Won't Back Down: Won't Back Down

by Unknown

When Maryn joined the crowd, Gren ground his teeth. He's the reason for that stupid conversation with her this morning. That cannot be the last thing we ever talk about. I don't care what I have to do, but that won't be it. And by grace of the Four, Allon'd better keep everything to himself, or I'm cutting it all off.

  The crowd hushed. Willar stepped through the tavern threshold with grey armour plates strapped across his chest and back, his metal braces cinched around his arms. The Kattal emblems on the chest plate shone in the dimming light of the sunset, the green High Council shield almost glimmering between the gold bearcats standing rampant. Willar's bright green cloak billowed behind him into the tavern. He looked like a soldier, but from the strained pink lines around Willar's eyes, Gren wondered if he felt the part. Admitting defeat was never easy.

  "The messenger has been sent!" Willar shouted over the lingering murmurs. "He'll have the scroll to Aeley herself before the night is done."

  "What do we do then?" a man yelled from the middle of the crowd.

  Rolah rushed to stand beside Willar, his face reddening. "We wait for Aeley's response, of course! We can't do anything without her!"

  Except get everyone killed, Gren wanted to yell. Waiting on bureaucrats is wasted time.

  "What if she doesn't come?" a woman cried, making Gren fight a smile.

  Willar held up his hand, his black gloves worn from holding reins too tight. "I will go see her myself, to impress upon her our urgency. And to offer her my sword, as is my duty to Kattal."

  Gren blinked, deafened by the dismayed roar of the crowd. Should he be surprised?

  A woman rushed towards Willar, slapping his chest plate. "We need you! What if he comes back?"

  "I know. I've thought of that, too." Willar's lips tilted, the corners of his mouth twitching. He flushed, glancing into an empty space in the crowd. "But we don't stand a chance without her or her men. She knows her brother better than we do. We need everything we can get, as quickly as we can."

  But you can't even look them in the eye. Gren looked down, digging the tip of his boot into the dirt. There's courage for you. Not so valiant now. The man beside him cleared his throat, but Gren ignored him, wondering if he could remember Allon's estate from memory alone. When the man jabbed his wrist and pointed, Gren snapped his head up, glaring before following the path of the finger. He froze. Willar stared at him, almost as if he had heard Gren's thoughts.

  "And speaking of everything—you should come with me." Willar's face lapsed from one expression to another behind his weak smirk. "Seeing as you know Allon."

  Gren snorted, caught between laughing and calling Willar a coward. "Let me think. Ah, no."

  Villagers gasped, more than one woman's cry among them. Willar's smirk disappeared, replaced by a thin line. Gren expected him to demand obedience in the name of the High Council.

  "What's wrong with you?" the woman standing in front of Willar shouted. "They've got our kids! Our friends!" She pointed at Gren. "They've got your lover."

  "Exactly," Gren answered, flexing his jaw. "Rescuing them has to happen now, not when some steward decides she's got the time."

  "But she's in charge!" Rolah shouted.

  "And she's not here." Gren drew his hand over his dagger. Just in case. He moved forward, the crowd parting until he stood before Willar, the irate woman between them. Looking over her head, he stared Willar in the eye. "Look, if you want to wait for her to decide when she's ready to slip our issue into her day, fine. Otherwise, you should be thinking of how to get them back without her. We're closer and we've got the ability."

  The woman moved towards him, the toe of her dusty shoes treading on his boot. "You're suggesting our men—"

  Gren thrust up his hand and the woman snapped her mouth shut, a blush spreading across her cheeks. Pointing in the direction of Elia's house, his gaze never left Willar's. "You've got dead guards lying around. Your men did that; your people. They certainly weren't Allon's mobs."

  Willar teetered on his heels and crossed his arms, his braces clanking against his armour. His lips twisted, and for a moment, Gren felt relieved to see a soldier could understand reason.

  But when Willar shook his head and slammed a fist to his shoulder in salute, Gren jumped forward. Shoving the woman aside, he rammed his fingertips against Willar's chest plate. Willar fell back, surprise flickering on his face before he steadied himself.

