by M. D. Grimm
He fell.
Lance dropped with him, forgoing the sword and beating on him with his fists, still screaming. Then he pulled the dagger he’d won at the festival from his belt and tried to stab Ulfr in the face. Ulfr lifted his axe, caught the downward stroke, and twisted and jerked, causing Lance to lose his grip. The dagger flung away. Lance encircled Ulfr’s neck with one hand while gripping his wrist with the other. He bit Ulfr’s wrist, and Ulfr could no longer hold his axe. It dropped to the ground.
Ulfr used his other hand to grasp Lance’s hair and tug his head backward. Lance clamped down harder on Ulfr’s flesh and, with a bellow, Ulfr wrenched his arm away. Lance took a chunk of skin and muscle as blood gushed, splashing over both of them.
“You crazy dog!”
Lance spat the hunk of flesh at Ulfr’s face before clamping both hands around his neck and squeezing. Ulfr had only one hand now to work with, and he tugged Lance’s hair with all his might. Lance had no choice but let go. Fury and wrath still burned inside him, and he rolled off Ulfr, pushing to his hands and knees to reach for his sword.
Putting his back to Ulfr proved to be a mistake when Ulfr flung his body on Lance, pinning him to the ground with his girth. Lance grunted and struggled, snarling and still reaching for the sword, inches away. Ulfr put all his weight on Lance, blood still gushing from his wrist.
“When I die,” he whispered, voice rasping against Lance’s ear, “you die with me, Lance.” He wrapped his good hand around Lance’s throat and squeezed. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine to keep or to kill. You’re a violent dog that needs a master.”
“Curse you to the mouth of Mawn!” Lance choked out. He couldn’t get free!
Ulfr was going to die, that was for certain. But would he be true to his word and take Lance with him? Perhaps that was for the best. He wouldn’t hurt anyone else if he was dead.
For some strange reason, the story of Appep and Ausar flashed in his mind. Enemies locked in mortal combat, both killing the other. Fitting.
Spots began to appear before Lance’s eyes as his vision dimmed. His heart pounded like a war drum against his ears, and his head felt swelled beyond its capabilities. The pain grew more visceral and all-consuming. His fury fractured as he neared death’s door.
Ulfr grunted in pain before someone else grunted and groaned and cursed as Ulfr’s hand and weight suddenly disappeared. Lance sucked in air and coughed on the exhale. He inhaled and coughed a few times before he flopped onto his back. His spinning vision finally settled on a sight that shocked him.
Gust stood between him and Ulfr, arrow nocked and pointed at Ulfr’s heart.
Ulfr laughed wheezily. “I’m dead already, archer. You going to get your rocks off by watching me breathe my last?”
Gust was trembling. Lance gripped his chest and sat up, panting.
“Gust,” he croaked.
“I can’t—” Gust whispered chokingly. “I can’t kill him. Not like this.”
“Then don’t,” Lance said as he stood. It hurt to speak. He hobbled over to his sword and picked it up. “That’s why I’m here.”
He wouldn’t have minded watching Ulfr breathe his last with agonizing slowness and indignity. But the battle for Thebys still waged and fires were burning from home to home. Ulfr’s warriors had to know their leader was dead. This had to stop.
He nudged Gust aside and lifted his sword over Ulfr’s head. Gust lowered his bow and stepped away, turning his back on the scene.
“They will turn on you,” Ulfr whispered. “Try to be their hero and they will spit on you. Curse you. You waste your time protecting them, Lance. It will gain you nothing.”
Lance held Ulfr’s gaze and whispered, “Nothing but my soul.”
Then he brought the blade down, cleanly severing Ulfr’s head from his body. The impact radiated up his arms and he winced. He grabbed a hunk of Ulfr’s black hair and lifted the severed head before whistling sharp and clear. It wasn’t long before Brutus thundered toward him, splattered with blood and rage roiling in his dark eyes. Lance stiffly mounted and then looked at Gust, who appeared dazed and much too pale despite his dark skin.
