by Jon Skovron
The Vinchen placed the tip of his sword almost gently at her throat. “Please. Don’t make me kill you.”
She closed her eyes, feeling the shame burn in her stomach even as the heat of her tears escaped down the sides of her face. She was so useless.
“Okay, you’ve made your point,” Vaderton said. “Now let her up. I’ll make sure she doesn’t give you any more trouble.”
Jilly felt the tip of the sword leave her throat. She opened her eyes and saw that Vaderton was holding out his hand to her.
“That was dumb,” he told her as he pulled her to her feet.
She nodded and wiped her eyes as she turned to look back at the square. Red and Brigga Lin were facing off against Racklock alone. The other Vinchen were preventing anyone from leaving the square. It looked like they’d even killed a few people trying to flee. But they didn’t move to help their grandteacher in any way.
The majority of Racklock’s focus was on Brigga Lin. It was clear that only he, as wielder of the Song of Sorrows, was a match against her. So of course she would need to be taken out before the other Vinchen could join the fight. But while Brigga Lin couldn’t attack directly, she was far from defenseless. Since she couldn’t use biomancery on him, she used it on herself. She hardened her arms so they were like steel, which allowed her to fend off the flurry of vicious blows from Racklock, and strike at him as if she wielded a sword herself. But as a swordsman, she was no match for the Vinchen.
There was something so wrong about hearing the hum of the Song of Sorrows coming from someone other than Hope. Maybe it was Jilly’s imagination, but the tone of it seemed darker and colder. His blows were almost inhuman in their ferocity. As thickset as he was, he moved with an almost animal grace. If it weren’t for Red, Jilly was certain that Brigga Lin would already be dead.
But thankfully Red was there, constantly harrying the grandteacher with gunfire, and when he ran out of bullets, with throwing blades. Jilly didn’t know what had happened to him up there on Stonepeak, but he moved differently. His old swagger and showmanship were gone, replaced by a cold, calculating efficiency. It was almost frightening to watch. The Vinchen was able to ward off the attacks, but every time he was forced to do so, it gave Brigga Lin a moment of respite.
Unfortunately, Red had only so many knives, so finally he was forced into close quarters with his last two knives. The three spun in a flurry of violence. The Vinchen was in the center, pivoting and spinning in his gleaming black armor while Brigga Lin in her flowing white gown and Red in his sleek gray suit both danced around him, never quite connecting, but never quite losing, either. At least, not for a little while.
Then Racklock got past Brigga Lin’s defenses. A bright red line welled up along her white sleeve, and her arm went limp. Brigga Lin’s face creased in pain and she began to falter. Red lunged in more boldly than he should have. It got Racklock’s attention, but left him open as well. Racklock parried the thrust, similar to the way the other Vinchen had done to Jilly. But then his sword continued in the same arc so that the fist holding the sword was past Red’s guard. His knuckles smashed into Red’s face.
Red stumbled back, his eyes glazed and his nose gushing blood, but Racklock didn’t press his advantage. He immediately turned and renewed his attack on the weakening Brigga Lin. She’d managed to heal her arm in the pause, but the blood loss was still taking its toll.
“They can’t last much longer,” Vaderton said quietly.
Jilly glanced at him, wanting to object, but knowing he was right. So she pressed her lips together, and looked back to the battle. That was when her eyes caught movement on the rooftop on the far side of the square. She saw a figure that hadn’t been up there a moment ago, who now stood gazing down at the battle in Visionary Square.
Jilly smiled. “I don’t think they need to.”
The figure on the roof didn’t wear the black leather of a Vinchen warrior, or the dashing coat and hat of a pirate captain, but it was unmistakably Hope. She wore a simple black robe, like some strange inverse of a biomancer, with the hood thrown back, and her blond hair gleamed in the afternoon sun. She didn’t appear to be armed in any way, but the look on her face was more fearsome than any Jilly had seen before.
“Racklock!” she called down to him.
