Saving Fate

by Billy Wong

  Kyle stroked her cheek and smiled. "She always was a stubborn girl. What will we do?"

  Mark stared at Ann's tranquil face, trying to think. At last he said, "We should keep going. It's what she would want, and I wouldn't want to disappoint her if she somehow recovers."

  Ann's eyes popped open, and she looked up grinning. "Good choice. But why, after two days, are you idiots still going on and on about how I'm going to die?"

  Kyle shifted uncomfortably. "Gods, Ann. How much have you heard?"

  "Too much. From now on, you two aren't allowed to mention the possibility of me dying. I may be ripped up, but I'm a good healer and still alive. And disobedience will be punished—when I hand you a beating."

  Mark hugged her, laughing as tears sprang from his eyes.

  #

  They reached the walled city of Kulten, walled of course only after the invasion of the Vorhen, and went to the Duke's manor where Mark expected Owen to be staying. To his surprise, the guard at the door denied them entry.

  "What do you mean, we can't go in? I'm the earl's son! Don't I have a right to see my father?"

  "You would, but he is not here. If you want to see him, I would suggest you come back for tonight's party."

  Mark wondered where Owen had gone, but assumed he would be present at said party. "We should probably find an inn and get ourselves some rest. Especially you, Ann."

  "Wait," she said. "Don't you think we should get ourselves fixed up if we're going to a party? I'd like to buy some new clothes, at least, and I want to try having my nails painted here. Just to see what it's like—it's not something Perfian women usually do."

  "Sure," Mark replied without hesitation. Though she had lived this long, Kyle's evident gloom made it clear she might very well still die. Tough as she was, her wounds could not have healed. Right now, Mark would oblige whatever she asked of him. "I'll come with you."

  Thanks to an abundance of popular merchants' stalls, Kulten's streets were loud and lively. The two found the nearest nail shop together, but a woman stopped Mark at the doors. "Ladies only," she said. Mark thought of arguing that Ann was injured, but it would be difficult to convince anyone of her wound's gravity considering her perkiness. He waited outside, worrying.

  Ann emerged half an hour later, smiling as she flaunted a raised hand. At first, Mark could see no difference. Then, he noticed that her small fingernails bore a new sheen.

  "The hell, Ann? You painted them clear?"

  "I looked at all the colors, but thought it would be too weird to see them on my hands. So I picked colorless."

  Mark frowned. "But what's the point, then?" he asked exasperatedly.

  She seemed to consider the question, examining her nails. "Well, they're shinier, and all the nicks and scratches are hidden by the paint."

  He took a closer look. "I suppose you're right, though I never noticed your nails being banged up in the first place. But won't it just look even worse, when the paint gets all chipped and flakes away?"

  "Nothing lasts forever, Mark. But we enjoy things while we can."

  He took in the words and laughed. "Isn't that an awfully deep piece of wisdom, to come from talk of nail paint."

  Ann joined him in laughter, hugging tightly to his waist. "Come on Mark, let's go. I still have to find myself a nice dress and shoes, and you know how long that takes!"

  Chapter 12

  Mark and Ann picked gaudy new outfits for each other, the latter still cheery despite constantly holding her stomach. Kyle however refused to go garment shopping, insisting his job was solely to protect them and that a rough appearance would be more likely to discourage potential threats. Thus the knight accompanied them to the nobles' ball in clanking armor under his worn cloak.

  Gaining admittance to the great hall later than most of the invited guests, Mark left Ann at her seat while he searched for Owen. The crowded floor proved like a well-lit maze of perfumed bodies, and he exchanged hasty greetings with people he barely knew while asking about his father. Slipping between dancing folks as he followed the directions he got, he eventually found himself face to face with Owen.

  "Son?" he asked in the gangly arms of an unfamiliar woman. "What are you doing here? Your outfit looks odd."

  "A friend picked it. I need to talk to you."

  "Oh? What is the problem? Did you find Brianna?"

  "Sort of. But we really should discuss things in private."

