Venture Unbroken

by R. H. Russell

  The sunlight was thin and feeble behind heavy gray clouds, and the sharp Spring’s First Month wind swirled a sprinkling of rain through the air. Rain! Beautiful rain. Thin patches of old snow clung to half frozen earth on the shady side of the road, while new spring green grasses sprouted through muddy thaws. A new year. Another chance.

  Through the still of the air, through that pleasant thought, came the sound of distant voices—voices that sent an awful heaviness slamming into Venture’s heart. A scream, high and desperate and terrible, stole his breath away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Please, please, don’t kill me!” The woman’s shrill voice pierced the air again.

  Venture followed the voices, staying close to the hillside, along the edge of the road. Around the corner he spotted a carriage, parked haphazardly.

  “Turn around! Let me see your face!” a man shouted. To the woman?

  Venture crept into the brush on a little knoll, overlooking the carriage. He removed the cloak and coat as he assessed the situation. A woman, about thirty-five, pretty and well-dressed, stood near the carriage. Cords bound her hands and feet. Four young men surrounded her. They were in their twenties, well-armed. Not a gawky or frail one among them. Venture looked heavenward. Why this? Why now? I just want to see Jade. But if he left the woman, if he went to get help, it would be too late.

  “It’s not her, you idiots!” One of the men jerked the woman’s chin up harshly. “You’ve got the wrong lady.”

  “Kill her then, Hawk. She’s seen us.”

  “No, not yet. That would be a waste.” The one called Hawk squeezed the woman’s chin.

  She raised her bound hands and clawed at his hand. Hawk wrenched her hand away, locking her wrist. She cried out in pain.

  “Let’s just take her, and then get on with the rest.” Hawk grinned.

  “Please, my husband will pay you well for my safe return.”

  The heavier man who’d suggested that they kill the lady stepped forward, taking her, taking charge. “Unfortunately for you, my lady, we are in no need of money. Now, on your knees, right here.”

  Oh, God, get me through this. Don’t let me fail, Venture pleaded. Please, don’t let me fail again.

  “I beg you, let me live. I’ll tell no one, I swear it,” the woman sobbed.

  The woman and the heavy one were out of Venture’s reach, and the other men were in his way. There was only one thing to do. Venture leaped on the one called Hawk. Venture’s left forearm slid across Hawk’s throat. He clenched that hand onto his own shoulder to hold the choke in place. Cheek to cheek, he pressed Hawk’s head into the choke. Venture’s right hand swiftly reached around and drew Hawk’s sword. His legs clenched the hostage’s body in place in front of him.

  “How about your friend Hawk here?” Venture growled.

  The men jumped back, then raised their swords. The heavy one held the woman in one arm and gestured with the other for his companions to hold back.

  “Is he worth anything to you?” Venture said. “Spare her life and I’ll spare his.”

  “Fine,” one of the other men said, “but you give us the sword. The sword too.”

  Venture laughed. He might be crazy—no doubt he looked it—but he wasn’t stupid. “I keep the sword, and you all go.”

  “Very well, then.” The man waved his hand dismissively. He lowered his sword. “You keep him.”

  The hostage sputtered, and Venture gave him just enough room to utter the desperate words, “Canyon! Brother!”

  The big one, the one holding the lady, flinched when he said, “Brother.”

  They looked like brothers too. Venture tightened the choke again. Hawk turned purple, then slumped in his arms.

  “He’s unconscious already,” Venture warned, his blazing eyes on Canyon, Hawk’s brother. “If I release him, he’ll come back around. Hurry up, or he’s gone for good!”

  Canyon shoved the lady forward, hard. Her pearl-studded clip fell open, sending her light brown hair flying. She fell on her face right at Venture’s feet. Her lip dripped bright red onto the crusty white patch of snow.

  These men had wanted their witness dead bad enough just a moment ago. Venture knew they weren’t about to let either of them walk away. It crossed his mind to slit Hawk’s throat right then; he’d have one less man to fight. But the lady was still bound and struggling on the ground. The others would rush at them both, and even if he could fight them off and escape himself, she’d be done for.

  “Release him!” said Canyon.

  Venture whispered down at the woman, “Grab hold of me and pull yourself up. Quick!”

