Knight Watch

by Tim Akers

  “Get out of my way,” I snarled. The circle of shieldbearers, shocked by Sir Thomas Tomasson’s sudden death, stood in horrified silence. I pushed my way into the clearing. “You’re here because of me, aren’t you! So here I am. No one else has to die.”

  “Am I?” the Fetch whispered. It cocked its head in my direction, and I was momentarily stunned to see my own face, blood dripping off feral, pointed teeth. “I suppose I am, in a way. But if you think your death will sate my master’s needs, you have no idea what the true cost is. But as you say, here you are.” It vaulted off Thomas’ chest, landing with a thud on the ground. It looked disjointed, as though all its limbs were too long, its body hunched over. Daggers dragged on the ground, clutched by gnarled hands, and its spine squirmed under its loose shirt. “And your death will make a fine start.”

  Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN

  ARGUING WITH MYSELF

  The Fetch loped back and forth in the small clearing, its movements quick and agile, its manner strange. My face hung lopsided on its skull. Its arms hung limp at its side, dragging twin daggers through the grass. It watched me with my own eyes.

  “Is this how you thought it would go, Sir John Rast?” it asked. “Did you think this is what it meant to be a hero?”

  “This has taken a turn for the dark,” I said to no one in particular. “I got into this for the swords and the glory. Not to watch some monster terrorize my friends and murder my acquaintances.”

  “Ah, but what is a sword for? What is glory without horror?” It peeled its lips back into the caricature of a grin, then motioned to Tom Tom’s body. “You don’t get to be a hero without a few nobodies dying tragic deaths, drenched in empathy and their own sweet, sweet tears.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” I said. “No one else has to die.”

  “You do. Eventually,” it said. “That’s the plan, anyway. Once the path is opened.”

  “What plan? Whose plan? Tell me!”

  “I’d rather show you,” it said. The Fetch lurched forward. Without thinking, I fell into the guard Clarence had taught me, sword and shield crossed and at the ready.

  The Fetch attacked immediately, leaping over the still form of Sir Tom Tom with a scream. I swung clumsily down, forcing it to block my attack with one dagger while thrusting the other into my chest. The blade skidded off my breastplate, lodging briefly in the armor over my shoulder before slicing free. A few of my buckles came loose, and the pauldron with them, exposing my shoulder. I tucked the shield close, covering the gap in my armor.

  “Not yet accustomed to true combat, I see. You only beat me before because we were in your domain. But now we are not, and I will cut you down, one piece at a time.”

  “I’d like to see you OUCH—”

  The Fetch was dancing back, having put both blades into the wrist of my sword hand, slicing through the chain link and drawing blood. It ran hot and wet over my fingers and into my glove. The creature cackled at me, circling and weaving its blades through the air. They were already stained red.

  “A little cut, a little blood, and I’ll have my due. You just aren’t good enough, John Rast. Clarence was a challenge. You’re nothing.”

  “I’m not Clarence,” I said through gritted teeth. It laughed. I’m not Clarence, I repeated to myself, remembering what Esther had said. I’m something else. Something better. Defense, not offense.

  The Fetch noticed my momentary distraction and pounced. I met its charge with my shield, easily blocking its daggers and using its momentum to brush it aside. It slid off the face of the bulwark to land in a heap on the grass. It was immediately up again, arms and legs scrambling like an upended spider, slashing and kicking at me. My shield intercepted every blow. I could feel the rhythm of its attack in my bones, in the dozen deaths Clarence had drilled through me, in the training and, apparently, in the magic of my domain.

  My sword and shield were a blur of motion, moving by instinct and preternatural talent. I caught a cascade of downstrokes on the shield, swiveled to meet the counterstroke that it was trying to distract me from, preemptively blocked a kick by driving the pommel of my sword into the Fetch’s thigh, then stepped aside as the creature threw itself at me in a desperate attempt to knock me off balance. It fell against the shieldwall, driving the line of defenders back for a second. They reformed quickly, poking at the Fetch with their spears.

