by Michael Mood
A commotion to his left caused him to turn his head.
A gruff bartender stood behind the large wooden bar and a tavern wench stood in front of him, her back to Krothair.
“Ya fucked up again,” the bartender said dangerously.
The girl stood quietly, her head bowed.
“Look at me! I told ya one more time and you'd be back on the streets selling yer tits fer coins. I hope it's a warm night, 'cause yer nips are gonna need ta be out plenty.”
The few other patrons seemed to be paying no attention, and Ti'Shed hadn't lifted his head either. Krothair started to stand up and then stopped himself. Shouldn't someone defend her? He didn't know if that was his place. He sat down again and watched, the flickering flames casting their red glow on the bartender and the wench.
“I barely got the order wrong,” she said.
“A man like Lord Yellowsworth comes in here for a drink, ya don't fuck it up. Not in the slightest.”
“Yeah, I probably shouldn't have pissed in it,” the wench said.
The bartender slapped her then. Hard. His arms were incredibly thick, most likely from years of carrying kegs and drinking their contents. The wench's head whipped to the side and Krothair saw her face for the first time.
It was Katya.
Her cheek was already reddening from where the man had hit her, a trickle of blood running from her nose.
Krothair's heart raced. Now something was definitely wrong.
“I've had enough o' yer strange lip,” the bartender said, turning his open palm into a thick fist.
“I'll go,” Katya said quietly, not turning back to face the bartender. She untied the ragged thing that had been her apron and placed it gently on the bar.
Krothair put his hand on the hilt of his sword, feeling the metal and leather under his fingers. His eyes followed her as she walked across the room and disappeared behind a wall. The bartender came out from behind the bar and began to take orders himself. All seemed to be back to normal.
Ti'Shed had said he believed Katya had worked some sort of lowly service job. Had he seen her in this place and come in to catch her? Was it possible he wanted to exact some kind of revenge on her?
Ti'Shed was gone.
Krothair had stopped looking at him for only a few moments and he was gone. Behind where Ti'Shed had been sitting was a small door that must have led to the alley in the back.
“What'll ya be wantin', sir?” the bartender asked Krothair, suddenly blocking his view. He was an entirely different man than he had been a few moments ago, mouth in a wide smile.
It's an act.
“Was meeting a friend here,” Krothair said. “He didn't show.”
“A shame, sir. Ale on the house?”
Krothair didn't know what to say, so he simply headed for the door.
“We sure get 'em in here sometimes,” he heard the bartender say.
Then Krothair was out the door and into the stormy night.
-2-
Krothair made his way to the back of The Meeting Place. Rain splashed off the eaves in waterfalls. Lightning periodically lit the world. Flash.
Flash. Nothing.
Flash. Nothing.
“You stupid old bastard!”
Flash. Katya flew through the air towards Ti'Shed, landing a powerful roundhouse kick into the sword master's gut. Ti'Shed let out as much of a sound as he was probably capable of at that moment and he sunk to one knee with an audible squelch of mud.
“Katya!” Krothair yelled through the rain.
Flash. His sword was in his hand, the dull blade coming out of the soaked sheath with a disgusting sucking sound. He saw Katya turn towards him. She took her eyes off Ti'Shed. The old sword master swept his leg out, but it must have gone slower than he would have liked, perhaps getting stuck in the mud. Katya jumped over the move and did a handspring, landing directly behind the old man, who fell over sideways.
Flash. Suddenly, something red was in Katya's hands and she drew a weapon that was dazzling even in the darkness. Krothair's throat choked. It was Ti'Shed's son's sword. The old man must have brought it with him and now Katya had it. She charged through the rain as Ti'Shed struggled to get back to his knees.
“I should be calling you The Nadless Soldier!” she yelled.
“I'll save you the trouble of thinking of a more clever name than that,” Krothair said, “and kill you right now.”
Flash. They came together and everything Krothair had learned in his month of training kicked in. Katya's blade whirled through the air with vicious quickness and Krothair immediately fell into a stance more befitting this type of a fight. One on one with questionable footing; he had done that before.
Flash. The blades rang together in the rain, beautiful weapon pounding terrible practice blade. Krothair gave ground because he had to, waiting for the right opportunity to strike. Katya's hair whirled around her, heavy and wet with rain, and just when it slapped her across the face Krothair lunged. His sword darted out like the tongue of a viper, aimed at the shoulder of her sword arm, the only opening he had.
Flash. Krothair stumbled back, his sword feeling lighter in his hand. He glanced down to see the blade a good foot and a half shorter than it had just been. His shoulder blow had been deflected, and his weapon had been broken. The end of it was no longer pointed, but rather a blunt, worthless thing. A crack ran vertically through it.
Flash. Katya was on him again, faster than before. Don't let her use her magic, he prayed. Don't let the Servitor kill me. He switched his thoughts, then. He wasn't a sword fighter anymore, as Ti'Shed had told him he never truly would be. Now he was a broken-sword fighter, and he fell into a dagger stance. He was an urchin now. He began to parry blows with the hand-guard instead of the blade, feeling the cuts get closer and closer to landing.
