The Alterator's Light

by Dan Brigman

  As if Quint noticed the same, the blade slipped from the man’s face to a low guard stance just as the wind carried the smoke another direction. The blade trailed light through the air, almost as if the blade itself was prepping to scribe a rune. Within a breath, the brilliance emanating from the sword faded and disappeared, while the day’s light overtook the darkness which had fallen over the people. The Guardian breathed deeply; even he had been holding his breath. Stepping back from Quint, he searched the eyes of the other people and turned to see Saen running to the town’s sergeant, who had been cut. He had fallen unnoticed by everyone, and the returning light restored awareness. Saen’s curses, as she kneeled next to the fallen man, could barely be heard over the sudden movement of the other guards while they rushed to her side.

  “He is bleeding out,” she said sharply and began cutting the straps that held the armor in place. The loosened armor pulled away enough to see the arm wound. “Put pressure on his neck! And there!” Pointing to the guard’s armpit, she ripped strips of cloth from her cloak. Her tone offered no room for discussion; two of the still-shocked guards followed her directions.

  Einar turned to the two men who stood staring, then stepped within a few paces of Quint, readying to scribe, the edge of his index finger glowing slightly in preparation. Quint motioned his free hand at Einar to stop. The motion held no force; if anything, Einar thought it held a plea for patience. Turning his gaze to the Guardian, the man looked warily at the two companions.

  “So we have an old man who knows how to manipulate the light, and a foreign Alterator?” Waiting for no answer, Thaos continued, “Do you think catching me admittedly unaware is enough to stop me and the other men in town from continuing our investigation? Your display is trivial, and my jurisdiction is over this entire province.”

  Quint raised his sword slightly, just enough for a reminder. “You do have jurisdiction. But I’m sure the Lord Chancellor would not be pleased to hear his most trusted peace officers threatened lives of the people in this town without any semblance of a trial. I don’t think I need to remind you as to the importance of the grain this area produces. If they can’t trust the Guardians to act civilized, then that means they can’t trust Harsten Tolfrey.”

  Without reply, Thaos picked up his helmet where it had dropped, and then retrieved the swords flung into the dying fire. No one made a move to stop him, and the glow at Einar’s fingers faded away. Thaos held both swords up with practiced ease, and he said, “I will be leaving this filthy town of apparent lawlessness. It is fortunate for you that none of my men witnessed this outrage. I, for one, can maintain my composure enough to know my words will carry more weight than my body.” Pausing, he inspected each blade with no attention to Einar and Quint; the townspeople, once transfixed on the scene, had fled when Saen began uttering curses and the beginnings of Einar’s inscription.

  The Guardian turned without another word and strode away. Einar walked past the downed guard; anyone in his path stepped sideways. The Guardian said nothing; he merely looked ahead, his gaze enough to make a path. Two more town guards rushed to the scene, giving him wide berth. As they reached Einar, they looked past him and moved to their downed companion. Barely hearing Saen’s muttered oaths, Einar could not tear his gaze away from Thaos. The man does not walk; he stalks like a lion readying to pounce.

  “They train from childhood.” Quint’s voice barely registered. Under his breath, he muttered, “That one is particularly old.”

  Einar looked askance at Quint, keeping an eye on Thaos until he finally moved out of sight, blocked by a covered wagon. “I know. I’ve heard all the rumors of their training. If half of it were true, they’d be classified as hired murderers.”

  Quint sighed. “Perhaps.”

  Both companions turned when they heard Saen explaining to the guards how to properly care for the sergeant. The wounds had been wrapped and all five of the guards looked nonplussed at this stranger’s sudden delivery of orders. A round of “yes, ma’ams” caused Einar no surprise, but he had to hold back silent laughter. Quint’s eyebrows rose, either in surprise or confusion.

  “Saen can be rather forward when tending wounds.”

  Quint nodded in apparent agreement. “Let’s get to the Last Hope before it gets too late. Landon may know something about your family.” Before he finished, Quint had already begun leading Slant, and Saen now stood next to Einar.

