A Sellsword's Valor

by Jacob Peppers

  “It’s not about what I want, you fool!” she screeched. “It’s about the world!”

  “Yeah,” Aaron said, nodding and immediately regretting the motion as pain shot through his neck and throbbing head, “and if you believe that,” he said, turning to look at the soldiers scattered among the shadows of the trees, “then I’ve got a potion I’ll sell you. Tastes like water, but it’ll make your dick grow five inches.” The men didn’t laugh, but then he hadn’t really expected them to. For all of their indecision, these men had dedicated their lives to protecting the Virtues, to doing what their leader told them.

  “Listen to me, Tenders,” Tianya yelled, her voice filling the clearing, and Aaron noted by her pained expression what it cost her to speak so loudly while having the Virtue of Perception, “what we do is not about one man or woman but about the world itself. Now, fulfill your oaths and do what has to be done!”

  Through his bond, Aaron felt the minds of the soldiers shift at her words, felt each of them making the decision to follow their leader’s orders.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Darrell said, but Aaron knew, even as the swordmaster spoke, that it was too late. The men had made their decision, had jumped from a precipice from which there was no coming back.

  The man beside him began to raise his sword, but Aaron felt the attack coming, and he was faster. His blow struck the man’s throat, and he felt something crush beneath his fist.

  The man stumbled backward, dropping his sword as he fell, and Aaron scooped it up off the ground, spinning. A crossbow bolt flashed out of the darkness and sunk into the swordmaster’s shoulder, its tip coming out only inches from Tianya’s face. Darrell cried out in shock and pain, releasing the leader of the Tenders as he spun toward the soldier who’d fired.

  There was a frozen instant of confused silence as Aaron and his companions stared at the soldiers surrounding them, and the soldiers stared back. Then, suddenly, the night was filled with a thundering roar louder than anything Aaron had ever heard, and Tianya screamed in agony, falling to her knees, her hands clasped over her ears. Something massive charged out of the night, slamming into the nearest warrior. There was a loud snapping sound as the man’s bones broke on impact, and he went flying through the air, dead before he slammed into the thick trunk of a tree.

  The soldiers had been ready to murder, had been willing to even give their own lives for their duty, but that didn’t stop them from shouting in shock and fear at the sight of the impossibly big, lumbering figure. It stepped into a bit of moonlight, and Aaron noted that there were several large bloody holes in its chest, and one of its hands hung uselessly from its wrist, nearly completely severed. “Son of a bitch,” he said. It’s the same one we fought. But the gate collapsed on it, I saw it. How is that even possible? That fucker should be dead.

  In his experiments while under my father, Co said, Kevlane also learned how to make those he twisted with the Art take great wounds without dying.

  Something you maybe could have mentioned earlier, firefly, Aaron thought. “Darrell!” he shouted. He hoped that the swordmaster would hear him over the tumult of battle as the massive creature waded into the soldiers, flinging them left and right like broken dolls, and seemingly unaffected by the dozen crossbow bolts sticking out of him. The swordmaster turned to look. “Horses!” Aaron yelled. “Get the horses!”

  Darrell gave a nod and vanished into the darkness. Aaron turned to see Wendell struggling with one of the soldiers that had apparently decided to follow his leader’s orders, and never mind the hulking monstrosity killing his friends. Thinking of Tianya, Aaron glanced around and realized that she was gone. “So much for the greater good,” he muttered.

  He half-stumbled, half-ran to where the soldier had knocked Wendell onto his back and was preparing to strike. Aaron didn’t hesitate, sweeping his sword out and taking the man’s head off at the neck in a shower of blood.

  Wendell sputtered, gagging as the blood flew into his face, before he managed to push the man off. “Gods, sir, but you could have warned me first.” He hacked and spat as he rose to his feet. “Damn, but it’s in my mouth.”

  “Sorry,” Aaron said dryly, “next time, I’ll try to let you know before I save your life.”

  “Good,” the sergeant said, nodding, “that’ll be fine.”

  “You two okay?” Aaron asked, turning to look at Leomin and Caleb.

