Fire and Fantasy: A Limited Edition Collection of Urban and Epic Fantasy

by CK Dawn

  Mentally Marcus had already memorized the pattern and his own blade was already making its way into a low guard, ready to block the inevitable strike.

  Dariyen saw the premature move and instead dropped his wrist and brought his blade across his opponent’s chest. Elaina's eyes went wide as she watched the steel blade cut through the air.

  Marcus saw it too and knew he would never get his blade back up in time. Taking the only option available to him, Marcus dove to the ground. Dariyen followed him across the arena, continuing his assault without mercy. Marcus managed to stay just outside of Dariyen's reach and sprang back to his feet, but Dariyen was on top of him moments later.

  Marcus recovered and batted away the next blow. With Dariyen off-balance and on the attack, Marcus changed his tack, launching forward with a thrusting strike that threatened to impale his foe.

  Dariyen saw the blade dance toward his stomach. With dizzyingly quick footwork Dariyen sidestepped the strike, but rather than stepping away, he pressed his advantage and stepped into his foe.

  Marcus attempted to redirect his blade, hoping to catch his opponent with the edge of his broadsword, but Dariyen was quicker, bringing his blade down on his foe. Dariyen's blade found the exposed skin at the back of Marcus’s neck but the guardsmen stopped short of inflicting the wound.

  Dariyen had the Listarii heir dead-to-rights. It was apparent for all to see. All eyes were fixed on the duelists in the center of the arena, awaiting Marcus's response.

  The heir to the Listarii dropped his weapon and raised both hands. “I yield.”

  The arena erupted into applause as the citizenry cheered their new champion. Marcus recovered his blade and sheathed it before bowing to his opponent. Gracious even in defeat, Elaina thought. It was a rare trait, particularly in the nobility, whose spoiled children tended to become unbearable when they didn't get their every whim. Elaina found herself more impressed with the young man each time she encountered him.

  As the crowd cheered, Lord Alford of the Tanamere made his way out of the palatial pavilion, past the guard and onto the stage. In one hand he held a tightly rolled scroll, in the other a pouch. Raising his voice Alford called out over the crowd: “Dariyen, on behalf of the King's Council we present you with your winnings.” Handing the scroll to the young man he continued, “And your commission in the King's Guard. Should you choose to accept you will be expected to report the day after tomorrow. You will of course be released from your current post in the watch, and be reassigned permanently to the King's Guard.”

  Dariyen bowed as he received the scroll, his grin spreading from ear to ear.

  “And of course your one hundred gold pieces. Spend them as carefully or as frivolously as you wish. Just remember, if you wish to join the King's Guard you must still be able to stand come the day after tomorrow.”

  The crowd laughed riotously as Lord Alford handed the youth the pouch containing the gold and slapped him on the back. “Well done, m'lad—you've earned it. Don't spend it all at once.”

  “I won't, milord,” Dariyen whispered, taking the advice to heart as he hefted the weight of the pouch. Spent well it was enough gold to change his life forever.

  The nobility stood and were ushered out of the arena ahead of the throng of commoners. Marcus and Dariyen followed close behind. As finalists they would be permitted to eat with the King's Council at the Midsommer's banquet, an honor Marcus would have enjoyed regardless, but for Dariyen it was the opportunity of a lifetime.

  As the masses began to file out of the arena Elaina glanced at the throng of people swarming the grand stands. I could wait, Elaina thought. But why bother? With a thought Elaina assumed her Astarii form and rose out of the arena. The look of shocked confusion on the face of those surrounding her brought her great amusement as she soared out of the arena and into the sky.

  Four

  Marcus and Dariyen became fast friends at once. Something about the guardsman that put Marcus at ease. In spite of his newfound status, the champion didn't gloat in the least. Marcus soon found Dariyen’s wit was as fast as his footwork and the pair laughed their way through the Palace.

