“Annalyn?” he says, gaping. Then he shakes his head, turning to face the counter. “No, it can’t be you. You’re a phantom sent to haunt me! My girl’s gone for good.”
“Papa,” Annalyn whispers, her lip trembling. “What’s happened?”
“I can’t take anymore of this, you hear?” he cries. “Leave me be!”
“Papa, it’s me!” she cries, dashing around the counter toward him. “It’s your Annalyn! I’ve returned. Please believe me!”
But he won’t look at her. “My daughter’s gone. She’s not coming back.”
“She is! Please, look at me! You’ll see that it’s me.” She grasps her father’s shoulders, turning him gently to face her. “Look at me.”
P’ter cringes, but does as she says. Recognition dawns. “C-can it be?” he whispers, reaching up to touch her face. “It- it is you!”
Annalyn beams, relief spreading over her features.
He wipes a glistening tear from her cheek. “Where have you been all this time? Why did you leave us? You didn’t even leave a note!”
Annalyn hesitates, and I know that Bellator’s warning is running through her mind. “There was this man,” she says at length. “He took me away, far from here. I only just managed to escape.”
He opens his trembling arms to receive her. “Oh, my baby girl. You’re safe now. You’re home.”
She throws her arms around him, and he pulls her close. Tears stream down his round, cherry red cheeks. “My little Ann, all grown up.”
She nods, tears of joy in her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere again.”
Their reunion is sweet, but it leaves me with a feeling of emptiness inside. I doubt that I will ever find my family, and even if I do, I’ve reason to think it won’t be a happy occasion.
Annalyn laughs through her tears. “Where’s mama?”
His joy fades at her words, and he looks up into her face, his lower lip trembling. “She’s gone.”
Her grin disappears in an instant. “Gone? What do you mean?”
“She’s- she’s dead,” he says, suddenly breaking down.
“Dead?” Her voice cracks.
“It was... only yesterday. They came in the night. They attacked us. We... we were unprepared, defenceless! They... they killed her.”
“Who did?” Annalyn cries, grabbing his hands. “Who attacked? Who killed mamma?”
He heaves a huge, shuddering sigh. “We don’t know. But I think that they were some kind of raiders.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“R
aiders?” Annalyn gasps, her face turning ashen.
Her father leans against the counter for support. “They came once before... sometime last winter. That time they only stole things... went through the whole town taking whatever they wanted. But this time... this time they were after something else. We don’t know what. They broke into the tavern... tore the place apart. Well... you know your mother – how fierce she is – could be. She stood up to them. You should have seen her. She was so... so brave.” His voice cracks, becoming a mess of broken sobs. “I... tried... to get her... to stop... to just let them search... but she wouldn’t! And they... they... killed her. I could... do nothing... to stop them—” He buries his face in his hands and weeps freely.
Tears roll down Annalyn’s lightly freckled cheeks, and she reaches out to comfort her father. “It’s alright, papa.” Her voice trembles with emotion. “It’s... it’s not your fault. You did what you could.”
My own eyes sting and I step back awkwardly. I want to make this all better, but what can I do? Her mother is dead! There is no comfort or consolation for such a loss.
No, it is best if I leave them alone to grieve.
I turn to leave. I would’ve passed unnoticed from the room had my foot not caught on a broken table leg as I turned to go. It rolls across the floor, and I cringe.
Her father looks up, noticing me for the first time. His bloodshot eyes sweep over me with growing agitation. “Annalyn, who is this?”
She turns to me, still in shock. “Oh. Papa, this is my friend, Ealdred.”
I nod to him, my breath coming short. She just called me her friend.
“He’s a half-breed!” her father spits.
“Papa!” she chides. “He was the one that rescued me from the man who kidnapped me.”
“No!” he cries, made belligerent by grief. “You don’t understand. It was one of his kind that took your mother from us!”
My mouth drops open in alarm. “I am sorry for your loss, sir,” I blurt. “Truly, I am. But you cannot blame me for another person’s crimes, half-breed or not!”
