The Trial

by James Hunt

  So in the dark of night that's just what he did.

  *****

  The morning came and Trent fetched his charge and brought her to the courtyard. The practice area was a dirt and sand area marked off from the stone walkways and manicured grass. It was here that he led her.

  "Today, we're going to get some exercise. You mentioned you remembered something of learning to fight. Today we're going to see if your arms have remembered what they learned." He picked up a curved stick in the shape of a sword and tossed it to her. "Swordplay is first. Let me see what you have. We'll start slow..." He backed up and turned to face her. From the back of his belt he pulled two short straight sticks and brought them before him like knives in a downward grip.

  The Mischevious looked at him curiously, but her hands fell into a natural grip on the weapon without her knowing. Trent recognized it and lunged to strike at her face. With a shout of surprise she fell backwards but the sword came up on its own and blocked his strike by hitting his wrists.

  "Very good," Trent chuckled, "glad to see you remember this much. Now you come at m..." He didn't finish before she swung at his head. He ducked in time and backed away to avoid a second strike for his face. Seems she caught on quickly, and her strikes weren't half bad. If she was truly herself they would have more effort behind them, but he could read her conflict in the pause she took before each strike. It made her easy to read, but her natural speed didn't give him long to think about it. Her Hekarim abilities were making up for her lack of commitment.

  Back and forth they sparred across the courtyard again and again. He would strike, she would parry, then she would counter attack and he would retreat. This went on again and again, each pass was quicker more forceful, and with louder grunts of exertion. Every now and then she would score a hit and laugh, or he would and scoff back at her. It was becoming almost an enjoyable exercise.

  A few hours later, they were sweaty and panting with a few bruises. Routine went on around them with only a few that paused to see what was going on.

  "Had enough?" Trent asked and rubbed a quickly forming welt on the side of his neck where she had gotten him good.

  "I'm just getting started..." The Hekarim breathed huskily at him amid pants. The tone of her voice made him wary. She was improving in leaps and bounds, even though he was restraining himself. If they continued, he had no doubt they'd be right were they left off that fateful day not long ago. Trent reflected on that -- wasn't that his goal?

  "Let's make a wager, just to make it interesting." She said coyly and let the sleeves of her robe fall back down into place as she pulled the cowl over her head. She hid in the shadow of her garment and stared at him from under the hood.

  An unsolicited shiver of excitement ran up Trent's spine. By hiding in her garment, he couldn't read the tension in her muscles. This trick was not something a student would know -- only a veteran or arms master.

  "Umm, what did you have in mind?" he said and stretched his legs a bit.

  "If I knock you down, you stay with me again tonight. All... night... long..." She said and brought her sword up before her in a defensive stance. Trent hadn't seen that posture before, something new was going on.

  "And if I win?" He replied as he cocked his head to one side.

  "I'll tell you a secret," she whispered from her shade. That made the shiver crawl back up his spine and into his head. There was definitely something more coherent about her now. There was a game here she was playing, but how long had she been playing it? Trent now found himself in a very uncomfortable position, how much of his façade still needed to be maintained, and how dangerous was she now that she was more herself again?

  Trent brought his practice knives up before him with his left hand leading. The Mischevious started to circle him but kept her stance solid as she moved -- something else that made Trent nervous. The spear was his best weapon, but to be part of the Huanguard he needed to master the sword, the knife, and the fist. It was a foolish choice to engage her with his weaker weapon. If she regained her former ability, or worse went berserk again... Trent stopped thinking about it -- his fear was betraying him.

  He saw the curl of her lip in a smirk from under that hood -- it was the first sign he had that she was about to attack before she flew at him. As that weapon came at him with inhuman speed he let go of his knives and grabbed both the weapon and the wielder as they came. In one fluid motion, Trent used the Elf's momentum to fling her over his shoulder, as her attack suddenly became her undoing. She landed with a loud thud onto her back and the wind was knocked from her lungs. Gasping for breath, she tried to roll onto her side but was saddled by her opponent and the imaginary blade of her practice weapon was against her throat.

  "Catch your breath, we aren't going anywhere." Trent said calmly and settled in to get comfortable. Her heaving chest was squeezed between his thighs as he let his weight down onto her solar plexus. It made her recover that more difficult. "Now, I would have a maimed hand by now, from grabbing your blade, but you would be dead or captured depending on my mood. So lesson one: expect nothing, expect anything." The Mischevious nodded in acknowledgement but was still gasping for breath. "Now, what is this secret you mentioned?" He said with arms folded over his chest. Unable to move, much lest resist she motioned him closer with her pinned hand. Trent tilted his head coyly, but it got another sign to come closer. "If you think I'm getting close to you after that lesson I just gave you, you're wrong. You'll bite my ear off or something" He snorted.

  The Mischevious looked up at him and pouted in the most girlishly, heart wrenching manner she could muster. She knew he was immune to her ploys, and those icy blue eyes just stared her down in response.

  "I can't tell you out loud, it's a secret." She whispered. Trent rolled his eyes, sighed in exasperation, and begrudgingly leaned in.

  She bit his ear.

