HE WHO FIGHTS

by Mike Morris

  Rane lowered Kibon. "What were you doing with those two men?"

  "I was their property. They bought me in Napolin. Dragged me here. I don't think they ever planned to bring me to the castle but the soldiers found our camp..."

  "You were their slave?"

  "Theirs and others."

  "I thought slaves were outlawed in the five nations."

  "There’ll always be slaves when some men have money and others don't. I was a child when my first owners found me. I was eight years old, alone and starving."

  "What about your family?"

  "Dead long before that."

  It wasn't hard to imagine the horrors she'd been through when she should've been protected and cared for. The Legion of Swords existed to look after people like her — why they'd sworn their oaths. It wasn't to wage war on the world. The Lord General had forgotten that long ago and now was so twisted and tainted, he'd have his men — have Rane — murder instead.

  No more. If Jefferson wanted Rane to become a Legionnaire once more, he would — but a true one. Devoted to the oath, sacrificing everything to protecting the weak. Starting there and then. He’d protect the weak, serve the innocent.

  He placed Kibon on the floor. Hesitated only for a moment at the thought of leaving it, long enough to feel more disgust at its hold over him.

  "What's your name?" asked Rane as he gripped one of the chains.

  "Zee."

  "I'm Nathaniel." Rane grunted as he pulled. Each link was an inch thick. Old steel but well made. It resisted as it was meant to, but Rane's muscles were pumped full of blood magic. The chains groaned and creaked as he pulled with all his might. He grunted with the effort, felt his veins bulge as the pressure built.

  Just as he thought the iron was too strong, a crack pierced the silence. The chain snapped apart. One arm was free.

  "Thank you," gasped Zee.

  Rane said nothing. There was still one left to break.

  He moved to the other side, took hold of the chain and tugged once more. This time the chain fought harder, lasted longer, but it was still no match for Rane. The last chain fell to the floor with a clatter.

  The girl fell into Rane's arms, sobbing with relief. He let her cry, as he held on to her, angry at what had happened to her, angry with himself for almost giving up. For forgetting who he was.

  Once Zee had brought her tears under control, Rane led her over to the stool and sat her down. "Wait here for a moment, then we'll work out how to get out of here."

  Zee nodded, sniffing, arms wrapped around her knees.

  Rane returned to the dead prisoners. He stripped Samuel of his trousers and boots and put them on. The trousers were too big but the man had a good belt to hold them up. The boots were a good fit. The man's shirt was soaked in blood so he left that where it was.

  Rane picked up Kibon from the floor, its weight heavy in his hand, uncomfortable.

  "You look at it like you hate that sword," said Zee.

  "I loved it once,” replied Rane. "Loved using it. Loved the way it made me feel. Then one day I met someone who showed me all it was good for was killing and reminded me that I was more than just a killer." He shook his head. "Life seems to have other ideas though."

  "Life or the man with the beard?"

  "The Lord General? I thought of him as a second father once. Trusted him so much I gave him my soul. A mistake I hope I can rectify." Rane smiled. "First though, we have to get out of here."

  "How are we going to do that?"

  "I'm going to kill you."

  Zee screamed.

  38

  "Open up!" Rane pounded on the cell door. It was hard to tell how long he'd been locked up — maybe ten or twelve hours — but he'd waited long enough. Most of the castle would be asleep. He knew though someone would be on the other side of the door, guarding him, waiting to see if he succumbed to Jefferson's wishes. "Come on!"

  The cover over the spy hole slid open and a pair of eyes peered through. "What do you want?"

  "To get out of this shit hole," replied Rane. He stepped back so the guard could get a good look inside the cell. And see Zee's body.

  The eyes went straight to her, lying amongst the other dead, covered in blood and gore. "Shit. You did it." The man chuckled. "You fucking did it."

  Rane's face twitched and he clicked his jaw from side to side. "I did. Now let me out of here before I rip the door off its hinges."

  The guard's attention drifted back to the bodies. Again he laughed. "Settle down for a minute. My orders are to get Jefferson, tell him before I let you out."

