Shattered

by Stef M Ensing

  Takara smiled at them only for her expression to become pensive. “There were several reports about the skill you three displayed during the fight. You were alone against ten men who were larger and clearly more muscular than you and still, you managed to knock down more than half of them.”

  “Might have added another to that list if your men hadn’t shown up,” Payton mumbled.

  “That sort of skill is wasted working at the docks,” the Guard-Captain continued, pretending as if she hadn’t heard Payton.

  “There isn’t much choice in the matter, ma’am,” Isiah said pointedly. “We’ve searched for other employment but in truth, there isn’t much we know how to do besides fight. As you said, we were guards in Aodhan but we’ve been turned away from applying here.”

  Takara looked grim. “Yes. I’m afraid the Arbiter has issued an edict that no refugee is allowed admittance on the guards until they’ve lived in the city at least one year. It’s to protect us from flight risks.”

  “Flight risks?” Samuel questioned.

  “If the turmoil in Vaelorn ended tomorrow, would you return?” she poised. The answer was clear enough and she nodded. “Exactly. The Arbiter does not wish to open the ranks to people who may not have their heart and honor set to defend this city. It is nothing to say that the people we welcome are not skilled and honest. Simply that their ties remain to the land they’ve left rather than the one they’ve come to.”

  “I understand,” Isiah said quietly.

  “I still say that you should quit work at the docks and find a way to utilize what you can do. Hire on with a merchant caravan, become a personal guard to one of the rich from Uptown. It may be difficult to get either to give you the time of day because of what you are but I’d say it’s worth it. If even half of what I suspect is true about your skills, they are too good to be wasted away hauling boxes around.”

  “Thank you,” Samuel said sincerely. “We’ll think about it.”

  “See that you do.” Takara marked something down on the papers in front of her. “You three are free to leave. I don’t want to hear you’re causing any more trouble.”

  “Not even a little bit?” Payton said innocently.

  Isiah yanked her onto her feet. “Ignore her. She doesn’t know when it’s appropriate to joke. We’ll keep in line.”

  Payton let them drag her out of the office but she would swear she saw the woman smile at her before the door shut. “Alright, alright.” She tugged her arm free. “Geeze, if this is what I get for saving your butt, next time I’ll let the bad guys kick it.”

  “Can’t you ever behave?” Isiah scolded as they began to head home.

  “You were the one misbehaving. I was just along for the ride.”

  “You mouthed off in the Guard-Captain’s office!”

  “She liked it,” Payton said dismissively.

  “You… I… ugh!” Isiah threw his hands up in the air, unable to articulate his frustration.

  “I think you broke him,” Samuel said conspiratorially.

  “I know. It was fun. Want me to do it again?” she replied.

  “No, no!” Isiah shouted over his shoulder. “You just be silent.”

  Snickering, the three of them wove through the streets, uncertain if they should head back to the docks or home. Eventually, it was decided home was a better option. Put off being screamed at by Yannis for as long as possible. As they approached the house they saw someone was leaning against it. Someone they didn’t recognize dressed in all black.

  “You’d be the Clark siblings,” the person said instead of a greeting.

  “Can we help you?” Payton asked.

  “Tyler Hitchens,” he introduced as he straightened. “I have an offer for you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Onyx Wyverns, a pretentious name if ever there was one. Probably intended to strike fear into peoples’ hearts or some such deal. They were a fairly run of the mill mercenary group. Meaning they were just lawful enough not to be bothered but not too lawful as to be useless to their customers. A fine line to tread.

  As the Clark siblings were led into the building that stood for the Wyvern’s home base, Payton had to say she was impressed. Granted she had no idea what type of facilities other mercenary bands might have but this one had claimed a large warehouse on the southwest end of the city. What had impressed her, however, was not the size – which indicated a large number of members – but the fact they had a rather thorough training ground that took up the far end of the structure. It made her eyes light up with anticipation and glee. Something that was not missed by their escort.

  “The boss has gone to great lengths to ensure we are the top guild in the city and that we stay that way. Even if it means putting in extra time and occasionally coin to get the right people to come in to sure up our problem areas,” Hitchens explained.

  “And is that why you brought us here? To “sure up” a problem area?” Isiah said a little curtly, still uncertain about the whole situation.

  “They sent people to bring you in because no one could stop talking about the three dock workers who took down Rudy’s gang without weapons.” The voice came from above.

  Turning they found the source above them – the second floor, specifically from a woman on a catwalk that circled the room. A brunette whose curly hair was pulled into a braid over her shoulder, stood with her arms outstretched as she leaned on the banister, staring down at them with a sharp gaze.

  “Those apes relied on intimidation, not skill. They were garbage in a fight,” Payton commented. “If they were the great yardstick you lot are measuring us against, then no wonder you have problem areas.”

  The woman arched her brow at Payton. “Indeed.”

  She briskly pushed off from the railing and walked toward the stairs without another word. As she approached them, their escort had a sort of odd look of pleasure cross his face. Like someone who knew that something epically bad was going to happen and couldn’t wait to watch.

  The brunette came to a stop in front of Payton. “Perhaps we ought to ensure what the Wyverns are investing in is actually worth it.”