  “F-f-fine,” Caleb managed, and the Parnen nodded.

  Aaron risked another glance back into the chaos, and saw that the Tenders were now working in unison. They got in several good strikes, but the creature didn’t seem to mind, and anyone it laid a hand on was left a battered, broken corpse. There were only a half a dozen of the soldiers left, and the thing showed no signs of slowing. “Alright then,” Aaron said, “time to go.”

  He led them to where he’d seen Darrell vanish into the trees, and they’d only just arrived when the swordmaster returned leading five horses. They maneuvered them out of the thick trees and toward the forest trail, the sounds of men fighting and dying echoing behind them in the darkness.

  On the trail, they mounted their horses. Aaron listened and realized that he no longer heard the sounds of fighting from within the forest. “Shit. Let’s go.” They started down the path at a gallop, Aaron in the lead, Wendell bringing up the rear. They’d been moving for no more than thirty seconds when Aaron heard a loud crack and a massive tree tipped over, crashing down in front of them. He shouted in surprise, jerking on his horse’s reins, and they skidded to stop just in time to avoid charging head first into it.

  Aaron scanned the forest around them, and wasn’t surprised when the creature stepped out onto the trail. Away from the cover of the trees, the moonlight illuminated the path enough that Aaron could see the hulking figure as it walked toward them. Its cloak had been torn off at some point, and its naked chest and back were crisscrossed with old scars and long, jagged cuts that leaked blood, proof of its recent battle with the Tenders. It was bloody and it was hurt, but it was coming just the same.

  Aaron slid from his horse, his wounds still paining him, and pulled his sword, watching the creature approach. “Get back to Perennia,” he yelled to the others. “I’ll hold him for as long as I can. Someone has to make it back, otherwise this has all be—” He cut off at the sound of a shout, and turned to see Wendell atop his horse, charging straight at the creature, the horse’s hooves striking the ground with a sound like thunder. Aaron dove out of the way of the onrushing beast, hitting the ground and spinning to look back. The horse struck the creature with incredible force, and unnatural twisted strength or not, the creature went down beneath its kicking, trampling hooves as Wendell was thrown from the saddle. Aaron stared as the horse brought its legs down again and again on the creature’s chest and face, smashing what was left of the thing’s nose and, by the sound of it, breaking several ribs.

  I’m really going to have to send that stableman some gold, Aaron thought. He was just starting to think the horse would do the creature in, when the monstrosity suddenly reached out with a hand twice the size of a normal man’s and grabbed hold of the horse’s throat. The animal let out a cry, struggling to get away, but the creature strained its massive arms, and the horse flew through the air, striking a tree with a terrible crash. It collapsed to the ground where it lay unmoving.

  Aaron was still staring at the thing lying on its back, stunned, when the sergeant limped toward him, his left leg dragging. His face was twisted in pain but when he came to stand in front of Aaron and speak, his voice was calm enough. “If you don’t mind, sir,” he said, reaching for the sword Aaron still held in his hand, and Aaron let him take it.

  Sword in hand, the sergeant limped toward the creature who was even now trying to rise, but failing due to one of its legs having been crushed by the horse’s hooves. When Wendell halted, standing over it, the creature’s fingers moved sluggishly as if it was trying to reach for him. But apparently, throwing the horse had taken the l
ast of whatever strength it had left, and it only watched him with eyes that, to Aaron at least, seemed all too aware.

  Wendell didn’t hesitate, driving the sword into the creature’s chest. “Die, you fucker,” he said, but the creature’s remaining hand still stirred toward the sergeant. He stepped out of the way of the slow grab, driving the blade into the creature’s chest and stomach again and again. “Die, you fucker!” he yelled. “Die!”

  The sergeant kept at it, and Aaron only watched, saw the moment when the creature finally grew still and the light of life left its eyes, but Wendell didn’t stop, panting as he brought the sword down with all of his strength, over and over again. Aaron heard someone approach and turned to see Leomin moving to stand beside him. “Mr. Envelar,” he said, his tone worried, “perhaps we should let friend Wendell know that it—whatever it was—is dead.”