  "Hey!" he protested, but she had gotten a strong hold of it and he couldn't pull free.

  "Helrith uses magic," she breathed quietly with a mouth full of earlobe. "He was in my dreams. Doing things to me... things you wouldn't like." She let go of his earlobe and gave the pin drop of forming blood a quick lick.

  Trent got up off of her and picked up his practice weapons.

  "That's enough for today." He growled. "Go get cleaned up and meet me at Miester Harrowman's study, for lessons." The Mischevious did as she was told and stormed off coldly. Trent lingered and gathered up her practice sword as well. The stewards in the courtyard were dispersing now that their match was over. Apparently they had seen all they cared to and were returning to their duties.

  "Hey," Sebastian called as he approached with a practice spear over his shoulder. "I need to get some exercise too. Care to indulge me?" He tossed Trent the spear.

  "Just don't bite my ears," Trent growled back with a toothy grin and tossed The Swordsmaster the practice sword. The bald, bearded man pulled the blue robe off over his head and had on the shirt and shorts of their practice uniform on underneath. He took a single handed stance with the sword and came at his opponent.

  Trent was already hot and sore from his previous session, and was thankful Sebastian was going easy on him as they practiced against one another.

  *****

  The bathhouse was on the far side of the dining hall, next to the steward's quarters. The Mischevious wasn't that hot and sweaty that she felt she needed to take a bath, but orders were orders. She found herself questioning why she was following his commands, somehow it just felt natural, but the building was far enough away she had time to mull it over. Her broodings had left her unaware of her surroundings as she opened the door and trudged right on in. The building was deserted, and no one had left water in the tubs or had set the heating fire. The stewards washed in the evenings, so it was no wonder that the bathhouse wasn't ready for use.

  It was a small building with a dirt floor, but large enough for four oak barrel tubs. A stone-walled well dug into the center of the room brought up fresh water by pai
l. Oak plank footstools scattered about to give the men a lift up into the tubs or something to set their clothes and towels on. On the far back wall was a fireplace and chimney stack to keep the room warm in cold climates. She had used the baths before, but this time she felt unsure how to proceed. Memories and images of the baths in Zecair came to mind with their luxurious deep pools and scrub attendants. This place was so gloomy and barbaric by comparison.

  "Can't be helped," she sighed and pulled her robe off.

  A sharp whistle of appreciation snapped her attention to the front door. A couple of men stood at the doorway and filed inside. The Mischevious turned to face them, baring her naked body as if there was nothing wrong. Four in all, with a fifth that waited outside as the door closed.

  "Sorry for the intrusion Miss," the first one said casually. "We were wondering if we could ask you a few things?" His manners and demeanor were friendly enough, but the looks she was getting from the others that moved to surround her were far from it. There was a mix of lust and loathing in their expressions: the cowls of their hoods may have covered their heads but their faces were easy enough to read.

  "So long as you meet my price," she said in a sultry voice and sashayed over to the speaker. Her hands caressed her hips and thighs as she walked, relishing the looks of desire these men wore plainly on their faces. Her hands came to drape around the back of his head as she came to him, there she curled the hairs on his head with her fingers. "I want you to fuck me. All of you, all at once." She whispered.

  One of the men snorted.

  "I ain't touching a Zek," He sneered. "They makes ya cock rot off."

  "Only because you failed to satisfy one of us," she retorted coyly. "We really have no use for limp swords."

  "Fuck you," the man shot back. "Tells us what we want or I'll slice that tongue right out of your mouth." He snarled and produced a kitchen knife from the folds of his robe. The Mischevious gave him a sideways glace. All of them had come within striking distance of her, but just out of her reach. She looked up to the polite man in her arms and gave her an annoyed roll of the eyes and a sigh.

  "You'll pay my price won't you?" She begged him. Her fingers caressed the back of his neck lightly.

  "Pay mine, bitch!" the knife wielder sneered, and shoved six inches of sharp steel into her backside. The sharp pain of punctured vital organs dropped her instantly to the ground. Her hands went to her wound and came away soaked in blood.

  "Now, now, Zar. How are we supposed to get our answers now?" The polite one asked. He knelt down and took her chin in his hands. "I know it hurts, and we'll make it all better, I promise. But first we need to know why you attacked our friends."

  The Mischevious tried to focus on his words as she pulled energy from the healthier parts of her body to deal with the wound.

  "Friends?" she managed to say confused.

  "Yes," He said calmly. "The ones you killed. At the whorehouse..." For a moment, she thought he was talking about the bastards that had captured and tortured her. But the ones at the whorehouse? She didn't understand. "At the whorehouse?" she repeated.

  "Answer us, or I'll stick you again!" The violent one screamed.

  "Zar," he sighed. "Go wait outside with Jalth and have him come in here. Don't worry she's not going far, I'll call you in to finish the job if you like." Zar shoved his way past the other two and opened the door. Some harsh words were exchanged outside and the fifth man came in.

  "Please tell us, or we can't help take the pain away," Her captor asked again in a sweet voice as he caressed her cheek. Her eyes fluttered and started to roll back into her head.

  "Wasn't me..." she moaned, "only killed ones that came to... the storage...room." her consciousness waned, and she threatened to black out.