Racklock froze, allowing both Brigga Lin and Red to stumble back to a safe distance. He snapped the Song of Swords so that the blood from Brigga Lin’s arm splashed across the cobblestones.
“Bleak Hope.” He spat it out like it was a curse.
“You sully the honor of the Vinchen order beyond bearing, just as Hurlo said you would.” Hope’s voice rang through the square. “Though I am no true Vinchen, it seems you insist that I be the one to stop you.”
“At last!” Racklock held out his arms as if to embrace her. “Come and fight me, you blaspheming peasant whore. It is my fate to take the Vinchen order in a glorious new direction. Your friends are all but dead. You are the only thing that stands in my way. So come! Show me you are at least capable of an honorable death!”
15
Hope leapt down from the roof, her black robes billowing around her as she landed before the current grandteacher of the Vinchen order. Innocent bystanders gathered fearfully along the edges of the square, prevented from escaping by the Vinchen. Hope didn’t understand why they were being kept prisoner until she saw Jilly and Vaderton among them on the far side. Racklock would not want anyone associated with Brigga Lin to escape.
Brigga Lin looked wounded and exhausted, but still alive. Hope hadn’t expected Red to be with her. When she first saw him, she’d lost her composure for a moment. She’d had to push him completely from her mind before she could act. Now she allowed herself only a quick glance to make certain he wasn’t mortally wounded. Then she gave her complete attention to Racklock.
The memory of when he had beaten her within an inch of her life came quickly and vividly to mind. She had only been a little girl then, but there were many nights after when she’d woken in a cold sweat, haunted by the combination of recollection and nightmare.
Yet she was even more surprised that such an intense memory no longer kindled any fear within her. As terrible as that moment had been, it had also been her first step down the path of the warrior. Even more than the pain of that beating, she remembered the surge of relief she’d felt when Hurlo had challenged her not to be a victim to her own suffering, but to use it for her betterment. That had been his greatest lesson. And she had become better. Time and again, with each new challenge, she had forced herself not to flinch or look away. She had allowed herself to grow. She did not fear this man any longer.
She felt doubt, of course. It had become her ever-present companion since she’d left the battlefield of Dawn’s Light and renounced the sword. But she didn’t try to banish that doubt. It was her reminder to never again fall sway to the vainglory that had consumed her as Dire Bane. This doubt told her that her chances of success were low. After all, Racklock wielded the Song of Sorrows, and she had no weapon at all. But she accepted that without fear. She would find a better way. Or she would die trying, just as Hurlo had.
And so she stood before him, alone, no sword in her hand, nothing but a smile on her lips.
Her smile seemed to enrage him. His thick, broad shoulders heaved up and down. “I will kill you, blasphemer!”
“You are welcome to try,” she said.
His style was aggressive. Swift and fierce. One blow, particularly from the Song of Sorrows, would mean death. He was so fast that even with her new ability to compress her time, she might not have been able to avoid him.
But as he swung the blade, something happened that she didn’t expect. When the sword came rushing toward her with its fateful hum, she understood the song.
Perhaps it was because of those many months of having the sword connected directly to her nervous system, but its song was not just in her ear. It also hummed in her veins. Her forearm tingled just as it used to. The song told her not
only where the blade was, but also where it was about to be, as if it wished to warn her.
So she dodged the blow with a casual grace.
He stood there stupidly for a moment, the sword extended, as if he could not conceive of having missed an unarmed target so completely. There were several gasps from the Vinchen observing nearby. When he heard those, his eyes narrowed down to wrathful slits, and the fight began in earnest.
He was a formidable opponent. Even with the constant whispered warnings of the sword, she was hard-pressed to avoid his blows. In truth, she was awed by his unique combination of precise form and brutal savagery. No movement was wasted. Every strike was a death blow. He unleashed them in a flurry of flashing steel that continually pushed her back as she dodged, ducked, or leapt to avoid his attacks.
