by J. M. Martin
~
Julianne sat with hands folded across her lap, just as her mother had instructed, as their carriage rolled through the streets of Veldaren. The stone road was uneven and crowded, their driver lucky to keep them at a consistent pace for more than a second or two. The curtains were drawn, preventing her from seeing out, which left Julianne incredibly bored.
“Will we be there soon?” she asked.
“Your asking won’t bring us there any sooner,” her father said, head leaning against the side, cradling by his large hand.
“It won’t be long,” her mother said, casting an annoyed look to her father. She looked tired, dark circles underneath her blue eyes, her long brown hair lacking any luster as it fell past her neck. Julianne sensed the tension, and she prayed it wasn’t her fault. Her parents had bickered about this trip to Veldaren for weeks, with neither seeming like they wanted to go. Veldaren is dangerous, her father had said over and over again. But her mother always countered with language of tradition, trade, contracts, things far beyond nine-year-old Julianne’s understanding. All of it must have meant something, though, for her father had relented, and together they’d traveled south from Felwood to the city of Veldaren.
Not alone, of course. They’d had their house guards, plus some servants, most of whom followed in the carriage behind them. The only strange addition was the man who sat beside Julianne to her right. He was a quiet man, having entered their carriage just before they drove through the gates of the city. She’d flushed upon first seeing him, for he was very handsome, his blonde hair cut to the neck, his blue eyes sparkling whenever he smiled, which was never enough for Julianne’s taste. Whenever she could she peered at him, and she swore he was always watching from the corner of his eyes. Sometimes he ignored her. Sometimes he’d wink at her and smile.
The man was so charming it made it easy to ignore the long blades belted to his waist, to forget that she didn’t know his name. Whatever the reason he’d joined them, Julianne had a feeling those swords were involved.
“Get out of the way!” she heard the driver shout, and the carriage lurched to a stop for the thousandth time that day.
Her father sat up, pulling back on the curtain so he could look out.
“Gods damn it,” he muttered.
“Want me to take a look?” asked the blond stranger.
“It’s probably for the best,” her father answered.
The stranger pushed open the door and stepped out. The sounds of the city rushed in, louder than ever. She heard shouting, arguing, an intermixed bustle of motion and footsteps. The daylight was almost blinding, and she squinted and turned away. Wishing she could go with him, Julianne thumped her head against her door and lifted the curtain slightly. She was so short, she could only see the upper portions of the square wooden homes built on either side of the road.
Her mouth opened to ask again how long until arriving at their temporary home in the city when a shadow covered the door. She spotted a hooded man wearing a green cloak for the briefest of moments before the door ripped open. Instinctively, Julianne let out a cry and tried to scoot back, but hands were on her, a bag pulled over head. Her parents screamed, and she joined them as rough hands pulled her out of the carriage. Throat burning, she fought as coarse strings at the bottom of the bag tightened, choking out her cry. She gasped for air as her feet bumped along the stone, her tiny body easily carried. As the world turned brown, and then black, she heard the distant sound of swords clashing, coupled with the screams of men dying, dying just as she was now.
#
When Julianne came to, the bag was no longer over her head. Her eyes slowly opened and she fought waves of nausea in an attempt to gain her bearings. She was in an empty building, dark, dusty, and with a tall ceiling. Her last few moment of consciousness flickered through her, reawakening her fear. Letting out a gasp, she pushed her eyes fully open to take in her surroundings. Her gasp made hardly a sound, for a gag was tightly wound about her head and shoved into her mouth. She sat in a chair, hands tied behind her with a large piece of rope. All around her were men with dark clothes and long green cloaks. At their waists, tucked into belts and loose hanging sheaths, were daggers and swords.
“The girl’s awake,” said one of the four men, glancing over. He had a hood pulled over his head, much like the others. His face was badly scarred, and when he smiled at her, it was the ugliest thing she’d ever seen. Immediately she tried to stand and flee, without thought or reason. The binds held her down, and all she accomplished was rocking her chair from side to side.