“Gust.”
He flinched and glanced at Lance before looking away. “Go. I’m right behind you.”
No time to talk. Not now. Lance kicked Brutus’s sides, and they were off, charging into town. With one hand he held Ulfr’s head, in the other, his sword. The citizens of Thebys appeared to be holding their own, mostly due to the archers, and yet the fires were starting to spread out of hand. They could be smothered if the citizens were allowed to focus on them. But they were still fighting for their lives.
Lance sliced a few warriors, gaining their attention. He screamed and Brutus shrieked, the sounds rising above the noise of battle.
“Ulfr Blackwolf is dead!” Lance bellowed, his throat protesting the effort. Brutus rose on his hind legs, and Lance moved with his horse, as one with his friend.
Warriors turned their heads and citizens of Thebys soon realized their battle was near an end. Lance held up Ulfr’s mangled, bloody head, a bit of spine dangling from the grotesque proof of Ulfr’s defeat.
“If you don’t wish to join him, I suggest you flee now while you still can!” Lance tossed the head up in the air. Silence fell as the head did, and everyone heard the sickening smack when it hit the ground.
Despite feeling ill and trembling, Lance sat steadily on Brutus and raised his sword, only then realizing it and his clothes and skin were covered in blood. He was soaked in it and barely managed not to cough at the overwhelming stench. He could still taste Ulfr in his mouth, probably still had bits of him stuck between his teeth. He never had such a visceral reaction to blood before and suspected it was because he felt now.
The warriors knew what he was capable of doing. They’d seen him slaughter hundreds, he’d just killed their leader, and this town wasn’t going to lie down and die like the others. They were prepared and aching for a fight.
Like the cowards they were, the warriors fled. Lance stared at their backs, knowing he would be seeing them again. He knew his mission now. He knew his purpose now.
As soon as the last warrior fled, Lance slumped on Brutus’s back and tilted his head back, staring at the sky. The bright blue nearly blinded him. He closed his eyes and vaguely heard movement around him. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Brutus’s neck.
“We need to wash up,” he muttered, eyes still closed. “Take me to the river.”
With a snort, Brutus trotted away. Lance felt numerous gazes on him and kept his eyes closed. He tightened his grip on Brutus and trusted his friend to lead them away from the accusations and hostility.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Gust worked through the rest of the day and into the night, refusing to think or feel. He healed as many as he could, too many to fit into the healing hut. Many had to stay home in their beds. The fires had long been put out. Some had died, although not as many as they’d feared. Still, dead was dead, and his town was in mourning. Mandissa and Kurzun coordinated the firing rituals and said their blessings and chants, the same as when his parents had died. He knew all of the dead, although he didn’t attend any of the rites. He was too busy with the wounded living.
He worked in tandem with the other healers, who he also knew refused to let the battle distract them from their work. They needed to be instruments of relief and compassion, not grief and rage. The other healers and their apprentices spread out to different areas of the town, working hard to save those they could. It would take weeks to clean up the town, to return it to its former glory. But Gust was proud of his people as they bore down and helped each other, held fast together.
He hadn’t seen Lance since the warriors fled.
Gust took a shaky breath as he scrubbed his hands clean in a bowl of water. He trembled and knew he couldn’t put off thinking or feeling any longer. It was early morning, the day after the battle, a couple of hours before the sun would rise. He s
tood in his room, the silence around him eerie and foreboding. Exhaustion made his shoulders droop and his eyes ache.
The worst part was his heart. And his stomach had been twisted in a knot since hearing Ulfr’s words. Since hearing Lance’s confirmation.
Scourge.
Lance was Scourge.
Lance was the one to murder his parents.
Gust gripped the table the bowl sat upon and leaned over it, fearing he would be sick. He hadn’t eaten anything after the battle or during the night. His stomach was empty, and the very thought of food made him nauseated.
The priestess in that village told him that Scourge himself had cut down Khal and Lapis as they tried to beg him to spare those in their healer’s tent. Gust squeezed his eyes shut as his breathing turned harsh and uneven.
