by C S Vass
“And then I could spend all day drinking wine with pig brains in there? Maybe you could invite Jared too. It would be a regular who’s who of the who got kicked in the head hardest by a horse games. You’re better than this!”
Fiona was breathing hard, staring into her friend’s face as if she could hardly recognize her anymore. The sun was setting on the horizon casting a dangerous red glow over the landscape, and all she wanted was to go back to her chamber and rethink what she needed to do.
“I can’t speak to you when you’re like this,” Sasha declared. “Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow once you’ve calmed yourself, or perhaps not.” She began walking away, when the sounds of disgruntled shouting rose like an angry wave from the direction of the commercial center of Sun Circle.
“What’s that?” Fiona asked.
They ran towards the direction the noise was coming from and Fiona had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something was not right, that much was obvious. As they moved closer she could see that people were marching through the streets.
“What the hell is that?” Fiona asked.
A crowd of no less than two-hundred people appeared to be standing in the square, shouting and chanting. It was almost impossible to make out exactly what they were saying, but she thought she could her such phrases as “Get them out!” and “Haygarden for Haygardeners!”
As the last light of the dying sun fell behind the horizon Fiona noticed that a great many of the mob were wielding torches. Some of the residents had come to where she and Sasha stood to watch the spectacle from a safe distance. One of the women near her muttered, “Fucking Vaentysh morons.”
“That’s the Vaentysh Boys?” Fiona asked.
“It’s some of them at least,” the woman replied. “Watch out girls, this looks like it might get ugly.”
“That’s a Laquathi store they’re in front of!” a young man from the crowd near Fiona shouted. “There’s going to be trouble.
Fiona and Sasha watched uncertainly as the mob continued chanting and shouting. The energy seemed to intensify as the lot of them became cloaked in the cover of darkness. Two men picked up a barrel and tossed it through the Laquathi store’s window. Broken glass glittered in the torchlight as it was scattered, and a swarm of looters ran into the building.
“This is going to get bad,” Sasha said nervously. “We should probably go.”
Fiona looked on without really hearing Sasha. She was in a trance of horrified fascination as she observed the crowd that grew like a campfire with kindling tossed on it. “What store is that?” Fiona asked. There was no one to answer her. The chaos was growing all around. Some of the spectators who had taken their positions alongside her were now charging into the fray.
“Where are you going?” she heard Sasha call after her, but Fiona was no longer paying attention. Sasha could have Lovewood or the Duke or anyone else in the damn district come to protect her. She was done with Sasha Rains holding her back.
Fiona ran along back a seamstress shop, found a pile of crates, and leapt up on them and onto the roof. From there she had a perfect angle of the store that was being looted: Spices of Laquath. She saw no sign of the store owners, but people were now running in and out faster than she could count them. Some fiery projectile smashed through another window.
What in the name of the gods is going on? Fiona asked herself. This didn’t seem to be any kind of organized rebellion. Just a sporadic explosion of anger. “Death to Laquath! Death to Laquath!” A group of young men marched alongside one another and chanted in steady unison as they approached the store. Several of them shot fiery arrows onto the thatched straw roof, and a bright blaze began to eat at the building.
This is getting too dangerous to be around, Fiona thought with a pang of guilt. She regretted leaving Sasha behind, even if it was from a relatively safe distance away. Fiona didn’t understand what was happening, but it was time to get Sasha and go back to the castle. A stone whirled by her head and she was almost knocked off the building. Instinct took over as she quickly slid back down to the ground from the sloped rooftop. The street was now flooded with chaos. People ran, screamed, and fought every which way.
“Fiona,” the voice that called her was more curious than scared or violent.
“Oh no,” she mouthed. She turned and saw Kevin Lovewood astride a great destrier, looking positively ridiculous amongst the rioters in heavy plate armor complete with multiple swords and knives attached to himself and his mount.
“This is no place for a lady,” he said, as easily as if he had found her using his own chamberpot.
