The ride back from the Aldain place was quieter than Damien had thought it would be. He hardly felt the carriage wheels rolling over cobblestones as he leaned back in the soft seat, mind working fast. His short talk with Serena went better than he'd expected, but her care reminded him of the level of harm done into a life now feeling very distant.
Lavender scent clung to his clothes, the remnants of a bitter reminder from Aldain's gardens of everything he had to fix. But beneath it all, his regret stood an unyielding sense of determination.
"I lived like an animal," Damien whispered to himself. "But perhaps. I may die differently."
In his mind, the thought was born. The carriage screeched to an abrupt halt. Damien braced himself on the seat. "What is going on?" he barked and opened the window.
Among the horsemen, one of the guards approached. "Your Grace, there is an uprising ahead. The robbers are robbing travelers," he said.
Bandits? Damien frowned. In his previous life, he would have not cared about such problems. They were too small to worry about then. But now, his conscience felt otherwise.
"Make the road clear," he told the guard.
The guard halted. "Shall we wait for reinforcements?"
"No," Damien replied curtly. "We'll take care of it ourselves."
He stepped down from the carriage with crunching in boots on gravel. His escorts looked at each other and obeyed.
---
Before them lay a fearful scene. A merchant's wagon had been overturned and his wares lay scattered on the dirt road. Close to the young woman stood a middle-aged man; both of them trembled with fear.
A gang of thieves surrounded them, laughing and taunting as they played with their prey. The leader stood straight, a huge man with a scar running down the side of his cheek, sword pointed at the cowering man.
"Hand over the gold, old man," the bandit growled, "or I'll take your daughter as payment."
Damien was hurtful. He felt very angry. In his past life, he would have ignored such cruelty, but he won't do that now.
"Enough," he bellowed loudly, his voice cutting through the din like a blade.
The highwaymen looked at him, their surprised faces showing that they were getting annoyed.
"Well, well," sneered the leader, "what do we have here? A noble trying to be a hero?" Damien moved forward, and his guards stood up next to him. Gray eyes locked onto the leader's and a wet chill spread over the scene.
"I am Damien Vryce, Duke of Blackthorn," he stated icily. "And you are trespassing on my land."
The bandits stop, and since that name is this important, but also because they had such surroundings, the leader smiles.
"Blackthorn, eh? Fancy name, but it means nothing out here."
Damien smiled a little. "You're right. Out here, only one thing is important."
Immediately, he brought out his fine tempered sword with silver markings. He pointed it at the leader. "Courage."
The leader snarled, lunging forward in an attack; Damien was quicker. He sidestepped the attack with a fluidity that was sharp and precise. Before the bandit could recover, Damien's blade sliced across the man's arm, spattering him with a shower of crimson.
The leader stepped back, holding his injury. "You will pay for that!" he said angrily.
"Come then," Damien taunted, his voice steady. "Show me what passes for bravery among cowards." The battle was harsh and swift. Damien's guards joined to really fight the last of the remaining outlaws with some real skill. Damien himself paid close attention to the leader, their swords hitting each other in a dangerous way.
Finally, in a clever false maneuver, Damien took away the bandit's weapon and held his sword to the man's throat.
"Surrender," said Damien low and menacing.
This time, it was pride that suffered; the leader went to his knees. "Mercy, my lord!" Damian gritted his jaws at him. The man didn't deserve it-three of them didn't deserve mercy. But there wasn't that man in him anymore. He draws himself away from the blade with a slow movement.
"Go away," he said. "And if I ever see you on my land again, I will not be gentle."
The thief stood up quickly and ran off with other friends chasing after his back.
---
The young woman clung to the arm of her father, the tears freely falling upon her cheeks in the dust of war.
"Do you hurt?" Damien asked, speaking softly now.
He shook his head. "N-No, Your Grace. We are good because of you."
As she approached, her eyes full of gratitude, "Thank you, my lord. We would have…" She left her words hanging in the air and averted her face.
Damien nodded. "It's over now. You're safe."
He glances back at his guard. "Help them with their wagon and guide them to the nearest town."
"Yes, Your Excellency," one of the guards said.
But as Damien turned away, he saw that his men were staring at him inquisitively for none of them had ever seen their lord act that way.
---
The rest of the trip was not very exciting, but Damien's head was spinning.
This was only the beginning. If he wanted change, he had to do more than fight bandits. He had to wrestle with the bigger issue afflicting his lands-the corruption he had brought forth.
But how?
The carriage entered the yard of Blackthorn Manor and Damien awaited there Mathias, who at all times looked sombre as usual.
"Your Grace," Mathias said, bowing.
"You are back sooner than I thought. Shall I prepare the evening meal?"
"Later, he had said, brushing past him.
"I need time to think." He went into his study, a grand room with multitudinous shelves lined with old books and maps. Sitting down at the long wooden desk, Damien pulled out a sheet of paper and began to write. He wrote a list-names of friends and enemies, plans that worked and did not work in the past life. He pointed down every small detail he could think of. He finished the paper with messy notes all over it. Damien sat back and rubbed his temples.
"This is the path I've chosen," he murmured. "To undo the damage I've done… no matter the cost." Still, staring into the dancing flames of the candle on his desk, he became concerned for no particular reason.
He wasn't lonely.
"Quite a change of heart, Your Grace." The voice echoed as if from within a shadow.
Damien rose to his feet, with one hand on the hilt of the dagger at his belt. "Who is that?"
A figure stepped into view- a woman in dark travel-worn clothes, one of her hands was pulled low over her face.
"Not as things sharp as I thought you were," she said, laced with amusement. "Or may be I'm that good?"
"Who are you?" demanded Damien, gripping his dagger tightly.
The woman smiled, pulling back her hood and revealing her exquisite features- a cascade of jet-black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a diagonal scar marring her cheek.
"Amara Draven," she said with a steady voice. "And you, Duke Vryce, are just as interesting as I thought you would be."
Damien frowned, tightening his grip on the dagger. "What do you want?"
"That," said the woman, pointing to the parchment on the desk. "You are up to something, and I want in."
A thrill went through Damien; the lady knew too much for his comfort.
And somehow, Damien felt as though his second chance was about to become complicated.