"STEP AWAY FROM THE CART. It is to be searched, by order of the emperor."
Erik and his two companions stood to the right of the stable yard door, in front of the bonnet of a horse and cart. His two companions had their mantles drawn about them. Their hoods covered their faces from the shimmering yellow lights of the lanterns hung around the yard. A group of Empire soldiers stood in a semi-circle around them. The two men who Calen had seen on the deck of the ship stood at their fore – the man in the black cloak and the man in the red cloak with the lion breastplate. Red Cloak was nearly half a foot shorter than Black Cloak, with a wiry frame that did not make him any less intimidating. There was a coldness in his eyes.
Erik glanced over at Calen as soon as he had stepped out into the yard.
His mouth furrowed into a frown when he noticed him carrying the mantle.
Only his eyes moved; his body remained fixed towards the group of soldiers in front of him. Calen wasn't the only one who noticed Erik's glance in his direction. Almost half of the soldiers turned to see who their new visitor was, including Red Cloak.
"Get out of here, boy. This does not concern you," commanded the soldier, slightly tilting his head. "Do not make me tell you twice."
Calen's feet were glued to the ground. Every fibre of his being told him that this was not the place that he should be, yet something was stopping him from moving his feet. He simply stood where he was. His expression was the picture of calm, while inside his bones trembled. He wanted to excuse himself, step back inside, and continue drinking with Dann and Rist.
"I…" His words betrayed him.
"That was not a request, boy. That was a command." The anger in the man's voice was palpable. He drew his sword and turned, straightened his arm, and pointed it directly at Calen. "Get inside," he growled.
"He has no part in this. Leave him be. Calen, get back inside," Erik said, taking a step towards Calen.
"Erik, what are you doing? Get back over here now. He is not our problem," said one of Erik's companions. His voice was wrought with
impatience. He turned to Red Cloak. "Please, sir. We are just leaving; we don't want any trouble."
The man in the black cloak let out a sigh. "I grow tired of this. We are searching all carts and wagons in the village. If you had nothing to hide, then we would already be gone. I have no qualms with spilling blood, but if you step aside now, that will save me cleaning my blade in the morning."
The man's face looked tired but handsome. A long thin scar ran from just below his hairline, down over his right eye and nearly to the bottom of his cheek. His eyes were a vivid deep green, almost unnaturally so.
"We will not be stepping aside, Farda, " said Erik's other companion, his voice calm and unwavering. He lifted his hands and drew back the hood of his mantle. He was a slightly older man, probably a few summers more than Vars. Flecks of white and grey peppered his short black hair; the colouring in his beard was much the same. His piercing blue eyes contrasted his leathered skin.
With inhuman speed, Farda's sword was drawn. He stepped forward, death in his eyes. The other man smiled, flashing his teeth, and pulled both his swords from the scabbards across his back in one smooth motion.
"Aeson Virandr," hissed Farda . His tone was still cold and unyielding, but his eyes were alight. "I knew it was you on that ship. You got away from me at Ilnaen. I promise you that won't happen again."
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Farda." Aeson twirled his swords through the air, his eyes never breaking contact with Farda's. Aeson moved with such effortless confidence that it almost made Erik seem like a timid mouse.
Without warning, Farda launched himself at Aeson, swinging his sword overhead. Their swords met in a crash of ringing steel that reverberated through the courtyard.
Within seconds, the courtyard was enveloped in mayhem. Farda and Aeson exchanged blows back and forth at a frightening speed. Both of their faces were void of expression, conveying no sense of anger or fear as they each attempted to find the chink in the other's defences. Their blades ricocheted off each other like metallic cracks of thunder.
Erik and his other companion fought four or five soldiers apiece, both wielding almost identical twin short swords. Erik's hooded companion was ruthless. He moved through his attackers in a whirlwind of whistling steel, weaving in and out, dodging and parrying blows without ever seeming like
he was trying. One soldier struck high and charged, only to be left screaming when the hooded man glided out of the way, hamstringing him with the backswing of his blade. Then he drove his second sword through the chest of another.
Erik's fight was going much the same. He wasn't so much fighting as dancing with steel in his hands. It didn't take long for Calen to conclude that these soldiers never stood a chance.
It was at that moment, however, that another handful of Lorian soldiers charged into the stable yard from the side street, swords drawn, yelling indecipherable battle cries. They must have heard the fighting. Distracted by the new arrivals, one of the soldiers took Erik off guard. The smaller man threw all his weight into a shoulder charge that sent Erik stumbling backwards. The back of his heel crashed into the ribcage of a crumpled body, sending him tumbling head over heels onto the well-trodden, dusty ground. The soldier lunged, swinging his blade in a downward arc.
