The Yarnsworld Collection: A fantasy boxset

by Benedict Patrick

  It was a winter morning when the five men approached the gates of Oaxaca. The guards there were surprised to see that the men were all Bravadori. What was more unusual was that all of the men shared the same mask - the black and white stripes of a badger - and that all of them were Wildfolk.

  The Bravadori were met with curiosity, but no resistance, as they entered the city.

  They made their way to the noble quarter, and it was no coincidence that they came to the home of the very official who had years ago dismissed a young man’s claims that men under his employ had butchered a Wildfolk family. The Bravadori politely knocked on the door, and were eventually granted admission into the household.

  In the courtyard of the governor’s home, the captain of the house guard confronted the five Bravadori. Vengeful Badger - for it was indeed him that led this troupe - recognised the man as one of those who had taken his wife from him, and without warning he drew his blade and took his enemy’s life.

  The five Badgers made their way through the household, sparing those who did not fight back, but making short work of any who opposed them. They came upon the governor at his breakfast table, his family gathered around him, a dozen serving staff all required to bring the man his food.

  All of these people were spared, and all bore witness to what happened next.

  Vengeful Badger leapt onto the banquet table, staring grimly at the man who had done nothing to reprimand his people for what they had done.

  “You have no authority here,” the governor said, his chins wobbling in fear. “You can dress like a Bravador, you can fight like them, but you’re nothing more than a common bandit, killing a helpless man in his own home.”

  They say that at that moment, Vengeful Badger raised his blade and it began to glow with the light of a distant star. On seeing this, the governor’s eyes widened, and tears fell freely down his face.

  “A Queen’s Blade…” the accused man stammered. “You’re a Queen’s Blade.”

  Vengeful Badger showed no emotion, but replied, “She grants me the power to protect the weak. And to avenge them.”

  He flicked his blade across the governor’s throat, ending him.

  Despite the witnesses, despite Vengeful Badger’s status as a Queen’s Blade, he and his men were hunted down for their crime. Nobody, not even a Bravador, and certainly not a Wildman, could kill a Muridae noble without punishment. Despite their skills, each of the five Badgers were caught, one by one, and put to death. Vengeful Badger was the last, and his head was preserved in a glass jar, paraded around the Wildland towns and cities as a warning to the other Wildfolk.

  However, not long after Vengeful Badger’s death, a new stable emerged in Espadapan. We are not certain who began the Honey Badger Family, and if any of the current members know, they are not sharing that information. Local legend says that it was another group of Bravadori Vengeful Badger had been training, in case his first assault had failed. Others claim it was simply other Wildfolk, inspired by a legend whose heritage mirrored their own. More fanciful rumours suggest that Vengeful Badger was never really caught, that he faked his execution and went on to found one of Espadapan’s most notorious Bravador stables.

  But that cannot be true. Things like that only happen in stories.

  Arturo looked incredulously at Crazy Raccoon as two of the bandits dragged the old man to the ground, throwing him beside Arturo.

  Crazy Raccoon glanced at Arturo briefly. The man’s face was a mess, one ear lost, his nose bent to one side, blood dripping down his chin. Without his mask, the man looked nothing like the legend Arturo had thought he was travelling with.

  “What?” Crazy Raccoon said, spitting out the blood that was dribbling down his lip.

  “You don’t have a Knack. How can you not have a Knack?”

  Crazy Raccoon glared at Arturo. “What in the name of Alfrond’s cock are you talking about?” The older man’s rage shifted momentarily, allowing Arturo to spot the uncertainty hiding behind it.

  You know exactly what I’m talking about.

  “When you were fighting Procopio, I could see it. He has a Knack for sword fighting. There was nothing from you.”

  Crazy Raccoon lowered his eyes, still angry. “Don’t be fucking ridiculous.”

  Procopio stepped forward, ignoring the Bravadori now.

  “Replace the wards. Nail these two to the fence. That should keep us safe until we get some new villagers.”

  Arturo knew this was coming. Yizel had taken away the dying villagers, so Crazy Raccoon and himself were going to replace them.