  “Release him this instant!” Canyon’s voice was growing more shrill, the body in Venture’s arms more limp.

  “As soon as the lady’s in the carriage,” Venture said.

  “Now! Do it now!” Near panic, he lunged toward Venture.

  “I’ll kill him, I swear it!” Venture loosened his grip on the near-lifeless Hawk just enough to let him begin to come to, so that his brother could see that he might still live. Simultaneously, he brought the blade of the sword to the hostage’s neck.

  “We can get him before he’s done with it. Come on, Cliff!” cried a thinner man.

  “Shut up, Mark!” Canyon said.

  “Yes, shut up. It’s his brother I’ve got here. Isn’t it, Canyon?”

  “Not all of us care about his brother!” Mark, the thin one, lunged forward.

  But Venture had already bought enough time. The lady had managed to crawl into the carriage.

  “Don’t come out, no matter what happens!” Venture glanced sideways at the carriage door.

  And that was when he saw it, hanging out the half-closed carriage door—a man’s limp arm. Beneath the carriage, blood pooled in the thin, new grass.

  All three men came at Venture. Hawk was unconscious again, helpless; Venture had tensed his arms at the sight of the body, tightening his choke hold once again. Venture acted swiftly, decisively. He thrust his sword into Hawk’s side. In one motion he withdrew his sword and flung Hawk’s body at his brother, just as he threw off his reservations about killing. Canyon screamed in horror as the body knocked him back.

  The other two were on Venture. He didn’t have the skill with a blade to match their two swords with his one, so he focused on dodging their blows and luring them away from the carriage. He needed to keep them away from the woman until he could do away with them, or until help came.

  The sprinkling of rain turned to bigger drops, falling faster, harder.

  “Canyon! Kill the lady!” Mark called.

  Canyon still knelt over his brother, trying in vain to stop the gushing from his side.

  Mark meant to distract Venture perhaps, but that was a mistake. Canyon didn’t respond, and Cliff left Mark’s side to take care of the lady himself. Venture came at Mark with all he had, cutting him down in one blow. His shriek caught Canyon’s attention, spurred him back to action.

  Mark’s gaping midsection spilled into a murky puddle of blood and sopping earth and rain. Rather than finish him off, Venture raised his sword to fight this next opponent. But Cliff reached the carriage door and the woman screamed—the sort of scream Venture had prayed he’d never hear again—the scream of mortal terror.

  Venture dodged Canyon and darted closer to the carriage, but the swish of a sword at his back sent him whirling around, raising his sword arm just in time to block the blow that was meant for his head. Swords clashed with splintering force. Canyon tossed his stub of a weapon aside in disgust. Venture knew he was reaching for his dagger, but—the woman! The blond one, Cliff, was ready to slash her throat.

  Venture turned his back in order to go to her, hearing the words of Beamer warning, Never turn your back to your opponent. He had no choice. He dodged enough that the blow failed to meet its intended target with full force, but the pain ripped through his lower back.

  Venture leaped forward, and as the blade pierced him once again, he grasped a fistful of ha
ir and yanked Cliff’s head back. Venture plunged the jagged fragments of his sword into the side of Cliff’s neck before he could kill the woman.

  The knife drew out from Venture’s flesh; it would come at him again. Venture stumbled sideways, facing Canyon. He loomed over Venture, empowered with the thirst for vengeance for the death of his brother and his friends.

  Jade will hate me for dying this way, for dying now. Venture kicked Canyon’s feet out from under him with a fierceness that equaled his desire to live. Canyon fell back as Venture rose above him, but he didn’t drop his dagger as Venture had hoped.

  Venture kicked him hard, in the ribs, then fell on him, fighting the rim of darkness around his vision. Why? Why was he seeing stars? He was bleeding. It must be bad. Really bad. Venture rammed his left knee on the upper arm of Canyon’s knife hand and slammed the wrist down with his own left hand. Venture’s right leg was on the other side of Canyon’s body, squeezing him tight to keep him in place. Venture swung his free arm, his weaker right arm, at Canyon’s face.

  He managed one solid punch, but it wasn’t enough. Canyon’s face was bleeding sufficiently that he’d have a hard time seeing now, but he was no less conscious.