Calen's hand fell to the thick coin pommel of his sword strapped to his hip. He had forgotten it was even there. Without thinking, he pulled it from its scabbard, with a little more force than necessary, and thrust it out into the space between Erik and the soldier's plummeting sword. The metallic clang of steel on steel let him know that he had caught the blade mid-swing before it struck its intended target.
For a brief second, Calen's eyes locked with the soldier's. His chest swelled as it filled with air, and his heart thumped in his chest. The crash of blades and the droning haze of men shouting grew louder and louder, consuming the space in his eardrums. He snapped back to attention as the soldier pulled his blade back, swinging it again, this time at Calen.
Memories of training in the field with his father took over. His arms swung from form to form, blocking each strike as it came. They had names, the forms. Vars always recited them, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what they were called.
The soldier over-reached; he was getting tired. His fingers struggled to grip the handle of his sword as he swung his blade towards Calen's side.
Stepping back onto his left foot, Calen steadied his shoulders and met the soldier's swing midway through its arc, sending the blade ricocheting away from his body. He was exposed. Digging in his heels and twisting at the waist, Calen took advantage of the opening and thrust his sword forward
with all his strength. He felt it sink into the soldier's belly, the leather armour giving way to the momentum as Calen carried through his strike.
Calen looked into the man's eyes. He saw surprise. Calen watched as the light in his eyes faded slowly.
Surprise turned to fear, then faded to nothing.
Calen felt an emptiness in the pit of his stomach as he pulled his sword free of the soldier's body, watching as it slumped to the ground. Lifeless.
Calen stumbled backwards, a slight tremble setting into his hands.
Without warning, something hard struck him in the chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. He crashed to the ground. Another soldier stood over him, the black lion of Loria emblazoned across his breastplate, a heavy double-bladed axe held high over his head. He roared as he thrusted the axe downwards but was interrupted by the steel that slid through the side of his throat, cutting the sound off at the source.
Dann stood over Calen, his fingers wrapped around the hilt of a sword that he must have picked up from the corpse of a fallen soldier. His eyes were glazed over, and his chest rose and fell in deep, slow bursts.
"Calen! Are you okay? You need to get up." Rist's voice started off as a subdued droning noise in Calen's ear until it came through sharply as Calen became aware of his surroundings. The fighting was still in full pitch around him. Erik had gotten himself to his feet and was taking on a group of soldiers less than an arm's reach away.
Calen tried to focus as he steadied himself. "What… what are you two doing here?"
An incredulous look spread across Rist's face. "What are we doing here?
You were gone so long, and then when we got to the door, we heard fighting. What are you doing here?"
Calen didn't respond. He couldn't think clearly. He tried to survey what was going on around them. Erik and his companion were being overrun.
There were simply too many imperial soldiers. Aeson and Farda were still exchanging vicious strikes back and forth, their faces like stone. A few new trickles of blood decorated them both.
Dann half-stumbled over towards Calen and Rist. As their eyes met, Calen gave him a questioning nod, mouthing, "You okay?"
Dann paused for a second, then gave a half-hearted nod.
A hand gripped Calen's shoulder. "Calen, we need to go. We can't win this. Your friends too, now. Follow me." Erik rounded himself almost
immediately, carving a path through the soldiers ahead of him, his two blades whistling in the wind. Calen did not have to look back. He knew Dann and Rist were following him.
He felt his heartbeat throughout his body. His hand shook as it held the slightly curved sword that his father had given him. Despite all that was going on around him, he only now noticed the intricate swirls that spouted from the guard up into the blade. The ornamentation seemed ironic on something that was made only to take life.
I just killed a man.
A flash of steel glinted in the corner of his eye. He reacted without thinking, swinging his sword to meet the incoming blow. He followed up with his shoulder, sending the man crashing to the ground.
"Dahlen, cover us!" Erik roared towards his hooded companion.
Dahlen had already reached the cart. He pulled a longbow and quiver from inside.
Whoosh. An arrow shot past Calen's ear, the familiar thunk signalling its successful flight. "Run!" Dahlen loosed another arrow, and another soldier dropped.
As they reached the cart, Erik stopped. "Get in!" He shoved Calen up and into the cart, then Dann and Rist, before joining them.
"Dahlen!" Erik nodded toward Aeson, who was still locked in his duel with Farda.
"Father!" Dahlen screamed, loosing an arrow. Aeson turned his head just as the arrow slammed into Farda's shoulder. Only a grunt escaped the man's lips, which seemed more from annoyance than pain. Aeson leapt away from the wounded Farda, sprinting towards the cart.
Dahlen passed the bow to Erik, then made his way around to the front of the cart and started the horses into motion. Erik loosed arrow after arrow into the thick crowd of soldiers, attempting to clear a path.