“Are you going to stop this?” she asked urgently.
“Stop it?” he asked. He looked out at the spectacle of mayhem. “Not unless they get out of hand.”
She looked over and saw two men tying a screaming Laquathi to the legs of a horse with a bit of rope. Immediately she reached for her bow.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked her. Paying him no heed she fired a warning shot between the two assailants that landed safely at their feet. It was enough to make them scatter, as the poor soul who had almost been dragged through the chaos scrambled away quick as he could.
“Hey!” Kevin Lovewood shouted. “You don’t have the authority to brandish a weapon here.”
Paying Lovewood no mind she immediately began making her way back to Sasha. The fighting along the way had increased intensely. It appeared there was an opposing faction in the chaos, but among the confusion it was almost impossible to know who was who and what they were trying to accomplish. The air was thick with smoke and the weirdly pleasant smell of the burning Laquathi spices from the store. All around them the brawl continued to escalate as fist fights turned into sword fights. Fiona decided not to draw her weapon and exacerbate things, but dodging through the crowds without an immediate way to defend herself made her feel rather absurdly as if she were running naked through the streets.
When she got back to the place where she had left Sasha she found that her friend was gone, but now several more people were rolling flaming barrels into the Laquathi spice shop screaming, “Vaentysh Revolution! Vaentysh Revolution!” Fiona watched in horror as the shop exploded in a fiery blast and the roof collapsed. “It’ll smell like shit for weeks but at least now we’ve cleared the air!” shrieked one of the barrel rollers, an adolescent with a rat-like face awash in pock marks.
Suddenly there was a strange stillness that descended over the scene. Some unlikely men who had not realized that a change had taken place were still running amok, but a large part of the host had halted and faced westward. Something was happening in the entrance to the square that brought a halt to the chaos.
“You will drop your weapons and disperse!” a magically amplified voice sung to the crowd. During the pause Fiona quickly swept herself up onto another rooftop and was surprised to see Geoff Hightower standing with a host of no more than ten men in heavy armor approaching the scene. Suddenly even those who were persevering in the madness had frozen still. All eyes seemed to be on the honorable old knight. In those precious seconds, you might have heard a baby sniffle.
“FUCKIN’ ANIMAL AIN’T WUNNA US!” a voice pierced through the silence like stone smashing through crystal clear glass. From her rooftop Fiona saw a lone man dressed in leather armor wielding a longsword charge the living legend. Geoff Hightower’s sword ripped through armor, clothing, flesh, and bone as he cleaved the insolent rebel in a sweeping blow. The old knight didn’t so much glance at the fool as he died whining at his feet.
At that moment it became a very different kind of battle. The vast majority of the Vaentysh Boys were dispersed, confused, or pleading for mercy. Several more confronted Hightower, while scores of others continued their attack on the square. Fiona had seen enough to know that this was her place, for the moment at least. Lord Hightower’s presence might have commanded the respect to send urchins fleeing, but there were more hardy men amongst these rebels and vandals that seemed deter
mined to water the ground with Hightower’s blood.
Giving up all hope of finding Sasha, Fiona ran towards the chaos that surrounded the Lord Defender. For several glorious moments as she ran to him, Fiona Sacrosin truly understood the nature of a legendary warrior. Geoff Hightower may have been decades older than the foes that circled him like sharks, but whereas the great majority of the rabble would strike a blow only to have their weapon stuck on some foes armor, or miss wildly and go sailing through the chaos, Lord Hightower’s blade struck fast and struck true. Three assailants came at him from three sides, yet before one of them could swing their blade Hightower had left two of them screaming in the mud, while the third had a longsword buried and removed from his belly quicker than a snake flicks its tongue. It was the only time Fiona Sacrosin felt completely humbled as a warrior, except of course when she sparred with her Rodrick.
