by A.R. Wise
* * *
“Wake up,” said Murien. “Get your sword.”
Abraham awoke with a start and looked around in confusion. “What’s wrong?”
Murien spoke in hushed tones in the early morning, as fog drifted across the plains, masking the various rocky outcroppings of the Robber’s Spine that surrounded them. “Something’s happening out by the road.”
A woman’s scream echoed through the plains, and Abraham quickly got up from his bedroll. They’d taken a merchant’s wagon that had been left behind outside of New Carrington, and had been headed north along Devon’s Road when nightfall convinced them to make camp. The sun had yet to rise, but the night’s veil had been lightened with the promise of a new day.
Murien hadn’t slept. Instead, she kept watch through the night, never feeling the onset of exhaustion or the compulsion to close tired eyes. Perhaps it was one of the effects of being turned into a cursed half-dead, or it might’ve been the lasting effects of battle, but either way she still didn’t feel weary. She’d removed her breastplate, but was still wearing the leather and chain hauberk armor, and was ready for a fight should they stumble into one.
Abraham had lost most of his armor and his sword back in New Carrington, but they’d found a short sword in with the merchant’s things on their journey here. He grabbed the weapon and hurried to join Murien as they investigated the noise out on Devon’s Road.
There was a horse neighing angrily, and a man’s voice shouting out. Then a girl shouted, “Leave her alone.”
Murien looked at Abraham and asked, “Was that Saffi?”
“It sure sounds like her,” said Abraham as the two of them made it out to the road from where they’d camped. The fog hid the location of the fight, but they were both certain it was coming from the south. They started to run, ready to do whatever they needed to save their friend.
Shapes began to materialize from within the fog, and Murien heard Saffi say, “You bastard!” A man replied, but he was speaking softer than she was.
Murien didn’t see Saffi from her vantage, but instead saw a man looking down at a dead horse, his back to Murien and Abraham. “Hold,” said Murien as she neared.
The man spun, cursed, and then flashed his weapons, dual axes that he threatened to throw. Murien and Abraham moved to each other’s side, trying to flank the stranger. Saffi called out Murien’s name, and then pleaded with her to run.
“You can’t have her,” said the brute as he held his axes before him. “I’ve worked too hard to give her up.”
“Put the axes down,” said Murien.
The man was tall and strong, with wide shoulders and thick arms. He was wearing leather armor, the sort that traveling bandits preferred, and he wielded his axes with obvious expertise, flipping them around in his hands as he held them out, one pointed in each of his opponent’s direction.
“If you turn back now, I’ll let you live,” said the kidnapper.
Murien called out to her friend, who she now saw sitting on the opposite side of the felled steed, “Saffi, are you okay?”
“Don’t fight him,” said Saffi as she stood up. “He’s a half-dead.”
“That’s right,” said the man with a grin. “Listen to your friend. Tuck tail and run, meat. You can’t kill me.”
“This is your last warning,” said Murien. “Drop the axes and run away as far as you can, or you’ll be all-dead before the sun comes up.”
The kidnapper chuckled and then said, “You’ve got spirit, girl. Shame it’s about to get you killed.” He ran towards Murien, focusing his attention on her as Abraham yelled out for him to stop. Murien deflected the first axe easily, but that was her attacker’s intention as he followed up with an underhanded swipe that Murien nearly caught on the chin. She moved back, and Abraham came forward, chaotically swinging at the man.
The brute was far more skilled than Abe, and knelt low before spinning and chopping low. Abraham was able to leap in time to avoid getting his foot severed at the ankle, but when he came down again he was beset upon by their foe as the man thrust his shoulder into the Second-Sword, knocking him back and to the ground.
Murien regained her composure and came back into the fray, confident that she could catch the man off-guard as he focused on Abraham. She was mistaken, and the kidnapper spun again, this time focusing the arc of his attack on Murien as her sword missed, leaving her side vulnerable. His axe thudded into her, but her chainmail prevented it from cutting into her skin. However, the sheer force of his attack was enough to knock her to the ground and break a rib. She cried out in pain and twisted in agony.
“Dessidus, stop! I’ll go with you,” said Saffi. “Don’t hurt them.”
