Saving Fate

by Billy Wong

  "She probably wouldn't mind," Mark grumbled. Maybe he did love Ann, considering the unfair way he treated Kyle when it came to her. But while concerned for her well-being, he would be annoyed if it turned out she had vanished by her own will.

  It seemed she had, as one of the maids recalled spotting a blonde girl climb out a window in their second-story hall. Still feisty no matter what shape she was in, was Ann.

  Yet she had apparently kept them in mind, for a trail of petals plucked from potted plants led from below the window to wherever she was going. They followed it off the manor grounds and to the mouth of a dank alleyway, beside which crouched Ann.

  "Princess," Kyle whispered in response to her hand signal for silence, "what are you doing here? You can barely walk, so why are you still running about like a rabbit?"

  "I wouldn't have wanted to walk all the way here, much less climb down that manor wall, but I could hardly resist after what I saw going for a piss." She indicated the alley. "Our friend!"

  Mark and Kyle peeked around the corner to regard Marcus conversing with a tall, older man. His face seemed somewhat familiar, but Mark couldn't remember where he had seen it. Because they too spoke in whispers, it could not be heard what they were saying.

  "What now?" Mark asked.

  "Let's get him! After everything the Duke's done to you, let's see how he feels about losing a son."

  "Are you actually planning to just charge in there and kill him? That sounds really thoughtless..."

  Ann took on a thoughtful frown. "We'll capture him if we can. We can decide what to do with him after that."

  Mark still thought it a bad idea, but could do nothing before Ann burst into the alley to enact her plan. Kyle followed her in, and helplessly Mark advanced after them. The princess engaged Marcus while her bodyguard squared off against his friend, and Mark saw that both pairs seemed well matched. Ann as always was fierce, while Kyle probed his opponent's defenses at his usual considered pace. For a moment Mark hesitated over who to help, then he remembered Ann's wounds and became aware of a slight unsteadiness in her stride and strain on her determined face.

  He rushed to her aid, slashing at Marcus' legs as he clashed swords with Ann. The man hopped away, thrust viper-quick at Mark's face. Ann parried the blow and kicked Marcus back. Mark stepped in to press the attack. Marcus locked blades with him, wrenched hard to the side and sent him stumbling into Ann. Off balance, they could not dodge when Marcus' foot whipped up and smacked across both their faces, knocking them to their backs. Mark tasted the tang of blood and winced.

  "Help Kyle!" Ann snapped, jaw clenched with the effort of blocking a downward chop.

  Mark did not listen, but kicked Marcus in the thigh and sat up swinging. The duke's son parried easily, answered with a cut which parted Mark's hair. Heart jumping at how close he had come to death, Mark scooted back. Marcus' sword swooped down in a murderous arc. Ann punched the flat of the blade, deflecting it off course.

  A piercing scream to the right made them all freeze.

  Marcus' partner leaned slowly back from Kyle, the knight's sword buried in his breastbone.

  "Nooo!" Marcus cried, and hurled his sword at Mark. Ann tackled him aside, but the distraction allowed Marcus to put distance between them. Shouldering Kyle against the wall, he grabbed his failing companion and ran. Ann threw a dagger, but missed as they rounded the far corner of the alley. By the time the friends exited onto the street, there was no trace of them.

  "That was pointless," Mark said.

  "And whose fault was that?" Ann panted for breath, leaning against a wall and clearly more taxed by the fight than she would ever admit. Mark grasped her pretty hand, fearing he might not get a chance to hold it again. "Besides, we probably made it so he has one less person to help him."

  Kyle wiped blood from his sword using the same cloak he would be wearing back to the manor. "Hopefully we have frightened him too, and he will be less eager to bother you again."

  Not very thrilled with what they had accomplished at all, Mark returned with his friends to the manor.

  The next day, they found themselves traveling through the streets of Kulten with the duke's men forming an armored fence around them. It felt strange to be so protected, when over the last months the trio had gotten used to relying on one another for mutual defense. Yet the extra bodies made Mark less tense, for he knew the Duke of Kulten was Arrith's direct rival and not likely to betray them.

