A Sellsword's Hope

by Jacob Peppers

  “Sorry?” Aaron said, shocked at the fury and grief roiling in him. “Why would you be sorry? Now, don’t talk like that, everything’s going to be—”

  “It’s…okay, Aaron,” she managed, and she went limp in his hands, and he fell to his knees, still cradling her in his arms. She gave him a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Really…it’s…okay. I will see them again. The Tenders.” Her gaze grew unfocused then, and her smile widened. “My friends.” Then her eyes closed, and the breath left her body and did not return.

  Aaron stared at her in shock. So fast, he thought wildly. One moment, the woman had been alive. The next, she was dead and gone, all her hopes and dreams turned to nothing but ash. A life that had taken years to fashion, made from the experiences and the choices of her past, snuffed out in a second. His jaw clenched, Aaron laid her down gently on the floor.

  When he rose, he did so with fury coursing through his veins, and he spun on the mage, the handle of his sword clenched in a white-knuckled grip. “You bastard,” he growled.

  He charged then, bellowing in rage, his sword leading. The mage moved impossibly fast, dodging the first strikes, but Aaron called on his bond with Co. As he’d discovered months earlier, the power of the bond was muted against another Virtue-bearer, yet still it gave him some sense of the mage’s movements, and his sword caught the man more than once, digging a bloody furrow across one of his arms, a leg.

  Kevlane lost his balance when the blade severed the muscle of his leg, and he staggered. Aaron took the opportunity to lunge forward, impaling the man with his blade. He tried to pull the blade free, but it was suddenly stuck fast, the mage’s flesh reforming over it. Kevlane gave him a grin, then swung a hand. Aaron managed to move to the side, avoiding being struck in the face, but the blow crashed into his shoulder with shocking force, and his hand was ripped away from the sword’s handle as he went flying, crashing into the wall. He felt a rib crack, and he cried out in pain, falling to his hands and knees.

  “So easily is the great Aaron Envelar bested.”

  Groaning, Aaron raised his head to see Kevlane walking toward him slowly, pulling the sword from his stomach as he did. Bastion and Clyde gave a shout and charged the mage from behind. “Wait,” Aaron tried to yell, but the words came out in little more than a rasping whisper, and it was too late in any case.

  Bastion swung his sword at the mage’s back in an overhanded strike, but the mage sidestepped it easily, his eyes never leaving Aaron’s as he swung his arm behind him. The blow connected with the young giant’s shoulder, and he was hurtled back to slam against the wall. His head struck the stone, and he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

  The second Ghost, Clyde, was only seconds behind, but before he could reach the mage Kevlane turned, throwing his arm up in his attacker’s direction. Suddenly, his arm changed, growing by several feet and turning into little more than a spike, impaling the Ghost. Clyde stared down at the limb protruding from his chest with a vaguely surprised, confused look, before collapsing to the ground in a pool of blood.

  A moment later, Kevlane’s arm looked normal again, the only evidence of its change the torn sleeve of his robe. He sighed, looking back at Aaron. “Such frail things, you mortals.”

  “Bastard,” Aaron croaked, staring at Clyde’s unmoving form, and Tianya’s not far away. Both now dead and with himself to blame. With a growl, he rose to his feet, doing his best to ignore the sharp pain from his wounded rib. “I’ll kill you for that.”

  The mage grinned. “You cannot kill a god, Aaron Envelar. You can only suffer his wrath.”

  The others started forward, toward Kevlane, Aaron’s fury at the deaths of his friends mirrored in their expressions—then, the door was thrown open. They all paused, looking to the door to see dozens of Kevlane’s creatures pouring into the audience room. “Oh gods,” Aaron breathed.

  “That’s right,” Kevlane said, his grin widening. “Did you really believe you would be able to come into my castle and defeat me? And did you, in your foolishness, think Savrin was the only one of his kind? Your friends will die here, and you will be able to do nothing but watch. And once they have died, I will see to the others who assault the city’s western gate. Your woman is there, is she not? Oh, but I will bring such suffering upon her that you will wish to tear out your own eyes, having seen it. She will die, Aaron Envelar. All of those you have come to love will die and only then, only when you are nothing but a weeping, despairing wretch, will I end your life.”