Oh gods! How could you do this to me?
And how could he be so stupid? All the clues to Lance’s true identity had been there before him, staring him in the face. His only excuse was denial. He hadn’t wanted to know. He hadn’t wanted to consider that such a sweet man could be a monster.
“Gust.”
He shook his head as Kissa put a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t.”
“Hush, baby.” She wrapped her arms around him, and they sank to the floor. She cried with him, rocking them both as he sobbed into her bosom.
When he finally quieted, his throat and eyes ached. He steadied his breathing and continued to clutch Kissa tightly.
“I told Gamall that I want him gone,” Kissa said quietly, though her tone was hard as granite. “He agreed. The council will make sure he leaves by tonight. We should contact the earls, even the queens but I don’t want our jail to hold him. I don’t want him here at all. If I’d known—” She didn’t finish.
Gust closed his eyes. His emotions were more complicated. He didn’t know what to feel or what to do.
“He saved us,” he said, his words barely a whisper. “The earls didn’t. The queens didn’t. He did.”
Kissa stilled and her fingers flexed against his skin. “He is a monster who took my brother from me. Good riddance to him.”
It would be easier if Gust could think the way she did. But he couldn’t forget Lance’s kindness or his touches, or his rare smile. Gust had looked into his eyes plenty of times and hadn’t seen a monster. He hadn’t seen Scourge. Lance had saved him, protected him, respected and admired him.
Gust had never felt so lost in his life, not even after his parents’ deaths.
Kissa left a short time later and Gust changed his clothes and walked outside. He smelled the approaching dawn on the air and crossed his arms over his chest, seeking whatever comfort he could find. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dark, and he suspected he was one of the few still awake.
He noted the smoke near the temple and dragged his feet over to the pyres. He could only stare and regret and mourn. Mandissa and Kurzun said nothing to him as they silently went about their duties. He had nothing to say to them either.
The pyres made him remember his parents, and he finally looked away, his stomach a gnawing pit of grief. He left and wandered aimlessly through the quiet streets until a steady trotting caught his attention. He turned. Though he didn’t smile, some of his grief lightened as Brutus approached him. Brutus nickered and pressed his nose against Gust’s chest, rubbing him affectionately. His tail swished back and forth in happiness.
“Hey boy,” he said quietly and patted Brutus’s neck. “You did really good out there.”
Brutus laid his head over Gust’s shoulder, pushing closer, giving him a hug. Gust clung tightly to his neck. Brutus was divine. How could a divine beast ally himself with a monster?
“Gust?”
Swallowing hard, he lifted his gaze as Lance cautiously approached. He appeared as uncertain and exhausted as Gust. He was clean and wearing a different tunic. What struck Gust the hardest was his shaved face. He was handsome, even a bit pretty. His strong cheekbones and chin were now prominently displayed, and his full lips were drawn in a thin line. The cleanly shaved face also exposed the bruises around his neck, put there by Ulfr’s massive hand.
He moved stiffly and kept his arms close to his sides.
“Are you injured?” Gust asked automatically.
Lance blinked before shaking his head. “A few cuts that I wrapped up. A few bruises. This”—he fingered his neck— “Not bad.”
“Good.”
Silence.
Then Lance’s shoulders slumped and he lowered his gaze to the ground. “You don’t want to be my friend anymore.”
Gust’s stomach knot tightened harder, the pain intense.
Lance sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his neck. “You want me to leave and I understand. I really do. I am… I was Scourge. I can’t change that.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I am so sorry, Gust. I’m sorry I lied and said nothing about being Scourge. I was scared. I didn’t want to lose you. That’s no excuse, I know. And I’m so sorry I brought Ulfr here and that his warriors killed some of your people. I feel so bad about that. Like, physically sick bad. It’s so weird, that sensation. I’ve never felt it before. Not before coming here, meeting you, meeting everyone. I didn’t feel anything.”
