“Let’s go, girls,” he said boisterously, and the women happily obliged as they set out for their new home.
Night fell as they were about halfway from the Coin to their new lodgings, and Randall’s scalp suddenly went numb in the middle of Yordan’s retelling of a particularly disgusting patient she had treated recently.
He silently gestured for the girls to follow him into a nearby alley and they did as he instructed without question, ceasing their usual banter immediately. After the events of the past day, none of them wanted another run-in with belligerent Federation officers and Randall hoped they could avoid another such confrontation.
They ducked behind a stack of empty crates and collectively held their breath as the seconds passed sluggishly by, until Randall heard low voices from just outside the mouth of the alley.
“I saw him go in here,” an almost-familiar man’s voice said.
Randall kept silent and gestured for the girls to do likewise as he set the full keg of mead down quietly on the ground.
“Come out, half-breed,” he heard a slightly more familiar man’s voice call out. “Come out now or we’ll drag you out by your pointy ears!”
Randall recognized the second man’s voice as belonging to the soldier who had paid him the copper and tin for his display of coordination the night before, and he wondered why they seemed to be looking for him.
“You’ve got ‘til the count of three,” came a third voice, “which is only helpful if you know how to count that high!”
The third man’s voice was clearly the one who had appraised Randall’s ears the night before, and Randall stifled a groan. They didn’t sound drunk, which was a shame since all they were likely to do in that particular state was lay a beating on him before losing interest and moving on. It wouldn’t have been the first time such had happened to him.
But these men sounded genuinely incensed, so Randall did the only thing he could think to do: he set the bundle down and stepped out from behind the empty crates with his hands splayed in a sign of surrender.
Seeing only four men when their units always had five members—the fifth being what he dearly hoped was the last trick of his life, the soldier named Shannon who had gifted him the Godstone earring tucked safely into his pack—he cocked his head in confusion. “Where is your fifth this evening, citizens?”
A look of pure rage crossed the face of the man in the middle—the one who had blushed at Shannon’s suggestion that he had failed to satisfy her during some previous tryst—and Randall felt his hackles rise.
“You’ve no right to speak of her, you filthy animal,” he growled as he stepped forward threateningly, “not after what you’ve done!”
The largest one of the group—the one who had paid the copper and tin—held his hand out and restrained the man from moving past his own position. “Where were you between the fourth and fifth bells?” he asked in a serious tone.
Randall looked at him in confusion. “I was…” he began, but stopped when he realized that telling them he had been with Ellie and Yordan would inevitably reveal their presence behind the crates, and the last thing he wanted was for these angry soldiers to be alerted to their presence. He straightened his shoulders and repeated, “I was—“
“He was with us,” Yordan said in a raised voice as she stepped out from behind the crates, and Randall felt his blood run cold. This was likely to turn very bad, very quickly, and there was literally nothing he could do to protect himself—let alone the two girls—from four angry Federation soldiers a day from shipping off to the battlefront. “What’s the sitch?” she demanded. “We’ve done nothin’ wrong, and neither has he.”
“We’ll be the judges of that, pointy,” leered the angry man, who was still being restrained by his superior.
“We wish no trouble with you, fine soldiers,” Ellie said soothingly as she stepped out from behind the crates.
“How many of you are back there, anyway?” asked the fourth man, who had been silent to this point.
The leader gestured to the fourth man, “Secure them, Biggs.”
“Yessir,” the fourth man replied, drawing his short blade and moving down the alleyway.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Randall said, moving between the women and the advancing soldier with his hands still raised compliantly before himself. “What’s this all about? We’ll cooperate with you; just tell us what’s going on,” he said in as neutral a tone as he could manage, adding a belated, “please.”
The soldier named Biggs shot a look back at his superior, who lowered the arm which had been restraining the angry soldier and glared at Randall. “Stand aside, half-elf,” he commanded in a warning tone, “or I might just let Wedge here have his head, and that would be none too good for your lady friends.”
The look in the angry soldier’s eyes—whose name was apparently Wedge—told Randall that the commander spoke truly enough, so he reluctantly stepped aside and allowed Biggs to move past him toward the girls.
Yordan stood defiantly with her arms folded across her chest, while Ellie clasped her hands timidly behind her back as Biggs checked behind the rest of the crates in the alley. “All clear, Commander,” he called to his commander before noticing the food the girls had been carrying, which now lay against the wall against which the crates were stacked. “Looks like they were havin’ a picnic, sir,” he added with a gleeful note in his voice.
The commander held his hand up haltingly. “Secure the area, soldier,” he commanded and Biggs nodded grudgingly, kicking around the food and keg until his foot struck the bundle. When that happened, Randall felt his heart begin to race like nothing he had ever felt.
“What have we here?” Biggs asked, bending down to pick up the parcel. “Feels like metal, sir—might be a weapon,” he added with a triumphant note to his voice.
“Unwrap it, Biggs,” the commander ordered, and Randall’s mind raced with what he might be able to say to avoid a dire outcome for Ellie and Yordan. Just a few minutes earlier they had been enjoying what would very possibly be the last night they ever shared, and now it looked as though they were about to be accused of—at the very least—possession of illegal weaponry. And that was only if they didn’t manage to make the connection between the sword and the enigmatic ‘T’ person who had left it with him.