Aeson fought his way towards the cart, dipping in and out of Calen's field of vision as he weaved through the soldiers. There was no way he was going to make it. There were simply too many men.
A loud, deep whoosh filled Calen's ears. It ended with an almighty thump, like an immense gust of wind cracking head-on into a tree, or a powerful wave crashing into the side of a cliff. With it, several soldiers between Aeson and the cart were thrown through the air, hurtling in all
directions like rag dolls. Rist almost leapt over the rail of the cart when he saw what had happened, his eyes glistening.
Aeson charged through the gap that was created. An arrow whizzed past his head and through a soldier's eye as he leapt up into the back of the cart.
"Go! Go!"
With a crack of the reins, the cart took off like lightning escaping the clouds. The sudden jerk nearly sent Calen spinning over the back rail. As he peeked over the rim of the rail, an arrow sliced through the air near his face, tearing straight through the canvas canopy that arched over the cart.
Thinking better of another attempted look, Calen flipped himself, letting his back thump against the wooden rail. He slowly slid down until his ass hit the wooden base of the cart. The vibrations shook up through his bones as the wheels battered against the cobblestones. He let his eyes close for a second.
"Calen?" Rist's hand rested on his shoulder. "What in the name of the gods just happened?"
Calen looked at Rist with a blank stare, then tracked his eyes over towards Aeson and Erik, who were similarly propped up against the wooden rails of the cart.
Erik counted the arrows remaining in the quiver, while Aeson sat with his eyes closed. His chest rose high, held for a moment, and then dropped low.
Dann sat in silence, his eyes fixed on his blood-covered hands.
"Dann?"
Dann did not even so much as blink. He held his hands out in front of himself, fingers outstretched.
Calen held out his own hands. They were caked in dried blood, congealed and cracked. "I don't know, Rist… I don't know," Calen said in response to Rist's question.
He looked up from his hands. His eyes met Erik's, who gave him a weak smile before returning to counting his arrows.
I killed a man.
A tingly chill ran down Ella's back as she stepped out into the night air. The newfound warmth of the summer days had not yet seeped into the nights.
The sun had dropped over the horizon hours ago. Both Vars and Freis had retired for the night around the same time, and Calen was off in Milltown.
Most likely drinking himself stupid if he was with Dann. It is as good anight as any. Ella pulled up the hood of her long brown mantle. Her hands fidgeted as she adjusted the drawstrings, ensuring it was tied tight around her. She hesitated for a moment, refusing to check the contents of her bag for a fifth time. She took in a deep breath of crisp air and held it for a moment, letting the cold flow through her lungs. She released it in a heavy sigh, watching as it plumed out and upwards like smoke from a chimney.
The streets were mostly deserted. It had been a long few weeks. With The Proving and the celebrations, most people were tired enough to sleep for days. That suited her fine.
The silvery glow of moonlight splashed down over the streets, providing just enough light for Ella to see the way ahead of her. Not that it would have mattered; she could have found any door in the village with her eyes closed.
The dirt crunched under her feet as she made her way through the village, the sound accompanied only by the crickets in the nearby fields and the occasional cough of someone turning in their bed.
Rhett was exactly where he said he would be; by the broken signpost at the south of the village, beside the low wall. Even by the faded light of the moon, he was the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on. She picked up her pace, slightly skipping as she walked. A warm smile spread across his face, the corners of his mouth almost stretching to touch his ears.
She loved that smile.
"You're here," she said, feeling a warmth spread through her body. She threw herself into him, wrapping her arms around him so that her hands clasped together at his back. He waited a moment, then wrapped his arms around her in return, pulling her in closer, sharing the warmth of his chest.
"Of course, I'm here," Rhett said. He craned his neck slightly to place a kiss on the top of her head, lingering for a second or two before pulling his lips away. "I would follow you to the pits of Mar Dorul. I sincerely hope I never have to, but I would."
She tilted her head upwards, resting her chin on the flat of his chest. "I know you would, as I would for you. Are you ready? Did you leave your letter?"
She saw the hesitation in his face. Rhett loved The Glade. It meant everything to him, but if they remained there, then there would be blood between Rhett and Vars. They could not be together if they remained.
Maybe one day, they could return. If they were married, with children, that may soften her father's heart. Time heals all wounds. "Aye, I left my letter. I think my parents will understand. Did you leave yours?"
"I did. Mother will understand. Father, I think maybe in time. I did not tell them where we were going. I felt that was probably for the best. We can come back, in time."
Rhett nodded. Ella knew his smile was more forced than natural, and she understood. She loved him, and she hoped that she would never have to ask him to do something like this again.