by CJ Whrite
Roland leaned in the doorway, an amused look on his face. He remembered what it was like seeing the room for the first time, and the wild theories that had spun through his mind about who exactly Li Ho was. The bandy-legged man had not yet confided in him, but it did not bother Roland overly much: there were some things in life that you shared with no one.
Dragon reached out and lifted a huge, double-headed axe from the wall. He grinned at his reflection in the butterfly-blades. Andros picked a recurve bow and hooked a quiver filled with feathered arrows around his shoulder so it hung on his back. Jeklor picked a thin-bladed sword with a green jewel set in the pommel.
Roland saw a flicker of what he thought was pride crossing Li Ho’s face, but then he smoothed his features quickly and said, “Not gift. Only lend for one night. If die, make sure bring weapon back first.”
“Are you coming with?” Andros asked Li Ho, sounding hopeful.
“Not my problem. I wait patiently for weapons to come back.”
Roland stayed behind as Andros, Dragon and Jeklor left the room, and then Li Ho waved him inside. Li Ho opened a wooden chest in one corner and lifted a light mesh shirt. “Take off top,” said Li Ho, and Roland lifted the crossbow harness clear and removed his shirt. Li Ho lowered the chain shirt over Roland’s head. It was sleeveless, and the metal links felt cool against his skin.
“Will protect from clumsy blows,” said Li Ho as Roland rewrapped his shirt and readjusted the harness over the mail. He slipped the zhutou back between sash and waist, one prong hooked around the thick material.
Li Ho took a coal-black cloak from the chest and swirled it around Roland, tying it at the front. It covered Roland from neck to feet, hiding his weapons, hands and arms. He showed Roland a black hood and a black silk scarf and said, “For hiding face, but I think tonight, you want show face.”
Roland bowed low, his long hair falling past his face and said, “I am in your debt, Master.”
Li Ho beamed, and once Roland lifted his head back up, he would never guess from Li Ho’s face that it had ever showed an expression apart from impassive. “Training for eight month now. Tonight, show results,” said Li Ho.
*
Roland, Jeklor, Andros and Dragon reached the fork in the trail. They had walked in grim silence. Jeklor’s fresh stitches dripped occasional blood, and he walked slightly hunched over, his ribs paining him. He was pale and sweat beaded his brow, but he looked resolute, his face set. Dragon had slung the axe over his shoulder, his expression strangely unreadable. Andros looked a little whiter than usual, but he, too, carried an air of determination.
“I will scout the way. There might be lookouts out on the trail. When you reach the top of the valley, wait for my word before you go ahead,” said Roland, and with that, he melted into the shadows, disappearing between the trees.
“He’s starting to turn into Li Ho,” whispered Andros, squinting his eyes but unable to follow Roland’s movement.
The three men resumed their walk, trees creaking ominously alongside the narrow trail. It was half-moon, and there was just enough light to outline their dark shapes. Andros walked with his bow held before him, an arrow knocked into place. Each time a night sound came from the trees he swung the bow in its direction, baring his teeth.
“Roland will make sure no one stands in our way,” said Jeklor as Andros yanked his bow around for the fiftieth time.
“You trust him that much?” whispered Andros.
“Do you not?”
“I do ... well – I mean he freed me ... and Dragon. I trust him with my life ... I’m just a little bit jumpy. Roland is only one man, and he can make a mistake ...” He smiled nervously and Dragon patted him on the shoulder. Andros looked a bit affronted by the comfort.
