by Ryan Wieser
“Stay back!”
Suddenly, Urdo Rendo came barreling past her, blade raised high as he threw himself into the battle, cutting down the soldier who had stood before her. Jessop hesitated, shocked. Urdo appearing in time to fight at her side had not been the plan—he was supposed to wait outside for those she drove out. And yet, he was with her.
Within seconds, Dezane’s army swarmed the room. Chaos erupted as the mercenaries engaged with the Kuroi. Jessop leapt into the mix, striking down a man with a sword in place of where an arm might have once been, ducking under low-flying blades, dodging assaults. She sliced through mercenary after mercenary, until she was near Korend’a. He had his hands at his mouth, attempting to bite his binds away. She grabbed his wrists and cut the ties loose, quickly embracing him.
“Get Corin out of here!” she yelled, thrusting her sword up into the abdomen of another assailant.
“I can fight!” he shouted back, shaking his head. But she saw the cuts on his face, the swelling of bruises, the fatigue.
“You have already done your part, let me do mine,” she insisted, leaping to her feet.
She offered him her forearm, helping him up. “Get Corin out of the city; we won’t be far behind,” she instructed. Korend’a nodded, quickly pulling her into another embrace. He let her go just as quickly, turned, and grabbed the frail Corin from the ground. With ease, he tossed the old man over his shoulder and ducked through the crowd, liberating him from the madness of the fight.
* * * *
Several Kuroi walked through the scene, killing those mercenaries who were mortally wounded, and tending to their kin. Jessop knelt, providing a swift death to one who would have agonized for several more hours before succumbing to his wounds. She stood slowly, her eyes darting over the bodies. The battle had not been a long one; the Kuroi had lived up to their reputation, as had she and Urdo. Kohl would have known his band of rebels wouldn’t survive the fight—he had sent them to their certain death.
The smell of smoke was overwhelming—they didn’t have long to escape the city. She looked about the room until her eyes fell on Kohl, leaning against Falco’s black throne, breathing heavily and sweating profusely, her daggers still stuck in his shoulders. She crossed the room, stepping over dead bodies, sidewinding her way around the wounded, until she knelt before him.
“You don’t look well,” she remarked, crouching forward to examine the wounds.
“You stabbed me,” he hissed, his eyes narrowing on her.
“Consider us even then,” she said, reminding him of the wound he had inflicted on her not so long ago.
“Not remotely,” he growled, looking away from her.
She looked to the doorway, noting the fires still burning in the dark streets. “How many people have you murdered just to ruin my home?”
He shrugged, but Jessop knew he was not truly ambivalent. After a moment of silence, uncomfortable under her unblinking stare, he spoke. “Most of the city had evacuated before today.”
She nodded slowly, thankful that he didn’t possess the hatred required for that kind of damage, relieved to know some part of him was still recognizable. “Stand up.”
He ignored her, looking to the scene of the battle. She grabbed the collar of his leather vest and stood, wrenching him to his feet. He held his arms to his chest tightly, hissing with pain and leaning against Falco’s throne to steady himself. She forced him towards the doorway. Her eyes fell to Urdo, who was speaking with one of the warriors. “Let’s move.”
As she stepped out into the dark city, she froze. Many of the fires had died out, leaving behind charred remains, but some still licked at buildings and flitted down streets. Everything was ashen. Everything was ruined. The smell of smoke was overwhelming to her. She fought at her memories, refusing to let them surface, knowing that was what he had intended. She would not think of the fire, she would not think of this being the second home she had lost to the flames. All she could consider was that she had failed. She hadn’t been able to save the city he had made for her. She tightened her grip on Kohl’s arm. “Falco is going to make you wish you were dead.” She hadn’t thought the sentiment through. He stared out at the city he had burned and then down to her.
“I already wish it.”
* * * *
They moved through the city in silence. Those remaining were fleeing for the gates, their belongings in their arms, their fear forcing them forward blindly. She could not help them. She refused to let go of Kohl, though she knew the warriors could have guarded him well enough.