  They moved through winding streets at an easy pace, Ann walking in spite of many an offer to carry her. Finally they reached the outskirts of the city, with sparser and generally shorter buildings than the rest, and stopped before a pale, unpainted cabin. The guards in front parted for Mark, and he stepped forward to knock. A bony, ancient woman clad in a flimsy shift answered the door, her face smeared with greases and powders in a rainbow of colors.

  "What a merry crowd of suitors I have today!" the crone crooned, thick lips making kissing motions at Mark. Even standing still, her sharp hips looked primed to break. "Did you all come to see my new dance?"

  Mark tried hard to hide his distaste. "We have a friend who's hurt. Could you take a look at her injury, and then we can watch your dance?"

  "Her?" The woman's eyes settled on Ann. "You look healthy enough. Is this really something that requires my expertise, or some foolish noble in another panic over nothing?"

  "Just look at her, please. I'm sure you'll understand then."

  Ann, no need for modesty in her, lifted her shirt to reveal the terrible wounds clean through her torso.

  "Ow ow ow ow ow!" the crone said with a disgusted grimace. "That is truly nasty." She stared at Ann's neutral face. "How are you still standing?"

  "I have guts of steel. Probably wouldn't even need help if not for their insistence."

  Mark squeezed her shoulder. "Ann, please..."

  "So," Kyle asked, "do you have any medicines that could help?"

  "Medicines, perhaps. Techniques, also perhaps. But I will first have to examine her to see what is needed."

  Reaching forward, the crone grasped Ann under the shoulders. Too surprised to resist, the princess simply gaped as she was lifted inside with unexpected strength and set down on her back upon a stone table. The cabin's dark interior proved an utter mess, buzzing with flies and stinking of rotten meat. Sauces in varied states of decay seemed to stain every surface in sight, save perhaps the ceiling. Pieces of unidentifiable foodstuffs carpeted the floor and squished beneath Mark's feet.

  "Now don't you move," said the mistress of the house. "You'll want to stay very still for what I'm about to do to you." Saying so, she removed a huge bloodstained knife from its holder on a nearby counter.

  "You're going to stick me with that?!" Ann cried, sitting bolt upright. Kyle clutched the hilt of his sword. "That looks like it might hurt me more than the wounds I have!"

  "Oh, no." The woman retrieved an absolutely filthy unwrapped sausage from within the folds of her shift and began slicing it atop the counter. "I have to eat before I work, you know."

  Ann groaned as she laid back on the table, then shot Mark an impatient dubious look. He shook his head, and they waited tensely for their supposed savior to finish breakfast. Mark started to wonder if the Duke of Arrith was indeed at work here, and had pulled some kind of switch. Could this really be the healer the Duke of Kulten had recommended?

  If nothing else, she was a fast eater. Devouring the huge sausage within two minutes, the crone waddled beside Ann and placed veiny hands over her chest, closed her eyes and moved her jaw up and down like she was chewing. Ann turned her head to meet Mark's gaze, and he realized even she grew scared. What exactly was that creature doing? Mark watched her carefully, prepared to interfere if it seemed she would harm Ann.

  Finally the crone took her hands off of Ann, opening her mouth to blow out a huge release of air. Mark too exhaled. Ann did not appear to be harmed, but neither had the holes in her gut gotten any smaller. Then again, that had only been the ex
amination.

  "She does not need my help," the woman proclaimed.

  Mark automatically assumed this to mean the worst. "What?" he asked, speaking very fast. "What do you mean? Are you saying you can't help her? But the Duke said you could! Do you know anyone who can?"

  "I said she didn't need my help, not that she was doomed without it. These wounds will not likely kill her."

  "See?" Ann said smugly, sitting up. "Didn't I say so?"

  "But how's that possible?" Kyle asked. "Even the strongest man would be hard pressed to withstand two gut wounds."

  The woman grinned wide, showing uneven yellow teeth between which were stuck countless crumbs. Somehow, they did not seem overly rotten. "A body-enhancing magic runs through your friend's veins, capable of granting great strength or healing grievous injuries."

