Saving Fate

by Billy Wong

  The Dark Soul toppled to its knees, screaming. "Cannot... cannot..." Even now it was so tall, Mark and Ann were forced to hack away at its thighs and groin while it flailed with ever-changing limbs. It collapsed to all fours, and they ran under its chest. Stopping below where its throat should be, they jumped and thrust their swords upward. The blades pierced its neck. It released a low moan.

  Then it stilled, and its body flew apart like a dispersed mist. The room fell silent as the unnatural winds stopped forever.

  Mark sat down, gulping air. He felt a lot of wetness on his skin, and hoped he had not missed taking a severe wound in the excitement. "Are you all right, Ann? I know you took more bad hits than me."

  The princess leaned heavily on her sword, blood glistening on the rock beneath her, but stayed on her feet. "Worry about yourself. At least I have my healing magic.

  "We did it, didn't we?" she said with a growing smile. "Ancient monster slain, and another land freed!"

  Mark had not thought about that. He supposed if the Dark Soul's presence kept the area barren, it would be revitalized now like the Ironhoofs' land. "Yes, I guess we did. It's too bad about Lady Sheila, though."

  Despite his inclination to remain grim and lingering fear, Mark could not help taking pride in his contribution in battle today. For once, he had played a vital role in the enemy's defeat. He still did not think he was anywhere near an equal to Ann, but he had not been useless!

  They made their way up from the depths, Mark wondering how they would explain things to his father. Having killed a powerful monster, after destroying the noble family they had gone to request help from, probably would not cut it. Curse his accursed luck, and Ann's disregard for consequences!

  Gerrard stood awaiting them in the entrance hall, spear in hand. As neither he nor Ann had much strength left to fight, Mark raised his hands in supplication. "Lord Gerrard, please. We're sorry about Lady Sheila, but we really were trying to help. We've completed her last request... I know you must be distraught that she's dead, but-"

  "I am not dead."

  They looked to the top of the stairs where Sheila glided into view, a little slower, a little paler than before, but obviously living. "L-Lady Sheila? But we thought you were..."

  "Dead? No, it takes more than a sword through the chest to kill someone with my kind of power. What happened before was that Garrick's blow weakened me, so I had to redirect all the energies I had left to restraining the dark entity. Hence, why I couldn't stay with my body."

  Mark stared in awe. "So you were actually helping us the whole time, keeping it from gathering its full strength, while we were fighting?"

  "Of course," Gerrard said. "How else could you have beaten it so easily?"

  It had hardly been easy, but Mark was grateful it hadn't been any less. "But if you're that strong, why didn't you ever kill it yourself, or with a little help?"

  Sheila frowned. "We never knew it could be killed. But as I was hurt, and it would have overcome me soon, I had to let you try. You deserve as much credit for getting rid of it for good as anyone."

  "Wait. What about Rand, and Garrick?"

  "Rand is sleeping upstairs. He took a knock on the head, but nothing deadly."

  "I chased Garrick down and defeated him in combat," Gerrard added, "but spared him. Because he thinks Sheila is dead, I doubt he'll be coming back."

  "So no one's dead," Mark breathed.

  Ann grinned. "See, Mark? Not everything has to end in tragedy. Lady Sheila's tough like me; a hole through our innards is all in a day's work for us, yes?"

  Mark looked apologetically at their hosts. "Sorry for all the trouble we've caused. I'd understand if you don't want to, but... are you still willing to help us with Arrith?"

  "Well," Gerrard said, "seeing as Sheila here can finally travel now that the Dark Soul is dead, we might actually owe you in a way. So I'm thinking we should help you."

  "It's no problem," Sheila agreed. "It wasn't then and still isn't now. Besides, I would not mind seeing the city."

  "So you're coming with us?" Mark asked in surprise.

  "We will when Rand wakes up, if you can wait. I'm sure he'd want to come too, and he's not hurt bad."

  "That'd be fine." A short delay definitely seemed an acceptable price for Sheila and Gerrard's aid.

  "All right!" Ann said. "Onto the final battle at last!"