  Rane leaned into the spy hole, eyeballing the guard. "Do I know you? Voice sounds familiar."

  "Yeah, we fought together plenty of times. Pet'r Sears."

  "I remember." A pockmarked nasty brute of Fascalian popped up in Rane's memory. Sears had been a vicious brute before the taint, and he would only have gotten worse.

  "Damn. I had money you wouldn't join us."

  "Sorry to disappoint you."

  "Nah, it's all good. Always good to have a tough bastard like you back on the team," replied Sears. "I'll tell you this much — you're going to love what you're going to become. Fucking love it."

  Rane smiled. "Then open this door and we can go tell the Lord General together. Let's not waste anymore time."

  Sears stepped back from the spy hole. Silence followed. For a moment, Rane didn't think he was going to do it but then he heard the sound of bolts slipping free. Thunk, thunk, thunk.

  The door groaned as it opened. Fresher air slipped into the cell first. Rane clenched his teeth, sucked it in through his nose. He was ready for this.

  "You really did it," said Sears as he entered, sword sheathed and on his back, two pistols holstered on the strap across his chest. No one else followed. Rane took a step forward and checked the corridor outside the cell. Empty.

  Sears walked past, headed to the bodies. He bent over Zee. "She was a cute one. Almost didn't want to beat the shit out of here when the old man asked me. Could think of better things to do to her to get her to talk." He looked up and winked at Rane, grin plastered all over his face. "You know what I mean?"

  "Yes," said Rane, stepping closer.

  Sears turned Zee's face to him. "Bet it was a rush when you killed her. Fuck, I love that. And it only gets better. Get them screaming and it's the best feeling in the world. Better than sex."

  "I know."

  Sears ran his finger through the blood on Zee's neck and then raised it to his mouth. "I still love the fucking taste." With eyes closed, he sucked the blood off the finger.

  Rane said nothing.

  "Hey." Sears looked up at Rane. "The blood's stone cold."

  "I know," replied Rane and hacked through Sears' neck with Kibon. Another burst of magic hit Rane as the body toppled forward, a fine red mist spraying everywhere. His body spasmed with the intensity of the rush, almost bringing him to his knees. The room swayed as he tried to control it.

  "Are you okay?" asked Zee, standing up.

  "Stay back," he shouted, waving her off with his hand. He didn't trust himself, didn't trust Kibon. There was never enough blood to satisfy the sword. Satisfy him. Not when it promised such power. Who was she anyway? Nothing. A slave. A fool who should already be dead.

  "What's happening to you?" Her voice cracked with fear. Even Zee could sense a change in Rane. See the fire in him.

  No. No. He wouldn't give in. He swallowed, forced the fire in him down. Breathed in, breathed out. Like he'd been taught. Found his centre and held onto it for all he was worth. He couldn't kill the girl. Shouldn't. Mustn't. Protect. Save. Oath.

  By the Gods, Rane felt like he was going insane.

  The girl backed away, looking for some dark shadow to cower in.

  A man. A man. Rane was a man, a human being. Not a monster. No. "I'm okay. I'm okay." He picked up Kibon's sheath. Slipped the blade inside it. He was in control. Not the sword. Never the sword. "Let's get out of here."

  "Wha
t happened to you when you killed him?" asked Zee, pressed into the corner.

  "The sword makes me stronger and faster than a normal man. But it needs blood to feed that magic. The more lives it takes, the less human I become. Jefferson — the old man — and the others have already been transformed."

  "Into what?"

  "We're about to find out." Rane stripped Spears of his shirt and his guns. He found a knife tucked in the man's boot and passed that to Zee. It wouldn't be much use against the Legionnaires, but something was better than nothing. "If you have to use it on a Legionnaire, stab them in the head. Only place you'll stand a chance of killing them."

  "In the head," repeated Zee, staring at the blade as if it was the first time she'd ever seen a knife.

  "Stick close to me. Move slowly. We don't know what's waiting for us. If we meet any Legionnaires, I'll deal with them — all you have to do is stay out of my way."