Casually, as if it were nothing at all, that same man walked over and backhanded her across the face. Tears ran down as she cried into the gag, and she felt her right cheek starting to swell.
“No need to rough her up, Jack,” said another of the men.
“Nothing says I can’t, either,” Jack shot back, and he winked at Julianne. “The rules of the job say she has to be alive when he gets here. I don’t remember hearing she had to be dolled up and pretty, though….”
The way he was looking at her, smiling, filled Julianne’s stomach with bile. As Jack took another step toward her the door to the warehouse burst open, and a fifth cloaked man rushed inside. His hood was down, his short red hair wet with sweat. He looked young to Julianne, easily younger than all the others.
“What the fuck, Lee?” asked the oldest of the five, a man with wrinkled skin and gray hair who leaned against the wall beside the door.
“The Watcher!” Lee shouted, turning about and kicking the door shut. “The Watcher’s on our tail.”
Jack took a step back, a hand dropping down to the sword at his side.
“How do you know?” he asked. “He drop in all nicely to tell you?”
“Fuck you,” Lee said, wiping a hand across his forehead. “I found Kirby’s body three streets over, and the Watcher’s Eye was carved into his stomach.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” said the older man. “The Watcher’s killed plenty of Serpents in his day. What makes you think he’s looking for us?”
“If you’d let me finish I’d tell you,” Lee said. “There was a message written with Kirby’s blood in the dirt beside him. ‘Where’s the girl?’ it said. We’re fucked, all of us, we’re gods-damn fucked!”
Julianne’s eyes were wide as they bounced from one man to the other, trying to make sense of the situation. Who was the Watcher? And why would these five be so scared of him?
“Let me get this straight,” the older man said, as he drew his sword and stepped closer to Lee. “You found Kirby killed by the Watcher, recently killed I might add, and then you ran straight here?”
Lee’s face, already pale to begin with, paled even more.
“Not…straight here,” he said. “I ducked through a few alleys first. I’m not stupid, Stan.”
The others drew their own weapons, and there was no hiding the frustration on the older man’s face.
“Ducked a few alleys?” he asked. “You wet-nosed moron. Did you hang out a sign at the door asking the Watcher to come in for a mug of ale, too? Shit. We’re leaving, now.”
Jack gestured toward the door.
“What about our payment?” he asked. “If we’re not here when—”
“We’ll set up another meeting,” Stan said. “Something we can’t do if we’re fucking dead. Have I made myself clear?”
“Perfectly clear,” said a voice belonging to none of them. The men in the green cloaks froze, and in that sudden calm the intruder descended from the rafters. He was a swirling chaos of gray cloak and boots and flashing swords. He landed in their center, and though she never saw the hit, Jack fell backward, clutching at his neck as it gushed blood.
Then Julianne knew. The way the others hesitated to act. The way Lee let out a horrified scream as a large urine stain darkened his trousers. The way the intruder smiled beneath his dark hood, as if merely amused by the weapons they raised against him.
This had to be the Watcher.<
br />
Stan had the courage to lead the attack, and all but Lee joined in. The Watcher spun in place, cloaks whipping about the air. Julianne could not follow his movements, and it seemed neither could her kidnappers. The men were beaten back, one losing his hand, another screaming as a wound on his chest seemed to open on its own. Stan continued on, stubbornly refusing to be overwhelmed by the display, and then suddenly the Watcher lunged into him. Their bodies crashed together, rolling. When they came to a stop, it was the Watcher who stood, shoulders hunched, cloaks falling forward to hide his body.
His smile was gone.
“Get back here,” he said, his voice a whisper that somehow Julianne heard with ease. She wondered a moment who he spoke to, then saw Lee flinging the door open to the warehouse. A slender dagger flew end over end through the air, stopping in Lee’s neck. The young man let out a cry, then dropped to his stomach.