  Owen excused himself from his dancing partner and led him to an opulent guest suite. The enemy probably did not have eyes here in the room, but Mark had been through too much to avoid being careful. He kept his voice low as he began, "The Duke of Arrith's been on my back for months now. I think he's trying to kidnap me, but it doesn't seem like he'd mind if he killed me either. He's already murdered one of my friends, and might have done so to another!"

  Owen's eyes turned hard. "Are you sure it was him? Tell me everything that's happened." Mark did, leaving out nothing save the less relevant details about his relationship with Ann. "It's not certain he is the one behind this. The leader of the first group was close to him, yes, but that doesn't mean somebody else could not have bought him."

  Mark frowned. Ever since hearing Saul's theory, he had taken for granted his enemy was indeed the Duke of Arrith. Given the clues at hand, who else could they have suspected? It would have been really bad, Mark realized now, if his friends had killed the Duke only to discover he was innocent.

  "But if not him, who do you think it could be?"

  "I don't know, and I'm not certain either that it isn't him. More evidence will be needed before we can decide either way."

  "What kind of evidence? We haven't had much time to look, seeing as we've mostly been fighting and running for our lives the entire time."

  "I would say you should have checked the bodies of those you killed, but that would likely be useless if their employer was wise. A good first step might be to capture one of them alive."

  Remembering stories of assassins he had heard, Mark said, "But even that might not be much help. Maybe if we could follow one to their base, or better yet a meeting with whoever hired them?"

  "That would be ideal, if it could be managed. It would probably be quite difficult."

  "I know. Can you help?"

  "Of course I'll help. But with the resources available to me here, there is little I can do. Just stay with me for now. You should be at least somewhat safer, and we can decide what to do once I finish matters with the Duke."

  Mark started, before realizing his father spoke of the duke of Kulten and not Arrith. "A-all right. What about my friends?"

  "What kind of question is that? Obviously, they can stay with me too. I'd hardly have you abandon them to their deaths... although it might annoy the Duke a bit to provide you all with rooms."

  "Don't worry, we won't mind sharing a room." After all, Kyle would not like to leave Ann's side either.

  "You and the princess?" Owen asked knowingly. "Son, what haven't you been telling me?"

  #

  Mark admitted the sexual aspect of his relationship with Ann, though his father's fairly accepting response did him little good knowing she might be dying on her feet. He went back downstairs to update his friends on what was going on, only to find them both missing from their table. No big deal in itself, considering Ann's restless nature, but shortly after sitting down to wait he became uneasy. Ann was in no condition to be wandering around.

  His worries grew when Kyle arrived alone. "You're back, Mark? Have you seen Ann?"

  "Not since I went to speak with my father. What do you mean? Isn't she with you?"

  Kyle gave him an apologetic look. "A man wouldn't stop bothering Ann, so I took him aside for a talk and when I came back she was gone. Sorry."

  "Don't apologize to me, you're her bodyguard! How long has she been missing?"

  "Fifteen minutes, maybe."

  Mark stared. "That long? Why aren't you looking for her, then?"

  "What do you t
hink I've been doing?"

  He jumped up from his chair. "Wasting time talking to me, apparently. Come on, let's shut up and keep searching!"

  They split up to resume asking party guests if anyone had seen what happened to Ann, and eventually Mark got a startling reply from an obese baron swaying from excessive drink. "You mean the pretty girl sleeping at that table?" the red-faced man slurred. Sleeping? More like fainted. "I gather you're not friends with the handsome fellow who took her away."

  "Took her?" Mark's pulse hammered in his neck. "Why didn't you stop him?!"

  "I had assumed he knew her. Or did you expect me to interfere in your love affairs?"

  Mark resisted his urge to throttle the man and left to find Kyle awkwardly questioning a couple in the middle of the dance floor. Grabbing the knight's arm, he dragged him towards the fat witness. "I think Ann's been kidnapped!"

  "Kidnapped? Where has she been taken?"

  "I don't know, let's ask him!"

  They returned to the baron's table, the tipsy noble leaning back at the sight of Kyle's agitated manner. "Where did he take the girl?" the big knight barked. "Tell us now!"