  The Fetch stayed down for several long heartbeats. Its breath came in long, ragged gasps that shook its whole body. When it finally stood, there was blood leaking from its eyes, and the mask of my face hung slack on its bones. It ran a forearm across its brow, resettling my visage and wiping sweat from its eyes. It was no longer smiling.

  “A warden, eh? That will not be a happy path for you, boy. Wardens get no glory. Wardens win no damsels and gather no great names for themselves. All that wardens get is killed, and then forgotten.”

  There was a commotion in the ranks, and then Esther pushed her way into the clearing. The olive drab of her shield was scarred in a dozen places, revealing the bright steel beneath. She rested the wide blade of her sword on one shoulder. It was a strange weapon, the blade as thick as a hand, the cutting bevel only a narrow wedge, serrated on one side, with a flat point, almost like a butcher’s cleaver. I wasn’t sure how such a slight woman was supposed to wield a weapon like that, especially at her age. But the steel gray in her hair seemed a reflection of the mettle in her blood. She stared at the Fetch with eyes that could have melted stone.

  “Not all wardens die,” she spat. “Not yet, at least.”

  “Oh! Esther MacRae, at long last. I was beginning to think you would never show up. And your friends?”

  The Fetch looked around the circle hopefully. Bethany blinked into existence between two shields, her daggers loose in her hands, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Tembo rose above the ranks on a pillar of flame. Three fiery orbs circled his waist, following the subtle gestures of his hands. And finally, Matthew appeared in the crowd. He sheltered between two shields, but the light of his skin was turned all the way up. Without his mask, Matthew looked like a statue carved out of shimmering diamonds.

  Even Eric skulked out of the crowd. He was carrying his lute case like a hammer and stared at the Fetch with undisguised terror. He gave me a nod, took a swig from something in his hand, then continued shaking in his boots.

  “Very good,” the monster purred. “Very good indeed. Everyone is here. Now, which one of you is it going to be?”

  “Everyone stay back,” Esther said. “It obviously wants to die. We need to capture it. Question it.”

  “And how are we supposed to do that?” Bethany asked.

  “Carefully,” Esther answered.

  “May I remind you that we are on dangerous ground,” Tembo said. “This whole field is plunging into the unreal. If we don’t stabilize it soon, these people will never see their televisions or internet pornography again.”

  “Not a very compelling argument,” I said. “Can’t we just finish the thing and be done? I don’t want to lose more civilians for no damn reason.”

  “Our warden is right. This ridiculous carnival needs to be stabilized,” Tembo said. “We can deal with the doppelganger’s origins later. There are innocent lives at stake.”

  “No. We take it alive. Together.” Esther hunched forward. “Rast, circle to the other side. Tembo, give us some light, and make sure it doesn’t get away. Bethany—”

  “I know,” she said. “Do something clever.”

  “What do I do?” Eric asked.

  “Try not dying,” Esther said. “That should keep you pretty busy.”

  The Fetch dropped to all fours. I made my way to the far side of the clearing. Tembo stitched a line of fire into the sky, casting everything into bright light and sharp shadows. Bethany took a half step and then disappeared, leaving a blur of light.

  “You are wasting your time,” the Fetch said. “Even if you were to take me, I have already served my purpose. You ri
sk destroying all these people, and for what? You can’t prevent the inevitable! You can’t stop the revolution that is coming!”

  “Maybe not, but we sure as hell can shut you up,” Esther snapped. “Now!”

  She and I closed on the Fetch together. It feinted toward her before rushing me, dancing off my shield and then fading back before I could swing. It dodged directly into the flat of Esther’s wide sword. Its arm bent at an awkward angle, and it let out a terrible sound before dropping one of its daggers. We didn’t let up. I charged in with my shield up, but I was overconfident, not anticipating that it would keep fighting even with a broken arm. The Fetch slipped beneath my shield, tangling my legs and sending me to the ground. As it leapt over me, it took the time to drag a knife over my chest, just catching the tip of my chin. I started bleeding profusely. At first, I thought it had caught my neck, and crab-walked back, dropping the sword as I grabbed at my throat. When I threw my shield aside, one of the prehensile straps looped across my shoulder, securing the heater on my back.