  A lull between the Tournament and the banquet that followed time allowed the two duelists to get better acquainted but also found the idle youth with time on their hands. After almost an hour in the Great Hall they were looking for diversion. Marcus declared, “Dariyen, I'm glad to have met you. I couldn't have lost to a better man, but right now I'm growing a little weary with waiting. I have half a mind to slip into the city and start this evening’s festivities a little early. Are you with me?”

  The champion glanced about, seemingly worried that someone might overhear their conversation. “I don't know if we should, Marcus. The chamberlain told us to wait here until it was time to change.”

  “Indeed he did, Dariyen, but as you can well see, they haven't even begun serving the drinks here yet, whereas down in the town the ale will be flowing like a river and the festivities will already be in full swing. I say we should join them—there will be plenty of time for us to have a drink and still be back in time for the feast. What do you say?”

  “Mmm . . .”

  “Let me paint you a picture, Dariyen. Right now you are the most eligible man in all of King's Court, you are the young and dashing Champion of the Tournament. Your pockets are full of gold and your future is bright. Beneath us is a city full of women ready to throw themselves at you in the hopes you will catch one of them and whisk her away to a better life. Don't waste these moments. They will pass before you know it.”

  Dariyen's face lit up. “You're right—it would be a shame to while away these hours in the Hall.”

  “Exactly,” Marcus replied, throwing an arm around the guardsman as he steered him out of the Great Hall and toward the Palace gates.

  The King's Guard paid them no heed as they passed, their duty being to protect the Palace from incursion, not prevent two wandering boys from escaping the studious chamberlain and his feast preparations. In moments the two were descending the large stone steps of the Palace and running for freedom across the courtyard.

  Once they were clear of the Palace walls, the youths slowed their pace. Marcus reached out a hand to stop Dariyen as he caught his breath. “So. . . where's the best place to get a drink in this town? You've spent a lot more time here in King's Court than I have—lead the way.”

  “The Golden Galleon is as fine a place as any—it's in the docks district but its drinks are a cut above what can be had elsewhere in the city. Occasionally they'll break open a cask of Tanameran wine or some mead from Khashish. If trade has been good we may even luck into a Dwarven ale. Have you ever had Dwarven ale, Marcus? It goes down like honey but hits you like a stampeding bull. On second thought, it's probably best we avoid it until after the feast.”

  “Perhaps you're right, Dariyen, I'm not much for dancing at the best of times. A bit of that ale and I'll be completely worthless.”

  “Dancing?” Dariyen asked, his face aghast. “They aren't going to make me dance, are they?”

  Marcus laughed heartily. “Why, Dariyen, my friend, you are going to be the most eligible man in the room. I'll be surprised if you manage to sit out a single waltz.”

  “Don't say that Marcus—you're beginning to make me wish I'd lost this morning.”

  “Oh don't be a wet rag, Dariyen—there are worse things in life than being paraded around the room by beautiful women.”

  “Is there anything you won't do for a beautiful woman?” Dariyen asked, his eyes narrowing.

  Marcus’s eyes narrowed as if he were considering the question earnestly, but instead he burst into laughter. “No, Dariyen, there isn't much I wouldn't do for the right woman. They bring color and excitement to the world and beauty to the moment. Don't while away your life without the presence of a good woman.”

  Dariyen considered the advice. “Indeed they might please me, but today is my day, Marcus, and it will be a good ale first and a woman second.”
<
br />   “As you wish, my friend”—Marcus laughed and swept his hand before him—”lead on. The city awaits.”

  Dariyen took Marcus through the city, toward the docks district. King's Court rested atop a series of cliffs overlooking the boundless sea. The port had been built around a large natural harbor, and the rugged cliff walls made the city all-but-impossible to enter, other than by the harbor. The districts around the wharves were largely commercial districts or storage for the merchantmen who ran their goods through the busy port. The docks district was separated from the city itself by a long winding pathway that rose from sea level to the city proper, built high atop the cliffs.

  The separation also served to keep the peace, as the town watch could confine the rowdy sailors to the docks district and limit their impact on the capital itself. Sailors were happy to carouse freely without the weight of the town watch descending on them at the first sign of a ruckus, and the citizens of the city enjoyed the buffer between themselves and the seedier aspects of society.