  Rough hands grabbed him under his shoulders. Arturo was so tired and disappointed he did not even resist. His rapier lay on the dirt in the courtyard. A Bravador never dropped his blade.

  The rest of the bandits dispersed behind them. Arturo paid them no attention. His eyes remained locked on Crazy Raccoon, who was being dragged beside him.

  “Stop looking at me like that.”

  It was as if the removal of the man’s mask let Arturo see Crazy Raccoon properly for the first time. He had never cared about the Wildfolk, Yizel had been right. When the Cadejo had attacked, Crazy Raccoon had not ignored it because of his experience, not because he knew it was a trap. All he had been thinking about was saving his own life. Arturo had been used. Yizel had been treated like shit. All this for a man who was less than both of them.

  Arturo had thought Crazy Raccoon was the best the Bravadori could offer. Maybe he was. Maybe Arturo had been right when he was sitting at Espadapan’s gates, after recovering from his beating. There were no true Bravadori. Just thugs in masks, taking what they could. Sad echoes of childhood dreams.

  Arturo was shoved against the charcoaled wall to the left of the gates, Crazy Raccoon to the right. The area was still warm from the fire Yizel had lit. The bandits stood in front of them, three of them, one holding a set of hammer and nails.

  “Right, start with the young one.” Someone grabbed Arturo’s wrist.

  The threat of physical harm finally breathed life into Arturo, and he struggled.

  “Shut up,” a female bandit said, crunching her knee into his groin. Overcome by a red wave of pain, Arturo went limp, allowing the men to grab his hand and hold it firm to the wood behind him. A prick in the palm of his hand alerted Arturo to the nail that was being readied, being prodded hard into his flesh. Arturo’s breathing quickened as he realised the man was raising his hammer back, ready to strike.

  The man died in front of Arturo as a rapier blade emerged from his nose, lancing high into the sky, a tower riding a red fountain.

  “The woman,” one of the bandits shouted, alerting his companions to the threat. “She’s come back!”

  Arturo gasped as the nail fell from his palm, released by his captors as they turned their attention to Yizel. Arturo could not help the smile at seeing her again.

  The two remaining bandits, however, did not seem to be dismayed by the death of their comrade. Both of them drew the weapons sheathed at their belts, and Arturo felt his enthusiasm drop. With a sickening realisation he sensed that both of these bandits had Knacks, they were both experts at combat. It was probably why they had been chosen to deal with the Bravadori. Outnumbered and out skilled, a Shaven like Yizel had no chance.

  “Run,” Arturo tried to shout, but the croak came more as a whisper than anything else.

  Yizel did not seem to notice. She stepped back from the corpse at her feet, not taking the time to wipe her blade clean, calmly assessing the two who were moving on her. Despite the fact that she was a Shaven, Arturo could feel Yizel’s own sword fighting Knack searching forth from her, like a spider using its front legs to test an unfamiliar strand of web, trying to get a read on her enemies. She shifted her stance forward slightly, and the bandits made their own minor adjustments in response. She was testing them.

  The bandits circled Yizel, moving themselves so they stood on either side of her. Arturo could feel the strands of their Knacks reaching out, binding with each ot
her to prepare to tackle Yizel in unison.

  “You should’ve run while you had the chance, love,” the female bandit said, showing her teeth to Yizel. Arturo could feel the bandit’s Knack mixing with her words, trying to use them to goad Yizel into a rash action.

  The bandit died before Arturo had even realised Yizel had moved.

  “Alfrond’s balls,” was all Arturo could say. He looked across to Crazy Raccoon, still maskless, and could see the other Bravador was equally shocked.

  Not as shocked, however, as the remaining bandit. He had been cocky when his two companions were alive, but that confidence now turned to anger. Amber sparks shot from the man’s eyes, telling everyone that his Knack was flaring up, and he was preparing himself to unleash an attack that no unKnacked person could hope to replicate. Yizel changed her stance, preparing to defend.

  The bandit screamed, dancing forward on his toes, his blade thrusting for Yizel. She darted to the side, but he reacted quicker than Arturo thought was possible, jabbing again at her, each movement of the cold steel making for her heart. Despite watching this combat with the aid of his own Knack, seeming to slow time down for him so he could anticipate the movements before they happened, Arturo could not keep track of the man’s attacks. Yizel, however, continued to back away, her face calm but focussed, replying to each attempt on her life with cold precision, batting the man’s blade away, moving backwards to give him another opening.

