broached the subject with Yren before because he wasn’t completely sure he hadn’t imagined it – and, honestly, with the haunted look in Yren’s eyes at the time, it wasn’t the time. Now, though, he was certain. Whatever was happening, it was really happening and wasn’t some figment of his imagination.

Oro Melique and Kyd Belim paused at the mouth of the alley. They peered across at the blacksmith shop but the place was dark. There was some light streaming in from the rising sun but it didn’t penetrate far. What little they could see, however, didn’t seem out of place.

They listened intently but other than some waking birds and a rooster from far off, everything seemed quiet. Of course, they didn’t really expect to hear anything. A fairly significant portion of their training was spent making sure they weren’t heard. They were trained to be as silent as possible.

“I don’t see anything,” Kyd said, squinting. His eyes missed little. “Door looks a little worse for wear so I’d imagine they made it here. I can’t see too far into the shop, though, so I can’t say if there’s anything more going on inside. Probably still inside goofing off.”

“We can’t know that,” Oro replied. “For all we know, Barent and Hedleddy found some gold in there and lit off for greener pastures.”

“Barent maybe,” Kyd grunted. “Not Hedleddy, though. That bitch is dedicated. No way she would leave under her own power.”

“Then maybe they’re still over there,” Oro shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

The woman glanced down the road towards the Town Hall. She estimated the building was about 50 yards – maybe more. “We’ll need to be careful. The archer in the hall is uncommonly good. That one brought down four basically at once on that first charge.”

“There could have been more than one archer,” Kyd suggested. Still, he leaned forward to glance at the Town Hall before pulling his head back quickly.

“Maybe,” Oro admitted. “Which makes it even worse. They struck them down, arrow through the chest, with a single shot each.” She shook her head. “I’d prefer to think this town only has one archer that good. Either way, though, it’s trouble.”

Oro took a deep breath and held it. With a short prayer to Burr, the woman darted across the road as quickly as possible, thinking shadowy thoughts and hoping she was as invisible as possible. She made it to the corner of the shop and waited, waving Kyd over.

Kyd shook his head and drew a deep breath of his own. Letting it out, he ran full speed across the street.

“Maybe they aren’t watching to the South,” Oro mused as Kyd drew up beside her.

“Or they just don’t want to waste the arrows,” Kyd rolled his eyes. “It’s a fair piece. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Let’s get in, grab Barent and Hedleddy if they’re still inside and get the fuck out of here. This entire town gives me the creeps.”

Oro bit her lip, thinking. She turned to the window, covering her face to block out the outside light. She saw nothing – but she still felt uneasy. “You first,” Oro decided.

Kyd Belim grunted and hugged the wall to the door of the shop. Reaching out, he gave the door handle a tentative turn and pushed. The door shook only marginally. “Locked,” he called back to Oro Melique.

“Well unlock it,” Oro frowned. She wondered why Hedleddy or Barent would lock the door behind them. It didn’t make sense – which meant it was unlikely the two were still here. If they’d made it here at all. “Be careful. I’ve a bad feeling about this.”

Kyd grunted his acknowledgment. Oro needn’t have made it; Kyd was always careful. He took two thin pieces of wire from his sleeve and turned to the lock. It took him less than a minute to unlock the door. “Got it.”

He turned the handle and pushed. The door made a cracking sound as it opened; Kyd looked up and saw the upper part of the doorway was half broken away. “Looks like they knocked the door down or something,” Kyd called even as Oro walked up behind him.

She examined the door carefully, pulling it shut. It wouldn’t remain closed, however; the entire doorway was no longer even and squared. “Maybe that’s why they locked it,” the woman said under her breath.

“Sloppy,” Oro intoned to her companion. “So much for the teacher’s pet being perfect.”

“Maybe Barent knocked it down,” Kyd shrugged. “He was never very good with lockpicks. I think it has something to do with those big, sausage-like fingers of his.”

The two made their way inside cautiously. They looked back and forth but neither saw nor heard anything. Kyd took a step in but Oro grabbed his arm.

“Something’s wrong,” the woman said quietly. Oro had always been cautious and the training had made her doubly so. She knelt down, putting her fingers to a drop of liquid on the wooden floor. She rubbed it between her forefinger and thumb and then brought it to her face. She took a deep sniff and looked at her finger carefully. “Blood. A few drops – but the dirt outside is still a bit muddy, like someone maybe trying to hide something. I think something bad happened here.”

Kyd’s eyes narrowed. He looked around and slowly unsheathed his sword. Ko’Natu taught to use weapons of convenience – but only as tools. A practitioner’s only true weapons were those he or she was born with – arms and hands, legs and feet and the brain which controlled them. Many who learned the art gravitated towards the shorter swords – long enough to give added reach but short enough to be completely under the user’s control. Kyd had never seen the use of having two swords; he preferred a short sword and dirk. Holding the short sword in his right hand, he slowly pulled his long knife free with his left.

Oro stood and followed suit, a short sword in each hand. She nodded to the right, sending Kyd easing his way to the right while Oro took the left. Two long display cases ran down the middle of the shop so there were three lanes going back. Oro took the left-most lane and Kyd took the right-most.

Kyd had just taken the corner when a man in blue armor suddenly simply appeared before him. It took him completely by surprise – one moment he was staring at an empty building and the next the man was there. His eyes grew wide at what he, for a moment, considered an apparition.

Yren’s mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions. His heart was beating hard, a thudding presence in his chest. He was working to control his breathing but nothing was coming easy just then. Still, he trusted in his training, trusted in the memory of his muscles. His right foot moved back a half step as his left arm rose with ‘Hatred’ pointed up and out. Meanwhile, his right arm dropped to his side, ‘Rage’ held at the ready; it was the most basic of the warrior stances but it was all Yren had at the moment.

Kyd’s eyes eased, his lips curling into hint of a smile. He recognized the stance; it was something a first-year warrior might use. It was not something a seasoned warrior kept in his repertoire unless he was hurt or dazed. This should be quick.

Kyd feinted with the dirk in his left hand, a feint Yren bit on. As Yren turned to his right, ‘Rage’ moving into position to keep the dirk from finding a place to do damage, Kyd’s right foot moved forward, and his short sword poked unerringly to the seam between the breastplate and backplate of the cuirass. Only Yren’s design innovations saved him; the backplate of his armor had a long, two inch ‘lip’ on its side edges which fit underneath the breastplate. When the point of Kyd’s shortsword struck, it struck the lip and slid downward, metal against metal, finally catching beneath the plackard which attached on the lower edge of the backplate.

Oro wasn’t idle. She moved forward, intent on shoving her swords under the neck seam where the tail of Yren’s great helm overlapped his backplate. If done correctly, it would be a killing blow, Oro’s swords driving through Yren’s skull.

She never made it. So intent was she on Yren, she never saw Ardt coming. To be fair, he never actually came through the door – at least, not at first. Instead, the head of the long, metal hammer poked through striking her soundly in the head. She fell to the ground like a pole-axed steer, blood pouring over her ears.

As Yren stepped back, Sir Given’s words rang in his ears: If things go wrong and you have to engage the Red Guard, don’t hold back. The fight that’s coming will be real – any mistake could be your last. Take no chances and give no quarter. His guilt was hampering him, forcing him to fight defensively – like a first season novice. He had killed – but now was not the time to grieve. If he continued like this, someone else was going to have to grieve for him – because he would be dead.