Kohl voiced a running commentary as they weaved around the worst of the flames. He showed no sense of fear, no regard for his pain or situation. “Can you smell that? It’s like…burned meat,” he mused. She kicked the back of his knee, lurching him forward as he fell to the ground. She wrenched his head back with a grab of his bun and ripped one dagger from his shoulder.
He cried out as she stepped around to face him. “How much leeway do you think my guilt buys you? Do you honestly believe that I won’t kill you, that I won’t let Falco kill you?”
She let him rise to his feet, his hand tight against his shoulder. “Do not pretend you let me live out of guilt, Jessop.”
She hesitated at his implication. She realized the eyes of all the Kuroi, of Mar’e and Urdo, rested on them. “Don’t, Kohl.”
He took a step towards her, his eyes desperate. “Then stop pretending you don’t lo—”
She tightened her hand into a fist at her side, and immediately, he began to choke, as though her fingers gripped his jugular. She constricted further and he fell once again to his knees, his hands grabbing at his throat, his eyes wide.
“Jessop,” Urdo cautioned, taking a step closer.
She ignored him. She wouldn’t hear it, not any more. She had betrayed him, but he had nearly killed her. He mocked her as he burned her home to the ground. She stared at him, without sympathy, without concern, as his face began to turn color.
“Jessop,” Mar’e added, nearing Urdo.
He loved her and he hated her—she understood that. She knew there was something about Kohl that she did love, that she would always love, but it was not what she felt for Falco. She was meant to be with Falco, it was more than destiny, more than any familiarity, more than words could explain. They were one; the same soul. Whatever Kohl felt for her, and she for him, it was no comparison.
“Jessop!”
Urdo’s voice drew her back to the moment. Back to the streets that burned, back to the smell of charred flesh, back to the home he had destroyed in the same manner that his false Lord had destroyed the first. She knelt before him, keeping her grip on him.
“You took my home from me, just as Hydo once did, and you think I could ever love you? You’re pathetic,” she hissed, and without warning, she wrenched her second dagger free. She might not have saved Aranthol for Falco, but she could deliver Kohl to him.
She turned and began to walk once again towards the gates. She ignored his coughing, the sound of Mar’e helping him to his feet, the stare she could feel from Urdo. She ignored it all, refusing to turn back. Refusing to close her eyes to the blackened ruins around her. Despite the tears, she would not look away from it.
* * * *
They set up camp a mile from the city walls. Many who had escaped the fires, those who hadn’t evacuated before, joined their group. Jessop wished to return to the Soar-Craft immediately, eager to return to Falco, but the troops needed rest. She had set up a tent and resided inside, alone with her thoughts. All she could see were the flames.
Mar’e had brought her food and told her that she had mended Kohl’s wounds. She had tried comforting Jessop about the loss of her city, but she didn’t want to hear it. She knew failure when she saw it.
She had sat with Korend’a for a long time, and with Corin when he felt well enough. They too tried comforting her. �
��What he said was true, most of the city had been forced to evacuate before he set the fires,” Corin spoke, sipping a liquor that was hot on his breath. Jessop imagined he had received it from Urdo.
“We can rebuild, Jessop. Aranthol still has a forever night sky—the fires could do nothing to that,” Korend’a added. She nodded as they spoke, smiling when appropriate. The truth was Aranthol would never be the same, and it would likely never be her home again. Falco had to rule from the Blade. Jeco had to be trained in the Blade. She would spend the rest of her life in the Red City. It wasn’t simply the destruction of the Shadow City that tormented her—it was him. By enlisting the desert mage and setting fire to her home, he had attacked her the same way Hydo would have.
She knew he had intended to harm her, to punish her. He had succeeded.
“Get some sleep, Jessop,” Korend’a advised, embracing her tightly before disappearing from her tent. Just as he left, the tent flapped open once again.
Urdo stood before her, a leather flagon in hand, a look of apology in his eyes.