As she made her way closer and closer to the white hot center of battle that Geoff Hightower dominated like an imploding star, Fiona came upon danger herself. Twice she dodged the heavy blows of clubs that were aimed at her face, and when an old man came wailing like a banshee thrusting a spear straight for her heart Fiona’s instinct took over and she dodged the strike while simultaneously slipping her blade across his belly. She watched transfixed as he tried to close the weeping wound that his innards slid out of until the the whirling hum of a morning star flew past her ear, missed her by a hair’s width, and caused her to fall.
Fiona had no time to search for her attacker’s face. She landed with some semblance of grace on her forearms and immediately spun her legs to sweep a pair of standing boots out from underneath her opponent. She rose as he fell, and with one swift stoke placed the demon-pommel sword through his throat.
A tornado of death encircled her. Somehow what had started as some reckless fools marching in the streets had transformed into a bloodbath. Fear surged inside her, slowing time and clearing her senses. There was something else as well…an unexpected sense of calm. The battle was terrifying but as she maneuvered her body through it she gradually began to realize that she was faster than all, and stronger than most. The endless steel that came to drink her lifeblood was easily deflected or dodged as she gradually merged with Hightower’s party and scanned the streets for Sasha.
At last disaster finally struck. While Fiona leapt sideways from the downward stroke of an axe she felt another body crash into her from behind and she went down in a tangle of limbs.
Sitting on her chest was a man as fat as a cow wrapping beefy hands around her neck. She had lost her weapon in the collision, and was struggling to pry his fingers from around her windpipe. Fiona looked up into a dirt-smeared face with eyes that glittered yellow in the moonlight. Her muscles would simply not respond with the urgency that was needed to in order to free herself.
Fiona thought of imminent death when suddenly she was released and began choking on the air as if she had never breathed in her life. Dazed, she had enough of her faculties to look up and see the man staring at the bloody sword that had taken him in the stomach. Red wounds blossomed from his hands as he tried to pull the blade out by its naked steel, but it only took seconds for him to collapse.
In awe, Fiona turned and looked into the drooping blue eyes of Sandra Redfire. The Duke’s daughter wore red and black leather armor and a curious expression as she stared at Fiona, as if she were unsure if she should have taken action to save her. Without a word, Fiona picked up her sword.
“No,” Sandra Redfire said to her. “Look. This fight is over.”
Fiona turned and saw that she was right. The majority of the fighting had ceased. Many were fleeing and being pursued by Sun Circle’s guards, others simply lay on the ground to see what their fate would be. She tried to formulate a question, but her mind was filled with buzzing and she could not think of a word.
“My lady,” a deep voice said. Fiona thought she was being addressed, but then saw the dark skin and emerald green eyes of Geoff Hightower. He had spoken to Sandra.
“We will have to convene with my father,” Sandra Redfire said simply. The Lord Defender nodded. Feeling as though she were in a dream, Fiona allowed Hightower to take her by the arm and lead her back towards the castle.
Chapter Nine
The fires of the Duke’s court burned with sinister red light. Fiona followed Sandra as if in a trance while long shadows shifted on the walls in an ever-changing fractal of patterns. The room was already full of Sun Circle’s elite who had come to demand justice for the damages that they had suffered.
Amongst the crowd Donyo Brownwater’s off-grey eyes stared into empty space with the look of a man who may have been deep contemplation, or may have been as empty as the wine skin he had just finished. To the right of him was Kevin Lovewood, grinning like he was at a ball. Shifter stood there as well, whispering into Duke Redfire’s ear while the fat man in his throne sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
The clash of the great door made Fiona turn her head. “Sasha!” she said with relief, as she saw her friend escorted inside of the room by several soldiers.
Geoff Hightower approached the throne. The old knight looked tired but surefooted as he escorted her into the room. “My liege,” he said with a bow of his head to Duke Redfire.
Sasha shot Fiona a pained look. Fiona felt another stab of guilt for leaving her. Sasha wouldn’t be mad though, would she? She was reasonably far away from the action when Fiona joined in the fight.