  As the pair descended the cliff road Marcus drew nearer to Dariyen and spoke quietly: “Don't look behind us, but it seems we've attracted a few friends.”

  “What do you mean, friends?” Dariyen asked, fighting the urge to turn around. The pair continued to make their way down the cliff road toward the docks.

  “A pair of thugs have been following us since we left the Palace. At first I thought it was a coincidence but these two won't quit. Either they have decided they wish to get a drink at the Galleon as well or they are following us.”

  “Friends of yours?” Dariyen asked.

  “I doubt it. I've never seen them before. Pretty sure I'd remember a face like that.” Marcus answered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The big dopey-looking fellow looks like his nose has been broken a few more times than he would have liked. Come to think of it, his whole face looks like it's taken a bit of a drubbing. Ring any bells?” Marcus asked.

  “Not particularly—that could describe almost any of the enforcers that work the streets of King's Court. They are a rough-and-tumble sort—the kind you civilized folks would rather avoid.”

  “Enforcers?” Marcus asked, a little confused.

  “They do the grunt work for the gangs here in the city. You have the Devils of the Deep who run the docks, the Sewer Rats who run the poorer districts, and the Cobblestone Crew who run most of the higher end of town—mostly brothels for the aristocracy. Rich folks don't like to dabble with the peasants, you see. These boys could work for any of them. Beyond that, anyone with a bit of coin can hire some muscle here in the city.”

  “Would any of them want to cause you harm?” Marcus asked.

  “Why do you assume it's me they’re after?” Dariyen demanded.

  “Shhh! They'll hear you,” Marcus replied. “First and foremost, because they've been watching you the entire time—the big one's been sizing you up like a prize ham, and I'm not sure if he wants to eat you or knock your teeth out. Second, I'm Marcus Listar, and while many a fool has wanted to tear my head off my shoulders, there isn't an imbecile on this island that would be willing to risk my mother's wrath to do it. If there is I haven't met him yet.”

  Dariyen nodded. Amarisa was a formidable woman whose reputation preceded her. Even with her husband's passing she had maintained the Listarii's status with an iron will. Those who had sought to take advantage of her husband's untimely death were still licking their wounds. “What would they want with me? I'm in the Town Guard. Nobody wants conflict with the Guard. It's bad for business.”

  “All the same, it seems they've got a bone to pick—what do you want to do?”

  Dariyen thought about the predicament. Having reached the base of the cliff road, they could continue on to the Golden Galleon knowing that these two might be waiting for them when they emerged, or they could confront the thugs now and deal with them. If there was going to be a brawl Dariyen would rather it take place before he'd drunk himself into a stupor.

  “Follow me, there are enough warehouses and alleys around the docks, we could get lost for days if need be. We’ll have a chat with our friends more privately.” Dariyen spoke softly as he darted into the alley.

  The two made their way deeper and deeper into the maze of alleys. Eventually ducking behind crates that had been neatly stacked along the edge of the warehouse, then waited. Soon enough the two men appeared . Convinced their quarry was near, they made picked up the pace.

  The thugs breezed straight past the crates and the concealed youth. As the second passed them Dariyen stuck out his leg, tripping the burly man. He stumbled and plowed roughly into the cobblestones. Cursing heavily, he tried to get to his feet only to find Dariyen's sword at his throat. At the commotion his companion turned and came face to face with Marcus, who also had his broadsword raised threateningly.

  “Now gentleman, would you mind explaining why two upstanding citizens such as yourself are following a member of the Town Guard through the city. While not a criminal act in and of itself, it certainly raises a few suspicions.”

  “Just hand over the gold and we'll be on our way,” the thug who was still on his feet replied, with scant regard for the sword point dancing mere inches in front of him.

  “The gold?” Dariyen asked, feigning ignorance.

  “The winnings from the Tournament. We know you're carrying a hundred pieces—now hand it over and you can go about your business.”