  “Rast! Don’t let it—” Esther barked as the Fetch dodged past me and dove for the crowd. “Tembo!”

  “Got it,” the mage answered. He raised his palm to the creature, as if to grab at it. His fingers curled together, and lightning sparked between them.

  A wave of flame lashed down from the sky, kicking clods of earth and grass up into the air and throwing the Fetch onto its back. Realizing I wasn’t dying in the near future, I sheepishly collected my weapon and cut off the creature’s escape. It was rolling around on the ground, a collage of faces flickering across its features. Its limbs lost their form, changing into amorphous tendrils of squirming flesh, tipped with claws of steel and horn. It crawled to its feet and lurched toward me.

  “You cannot kill us you are us we are you and killing you is killing everything—” it slammed into my shield, arms wrapping around the edges to stab at me. I slashed at them, lopping off tentacles and carving ruts into its flesh. It fell off my shield like a leech, leaving bits of itself still wriggling on my blade. The drastic shadows of Tembo’s burning sky gave the whole scene a horrific cast. If we were trying to avoid turning this place into a pocket of the unreal world, we weren’t doing a great job of it.

  “We’re done here.” Bethany’s voice came from nowhere, but then she formed behind the Fetch like a shadow. She struck, hammering the monster in the neck, shoulder, lower back, temple...a dizzying series of blows with the brass-tipped pommel of her daggers. A resounding hum filled the air, each strike adding to the cacophony, until the sky was splitting with the music of her attack. Bethany danced back. The Fetch stood frozen in place. Our thief slid her daggers together, letting steel clatter against steel, then drove both blades dramatically into the ground.

  Like a puppet cut from its strings, the Fetch collapsed to the ground. The humming sound cut off, leaving a buzz in my ears. The fire in the sky faded as Tembo eased his way back to the ground, and a low murmur ran through the crowd. I could feel the change in the air. Whatever risk there had been of this place dropping into the unreal faded away. The glory of Sir Tom Tom’s majestic armor evaporated, reverting to reenactor’s padding and the dull steel of a false sword. But he was still dead.

  “That was a hell of a thing,” Bethany muttered. “Thought it was going to get away there for a second.” She bent down and dragged the doppelganger’s limp form off the ground. It looked like a collection of gray robes hanging from a mannequin’s head. Unconscious, its features reverted to a blank anonymity. “How are we supposed to tie this thing up? Does it have arms?”

  “Your little trick should hold it long enough to get it in the trunk. Tembo can put some seals on the lock. Should hold it,” Esther said.

  Eric and Matthew both emerged from the crowd to look down at the bound Fetch. Matthew leaned over it.

  “Ugly son of a bitch,” he said. “No offense, Rast. You don’t wear a monster well.”

  “None taken. Is everyone alright?” I asked. They nodded. Eric just continued staring, as though he was working up his nerve to say something.

  “So can you do that, Tem? Bind this thing?” Esther asked.

  “It’ll be the last of my power,” Tembo said. “Had to pour most of myself into that blast. So much easier to just burn without control. You doing okay, Sir John?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” I touched the wound on my chin, grimacing at the blood on my fingertip. “Nothing a Band-Aid and a cold beer won’t fix. How the hell are we going to explain all this to the mundanes?”

  “Madman with a knife, consumed by some murderous fantasy,” Esther said. “Most of these folks won’t be able to form a memory of this. Not without some extensive therapy.”

  “If nightmares are the worst thing they have to deal with, I’ll be happy with that,” I said. “Except for Tom, of course. Damn it.” I knelt by the man’s shoulder. His eyes were wide with shock and horror, and his throat was a ruin of blood. I closed his eyelids and heaved a sigh. “He was a decent guy. Would have made a good knight.”

  “Don’t focus on the dead. Think about the ones you saved,” Esther said.

  “Yeah. I’m still kinda new to this,” I said. “This warden thing is weird. But it feels good to defend folks who can’t save themselves.”

  “Yeah, until you can’t,” Esther said glumly. “And then it’s just bad memories and regret.”