  Arturo knew the man’s spark would not last for long, and as the amber in his eyes died, the bandit stopped his movement for half a second to take a deeper breath, to recover from his exertion. Yizel finally found her opening, pushing aside his rapier with her gloved hand, forcing him to turn his body to present her with his chest. This time it was her sword that went for his heart, and he did not have the speed or skill to stop her from taking it.

  The final bandit slumped to the ground, and Yizel moved over to Arturo and began to undo his bindings.

  He looked at her solemn face, awestruck.

  Finally, she noticed how he was looking at her. “What is it?” she said, confused.

  “You were amazing. That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”

  It took a moment for Arturo to realise that Yizel was blushing.

  “Come on,” she told him, moving to Crazy Raccoon to free him as well. “We need to get out of here.”

  Yizel pushed the two men on until they could walk no further. It was Starving Pup whose legs gave way first, collapsing to the Wildland dirt in a pathetic heap. Yizel stood and looked behind her. There were no dust clouds that suggested anyone moving in their direction, and she could hear no movement that gave away the position of anyone close.

  “Okay,” she said to them both, “we rest here for a short while, but we need to keep moving. They’ll be after us soon.”

  The men grunted at her, too exhausted to say anything else. Certain that neither of them was looking at her, she smiled. What Starving Pup had said to her back there, it had meant a lot. It made her feel a little bit of what she had felt when she was one of them, one of the Bravadori.

  Except now, there was only one Bravador remaining in their group.

  Yizel looked at the man formerly known as Crazy Raccoon. Less than a day ago he had been punching her repeatedly in the face, yet now he had been reduced to her level. His head hung low, his scraggly brown hair was trickling across his face, hiding the wound at his ear. He had managed to stem the flow of blood from his nose, but it still looked horribly bent. That was nothing, however, compared to how naked his face seemed. Seeing Crazy Raccoon lying unmasked, mere moments after having his life as a Bravador taken from him, reminded Yizel of her own experience so long ago. She remembered the feel of it, the shame of it. She looked again at Crazy Raccoon. She should hate this man. Part of her did hate him. There was no easy forgiveness for what he and his kind had done to her. However, she was surprised to find that she felt a sort of kinship with him now. Two Shaven, wandering together in the wilderness, a neophyte Bravador their only companion.

  Yizel reached into one of her pockets and took out a small razor blade. She moved over to Crazy Raccoon, stepping softly so Starving Pup would not hear, knelt down and offered the razor to him.

  Crazy Raccoon looked at the razor in confusion, then looked at Yizel, his anger clear. “What the fuck is that for?”

  “It’s best if you do it yourself, the first time. If you don’t do it, someone else will. That’s what happened me, after I lost my mask.”

  Crazy Raccoon’s anger did not dissipate. He looked at the razor again, frustrated in his confusion at what Yizel was suggesting. “What the fuck you talking about? What can I do with a tiny knife?”

  She smiled, sadly. She would be lying to admit that a small part of her was not enjoying the moment, but mostly she was recalling the pain of her own loss all those years ago. “You must remove your hair now. You lost your mask. You’re Shaven.”

  It took a second for Crazy Raccoon to process what she was saying, then he erupted, standing up, waving his arms at her despite his exhaustion. “I’m no fucking Shaven. Get that thing away from me. Get that fucking thing away.”

  Yizel stood too, calm but confused. When Sinister Crow had turned on her, outing Yizel as a murderer, she had known her life would be forever changed. She had not considered that another Shaven might fight the process.

  “It isn’t easy. It isn’t fun. But after becoming Shaven, ease and fun are things we don’t get a lot of. I’m offering you this as a kindness. You don’t want to return to the City of Swords without having done this yourself. When they find out-”

  Crazy Raccoon slapped her hand, and she dropped the razor in surprise. “They won’t fucking find out.” He stepped forward, pointing his finger in her face. Starving Pup stood close by, watching the discussion with narrowed eyes. “Nobody is going to fucking speak of this. You won’t, or I’ll gut you and use your insides to decorate the entranceway of the Queen’s cathedral.