  #

  Before leaving, they made love again. After all, could a man and woman ever be more one than them during the battle they had just fought?

  "So Ann," Mark asked her the next morning in bed, "will you still have to sleep with other men?" With all they had been through together, he thought maybe she might be ready to commit to one member of the opposite sex.

  "I don't have to," she said with a grin. "But I'm thinking I will, when I get the itch to."

  "Why? Do you think I'm not good enough for you?" He asked it not so much angrily, but as an honest question. After all, in many ways he didn't seem good enough for her.

  "That's not the issue. No one thing, be they food, drink, or man, can provide the full range of experiences from that category of thing. So even if you're the best man in the world, doesn't mean I wouldn't want to try a taste of someone else once in a while."

  Her explanation, now that he heard it, was surprisingly reasonable. "I suppose I shouldn't pressure you. Lady Sheila's men accept her desire for multiple mates, too."

  "I don't think she's had as many as me, and she's sort of old. Still, I'm glad you don't mind me staying myself. Do you love me, though?"

  He had been attracted to other noble girls, but felt differently about her than any he liked before. Most of them had been like flowers, pretty to look at and easy to grasp with regard to needs and wants, while she resembled more closely a beautiful and elusive star. For all he desired her companionship, he did not know if he should.

  "I like you a whole lot," he said after a pause. "But do we really belong together? I don't know much about your country's customs, but you're a princess and I'm not even the real son of an earl. Would I be considered worthy of you?"

  "I didn't ask if we were well matched in terms of heritage, I asked if you loved me. Besides, your mother is a famed hero." When he failed to reply, she said, "Fine, I know those three words are tough to say. Take your time thinking about it and tell me when you're ready."

  Upon Sheila and her men declaring they were ready, they left. They met up with Owen and Kyle outside Arrith, and disguising themselves as Sheila's servants made their way inside. Good thing it was not common knowledge she had no servants. With such powerful allies at their side, Mark felt new confidence at their chances of success.

  Four blocks past the gate, Sheila called for a stop. "This is where we part ways. Good luck in your quest."

  Mark blinked as she, Gerrard, and Rand exited the wagon. "What? I thought you said you were going to help us."

  "Yes, and we did by getting you in. Now it's time for the three of us to go and explore the city.

  "We can't help you fight," she said at his questioning gaze. "Now that I'm free to leave my home, I've gained a reason to care about my reputation."

  At least she was honest. Mark wished them luck in, well, entertaining themselves, and watched them leave.

  To his surprise, not all of his confidence left with them.

  #

  In the small study on the third floor of the great manor of Arrith, Marcus, adopted son of the duke, smiled in greeting at his visitor. The gigantic hide-clad figure ambled through the door and to the window, out which he gazed over the city in unreadable silence.

  "So, father," Marcus asked, "how do you enjoy the game so far?"

  "It seems to me you are winning. Brianna's son will soon be dead, and Arrith and then Widalia will be firmly in our grasp. How could I not enjoy it?"

  "What I must wonder, is why you have not aided me in the least thus far. Are you so confident that the fools of justice cannot prevail against the treacherous?"


  "I have granted you enough in my teachings. My son needs no help to grasp his wishes.

  Marcus fingered the sword of his adoptive parent, who had responded to his request for aid only to die oh so tragically. The Duke had always planned to live a long life, but Marcus's impatience to inherit his position would not allow that. "Agreed. Besides, it wouldn't do for you to reveal yourself too early. They do, after all, call you Helrish Deathsface."

  Chapter 15

  "It is no great problem," Owen said when Sheila and husbands had gone. "We were not relying on them, in any case."

  Though more confident in himself than before, Mark still felt quite nervous knowing how many potentially hostile eyes passed over him here in the city. "I know, but Marcus is a strong warrior who even held his own against me and Ann at the same time. Add to that the guards he's sure to have, and how can we be assured of a reasonable chance at success?"

  "I was seriously wounded when he fought us," Ann put in.

  "We would certainly be in trouble if we met his forces head on," Kyle said. "But our plan does not involve letting him bring all his power to bear. Besides, he probably doesn't expect us to attack him in his home. We may be in unwelcoming territory, but your father still has resources and has already contacted allies ready to provide aid. If they can create enough of a diversion to lure away most of Marcus' guard, don't you think the three of us should be able to subdue him?"

