by Mike Morris
Rane staggered out onto his floor, found his room, fell through the door. He pulled Kibon off his back and threw it across the room. He dropped to the floor, grateful for the cold stone against his burning skin.
Kibon. How could he call it that? How could he have been so foolish? There was no hope in that blade. Only damnation.
31
A scream woke Rane. Eyes wide open in an instant, he fumbled around, caught up in unfamiliar sheets, confused by where he was. A room, ten feet by eight feet, with a small arched window, drawing the early morning light into the room. By the time he'd got himself free of his sheets and on his feet, he'd remembered he was at the castle in Orska.
He stood in the centre of the room, the stone floor cold against his feet, and Kibon naked in his hand. The only sound he could hear was his racing heart. Outside, dawn threatened a bruised sky over the far mountains. He saw two Legionnaires patrolling the battlements unalarmed; clearly they hadn't heard any screaming.
Rane opened the door to his room and stepped out into the corridor. Twelve rooms lined either side of the passageway, illuminated by a single torch burning halfway down, but no other door was open. No one else was investigating any sounds. No one else stirred. He loitered, listening to the silence, waiting for another cry, another clue as to what was going on. Again he checked the window and saw nothing to alarm himself with.
Rane returned to his room, aware he couldn’t do too much naked. He shut the door and sat down on his bed, wondering if he’d imagined the scream, looking for an excuse to draw Kibon once more. He slipped the blade back into its sheath, feeling better about himself once it was done.
With the blade secured, he leaned back on the bed and gazed out the window, aware that something wasn’t right. Three days he'd been back in Orska. Three days and he was still as jumpy as hell. He might as well have been out on the road for all the good he felt. Three days since he'd seen Myri or the Lord General. Three days and still no mention of a cure.
Maybe it was him. Maybe he’d been away too long or his mind was playing tricks on him or maybe it was just all the shit that happened on the road but he felt like he was falling apart and it was only getting worse with every day he was there.
The Legionnaires he'd encountered were strangers to him and treated him like wise. There was no camaraderie, no connection. Only the sense of threat, of danger.
He'd not seen Simone either since the incident on the walls, despite looking everywhere for her — or rather everywhere he was allowed to go.
Even the conversation with Jefferson when he first arrived hadn't helped. He seemed so relaxed about everything. Since then, there'd been no sight of the old man, despite Rane badgering everyone he met to see him.
No one seemed to care that Rane was still waiting for a cure. No one seemed to care that his sword was tearing his mind apart.
By the Gods, if Fia was still alive she'd be in Napolin by now. How long before she reported to the church that the Legion was gathering in Orska? How long before an army would be ready to march on the Legion? Even that news had been shrugged off. Why didn’t Jefferson or any of the others care that there could be an army on their way to fight them? Nothing made sense.
He played with Kara's locket between finger and thumb, trying to shake his unease. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the good that had been in his life, all the little things that used to make him happy; the smell of Kara's hair as they lay curled up in bed, the warmth of her body as she pressed up against him in the night, her laugh, her sigh. But each memory carried with it a renewed sense of hurt. It was if the last three years had never happened; that the war had never ended, Kara had never married him, their life together a figment of his imagination.
Rane couldn't go on like this.
He dressed and armed himself. He strapped his holsters on and made sure each pistol was loaded. Kibon took its usual place on his back.
Rane hated the sword. Hated the weight of it on his back. Hated his dependency on it. Once the curse was gone, he was going smash the weapon into a thousand pieces. The love he'd had for it was long one, it was just the work of dark magic on his mind.
He wandered down the corridor to the main stairwell and descended. It was better once he got outside. The fresh sea air cleared his nostrils and blew away any lingering tiredness. The sun was reclaiming the sky, bringing with it some welcome warmth. A sentry watched him from the battlements and Rane waved, only for the woman to turn her back on him. Two others stood guard at the gatehouse on the other side of the inner bailey, but they paid him no heed.
"So you're up then?"