But he had already been a grown man when she was a girl of eight. She didn’t know how old he was now, but she could tell that his stamina was not what it once had been. He didn’t seem to be aware of it, but as he pushed her back and forth across the square, he was gradually slowing down. Soon, his face was flushed and sweaty, and his blows were not only slower, but ever so slightly clumsy. That was when she made her move.
As the sword swung toward her in a wide arc, she waited until it was close, then she compressed her time. In the single moment of a breath, she stepped backward out of the sword’s path, then reached forward with her new metal hand and took hold of the tip of the Song of Sorrows between the three curved prongs. She nudged it ever so slightly in the opposite direction to stop its momentum.
Then time snapped back into place, and the sword’s hum stopped. Hope stood holding the tip of the Song of Sorrows, her eyes gazing intently into Racklock’s.
He stared down at the greatest sword ever forged as if it had betrayed him. And perhaps it had. Or perhaps he had betrayed it.
Still holding the tip of the blade, Hope delivered a roundhouse kick that broke his forearm.
She released the blade and it nearly fell to the ground. But Racklock caught the handle with his other hand.
“I don’t need both hands to defeat you, peasant whore!” he screamed, the balance of precision and rage shifting strongly toward the latter. That made him careless and sloppy.
She avoided a few more blows, watching as his technique continued to degrade. Then she caught the blade again, and broke his other arm the same way.
This time, the Song of Sorrows clattered to the cobblestones. Racklock stood before her, his arms hanging useless at his sides. His face was a twisted, inhuman mask of rage as he screamed incoherently at her.
She could kill him. A swift blow to the throat would crush his windpipe, especially if she used her claw. But killing was not what she did anymore. Instead she swept his feet out from under him. Judging by the sharp crack, she may have broken one of his ankles while doing so.
He lay there, howling in pain and anger and shame. Then he rolled onto his side like a beached seal, and glared at the other Vinchen. By this time, they had abandoned their posts, letting the bystanders escape, and moved in to gather around this battle, such as it was.
“What are you waiting for?” he screamed. “Kill her!”
The Vinchen who had been guarding Jilly and Vaderton had been the only one hanging back. Perhaps because he knew his wards were friends of Brigga Lin’s. Perhaps he even knew they were friends of Hope’s. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword. Hope knew that she couldn’t get through all the other Vinchen and reach him before he drew his sword and struck Jilly, even if she compressed time. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try.
Then the young Vinchen said, “This was an honorable battle between two renowned warriors. To step in now would dishonor you, and us, even beyond the dishonor you have already brought to the order.” He gripped the handle of his sword firmly, as if preparing to draw it. “But if you would prefer death over living with a defeat at the hands of your sworn enemy, I will gladly grant you that wish.”
He kept his hand on his sword, and waited for an answer.
“Traitors …,” moaned Racklock. “Betrayers … You have doomed the order!”
Hope walked slowly toward the young brother. The other Vinchen shuffled uneasily out of her path like errant schoolchildren, none of them meeting her gaze.
When she reached the Vinchen who had spoken, she put her hand on his sword arm.
“What is your name, young brother?”
“Stephan,” he said, his eyes guarded.
“Regardless of what the code says, Stephan, it has been my experience that there is never honor in needless death.”
“Though they trouble me, your words ring true,” he said stiffly and released his sword.
She smiled gently at him. Had she sounded that formal once? She supposed so. Now she looked at the rest of them, these fresh, inexperienced, and troubled young warriors who, despite their tough demeanor and extensive training, clearly needed some words of comfort. They must all feel the dishonor their grandteacher had brought them.
“I don’t think you have doomed the order,” she told them. “Perhaps, like me, you will find a new path.” She gestured to the dead bodies of innocents lying nearby. “One that will allow you to redeem the dishonor that has been brought to the Vinchen name.”
“Well, now. When did you get so pat at making speeches?”
Hope felt a wrenching in her heart as a voice reached her that she had not heard in over a year, and yet recognized instantly. A voice that kindled both a deep longing, and an icy dread.