  “He’s not much for waiting on people,” Saen remarked while offering her canteen to Einar. He poured water on her bloodied hands and she rubbed vigorously with an old rag. Within a few moments barely a shade of redness remained, and Einar capped the canteen before walking toward the inn. The inn had stood upon the river’s bank across from the island mound and had remained the largest in town, despite being built years ago.

  “You lead the way, Einar. I’ve been away from here for too long.”

  Within a few minutes of traveling along the stone roadway, the town’s prosperity became even more plain. All the buildings are as if they had been built in the last year, and the townsfolk offered guarded, yet friendly smiles. Even as the sun traveled nearer to the horizon, stalls remained open with Einar and Saen continuously turning down calls to view goods, trinkets, and fresh meat. When the two finally reached the river, the improved inn came into view.

  “Jandon has been busy. The Pass would have to see twice as many travelers for me to see that type of coin…” Saen said before trailing off to a mutter.

  “What’s that? I couldn’t make out that last part.”

  “What?” Saen looked up at Einar. Curiosity and jealousy flashed, then were gone. “Oh, nothing. Just commenting on the success of my competitor.”

  Einar nodded and barely made out a smile before she strode ahead. Shaking his head, he followed her quickened pace. Walking up the wide wooden steps to the double doors, Saen opened a door. The size of the crowd, all eating and drinking, could be plainly heard. She held the door for Einar to entered. On the other side of the packed common room, their eyes caught their gray-haired companion sitting at the bar, taking a final drink from a glass mug.

  “He even has glass mugs,” Saen said. Einar stood close enough to hear the words, tones of irritation plain.

  Einar leaned over to Saen’s ear and replied, “You have the province’s best inn. And you know it.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Einar picked a path through the common room. Slurred curses followed as he bumped a few patrons who had already apparently had more than even Quint. Taking an empty stool, he caught the bartender’s attention and pointed at what Quint was drinking. Quint nodded in recognition, and the bartender placed two drinks on the highly polished bar.

  “That’ll be two pennies.”

  The man’s two missing front teeth made initial understanding difficult. Quint reached for his pouch and slid two coins toward the man. The innkeeper palmed the coins to underneath his apron into an unseen pocket and moved to help another patron.

  Einar sipped the brown ale and nearly dropped the mug when Saen said, “Seems you’ve lost your manners, old friend.” He glanced behind and the mask of incredulity matched her voice. Muttering an apology, Einar looked around and noticed no empty bar seats. He handed the mug to her and stood. Motioning to the bartender for one additional drink, he watched Saen sigh after taking a long drink moments later.

  Quint turned on the stool, after Einar had taken another drink, and said, “I’ve gotten us a room here for the night.”

  “Thank you,” both Einar and Saen replied. Quint looked at the two before continuing.

  “We may not be able to stay here, though, as I mentioned on the road.” His voice had lowered before he turned back to the bar.

  After Saen and Einar exchanged confused glances, Einar asked, “Why? We just got here. We need a night’s rest.”

  From the corner of his mouth, Quint replied, “Seems that damned Guardian didn’t leave after all. He’s watching the three of us now from near the fireplace. Some
thing else is here, too. Worse.”

  Both companions began to turn, but not before Quint clasped Saen’s arm. “He’s there. Just keep your eyes on me. He seems to not realize I’ve seen him. We have the advantage—” He paused then continued, “—for now.”

  Einar finished his mug in a long swallow and looked around the room for an empty seat. I will relax, even if just for a few moments. Searching without looking at anything or anyone for more than a heartbeat, his eyes soon fell upon Thaos, who sat near the tavern’s fireplace. The man set his own mug down on the small round table. He simply stared at Einar, eyes seething with contempt. Einar narrowed his gaze, then turned to continue searching for a seat. Finding one across the room against the opposite wall, he tapped Saen’s shoulder and motioned to the now-empty table with two chairs.

  She followed Einar to the table. They both sat and waited while a server brought them another round of drinks within a few moments. Einar scooted his chair closer and whispered to Saen, “I wouldn’t drink too much more. We’re going to need to keep our heads. That man is not pleased that we are here.” She nodded and lifted the new mug to her lips. After a sip, she put it back on the table. Einar continued, “He’s waiting for something.”