  "All right, calm down. I didn't watch them for long, but last I saw they were headed for the front door."

  The front door? That was bad. Ann could be anywhere if she had been taken out of the manor. Mark and Kyle moved towards the door, additional inquiries confirming that a man had been seen carrying an unconscious girl towards the exit. Why hadn't anyone suspected him, dammit? Or had they just not cared?

  Mark thought of something. This being a noble's ball, the kidnapper must have belonged for no one to question him. "Who was the man carrying the girl?" he asked the next woman claiming to have spotted them. "Do you know him?"

  "Yes, though I hope you won't tell him I told you it was him. I believe it was Marcus, son of the Duke of Arrith."

  So it was him? Mark had begun to doubt, but believed firmly again that he knew his enemy. What did the Duke intend with Ann? Use her as a hostage, he guessed, yet it was how he would treat her in doing so that most worried Mark. Would he even bother keeping her alive, considering Mark had no way of knowing whether she was?

  If the Duke did want to preserve her life, on the other hand, might he in fact find a way to save her? It would be ironic if Ann's mortal wounds ended up being healed by the man who had caused her to suffer them in the first place.

  Mark and Kyle reached the door, where they asked the guard what he had seen. "I didn't see anyone carrying a girl, but Arrith's son did leave with a rather large sack."

  "And you didn't find that suspicious?"

  "It was, but I'm hardly one to get in the way of a nobleman."

  Mark groaned. "You got in mine... Which way did they go?"

  The guard pointed at a nearby alleyway, his slight smirk making clear his ignorance of the seriousness of the situation. Noble and knight rushed into the alley, only to find it was not only lined with the side doors of several buildings but opened up into another street beyond. Neither were there any people here to ask if they had seen anything. How in the world were they going to track Ann from here?

  "There's blood on the ground," Kyle said, kneeling to touch the cobblestones. He moved forward, stopping before a low door. "It ends here."

  Glad though he felt for the lucky break, its nature disturbed Mark a tad. Ann was bleeding again...

  They forced open the door and followed the blood trail inside down dark, musty halls, until they heard voices talking close by. Peeking into the keyhole of the door from behind which the sounds came, Mark's heart fairly lightened with relief. Ann was alive, and sat with her limbs unrestrained in a simple wooden chair. In front of her stood a tall, dark-haired figure, broad of shoulder and obviously male.

  "What do you mean, cooperate?" Ann asked in a defiant tone. She stood, staring into her captor's unseen eyes. "You think you can intimidate me? I'll never let you use me as a tool!"

  The man punched her right in the stomach, doubling her over with features contorted in agony, then put his hand on her forehead and pushed her down into her seat. Hugging her middle, she glared up, but made no move to fight back. Apparently, even she had her limits and knew it.

  "You have little choice in the matter," the man said. "The real question is whether you will make it easy or difficult for yourself."

  Mark had heard enough. He kicked in the door and leveled his sword at Ann's kidnapper. "Marcus, is it? I think it's us who should be asking you that question."

  "Mark!" Ann beamed. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for you to talk like that."

  The tall man turned, revealing a long, chiseled face only a few years older than Mark's. "Ah, things seem to be going better than planned. I had not expected you to deliver yourself to me quite so soon."

  "He is confident," Kyle said behind Mark. "Be careful."

  Mark advanced slowly, allowing Kyle to step around him after entering the room. The sword at Marcus' belt was not even drawn, yet he faced the pair as calmly as if a regiment of archers stood at his back. He edged right, putting himself next to the wall. Mark lunged. In a flash Marcus' blade licked from its scabbard, met Mark's sword, and tore it from his hand. He scrambled back rubbing stung fingers and glanced in the direction his sword had flown. Stuck like a nail in the left wall, it still quivered from the impact of the blow. Incredible; like fighting Ann, he thought, only for real.

  Marcus dashed in, reaching for Mark with an extended hand. Kyle stepped into his path. Their swords rang together with terrible force, both men straining against each other's strength—then Marcus drove a shoulder into Kyle's chest, knocking him back, and slashed him across the ribs. The knight hissed, took a kick to the gut, stumbled, and tripped to his rear.

