You Can't Avoid A Little Blood

by Philip Norris

  Boskags shook himself, a cold feeling growing in the pit of his gut. The A’yai may have been strange, inhuman and cold but they paid well and didn’t interfere too much in how he conducted the business they’d paid him to do.

  Down the street he saw Kark making his way towards him and he wondered not for the first time why he hadn’t slit the fools throat years ago. He knew why, Kark was a fool and as stupid as a mule but he was an effective blunt instrument. He also carried out orders unquestioningly and too the letter, that sort of man was invaluable in Boskags line of work and having such as him around meant there was always someone to take the fall should anything go wrong. He pushed himself away from the wall and stood waiting as Kark puffed and panted his way up the hill.

  “Well?”

  “He entered the Summit Gate about ten minutes ago.”

  Boskags nodded but wasn’t happy at the news, Tenemi had informed him that the Regulator had been invited into the keep and would be held secured until such a time as the A’yai decided what to do with him. Not the course of action Boskags would have taken, he agreed the Regulator needed to be contained, but that containment should have been as far from the keep as possible. He looked towards the Highlords spire.

  “He should be safely relaxed on the twentieth level by now then, hopefully he’ll stay there.” He walked past Kark heading towards the gate. “Are the men in place?”

  “Yes and ready, Tenemi has sent word that Fandrus left via the tunnels so will be beyond the plain and into the mountains now.”

  Boskags grunted, everything seemed to be on track he liked that but still he didn’t like to be complacent, that was when mistakes are made.

  “The guards?”

  “We have replaced them with our men all that remains are the handful at the base led by the Captain of the Gate.” Kark licked his lips a sly look on his face, Boskags scowled at him.

  “See she is unharmed if possible, she may be of use.” He stopped suddenly and Kark nearly ran into him. Despite Boskags being of slighter build Kark shied away from him. “Unharmed and unmolested, understand?” Kark nodded quickly and looked away. Boskags knew what sort of man Kark was and the sort of men he chose to be around him, he also knew what sort of appetites drove men like Kark. But he would have none of that here, not on this job. He turned and started towards the gate again, Kark kept pace but several paces behind now not as eager as he had seemed before.

  The guards on the Summit Gate turned as Boskags approach and nodded before turning and opening the gate. Without pausing Boskags, Kark and the four guards walked through and shut the gate behind them.

  ##

  The group walked steadily towards the door in the base of the tower, Boskags resisted looking up trying to act like he was just another visitor being escorted to some meeting or other. Not that looking up would have told him anything, the exterior of the tower was smooth and showed no signs of any openings or windows. He knew they were there, he’d seen out of them, they were just cleverly concealed by some forgotten art of the Frail Men. As they neared the door it opened and another of Boskags men stood dressed in the garb of a Guard of the Gate, he nodded slightly as they all entered and shut the door behind them.

  “Captain Miri?” Boskags looked around the lower level and like Jaokim earlier worried slightly over all the pillars and the places they offered for someone to hide.

  “She is detained as arranged.” The man nodded over to the right where Boskags knew there was a guardroom that led back into private quarters for the Captain. Boskags nodded at the man and headed towards the elevating cabinet. He looked back briefly and saw Kark looking towards the Captains quarters.

  “Kark,” The weasel jumped and turned scurrying past Boskags. He was going to take some watching to keep him from doing something, Boskags looked at the man they’d left behind and nodded towards the door. “Keep an eye on her.” The man nodded and looked towards Kark’s retreating back with a disgusted look on his face.

  Boskags felt relieved that despite the sort of men he surrounded himself they were not the stereotypical thugs people assumed mercenaries were. Kark was the exception to the rule, he allowed his base instincts rule what could be a clever brain. Boskags knew the day would come when he would have to deal with Kark, but for now he was needed. He was waiting at the door for Boskags and pulled the lever and they both got in.

  The cabinet shot up the length of the tower, they were heading for level thirty where Tenemi had said the Highlord and his remaining guards were. The men in the cabinet with Boskags all checked their weapons, swords and knives were loosened in scabbards and Kark slipped a nasty looking set of metal plates over his knuckles. Boskags for his part only wore a single short sword of the like favoured by the dandies of the Petty Court in the eastern states. The cabinet slowed and came to a gentle stop, Kark looked around at them all and Boskags nodded for him to open the door.

  Level thirty was the highest accessible level before you reached the Highlords private quarters. It was where the elevating cabinets stopped and only members of the immediate family, personal guards and Tenemi could go any higher. The hallway the door opened out onto was plain considering this was the main level where audiences and social gatherings took place. The group exited the cabinet and turned left heading down the carpeted hallway towards a set of double wooden doors. Tenemi had already given them the floorplan, there were only two doors that led off this level, the one they were heading for and one set in the opposite direction that led to kitchens where sumptuous banquets were cooked. Stopping at the doors Boskags waited as one of his men put his head against it and listened, he glanced back at Boskags and nodded before opening the door and they all stepped through.