  Mark looked at Owen, and saw in his eyes a unsettling worry. For once he would send his son into the very jaws of danger, and did not look quite comfortable doing it. Mark was not so displeased that his father would allow him to shoulder this responsibility, but wondered why he did. Did Owen place his trust in the help of Kyle and Ann, or had the story of the Dark Soul truly given him new faith in his son?

  "We should be able to take him," Mark said, "if his guard is distracted. Where would we confront him?"

  Owen laid out his plan. He had researched the schedule of the guards' shifts at Marcus' manor, and along with a few friends would make trouble nearby while they were least prepared to meet it. Meanwhile, Mark, Ann, and Kyle would sneak into the manor itself and capture Marcus.

  Waiting outside the tall, foreboding residence, the trio saw smoke rise from somewhere to its rear and realized Owen's distraction had begun. Men shouted in confusion and alarm, if not quite panic yet. Then loud bangs sounded and smoke floated up from least three more locations around the building. Owen really was going all out, it seemed. As newly arrived guards scrambled to get their bearings and rushed out half-dressed to meet the threat, Mark and friends found an open window and climbed in.

  Heading through the halls in accordance with Owen's directions, they knocked out a handful of guards slow to respond to the fires or just plain scared. Hopefully, the flames would not spread fast enough to trap them inside before they completed their task. Soon, they entered the wide, high-ceilinged dinner hall, imposing in its size and functionally sparse decor.

  Standing at its rear, in the path of their goal, was an absolutely gargantuan man perhaps in his early fifties. He wore for garments the dried parts of monstrous beings, with hide clothes, a skull helm, and tentacle kilt. A sword like a giant's gleamed in his hands. His eyes, far from the typical grimness of a warrior about to do battle, smiled as if they viewed all the world a great game.

  "And who," Ann asked with a sneer, "are you?"

  The man smirked. Mark shuddered at the sheer, heartless confidence that emanated from him. "That is not important for you to know. The relevant question is, are you ready to die to pass here?"

  "If we're dead, how would we be going anywhere? So the answer is obviously no."

  "I see. It satisfies me to see a young person with enough judgment to know the proper time to relent."

  "Relent?! When did I ever say I was giving up? I'm going in there over your dead body."

  "Ann?" Mark asked. "What are we doing?"

  She looked sidelong at him. "You go on ahead. I'll take care of him."

  "That does not seem like the best idea, Princess," Kyle said. He too seemed to sense the man's immense power, but Ann did not—or just didn't care.

  "And I'm not sure he'd allow it," Mark added.

  The giant guffawed. "Why would I not? If you two brave men are willing to leave the young lady to her death, who am I to stop you? But, do you believe you can finish your task without her?"

  "Ann," Mark said, placing a hand on her arm. The more he looked at her potential opponent, the more he believed he might be more than a match for all three of them. "I think we'd better take him down together."

  "What, and prove him right? Come on, let's not waste any unnecessary time. I said I can take him."

  Still uncertain, he turned to Kyle. "He doesn't seem like he wants to kill her," the knight whispered after some hesitation, though Mark suspected the giant could hear. "Let's grab Marcus first and come back if need be."

  Mark and Kyle edged around the man, who did not even look back at them. Kyle had said he would not kill Ann, but how could he know? Mark would still have wanted to face him together, except that nobody else did. He prayed that Ann would be all right.

  "Does nobody still believe in me?" Ann's voice said behind him. "Come on, you overgrown slug. Let's see you underestimate me after I make you mincemeat."

  #

  Mark hurried with Kyle towards their destination, growing more agitated over Ann's predicament. Even if the knight was right and her opponent didn't intend to kill her, could Ann's taunting not prompt him to change his mind? They had to finish with Marcus quick, and get back before it was too late.

  Finally they reached the door of the master bedroom, and kicked it in to behold a large, bright chamber. Marcus sat on his bed wearing a steel cuirass, face impassive. "I've been waiting."