“Your kind is all the same!” he growls, putting himself protectively between Annalyn and me. “Animals! The king would do well to banish the lot of you!”
“Sir—”
“Get out of my house,” he bellows, “before I make you leave!”
“Papa, stop it!” Annalyn cries, grabbing his arm. “I know you’re hurting! I am too. But Ealdred is a good person! You have to give him a chance!”
But P’ter is beyond listening to reason. He picks up a large, jagged piece of wood from the floor and raises it threateningly at me. “Get out, now! And stay away from my daughter!”
Recoiling, I stumble backward, then make a run for the door.
“Ealdred, wait!” Annalyn calls after me. “Don’t go, please.”
I stop with my hand on the latch and look back. “Annalyn, you don’t have to defend me,” I say.
“Yes, I do!” she cries. “He shouldn’t be treating you like this!”
“Excuse me?” her father cries.
“You know, I don’t care how he treats me,” I say, struggling over the words. “But Annalyn, your father loves you. Cherish that.”
I pull open the door and exit the tavern, letting it slam shut behind me.
“Hey, where’s the ale?” Uri demands as I approach.
Without a word, I change directions and walk down the creaky, water damaged planks of the wharf. The shame has gone, but I feel as rotten as the boards beneath my feet. A line of old fishing boats is docked at the end of the wharf, and a bundle of tattered netting lies in a heap with a trident resting against it. I approach the side and stare down into the deep, turbulent water of the lake. It laps against the boards of the wharf and the sound is comforting in a way.
The wood creaks as soft footsteps approach from behind.
“I don’t want to talk,” I mutter.
“Neither do I,” Bellator replies, coming to stand beside me. But she doesn’t come as close to the edge as I do. “I just came to see if you’re alright.”
I shake my head with a bitter chuckle. “Don’t act like you care, Bellator. I know you don’t. I’m not stupid. I know that all I am to you is something to use until you no longer have need of me.”
“To be fair, half-wit—” she begins.
“Don’t deny that it’s true!” My voice is higher than I mean it to be, and I quickly lower it. “It isn’t like you actually care about anyone other than yourself.”
She snorts. “I’m not denying anything. But like you said earlier, we made a deal. No matter how we feel about it, we both have to fulfil our ends of the bargain. So, stop feeling sorry for yourself so we can get this over with and never have to look at each other again.”
I clench my teeth and shrug. “Whatever.”
She takes a deep breath of the misty air. “Now, tell me; was the girl’s family there?”
I nod.
“What about the town? Did you find out what is ailing it?”
I nod again. “Raiders.”
The word is barely out of my mouth when a shrill horn blast rings through the chilly evening air. Bellator’s bow is nocked in her hands before the blast has ended, and I spin around, scanning the ridge that surrounds the town.
“See anything?” she hisses.
I begin to shake my head, but then I do see something. Black shapes appear on the eastern hill, descen
ding toward the town as thick as ants.
“Is that—” I begin.
“The raiders,” she finishes with a nod.
“Uh, guys,” Uri calls uneasily. “I ain’t sure you saw, but we got a problem here.”
Bellator snatches the trident from beside the fishing net and starts toward him. “You know how to use a trident, right Uriah?”
He swallows, eyeing the trident as if she might run him through with it. “Yeah...”
“Good.” She tosses it to him. “You’ll need this where we’re going. Half-wit,” she turns to me, “tie the horses up to the post. We’ll be back for them.”
I oblige, tying them to the post at the entrance to the tavern’s stables. I don’t have to ask where we are going.
But apparently, Uri does. “Where are we going?” he asks, staring down at the trident in his hands with a mix of anger and excitement on his freckled face.
“To find out who these intruders are,” Bellator replies, “and what they want with this town.”
She turns to me. “Do you have a weapon?”
“Sure, if this counts.” I pat the dagger at my side. “Not that I’m going to be doing any fighting.”