  There are many myths and legends that surround the Highlords, most of them revolve around how the twelve leaders of the original rebellion against the Frail Men were imbued with supernatural powers that included the strength of ten men and extended lifespans. It was said Highlords could move over vast distances in the blink of an eye that they could breathe underwater, that they could fly. Boskags had known a few of them in his life and apart from the strength myth and that they were some of them incredibly old none of the others seemed to hold much truth. As he entered what could only be described as a throne room Boskags knew the myths were myths because if a Highlord was capable of all those things why did he need a small army to protect him.

  The Highlord Mandrus Bendicala looked ancient, his withered body sat propped up in his chair by a dozen cushions. Long grey hair hung either side of his head and he was balding on top, he wore a voluminous robe and small claw like hand grabbed at the arms of his chair as he sat forward with a look of concern on his face at their entrance. Arrayed in front of him were twenty armed men. The room was the opposite of the ultimate ruler of Koon, decked out in bright tapestries most of which depicted some famous event or battle in the history of the family Bendicala. There must have been several dozen courtiers and servants dotted around the room, most just seemed to be there to be seen to be in the presence of the Highlord. These ones were skulking at the rear of the room in small groups nursing drinks that had no doubt long ago lost their chill and vigour. The ones of import were near the centre of the room and Bendicala himself, though even these being of high station as they were found themselves outside the ring of armed men.

  Boskags took everything in with a practised sweep of the room. The armed men positioned in the standard defensive formation with the man at the front no doubt a Hoshun, the two guards stood either side of Bendicala both of which wore no armour and only the one sword who were most definitely Hoshun. The courtiers and servants he immediately discounted, some were already beginning to react in a way he knew they would when they realised they stood between two groups of armed men, the panic was already taking hold. One brave soul tried to assume some semblance of command, boldly announcing there are only five of them.

  Boskags had learned over the years that numbers didn’t always decide the outcome of a
battle. Of course invariably the larger army won but sometimes the more the men the more the chance some of them might not be who they say they are. Boskags looked at the two men stationed behind the man on point and then the four men at the rear of the phalanx nearest Bendicala. With the briefest of nods – and a prayer that Tenemi had told him true – he and his four men surged forwards.

  There were shrieks and panic as the courtiers and servants scattered, Boskags barrelled into one ramming the heel of his hand in the man’s face. Behind him he heard the wet sounds of sharp steel on flesh and the cries of agony that accompanied them. The man on point phased, seeming to fade in and out of existence and Boskags felt a cold hand on his heart. He hated it when he was right, there were not many things that scared him but facing a Hoshun was not something any man would relish. Hoshun were the ultimate warriors, trained and conditioned from infanthood in the art of war. They trained in the Barlini Doctrine, an arcane practice said to have been handed to them by the first Highlords, an ability to alter their physical being so they could be in more than one place at once.

  But as feared as they may be they were still human and as the two men behind the Hoshun drove their blades into him he died.

  By the time the first Hoshun fell Boskags was in amongst the soldiers, the four at the back had turned and were mounting the steps towards the Highlord, the Hoshun either side of him beginning to phase before one of the soldiers put throwing knives in them both. Of the twenty soldiers ranked in front of the Highlord eight were Boskags’ and with the surprise of the attack and their fellows turning cloak the remaining soldiers were soon dead. The four soldiers nearest Bendicala finished the downed Hoshun by slitting their throats, even mortally wounded a Hoshun was still a match for most men. The courtiers and servants had retreated the walls, there was only the one door in and out and once the fighting was over Boskags sent men back to secure it, he then turned to look up at the Highlord Bendicala.

  “You will die horribly for this insult.” Despite his age the Highlords voice was still strong and Boskags could feel it worming into his brain. One of the gifts the Frail Men had given the Highlords was the power to control men. He looked at one of the men nearest to Bendicala.

  “Gag him.” The man worked swiftly, Tenemi had warned that Bendicala had the ability to manipulate people with his voice. “You will excuse the rough treatment my lord but your house is now my house.” Bendicala glared at Boskags, the look held a threat of a bloody death. Boskags turned to find Kark. “Kark, tell Tenemi all is secure.” At the mention of the A’yai the Highlord began to thrash against the restraints Boskags men were securing him to his chair with.

  “Now for phase two.” Boskags muttered to himself.

  Five

  Something was wrong.

  Years of being in situations where your instincts were the only thing between living and dying told Joakim that all was not well in the Fortress of Koon. He’d been shown into a room after the elevating cabinet had deposited him on the twentieth level. The ride had been not the worst experience he’d ever had but it was in the top five. The guard who’d escorted him had not spoken as they’d walked down a carpeted hallway that had over a dozen doors along either wall. Joakim assumed he was in some guest’s accommodation, some effort had been made to make the surroundings comfortable with paintings and sculptures dotted along the route. Joakim was no expert but he could tell none of the art work was anything of worth, they were generic objects you could pick up at any decent market stall.