  “You’re really selling this job,” I said. “Can we—”

  “Quiet!” Bethany snapped. “What was—”

  A soft thunderclap sounded behind us. I spun around to see a seam split open in reality, right behind Eric. We locked eyes for the briefest moment. He smiled.

  “There had to be a sacrifice, John,” he said. Then he stepped into the tear in the world. It zippered shut, disappearing into thin air.

  “Eric!” I shouted. The rest of the team was still turning to face the commotion. I bulled through them, searching the ground where he had been standing. As I shoved my way past Matthew, he crumpled to the ground.

  The grass where Eric had been standing was charred. But of my friend there was no sign. Chesa came running up.

  “I saw the fight! And Eric, he disappeared,” she said. “How did he do that?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now. Where did he go? Where would he—”

  “Medic!” one of the reenactors shouted. My ears perked up. During the grand melee, no one yelled that word unless it was serious business. I stood and looked over.

  Matthew lay on the ground. A dagger was buried in his back. One of Bethany’s daggers, but it couldn’t have been from her hand. The light was gone from his face, replaced by pale skin and pain.

  Chapter TWENTY-EIGHT

  HEALER DOWN

  Matthew was dying. I’m not a doctor, I’m not even the kind of guy who googles lung cancer every time I cough, but I can tell when someone is dying. He lay in the middle of the field, surrounded by concerned-looking reenactors and the rest of the party. Blood was blotting into his robes, and his pale skin was getting paler by the second. He was dying, and there was nothing any of us could do to stop it. The Fetch lay forgotten to one side.

  “Shouldn’t we be applying pressure to the wound?” I asked. “Isn’t that what we do in this situation?”

  “Mundane solution to a magical wound,” Tembo said, his voice maddeningly calm. His hands were clasped around Matthew’s shoulders, and a soft purple haze surrounded them both. Some kind of temporal effect, meant to stabilize the saint, but it could only do so much good. “The only solution is to get him back to Mundane Actual.”

  “There some kind of miracle waiting for us at MA?” Chesa asked. “A ‘break this glass in case of near-death experience’ kind of thing?”

  “Close enough. Our best bet is to get him into his domain and let the ladies take care of him. They chose him, gave him the light, made him the saint that he is.” Esther’s face was drawn tight with concern. I got the feeling she was talking just to convince herself
. “I can’t believe they’re done with him just yet.”

  “What about this guy?” Chesa asked. She toed at the Fetch, grimacing. “We can’t leave him here.”

  “And we don’t need to ask him a lot of questions anymore,” Esther said sharply. She stood up, drew her sword, and plunged it into the Fetch’s chest. The creature exhaled a long, fetid breath, then slowly deflated. When he was done, all that remained was a pile of gray rags and rubbery flesh, like a discarded costume. She moved back to Matthew’s side.

  “Just like that?” I asked. “I thought we needed something from that guy?”

  “We needed to know who had spliced your friend’s soul into the doppelganger,” Tembo said. “That is no longer a question. It was Eric all along.”

  “But that...that’s not possible. Eric wouldn’t do this.”

  “He just did. Or do you not see the knife in Matthew’s back?”

  “How do we know it wasn’t another Fetch? Or some kind of ghost? Or...” I trailed off. I knew it wasn’t any of those things. But I didn’t know why Eric would try to kill the saint.

  “We’re wasting heartbeats,” Esther said. “And Matthew only has so many of those left. We need to move.”

  “Can we land the hangnail here without causing a major disturbance?” I asked.

  “Fuck disturbing the mundanes, my saint is dying,” Esther snapped. I flinched away. Even for Esther, she sounded stern. “There’s no time for the Naglfar. Tembo? Open a portal.”

  “I don’t like it,” Tembo answered. “It’s dangerous.”

  “You have a better idea?”

  Tembo was quiet for a long time. Finally, he shook his head. Esther turned to me.

  “Get these people back,” she said. “I don’t care how you do it.”

  I stood up and cleared my throat. It was a little tough to pull people’s eyes away from the dying man in their midst, but I raised my voice and gave it a shot.