  Ignoring the gasping crowd, Gren poked Willar's chest. "Don't abandon people just because you're loyal to some army that's not here. You're here. The army's for the battlefield." He stepped closer. "I've been there, and trust me, the Steward can't give you anything you don't already have."

  Willar tittered. "So what? We should send you? Especially since you've worked for him." He snorted before laughing. "Are you going to get them back?"

  Gren stepped back, curling his fingers tight. "I will."

  The crowd gasped and shuffled, murmuring to one another. Willar stopped laughing, his face contorting. Gren felt his face flush. What had he just done? The words had rushed to his lips, tumbling out before he'd thought of a better retort.

  Pushing his way out of the crowd, Gren needed to escape the stares. He needed to be alone. He was losing his mind.

  *~*~*

  Tracel's house was his sanctuary and the closest thing he had to a home. Finding her small cottage intact gave Gren more relief than he would have admitted to anyone. Like every healer's home, there was safety, a sacred trust. This home was more, a part of Tracel that she allowed him to share, trusting him.

  Pressing himself against the stones, Gren moved towards the window, listening for movement inside. Peering through the pane and seeing no one, he slipped through the closest door. The door banged shut behind him, and he stopped, staring at the bed. He had stayed in this room when they first met, stumbling in when he had been wounded in battle. Tracel had nursed him here, a gentle stranger he had mistaken for an ethereal spirit in his delirium.

  Before he could delve further into the memory, Gren rushed from the room. He needed to do something. Hurrying to the hearth, he considered lighting the fire. He turned away, deciding it was useless and risky.Then he reminded himself that he needed light to work.

  Pivoting, he assured himself that candles were sufficient. When he tried to remember where all of the candles had been stored, he gripped his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

  His performance in the village had been unexpected. Even worse, he meant what he had said. He intended to do the right thing without demanding payment. He intended to break another one of his rules. It's charity. I don't do charity. And I certainly don't do heroism.

  Kattal did not exist without fight and fury, rife with people who would do anything in the name of entitlement. He had taken advantage of the violence, making a life from lending his sword to anyone willing to pay. He sold himself to the highest offer and did what his employers told him to do, no more and no less. Anything else was charity—an illusion, a concept for fools. Where was charity when he had been a dirty child of bone and thin flesh? No warrior protected his mother; no mercenary saved the people. Even if there had been help, there would have been a price to pay. Nothing came for free, not even love and not what he felt for Tracel, which felt like love—assuming he could still feel it.

  Yet here he was, wondering how much he could remember of Allon's estate just so he could save lives, not just Tracel's but the others… because he could, because there was no one else, because he would have given anything for someone to have saved his mother.

  Because he had needed someone to save him.

  Staring at the floor, the floorboards alternated between clear and fuzzy as his eyes wavered in and out of focus. He could do nothing about his past, but he could do something now.

  "There are no second chances, just second guesses," Gren murmured. He stopped thinking, allowing his subconscious to guide him through the cottage as he gathered the candles, parchment, and ink. The first step required extracting information from his
memories. The next step would entail twisting the details into a plan. A plan for one, considering the rest of them will just follow that idiot blindly.

  Without sparing another thought to Willar, Gren sank to his knees inside the semi-circle of lit candles. He scratched the quill across the parchment until the lines formed a semblance of corridors. Allon's estate was impressive in size, but inadequate. The challenge would be the men Allon kept and their cleverness. One man breaking the defense of dozens gave him pause. He would have preferred a battle. He could withstand a fight among grunting, bleeding men in a slick field more than a mob of coordinated guards in narrow corridors.

  His mind reeled with ideas, his hand sprawling across one page of parchment to another. Somewhere in the thin lines and circles he could see potential. As images and words flowed through him, he sensed the opportunities.

  When the front door banged against the threshold, he mistook it for a memory. When the door bounced harder, Gren jumped back onto his haunches. He could see nothing through the windows except a dark sky. Staring at the candles, their short wicks surprised him.