  Saen occasionally sipped while watching Einar’s stare remain fixed on Thaos’s location. Every few minutes Einar’s focus came back to Saen and a slight, yet saddened smile tugged the edges of his lips upward, then his eyes shifted to Thaos, causing a grim and thoughtful demeanor. The mixed image of a man who hated violence, yet he knew it waited for him.

  This back and forth continued for the duration of her mug’s contents. Farmers and laborers came in and out of the common room’s sole door with no one noticing the palpable tension growing in the Alterator’s face and shoulders. Einar’s fingers flexed around his mug. She dared not turn to examine the Guardian herself, and her growing frustration fell away as the door opened to two additional Guardians. Night had fallen, and other than their tanned faces, the men nearly disappeared as their armor blended into the eternal darkness.

  Both were clad in the same black and heavily polished armor, but with lesser rank insignia. She knew not what rank the insignia represented exactly only that they held a lower rank, which was further emphasized by their much-younger appearance, not yet grayed like their superior. Their youthful faces could not hide their black eyes. Both men’s eyes searched the room, and the dourness tinged a singular tightness which offered no time for anything beneath their notice. Within seconds, they moved in, closed the door, and pushed through the crowd past the two companions, paying them no attention. Einar caught a glimpse of them, and despite the near din of the tavern, Saen heard his long and angered groan, which was quickly cut off by two performers beginning their practice. A guitar and a fiddle’s tuning brought a slight smile to her face; memories of her own place flitted through her mind.

  As the men moved beyond Saen’s sight, someone brushed past her, jostling the remnants of her drink. Annoyed, she began to call out, but noticed that Quint had already reached the door. He turned long enough for Saen to see him glance down toward her lap. His short-cropped gray hair bristled in the firelight, belying his outward calm. She glanced down. A small strip of paper, small enough to fit in her palm, with several barely legible words caused her to swallow.

  Getting transport. Docks soon. Guardians a distraction.

  Saen looked back up. Quint had departed in the scant few seconds and Einar stared at her, curiosity having wiped away nearly all the grimness. Placing the paper upon the table, Saen moved one hand across the table. Seemingly grabbing Einar’s hand in a friendly embrace, Saen carefully maneuvered the paper into his downward palm. Pulling his hand to reach for his mug, Einar glanced at the paper before taking a drink. Einar looked at Saen again and motioned his eyes to the doorway.

  She whispered, “One at a time.”

  He nodded and pointed at her to go first. No time for a debate. Saen stood and walked the ten paces to the doorway. She reached the doorway just as a voice, bristling with hatred and heard plainly above the familiar song Breakers’ Ridge, called out, “By the order of the Xavad Guardians: Einar Amakiir, Provincial Alterator, you are under arrest for the murder of your children and your wife!”

  The crowded tavern’s raucousness shifted to an abrupt silence. The transition stunned even Saen, until one voice replied in kind. A voice—hushed, yet demanding attention—she did not recognize came from a man standing at the table she had left. The voice flowed from her friend’s open mouth which she could only partially see. Nearly all his back was to her, yet she stood in near-disbelief at Einar’s ire.

  “Sao Thaos, you arrest me at your peril. If they are murdered, then I am the one hunting their killer."

  Thaos smiled as if in expectation of Einar’s response. He then raised a hand and pointed before shouting, "Arrest him!"

  Einar replied, simple and with a hint of sadness, "So be it." Pausing for a breath, he continued, "Any person wanting to see tomorrow should leave. Now.”

  Despite the warning, the last word held people in thrall. Einar’s right index finger pointed outward, and the sudden glowing light encompassing his entire finger woke the tavern’s patrons. Chaos erupted—chairs flung backward, boots scraped against the floorboards, and patrons shouted in panic.

  As people rushed past her, Saen could only think, what have they done?

