by M. D. Grimm
“Let me handle him,” he said. Without waiting for an answer, he spun around and yanked on his sandals before stealing the sheriff’s sword right out of the sheath.
“Hey! You braggart!”
“I need to borrow this!” he said as he jogged off.
“Lance!” Gust shouted.
Lance didn’t stop. He shoved past the deputies and ran outside. The sheriff had told Gust to get his bow, and Lance hoped he wouldn’t have to use it. Gust was a healer not a warrior. Although, he remembered the bear, and Gust unflinching as it bore down on him. Then he remembered the night Gust had told him that his father taught him the bow. It was the night Gust had sung, and the beauty of his voice had stricken Lance’s heart.
He shook his head, ordering himself to focus. This was the moment for him to prove himself to the town. Ragel wasn’t Ulfr and that was to his advantage. While he might doubt his ability to beat Ulfr in a fair fight, even if he was at full strength, he didn’t doubt he could defeat Ragel even though he was still recovering. The skin on his shoulder was tight and sore, and he would do his best not to reopen the wounds. Despite his ability to fight effectively with both arms, his right side was dominant, giving him the most advantage he could expect.
The thundering of hooves had Lance skidding to a halt and turning. Brutus galloped toward him, startling everyone in his path. Despite the way Lance’s heart leapt in joy, he had to shake his head and push Brutus away when the horse reached him.
“No, my friend. Not this time. Ragel will recognize you. You can’t be here.”
Brutus snorted in irritation and stamped his hoof in refusal.
Lance gripped his face and leaned over to meet one large dark eye.
“Please,” he whispered. “No one here can know that I’m Scourge. I will be well. Ragel is not Ulfr.”
Brutus snorted again and swished his tail. He used his lips to tug hard at Lance’s hair before turning and trotting way. Lance watched him go and only when he was out of sight did Lance turn and continue on his way.
A few council members, obvious by their orange sashes, stood in front of the town, facing Ragel’s band as they swiftly approached. They looked harried and sleep creases still marked their faces despite it being late morning. A few men and women had gathered with weapons, looking as trained as the sheriff’s reinforcements. Those gathered sent him alarmed, confused looks as he strode forward and planted himself in front of them.
Kafele, with a new sword, and his deputies joined swiftly, setting up positions. Gust and a few others of the sheriff’s group were noticeably absent, and Lance suspected Gust would find a better position up high on a roof. Archers were always better on high ground. He gripped the sword with both hands and didn’t have long to wait.
Ragel pulled on his horse’s reins at the top of the northern slope, at the edge of town. The ruthless band of warriors spread out on either side, horses stamping in agitation. Ragel was a tall, lean fellow of noble lineage and a rebellious heart. It was probably due to that lineage that he’d yet been imprisoned by the royal soldiers. He was from the south as evidenced by his black skin and dark eyes. He was quite beautiful and it hid a vicious heart. He delighted in cruelty and rape and found torture arousing.
Lance had witnessed Ragel raping a dying, thirteen-year-old girl while his men cheered him on. Lance hadn’t cared then. Now he did.
Ragel scanned the crowd, observed the watchtowers and buildings in the distance. Then he focused his attention on Lance and the sheriff behind him. He raised one elegant eyebrow.
“Quite a welcome Thebys offers me,” he said in Taris. “Aren’t you going to invite me to partake in your celebrations? The festival in Apys is going strong, and I’ve heard the one here can almost rival it. Though I must say that so far you haven’t made a good impression.”
His voice was smooth and polished, evidence to his envious education. His clothes were garish, the clashing red and orange combination of Cairon’s colors combined with a small phoenix broach at his throat. He was flaunting his lineage and his perceived untouchable status. Yet Lance remembered Ragel telling Ulfr that his family had disowned him and stripped him of his title. It sounded like his family’s actions amused him more than anything.
Lance narrowed his eyes. For the first time in his life he wanted to fight. He wanted to cause pain. Not for pleasure but to protect. His skin strained against his healing muscles, and he diligently ignored it. He had no time to be wounded.
