Shattered

by Stef M Ensing

  Payton scraped the peanuts toward her with a scowl on her face. “I am not a sideshow attraction.”

  “I never implied you were. But you coming in to show my commander and potentially the Arbiter your skills could go a long way in showing that refugees have talents we sorely need in the guard. It could go a long way in helping me convince them to shorten the year-long restriction on hiring,” Takara said simply.

  So once again Payton was somehow being thrust into the role of example. How did this become her lot in life? Did she really have the right to say no? She knew Isiah and possibly even Samuel would prefer working for the guard over the mercenaries. They had loved their jobs in Aodhan. How many other refugees were being denied?

  “Can my brothers join me?”

  Takara brightened with a broad smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The familiar clang of weapons crashing together was a comfort for him. He relished in it. The motions on the battlefield, the movement on the training ground, it was simple, predictable; elegant in its raw ferocity. Jarrett had known nothing but the blade for over a decade. It had become an extension of him and he could no sooner put it aside than he could his own arm. And joining the city guard to protect the innocent seemed a fitting way to take something that had been born of cruelty and abuse and turn it into something honorable.

  Across from him, Guardsman Kern rushed forward. He easily weaved to the right just as the brown-haired man was about to reach him and slashed downward with his sword. Kern’s parry was barely adequate, managing to come up to scrape blades before the man did a strange stumble to the side. He straightened and glared at Jarrett as though he had tripped him.

  And then, once again, the hot-tempered man was charging. This time Jarrett absorbed his blow with his shield. He was quick with an uppercut that slashed at the opposing warrior, attempting to catch him off guard again. Jarrett was impressed that Kern managed to sidestep to the left, moving just enough that the blade passed inches from his face.

  Quickly before Jarrett could respond, Kern lunged, dropping low to swipe his longsword at his ankles. Easily Jarrett jumped over the attack and bashed the man in the head with his shield. Not enough to truly injure him but enough to bloody his lip. If anything that just enraged Kern further. Now he was getting sloppy.

  Wild movements of longsword and dagger were made, reducing Jarrett to a retreating block; deflecting this way and that, waiting for just the right opening to take Kern down. The unexpected happened, however, when they approached the edge of the sparring ring. On what should have been one of Kern’s swiping uppercuts with his dagger, the man abruptly dropped it and swung his fist out. The action caught Jarrett off guard and struck him in the throat. Gasping for air, he reeled backward.

  “Not so cocky now, are you?” Kern taunted, grabbing his dagger before charging once more.

  Despite being winded and desperately trying to draw breath, Jarrett brought his shield up and let the man slam into it, pushing back against him. He would be damned if he let Kern win with a dirty move. Bracing himself, he threw his weight against the shield and sprung forward. He felt the impact vibrate through him as he thudded against the other guard. They skidded across the ground, barely keeping on their feet.

  The butt of a blade was being pummeled against him over and over but he refused to give in. Letting out a cry of rage he summoned the last bit of his strength and flipped the man over, slamming him into the ground. He pinned him there with his shield, the pointed edges that met in the center pressing into Kern’s throat.

  “Yield,” he snarled in a rough and rasping voice.

  For a moment Kern struggled, tried to squirm free, tried to get his longsword and dagger twisted upright to harm the man atop him but it was quite obviously useless. At long last, he huffed: “Fine.”

  Jarrett narrowed his gaze at the man, assessing whether he would attack if he dared let him up. Slowly, he moved and then straightened, stowing his weapons. Pivoting, he walked to the edge of the courtyard, ignoring the crowd their sparring match had apparently drawn. Gingerly he reached back, touching the sore and throbbing spot. To his surprise, his hand came back bloody. Fucking Kern.

  “You were amazing out there!” Another guard – one of the new ones recruited to help deal with the surplus of refugees – had come up to him, wide-eyed and glowing. He looked at him in distaste but apparently did not sell it enough because the man continued gushing. “You moved so fast, I could hardly keep track of half the moves you did. Where did you learn to fight like that? Did it take long to learn? When did you start training? Can you teach me?”