  27 — Flight on the River

  The two Guardians’ eyes fixed upon Einar’s finger before they drew their swords. As the room emptied of patrons, chairs fell and even a few smaller tables hit the floor. Saen stood behind Einar, waiting for his move. Before the two younger guards took another step, the room’s meager light flushed away, and darkness enshrouded everything except the pulsating finger scribing lines in the air faster than Saen could track. Then the finger stopped and within a blink, light blasted outward from Einar’s hand.

  Pressure pushed upon Saen’s eyes as the light reached everything in the room. Blindness came to those unprepared. Cries of pain and alarm filled her ears from the place where the Guardians stood, and she heard herself groaning in pain. She blinked, hoping that would restore her vision.

  “Excellent work, Alterator,” Thaos intoned.

  Saen recognized the voice and grimaced. No hint of pain tinged the Guardian’s words. Arrogance-laced words continued, “But you'll have to do better—”

  She could not make out what else he said. The sounds of a struggle a few steps away blocked out anything comprehensible. Ever-present spots of whiteness forced her to reach for the wooden table they had been sitting at moments ago. She steadied herself. All she could do was listen and hope she did not get attacked. Each noise made her cringe with anticipation of being struck down.

  Scuffling boots. Wordless grunts. A blade slicing through air. Finally, one, and then another body thumped to the floor, causing Saen to fiercely grip the table edge, expecting a blade to connect with her body with each swipe. A fifth swipe of the blade stopped shorter than all the previous, and a familiar cry of pain brought a gasp of shock between Saen’s gritted teeth.

  “Enough!” Einar bellowed. His voice had tinged with desperation and anger.

  Another pressure wave hit Saen with such intensity, she thought her head would implode. Just as she felt a wetness on her upper lip dropping down from her nostrils, the pressure dissipated and blinked away.

  A stifled, “No!” erupted from Thaos just before Saen heard another body fall onto the hard wood. The smell of burned flesh and hair pushed past the blood dribbling from her nose. Spilled ales and wines became plain, as a continuous wheezing and slight footsteps moved closer.

  “You dare not harm a blinded person,” Saen whispered through gritted teeth.

  A brief, gurgling laugh less than a foot away startled Saen. She pushed her fear down and asked, “Einar?”

  “Yes, Saen.” Einar paused. “I'm here.” The wheezing came from him. She could tell now that he stood close enough for the belab
ored breaths to be clearly heard. “Be glad you are blinded, old friend. You'd not like what you’d see.” He stopped and did not offer anything more, other than that incessant wheezing noise.

  A familiar voice from across the room seethed, “What have you done?” Saen stifled a yelp at the voice’s apparent disbelief.

  “Nothing you wouldn’t have done, Quint, if you’d been here in my place.” Einar’s wheezing punctuated through his clipped words.

  “Perhaps,” Quint agreed. Saen heard his boots barely touching the floorboards while he paced closer. “But I’d surely not kill three of Xavad’s Guardians, especially a Sergeant, here in a town, and only if necessary to save my own skin.”

  “Dead?” Saen muttered, her voice aghast She could feel her face drain of color, and she cried out this time when a large hand rested on her shoulder.

  “They are not dead. Just out cold,” Einar began, but a gurgling cough halted his next words.

  “Good,” Quint said. “I saw this place empty of people like a boiling pot dumped over. I figured nothing good could be going on. Saen, take my hand. You both can explain what happened when we’re on the boat. We must move before something fouler than the Guardians finds you.”

  Einar muttered, “What do you mean?”

  “A bastard much worse than these particular men who had been tracking you two. I’ve not seen it directly, but there is something wrong with this place. This town.” Quint glanced down and continued. “If anything, it’s gotten worse with those three out cold.”

  Saen felt a hand, calloused and rough, grab her hand. The hand, despite the firmness, pulled her gently. She heard behind her, “I’m coming. Don’t wait for me.”

  “We’re all going. What’s wrong with you?” Quint asked and stopped near the doorway. Saen felt a draft coming and an emptiness directly ahead. Quint let go of her hand, and whispered, “Stay here.”

  A muttered curse reached Saen’s ears. Still blinking, hoping to restore some vision, she could hear Quint utter another oath before a surprised hiss escaped his lips.