She turned and saw him standing there. He wore a lacy coat and shirt. His hair was longer, his posture more wary. His nose was a little swollen, possibly broken. But there was no mistaking those twinkling crimson eyes or that mischievous grin.
It was Red.
Or was it? Progul Bon said he had changed him, and she was painfully aware that biomancers didn’t lie. Brigga Lin had explained the reason to her once. It wasn’t that they couldn’t lie, but that falsehoods and broken vows degraded the power their will held over life. And if there was one thing about biomancers you could count on, it was that they never willingly gave up power.
So who was she looking at now? The man she had longed to see for the past year? Or some biomancer demon in the shape of him?
There wasn’t a doubt in Red’s mind. It was Hope.
To be sure, she looked different from the last time he’d seen her stumbling out of the palace with Brigga Lin on that terrible night more than a year ago. She’d traded her black leather armor for a black hooded robe. Her lost hand had been replaced with some sort of fancy mechanical contraption that had probably been built by Alash. And there was something different about those dark blue eyes. They were just as deep and fathomless as ever, but they were not so hard. There was a generosity to them. An empathy that was usually born from a great deal of suffering. His heart ached to think of how it might have come about, and that he hadn’t been by her side when it happened.
Despite those changes, it was still her, and he couldn’t help but grin stupidly as he looked at her.
But she didn’t return his smile. Instead, she gazed at him with those blue eyes, her yellow hair whipping in the breeze. She looked apprehensive. Fearful, even.
“Hope … it’s me.” His voice faltered. It was a stupid thing to say. Who else would he be?
But she asked, “Is it?”
“What do you mean? Of course it is!” He took a step toward her, but when he saw her stiffen, he stopped.
Brigga Lin spoke up. “Progul Bon led us to believe that you had been … altered. That you were no longer the man we knew.” Her hands were poised, probably ready to turn him inside out with a flick of her wrist.
Red looked back and forth helplessly between them. This was not how he had expected it to go at all. Damn Progul Bon. Even in death he could mess things up.
“You’re both full of balls and pricks.” Jilly stepped over to stand protectively next to him. “He’s the same Red as ever. He fought by B
rigga Lin’s side and everything. Saved her life, I’d say.”
“Jilly, you know that biomancers do not lie,” Brigga Lin said. “Perhaps this new Red seeks to gain our confidence until he can carry out orders to kill us.” Her eyes turned back to Red. “Perhaps he himself is not even aware of his orders. It would not be beyond Progul Bon’s ability to create such a split within a person’s mind.”
Red had hoped to put the whole Shadow Demon thing behind him. Maybe it was dishonest, but he hadn’t wanted Hope to know that he’d been a puppet of the biomancers, doing their dirty work. After all, it wasn’t like it mattered now. The Shadow Demon was gone. Well, maybe not gone, but under control. Regardless, it looked like the only way he was going to convince them that he was himself again was if he told them the whole pissing thing.
“Progul Bon wasn’t lying when he told you that,” Red said quietly. “I was under their control.”
“Red?” Jilly looked up at him, leaning away, perhaps unconsciously.
“It was just like you said,” he told Brigga Lin. “I was one person during the day, and a different person at night.” He shook his head. “Not even a person. A … monster. And I did a lot of terrible things as that monster. I don’t know for how long. Weeks, months. It’s hard to say for sure, since I don’t remember it. I only know what other people told me.”
Hope’s face was tense, haunted. Her arms wrapped around her torso like her insides ached. He’d forgotten how beautiful she was, even without smiling. The hard, sleek lines of her alabaster face balanced with the velvet pink of her lips. Her long, elegant eyelashes balanced with the light, rugged spatter of freckles across her nose. He’d just seen her take out one of the most fearsome warriors in the empire, unarmed. And now, seeing her like this, unsure and conflicted … made him want to rush over to her and pull her to him. Although he knew that was probably the worst thing he could do right now.