“I’ve never met a man more focused than he,” said Jeklor. “The girl he loved was raped and murdered by a noble man, and he was thrown in prison for it –” Roland had not told Andros and Dragon about it, but Jeklor felt they needed to know. Roland would not hold it against him. “– and when they brought him to the cell I was in, he was unconscious, his face beaten black and blue. Once he realised that the noble – his name’s Sirol Vanderman – would go free, he immediately started making plans, asking me about The Tomb and Drifters’ Hell, writing letters ... You see, they wanted to send him to The Tomb, to keep him out of the way, making sure he never talked about what really happened. Once I heard Roland’s story, I had thought he would immediately try to escape – that’s what I would’ve done – but instead he wanted to go to The Tomb, because Drifters’ Hell is close by, you see. At that time, I had no idea how far along he had planned, but I had an inkling of what he wanted to do. I still had a year left in prison, and at that moment, I wanted to go with him ... go to The Tomb. Thinking back, I already realised back then that Roland would somehow make it, would somehow escape ...” Jeklor shrugged. “If he sets his mind to it, I would put all my coin on him succeeding. I mean, look at all he has done so far: Escaped The Tomb, made it all the way to Drifters’ Hell, faced down the villagers and somehow found the most dangerous bastard I have ever laid eyes on to train him, promising him a sum that no one would believe. Yet, Li Ho believes Roland, and I’m sure that when I say that Li Ho is a good judge of character, I’m right. And that’s only what I’ve seen him do. Did you know that Roland, as a commoner, managed to get accepted into Academia Amlor before his woman got killed – an academia for nobles? He was on the path of becoming a Healer before his future got ripped apart!”
Andros and Dragon listened with rapt attention as Jeklor spoke, the night sounds and their destination forgotten. Jeklor, for some reason grew angrier and angrier as he told the tale and he spat as he finished, breathing quickly, ignoring the pain in his ribs.
They continued in silence, Andros relaxing his grip on the bow, and Jeklor finally said, “Thanking you for coming with me.”
A low grumble came from Dragon that Jeklor assumed meant he was happy to be here, and Andros said, “No need for that. We’ve been through enough together.”
*
Roland sat on his haunches a little off the trail, watching a fire flickering far below him in the valley. Where he sat, the trail crested before sloping down into the valley; Li Ho was right, it was easy to keep an eye on Agron’s movement. Roland had already scouted Agron’s camp, and had retreated to wait for Jeklor, Andros and Dragon. He had found no lookouts at the camp nor in the woods – the men seemed to think attack impossible – and he was amazed at their laxness.
The land around the camp was flat and overgrown with knee-length grass. The woods continued down into the valley, growing about thirty paces to the east of the camp. Twenty men were gathered at a campfire, drinking ale and swapping jokes. Behind them was a long wooden barn, and next to it a stone house with a sod roof. The buildings were old and in need of repair, but the men did not look the type to care. There were no men inside the wooden barn (Roland reckoned that the men around the fire slept in the barn – trunks and blankets were scattered inside) and there was one man inside the stone house. Roland thought that he must be Lord Agron, since only he stayed in the house, and he was twice the size of any man Roland had seen before. He would even tower over Dragon, Roland reckoned.
While Roland waited, he tried formulating a plan. He did not want to expose Andros, Dragon or Jeklor to unnecessary danger. He would have preferred going about it alone, staying hidden, but with the three men in tow, he would have to expose himself to keep them safe. Andros and Dragon he could hide, but Roland already knew that Jeklor would not sit quietly and would insist on accompanying him.
Roland heard stealthy footsteps approaching his position and he pushed himself upright, slinking back into the shadows. It was Andros, Dragon and Jeklor, their eyes shining unnaturally bright in the moonlight.
“I’m here,” whispered Roland, hoping none of them would shout in fright. They tensed, but made no sound, and Roland stepped in front of them.
“What did you find?” whi
spered Jeklor.
“Twenty men – no lookouts. They are drinking and unaware – they do not expect us.”
“What should we do?” whispered Andros, sweat beading his upper lip.
“I have a plan, but I’m counting on you to do exactly as I say,” said Roland. “The woods are about thirty paces to the east of their camp, facing the campfire. Andros, I want you and Dragon to go off the path and move through the woods. Get close to where the men are at, but do not reveal your position. As I said, they are talking loudly and are unaware – they will not find you as long as you stay hidden.
“I will count to two thousand before I go down there, giving you enough time to get into position. I will then go and speak –“
“And I?” whispered Jeklor urgently.
“You go with Andros and Dragon,” said Roland.
“No, I owe Darse and Rael!”