He held the canteen out for her, offering a share of his drink. Though she normally would abstain, she took it, and sipped heartily. The liquid burned her throat, it travelled down her like a small fire burning, and she both relished and despised the sensation. She handed it back to him, offering him a seat opposite her.
“O’Hanlon’s wound has been mended,” he spoke between sips of his drink.
Jessop nodded. “I’d heard as much.”
He offered her the drink once again but she declined.
“I’m sorry for what he did to your city.”
She offered him a half smile, thankful for his words, though they both knew nothing could be changed by them. “Everything he does, he does out of vengeance. He will not stop until he understands I do not, nor did I ever love him.”
“Or perhaps he will stop once you admit the opposite.”
She narrowed her gaze at the older Hunter, discomforted by his assertion. “I would do no such thing.”
“Is it so untrue that you ever had any feelings for him?”
Jessop knew if it had been any other asking, she would have reacted with greater severity. Urdo had earned the right to speak to her candidly.
“You’ve seen Falco and me,” she answered.
“Aye, we all have. If you put that man’s hand in fire, I reckon the burn would show up on your fingers. I’ve never seen two people more destined to be together…” His voice trailed off, his mind clearly contemplating their relationship.
He quickly took a large sip from his drink. “But does that mean the boy never meant anything to you? If you say so, I’ll believe it. But just because you weren’t in love with him doesn’t mean you didn’t care.”
She ran her hand over her dark braid, frustrated. “I’ve told him as much, Urdo. I cared. I apologized. He cannot accept things as they are…and Falco may not let him live much longer should he continue to persist.”
Urdo nodded slowly. “Maybe that’s for the best then.”
His words surprised her, causing her to lean back.
He shrugged. “The boy doesn’t wish to live. He cannot stop loving you and he cannot stop hating you for your inability to love him back. He was the wrong mark, Jessop. He wasn’t built for heartbreak.”
Jessop ground her teeth roughly against one another, her jaw clenching under the words of her Hunter comrade. She took a low breath. She wouldn’t be responsible for his death unless she took the blade to his throat—if he forced Falco’s hand, then he would be the cause of his own demise, and he alone. “If he wishes to die so badly, that is his prerogative, but it shall not be permitted until I know where Hydo Jesuin is.”
* * * *
Jessop could feel Falco in her mind as she laid in her tent, waiting to hear the rest of the camp wake. They traded bits of information with one another. Her son was well. Both had fought their battles, both had experienced relative success and failure. She was hesitant to let him see the images of Aranthol on fire, and she sensed how he retreated somewhat when he did come across them. She knew, through her own excursion of his mind, that many had died in the streets of the Red City—she also knew that neither Hydo nor Hanson had been captured.
She rolled to her side, disappointment welling in her chest like an acidic liquor. She felt as though they had come so far, in so many regards, and yet things had not quite fallen into place like they had once envisioned. She knew they had been too hopeful, living under the belief that once Falco was in the Blade again, everyone would hear his story and pledge their fealty. Many had, but not enough it seemed, not enough to prevent war.
Jessop sat upright and began to fix her long plait. They would make it to the Soar-Craft swiftly, not carrying many wounded, and then she would be reunited with Falco and Jeco. She couldn’t quite anticipate how the reunion between Falco and Kohl would go, though Falco knew he was coming. Falco understood that Kohl couldn’t just be killed—he was one of the few people who knew how to find Hydo. Despite all that had been said and thought, she refused to believe that Kohl truly wished to die. Her love wasn’t worth his life. She believed, instead, that he simply wanted Jessop to think he longed for death to punish her.
“Jessop?” Korend’a called her name from outside the tent.
“Come in,” she answered, tying off the end of her hair with a leather band. She turned and found Korend’a ducking into the tent. He wore fresh clothes supplied from his Kuroi brethren and he appeared revitalized from a good night’s rest and a break from battle.
She gestured for him to sit and he acquiesced. “The man, Kohl, he has been readied for our trek back. He is bandaged and his hands are bound. I brought you this,” he spoke, and from behind his back he unsheathed Kohl’s Hunter Blade.