  He stood and threw down the splintering quill. "No one's here!" he yelled. Answering the door would get him nothing. Allon and his men would not use the door, meaning the person on the other side intended to waste his time.

  The door opened, the hinges squealing. When the door banged shut and boots scuffed the wood planks, Gren's muscles seized. Curling his fingers around the hilt of his sword, he stared into the dark corridor, waiting.

  A moving shadow appeared in the darkness, the thin candlelight illuminating little of the intruder. "And I suppose that 'no one' would like to hear nothing, even if it's meant to be helpful?"

  A woman? They sent a woman? Lowering his hand, Gren expected to stare into eyes he knew. When the shadow entered the light, he caught his breath. Dark blond hair tumbled around her shoulders, dull against her gold armour, thin metal molded to her chest and waist. She watched his sword, the darkness of her eyes matching her pants, the gold toes of her boots sticking out from underneath. As she drew her hands out from under her cloak to clasp her long fingers together, gold braces glimmered in the light. Squinting, he could see a dagger slung at her waist.

  He had seen her only in a painting hidden in the recesses of Allon's estate, riddled with holes and slashes. She looked nothing like the woman in the shredded canvas.

  She smirked. "You know me?"

  "Aeley Dahe," Gren answered, lowering his chin. Assuming you're real, he almost added. The message could not have been delivered to her so quickly. Neither could she have arrived so early.

  She straightened, the corners of her eyes and lips pulling. "You don't seem convinced."

  "We sent a messenger to you."

  "Yes, he found us." Reaching to her back, Aeley pulled the flattened scroll from the belt hidden beneath her armour. "And I've read it. Nonsense, fit to be burned," she said, gesturing with the scroll to the candles.

  Gren crossed his arms. "Meet anyone else on the ride over?"

  Aeley's smirk pleased him. She was not prim as he had expected. "Perhaps, if you consider soldiers as 'anyone'. One intercepted us as we entered the valley. Completely threw him off, I'm afraid." One of her golden brows rose, her glossy lips pursing. "One of this region's best men, though I'm told you have a rather different opinion."

  Gren stiffened. Told?

  "I like to ask questions," Aeley said. "I like knowing things, like who I'm rescuing and who intends to help or hinder me." She raised her chin. "Willar tells me you're the latter. Your mercenary choices tell me different. So which is it?"

  Gren felt his face warm. Words came to mind, none of them kind. "Tell me why you're here and maybe I'll have an answer."

  He expected her face to redden and contort. Instead, she tilted her head, her mouth twitching as if she were trying not to laugh. "You don't trust me. Should I thank my brother for that?" Aeley crossed her arms. "Allon likes to cause trouble. He also doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut, or gauge friend and foe. So when one of his people overhears his plan to sack a village and doesn't agree, they come running to me."

  She smiled her apology, her eyes showing fatigue. "We had hoped to be here before him, but he's unpredictable. If this wasn't so horrifying, I'd be impressed he actually followed through."

  Looking to the floor, Gren nodded. What little he knew of her brother agreed with her understanding of Allon. Maybe there was something credible to her.

  Aeley moved towards him, leaving two paces between them. "I hear he took someone of value to you. And I know you've worked for him, but you keep no alliances." She moved closer, her voice deepening. "Fighting is the only way this will happen. It's the only thing he responds to, especially since he knows how much I hate giving into him. He won't give up what he feels is his without violence. He's taken from us both, and we want the same end. How much would it take for you to fight for me?"

  "How much are you willing to give?"

  Aeley's glance slid towards the window before returning to his. "Anything. Lives have no price." She pursed her lips. "So what's your price?"

  The question stunned Gren, his skin tingling as if she had doused him with cold water. Usually the amount came to him without hesitation. This time, there was no price, just another broken rule.

  "Nothing," he muttered, looking down to the candles. "I won't fight for you." Aeley sucked in a breath, her body stiffening. Gren almost laughed at her confused stare. "I won't fight for him, either, so don't make this into something it isn't. I just have something to do, and it doesn't include you."