  "Hmm, this is odd." The first said. "I believe her. The mind rarely has time to think of a lie when it's about to die. I think someone set her up."

  "Rubbish!" another said, "she's lying, biding time for her boyfriend to come save her." The brains of this group didn't seem convinced; something dark was forming in his mind.

  "In either case, gentlemen," He started to say. "The elites are involved and we need to be very, very careful. If they are setting us up, then they already know. But they aren't afraid to kill us if they did, so why pin it on her? Unless to get the rest of us to come out of hiding... Dastardly devious!" he whispered in a dire voice. His skin turned bright while as if the thought was scaring him. "But then why haven't they attacked?" He looked around the room, as did the others. The only person stirring was the half dead Hekarim woman in his arms.

  "Oh, ho ho... clever ploy, girl." The man smirked. "I've seen a few stabbings in my time, I'd say you have..." he rolled her over slightly to look at the back wound. But when he saw that the bleeding had stopped, his face went white again.

  Dark fingers touched his cheek and caressed it softly before wrapping around his throat. A flash of light and the rank smell of burnt flesh preceded the man's topple backwards to the ground -- his throat a smoky ruin. The men staggered backwards in shock and one cried out in alarm.

  The door flew open and Zar returned with his knife. One man charged in with his leg back to delivery a devastating kick to her head. But as he closed in, a rock popped out of the ground mid-stride and he tripped over it. The soft dirt wasn't what welcomed him, but another jagged rock popped up to meet his face instead. The resulting wet splatter unnerved the other two who cowered away towards the back of the building.

  Zar blocked the doorway and watched. His face was turning red with anger but he wasn't stupid enough to charge in.

  "What're you waiting for, kill the bitch!" He shouted.

  "You do it!" Jalth shot back.

  "Come watch the door then, dammit!" Zar replied and Jalth came running over. The same magic trick caught him too only this time he tripped into Zar and was impaled on the knife. It wasn't a fatal wound, but he screamed in surprise and clutched his bleeding chest. Zar silenced him in one quick flash of his knife through the man's throat.

  "Dammit, if you hadn't screamed I wouldn't have had to do that," Zar cursed at the dieing man as he choked on his own blood.

  "You, killed him!" the last steward said in disbelief. The Mischevious ignored him and kept her blurring vision on that knife. Popping up rocks and incinerating flesh on touch were small uses of magic; it was all she could afford with the massive amount she had to spend to heal such a devastating wound. Her strength was about to give out, but she was determined to kill these two before that.

  "Shut up, Mac!" Zar hissed. "Keep your voice down, you idiot."

  "No! I'm want no part of this!" Mac protested.

  "After I'm done with her, I'll be coming for you, you worm." Zar seethed. He kept his distance from the Zek as she propped herself up on one arm and held her wounded side with the other. Her eyes had the utmost hate for this man in them, so much they were turning deep red. She started to crawl towards one of the wooden stools, but her strength gave out the moment she touched it.

  Zar seized the moment and charged in to plunge that knife into her chest. The moment he got close she flung the stool against his head and shattered it over his skull in a scream of rage. The two collapsed to the ground; one exhausted, one out cold.

  "Mac..." She hissed and looked up at him. "Come closer if you want to live."

  "Don't hurt me! I'm sorry. They said we were just going to ask you something!" Mac said and cautiously walked closer. "I'll go get help!" he went to run out.

  "Move and I'll kill you," she sneered. Mac froze in his tracks. "Come closer and help me up." Mac was halfway to the door with a clear shot at it. He looked back at her and the deadly glare she was giving him. It was too much to take and his instincts took over as he fled the bathhouse.

  "Fuck..." The Mischievous whimpered. She cried from the pain and let her body finally writhe in agony. She brought her hand up to her face and found it still covered in fresh blood. Her magic hadn't sealed the wound completely. If she didn't get h
elp she would die. "Fuck.." she cursed again, this time letting her fear and pain show in her voice.

  Slowly, bit by bit, she made it to her robe and managed to get it over her head. Somehow she got to her feet and wobbled out the door. One hand pressed the thick cotton to her backside to try and put pressure on the wound, the other helped hold her up as she went from wall to wall skirting around the buildings to avoid being seen. She didn't want anymore trouble, and she didn't want anyone to see the snarling death glare of hatred on her face. It was a long agonizing trek back to her room, but she eventually made it to the side entrance of the main chapel.

  On the rooftops above, Garen watched her disappear inside.

  "Good girl.." he breathed to himself with a smile. "All you had to do was yell, but you didn't. Good girl, rest well. I'll clean up." He smiled and looked to the building Mac had disappeared into...

  *****

  Trent's march down the hall looked like he was going to battle. With his arms crossed and an annoyed expression on his face, the usually unreadable man was clearly letting everyone know he was pissed. Stewards crossed to the opposite side the moment they saw his face and no one said a word to him. It was well past dark outside, and he hadn't seen his charge since early afternoon. When she didn't show for lessons, he checked the bathhouse, and the dining hall but no one had seen her. The last place he would have expected was now the only place left to find her.