  “No,” he said curtly.

  Confusion and disappointment intermingled. “No? To which?”

  Glaring at the bothersome man, he repeated himself: “No.” And then moved away, hoping to be free of over-excitable recruits. Something was tickling his neck and his hand went to his head again. His fingers were slick within seconds.

  “You are supposed to be encouraging the new ones, not scaring them off,” a voice from behind him said.

  He glanced over his shoulder and then continued walking. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “That’s why Wendell over there looks like someone kicked his puppy?” Takara said coming up alongside. Shaking her head, she motioned for him to stop. “Let me look at that,” she ordered, using the advantage of the two inches she had on him to force him to hold still long enough to examine his injury. “Damn. I knew I should have called him out when he was hitting you like that. Why didn’t you call the match off? You know in these sparring matches you are not meant to actually injure the other person.”

  “I’m fine,” he said dismissively, shrugging her off.

  “Dragon piss. You’re bleeding like a sieve. I’m starting to think he gave you brain damage,” Takara retorted, trying to get another look.

  “I can take care of it.” It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate her concern. He did. But he did not like being fussed over. And he did not like being touched.

  “At least let me call the healer in to look at it. You’ll be back to shape in a few minutes.”

  This time Jarrett actually turned to look at her, anger flashing across his face. “I will not let that Malvatharian touch me, Guard-Captain. Not even if I was dying,” he spat.

  The dark-haired woman let out a long breath. “He isn’t like what you know, Jarrett.”

  He scowled at her. “All Malvatharians are the same. Slave-owning, egotistical, bastards whose only goal is to see how they can use you.”

  “Jarrett—” Takara started to object but was interrupted.

  “Captain, you have three visitors, ma’am. The Clarks?” a guard from the front post said curiously.

  Takara nodded. “Oh. Yes. Send them in. I—Jarrett we’re not finished!” she exclaimed as he began walking away.

  “I am!” he shouted, refusing to hear another word.

  As Payton and her brothers approached the Guard-Captain she sensed the woman was bothered by something. “Did we come at a bad time?”

  The dark-haired woman turned and gave them a weak smile. “Ah, Payton. Welcome. No, I was just…” she glanced back down the hall she had been staring at and then shook her head before looking back at them, “…preoccupied.”

  “Preoccupation, dangerous pastime,” Payton warned teasingly.

  Takara rolled her eyes. “Come with me.” She led the three of them down another hall and into a large courtyard.

  “Whoa,” Samuel said what they were all thinking.

  The place was packed with pells, obstacles that changed height and terrain, and sparring rings. There were people running laps around the yard in full armor, pairs going at it in the rings, the din of rebated swords hitting the practice pells and dummies. In the center was the prize of the lot, however. Payton was very impressed to see an Absorbe stone the size of a man and twice as thick. The crystalline growth was beautiful in its strangeness, the boxy like formations
and jagged edges of the dark and multicolored stone stretching out. Six mages surrounded it and were practicing their spells and with each attack, the stone would light, veins of vivid blue and green dancing through to the core before fading, soaking the damage and power in and rendering it null.

  This is amazing,” Isiah breathed.

  “We are pleased with our results,” Takara stated. “Not long after Estaria rebelled and changed from the monarchy it was decided the class system would be disbanded as well. When that happened our military across the country changed drastically. Many of our higher officers had bought their commission meaning they had not earned their ranks. Over the last several hundred years, we have worked hard into changing that. No matter who you are, rich or poor, you start from the bottom and work up. It’s your deeds that earn you promotion, not who you know, not the coin you fling about.”

  “Vaelorn could learn a thing or two from this system,” Payton commented earning her a glare from Isiah. “What? Half your headaches were from the asses who bought their ranks.”

  “They were still my superiors.”