  “Oh, so you know who we are, and you were still dumb enough to try to rob us?” Marcus chimed in. “What sort of imbeciles try to rob a pair of master swordsmen? Have you no regard for your own lives?”

  At that the men laughed. “We work for Khazim,” one said, “and he doesn't give a damn about our lives, but more importantly he doesn't give a damn about yours. Now hand over the coin and be on your way.”

  “They're brazen, I'll give them that,” Marcus answered. “With our blades at their throats, they are still determined to rob us.”

  “That's because there are a lot more of us than there are of you,” the man responded. For the first time since they had cornered the thugs Marcus scanned the alleyway. Approaching fast from tone end of the alley was a handful of brutes drawing arms to aid their fellow thieves. From billy clubs to brandished blades, it was an imposing sight of skin and steel.

  “Thoughts?” Marcus asked nervously.

  “It's them or us.” Dariyen declared. “Kill 'em or maim 'em, it's your choice, but if it can swing a blade when you’re done you've stopped short of the goal.”

  Hearing the declaration the man on the ground tried to rise and was rewarded with Dariyen's sword in his chest. His companion perished moments later as Marcus ran him through.

  The two youth scanned the alleyway, and finding no alternative, Marcus shouted, “We're better off taking them a group at time!—Don't want to get caught between them. If we are lucky we'll break through before the others catch up with us.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Dariyen replied as he began running deeper into the maze of alleys.

  “Who's Khazim?” Marcus asked as he tried to keep up.

  “He's a moneylender, one of the worst in the city.”

  “Business must be bad if he's turning to petty theft,” Marcus replied.

  “A hundred gold pieces is a lot of money, Marcus. it's enough to make them stupid.”

  “Speaking of which, you left yours in the Palace, right?” Marcus asked.

  Dariyen shook his head. “Like I said, enough to make men stupid.”

  Marcus couldn't believe his ears. The news gave them all the more reason to try to escape. For a hundred gold Khazim's thugs would slit both their throats simply to ensure there were no witnesses.

  The pair rounded a corner and came face to face with more of the thieves. The heavy footfalls of the approaching thugs drowned out all other attempts at communication and the duelists were soon thronged and fighting for their lives.

  Marcus ducked underneath a billy club
aimed for his skull and delivered a wicked slash to the man's midsection before stepping past the man as he crumpled in a heap. Moving on, the youth batted away a short sword and ran its owner through.

  Marcus sneaked a glance to his right and could see that Dariyen was true to his word. One thug lay clutching at his throat. Another lay on his side, blood pooling from a wound in his chest while the guardsman ran a third thug through.

  Together, the pair were a whirlwind of death and soon the alleyway was littered with thieves. Some were dead, others dying, but still they pressed on. Who is this Khazim that these men fear him more than us? Marcus wondered. Surely there are easier ways to make coin in this city.

  Just as their ranks were beginning to thin, the thugs trailing them reached the fray. With foes in front and behind the dangers multiplied. Stepping outside the thrust of a dagger, Marcus struck with fury, catching the man just above the hand and severing it completely. The thug howled in pain but Marcus delivered a savage kick, knocking him to the ground.

  Dariyen was moving swiftly through the pack. By keeping on the move he was striving to use the weight of numbers against them. Where trained soldiers were used to fighting in formation and could use their numbers to their advantage, street fighters seldom had the same discipline. Instead the brawny thugs would get in each other’s way more often than not. The lack of discipline allowed the duelists to deal with them one or two at a time and prevent the attackers from truly bringing their numbers to bear.

  Dariyen knew that to stop moving was death. As soon as the men could pile on top of them there would be no space to fight effectively. Marcus tried to follow the guardsman's movements as best he could and another thug fell, his knife little match for Marcus’s longsword.

  As the man fell Marcus, heard a heavy thud and saw Dariyen arching backwards in pain. One of the thugs with a club had finally caught up to him and, from the look of things, delivered a bone-crushing blow to the guardsmen's back. For Marcus the world seemed to slow as he watched. He was helpless to intercede as the throng of men was simply too thick to break through. One drove his knife straight into Dariyen's chest.