  “It’s not though,” Aaron said, his eyes going back to the sergeant as he went about his grizzly task, “not to him, anyway. Sometimes, Leomin, defeating the thing that scares us isn’t enough. Sometimes, we need to see it chopped up into little pieces in front of us, to see the pieces burned to ash and scattered on the wind. Trust me on this.”

  The Parnen nodded slowly. “As you say, Mr. Envelar.”

  After a moment, Darrell and Caleb came to stand beside the two of them, bringing the horses with them, and the four of them watched as the sergeant continued driving the blade in. Oblivious—or uncaring—of the blood that splashed onto his tunic and trousers, he began to swing the sword in wide, two-handed arcs like a man chopping wood for his fire. Five minutes later, Wendell stumbled and half-sat, half-collapsed on the ground, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

  “Are you finished, Sergeant?” Aaron asked.

  “Yes…sir,” Wendell panted, “just…wanted to make sure is all.”

  “Well,” Aaron said, “if you’re satisfied, how about we get out of here?” He glanced back down the path leading to Baresh. “That one might be dead but, unless I miss my guess, there’s plenty more left to get the job done, if we hang around long enough.”

  “Sounds good,” Wendell said, nodding as he wiped his arm across his forehead to clean off the blood. The problem, of course, was that he was soaked from head to toe in the stuff. He seemed to strain for a minute, his face twisting with effort, then grunted. “Think I might need a little bit of help here.”

  Darrell and Leomin hurried forward, pulling the sergeant to his feet. The swordmaster was saying something to the sergeant, congratulating him for his quick thinking, Aaron thought, but he was barely listening. He was too busy staring at the dead creature lying in the road, an idea forming in his mind. “Hurry, if you can,” Aaron said, “we’re going to be making worse time on the way back as we’ll be riding two to a horse.”

  Leomin looked up from where he and the swordmaster were helping the sergeant to his own horse. “Double, Mr. Envelar? Then…who gets the extra horse?”

  Aaron gave the man a grim smile, pointing his finger at the massive corpse. “He does.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Savrin woke to a world of pain. His entire body hurt, and he looked down to see that he was lying in a bed. He tried to sit up but groaned, falling back against the mattress.

  “Ah, you’re awake.”

  He turned at the sound of the voice to find the king’s advisor sitting in a chair beside the bed, watching him. The thin man had a slight smile on his face, but there was nothing reassuring about it. “Where…where am I?” His words came out in a dry rasp.

  “A healer’s tent,” Caldwell said. “A good thing too. From what I saw while you slept, you needed it.” The advisor studied him, shaking his head slowly. “You must tell me, Savrin, what possessed you to go after Aaron Envelar and his companions by yourself. A foolish mistake, that.”

  Savrin watched the thin man studying him with eyes that somehow reminded him of a vulture’s, and he forced what strength he could into his voice. “Wasn’t…alone.”

  “Ah, I see,” the king’s advisor said, nodding slowly, “you speak of the experiment, do you not?”

  “Yes,” Savrin managed, “they were hurt, nearly done in. I’m sure it must have taken them after—”

  “It is dead,” the advisor said flatly.

  “Dead?” Savrin said, disbelieving. From what he’d seen, the creatures were almost impossible to kill.

  Caldwell shrugged as if it made little difference. “It hasn’t returned at any rate, and it would have by now, had it been able. I must tell you, Captain,” the advisor said, leaning forward, “the master is not pleased. No,” he said, shaking his head, “he is not pleased at all. Not only did you cause a scene in the city with one of the experiments—experiments the master wishes to keep hidden as long as he is able—but you also learned of the presence of the master’s worst enemies, and chose to take it upon yourself and one other to attack them.”

  “I…I thought—”

  “Oh, never mind what you thought,” the thin man said. “I know that well enough, I believe. You wished to capture them yourself, did you not? Thought that, perhaps, if you should deliver unto the master his worst enemies, then you might be allowed to absent yourself from his service. Might even be able to go to your sister Pella. Isn’t that right?”