The voice startled Rane and he turned to find Isaiah standing behind him as if he'd never left Rane's side. "I heard a scream. A woman cried out. Did you hear it?" he asked the Legionnaire.
"The Lord General was wondering if you'd join him for breakfast," replied Isaiah, ignoring Rane's question. He pointed back inside the main keep. "It's this way."
"Sure," said Rane, trying to ignore his dislike for the man. He followed as bidden back into the darkness of the keep, happy to see Jefferson.
They met in the great hall.
Jefferson sat in at a table, facing the door, a cup of tea in his hand. He smiled when he saw Rane. "Ah, good to see you're an early riser like me. Take a seat and have some tea. The food will be a long shortly."
Rane sat down opposite Jefferson. Being with the Lord General again eased the tension that had been building. "Not through choice. I had a dream that woke me up. I thought I heard screaming."
"After everything you've been through, I think you're allowed the odd nightmare." Jefferson poured tea into a cup and passed it to Rane.
“It didn’t feel like a dream.”
"Remember — you’ve been through a lot. It must be strange being back after all this time."
“It’s taking me time to settle. I must admit I’ve felt almost like a prisoner myself at times. Isaiah seems to be always at my side, stopping me from speaking to anyone or wandering past the main keep.”
“He’s a good man but he can be overzealous in his duties sometimes. I can assure you we certainly don’t want you to feel unwelcome. Quite the opposite in fact. A few more days here and you'll be feeling better.”
"It certainly seems to be doing you the world of good."
"Orska has that effect on me. After the war, I spent far too much time being feted by politicians and monarchs in the various capitols. All of them trying to rub off the glory the Legion had earned. Dinners, galas, balls. You wouldn't believe the nonsense I had to put up with." Jefferson sipped his tea. "I shook so many hands and had my arse kissed by even more, it made me ill. I couldn't wait to get back on my horse and ride here. When the troubles started, I had the perfect excuse to stay."
Rane leaned forward in his seat, frowning. "So you were here already? Before Legionnaires started falling to the taint?"
"By a month or so. I was so shocked when I heard the news. Heart-breaking. Believe me, it wasn't meant to happen like that."
"Was it meant to happen at all?"
"By the Gods, no. They were desperate times but not that desperate. Remember, we were losing the war. The Rastaks would’ve overrun Candra within twenty-four hours and then the doorway to the rest of the world would have been open to them. We were all that stood in the way."
"I remember."
"We needed an army that was stronger than the Rastaks, faster, indestructible. As we move into this next phase of the war, that's still the case."
"But surely when you undo Babayon’s magic, we’ll lose our powers? We’ll just be ordinary soldiers again.”
“There will never be anything ordinary about the Legion Of Swords, Nathaniel. As Mogai and the Rastaks will find out.”
"But if they come at us en masse again — reinforced with demons… we’re not prepared. As you said; the heads of the five nations don’t even believe there is a threat."
“For now. But that will change. The world needs bold leadersh
ip from people with vision.”
“At least once the curse is undone, the governments can remove the bounties from our head and we can start working together to stop the Rastaks.”
“Quite.” Jefferson sipped his tea, avoiding Rane’s gaze.
“How is the magic undone? Is Babayon here?”
"No, he’s not — but that doesn’t mean we don’t know what we’re doing.” Jefferson smiled for the briefest of moments. "I was so sorry to hear about your wife the other night. How long were you together?"
Rane suppressed his annoyance at the change in conversation. "I met her just after the war. I went to stay with Marcus at his family home. Kara was his sister. We married a few months later." For some reason he didn't want to mention the fact Kara was pregnant when she died. He needed to keep that information to himself.
"Does their family know what's happened to them both?"
"Not yet. Once I'm cured, I'll visit them and let them know."
"And then?” Jefferson put down his teacup, giving Rane his undivided attention. His eyes seemed to pull Rane closer.
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far to be honest. Since Kara died, since I learned the truth about the taint, all I’ve cared about is getting Myri and I here alive. I need to work out who I am after the curse is gone — find out how much of the darkness in me is the result of the sword and its magic and how much is really me.”