  Zee nodded, gripping her knife two-handed in front of her, and followed Rane out into the corridor.

  Despite the darkness of the tunnel, Rane could see as clear as day thanks to the magic stolen from Spears. His hearing was enhanced too. He could tell Zee's heart was hammering away despite her best efforts to appear brave, but the only other sounds he could pick up were from the flickering torchlights.

  They came to the last door that led into the stair well and up and out. Even through the thick iron door, Rane could hear the rumple of thunder above and he smiled. A storm would help them escape, keep the Legionnaires inside and out of Rane and Zee's way.

  The door wasn't locked — another good sign. They moved quicker now, with no cells to worry about, and the thunder obliterating any sound they could make. It grew fiercer with each step they took up, each rumble all but rolling into the next. As they moved up, Rane could pick up the sound of voices, shouting and hollering amid the commotion. People were outside.

  The tang of gunpowder drifted down the stairwell as they continued up. It wasn't a storm of nature that waited for them outside. It was a war.

  It was the thunder of cannons they could hear.

  Rane stopped as he caught sight of the entrance to the Mural Tower. Two Legionnaires on were on sentry, but they were watching the chaos in the courtyard, not the stairwell. The cannon fire was coming from outside the castle walls and Jefferson was mustering his troops to respond. In all the confusion, Rane would have the element of surprise. Kibon twitched in anticipation. It sighed as he slipped it from its sheath.

  Zee gripped his arm, scared.

  "Just stay out of my way," whispered Rane in reply.

  He took the remaining stairs two at a time. He was fast. Fast as death. He swung Kibon at the nearest guard, aiming for the man's neck. Sensing something, the guard turned at the last minute and Kibon entered his shoulder. Rane forced the blade down, driving it towards the man's heart, riding the current of magic flowing from the man.

  The second guard was faster, drew his own sword, a streak of black, and Rane yanked Kibon free to counter the new threat. Steel met steel, clashing in the doorway.

  The guard pivoted, swung his sword around at shoulder height, but Rane dropped down, under the blow. He thrust Kibon up, skewering the man through his heart. The guard's eyes bulged and spat blood over Rane as he died. But Rane didn't care as more power roared in to him.

  "Nathaniel!" shouted Zee from behind him.

  Rane turned just as a knife sunk into his gut. The first guard was back on his feet despite his arm and shoulder all but separated from his body and was intent on killing Rane. The knife worked fast, biting into him again and again as the guard snarled in Rane's face. Little jabs of ice in the fire that consumed him.

  No matter. Kibon darted forwarded, and took the man's head from what was left of his shoulders. Magic flowed, healing the wounds, powering Rane in a glorious, insane rush. He staggered with the strength of it, so much more than he’d ever experienced before, aware that each death tainted his soul — just as Jefferson wanted.

  Rane roared in frustration. Even by fighting back, he lost. By the Gods, he’d make them all pay.

  He slipped Kibon back into its sheath without protest. It knew more blood would follow and for once, was happy to wait. Hands free, Rane grabbed the man's body and threw it down the stairs, kicked his head after it. The bastard deserved no better.

  "Take the shirt off the other guard,” said Rane to Zee. “It won't fool anyone who gets too close, but from a distance it'll help."

  "Your wound..." said Zee, wide-eyed.

  "... is already healed.”

  Zee stripped the corpse quickly and put on the shirt. She took the guard's holster and strapped his pistol to her leg.

  "Do you know how to use that?" asked Rane.

  "Well enough." She smiled, despite her injuries and their predicament. She bent down to pick up the dead man's sword.

  "Leave that," said Rane, grabbing her arm.

  "I'm better with a sword."

  "Not that sword. You'll only ever be worse. Leave it."

  Zee looked at him with a thousand unspoken questions but Rane left them unanswered. He crept to the main doorway and peered into the courtyard. One look was enough to send him back into the shadows, heart racing. Jefferson was there, with what could only have been the whole of the Legion. He inched back to the door, looked again.

  Jefferson wasn't lying when he said he had one hundred and fifty Legionnaires in Orska. Nearly all that number was in the courtyard, in light armour with steel helmets covering heads and faces. Black swords drawn. Unconcerned at the battering the walls were taking from the enemy cannons.