  Savrin felt a rush of fear at hearing the cruel man voice his sister’s name, but he did his best to hide it. “There…wasn’t any time,” he said. “They could have left the city or…” he shrugged, unable to think of anything else to say.

  “Captain, Captain,” Caldwell said, shaking his head disapprovingly, “surely, you can do better than that, can’t you?”

  Savrin swallowed hard. “There was another, though. One of the fast ones. It—”

  “Dead,” the advisor interrupted, “found by some sailor out for a late-night drink.” He waved a hand at the alarm on Savrin’s face. “I wouldn’t worry about him—he was silenced, as were those who were present near the western gate when the fugitives made their escape. No, were I you, Captain, I would have some very different concerns. The master is not a man—a god—known for his patience or his mercy, and after the trouble you caused him two nights ago, he is even less inclined to either than usual. In fact, he has asked me to make his disapproval clear to you.”

  Suddenly, Savrin’s mouth was terribly dry. “I can fix this,” he said. He strained once more to sit up, but his body would not obey his commands, and he finally collapsed back to the bed covered in sweat, his breathing ragged. “I can fix it,” he said again, “just…if you’ll just give me time.”

  “Time?” Caldwell asked, as if he’d never heard the word before, “Oh, I’m afraid we are out of time, Captain. You see, Aaron Envelar and his companions have made good their escape, taking—thanks to you—more than a little knowledge of what they will face and, as a result, taking whatever time you might have had.”

  “But…it’s not too late,” Savrin said, “the fast ones—”

  “The ‘fast ones,’ as you call them, are not made to travel long distances, Captain. Envelar and his followers are on horse with a two-day lead. They would not catch them, not before they reached the walls of Perennia.”

  “I’ll take a horse then,” Savrin said, hating the desperation he heard in his own voice. “I’ll handle them myself. If you’ll just let me try to—”

  “Handle them yourself?” the advisor asked, his voice almost kind. “The same way that you handled them at the gate? The same way that wound up with them escaping and you lying in a healer’s bed, too hurt to move?” He shook his head. “No, Captain. The time for such things has passed and, even if you were to catch them, you would not be able to take them. Not as you now are.”

  Savrin felt hopelessness rise in him and, with it, anger. “Well, if you’ve come to kill me,” he said, “then just get it done with. I won’t beg, not for you or for him.”

  “Kill you?” Caldwell asked, his voice shocked. “Why, Captain, we aren’t going to kill you
. A man with such martial prowess as yourself? No, that would be a foolish waste, and my master does not believe in waste.” The advisor paused, his grin widening, and there was something about the expression that sent a shiver of fear down Savrin’s back. “We will not kill you, Captain. But we will make you better. So that, next time, you will not be defeated so easily.”

  Savrin’s eyes went wide. “No,” he said, “you can’t mean…”

  “But I do,” Caldwell said, “and do not look so frightened, Captain. You have always wanted to be the best fighter in the world, have you not? Well, you will not believe the things of which you will be capable, once my master has finished with you.”

  “You…you mean to make me a monster,” Savrin said, his voice low and weak.

  Caldwell rolled his eyes, “Monster, you say. You are to be made to serve, Captain, that’s all. It is an honor. But, alas, as for your belief that you will not beg…I’m afraid that is one promise that you will break. You see,” he said, leaning closer so that Savrin could feel the warmth of his breath on his face, “big or small, strong or weak, they always beg, Captain. Always.”

  “No,” Savrin growled, struggling again to rise. His fear lent him strength, and he managed to jerk himself to a sitting position, but he was forced to pause there for a moment to catch his breath. “I won’t let you do that to me.”

  Caldwell sighed. “Oh, Captain,” he said, “after all that you have witnessed, you still think that you have a choice?” The advisor rose and walked to the door, swinging it open and stepping to the side.

  One of the massive cloaked creatures walked into the small room, having to bend nearly double to make it through the door frame.

  “No!” Savrin yelled, real panic setting in now. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and rose on uncertain feet. “No, gods, please…”