“Nonsense. You’re one of our best. That’s all you need to know. You just need purpose again. A cause.”
“Become a Legionnaire again?”
“Why not? This is where you belong. Stop denying it. It’s time you rejoined the Legion. Rejoined the fight. We need men like you — leaders, warriors. Find your place with us by your side, our swords. You have the power to change the world, Nathaniel."
"That's what you told me when you first asked me to join you."
Jefferson smiled. "We did it once, we can do it again. This time we can learn from our mistakes, do things properly."
"We're hardly an army anymore, Sir. How many of us are here? Forty-odd? I don't even recognise many of them. Most must have been kids when I left. I'm not sure how we can change the world with so few of us, specially once our powers are gone."
“You’ll be amazed at what we can do.” Jefferson glanced towards the door. "Now I’m sorry but I must go." He leaned forward, squeezed Rane’s hand. “Think about what I said. There’s a war coming and you are one of my finest. Join me. Save the world.”
“I’ll think on it,” said Rane.
“Excellent, excellent,” replied Jefferson. He stood up. “We’ll speak again soon.”
“But the cure…” said Rane.
Jefferson waved the comment away. “In good time.”
Rane watched him leave, feeling more uncertain than before. He glanced around the room, lost amongst strangers. Isaiah and Gregor sat watching him as always. He was a prisoner and he didn’t like it.
He stood up. Time to push back. See what would happen. It was time to see Myri.
32
"Hold on a minute," called out Isaiah as Rane crossed the bailey. "Where are you going?"
Rane waved away the question without breaking stride. "Don't worry. I know our way around. I'm sure you've got other things to be doing." He didn't look back, just kept his eyes on the mural tower.
The Legionnaire on guard duty at the tower put up a hand as if that would magically prevent him from passing.
"Don't even think about it," snapped Rane as he shouldered past.
Isaiah caught up with him and grabbed Rane's arm. "Stop there. Stop."
"Why?" Rane shrugged the hand off and kept going, forcing the man to walk backwards so he could stay in front of Rane.
"You're not allowed in this part of the castle," said Gregor, hand hovering over the grip of his pistol. “If you don’t stop, I’ll fucking shoot you.”
"Draw and I'll shove that pistol up your arse before I pull the trigger," warned Rane. He meant it too.
Isaiah moved his hand to Rane's chest, pushed him back. "Turn back soldier."
Rane took the hand, twisting it. Isaiah buckled as the pressure forced him to his knees. "I'm not a soldier anymore — as you quite rightly pointed out."
Gregor drew his pistol. "I'm warning you — I will fire. Now let him go."
Rane looked around him, from Isaiah at his feet to Gregor and the gun. Things had escalated quickly. Fra quicker than he thought. Blood was going to be spilled because he wanted to see Myri.
Footsteps pounded towards them. Rane glanced over his shoulders as the bailey filled with more Legionnaires armed with spears and pikes.
"Put your weapons down and step back NOW," ordered Gregor as the new troops surrounded Rane.
Rane released Isaiah. The man stood up, cradling his arm. No one spoke, the threat of violence becoming a physical presence in the bailey, ready to tip someone over the edge. Kibon screamed in Rane’s mind. Fight, fight. Kill, kill. It wanted blood and the men all deserved to die. His hand twitched and Rane didn’t know if he could fight the urge. Wasn’t sure he wanted to.
"What is going on?" Jefferson's voice roared out from an upper window, shattering the tension. His was a voice that was used to being obeyed. Rane looked up, saw the Lord General glaring down, red-faced with fury. "No one move until I get there."
“Shit,” said Rane as Jefferson disappeared from view.
"I'm going to enjoy putting you in the cells," laughed Gregor. "Jumped up arsehole full of your own self-importance."
Rane cracked his neck to one side and swivelled back to the Legionnaire. "What. Did. You. Say?"
"I said..." Gregor didn't get another word out as Rane slammed his forehead into the man's nose, flattening it. The man dropped instantly, unconscious at his feet, blood pouring out over the stone.