  "By the Gods," gasped Zee as she joined him. "How’re we going to get past them?"

  "We're not." Rane pointed to the battlements. "Jefferson's left the walls unmanned as far as I can see. We'll go up there, work our way around to the main keep. Work out our next move from there."

  "Why isn't there anyone on the walls?"

  "The Lord General's going out to fight," said Rane. "No point leaving men and women on the walls to get killed by a stray cannon ball."

  "Why would he do that? He must be outnumbered."

  "He doesn't think so. Come on." Rane led the way up the stairs. He could feel the castle shake every time a cannon ball struck. It wouldn't be long before they blew a breach in the walls.

  Rane and Zee reached the parapets unhindered. Below them the gathered Legionnaires looked even more impressive. Tight, disciplined, ready.

  On the other side of the wall however, the enemy stretched far into the distance — over three thousand soldiers by the looks of it. The sight took him back to the war and the Rastaks laying siege to Candra. But the army before him flew the banners of the five nations and the sign of Odason. They should be friends, not enemies.

  He counted twelve guns by the belch of flames as each one fired. They were all lined up in front of the castle, manned by highly trained gun crews judging by their rate of fire. To the east, a trail of torchlight led up the mountainside. Three more guns being hauled up onto higher ground. Once there, they'd be able to fire directly into Orska, making victory a formality. Considering how quickly the force had been mustered, it was a formidable sight. No wonder they'd hadn't waited for morning to launch their assault.

  "He's going to attack that?" gasped Zee. "He's going to get slaughtered."

  Rane had nothing to say. Logic said she was right and yet Jefferson was going to send the Legion out. He could see him down in the courtyard, speaking to his troops. Rane didn't need to hear what the old man was saying — he knew well enough the Lord General's way with words, his ability to motivate the Legionnaires to happily sacrifice everything they had for his cause. After all, he'd persuaded them all to give up their souls already. To go and kill or die for him was nothing after that.

  Even over the cacophony of war, he could hear the chains groaning as the portcullis was raised. The Legionnaires moved forward as one, their every move well drilled. Not so long ago, Rane would have been among
them, ready to do his part. But not now. Now he was their enemy just as much as the men gathered outside.

  The gates swung open.

  And the Legion rushed out.

  39

  One hundred and fifty men and women of the Legion of Swords steamed out of Orska. The enemy was amassed some four hundred yards away. Far enough to make it a long run to engage under enemy fire. Far enough for the gun crews to reposition their aim from the castle walls to the oncoming Legionnaires. Even with the cover of night, logic said it was a suicide run.

  And yet, the Legion didn't hesitate. They sprinted, with armour, helmets, shields and swords. Faster than Rane thought possible. Black streaks of death disappearing into the distance.

  Only one cannon managed to get a shot off at them but it might as well have been aimed at the air itself for all the good it did.

  One hundred and fifty Legionnaires against three thousand soldiers but all Rane felt was fear for the soldiers.

  "Are some of them flying?" asked Zee as a group of Legionnaires moved ahead of the main pack.

  Rane shook his head, squinting. The dark made it hard to see. "No. Not flying. Leaping. They're covering yards with each jump." Thirty or so were in the lead, heading straight for the heart of the enemy line.

  "Why don't they shoot them?"

  "No time," replied Rane. And there wasn't. The first Legionnaires hit the coalition forces like a hammer on glass. Even from his viewpoint, Rane could see the shock waves as the two forces met. The coalition troops buckled but, by some miracle, didn't break. There was no mistaking the sound of the dying though, as swords hacked and chopped, stabbed and sliced.

  Then the rest of the Legion smashed into the lines. It was going to be a massacre. As Rane had learned so well during the war, humans stood no chance against demons.

  Down in the courtyard, Jefferson headed into the main keep. No doubt to watch the slaughter from his office.

  "Come on," said Rane. "Let’s get out of this place before they come back."

  "But what about those soldiers?" asked Zee.