  “Maybe we ought to ensure you lot are worth joining,” Payton challenged back.

  She heard Samuel sigh behind her. “She’s going to get us killed. We’re gonna die. This is how we die. Because of my sister’s witty lip.”

  Instead of being upset, a cool smile stretched across the woman’s face and she let out a laugh. “I like a little spirit.” Spinning on her heel, she marched toward the training area.

  The few people who were using the area slowed and then stopped, staring at the group coming toward them. As if they could sense the intensity of the match that was about to go down, they backed away from the ring. The woman ignored the attention they were getting, simply took her place on the left side of the circle painted on the ground and waited, her hands already resting on her spindly daggers.

  “The things you get yourself into,” Samuel muttered under his breath.

  “You think we wouldn’t have had to prove ourselves anyway?” Isiah retorted.

  “She didn’t have to be such a bitch about it,” Samuel grumbled.

  “Least you two could do is root for me for once.”

  Isiah gave her a bored look. “Rah-rah, go Payton.”

  “That’s the spirit,” she said cheekily before moving to take her place.

  There was no count down, no waiting for the other person’s ready, it was like true battle. Before Payton had even fully stepped into the ring, the woman had moved, launching herself across the space at her, swinging the stiletto daggers with alarming speed. If that was the way she wanted to play it… She matched the attack, crossing her blades in an ‘X’ to block and throw her back only to press forward in her own flurry. Back and forth they went, their weapons clanging together, scraping and flying. Ducking and dodging, darting in and out of reach. It was familiar, intricate, normal even.

  And then suddenly it wasn’t. A tiny ex
plosion of light hit near Payton’s feet causing her to stumble. The woman took advantage and swept her blade up. Payton’s dodge was almost too slow and she could feel the rush of air as the blade sped by her face. Then another flash of light, this time Payton spotted the brunette throwing something, a small vial before she was momentarily blinded. Another stumble, another dodge, pushing her further and further out of the ring and toward the obstacle course made of boxes and rope.

  “Blinding me won’t let you win,” Payton snapped.

  “You so sure about that? Seems you’re on the defensive and I am seconds away from disarming you.”

  The woman threw a vial down but Payton was ready this time. She batted it away with the edge of her dagger. It wasn’t quite as successful as she had hoped. In the way that it wasn’t successful at all. Whatever ingredients were within the vial were apparently not meant to be mixed with steel because the moment her blade cracked the glass the liquid exploded. Violently and more vividly than any of the ones before it.

  Payton staggered backward, black spots overwhelming her vision. Not a normal flashbang then. She hit a crate and threw herself to the back of it, uncertain if she was hidden or not. She tried to blink the darkness away but it did not leave. Was she the only one affected? How long would it last?

  “Come out, come out…” the woman said in a sing-song tone.

  She pressed her back to the wood, tilting her head to the side to listen. Being blind didn’t mean she was defeated. Her heart was hammering wildly in her chest, making listening almost useless. Almost. There!

  Payton leapt from behind the crate and swung. She heard a few foul curses and her weapon abruptly hit metal. The hiss of air alerted her the other stiletto was moving and she jerked to block. There was no elegance in these movements. It was awkward and stumbling as she blindly listened to the woman’s steps and how she moved her weapons. It was in one of the uncertain recoils away that her feet tangled with something on the ground. A coil of rope maybe. Payton became unbalanced and stumbled back.

  The force of the impediment was enough to give the woman an opening and she drove Payton backward, slamming her into a crate and forcing her to drop one of her daggers. She tensed, holding firm to her other weapon which blocked the blades intent on coming down on her neck. There was no choice about going after her other weapon. She couldn’t see where it had landed. And the longer she stood like this in a lock the more advantage the woman had. Her fingers fumbled on her bracer, awkwardly trying to find the hilt of her hidden knife while still holding her dagger in place.

  “Do you yield?” the woman asked haughtily.

  The knife slid into her palm and she twisted it around. She pressed back against the stilettos and wiggled her wrist to bring attention to the small knife that was now pointed at the soft spot in the woman’s armor. “Do you?”

  The gamble might have worked if she could have seen the woman’s reaction. Watched her for that split-second that indicated she was going to strike. But without her vision and only having her hearing to guide her, she realized only too late. The pommel of the woman’s dagger smashed into the top of her hand, forcing her to drop the knife. In the same swift movement, the stiletto was back up and now on the other side of Payton’s face, barely blocked by her own blade. Several sharp edges were inching closer to her neck.

  “How about now?”

  Payton huffed. There was no choice unless she was stupidly reckless while blind and, while tempted, she wouldn’t risk it. She opened her hands in surrender, holding onto her blade only by her thumb, knowing if she dropped it she might not find it again.

  The stilettos disappeared. “Well done,” the woman congratulated. “I must say, you lasted the longest of anyone I’ve sparred with. Who taught you to fight blind?”

  Payton lowered her arms. “My father. Who taught you to fight dirty?”