“Secure them, Wedge,” the commander ordered, “you too, Cid,” he added to the man standing behind him, and the two soldiers moved forward to flank Ellie and Yordan. Meanwhile, the commander moved to stand towering over Randall. Randall looked up at him more than a little fearfully, wondering if there was any possibility of escape.
“Is there anything you want to say before he finishes unwrapping that parcel, half-elf?” the commander asked in a low voice that only Randall could hear.
Randall shook his head, feeling his stomach churn uncontrollably. “It’s not what it seems, Citizen,” he began pleadingly, “I can explain. Just leave them out of it; they have no idea what I’ve done.”
He heard Wedge’s voice from near Ellie say, “Are you going to be cooperative with our…investigation?” Ellie yelped briefly, and Randall looked to see the man fondling her breast.
Randall thought he should feel outraged, but the truth was he was overwhelmed by the moment. Somewhere in his mind he knew that had to keep his head down if the girls were to have any hope of living past the dawn. His own fate was sealed; he knew that now. All that was left was to protect his friends from sharing that fate.
He felt his scalp begin to tingle and had the situation been less stressful, he might have realized that it hadn’t gone completely numb as was usual for one of his premonitions.
“I’ll confess to whatever you want me to,” he declared pleadingly, falling to his knees in what he sincerely hoped was an adequate display of groveling.
“So,” the commander said in a raised voice, “you admit to the murder of Corporal Shannon Vanteus this afternoon at the mid-point of the fourth and fifth bells?”
Murder? Rand
all thought to himself in alarm. She’s dead?! he wondered disbelievingly, but he gathered his wits quickly and bobbed his head up and down, “Yes, I’ll confess to anything you want!”
He heard Biggs draw a sharp breath. “Commander,” he called with clear alarm in his voice, and Randall knew he was done for. He briefly entertained the notion of rising up against the soldiers in a futile act of defiance, but he knew that would only make things worse for Ellie and Yordan. He was no fighter and even with surprise on his side he doubted he could take one of the soldiers, let alone four of them.
“What is it, Private?” the commander asked, briefly breaking eye contact with Randall.
“Look at this,” Biggs said in awe as he pulled the sword from its scabbard, and Randall turned to see The Wandering Moon’s soft, silvery-white light peeking through the clouds above where it was clearly reflected on the sword’s glossy blade.
The commander’s eyes narrowed, and Randall felt the tingling sensation in his scalp spread to the rest of his skull as he heard a faint whisper on the night breeze ask, ‘You would truly sacrifice yourself for your friends?’
Fearful that his sanity had snapped under the strain of the situation to the point that he was hearing voices on the wind, he felt a wave of despair wash over him. But not knowing what else to do—and mortally certain that he was out of time—he gave in to the moment and cried, “Yes, I would!”
The sword began to glow with a faint, pale light and he heard the voice whisper, ‘Then join with me, that you may do for them as you must!’
“Commander?” Biggs asked in alarm an instant before the sword flashed brilliantly and flew from his grip. It landed on the ground beside Randall, where it lay glowing faintly.
Acting on pure instinct—and without any forethought for what he might do afterward—Randall dove for the blade and gripped its leather wrapped hilt tightly as he deftly rolled to his feet.
He was fortunate that he acted as quickly as he had, since the commander’s blade cleaved through the air where Randall’s body had been mere seconds earlier and struck the dirt of the alley floor with a muffled ‘thunk.’ As he came to his feet, Randall felt the same tingling, jolting sensation run up his arms that he had experienced when first grasping the hilt of the sword in the Coin’s loft.
His muscles immediately felt lighter than they should have, and after only a momentary pause he felt his feet move quickly beneath him as his body lunged—completely unbidden by him—toward Wedge, who had drawn his blade on Ellie with the clear intention of killing her before she could flee.
With a mixture of horror and fascination, Randall watched as his hands brought the blade up and into Wedge’s dagger-wielding wrist, slicing cleanly through with almost no resistance and sending the soldier to the ground. Wedge laid there in shock, screaming in agony as he clutched his profusely bleeding stump.
But before Randall had even processed what had just happened, he felt his body pivot faster than he thought he could manage with such a heavy, oddly unwieldy weapon in his hands. The glowing blade flew up just in time to intercept Cid’s—the third soldier’s—blade, which had been driving for Yordan’s chest. The soldier’s weapon was thrown from his hands by the force of Randall’s attack. Randall’s body kept moving and he felt himself spin around as fast as he had ever spun, and the tip of the enchanted blade plunged into the man’s chest over his heart.
A look of shock on the soldier’s face was all Randall registered before he felt himself spin once again and pull the weapon free as his feet—still moving of their own accord—advanced steadily toward Biggs, the soldier who had uncovered the weapon in the bundle.
“Run, girls!” Randall managed to scream before the sword lashed out at Biggs, who parried the attack and backpedaled a pair of steps before launching a counterattack of his own. From the corner of his left eye he saw Ellie and Yordan run for the far end of the alley, and from the corner of his right eye he saw the commander bear down on him. Randall barely managed to force his arms—which did not immediately respond to his commands—around to deflect the huge man’s incoming blow with the magical weapon.