  Aaron felt the fury build in him, fury borne of his bond with the Virtue and of himself, rising and rising until it seemed as if it would consume all that he was, all that he had ever been, replacing it only with an unquenchable blaze that would devour everything in its path.

  Aaron, a voice said into his mind, you must not. You cannot beat him, not like this, you—

  But Aaron wasn’t listening. There was nothing but the anger now, he was the anger, and with a shout of rage, he charged.

  ***

  Leomin watched, stunned, as Aaron rushed at the mage, rolling and retrieving his sword before continuing to charge, his blade weaving a net of steel. Yet, for all his skill and speed, the mage was faster, and what wounds the sellsword managed to inflict healed practically instantly. He looked back to where the creatures were surrounding him and the others. Two dozen, at least.

  Leomin reached out to them gently with his charisma Virtue and saw, as he’d suspected he would, that though there might be enough of their humanity left to remember their training, there wasn’t enough for him to exercise the power of his Virtue. What am I doing here? But he knew the answer well enough. He glanced to the side where Seline held a blade in either hand, her lip curled into a silent snarl. He loved her. It wasn’t an easy thing for him to admit, even to himself, but it was true anyway. He loved her, and now they were both going to die.

  He’d spent years jumping from one bed to another, from one woman to another, and now that he had finally found one that meant more to him than just a night’s entertainment, he was going to die. She was going to die, and there was nothing he could do to protect her, nothing he could do to save her or anyone else. Leomin had always prided himself on his ability to find satisfaction in even the darkest of circumstances; he was a man who smiled and laughed often, so different, in so many ways, than the rest of his subdued, quiet people, yet a product of them nonetheless. His life, he knew, his outlook on the world, was a rebellion against the cold, pale way in which most of his people lived. Yet, this had always seemed a rebellion worth fighting, one that, in the end, he was destined to win. He did not think so now, and for the first time since he was a child, taken into the care of the priestesses, Leomin the Parnen felt despair.

  I am sorry, Leomin, Aliandra said into his mind. For so much…I am sorry.

  As am I, Aliandra, he thought back as he drew the sword he’d been given. It felt strange in his hands. Wrong. He had been called many things in his day: Leomin the Scoundrel. Leomin the Bold. The Clever, the Fool. But Leomin the Warrior? No, that he was not, and the blade he held seemed to know it. “Seline,” he said in a whisper, turning to her. “I just…I want to tell you…I—”

  “No,” she said in a tight, desperate voice. “No, Leomin.” Her eyes met his, and he saw tears gathering there, felt his own heart cry out in answer. “You can tell me whatever it is you want to say,” she continued, “but…after.”

  Leomin swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “Very well, my lady.” And with that, he turned back to the creatures and his death. I love you, he finished.

  ***

  Caleb’s hands shook with fear, and the blade he held—a small but sharp knife Seline had given him—nearly fell from his sweaty grasp. It was not fear of pain or hurt that grew within him, robbing him of his strength, for in his short life, he had known much pain, much hurt—his mother had seen to that. Instead, this fear was one of failure, a fear that, no matter how hard he tried, it would not be enough, could never be enough
.

  We only do what we can, young one, Palendesh said, and there was a deep, abiding sadness in the Virtue’s voice.

  And if it isn’t enough?

  You ask for an objective answer to a subjective question, Caleb. Whether or not your contribution is “enough” is not based on the outcome, but on your own view of that contribution. The glory comes not from victory but the attempt.

  Which is to say we’ll die. As Tianya did. The thought made tears well in his eyes. He had tried so hard to save her, had saved her, yet she had died anyway and for nothing.

  Not for nothing. Never that. And all who live will die, Caleb. It is a contract made as soon as we enter the world, one signed without our consent. Still, do not despair, not yet. We might still have a few surprises for these abominations. Now, concentrate. See them, young one.