Roland sighed and said, “But stay at my side, and slightly behind me. Do not speak unnecessarily. Leave the talking to me, and keep your sword at your side – but do not make threatening movements unless you must.”
Jeklor nodded and Roland could hear Andros swallowing loudly. Roland then said, “Jeklor and I will go meet them at the fire, while you, Andros and Dragon, remain hidden in the woods. If Agron’s men for some reason rallies and attack Jeklor and me, I’m counting on you and Dragon to make as much noise as possible, and to fire arrows into the men. Do it quick though, and then you run back to the cabin through the woods – do not try and help me. The noise you make will give me and Jeklor time to escape in the confusion.”
“Do you expect that to happen?” Andros asked hoarsely.
“No, but that does not mean one should not plan for it ... and another thing – do not look straight into the campfire, it will prevent you from seeing in the dark afterwards. Now go, be careful.”
Roland watched as Andros and Dragon disappeared into the woods, and he started counting silently in his head. This was it; there was nothing more to think of. The only thing left was to follow through with his plan.
Jeklor stood in silence next to him, his eyes fixed on the campfire below flickering like a red star in the dark valley.
Chapter 16
Roland walked in plain view toward the gathered men, Jeklor slightly behind him. He halted just outside the glare of the fire, and stood still in the semi-dark, watching the men with an unreadable expression. Agron’s men were laughing at a raunchy tale involving donkeys and serving women, and no one noticed Roland nor Jeklor.
Roland hesitated, and then he could hear Li Ho speaking in his mind. As clear as if Li Ho was standing next to him, his many teachings flooded to the forefront.
I have knowledge, but not courage. I fear death – that is why cannot be assassin. You must throw away hope to become assassin, or you will die, and if die, must welcome death. Whenever faced with group, and cannot, or want not escape, death is very close. Must talk first, and must not fear ... death is certain unless accept death. Talk clear – keep words short. Take lead.
Roland now understood what Li Ho had meant. Facing the group of men, survival was immaterial. He had made the choice to come down here. They had attacked his friend, and the price would be heavy, whether he lived or died. Tomorrow does not matter.
Roland took a step forward and said, “Where are Darse and Rael?” He spoke softly, but his voice cut straight through their laughter. A moment of panic had men falling backwards, others jumping to their feet, their faces shocked as they saw the black cloaked man materializing in their midst. Eyes flicked over Roland’s shoulder to Jeklor, and then they relaxed, realising there was only two men. Their blades glinted in the fire light.
“Where are Darse and Rael?” repeated Roland. His voice held no anger, and no fear ... it was completely emotionless, like a man speaking from the grave, and Agron’s men grew wary.
“I’m Rael –“
“And I’m Darse, init Rael?”
“Sure is Darse,” said Rael, and he and Darse stepped forward, smirks on their faces. “The funny man is here. Don’t look too funny now ... should’ve paid pritecson coin!”
The wariness broke, and the group of men roared with laughter.
Control emotion. Do not let anger cloud judgement – do not let pity dull skill. Must be hard, must deal death, must take control.
“Who pissed on the wares?” said Roland.
“Did you like it?” said Rael, and his words were barely cold before Roland’s cloak parted slightly, and there was a sharp twang ... the sound like a piece of metal under strain springing forward. A bolt suddenly grew from Rael’s crotch, and he fell to his knees, eyes bulging. A dark stain spread rapidly on his trousers as blood seeped through his breeches and thick blood droplets dripped between his cradling fingers. It happened so quickly that the men behind Rael did not notice. Darse stared down at kneeling Rael, nonplussed.
Jeklor groaned in effort next to Roland as he pulled his sword back double-handed over his head, his cracked ribs protesting. “Not-so-funny-now,” he gasped and flung the sword forward with all his might. It flipped through the air and struck Rael in the chest, the blade ramming clear through him, exciting his back. Rael’s mouth opened wide in surprise, his bloody fingers leaving his crotch and touching the sword, almost caressing it. As Rael toppled backwards, Jeklor stumbled and fell to his knees, his face grey with pain.