  No wonder Ann had such prodigious strength for her gender and size, or such uncanny tolerance for pain. "But if there's healing magic inside her, why haven't her wounds healed?"

  "The healing does not work on its own, but must be guided by its owner's intent. While the magic within her does strengthen vitality in its passive state, she will have to actively exercise her will if she wants to heal faster."

  "How do I do that?" Ann asked. "I definitely don't want to be walking around like this any longer than I have to."

  "Just think about what you want. If the magic is strong enough to fulfill your desire, it will be granted."

  Ann's lips pressed together in a tight line, and her brow furrowed with concentration. Mark's eyes bulged in amazement as her wounds shrank steadily into nothing, replaced by white, scarred—but intact—flesh.

  Then she gasped and toppled sideways, almost falling off the table before Mark caught her. "Ann, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

  "I feel much better," she reassured him. "Using the magic just tired me out a little, that's all."

  "Its power's not infinite, of course," the crone said. She smiled. "You're still a very tough girl. Even with this magic, many people would not be able to focus through the pain enough to use it, much less carry on with such wounds as long as you have."

  And Mark had thought the magic accounted for her resistance to pain. Apparently, that was all her. He looked at Ann's self-satisfied face, and though happy to know she would live worried over the effect knowing about her magic might have on her outlook. Would she become even more reckless, if that was possible? She could still be killed, and he feared she might forget that.

  Ann's expression changed into one of confusion. "But does this mean I really am the offspring of a demon like the rumors say?"

  "I don't know about that." The woman patted her head like she was a child. "You look completely human to me. Though, you seem to have carried this magic since birth. I would not be surprised if one of your parents was a mage, or at least had magic in their blood."

  "My father isn't a mage. I'm pretty sure my mother wasn't either. But then"—Ann frowned—"does that mean my dad might not be my dad?"

  "Or he could just have gotten a mage to do it," Kyle said. "He is the king."

  Her face was unconvinced. Mark hugged her. "No matter who your parents are, you're still you. I know that better than anyone. After all, my mother turns out to be a legendary heroine and I'm still a wimp!"

  She laughed. "You know me, even if I found out my father was a demon I'd probably get over it in five minutes. So I take it you're a mage, too?" she asked the ancient woman, who had stuffed her face again in the brief time she'd stopped talking. How did she eat so much and remain so thin?

  "Of sorts," she said through a full mouth, "though my powers are fairly minor. Why else do you think I fear no disease?

  "Now, are you ready for the Dance of the Fluttering Sparrow?"

  #

  "She was surprisingly good, don't you think?" Ann asked as they left the cabin a few minutes later. "Shook the floor a lot, but she looked pretty graceful for her age."

  "She is a mage," Kyle said. "No telling how much of that was magic and how much was skill. Either way, she has no endurance though."

  "So what do we do, now that I'm well? Are we going after the Duke of Arrith yet?"

  "I'm sure my father will try to wrap up his business now that he knows I'm in trouble. We'll wait for him to finish, and decide what to do together. He did tell me they've all but agreed on building the canal here, and are just going over a few details with the engineers."

  "I sure hope he doesn't take too long. I know we can't let him get away with all he's done, but do you think the Duke of Arrith might let up on you once your dad has settled things here?"

  "At this point, I don't think he'll give up until the canal is built. I doubt my father's word will be much of a deterrent to him."

  They stayed the next two days without incident at the Kulten manor, where Ann complained of boredom and compared their situation to imprisonment. Though they were allowed to go out on request, they never left without a contingent of guards who kept close tabs on their every movement. Mark did not mind the surveillance, knowing it was for their own protection, but wished Owen would finish with the canal and get on to dealing with more urgent matters already.

  In his spare time, Mark thought back to his actions during the battle at the farmhouse. It was the second time he'd killed, but he had been so brutal! He wondered if, should life continue the way it was going, he would become a monster. And if he did, might he actually be a good fighter?