Lance turned his attention to the pyres, the smoke still visible above rooftops. Then he met Gust’s eyes, his own haunted and sad.
“Ulfr always told me that my brain was broken. That I don’t think like other people. I guess that’s true. He said it made me strong and made me a better warrior. I don’t know about that. I just know that I feel now. And I feel so bad.” He took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “Ulfr killed that baby and her mom. The ones I told you about, remember? He had his men kill them. The first people I tried to save and—” He broke off and pinched the bridge of his nose. He shuddered visibly and Gust ached to hold him while being repulsed at the same time.
“I want to do something about it,” Lance said, and lifted his head. “About how I feel. I want to help others. I can’t be a healer like you and your aunt but I can protect people. I can use my skills to defend those I used to kill. That makes sense, right?”
Gust nodded silently, overwhelmed and still confused.
Seemingly encouraged, Lance took a small step closer. “I don’t want to be Scourge anymore. I don’t want to hurt anyone like you and those in your town. I’ll go after the other warlords. I’ll make up for what did. I have to.”
Gust stared into those frosty clear blue eyes and didn’t see a monster. No matter how hard he searched, all he saw was a child-like man searching for redemption. A victim in his own right. But those hands had wielded the sword that sliced his parents to ribbons.
Lance reached out and touched Gust’s hand where it lay on Brutus’s neck. Gust jerked back as if it was a snake, and his heart raced as he took two steps away.
Lance froze and the hurt on his face had tears rising to Gust’s eyes.
“I won’t hurt you,” Lance murmured. “I will never hurt you.” He took a shaky breath and spoke louder. “It’s okay. You stay here. You stay with your aunt and your people and heal others. I’ll leave before the sun gets too high. I hope someone will give me some supplies. But I understand if they don’t. I make people sad and angry.”
He nodded as if coming to a decision. His eyes turned blank and no emotion showed in his expression.
“You stay here and be safe. I want you safe and happy. I’ll kill the warlords and their warriors and those that want to harm others.” He stood straight, shoulders back, reminding Gust that he was a half head taller than him. “Goodbye Gust. Thank you so much for everything. I’ll never forget you.”
With that he turned away and Brutus trotted at his side. They disappeared into the darkness. Once they were out of sight, Gust walked in the opposite direction, all the way to a small hill just outside town. He climbed up the grassy slope before collapsing under a large tree that bore the carvings of numerous lovers. His own parents had their names enclosed in a heart near the base. His f
ather had carved it after he proposed to his mother and she’d accepted.
It was the same tree where Gust had spread their ashes.
He lay on his back, resisting the urge to cry. Lance’s words repeated in his head. Gust curled into the fetal position and hugged himself tightly. Lance wasn’t a monster. He just wasn’t. He was a victim. There was something different about his mind but Gust didn’t think it was “broken.”
He continued to lay there as the sun rose. He ended up dozing off for a short time. When he next opened his eyes, the sun’s rays allowed him to watch a spider struggle along between blades of grass.
Lance wanted to make right what he’d done. He wanted to help others. That was noble and good but could he do it? He was weirdly innocent and strangely naïve. Or perhaps he was simply hopeful for the first time in his life and eager to begin his new mission. He was free and able to make his own decisions.
He’d killed Khal and Lapis.
There was no monster in his eyes.
He was a slaughterer of innocents.
He was trained by Ulfr. Victimized by Ulfr.
He’d protected Gust from a bear and from Dakar.
Gust groaned in frustration and grief. He supposed everything boiled down to two questions: what would his parents want him to do and what was he strong enough to do? Lance was a lost man looking for a purpose. He needed help and he needed guidance. He also needed protection for when people found out who he used to be. He needed someone to have his back, a confidant. A friend.
Gust doubted it would be easy to turn Lance into a villain again. Yet he could be manipulated. He could also kill the wrong person if given the wrong information. Gust had heard what Ulfr said to Lance right before his death—that others would spit on him, curse him. That if he tried to play the hero there would be resistance.