Finally the Duke stirred and looked to the assembled court. “What in the name of the gods has been happening out there?”
Hightower responded immediately. “The details are unclear, my lord. The mob shouted for the return of the Vaentysh Kings of old.”
“I would sooner name them rebels,” Duke Redfire said. “This clamoring for Vaentysh Kings, it’s nonsense. I smell a Tellosian plot underneath it. The bastards have been trying to bring us under the yoke of Empire since the minute we freed ourselves from them.”
“Perhaps,” Hightower said, though he did not elaborate further. He cast a weary eye around the room. Fiona felt as if she were naked with those emerald green eyes looking over her.
Donyo Brownwater seemed about to say something when he was interrupted by another arrival. Lawrence Downcastle and a host of men abruptly entered the hall. To Fiona’s surprise she saw Professor Thrushling among the party.
“We return too late,” Downcastle said. The men around him had all dropped to one knee, though Downcastle saw fit to only tilt his head. “My lord, we came as soon as a messenger reached us, but there was treachery in the sewers. Fiends—”
“I do not care about whatever sewer rats you had to deal with,” Duke Redfire shouted. “There is madness in the streets. I expected you here, Lawrence. A competent soundmage might have saved many lives.”
Downcastle’s neck flushed red, but he merely nodded his head and kept his silence. Fiona kept trying to catch the eye of Professor Thrushling, but to her annoyance he was ignorant to her presence.
“It’s clear that such chaos cannot be allowed to continue,” the Duke went on. “All of you, with the exception of Geoff, have proven your incompetence in defending this city.”
“Lord Redfire,” Kevin Lovewood said suddenly. The room fell silent. Duke Redfire eyed the Master of Horse as if he were a piece of tender meat. Oblivious, Lovewood went on, “You’re more than right. What we need is your strong hand to guide us. With an increase of military patrols throughout the district—”
“Be silent, you fool.” The gruff outburst came from Hightower. Lovewood turned and looked at him, surprised.
“Lord Hightower, you were not the sole hero of that battle,” Kevin said.
“Battle?” the old knight laughed. “That was no battle. But what would you know of war. The last thing we need right now is a puffed-up jackanapes who thinks himself a battle commander galavanting around the city swinging his sword on a silver pony!”
“I slaughtered ten men today and I don’t hav
e—”
“You don’t have the brains the gods gave a slug if you think killing rioting peasants makes you a warrior. I killed two, when I had no alternative, and disarmed another two and twenty. You can’t tell the difference between your own countrymen shouting their grievances from those who would rip this city to the ground brick by brick.”
Kevin Lovewood made a strange noise that was certainly not a word.
“I arrived late, we’d be better if you hadn’t arrived at all,” Hightower went on. “There is nothing to be gained in the deaths that happened today. Nothing won. We have simply planted seeds of hatred into a fertile soil. I do not relish the harvest this will bring.”
The old knight was breathing heavily. Fiona looked at him with a newfound admiration. His armor was caked in blood and there was a gash above his right eye that would need to be attended to, not that he required such a grim demeanor to be taken seriously.
“Enough,” the Duke said at last. “You’ve made your point, Geoff. Command of the city defenses is in your capable hands. I trust that you will do your duty.” He turned to his daughter. “As I would have expected you to have done yours, Sandra.”
Sandra Redfire tensed, but met her father’s eyes. “I was alerted to the chaos well after it started. I didn’t know if these were protesters or open rebels coming for your head. In fact, it seems to me we still don’t know that.”
“You are my daughter,” the Duke grumbled. “It is unseemly to have you mucking about with a sword in your hand like some unnatural creature.”
“That’s not fair!” Fiona shouted. The words had left her before she realized she had spoken, and the silence that followed with deafening. Resolving not to back down, Fiona stepped forward despite the dozens of eyes on her. “Sandra saved us, and she fought honorably. You should not chastise her for defending her own city.”