  After all the battles he had been through, he no longer felt like that much of a wimp. Despite that change, however, he had not really improved his self-image.

  After dinner the second night, Owen took Mark and friends to his room. "I've done all I need to here. Tomorrow, we start for Arrith."

  "Finally!" Ann beamed. "To the final battle at last!"

  "I do not plan to fight it out with the Duke, unless he strikes the first blow. There is still more we should try to defuse the situation first."

  Ann gave Owen a dark look. "His son tried to kidnap me. What, will he have to kill Mark before you accept that he's your enemy?"

  "I know he is almost certainly behind the attacks, but we cannot act rashly. He is still an important figure in society, and for me to take action against him would require careful consideration."

  "What? But doesn't that mean your offer of help might not be any help to your son at all?"

  Mark understood his father's viewpoint, especially after hearing enough of Saul's stories about the trickiness of cutthroat politics. His own family had never been eager to discuss that at home. However, it was not comforting to know he might have to continue bearing a target on his back.

  "I will confront the Duke," Owen said, "and let him know I am on to him. Perhaps he will relent once he sees I will not stand for his threats."

  Kyle grunted. "That will hardly avenge my friend."

  "What you do is up to you. But I would urge you to think of your country and princess before you act."

  "I wouldn't mind if Kyle killed him. Though I'd rather do it myself, for making me suffer through days with sliced up guts."

  "In any case," Mark said, "we have to go to Arrith whether we're going to take revenge or not. We can decide what to do when we get there."

  Both his father and friends agreed to that, with the former giving another warning about consequences for them to think about overnight and on the road. Part of Mark's mind hoped for a nonviolent conclusion, as he wanted neither to risk his life nor add new material to his nightmares.

  But another part of him knew he would rest easier to know that his enemies were dead.

  #

  Nothing went wrong on their trip through hilly forest to Arrith, and with Owen among them Mark found it in him to feel hopeful again. Could this end well after all? He would be so happy to be able to resume searching for Brianna without fear, together with his friends.

  They arrived in the cool log-walled town of Arrith, only to be ringed at once by a dozen uniformed guardsmen wielding spears a
nd halberds. "What is the meaning of this?" Owen snapped. "Does the duke think so highly of himself, to dare disrespect me like this?"

  "The duke?" one huge man with the crest of an officer said. "Are you trying to say you don't know what's happening?"

  "I know exactly what's happening, you honorless dog! You are following your Duke's orders to play some trickery against my son and me!"

  "That would be quite impossible, my lord earl. Because you see, the Duke of Arrith is dead, and you are under arrest under suspicion of killing him."

  Chapter 13

  As they were in no way willing to be captured and fall victim to whatever scheme of the Duke's this was, the foursome fought out of the city and fled into the forest. "Dead?!" Ann asked incredulously when they stopped to give Owen and Mark a chance to rest. "He can't really be dead, can he? And I was looking forward to a final showdown with him."

  "This is not funny," Owen said. "While he might not be actually dead, all indications are the world believes he is."

  But it made no sense to Mark that the Duke would fake his death over this. Then something sparked in his memory, and with a shiver and gooseflesh breaking out over his limbs he asked, "Father, wait. Is the Duke of Arrith in his fifties, tall, with a black beard and graying hair? Does he have a hairy mole on his right cheek?"

  "Yes, yes, yes, and yes. Son, what-"

  "I think the Duke of Arrith is dead."

  He recounted again the fight in the alley, and Owen's jaw dropped in disbelief. "You mean you killed the Duke in Kulten? Why didn't you tell me?"

  "We didn't know then," Mark said, eyes downcast. "I haven't seen him in years, and only just remembered where I had seen his face before..."

  "Did you hear that, Kyle? We won! But why did you have to make the kill and not me?"

  "This does make things simpler," the knight mused. "Now instead of having to choose whether or not to spare him, we have only the task of clearing things up.

  "That, and hope his son is wise enough to drop it."

  "And how likely is that?" Mark muttered. "I'm more than willing to bet he's already looking for revenge."