Jessop reached out and slowly took the blade from him. She hadn’t held it in such a long time—its unique blade, its hilt, perfectly shaped to Kohl’s grip. She lowered it to the ground beside her, ensuring it rested on a blanket. “Thank you, Korend’a.”
He stared at her for a long moment before speaking. “Falco wishes to kill him, but you do not?”
She regarded her old friend thoughtfully. How could she possibly explain that which made no sense to Falco, and no sense to herself, about Kohl’s living or dying? “Falco wishes to kill him, but we need him to tell us where Hydo is first.”
Korend’a nodded, though she could see skepticism in his eyes as he spoke. “Could you not force the knowledge from his mind and then kill him?”
She nodded, knowing his words were truthful. “Yes, and should it come to it, I will.”
“Why waste the time? You could do it now, I could bring him to you—”
She raised her hand, indicating for him to stop. She could remember the night she had gone up the Blade with Kohl, she remembered all they had spoken of, she remembered how he had told her he wouldn’t trespass the thoughts of another without true purpose…She had found that to be honorable. “His fate shall be determined by Falco.” It was a half-truth, for she had Falco’s ear, but should Kohl continue on his chosen path, Jessop believed that not even she could sustain his life. Or that she would want to.
Korend’a nodded and together they sat in silence. After many minutes, she spoke. “How did he clear out Aranthol? It is one of the most dangerous regions in Daharia —if not the most—but the city was practically abandoned by the time he…by the time the fires started.”
He looked at her with surprise. “That Hunter is a very dangerous man, Jessop. Very dangerous. He arrived, fighting, with his army—many of whom had been in Aranthol before, given their trade—and he killed many. He was not met without resistance; resistance simply couldn’t hold him back. Even I was overcome by him eventually, when he resorted to his use of Sentio.”
Jessop felt, in that moment, shame. She and Falco had left Aranthol without protection against on
e with Sentio. Korend’a was commonly found to have no equal with a blade, barring herself or Falco, but when confronted with mind tricks, he was helpless. She thought of the mage who had forced his way into her mind, of his audacity and aggression, and she felt as though she had let down Korend’a, Corin, and their people.
She tried to picture Kohl as Korend’a described him, and despite his rugged appearance and skilled sword hand, she couldn’t. He simply wasn’t someone she had ever viewed as a threat. Perhaps her mistake, from the beginning, had been to underestimate him too greatly. “How many did he kill?”
Korend’a looked up at her with dark eyes. “Too many to bury.”
* * * *
The warriors were ready to return to the Soar-Craft. Mar’e had seen to it that the entire camp was packed up neatly, Urdo looked weary but ready for the trek, and near him, hands bound and mouth gagged, was Kohl. His shoulders were heavily bandaged, and it appeared as though his face had been tended to as well. It seemed that Mar’e had been diligent in her care of him.
“Jessop!” Korend’a called after her, but she did not yield. She needed to know, she needed to see. Korend’a had been right, she could force her way in to Kohl’s mind with ease, and why she felt the urge to resist, after all he had done, was unfathomable.
Jessop crossed the large dune, walking towards Kohl with determination. She held his golden gaze without interruption, stepping through the thick, rolling sand. She pushed into his mind and though he resisted, she found the images she sought for quickly. He fought through the dark streets, his blade covered in blood, cutting down any who stepped before him. He killed indiscriminately, breaking down doors and ordering people out of their homes, proclaiming Aranthol a dead city. Any who rose against him fell at his feet.
Jessop outstretched her hand, and with a flex of her fingers, she forced Kohl to kneel. She could see him striking Corin, letting the elderly man fall unconscious to the ground, before meeting Korend’a near the Pit. Korend’a fought with two blades, and as he battled Kohl, he also struck down several mercenaries. He was a wonder to watch. She could sense the extent to which Kohl was impressed by his opponent, and she could feel the fear growing inside him, telling him that with a blade alone he would not best this Kuroi warrior.