Flash. Her sword was coming down through the air in a powerful two-handed grip. A slice meant to cleave the skull. Krothair attempted to dodge but his foot slipped in the muck, and in a last attempt to live he raised his sword above his head. Katya's beautiful sword slipped into the vertical crack in Krothair's broken sword and the boy twisted with all his might, praying his weapon didn't betray him. Katya's weapon went flying off into the darkness, while Krothair's fell out of his grip.
Flash. Katya landed wrong and her feet flew out from under her. Krothair scrambled on top of her as fast as he could, managing to catch hold of her legs. She fought ferociously, and she was slippery with mud and rain, her body an impossibility to hold onto. He tried to grab her waist but she changed the direction she was moving and instead of trying to slide up and out of his grip she slithered down towards his feet.
Krothair squeezed his arms together with all his might. He heard something crack and Katya yelped. It could have been one of her ribs or an arm breaking. Her fingers dug into him then in a very unfortunate place. It was his turn to yelp.
Krothair suddenly remembered one night of his training very vividly. Ti'Shed had told him there were theories that women were overall better combatants than men because they had one glorious advantage: a woman's genitals were mostly on the inside.
Krothair pushed away as hard as he could and managed to free himself.
“Damn you stupid men!” Katya screamed at the top of her lungs.
Mud blurred Krothair's vision, but the last thing he saw was Katya running away. She was holding her side with one hand, her long red hair slapping wetly back and forth. There was a red sheath in her hand, the hilt of a sword protruding from it.
“Bring that back, Katya!” Krothair yelled as he righted himself. But he knew it was no use even if she had heard him. She had picked up the sword – it had become The Sword, Krothair realized – and had made off with it. Even though Krothair had won the fight, he had lost something he hadn't bargained on.
It was getting lighter, but it couldn't be morning already. Silver and purple lights danced in the back alley and Krothair looked around to see where they were coming from.
T
hey radiated from his forearm.
The boy tried to back away, in horror of what he saw. There, on his own arm, just below the skin, was a glowing symbol that looked like a broken sword. The hilt glowed silver and the two almost-connected pieces of the blade glowed purple. Purple and silver. The colors of the Kingsguard.
Ti'Shed groaned and coughed. Krothair turned around, brandishing his forearm. “There's something wrong with me,” the boy said, his voice shaking.
“On the contrary,” Ti'Shed said. “There is something exceedingly right with you.”
And there, in the rain, Ti'Shed bowed in the mud at Krothair's feet.
Then the old man collapsed.
-3-
Fortunately it was night and Krothair now knew the less-traveled paths of the city rather well. Even so, it took him a long time to carry Ti'Shed back to his house. Katya's kick had brought the powerful sword master low. She attacked him when he was drunk.
Krothair laid the old man, still wet and muddy, onto the bed in his old room. He didn't want go back into Ti'Shed's shrine, feeling that that area still held a terrible power.
“You look like shit,” Ti'Shed said, his eyes still closed.
Krothair laughed a little, the pain of the past not affecting him as much. Perhaps his finding The Sword, his leaving, had wiped things away more fully than anything else could. The symbol on his arm glowed bright in the darkness of the room. “I've been through a lot,” he said.
“Haven't we all,” Ti'Shed said. “You are marked, you know.”
“Is this some kind of magic?” Krothair asked, indicating his arm.
“Oh, yes. That of God Himself.”
Krothair knelt by the bed now and looked – really looked – into the face of his former teacher. It showed an age that Krothair had never seen during his time in training. Ti'Shed looked so, so tired.
“I must sleep soon,” the old man said, “but what you must do now is clear to me. No more wandering. No more running away. That symbol means a few things. One thing it means is that you are a Servitor.”
Krothair's heart dropped, not with sadness but with joy and fear. “I am?” he managed to say.
“Yes,” Ti'Shed said. “I am old, Krothair. I know my fair share of things, but there is little I know of these marks, save that they are only given to mages. It may be that when you saved my life you awakened something within yourself. I wish there was time to train you in your new powers.”
“Why isn't there?”
“Because you must travel. You are used to that, are you not? Only one Servitor gets a mark like that, and you are he, Chosen of God for better or worse. You must travel to the Temple of Sin'ra.”
“Where is that?” Krothair asked, suddenly scared. “Can you come with me?”
“It is in the mountains to the north of this city. And no, I cannot. I am in no condition to travel. I will be able to take care of myself well enough, but I would only slow you down. No, you must go quickly and alone. Tonight would be a fantastic time to leave.”
“But I just got back,” Krothair whispered, tears forming hot in his eyes.
“Our paths may cross many times, Krothair,” Ti'Shed said. “Never underestimate life's ability to surprise and trick. Don't weep here. Go and fulfill whatever duty you have been Chosen for. The symbol on your arm – that of the broken blade – is as ancient and rare a thing that is ever whispered about in rumors.”
“How do I find this Temple?”
“Go into my room. Yes, you have permission this time. Go into my dresser and fetch a piece of paper with a black ribbon tied around it. It is one of the only maps I have ever kept. It will give you the best notion of how to get where you are going.”
Krothair stood up and bowed to his master in the dark, then he turned to go, though his legs were exhausted.