  “Not anymore,” she said in a sing-song voice.

  “Face it, Isiah. They were horrible,” Samuel said bluntly. Isiah looked at him betrayed. Payton just snickered. “I have to ask, where in Airelle did you get an Absorbe stone? They are supposed to be impossible to find undamaged since the cataclysm. I thought the frost had gotten to them all.”

  “It was found in the Syleth Mountains, deep in its core and already detached. It was unaffected. As we’re the first line of defense for Estaria, we were allowed to keep it,” Takara explained.

  Samuel was awed. “I’d never thought I’d be able to see one in person.”

  “Go on.” Takara motioned to him. His sapphire eyes were wide as he looked at her in anticipation. “We’ve never hit a maximum on the power it can absorb. Though the highest number we’ve had on it is thirteen. There are tales of the great stone in Kydessa taking a hundred mages.”

  Not waiting for a second longer, Samuel hurried across the room, already unhooking his staff from his back. Payton grinned. It had been a while since she had seen Samuel that excited, that free from worry and sorrow. It was nice.

  Isiah headed over to the sparring ring. He was eager to test what the guard’s skill level was at. He had been hard at training with the Wyverns ever since they joined to prove that his loss had been a fluke. Which it had been. A fluke born out of cheating. Isiah often wiped the floor with the mercenaries and the only challenge came when he was unexpectedly confronted with the cheating ways.

  “No wonder you’re so cocky about your guards. You’ve got quite a set up here,” Payton said, impressed. “I would have loved to have some of this stuff when I was helping train the guards back in Aodhan. Especially those who bought their way in. I could have proven to the local Lord that they were worthless if I could have just run them through that obstacle course.”

  Takara laughed. “I bet you would have enjoyed that.”

  “You know it.”

  “So, where would you like to begin?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Payton dutifully followed Brisen’s path as the woman wove her way through the shadows of the city at night. It had been quite unexpected to get the summons to return to work that evening after a long day of standing around guarding merchants. On the plus side, she had stopped three thieves from making off with the client’s wares which gave her – or technically the Wyverns – a nice bonus. But after the evening meal and while she was sitting on her bed unwinding from it all by sketching random designs in her journal, they were visited by Hitchens – forever Brisen’s personal minion. Only Payton was required. And thus she was trailing after her boss for a job with little details beyond “be there”.

  It was a first, however. Payton had never seen Brisen go out on a job yet. Apparently, the guild leader’s services were much pricier and not many chose to take it. So whoever hired them, paid a pretty penny to be guarded by what was supposedly the Onyx Wyverns’ best.

  Two more alleys and finally they came to a stop. Payton cast a glance at the others who had come with them. Irritatingly none of the other five looked even half as curious as she felt. It took nearly five minutes for something to happen and all it was: a cloaked figure coming forward from the dark.

  “Foscari,” greeted Brisen.

  The woman beneath the hood looked nervous. “Is this them?” her sharp blue eyes were narrowing on the group behind the brunette. “The ones that took down the manticore?”

  Payton stiffened but her reaction was hidden by the night. Brisen however nodded. “Our very own beast slayer,” she gestured, “and then the other three survivors of that fateful day as well. Just as you asked.”

  Foscari just stared harder, specifically at Payton and the claw marks that still stood out on the black leather armor. “Good. I paid extra for the best, you better not have cheated me and stuck one of your others in a cut up uniform just to try and prove yourself.”

  Extra? Payton looked to Brisen. Had the woman been getting extra for hiring her out since the manticore? Was that why there had been a sudden boost in mercantile guarding? The vendors wanted to stick her out in front of their shops like a warning or an attraction, warding off or drawing in visitors? And all this time Brisen had been making money off it while paying her the same. Payton scowled at the thought.

  “Well come on then,” the client demanded as if they were the ones holding things up.