  “The streets,” she replied casually. A blade was pressed into Payton’s hand. Her missing dagger. She was grateful. She fumbled to sheath both weapons. “The black will wear off in a few minutes. If you like I can show you some that last for hours. Special stock, reserved for… specific jobs.”

  Payton did not know how to respond. She had never considered blinding an opponent fair play she supposed, nothing is out of bounds when fighting for your life. “Maybe,” she said noncommittally. “Never said we’d join.”

  “Never said we’d take you.”

  Spots of light were beginning to appear and she could see there was amusement in the woman’s brown eyes. “You hold that much sway? What, if I sass you too much or my brothers don’t kiss your ass enough we don’t get in?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” she said with a smirk.

  Their escort – at least Payton thought that that vague blurry shape was the mousy man who had invited them to the mercenary guild – came forward. “Um, Clarks… I feel like introductions are in order. Meet Brisen. Leader of the Onyx Wyverns.”

  Samuel smacked himself in the face, rubbing it in exasperation when he comprehended who Payton had been mouthing off to not to mention just fought. Isiah let out a heavy sigh as though he had expected this all along.

  “So… lots of sway then?” Payton didn’t know what else to say and humor was the only fall back she had.

  Thankfully it only made the brunette laugh. “Tyler, get the boys sparring with someone. I want to see how they do.”

  Payton was ushered aside and was a little disappointed at how slowly her vision came back. She would have liked to see her brothers’ spar against the mercenaries if only to get a feel for how the mercenaries fought. She could see blobs move around, get a sense of which one was Isiah as he brutally clobbered a sword and shield holder but in truth, she could have been guessing wrong on that fight as more than once the fuzzy shape she thought was her brother had been sent into retreats. Samuel’s fight was useless to watch. It was just lighted. Lots and lots of lights and grunts as Samuel blocked and dodged the assault before bombarding his opponent – she was gonna say it was a rogue – with a flurry of spells. By the time it was over she could finally see again. Samuel had won his fight. Isiah had not. She did her best not to look at her twin knowing any expression she gave would only make him angry.

  “You all did well enough. I see my people did not exaggerate your skill with their idle gossip,” Brisen said as the three siblings came to stand in front of her. “You have a place here if you should wish it.”

  “What exactly would we be doing for you?” Isiah demanded, likely a little gruffer than he intended. “Your… minion was a little less than informative.”

  “Minion. I like that,” Brisen cackled. “We are simple sellswords, nothing more. We hire out to businesses for the most part. Patrol is our primary source of income, warehouses and the craftsman districts who want us to protect their goods either at night or during the day from thieves. Then there are the payroll jobs. Protecting money runs at the end of the day as they are taken to the Vaults. Merchants don’t like carrying that amount of coin without the benefit of knowing they have someone watching their back. Of course, there are the escorts for their caravans as they travel to nearby towns and cities. Add to that the odd protection detail or two in the city for the wealthy when they decide they want to feel more secure.”

  “So…” Isiah suddenly hesitated, obviously realizing what he truly wanted to ask was… awkward to say the least.

  Payton had no such compulsion, if only because Isiah would never shut up about it if they did not find out up front. “So you don’t have any illegal dealings? Smuggling, roughing up folks to get a point across, rob from the rich to give to yourselves and maybe a little to the even richer?”

  Brisen narrowed her eyes at her. There was a heartbeat where Payton wondered if she had finally crossed the line but once again that smile appeared. “You have quite the imagination.”

  “And you didn’t answer me.”

  “We do a job for our client, the legality of it falls on them. We have… come to an understan
ding with the local guard for most of our dealings. So long as we do not cross a certain line, they will let us continue to operate. We serve a need that they cannot fill. And they serve a need we have no wish to fill. We help each other out.”

  It was about what they expected. More or less. The fact that the Wyverns claimed to have some sort of deal with the guard could be verified if Samuel was willing to talk to Darcy. But were they willing to do this sort of work? It was dangerous. Mercenaries had a high death rate due to the nature of their job.

  Payton exchanged a look with her brothers. Two near imperceptible nods – Samuel’s first and then Isiah’s reluctant one later – gave her the answer. She looked back at the brunette and flashed a smile. “As long as you’re not asking us to haul boxes around, I say you have three new fighters.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  True to Brisen’s word most of the jobs Payton and her brothers had to cover over the following week and a half were confined to the city, covering most of the various options that Brisen had described. It was like their new boss was trying to give them a feel for every type of job they would experience – except of course the one that would require more trust, like leaving the city with caravans. In the end, it all sort of bled together by the second afternoon. It was fairly mind-numbing work. More than once Payton wondered if she had made a mistake accepting because standing around waiting for something more interesting to happen was incredibly tedious. Especially since her job was technically to stop interesting things from happening.

  It had been a particularly long day where Payton and her brothers had been sent to oversee a set of shipments that had been scheduled to come in at the docks. After spending nearly twenty minutes of wasted energy and time arguing with Yannis about their right to be there and new purpose, it finally took threatening him to get him to back off and let them do their job, which was three hours of watching crates be hauled off by their former coworkers. Then two hours of watching said crates until they were picked up, then following the wares until the merchant handed over payment. It was the six most boring hours of her life.