  Aeley looked him up and down, the tip of her tongue on the back of her teeth. The corner of her eyes softened, and she straightened, glancing around the cottage. "They warned me you'd be difficult. I can't blame you. You're independent and protect what you have. That's admirable. She's a lucky woman."

  She poked him in the chest. "But only if you don't get killed. If I let you go in there on your own, my men can't be responsible for what happens. I should demand you stay here, a potential enemy to the process."

  "But?"

  "But I suppose my guards could benefit from a militia—and the other way around. There's more than one problem to solve, and I want them done right the first time."

  Gren snorted. "A militia?" He pointed towards the village. "Have you talked to them? You need more than one person for that, and they aren't interested. They'll only follow you."

  Aeley's frown surprised him. She walked to the window, staring into the darkness. "You'd be surprised."

  When she beckoned to him, Gren joined her, his gaze following hers. Eight men stood together outside of the cottage, waiting and staring at the door. He recognized seven of them from the chase earlier. The eighth was Jola.

  "Maybe you've got them figured out all wrong," Aeley whispered, turning to Gren. "Maybe you aren't as alone as you've decided to be."

  His shoulders sank. She sounded like Tracel. He flinched when Aeley clutched his shoulder. "Go on, do what you have to do and take them with you. I won't get in your way. Just don't get in mine."

  Turning, Aeley left the house as quietly as she had entered.

  Watching her join the group of men waiting for him, Gren replayed her words through his mind. He always did as instructed, trying to appease someone else. Now he could be the leader and make the decisions for others. The risk was high, the payment nil. There was always another way, another choice he could make.

  No, he decided. Not this time. Willing his feet to move, he collected the parchment from the floor and hurried out the door. There was no more time to waste.

  THREE

  Red light shone through the darkness, painting the sky with a dawn that hinted at the violence to come. Thunder rumbled from a distant storm moving across the southern sky.

  Music to fight to, Gren wanted to say. Crouching lower behind the twisted tree, he flicked a glance to the men hiding behind the trees around him, seeing only the dull whites of their
eyes. They'd surprised him, receiving his ideas with excitement. Even Willar did not challenge him, melding into Aeley's army of guards with little to say.

  Looking to the road, Gren waited for the shadows on the other side to move. The tall figure of a horse moved among the trees, stepping onto the path and moving towards Allon's estate, followed by hunched-over figures moving swiftly. The rider rode upright, shrouded in black fabric. Aeley, her hood draped over her face as far as it would go without blinding her.

  Even with her armour hidden, Gren knew she was better armed than most of her guards. She was nothing like he had anticipated, and certainly nothing like Allon had made her seem. The people had chosen her as their representative in the Republic, and he could understand why. Aeley was more like the people than even her father had been, living up to the Dahe name of the Tract Stewards more than most. He hated to admit she was almost worth fighting for.

  Aeley's horse disappeared, the guards slinking along the road until they too vanished. Gren held out his hand to keep the militia still, waiting until Aeley's guards left the woods. Her men provided a distraction, the shielding lie protecting the truth. The two groups had to work in tandem or no one would leave the estate.

  Taking slow breaths and letting them out even more slowly, Gren counted as he waited, his muscles aching from crouching too long. He imagined the entourage had reached the estate, two cloaked men taking down the sentries at the gates. He could envision Allon's face when he realized he was under attack. The shock would not last long, Gren knew. Allon enjoyed the chaos too much.

  Time's up. Pushing away from the tree, Gren hurried through the woods. The soft noise of boots followed him to the edge, stopping when he stopped. Looking to the other men, he could see their faces in the light crawling across the land.

  Looking to the gates, he held his breath. The corpses of two of Allon's guards propped the gates open. Inside the courtyard, bodies hustled towards the estate, ramming into each other with weapons brandished. Aeley's horse burst out of the courtyard, galloping towards the valley. Squinting, he could not see Aeley among the men fighting. Had she managed to get into the estate already?