  Kyle frowned. "What? You knew we were coming?"

  "Isn't that the kind of thing you bold heroes always do? Besides, you've made a lot of noise already."

  Mark was confused by the lack of anger in Marcus' smooth voice. Shouldn't he be furious at those who had killed his father? Perhaps, he thought with a chill, he was more happy at becoming the new Duke.

  "But if you knew we were here, why didn't you escape?"

  "Escape? Why would I need to escape from the likes of you? You and that silly girl? Wait, where is the little brat? Oh, I forgot, she is busy getting killed."

  What little assurance Mark had of Ann's safety faded. Whether or not Kyle was right about her opponent's intentions, Marcus meant her harm! "You bastard! Let's see what orders you give your men with a sword at your throat!"

  Marcus drew himself up without haste from the bed. "My father did teach me to be a gamer. So, let's see if you can get it there!"

  Mark and Kyle charged. Marcus met them. The Duke was fast as before, but retreated before their coordinated assault. Sparks rained upon the carpet while blades clashed, Marcus' grip on his sword tenuous with the force of his foes' blows. Had Mark improved that much, or did increased aggression out of fear for Ann account for their advantage?

  Their reactions did seem more effective. Backed to the end of the room, Marcus jumped atop a dresser to gain the high ground. Kyle simply kicked it out from under him and slashed his leg as he fell. He rolled up, threw a jar of powder he snatched off the floor. Mark smacked it with his sword, shattering it, and whipped his cloak up to ward off the blinding cloud. Marcus thrust through the fabric in an attempt to impale Mark. He twisted the cloak around the blade, trapping it, and jerked Marcus stumbling off balance.

  Yet Marcus would still have been the better fighter if not for numbers. Kyle rushed in, clubbing down with his hilt. Marcus dropkicked his knee to send him facedown to the floor with a grunt. He pulled his sword free of Mark's cloak, turned, and swung, simultaneously kicking behind himself. Rolling over, Kyle just managed to block, while Mark was pushed back by the boot to his gut.

  Marcus spun, sword whipping at Mark's head. He ducked, a struck metal rack clanging down behind
him. Marcus kneed him in the face, loosening a tooth. He fell stunned, tasting blood. Kyle came at Marcus from behind and grabbed him in a bearhug. Maybe the fight would be easier had they not been trying to take him alive. Marcus weakened Kyle's grip with a headbutt, broke free, and swung around to punch him in the temple.

  Kyle reeled. Then Marcus made a mistake. Raising his sword, he lunged thrusting full force for Kyle's face. The knight ducked and threw him over his back, dropping him six feet to land spine-first on a fallen stool. Wood cracked and he writhed on the floor, moaning in pain.

  Restrain him! Mark thought, struggling to rise.

  A broad figure stepped into the room. The heavyset man who had fled from the battle in the farmhouse, and overseen Lindy's death! Damn, was his unwashed stink out of place here.

  Taking advantage of Kyle's divided attention, Marcus kicked him away and struggled to his feet. "Now it's fair," he said.

  Mark moved to intercept the new foe, leaving Kyle to deal with the more skilled Duke. But neither of them was quite their opponent's match, and could only hold them off in what seemed a gradual losing effort.

  "What kind of heroes are you," Mark's adversary teased, "to bully a man two on one? Now let's see who heaven picks to win a just combat." He flung an arm up, launching a hidden dagger from his sleeve. "Or not."

  Mark leaned back, the blade raking a line of fire in his cheek. "I have him!" the heavyset man said, stabbing for his throat. In desperation, he leaned back further and fell. Surprised by his unusual evasion, his opponent failed to stop his forward motion and tripped over him.

  Scrambling up, Mark weighed his choices. He could try to finish the fat man off, but had no guarantee of success. He looked to Kyle dueling with Marcus and thought of his battle with the Dark Soul. One occupied with a particular foe was always more vulnerable...

  Mark ran at Marcus, swinging. Marcus' sword flashed right, deflecting his blow with a ding. Then Kyle punched him in the solar plexus, driving him to his back. The knight's sword pricked his neck.