With that, it seemed the fight was over. The Watcher walked from body to body, checking for signs of life. Only Jack made noise, weeping as he clutched his bleeding neck. He lay not far from Julianne’s bound feet, and the sounds he made, the way his whole body seemed to shiver, filled her with an overwhelming desire to vomit. Only the gag kept her from doing so.
Without saying a word, the Watcher leaned over Jack, curled a blade around his throat, and then cut. Jack’s convulsions grew, but only for a moment. Then his eyes rolled back and he lay still, leaving Julianne’s stifled weeping as the only sound in the warehouse. The Watcher sheathed his blades then turned to her, and she let out a muffled cry. His face…it was covered in shadow but for his mouth and lower jaw. The grim smile there, so cold, so determined, convinced her this man was not her salvation, but merely another kidnapper. Eyes widening, she kicked and struggled, desperate to free herself from the bonds as the man stepped toward her.
To her surprise, her display halted his approach.
“Calm yourself, Julianne,” he whispered. “I’m here to free you.”
That whisper…why whisper, when everyone was dead? She stopped struggling, though, for there was no use. Sniffling, she stared at the Watcher, wishing the gag was gone so she could plead with him. The man knelt down so that he was at her height, and then he touched his hood with his hand. It never moved, but somehow the shadows receded, revealing a handsome face, square jaw, blond hair, and pretty blue eyes. Julianne felt hope kindle for the first time in her breast. The man…the man from the carriage?
“Your father sent me,” he said, as if he could read her mind. “Now sit still while I untie you.”
He walked around her chair, pulling her gag free as he did. She spat several times, wishing she could get rid of the sweaty taste. Behind her, the binds on her feet and hands loosened, and with a soft cry she lurched from the chair and spun about. The Watcher stood there, eyes on her, ropes in hand.
“Take me to my father,” she said.
“I will,” the Watcher said, the shadows returning to his face. “But I still don’t know who hired the Serpent Guild to kidnap you. If I take you to safety, the man or woman responsible may arrive while I’m gone. That means whoever wished you captured could do so again, and next time I may not be fast enough to save you. Do you understand?”
“I think,” she said, though she didn’t really. “What do you want from me?”
He gestured to the chair.
“If you’re brave enough, I can put you back in this chair, and we can wait. When the other party comes, I’ll put an end to it, permanently. I need you to trust me, Julianne. I’ll understand if you want to leave…”
She thought of going through it all over again, of trying to sleep at night knowing whoever wished her kidnapped or dead still lurked in the shadows outside the window to her keep. Though it made her hands shake, she nodded.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep me safe,” she said. “Just tell me what to do.”
He smiled at her.
“A brave girl,” he said. “Your parents should be proud. Sit down in the chair and wait.”
She did, crossing her arms to fend off the cold she felt despite the warmth of the warehouse. The Watcher removed his large, strange-looking cloak, setting it on top of a crate in the corner. After that he removed Stan’s green cloak, checked it for blood, and put it around his neck. Once done, he dragged the bodies one by one to the same far corner where the shadows were at their deepest. Julianne watched with grim fascination. When he was done, the Watcher returned to her chair and stepped around back.
“Put your hands behind you,” he said.
She did as she was told, and then she felt the ropes slide once more around her wrists.
“The knots won’t be real,” he whispered into her ear. “The moment you pull against them they’ll come apart, so don’t panic or do anything rash. I need you to trust me, you understand?”
She nodded, praying that she did.
The Watcher circled her, examining his handiwork. Apparently satisfied, he picked up the gag and moved to put it her mouth. Julianne turned her head to the side, and as much as she didn’t want to, she felt fresh tears roll down her cheeks.
“Please,” she said.
The Watcher paused, then tied the gag loosely around her neck instead, letting it hang down as if she’d forced it free.
“Remember,” he said. “Stay calm, and no matter what happens, keep your faith in me. You won’t die this day, I promise.”