“We want nothing of you here,” Gamall said, also in Taris, raising his voice powerfully despite his advanced age. “Begone from our borders. You are disgraced and we will not host you here.”
Ragel tilted his head as his men murmured to each other. “Bold words for a simple country man. An old man. Since you’ve insulted me without provocation, I’m afraid I will have to demand restitution. Then I will not only leave your little town in one piece, I will protect you from any other warlord who comes riding through here. Is that not a better choice? Since your earls and queens care not for you, who else do you have to turn to?”
“We have no need of your protection,” Sheriff Kafele said as he strode forward. Lance glanced behind as the sheriff’s deputies formed a defensive line in front of the council members and the rest of the town that began to gather. The sheriff came to stand next to Lance, expression stony, his hand on the hilt of his new sword. “As Elder Gamall said, begone you disgraceful lout!”
Ragel snorted and several of his warriors chuckled condescendingly.
“You should watch your words, peasant.”
“I see no need since you are less than I,” Sheriff Kafele said, never flinching. “You were born to privilege and shat on it. Get yourself from my sight.”
Ragel snarled and raised his hand, his warriors tensing and unsheathing their swords. Sheriff Kafele held up his own, his deputies bracing for a fight while the councilors made their way back from the battle line.
In a split second, Lance knew what he must do. He stood straight and tall before speaking. “I challenge you, Ragel.”
Ragel blinked in surprise.
Sheriff Kafele jolted.
Gasps sounded behind.
“You?” Ragel said with blatant disbelief. “Who are you to offer challenge to me? You are obviously a foreigner to this place and have no claim here.”
“I claim Thebys as mine,” he said, voice ringing, making sure everyone heard him. “These people are under my protection. Therefore, I challenge you, Ragel, for their freedom. When I win, none of your warriors will ever return.”
Ragel’s men jeered and laughed, calling him foul names and mocking his words. He never flinched, never blinked. He stared straight into Ragel’s eyes and let his own pride and stubbornness shine through. Ragel glared, suspicion glinting in his dark gaze.
“Lance, don’t,” the sheriff said in a low voice only for his ears.
Ragel and Lance stared at each other for a long, tense moment.
“I accept.”
That silenced everyone.
“When I win,” Ragel said, “all of you will be my slaves, and I will sell every man, woman, and child to northerners hungry for dark flesh.” He leaned forward on his saddle and smiled sweetly at Lance. “And you, my brave swordsman, if I leave you alive, will be my personal whipping boy. Are we in agreement?”
Lance snorted much like Brutus did. “Agreed.”
Sheriff Kafele’s eyes flashed with rage, and he glanced behind at the councilors and his deputies, motioning them back. Murmurs and urgent, panicked voices sounded around them. He wasn’t surprised when the elders and Sheriff Kafele said nothing more. To show discord was to display weakness, and they couldn’t afford that right now.
Neither he nor Ragel looked away from each other. Ragel dismounted and walked down the slope, drawing his sword. Lance backed up to give them more room. The townspeople formed a defensive semi-circle on one side while Ragel’s warriors held their line in front of the town. Ragel and Lance circled each ot
her, swords at the ready, assessing.
Lance struck first, barely swallowing his war cry. Wouldn’t do for Ragel to recognize him now. Ragel lifted his sword to defend, and Lance feinted to the side. From there it was swift and brutal and, gods, thrilling! He never knew his blood could pump like this, to run hot, singing through his body like the most beautiful song. Now he understood what the other warriors felt during their raids. It was a strange sort of ecstasy to hold someone’s life in his hands, to overpower them, to see the fear in their eyes. He wanted that. He wanted the fear, the power, the violence. And what made it sweeter was the knowledge he was using his skills to protect. His purpose was to protect. He’d told Gust that he was built for war. It was true. But this time he would choose the other side. The good side.
When Gust’s face flashed into his mind he felt like a god.