  "You think just because you surprised those fools we sent," Marcus said with a kick to the face that put Kyle on his back, "that you can escape our grasp? You should know that among men, there are those who walk as gods, and whose wills no lesser souls can deny."

  "Oh?" Ann asked behind him. "What scale did you use to measure if I have less soul than you?"

  Marcus reacted fast, spinning around and ducking at the same time. Ann's swung chair whipped over his head, shattered against the wall. He swept her legs out from under her, continuing his rotation to do the same to the approaching Mark, and his sword rose to finish her.

  Ann thrust a broken chair leg up, piercing Marcus' flank. He staggered back, ripped the wood from his flesh, and nearly fell from the pain. "Damn you!" he spat, and dove over Mark and Kyle's prone bodies for the exit. Rolling up, he ran tottering out the door. Ann raised herself on her elbows and looked ready to follow, but Mark touched her arm and stopped her.

  "Don't. We're all wounded."

  "Are we? I don't see you bleeding."

  No, but his hand did very much throb and his shoulder hurt from the fall. "You're still the strongest," he breathed. "And to think I was going to rescue you from being kidnapped."

  "You did distract him," she said dismissively. "Though, I let him keep me as long as I did because I wanted to get some information out of him. Turns out he's the son of our friend the Duke, the adopted one I'd guess. And his name happens to be Marcus, too."

  "We already knew that," Kyle said, apparently unimpressed by her combat feats while gutstabbed. "He is fast."

  "The Duke must want Mark pretty bad, to send his own son after you." Suddenly, Ann clutched her stomach and collapsed facedown with a moan.

  "Ann!" Mark cried. "Are you okay?"

  "Get me something to drink, will you please? Moving like that hurts my tummy."

  #

  They returned to the Kulten manor, hoping nothing more would happen there. Because Ann could not comfortably walk, Mark carried her in his arms. "So you took your woman back, eh?" the now-drunk baron who had witnessed the kidnapping asked. "Looks like you got into quite a brawl doing it."

  Mark ignored him and headed inside, where he told his father about the encounter with Marcu
s. After a grave acknowledgment of the Duke of Arrith's probable involvement, Owen introduced the trio to their new room. Ann, as usual these days, fell asleep within the minute.

  "She's indestructible, isn't she?" Mark asked Kyle pleadingly. "A couple of little holes in her gut can't kill her."

  "She's holding up very well." Kyle was quiet for a while. "Let's get her to a doctor tomorrow. Better even to try something hopeless than to just watch her die slowly and do nothing at all."

  Not waiting for morning, Mark visited his father. "Do you know any good doctors here in Kulten? Ann's hurt bad, and we want to find her some help."

  "Yes, I remember you told me she was injured. But as I am not so knowledgeable about the area, I think it would be best we consult the Duke of Kulten."

  Mark agreed, and the two went to see their host. "What is the nature of her injury?" the small, round-faced duke asked. "I've seen the grim looks on you and her guard's faces, but how serious are her wounds to warrant such concern?"

  "She was shot with a crossbow and impaled with a sword, both through the stomach." Mark swallowed. "We're afraid she doesn't have long."

  "That bad? She seemed to be running around well enough."

  "I know she doesn't act it, but that's because she's really tough. Do you know a doctor who could help?"

  "What you describe is beyond the ability of most doctors to help."

  Mark looked down. "I know. That's why we need a really good doctor, the best! You have to save her!"

  "There is someone I believe might be able to help," the duke said with an inspired look, "though she is not your typical physician. Are you willing to give her a chance?"

  "I'll give anyone a chance."

  "Good. I will have my guard escort you to her tomorrow."

  Unfortunately, Ann went missing again before the night was finished.

  "Already?" Mark demanded in aggravation after Kyle searched the surrounding rooms and confirmed Ann was nowhere near. "Some bodyguard you're turning out to be, to let her disappear twice in one night."

  "She went to relieve herself," Kyle said reasonably. "Do you expect me to follow her into the lavatory?"