"I thought I told you not to move?" barked the Lord General as he crossed the bailey. "By the gods, what's going on?"
Rane shrugged. "I was just trying to see Myri."
"I seem to remember expressly telling you a mere hour ago, to leave her be." Jefferson looked at Rane, daring him to say differently.
"I thought it was only a suggestion, not an order, Sir," said Rane.
"Well I'm giving you a fucking order now." Jefferson stopped, closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, then opened them again, calm once more. "There are things going on here that I haven't told you about, that will only help us in the long run. Things I don't want you blundering into, no matter how well intentioned you are. Please keep to your quarters, the great hall or, if you wish to exercise, the outer bailey. Everywhere else, and just to be clear I mean everywhere else, is out of bounds for the moment. Do I make myself understood?"
"Yes, Sir," said Rane.
"Now if it's all right with you, may I return to do some actual work?"
"Yes, Sir," replied Rane.
"Thank you." Jefferson turned to the rest of the Legionnaires. "The rest of you get back to your posts. You've all got jobs to do as well. And someone take the fool on the floor to the infirmary."
Rane watched Jefferson storm back to the keep.
Isaiah gestured to the main tower and Rane nodded. He started walking without another word. He’d nothing to say to the man.
Back in his room, he looked out the window at the mountains. It was all wrong. Seriously wrong. What was going on?
What was Jefferson up to? Why bring everyone to Orska if there was no cure?
Rane went back over everything that had happened since he'd returned to Orska, the conversations he'd had, trying to unpick what was bothering him.
All he could do was play their game for now. Stick to his room, go eat and be friendly, and wait for them to drop their guard. Jefferson didn’t have that many people at the castle — Rane couldn’t think of them as Legionnaires — so they couldn't be on duty for twenty-fours a day.
Someone knocked on the door. Rane opened the door.
Isaiah stood there with Gregor behind him. Ot
her Legionnaires loitered further along the corridor. "The Lord General would like to speak to you. To apologise about earlier."
Rane turned to get his sword and a man stepped into his room. Rane recognised the face — Jerome Rikard, from North Belarus, a beast of a man as wide as he was tall. They'd fought together many a time over the years, saved each other's lives countless times. Yet there was no warmth in his friend's eyes, no welcome. Just plenty of weapons within easy reach.
“What’s going on?” asked Rane. Rickard punched him in the face. As he staggered back, the others piled into the room and fell on him in a flurry of fists and boots and clubs.
Rane went for Kibon but his arm was seized, his weapon taken. He tried to fight but the soldiers holding him were stronger, faster. There was no escape from their grip. Blows fell, striking him across the back of the head, in his face, across his body, knocking the air from his lungs. He was kicked in the back of the knee, forcing him down. His head hit the stone floor, battered what little sense was left. Blood filled his mouth as a boot cracked into his jaw. He curled up, trying to protect himself as best he could but there was no escape from the beating. A foot came down on his leg, snapping the bone with a crack of white-hot pain. Rane screamed, spitting blood. But the Legionnaires didn't stop. They kicked and stamped and hit and clubbed until the darkness took him away.
33
It was the fear, more than the pain, than woke Rane. The rush of panic dragging him from the last dregs of blackness. The stone floor was cold against his face, sticky with his blood, but it meant nothing to him. The white-hot shards of fire running up from his leg were just flickers within a much greater inferno tearing him apart.
Kibon was gone.
He opened his one good eye, desperate to be proven wrong.
He was in his room. They’d left the bed but nothing else. Kibon was nowhere to be seen, taken by the Legionnaires who'd beaten him. His comrades. His friends. He’d been betrayed.
But his old wounds hadn’t reopened. So the sword was close — close enough to still be keeping him alive — but not in his room, within reach. He stared at the wall opposite, the wall that separated his room from the corridor outside. Kibon had to be on the other side, probably with whoever was guarding him. He tried to picture it in his mind, draw some comfort from its proximity, but it did nothing to satisfy the hunger in him, quell the overwhelming need to hold Kibon once more.