Lance grinned as he slashed again and again, never allowing Ragel to regain his balance. He kept hitting him, kept attacking, never pausing, showing no mercy. Ragel tried, oh he tried, but he was no match. Never had been. Never would be. Even his mail shirt, vambraces, and greaves didn’t give him an advantage. Lance drove Ragel to one knee and pushed down with all his strength as their blades clashed, as Ragel struggled to block his downward stroke.
Lance panted loudly, still grinning, delighting in the fight. Ragel had managed a few worthy jabs but they were minuscule compared to the damage of the gauntlet and the bear.
“I know who you are,” Ragel said through gritted teeth.
Much of Lance’s joy stuttered and he grimaced.
“You’re Ulfr’s dog.”
“Not anymore.”
“And you protect this town for what?” Ragel’s arms trembled as Lance pressed the blade closer to his face. “What is the point to all this?”
Lance stared into Ragel’s dark gaze and shook his head. “You could never understand.”
“Do they know who you are?”
Lanced bared his teeth and shoved away.
Ragel fell forward and gasped in air. “You dog!” he shouted for all to hear. “Do these people know that you were Blackwolf’s—”
Lance spun around and with a quick slap of his blade, he knocked Ragel’s sword from his hand. Then he followed it up with a slice to his neck. Blood spurted and Ragel’s strangled scream was cut short when Lance brought his sword down a third time and stabbed it through Ragel’s neck. Lance paused only a moment before ripping it out again. The dead body flopped to the ground, blood pooling underneath it.
Trembling, Lance braced a hand on his knee, gulping air. A sound behind him had him spinning around and bracing. One of Ragel’s warriors broke the rules of the challenge by charging at him, sword raised, war cry on his lips. Lance crouched and readied himself, shoving exhaustion away.
Then a green-feathered arrow flew out of nowhere and struck the warrior right in his eye. He fell from the horse, and Lance leapt aside as the steed barreled past him. Lance looked at the other warriors as a few more arrows flew through the air, sinking into shoulders and hands. The sheriff’s deputies charged forward, not attacking, simply making a point that they weren’t afraid to fight.
“Have you no honor?” Lance shouted. “I won the challenge and your leader is dead. You will leave. Or should I have my archers and sheriff’s deputies make sure you follow your lord to the underworld?”
Seeing their leader destroyed certainly dampened morale, and observing the less-than cowed townspeople didn’t help matters. A few of the warriors spat on the ground before turning and riding away. Others were scanning for archers or glaring with disdain at Thebys’s deputies. Still others were staring at Lance as if he was a ghost. They’d probably understood what Ragel had tried to say with his last breath. They knew they didn’t stand a chance against Scourge.
Lance stayed standing, sword raised at the ready, meeting the eyes of every single warrior that looked his way. He was sore, tired, and it was a struggle to keep his arms from shaking. If he had to fight again, he would.
It wasn’t long before all the warriors had left, disappearing in a cloud of dust. Once they were gone from sight, Lance sagged and fell to one knee. The point of the sword sank into the ground as he leaned on it. He pressed his forehead to the hilt and took deep breaths through his nose and out his mouth. One big disadvantage to the blood surge was that he seemed to weaken quicker. His emotions were taxing. Or was it because he was still healing?
He was hungry.
Movement caught his attention and he turned his head. A few men were dragging Ragel’s body away while others corralled the two horses, though Ragel’s stallion was putting up quite the fight. They would be wise to set him free, the poor beast. A few other townspeople were speaking quietly amongst themselves, glancing at him. He sighed and sat fully on the ground, setting the blade away from him and placing his hands in his lap.
He’d won. He protected Thebys. He protected Gust.
He smiled.
Then it faded when he realized Ulfr would hear about this. Rumors would spread. He would come. Lance grimaced and rubbed the bridge of his nose. That meant he needed to stay and wait for Ulfr to come to him. He couldn’t risk leaving and trying to find Ulfr only to leave Thebys unprotected.
Would the town let him stay?
“Lance.”
Gust? Lance turned and smiled again. Gust stood with his bow and a quiver of arrows with green feathers on his back. So it was him to shoot that warrior. He was sweaty and his eyes were huge and glassy. He wouldn’t meet Lance’s gaze. He didn’t look well.