Just as he was leaving the room Ti'Shed said, “That bitch got my sword didn't she?”
“She did. But I will return it to you.”
“Oh, no, Krothair. You must abandon that path.”
“A wise man once told me that you should never underestimate life's ability to surprise and trick.”
Ti'Shed chuckled a little, and coughed. “Do what you must do, Krothair. Your life is about to change in innumerable ways. You may find you have little time to give me another passing thought.”
“I assure you, that will not be true.”
“Take a sword with you,” Ti'Shed said, as if it weren't the most obvious thing in the world. “And get some supplies to take care of it.”
Krothair took a brief moment to gather things for his journey, grabbing whetstone and oil cloth and food that would keep. Then he went to Ti'Shed's room and rummaged through the drawers until he found what he was looking for. He tucked the map into the same pocket as his Kingsguard paper (his most sacred artifact, still undamaged even after the past few weeks), grabbed a sword he remembered well from the training yard, and left the house; not with shame, but with purpose.
One hope burned in his mind, brighter than the symbol on his arm.
He was a Servitor. The magic was alive within him.
And with it, the chance to one day become a Kingsguardian.
-4-
Getting out of Haroma wasn't problematic at this late hour, but Krothair felt like he should at least cover up his glowing forearm. He'd had to wrap his cloak around his arm three times to fully cover the glow. He supposed he sort of looked like an idiot, but sometimes he had seen people wearing their cloaks this way. Was it for some sort of ritual? It didn't matter. His symbol was hidden.
The sword he had taken from Ti'Shed's house wasn't fantastically good, and not much of an upgrade from his practice sword, but at least it was sharp. He drew it now to inspect the blade. It was ably-made, with a curving hand-guard and a longer than average blade.
Krothair sheathed the sword and exited Haroma through its north-western gate, following the stars he had so often followed as a youth. From place to place. From life to life.
The mountains loomed large after only a few days of travel, and he studied the map furiously to try and maintain a proper course.
The map was an aged thing, scrawled on yellowing paper by Ti'Shed himself.
Landmarks were circled and had their names scrawled next to them. There were some places he had never heard of: Night Hill, The Undergrul, Toxic Mill. Sound like fun places to visit, he thought. There was Haroma. Here were the mountains just above it. And drawn in large bold ink was the Temple of Sin'ra, its name scribbled next to it. There was nothing to distinguish its exact location.
“That's not the most helpful thing I've ever seen,” Krothair said to the map. “What am I doing?” He unwrapped his arm then and stared at the symbol glowing there. “What are you?” he asked it. “And where exactly are you taking me?”
Chapter 25 – In Depths and Darkness
-1-
The days of riding were getting to Halimaldie. Long hours on a horse had worn his muscles to the bone, if such a thing were possible. The Kingsguardians, however, seemed tireless, and it was merely Halimaldie's desire not to disappoint them that kept him in the saddle.
A few days ago he could have cared less what they thought of him, but his new circumstances had left him feeling differently. There was something about Trance Raynman that Halimaldie admired. The Kingsguardian spoke to him as if they had been childhood friends. Halimaldie found that he liked that. He'd only ever felt it with one other person, and that person happened to be his brother who had been his childhood friend.
“My Well is almost empty,” Telin said.
“Your what?” Halimaldie asked.
“He means he's almost used his reserve of power,” Trance said. “You pussy, Telin! Hang in there!”
“We're almost there,” Halimaldie assured him. “If my navigation is any good, we're close to the mine entrance.” It was hot this far south and Halimaldie was sweating profusely. He couldn't be sure, but probably he had lost a good stone of weight on this trip. “We sh
ould slow down or we might miss it,” he said. He was indeed afraid that they would whiz right by the mine and off into the wild wilderness.
“You're right,” Telin said. “Let's let our powers go.”
Halimaldie almost fell out of his saddle with dizziness and exhaustion as the world crashed back to real time. Now everything felt slow and lazy; the pace of normal life was a terrible drag. Halimaldie took a moment to look around.
“Strange trees and plenty of moisture,” Halimaldie said. “We're definitely close.”
“Your navigation has been impeccable, Hal,” Trance said. “I expected to be doing a lot more of the work around here.”
“When your business is spread out over the continent, you tend to know how to get around in it. My travels aren't extensive, but they've been common enough. I've even been here once in the very early stages, but that was by much longer and more arduous means. I never expected to travel like this.”
“Aye. No one does.”
“There's a distinct slant to these trees here,” Halimaldie said, pointing ahead of him. “If we follow that we should come to a ledge. The entrance to the mine is carved into the face of that ledge, and not too far off should be the small mining town of Dunne.”
The Kingsguardians fell in behind Halimaldie, following him down the slope and out of the swampy forest. The horses had no trouble navigating the tricky footing, fine stock as they were, and before long Halimaldie saw small buildings off in the distance. A few minutes more brought them to Dunne.
The air was quiet. Not even a birdsong broke the silence. No one was coming or going from the town of Dunne.
“This isn't right,” Halimaldie said. He scanned the town, an eeriness creeping into his gut.
“Did you really expect it to be?” Trance asked.
The place was devoid of people.