  “I’m already looking at them,” Caleb said in a harsh whisper, and Gryle put a hand on his shoulder in what was no doubt meant to be a comforting gesture. Caleb gave him a smile—a weak, frail thing, but the best of which he was capable.

  I did not say to “look,” the Virtue answered, taking on the tone of an annoyed tutor. I said to “see.”

  Caleb let out a heavy sigh, peering at the creatures once more as they surrounded him and the others. Then, suddenly, something seemed to click in his mind. He watched the creatures moving, and in their movements, he saw puzzles, riddles and, what’s more, he saw their answers. A slight shifting of a leg, an imperceptible tilt of the hip, to carry them in the direction they would go—the direction they must go.

  Very good, the Virtue said. All of nature—men included—abide by laws, young one, and it is only the ignorant who believe in randomness, in chance. The rules are there—they always have been. It is only for us to see them, to understand them. And, understanding them, to use them to our advantage.

  But they’re too fast, Caleb thought back, doubtful and scared of the small bit of hope flickering inside him. He had seen their speed before, after all, when they had fought the creature at the gate, and he had been little more than a blur of light and shadow.

  They are fast, the Virtue agreed, yet even they cannot move as fast as you can think. Tornadoes, lightning strikes, these are fast, yet even they might be avoided, if one only knows how.

  Avoided, Caleb thought, but not defeated. Still, the blade seemed to fit better in his grip than it had. Suddenly three creatures charged forward, and Caleb’s mind studied them with a speed of thought he had never felt before. Three. Seline rushing forward to meet the first one. The second going for Gryle. That left the third, rushing at him now. His mind caught details, processing them faster than he would have thought possible. Sword held in left hand. Eleven steps would bring him within striking range.

  And based on the angle of the sword, which telegraphed the sweep of it, he knew well what shape that attack would take. The thing was fast, as he’d known it would be. And that’s what he counted on. The moment before he judged the creature would strike, Caleb leapt to the side, in the direction of the one charging Gryle. His attacker’s sword chased him, reacting as he had known it would. Normally, Palendesh was right—the mind was always faster than the body—but Kevlane’s creatures had little mind left, and so the blade chased Caleb who rolled past its comrade, and the sword took Gryle’s attacker in the side.

  Guided by the creature’s speed and strength, the blade bit deep, and Gryle’s attacker was nearly severed in two before it collapsed to the ground. Caleb rolled to a stop, spinning in time to see the chamberlain’s eyes go wide in surprise, even as he stepped forward and brought the chair he’d grabbed down on Caleb’s attacker as it tried to free its blade from its comrade. There was a crunch as the creature’s body broke beneath the chamberlain’s blow like a stack of kindling, and Caleb turned away in time to see Seline meeting her own opponent head-on.

  They moved in a blur, their strikes so fast that even Caleb’s Virtue-enhanced mind had difficulty following them. Seline was faster than Kevlane’s creation, yet its prodigious strength meant that she had to dodge rather than parry, and when she finally buried her blades in the creature’s neck, ending its life, Caleb saw that she was panting and sweating heavily, her eyes wild around the edges. He also saw, with surprise, that there was a streak of gray in her hair, one that had not been there before.

  Some small, rational part of his mind acknowledged that, though Kevlane was a monster, he wasn’t wrong. The Virtues were killing him and the others. And the more they used the powers of their bonds, the quicker that death came. It was not the Virtues’ fault, no more than it was the fault of a rock when, caught in a land slide, it crushed some unsuspecting victim, but that didn’t change the truth of it.

  You can leave them, you know.

  A voice in his head, not Palendesh’s, not this time, but the other, as if Caleb’s thoughts had summoned him. They will lose—surely, you must see that much, at least. There was no emotion, no inflection in the voice, as if the speaker didn’t feel one way or the other about what he said, and was only stating an obvious truth.

  You don’t know that, Caleb thought back, shaking his head furiously, as if the simple gesture might banish the voice, but it did not.

  Don’t I? the voice, his voice, responded. Look around you, boy. Use the knowledge you have and see.