  Canyon’s free arm blocked Venture’s blows, then grasped Venture’s wrist. Venture struggled to wrest it away. But this man knew how to fight. Really knew how to fight. Canyon shoved Venture and simultaneously shifted his body to the side and pushed himself away with his feet, maneuvering like a trained fighter, like a man who’d been in this position, practiced being here and getting out time and time again. Venture was no longer on top, but on the ground by Canyon’s left side. Canyon’s arm slipped free of Venture’s knee. Venture’s grip on his enemy’s wrist was slipping. So was Venture’s consciousness.

  He grabbed Canyon’s wrist with both hands, but now, once again, his back was to his assailant. Canyon rammed his fist into Venture’s bleeding wound. As the shock waves of pain rushed through him, Canyon wove his left arm under Venture’s.

  Venture’s hand released its grip on Canyon’s knife hand. No. God, no. Canyon’s arm worked up further, until his palm was on the back of Venture’s neck, fingers digging in, squeezing. His elbow was right at Venture’s elbow, lifting it up, keeping the arm away from the knife. The knife inched its way toward Venture’s throat. Only Venture’s weakening left arm held it back.

  Blood ran down that very arm, between his fingers, dark and somehow sticky and slippery at the same time. I can get out of this. But I can’t think. Why? Why can’t I think? Don’t think; just move. But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t see. The blackness. No.

  And then, a cry. Something fearsome. The hand on his neck relaxed, but the darkness did not.

  He heard horses, wheels grinding to a halt.

  “Venture!” Jade’s voice cried, sounding far away, yet too close to danger.

  Venture hadn’t thought it possible to overcome the deepening blackness, but when he heard her voice, whatever was left of him demanded that his body respond. The gray daylight shimmered at him. His eyes were seeing—not clearly—but seeing. It was her. Jade.

  Canyon released him with a disdainful shove.

  “No, Jade, go!”

  Canyon, powerful, uninjured Canyon, said, “Jade Fieldstone! Are you watching, Delving?”

  Venture threw himself forward and gripped Canyon’s boots. It was pathetic, but Canyon looked back to snarl at the nuisance at his heels, and then there was steel, whipping through the air, cutting through the rain. Blood and water flew everywhere.

  “Vent, my Vent!”

  Jade was crying. She sounded so desperate, but the darkness was back. He couldn’t see her. Couldn’t move. Someone pulled at him, touched his face. He’s going to finish me off now. What will he do to her? God, help us.

  “Jade—I’m—sorry,” he gasped.

  He slipped away, into that dark pool, beneath the sparkles of light, where it was truly, utterly black.

  Chapter Fourteen

  He heard a voice calling his name. Jade’s voice. Of course. She’s dead now too. I failed, and she’s dead now.

  But the sound of her voice grew louder, more clear, and there were other sounds—footsteps, someone else weeping. The scent of blood and cold, wet air. Cold. He felt cold. He told his eyes to open, and they did. He was alive.

  A sword. There was a sword next to him. He stretched his fingers to reach for the hilt. He might be half dead, but he’d kill Canyon now, before he died all the way. A slender hand grasped his before it reached the hilt. Fingers entwined with his. Jade.

  “Vent, they’re all dead.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure. And we’re both alive, and I love you. Vent, how did you get here? How did this happen?”

  “I love you, Jadie.” It was so good to see her, to rest his head in her lap. He forgot that he was dying, forgot about fear and death altogether. He felt strange and good. Felt like laughing. “I’ve been pardoned,” he said.

  She squeezed his hand and kissed his face, the warmth of her lips mixing with the cold wet of the rain. “Rest. Be quiet now and rest.”

  “Is that my beautiful sword? I missed it.”

  “Vent—”

  “Give it to me.”

  “Stop it, Vent! Stop talking!”

  “Are you going to order me around like this when we’re married? How’ll I live with you?”

  “If you love me, rest. Just be quiet and rest.”

  “But you’re so beautiful, Jadie, and I haven’t told you that yet.”

  “You have, many times, more than enough.”

  “It’s been so long. So long.”

