Jobb pushed the door open. The once expensive carved door now whined and creaked as its rusted hinges were moved for perhaps the first time in years.
It was a big house. Boyd's torch couldn't reach the far end of the interior. This house must've looked majestic in its glory days. But now it was a broken shell. It gave little comfort to the weather outside. The walls were made of cold, plain render. Cold stone flags made up the floor. The gaping fireplace held no fire, only cold, ancient ashes. Chinks of pale moonlight spilled into the dark interior from the ill-fitting shutters in the windows. A tattered tapestry hung, tilted on the wall, the symbol of Shepeste woven onto it.
"Get out now. We're leaving!" Boyd called out into the dark, but the dark didn't answer.
The two ventured deeper inside. Jobb only found broken furniture and layers upon layers of dust. The only thing surviving was a wide dining table sat at the centre of the room, lame on one foot, and empty of any warm meals or drinks.
Jobb was about to move on when he saw something on the table that took his attention. He approached it, and his jaw went slack.
There was a thick coat of dust on the table, but something recently brushed it off.
He snuffed the panic in his head. It must've been the patrols, he told himself. They must've moved some things—
Something metallic clattered to the floor, ringing deafeningly in the still silence. Jobb snapped his head and found Boyd staring into the darkness. His sword slipped off his hand and fell to the floor, and his torch hung loose on his hand.
Jobb followed his wide eyes, and there he found them.
The search party. They were crumpled in a pool of their own blood. Their arms and legs were sticking out stiffly. Their eyes were wide open, faces full of fear and regret. They were two well armoured guards, but both of their breastplates were torn apart. The work of wyrmmetal.
"Scream and it's your death," a voice, cold as ice, reached out from the darkness, freezing the two.
Footsteps followed, slow, haunting footfalls on the flagged stone. Approaching them.
There in the halflight of the pale moon he revealed himself. The Magebane. He was tall, so tall he cast a long, grim shadow across the stone cold floor. And taller still was his accursed wyrmmetal spear, its infernal metal glinting against the moonlight.
Jobb felt cold all over his body. Before he knew it, his sword was drawn. And Boyd had snatched his sword and now trained it fiercely at the Magebane.
But the Magebane didn't make a move. He didn't lunge to kill them. He stood still as a statue, staring at Jobb and Boyd with his piercing amber eyes.
"A truce," he said.
"A truce?" both Boyd and Jobb parroted.
When the shock passed and Jobb paid attention, he realised the Magebane was breathing hard. A sheen of sweat coated his forehead, and clumps of his long red mane clung to it. His lips were pale grey.
He was sick, or injured, or both. Jobb searched him and found a dark red stain on Magebane's side, blooming into his clothes. He remembered that wound, the very same he received when he fought Corvus and his mercenaries.
"You're wounded."
Magebane sucked breath through his teeth. There was a strained quality to his usual smooth voice. "Leave me. Pretend you never saw me. And I'll leave your little town tonight without harming a soul. I have no interest in fighting the entirety of Shepeste. I've reopened enough wounds tonight."
Jobb pondered the offer. He couldn't believe he pondered the offer. But damn was he terrified for his life.
But Boyd scoffed at the offer, and he scoffed hard. "And make pacts between lions and men? How could we trust you? You killed those men. You killed our friends!"
Magebane looked at the lifeless Shepestians on the floor. There was a look of pity on his face, like a man who had spilled his drink. "They made their choice. They just couldn't run quick enough. But you can evade their fate. Choose your next move wisely. Leave this building with your life."
Boyd grinned. It was a mad mixture of bravery and fear. "That's a mighty generous offer. It makes me think you're desperate."
Boyd's knuckles went white as he squeezed hard on his sword.
But the Magebane grinned. "Sharp lad. But a word of advice, before your final decision."
He gripped his spear hard.
"I can't fight the entire militia, but I can still carve the two of you like cake. Now choose. Life or death?"
Boyd elbowed Jobb repeatedly. "What do we do? Jobb, what do we do?"
Boyd was pale. He was anxious. He was waiting for Jobb's decision.
He was the squad leader.
Jobb felt the world slowed to a crawl as a million thoughts raced in his head.
Live. He must live. Let this man go and live.
But then what next?
Jobb will survive. Boyd will survive. Shepeste will survive.
But Thorn? She will not stop pursuing the Magebane. And what would happen then? What would happen when she fights the Magebane alone, without their help?
She was relying on them. She was relying on him. She was relying on her father.
He had let her down once, long ago. He never had the courage to swear never to repeat it. But he'll be damned if he lets her down again.
Jobb sucked breath through his teeth. He was sweating profusely. His grip on his sword felt heavy and clammy.
But he refuses to be afraid anymore.
"We can't let him go free. We can't."
Boyd grinned. "But how do we do this?"
"You remember the door we came in through?"
Boyd only gave the door a lightning-quick glance over his shoulder. It was on a straight path behind them, far at the other end of the mansion. And on the other end of that door, the militia awaits.
"Yeah."
"We have to warn the militia."
Boyd was grinning, but Jobb immediately said. "I've seen how fast he can go. Faster than me."
Boyd's face screwed in confusion. "What?"
"Run, Boyd. You tell them."
Boyd snapped his head to Jobb. "What?!"
"You said your father died the right way, right? This is as right as I could be."
"Jobb—"
Jobb roared and sprang at the Magebane. He wildly swung his two handed sword, smashing it into Magebane's spear, raised just in time to stop the blade from reaching his neck.
Magebane's eyes were wide with surprise.
Jobb swung his blade again, again, and again, pushing Magebane back, overwhelming him with sheer strength.
Boyd was frozen, his feet stuck between running to help Jobb or to the door.
"Run, Boyd. Run!"
Boyd's face screwed up in pain.
"Damn you, Jobb!"
He turned and ran for the door, cursing Jobb's name with every step.