  Caleb did so, reluctantly. Aaron was battling with Kevlane, and though the sellsword fought with more skill and fury than he had ever seen, inflicting wounds on the mage despite his greater speed, it didn’t seem to matter, for each wound healed instantly as if it had never been. Caleb turned away, pointedly avoiding Tianya’s body, to see Seline panting, standing over her opponent’s corpse. No sooner had he turned to her than he picked out one of the creatures preparing to rush forward, but not toward the woman. “Leomin, watch out!”

  The creature moved in a blur, racing toward Leomin, its sword raised. Seline noticed as well, and suddenly she appeared beside the Parnen, knocking him aside and bringing her blades up in time to parry. But for all her speed, the creature’s attack was driven by a strength no mortal could hope to match. Seline screamed in shock and pain as she was thrown backward, tumbling across the ground until she finally struck the wall and lay still.

  With a shout of anger, Leomin stepped forward, driving his sword into the creature’s heart. The creature’s body tensed in shock and surprise, and when the Parnen pulled the sword free it fell dead at his feet.

  You see? the voice asked. One is dead, yet what difference does it make? There are more, too many more. To stay is to die—there is nothing you can do to help them. But with your gift, you might find a way out. A small chance, but better than none.

  Caleb rubbed at his head furiously. “No,” he whispered, “I won’t leave them. I won’t.”

  Then you will die

  “Then I’ll die,” he growled, turning to face the remaining creatures.

  ***

  Anger burned through Aaron, a living, hungry beast, and his sword flashed left and right, the power of his bond anticipating the mage’s attacks. Yet even as he fought, he knew he would lose, for the strength his anger had given him was not limitless, while the mage’s ability to heal from the wounds he inflicted seemed to be.

  He saw Seline hit the wall, saw her fall limply to the floor, unconscious, and despair threatened to overcome him. Tianya dead, and Seline out of the fight. That only left Gryle, Caleb, and Leomin to face the dozens of remaining attackers. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

  Aaron renewed his efforts, driving forward and plunging his sword into the mage’s stomach. Kevlane grunted as the blade went in, but a moment later the sound turned to a slow laugh, and before Aaron could retract the blade, the mage grabbed him by the shoulders, lifting him from the ground effortlessly and carrying him backward to slam him against the wall. Aaron’s wounded rib screamed in protest even as fresh agony roiled through his back at the impact. When the mage let him go, he collapsed to the ground, wheezing.

  Kevlane took a
step back and grinned as he pulled Aaron’s sword free of his chest and tossed it aside. “Do you see, Aaron Envelar?” the mage said. “Do you see what you have brought on yourself and those you love?” He pointed to the three remaining Virtue-bearers, surrounded by his creatures. “They will die, and they will do so in pain, and in their last breaths, they will curse you for bringing their deaths upon them.”

  Aaron growled, trying to rise, but his battered muscles refused to obey his commands. “I’ll…kill…you,” he hissed.

  “Oh?” the mage asked, laughing. “And how will you do that, I wonder? It seems to me you cannot even stand.”

  Despair settled over Aaron then, pouring over him and quenching the fire of rage, sweeping away hope in its wild torrent. He had failed. And because of his failure they were all going to die. Leomin, with his easy laugh—he was not laughing now. Gryle, the chamberlain who had been practically scared of his own shadow when they first met. Now, he had found his courage and, in finding it, he would die. As would Darrell and May, Adina and all the rest. They had counted on him, trusted him. And he had failed. Even with the power of the Virtues of Compassion and Will, he was not enough. He had never been enough, and he had been a fool to think otherwise, a fool to think one person could make a difference.

  You’re wrong, a voice said into his mind, and he recognized it as that of Aaron Caltriss, the long-dead king. Even a single stone might start an avalanche. You can be that stone, Aaron. You must be, for there is no other.

  But how? Aaron thought back, desperately.

  A question I asked myself when the barbarian kings marched on my city. It is for this reason we began the spell, Aaron Envelar, the incantation that ultimately created the Virtues.

  “But what difference does that make?” Aaron demanded. “The spell failed.”