“Too late for that,” said Dessidus as he moved to stand beside Murien.
She knew he was above her, but the pain inflicted from the last attack had dazed her. She’d lost her sword, and was disoriented as she tried to roll away from him. He caught her by the hair, and thrust her head back down to the ground. She heard Saffi and Abraham scream out, and then she felt Dessidus yank her head up. She looked at him just in time to see his axe coming down at her throat.
“No!” Saffi cried out as she saw Dessidus mercilessly cut her friend’s throat. His axe buried deep into Murien, and when he pulled it out a spurt of blood came with it. Abraham was already charging, crying out in fear and hatred, but Dessidus easily avoided the Second-Sword’s attack. He was laughing as he jumped away, and then taunted Abraham to try again.
“Come on, meat,” said Dessidus. “Was she your lover? Did you just watch me kill the woman you love? Isn’t that just awful?”
“I’ll kill you,” said Abraham, his grief turning to fury.
“Go ahead and try.”
The men were moving in a circle, facing off with one another as Saffi cried out for them to stop. She pleaded with Dessidus to leave Abraham alone, and wanted to do something to help. She picked up a fist-sized stone from the road and was prepared to run over and launch herself onto Dessidus to fight him anyway she could, but then something else caught her eye.
Murien reached for her sword.
Dessidus was facing off with Abraham, and his back was to his previous victim. He had no idea that Murien Third-Sword was still alive.
She stood up, sword in hand, ready to fight. The wound on her throat was still bleeding, and her skin had turned ghostly pale, but her eyes blazed blue as she stared at the man she meant to kill.
Dessidus was taunting Abraham, “Come kill me then, meat. Let’s see if you’re a better fighter than your girlfriend.”
Murien reached over Dessidus’s face, grasping his forehead and pulling him back, and then viciously cut down at his throat with her sword, nearly severing his head before throwing him to the ground. He hit the ground and rolled, shocked as he reached for his grievous wound. He’d dropped his axes, and was scrambling to get away. Murien kicked his side hard, hopefully breaking a rib or two in the process. He reached for her leg, but she was too quick and sliced down at his arm.
Dessidus tried to speak, but his words gurgled as he continued to defend himself. Finally, he was able to ask, “You’re a… You’re a half-dead?”
Murien Third-Sword didn’t respond before she stabbed her sword down and through the black rider’s eye, piercing his head and clanging into the rock beneath. She freed the blade, and then moved back before delivering a final blow to make sure the bastard was truly finished. His head rolled aside, and then she kicked it off into the grass.
“Murien,” said Saffi in shock. “You’re alive!”
The sound of hooves clopping on the path interrupted their celebration. Murien led Abraham and Saffi off the road, prepared to flee as a new stranger approached. The rider appeared in the fog and slowed his horse upon discovering the slaughter.
“Ebon,” said Saffi before stopping her friends from retreating. “It’s okay, I know him.” She led them back to the road where Ebon was dismounting.
“How did you do th
is?” asked Ebon as he looked down at the beheaded man.
“It wasn’t me,” said Saffi. “It was Murien.”
Ebon looked up at Dessidus’s murderer and saw the wound on her neck. “You’re a half-dead?”
Saffi moved to stand between Ebon and Murien. “She’s my friend. It doesn’t matter if she’s a half-dead.”
“I don’t have a problem with half-deads, my friend. I’m a half-dead as well.” Ebon pointed down at the headless body on the road and said, “There’s not a man, living or dead, who I’ve ever known to be strong enough to kill that man. So it’s fitting it would be a woman who finally cut him down.”
“You’re a half-dead?” asked Saffi, uncertain how to feel about the revelation about Ebon. “My father said you were a Drake from Golden Rock.” She suddenly remembered that her father might still be at the marauder’s camp and said, “Where is my father? Did he make it out safely?”
“I believe so,” said Ebon. “We parted ways at the camp. He wanted me to make sure you were safe. Although with friends like yours, I needn’t have worried.”
Saffi turned to Murien and Abraham and asked, “Why were you two out here?”