  The room he’d been shown into was much like the hallway, it was comfortable on the surface but not designed for anyone to stay in long term. He’d sat patiently for an hour, he’d drank the wine left for him and picked at the savouries and fruit but as the time ticked by his well-honed instincts told him the situation was wrong. He’d been invited here out of the blue and yet ever since he’d arrived he’d felt like he either wasn’t wanted or expected, and now to be ushered in here and left this long?

  He went to the door opening it and pulled it closed quickly. In the hallway stood two guards, why had they posted guards outside his door? He took a breath and opened the door a crack and looked at the guards, there was something about them didn’t ring true. The uniforms they wore were ill-fitting whereas everyone he’d met so far had been immaculately turned out, as you’d expect from those in the direct employ of a Highlord. Then he looked down to their weapons, one wore a curved sword the like of which the Scallians favour, the other had two short blades usually seen on men in the Challenge Ring. Joakim knew mercenaries when he saw them, he’d spent most of his life among them. And he doubted that apart from Hoshun that a Highlord would employ common sellswords.

  He closed the door and leant back against the wall looking around the room. There were no windows that he could see though he was sure he saw glinting from the many levels of the tower at night. Not that windows would have helped him being this high up. The only other door led into a small bathroom. The door he was next to was the only one out and to get out he’d have to go past the men outside.

  And to cap it all he was unarmed.

  Being without his weapons wasn’t the end of it Joakim could handle himself in a fight, even with only his bare hands. But the two men in the hallway were not some drunken tavern brawlers but probably seasoned fighters who knew how to use their blades. No he’d have to be clever about this and improvise, at least until he could get one of their swords.

  He walked around the room looking for anything that could be of use. All he found was a small knife used for cutting up fruit, the blade was barely longer than his middle finger, it was next to useless but it was all he had. Even a small blade used in the right way could sever an artery or gouge an eye out.

  He went back to the door and put his ear to it, he couldn’t hear anything but then these were not the sort of men to stand chatting idly when they were guarding someone. Joakim had decided that was what they were doing, he was under guard for some reason he had no notion of. Someone obviously recognised him in Underhill and for some reason he was marked as a person of interest. But that didn’t matter right now, now he had to get out there and immobilise one of them as fast as he could before the other had time to react, and then find his way out of this prison. He opened the door a crack again and put his eye to it, the men hadn’t moved and taking a breath he pulled the door open wide and lunged into the hallway.

  The men were younger and no doubt stronger than Joakim but he had one thing on his side, surprise. He was between the two of them before they registered the door opening or his shadow moving towards them, both men went for their swords which in a situation like this was the wrong thing to do. The three of them were at close quarters and the long blade of a sword was useless, Joakim head butted the one closest to him and then brought his hand up holding the small knife hard into the throat of the man with the Scallian sword.

  The head butted man went down with a cry and a hand to his already bleeding nose his eyes streaming tears. The other man made a small gasping sound groping at his throat and dropped with a look of surprise on his face as he realised what had happened before he realised he was dead. As he fell backwards Joakim grabbed his sword and pulled it from its scabbard, he wasn’t interested in him anymore he knew he was dead and so turned towards the other man. The second man was back on his feet his lower face a mess of blood and he’d already pulled the two short swords. He and Joakim looked at each other, the head butted man spat blood and gritted his teeth.

  Joakim had never thought of himself as a great swordsman, he’d never been trained like the Hoshun or schooled in the finer art of the rapier like the Dandies of the Eastern Petty Courts. Joakim was a brawler whether with his fists or with a blade, there was no finesse, no art, he attacked head on and bulled his way through a fight. The other man had assumed a fighting stance and obviously had some form of training, but no matter the skill when faced with sheer savagery there was little you could do. It’s not that Joakim had a death wish, his w
ish was to live a very long life and die disgracefully hopefully in bed. It’s just that he never had the patience for a prolonged fight. He knew some men who relished the skill and grace of a well fought sword fight, for Joakim if you drew steel the objective was to kill the other person as quick as possible and move on.

  The head butted man thought himself a swordsman. He turned sideways on with his feet apart wider than his shoulders so as to give himself the best balance. He held one of the swords at chest height with the blade horizontal across his chest, the other he had down at his side with the blade angled towards the floor. It was a textbook fighting stance but his problem was Joakim hadn’t read the same textbook, in fact he’d never read any books on sword fighting. Joakim surged forward with a yell sweeping his sword left to right in an upward arc that batted the other man’s lower sword towards him and also pushed the higher sword up towards his face. The sudden move surprised the head butted man and he had to take a clumsy step back so as not to be hit by his own swords, in so doing he had to take his eyes off Joakim so as not to trip over his own feet. That was his final act.

  As the man’s eyes flicked down Joakim halted the upward arc of his sword and twisted his hand so the edge of the blade faced his opponent, he then moved his arm across the other man cutting into his neck and head. There was a wet gurgle and he dropped both his swords, Joakim’s blade was lodged in his neck probably snarled on his spine or jawbone. Joakim let go of it as the man sank to his knees, he didn’t need it anymore the man was dead before he hit the floor. Joakim looked around at the two men who less than a minute before had been so sure in their position and probably thinking they had a long boring guard shift ahead of them.