A smirk turns her lips.
I grow uneasy. “I’m not going to be fighting, right?”
She undoes the strap that keeps her sword belt at her side, and holds it out to me. A quick glance over the weapon tells me that it is designed to look like a larger replica of my dagger. I also notice for the first time that Bellator’s bow and quiver are very much like it too. It would seem she made herself a matching set.
I back away. “No, Bellator, wait. I’m not a fighter! I’ve never hurt anyone in my life, and I don’t want to start today.”
“Take it, half-wit,” she orders.
I shake my head. “Please, I’ll do anything else you ask me to. Just... not this.”
“Take it, or I’ll stick it through your useless gut!”
I swallow hard and take the sword from her outstretched hands. It is heavier than it appears, but the weight lessens slightly once I’ve strapped the belt around my waist.
“Ha! Coward,” Uri sneers.
Maybe I am a coward, but I know what these things can do. I’m not ready for this.
“Be careful with it, because I’ll be wanting it back.” Bellator pauses, and then adds, “And try not to hurt yourself.”
I draw the sword and my gaze travels up the shining blade. I can see my unnaturally blue eyes reflected back at me in the steel’s manipulated ripples.
“I’ll try,” I say.
“That’s settled,” she replies in her usual officious manner. “Now, let’s go kill some raiders, shall we?”
“Right behind you!” Uri cries with new enthusiasm, gripping his trident in both hands.
“Don’t let me spoil the fun,” I say miserably.
We walk back up the lane and turn onto the main street. Bellator leads the way toward the clamorous hooting of the approaching mob. We reach the town entrance opposite to the one we entered by. The mob bears down on us, growing louder as they near, while flaming arrows explode in the thatched rooftops of the houses along the boarder of the town. In the face of a disaster, it feels nice to have a fighter like Bellator by my side.
In a few moments, the blaze is bright enough for us to finally get a clear glimpse of our attackers. There must be at least thirty men in the group, dressed in uniform dark green clothing, with black masks over their faces and black cloaks wrapped around their shoulders. Their weapons vary, but each man carries himself with a wild confidence that screams death to all in their path.
Unfortunately for them, we are in their way. By ‘we’, I mean Bellator and Uri. They stand in the centre of the road with a confidence to match that of our attackers. I, on the other hand, feel small and insignificant as our assailants approach, as if I were an insect at the feet of giants.
Bellator aims an arrow in their direction, while Uri points his triple spiked spear with malice more intense than I’ve seen in him before. I grip my sword in both hands and hold it up, hoping that I don’t look too puny.
The foremost attackers stop mid-whoop and stare at us as if they’ve never encountered resistance like this. Those behind follow suit, their hollering fading to confused muttering. A masked man, most likely their leader, pushes to the front of the group, a double-sided battle-axe slung casually over his shoulder.
He laughs when he sees us – a loud, mocking laugh that ripples through those that follow him. “Well, well, ain’t this a pitiful sight, lads!” he jeers. “The men of this town sent their children out to fight us.”
Barks of laughter echo reply, but I stiffen. Anger flashes through me, and I raise my sword higher in defiance. I know that voice and I know it well.
Ralcher.
What the hell is he doing here?
Bellator straightens up. “I am no mere child, you insolent swine! I am Bellator, known to you commoners as the Crimson Shadow. I demand to know who you are and what your purpose is with this town!”
There is a ripple of confusion and exclamations of fear throughout the crowd.
“Wait!” I exclaim, a shudder of dread going through me. “You’re the Crimson Shadow?”
She glances sideways at me. “A title passed down to me from Reevan, but yes, I have been the Crimson Shadow for a time.”
“Nonsense!” Ralcher pulls down his mask and swaggers toward her with a wobble in his step, and I realize that he’s had a bit too much to drink. “A brilliant move to try to frighten us away, beautiful, but you can’t fool me.” He turns to his men, spreading his arms. “’Right, lads? The Crimson Shadow ain’t no girl!”