And with that they waited, the Watcher hovering over her as he stared at the warehouse’s lone door. Julianne didn’t know how long they waited, only knew it felt like forever. Her rear hurt from the hard wood, her back ached from staying still so long, but she knew she had to be patient. She was the heir to her family’s numerous plantations, and as her mother often told her, suffering through difficulties was part of the life they must live. At last the door creaked open, and she straightened.
Armed soldiers entered, one after the other, until there were six in the warehouse. Her protector watched them with arms crossed over his chest, as if without a care in the world. Last came a man in a finely fitted vest, black pants, and dark hair pulled into a ponytail. A smile was on his face, a face so familiar Julianne could not contain herself.
“Uncle?” she gasped.
The Watcher glanced at her, mouth turned to a frown, and she shrank in her chair. Meanwhile, Uncle Ross chuckled.
“I must admit,” he said. “Of all the family reunions we’ve had in the past ten years, this is my favorite.”
The soldiers fanned out, two remaining before Ross to protect him, the other four surrounding Julianne and the Watcher from all sides. Julianne’s panic grew, and she struggled to remain seated. The Watcher had just taken on five at once, but that was with surprise against men without armor. Now there were six, and these soldiers carried long blades and wore chainmail beneath their tunics. What hope could he possibly have?
“Good of you to join us,” the Watcher said with that strange whisper of his. “Now hand over the rest of the payment.”
Ross reached into a pocket, withdrawing a small bag of coins tied shut with a string. He tossed it underhanded, the bag landing near Julianne’s feet with a loud, metallic rattle.
“It’s all there,” he said. “Now do the deed, or get out of the way.”
The Watcher’s hands drifted to the handles of his swords.
“Consider it done,” he said. “You can go.”
Ross shook his head.
“Not good enough, rogue. I want my brother’s lands, and I want them without any fear of complications. Julianne dies, and before my own eyes. I’m not risking you squirreling her away to ransom back to my brother after I’m gone.”
Julianne’s eyes widened. Her father’s lands? But what did that have to do with her? How did her dying help her uncle? The Watcher seemed to understand, though, and he slowly shook his head.
“Murdering your niece for a chance at an inheritance? You’d fit in well with the people of Veldaren, foreigner.”
; Ross shrugged.
“I’ll consider that flattery. Now if you wish to keep breathing, this is your last chance. Kill the little bitch, or get out of my sight.”
The Watcher drew his swords, and he placed one against the skin of Julianne’s neck. She tensed, body shivering, teeth chattering. Trust him, he’d said, and she tried to do just that. Looking up, peering into the shadow that was his face, she saw him nod ever so slightly.
“Kill the bitch?” he asked. “If you insist.”
The sword vanished from her throat as the Watcher spun into motion. Like a savage beast he flung himself into the soldier at her left, but unlike a beast he made no roar, no sound at all, just the chilling silence and ethereal movements as his body leapt through the air, swords like extended claws. That silence broke the moment he made contact, blood splashing, soldier howling in pain, Julianne screaming at the sudden ferocity as the other guards came rushing toward her with drawn steel. Not him, but her.
Julianne leapt from the chair, and true to his word, the Watcher’s knots slipped open with ease.
“Watcher!” she screamed, running toward him. The man spun, green cloak twirling, and when he saw her he ripped it from his shoulders and flung it over her head.
“Drop!” he screamed, and she instantly obeyed. As the cloak hit the men behind her she fell to her knees, curled into a ball, and put her hands atop her head. Nothing but a blur, the Watcher sailed over her, twirling midair, and then she heard steel clashing against steel, shockingly close. Teeth clenched, she curled tighter, listening to the battle, listening to the pained screams of another soldier. Something hit her back, and she flung forward, rolling to spin around. It was the Watcher who had kicked her, pushing her away as one of the soldier’s swords struck the ground where she’d been. Frozen with fear, she watched as her protector battled two-on-one, swords bouncing back and forth between his foes, and though he was outnumbered, it was clear the Watcher was the one on the offensive. The soldiers looked so sluggish in comparison, so slow and weak and baffled.