Abraham told Saffi about how New Carrington had been attacked, and their flight down the Tennerblane. He explained that he thought Murien had died, only to discover that she was still alive. They knew they couldn’t go back to New Carrington, and decided to flee north instead. That’s how they ended up on Devon’s Road when Dessidus and Saffi came along.
“I guess I’m just lucky,” said Saffi.
“By luck or providence, it doesn’t really matter,” said Ebon. “All that matters is that you’re safe, and that we keep it that way.”
“I still don’t understand what’s going on,” said Saffi. She was struggling with the knowledge that her home had been attacked by The Scholar, and that her best friend was revealed to be a half-dead. “Did The Scholar attack New Carrington just to get to me?”
“No,” said Ebon. “He plans on attacking all of The Five Walls before winter sets in, but he hastened his plans to attack New Carrington when we learned you were there.”
“We?” asked Saffi. She pointed over at the corpse in the road and said, “Back at the camp it sounded like you two knew each other. Were you both working with The Scholar?”
Ebon hesitated, and then said, “We were, but I abandoned his cause to save you.”
“Why?”
Ebon turned and looked north along the road. “There’s a wagon coming. It might be your father, but we should hide in case it isn’t.”
The four of them laid low in the grass and waited for the wagon to approach. It was indeed Ward, and Saffi ran out to embrace him. The baker ignored his injury and leapt from the wagon to embrace his daughter. He spun with her in his arms and bellowed with joyous laughter that turned to tears as he said, “My girl. My sweet girl.”
Saffi recounted all that had happened, and Ward explained why he was traveling with a thief, a thegn, and a prophet. Ebon insisted they move fast, because the black riders might leave the marauders camp to come back to New Carrington at any moment. They all agreed it would be best to head off into the Steel Plains, and then back up north to the safety of Sailor’s Rock. Abraham, Beynor, and Ebon worked to drag Dessidus and the horse off into the weeds, and then used dirt to cover the blood in the hopes that the Black Riders wouldn’t discover their murdered leader.
Murien let Joyce tend to her wound, although it had already almost healed. Afterward, Ebon explained that it was because she was a half-dead, and that there were many gifts that her kind enjoyed; gifts he’d teach her about.
As they were preparing for the journey, Saffi pulled Ebon aside and said, “I’m not done with you yet. If you worked with The Scholar, then you can tell me why he’s after me. Why am I so important to him?”
“Because, Saffi, he thinks you’re the only one who can stop him.”
“Why? I’m just an Apprentice-Baker. What could I possibly do to stop someone like him?”
“Just a baker?” asked Ebon. “Is that really what you think?”
“It’s the truth. I’m not a warrior or a leader. I’m not even a very good people-person. I know my dad said they found me in the middle of a bunch of zombies, but so what? Maybe they didn’t see me there.”
Ebon shook his head and said, “You’ve got it all wrong.”
“Then explain it to me,” said Saffi, attempting to lighten her frustration with an exasperated laugh. “I’m sick of the secrets. Tell me what’s going on.”
“You weren’t simply found among a horde, Saffi,” said Ebon. “You’re the one that brought the horde to life.”
“What?” she asked, confused.
He took her hands and looked down at them. “If you really are who they say, then these hands have more power than you could possibly imagine.”
“I don’t have any power.”
“No, perhaps not,” said Ebon before looking over at Murien. “Or perhaps you’re the reason your friend there is still alive. Perhaps her time beside you gave her the second life of a half-dead. It’s a disease that was supposed to have been wiped out almost two decades ago by the Drakes, yet you seem to be surrounded by us.”
She pulled her hands away from him. “I don’t understand.”
“Have you ever brought something back to life before, Saffi? A person, or an animal – something you were sure was dead or dying, but then by your grace was brought back to life?”
Saffi was going to say no, but then looked back over at the road and remembered how Dessidus’s horse had reared back up and attacked its master. She couldn’t speak, and just looked in wonderment back at her hands.
“I know a lot about the power you hold,” said Ebon. “Because I’ve spent many years beside someone else with the same abilities.”
“The Scholar?” asked Saffi.
Ebon nodded. “The power to raise the dead, to build armies from graveyards. That’s why he needs you, because with you at his side he’ll be twice as powerful. But with you against him…” Ebon paused, and grinned. “The world just might stand a chance.”