  The woman he’d told to stay in the carriage appeared behind Jade. She put a trembling hand on Jade’s shoulder. She’s alive too. Good, he thought, that’s good. Everything is good.

  #

  Venture spent the next two days drifting in and out of sleep. It was a while before he realized where he was. A bed had been put in Grant Fieldstone’s den for him, no doubt so he wouldn’t have to be carried upstairs. All the women he knew seemed to be lined up somewhere waiting their turn to feed him some broth or wine or water, always from a spoon, undeterred by the put-out looks he gave them, insisting that he not try to sit up or even bat an eyelid.

  Each time he opened his eyes, there was one of them trying to nurse him. Mrs. Bright, Grace, Connie, even, once—or had he only imagined it?—the woman he’d saved. Only when it was Jade did he find the energy to smile. She rubbed his fingers and whispered to him, sweet things he stowed away in his heart. Things that softened the hard, barrenness inside him like the first rains of spring washing away the snow.

  He sensed Chance’s quiet presence, too. Long, desperate, breathy whisperings in Atranian. One time Venture reached out, and his hand found the top of Chance’s head, bowed against the bed. The kid was on his knees. Begging God for my life, Venture realized.

  The men were there too, voices in the background, footsteps pacing around him. And there was pain so sharp, in his back. But as soon as he was aware enough to mind it much, he remembered the darkness, where he’d felt nothing, and he remembered not to mind the pain. I’m alive, I’ll rest, and soon I won’t hurt anymore. Soon.

  #

  Venture awoke, more clear-headed than he’d been before. He blinked up into Earnest’s face.

  Gingerly, Earnest pressed Venture’s shoulders down. “Don’t forget, Vent. You have to stay still.”

  “Earnest?” Venture swallowed hard. “What happened? Are they going to send me back?”

  “You’re not going back there. You’re done with the lockup for good. You’re free, Vent.” Earnest pointed to the wall above the bedside table. “I framed it for you.”

  Venture did his best to look without moving his head. In a wooden frame on the wall was his pardon, creased from being folded and stashed in his pocket.

  Venture squeezed his eyes shut, but the tears slipped out anyway. Free. Thank God.

  “Justice,�
�� Earnest said, “he’s back!”

  Justice had appeared in the open doorway. He ran to the bed, then stopped, forcing himself to move slowly as he leaned close to Venture. Every move was careful, deliberate, but his hands were shaking.

  “Don’t move, Vent,” Justice warned him. “You’re supposed to lie flat.”

  “How bad is it? How bad am I hurt?”

  “Not as bad as you should be,” Justice said. “Four armed men. What were you thinking?”

  “I don’t know,” Venture muttered. “I couldn’t just let them kill that woman. Jade must be so angry with me.”

  “No, no, Vent. I’m sorry.” Justice squeezed his hand. “We’re so proud of you . . . and we almost lost you.”

  Earnest straightened the blankets to hide his teary eyes. “What you did was unbelievable.”

  Venture turned his head away, recalling just what he’d done, what had happened. Unbelievable, yes. Unbelievably awful. “Where’s Jade?”

  “She’s upstairs,” Justice said. “Her grandmother slipped her something to help her sleep.”

  “But she’s all right?”

  “Yeah, she’s fine.”

  Venture didn’t miss the way his brother’s jaw tensed, how his eyes shifted as he spoke.

  “Justice!”

  “She’s an emotional wreck, Vent, but she’s not hurt.”

  “Go check on her for me. If she’s awake, bring her down. God, I missed her. I missed all you guys.” I missed so much.

  After Justice left them, Venture eyed his trainer. “Earnest, you didn’t answer my question. I need you to tell me how bad I’m hurt.”

  Earnest leaned back in the chair beside the bed. He ran his fingers through the dark waves of his hair. “You lost a lot of blood. You might still be bleeding inside. You’ve got one stab wound that glanced off your rib, down here.” Earnest point to the bottom of his own rib cage. “That one’s no big deal. But there’s another one.” Earnest rose and gestured in a diagonal from one shoulder blade, almost to his hip. “It goes all the way across your back, through the muscle. It took Healer and Daisy both to sew you up. If you move—twist just a little, pull your shoulders forward, you’ll rip it open again. Start bleeding again.”