But his parry was clumsy compared to the graceful movements he had just seen his seemingly possessed body carry out, and he staggered back toward the far end of the alley. He desperately struggled to put distance between himself and his attackers, simultaneously relieved and horrified that he was once again in control of his body.
‘You must do what is necessary,’ he heard the voice whisper, and he noticed that it sounded much fainter than it had mere moments earlier, ‘your friends depend on you to protect them!’
Okay, he thought with mounting dread, hoping that whoever it was had been speaking to him could hear his silent thoughts, but I’m not a warrior; I can’t do this myself!
Biggs and the commander moved to either edge of the alley and continued to stalk him down, and Randall felt his knees begin to tremble as he backpedaled further down the alley. Nothing—or no one—took control of his limbs to fight back against the trained warriors.
What are you waiting for? Do something, he thought frantically.
But still nothing happened, and Randall saw the commander sneer at him when he tripped over an overturned crate while backpedaling. “Come dawn I would have spared your friends the nooses to either side of you, had you come along peacefully,” he growled. “But now I think I’ll have to round up a few more of your friends for the morning gallows, just to show the rest of your kind where you really belong.”
Randall felt a surge of anger fill him, which was accompanied by a jolt that ran up his arms as the sword flashed again with a dimmer, markedly paler light than before. Once again he felt his limbs move of what seemed to be their own volition, and it almost felt as though his entire body was floating as he lunged toward Biggs with the tip of his enchanted blade aimed at the man’s waist.
“Yes, do that!” Randall cried in relief as his body acted of what appeared to be its own volition.
Biggs turned the blow aside easily, and Randall saw the commander come with a sweeping, overhand attack which threatened to cleave him in two. But Randall’s hands were already moving in conjunction with his hips, and the magical blade flashed up and through his field of vision to intercept the incoming weapon.
The force of their impact was tremendous and Randall was stunned as the commander’s blade exploded in a shower of metal shards, which sent the ruined tip flying down the alleyway. The commander was left holding a jagged shard of metal attached to an otherwise intact hilt, and his expression was one of pure surprise.
But whoever was in charge of Randall’s body was clearly not surprised, as he felt his front leg kick out at the commander’s own lead leg. Had Randall been physically stronger, he suspected he would have caused serious damage with such a quick, surprising attack. But being less than half the size of the other man, he barely managed to lock up the commander’s joint and briefly stop his forward momentum.
Biggs’ weapon came into view, and Randall felt himself fall away from the incoming blade as the enchanted sword intercepted the weapon just before it bit into his bicep. Unfortunately, Biggs’ sword was not destroyed by the collision but Randall felt himself take a pair of short, explosive strides toward the man as the soldier fought to bring his own weapon back into a guard stance.
But Biggs was just a fraction too slow and Randall saw his enchanted weapon plunge deep into the man’s shoulder, with his own body’s forward momentum knocking the soldier into the wall with enough force to break the sword free of the other man’s hands.
Randall saw a flash of movement from the open end of the alley, and he instinctively forced the sword up just in time to deflect a thrown weapon of some kind, probably a dagger, which he realized had been thrown by Wedge—the man whose hand he had removed in the opening moments of the fight.
After successfully deflecting the missile, Randall suddenly felt his arms and legs become heavy again and he cried in abject horror, “No, no, no, no,
no!” He began to backpedal instinctively as he pleaded, “Don’t go!”
Seeing no more weaponry in Wedge’s hands, he turned back to Biggs and the commander. After seeing Biggs’ unconscious body slid down the wall to lie in a boneless heap on the alley floor, Randall turned just in time to watch the commander pick up the fallen soldier’s dropped sword.
“You’re going to pay for the slaughter of my men and women,” he growled. “The gallows are too good for your kind, stain!”
Randall wanted to try pleading with the man, but he knew that they were well past the point where words could serve any purpose.
“Now would be a good time,” Randall muttered under his breath, but nothing happened as he continued to back toward the front of the alleyway, having gotten turned around after stabbing Biggs in the chest. “Seriously,” he hissed under his breath as the commander drew nearer, drawing his own weapon up into a high guard, “any time now!”
But still nothing happened, so Randall did his best to imitate the commander’s stance. He knew literally nothing of swordplay, and he suspected he wasn’t going to live long enough to correct that particular failing.
The commander chuckled as he brought his hilt down beside his own hip, with the blade sweeping around until pointed backward and Randall realized that the man was toying with him.
“You were lucky before,” the commander said acidly, “but it looks your enchanted weapon’s out of charge. Drop it and I’ll make this quick; resist, and I’ll see that you suffer for weeks while your friends watch…before sharing your fate!”
He felt a surge of power from the sword, and a wave of elation washed over him as he readied himself to be possessed by whatever had directed his actions earlier. But the surge was far weaker than the previous ones, and after it had passed he realized that he was still in complete control of his body.
Joined at the Hilt: Union (Sphereworld: Joined at the Hilt Book 1) Page 8