  Following her through the streets, they made it to the far end of the docks, specifically a warehouse that looked as though it had a very well maintained upkeep, though Payton could not recall ever guarding it in the past. Not that she did night jobs very often – she kept busy working with Nyla. Once inside they were waiting in the shadows near a stack of crates.

  “Oh this job feels nice and legal,” she muttered under her breath.

  The minutes ticked by and the client became more and more agitated, wringing her hands together and pacing back and forth. She would peek out from behind the crates into the main part of the warehouse occasionally only to sink back into the shadows when she confirmed no one was there. Payton was beginning to believe the woman was making her more nervous than the waiting. Finally, the sound of a door opening came from the other side of the warehouse. Shapes moved in the darkness and then a man came forward.

  “You’re late,” the woman scolded.

  “I was just picking up insurance,” he said mildly.

  The figures she saw shifting beyond him stepped into the moonlight shining in front of the filthy windows. Their mismatched armor held no clue who they were but the moment Payton saw the ridiculous tuft of fur hanging from each of their belts, dyed black, she knew. The Black Foxes. A rival mercenary guild. Fairly small in comparison and not known for keeping things lawful. Takara had busted them a number of times. Wonderful. This did not settle that uneasy feeling that had crept into her gut about this meeting.

  Foscari frowned. “You don’t need to show off, Herenus. We both have reason to be on guard.”

  She made a snapping gesture to the Wyverns and it took a moment for Anthony to realize she wanted him to drag a crate to the center of the room. After a pointed look from Brisen and a curt nod, he obeyed. One of the Foxes did the same. As if they planned it, the two clients sat down in unison.

  Oh joy. The wonderful art of negotiating contracts.

  The night had been quiet. Peacefully so. Only the creek of the ships at the harbor and the lapping of the waves could be heard as Jarrett and his watch partner Darcy Bennett made the rounds in the docks of the city. It was this reason that the movement at the warehouse in the far end had caught his eye.

  It was probably nothing. Just a stray cat moving about in the shadows, trying to get into the fish barrels stored safely inside. Even so, it was their duty and they headed down the pier, their footsteps seeming loud in the silence of the night. As they approached, Jarrett noticed one of the warehouse do
ors ajar.

  “Thieves?” Darcy questioned.

  “Or an irresponsible manager,” Jarrett reasoned.

  There were no signs of a break-in on the frame itself but a skilled thief might not leave any. Carefully pushing open the door, he slipped inside, scanning the area for intruders. In the center of the room were two people in clear debate with each other. On either side of them were a half dozen armed and armored people looking bored. What had they just stumbled in on?

  Creeping closer, Jarrett hunched down behind some crates. One of the closer band of armed people, Black Foxes –the tail on their belt was a dead giveaway –, glanced behind him, nearly spotting Jarrett but shrugged and went back to dumbly staring off at the ceiling again.

  “…and when would we get payment?” the woman sitting on the crate in the center asked dubiously.

  “Upon arrival. Standard contract,” the man across from her explained.

  “I don’t know. It seems like a lot of risk for something that would lose us everything if we’re caught.”

  “But we’ll become rich if we take this deal. Think of it. The population has exploded since the disaster in Calaphine drove people north over a hundred years ago. There are more and more people everywhere and fewer and fewer resources to offer them. Malvathar needs… “workers”. Estaria has been getting overrun with unwanted refugees. No one will notice or even care if we take a few of them off their hands.”

  Jarrett inhaled sharply and it was only Darcy’s presence by his side that prevented him from immediately charging in. He was making mad gestures to wait. Jarrett did not want to wait, they had enough information. These bastards were planning to set up a slaver operation. They heard it with their own ears.

  “How exactly do you propose we get them on the ships?” hissed the woman. “Any unscrupulous dealings and we’ll get the guard and the capital down on us faster than a griffin on its prey.”

  Fourteen against two. Jarrett had handled worse odds. Granted he had nearly died then but he could manage. Take down every last one of these slaver sympathizers.