“Are you all right?” Lance stood.
Gust gave a jerky shrug. “The council wants to speak with you.”
Lance nodded. He gestured to the sword. “Could someone return that to the sheriff?”
Gust swallowed hard. “Sure. I’ll do that.” He waved behind himself at a modest hut. “The council meets there. I’ll join you in a moment.”
“All right.” Lance passed Gust and wasn’t blind to the difference in the way he spoke and looked at Lance. Sadness weighed down his heart. Did Gust not like him anymore? But he protected Thebys! He’d used his skills for good things, right? Hadn’t he? Why didn’t Gust understand that?
Or maybe Gust blamed him for forcing him to kill that warrior. Lance grimaced and crossed his arms over his chest. He’d tried to do something good and yet something bad came out of it. Damn it. Gust shouldn’t have been forced to kill the warrior. How was he to apologize for putting him in that position?
He clenched his jaw against the pain in his heart. They weren’t friends anymore, were they? He rubbed his chest as he followed the rest of the crowd to the hut and didn’t notice the various looks being thrown his way.
Chapter Fifteen
Gust had puked after he shot that man. Killed him. He’d never killed another person in his life. He was a healer for Anknet’s sake! But Lance would surely have been killed or severely injured if he hadn’t done something. Lance was a friend and the one to protect him from a bear and to single-handedly save Thebys from a warlord’s wrath. It was the least he could freaking do. Yet he still felt dazed and his stomach was tied in greasy knots. He’d killed someone. He’d devoted his life to Anknet as a young man when he decided to become a healer like his parents, and now he’d betrayed her. But it was to save a life. Did that make a difference? Anknet also had a role in death. She didn’t kill, although she was the one to determine when it was a person’s time to enter the underworld.
He’d told Kissa that he would happily stab the one who murdered his parents. Now he wasn’t so sure. Yet if he was going to damage his vow to Anknet it couldn’t be for a better cause than avenging his parents.
Gust returned the sheriff’s sword.
Kafele grunted and took it, noting the blood. “I don’t think I would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself. He’s a man built for war.”
Gust said nothing. He swallowed hard and walked stiffly to the council’s hut. Lance’s skill with a blade was beyond
anything Gust had ever witnessed. No doubt the sheriff was proud that such a warrior had wielded his blade in defense of his home. Not everyone could fit inside the council’s hut so the doors were wide open, people crammed close together. The sheriff walked beside him and muscled a path through the crowd for Gust to enter.
Lance stood at the front, facing the council. Kissa sat on the first bench to the right. Gust snapped out of his daze when he realized she was trembling with anger, glaring at Lance. It hit him dead in the gut as to why. Lance had been part of Ulfr’s band, the ones to murder his parents. Kissa’s brother. Gust’s stomach cramped, and he struggled to hold back the tears.
Gods be cursed! Why would they do this? Why would they bring this man to them?
Had Lance witnessed his parent’s murder?
It also occurred to Gust that this was the first time the entire council had met with Lance at the same time. Due to the festival, they’d been too busy or distracted to follow up with him once he’d healed. And since he hadn’t caused any more disturbances, beyond the one with Dakar, they’d let him be. They were probably regretting that right about now.
“Lance,” Gamall said. “At last we finally meet. It is long overdue. While I am grateful to you for your challenge on our behalf, I must express my shock and displeasure at what you agreed to, concerning if Ragel had won.”
“He didn’t win,” Lance said.
Gamall’s face hardened. “Be that as it may, I think I can speak for everyone here when I say none of us want to be slaves.”
Many people in the crowd and a few of the council members expressed vocal agreement.
Lance frowned as if puzzled. “But you won’t be slaves. I won.”
“But if you hadn’t—”
“I always win.” The calm tone silenced the room for a moment.
Lukman glared at Lance and Gust held back a wince. Gust doubted Lukman would ever take Lance’s side.
“What about reprisals?” someone in the crowd shouted. “Lance killed a noble! The royals will punish us!”