His men shout their agreement.
“Are you calling me a liar?” Bellator says through her teeth, and I know without looking at her that she is plotting his swift demise.
He turns back to her, almost falling over his own foot. And yet somehow, he is able to keep his movements smooth. “No hard feelings, sweetheart,” he says, strutting toward her. “You are a feisty one, I’ll admit. I think I’ll keep you—”
There is a vibrating twang, and Bellator’s arrow pierces his gut. He gasps, blinking stupidly as the pain clears his fogged brain, and then he falls to his knees, clutching at the arrow.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t find it in me to feel a single shred of pity for him.
Bellator draws another arrow from the quiver at her side, and sets it on the string. “No one else has to die tonight! Be gone! Never step foot in this town again, and you will live to see another day!”
The crisp air falls silent, and the crackling of flames is the only sound. A low murmuring ensues. One man is pushed forward, and the others look to him for guidance.
“Listen, girlie,” he calls, “we ain’t afraid of a group of children playing at being heroes.”
Bellator clenches her jaw, her eyes flashing. “I am not playing, and I am no hero! I am the Crimson Shadow. You know my reputat—”
She is abruptly cut off as a poorly aimed arrow flies past her and clatters to the cobblestones far behind us.
“Uri, Ealdred,” she says to us with a deadly calm, “you may kill as many of these useless curs as you would like. Half-wit, I advise you get in as much sword practice as you can. Have no pity, have no mercy, for none will be shown to you. These men are ruthless, dishonourable, and would destroy this entire town if they could.”
“Since when do you care about this town?” Uri asks.
I am wondering the same thing, although I’m not foolish enough to voice it.
“I don’t,” she replies defensively. “But these idiots have personally insulted me, and I’m going to make them pay for it!” She says the last part loudly enough for the raiders to overhear her.
As a group, they find the courage to laugh at her words.
“Just try!” their new leader jeers as the men brandish their weapons wildly in their drunkenness.
Just as fast and loud as a
clap of thunder, the skirmish begins.
Chapter Twenty-Two
B ellator unleashes a fury of arrows in rapid succession, each one hitting its mark. Uri charges into the midst of the mob with a wild, unearthly set of whoops and trills. His trident rips through his first opponent’s chest, and as he jerks it out he slams the butt into another man’s stomach.
This passes in an instant, and I know that it is my turn to enter the battle. But I find myself looking away. I can’t do this. Even if I wanted to, if I could stand the sight of torn flesh and gushing blood, I’m small and weak. I always lose in scraps. Even now, these men seem to tower far above me. The only advantage I might have is my quick reflexes.
Is it cowardly to turn away from a fight? I don’t want to be a coward. I want to be brave, but how can I be brave if I won’t even fight to protect a town of innocent people?
A flaming arrow whips past me, exploding into the side of a nearby house. The dry wood catches fire, darkening to coal as the flames leap up, spreading upward to the thatched roof. A shrill cry comes from within the house.
There’s someone trapped inside!
I bound to the door and try to push up the latch. It doesn’t budge. Bracing my shoulder against the door, I push with all my might. Still, it doesn’t open. The inhabitants probably barricaded it to keep the raiders from entering. I step back, searching for another opening into the house. There’s a window to the right of the door, but it’s blocked with shutters. I look around for something to open it with.
Suddenly, a battle axe slams into the wood near my head, burying itself in up to the handle. A loud bellow follows, and I spin around to find a huge, burly man charging toward me with a spiked mace in his fist. Fear shoots through me and time slows to a near halt as he raises it above his head and begins to bring it down with a mighty force. I feel icy adrenaline shooting through my veins and in an instant, everything changes. It is as if I have just opened my eyes, and I can see his every weakness mapped across his body.
I throw myself to the side, swinging the sword into his knee to trip him. It cuts through his trousers, leaving a deep scratch in his flesh. With a cry, he stumbles, his mace breaking through the shutters.
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