“NO!” screamed Darse and tore the sword from Rael’s limp body, his lips pulled back in a snarl. He held the sword high and charged, spittle flying from his mouth.
When enemy have sword, step in close. Advantage of long blade gone when no room to swing ... sword become useless, but zhutou not have problem. Zhutou become very dangerous.
Roland stepped forward, close enough to smell Darse’s sour breath. He rammed his left shoulder underneath Darse’s raised arm, preventing him from swinging the sword downwards. Darse’s eyes widened in surprise as he struggled to bring the sword down, and as he strained, Roland’s right hand appeared from underneath his cloak in a silver flash, thrusting upwards.
A shudder ran through Darse
As Roland pulled the zhutou clear, Darse’s mouth fell open, a silver glint flickering between his teeth. Roland flicked his right hand backwards and blood slipped from the round, tapered shaft, the zhutou once more gleaming and unblemished. Roland stepped back, moving in front of Jeklor to hide him, and hand and zhutou disappeared underneath his cloak once more. He stood relaxed, his black cloak billowing slightly as a cool breeze brought shivers to the camp.
Darse started shaking violently all over. A dark hole had appeared underneath his chin, and blood dripped from his mouth, nose and eyes, along the path the zhutou had burrowed. He fell backwards, his left heel gouging the earth as it twitched.
Agron’s men stood in stunned silence. Two of them had died, and the dark-cloaked man had barely moved ... nor did he shout, or curse, or screamed a challenge. That was the most disconcerting thing of all – he barely seemed alive. They held their weapons forgotten, and none thought to attack; they were spellbound inside Roland’s cold, impassive aura.
“Who are you?” cried one of the men.
Never lose control. Do not give chance for enemy to think. Keep enemy frozen in fear. If start asking questions, make quiet.
Roland’s cloak swept to the side and the wooden wing of his crossbow snapped forward. A bolt materialised from the questioning man’s head and he crumbled to the ground, his eyes dull and unblinking. Roland had ten bolts left, and seventeen targets. He calmly reloaded his crossbow, slipping fresh bolts into the track and channel. Hand and crossbow disappeared back under the cloak. From death to reload had taken but a few short moments.
No one dared to move; silence was total.
“Bring me Agron,” said Roland, his dark eyes hidden in the gloom.
“Why do you –” The crossbow sang and the man was flung from his feet.
“Bring me Agron,” repeated Roland, his voice sounding bored, slipping a fresh bo
lt into place.
Nine bolts, sixteen men.
One of the men lifted his hands above his head and slowly backed away until he reached the stone house, where he spun on his heel and sprinted inside. Roland kept his eyes on the men before him, but watched the retreating man from the corner of his eye.
A roar of anger came from the house and Agron stepped outside. He was bare-chested and hairless, the width of his shoulders hiding the door from view. He carried a sword longer than he was tall, the blade as wide as Roland’s thigh. Without any apparent effort he lifted the sword above his head one handed, and he bellowed at his men, “He is only one man! Why are you hesitating? KILL HIM!”
One of his men took an experimental step forward and the metal wing sang, a bolt punching into the man’s throat. He gargled, his hands clawing at the bolt, and then he fell sideways, knocking the huddled group off balance.
There might only be one enemy, but none of them were prepared to throw away their lives. They stood frozen, some in awkward positions after they had stumbled from the falling man. It seemed safer that way.
Agron’s face turned purple, his bald plate glinting with sweat in the fire light. “Face me!” he yelled. “A coward hiding behind a crossbow you are! FACE ME IN SINGLE COMBAT LIKE A MAN!”
Much men speak of honour and courage, but only when loosing. They will challenge, and you will feel tempted ... but very dangerous feeling. They stab you in back with smile, and you die stupid death. Never believe howl of loser. Never accept challenge.
“No,” said Roland, and the crossbow spoke. The bolt snapped Agron’s head back, and the massive sword slipped from his hand. He took a jittering step forward ... and one more ... and then he pitched to the ground face first, the impact driving the bolt through the back of his skull.