  Yizel was sure her mouth was hanging open now. She watched as, shaking with his anger, Crazy Raccoon rummaged in his pockets and pulled something out. He unfurled it. It was another Bravador mask.

  Not looking at Yizel or Starving Pup, Crazy Raccoon fitted his mask on, a perfect replica of the one that had come before, and sat back down in his exhausted heap.

  Yizel stood there, rigid.

  But, he lost. It was a battle for honour. He put his mask on the line, and he lost. Lost his mask, just like I did. I paid the price. He has to pay the price.

  Yizel looked to Starving Pup. He seemed to be similarly perplexed by Crazy Raccoon’s actions. After a moment, however, the young Bravador shrugged, and lay back in the dirt.

  Yizel looked at Crazy Raccoon again

  “No.” She should have been surprised at the anger in her voice, at the fact that she spoke to Crazy Raccoon with such venom, but in truth she was not. She had taken the indignity of the last decade on the chin. She had endured. But this? This was like a slap in the face to her own suffering. “No,” she said again, this time shouting.

  Crazy Raccoon turned to her, eyes accusing. “Quit your yapping. My head is killing me. Does anyone have a drink?”

  An inhuman yowl of rage escaped her lips as Yizel threw herself at Crazy Raccoon.

  Yizel screamed for a while, battering at the man. Crazy Raccoon was shocked at the assault at first, but soon began returning blows. Yizel could feel that, despite her skill, her foe was stronger and would soon overpower her. Rough hands from behind grabbed her and pulled her free.

  “Don’t bother with him, Yizel,” Starving Pup said, pulling her free from the scrap. “He’s not worth it.” The younger man looked at Crazy Raccoon, and Yizel was surprised to see disgust on Starving Pup’s face.

  “He’s not worth it. He’s not even a true Bravador. The mask makes no difference. He’s got no Knack for fighting.”

  Crazy Raccoon got up, face boiling. “I told you to quit saying that,” Crazy Rac
coon shouted. “That’s bullshit. Lies. Out of all of us, I’m the only true Bravador here, I’m the only Bravador with a stable, and the only Bravador with a story to his name.”

  Yizel’s eyes narrowed. “The only Bravador with a stable? Where’s your stable mark, then?” She glanced at his bare sleeve.

  “Shut your mouth, Shaven,” Crazy Raccoon barked back. “And if you touch me again, I’ll finish what I started last night.”

  Yizel turned to Starving Pup. “What do you mean he doesn’t have a Knack? How could you even know that?”

  Starving Pup nodded at Crazy Raccoon. “Anyone could tell from the way he fought Procopio. But I could see with my Knack, when he was fighting. Procopio’s Knack was strong during the fight. This impostor? Nothing. Nothing was happening. No magic, no skill, no Knack.”

  Yizel’s eyes narrowed, more interested in Starving Pup than the revelation about Crazy Raccoon’s abilities. “You could see the bandit’s Knack?”

  The boy looked puzzled. “Yeah, you know, when people are fighting I can see it, see what they’re planning to do. You’ve clearly got the Knack for it too. Is that not how it works for you?”

  “No,” Yizel said, slowly.

  He can see the future? What kind of Knack is that?

  “I should never have come here with the likes of you,” Crazy Raccoon said, oblivious to Yizel’s diverted attention. “Should’ve realised you’d both drag me down.”

  Starving Pup exploded. “Drag you down? From what, your imaginary pedestal? Because all of this is a lie. The masks, the sword fighting, the Bravadori. Drink my own piss, as far as I know, the Queen could be a lie too. And I’m the idiot who believed the lie, wasted my life working towards achieving something that never really existed.” The man ripped his domino mask off, throwing it to the dirt. Yizel saw Starving Pup glance at her, his face seeming even younger now without the mask to hide it. “Too many lives have been wasted because of the Bravadori, and all so a bunch of selfish pricks can prance around the city wearing masks and feeling important. I wish I’d never heard of them, the swordfighters.”