by D. B. Penner
“Lad, have you seen anyone suspicious? We’re looking for a pair of murderers and their white beast,” the guard said gruffly.
“No, sir. I’ve not seen any murderers, tonight,” Will said, affecting an accent similar to the Slyminian’s. “Just a tavern full of beautiful womenfolk,” Will laughed nervously, looking around the alehouse for Modwyn. He prayed that his blatant lie would go undetected. To be caught now in the tavern, which was packed with Slyminians and travelers alike, meant that there would be little chance of escape. Will did not want to consider the consequences.
The guard looked into Will eyes for a moment, then released his shoulder, smiling, “The woman wearing the scarlet sash has been staring at you, son. Have a nice night.” The guard exchanged a word with the innkeeper and left the tavern.
Will looked in the direction he pointed and froze. The woman with the scarlet sash gave him a wink.
“Vivyan?”
Vivyan Payne flashed a bright smile that illuminated her beautiful face. Will could not believe it. His hand fell to his sword. Vivyan shook her head, motioning to a group of armed men at the bar. Then, She beckoned with her finger, indicating for Will to come.
Taking a seat at her table in the corner, Will glowered at the girl and Ehan, who was highly confused, pulled up a chair.
“The audacity,” Will fumed. “I ought to run you through right here.”
Vivyan laughed. “That would be uncouth, indeed. To everyone in this tavern, it would appear that you had slain a harmless woman. I would not have you labeled murderer on my account, Will.”
“Who is this?” Ehan asked, frowning deeply.
“Vivyan Payne, mastermind behind Boewdard’s raid on the Academy,” Will spat.
“Mastermind?” Vivyan laughed again. “You are too kind.”
“How did you find us here?”
“A Payne protects his own on pain of death. My father’s knights have kept us aware of your position.”
“What do you want?” growled Will.
“I wanted to talk, William. I heard about Art and I’m sorry.”
“What does Art matter to you? Because of you he was nearly killed at the Academy.”
“He was nearly killed defending his own. Maribelle died, but Art’s sacrifice was duly noted. He is a good man and does not deserve to suffer at the hands of the Hunters. I want to help you rescue him.”
“We don’t need you help.”
“Very well, at least let me tell you this: the Hunters are here in Slyminia. They have Art, and they will use him to draw you out. You have something they want. Something the Shadow Liberator wants. Give it to them, and Art will be returned.”
Will glared into Vivyan’s hazel eyes. Gods, she is beautiful. He brushed the thought aside angrily.
“It’s a trap,” Ehan cautioned, his hands hovering close to his knives.
“I assure you it is not,” Vivyan objected. “The last thing I want is for Will to face the Hunters in combat again, but this may be the only chance we get at rescuing Art.”
“There is no we,” Will snarled. “There never was a we, just an illusion. Now leave, Vivyan. Get far away from here before I change my mind about letting you walk.”
Vivyan looked sincerely wounded. Pursing her lips, she nodded. Standing from the table, Vivyan leaned close, whispering in Will’s ear, “Beware the bright moon, William. He has caught your scent.”
Her cryptic warning floated in Will’s head as Vivyan wove between tables and exited the establishment.
The meeting stirred up emotions in Will he had thought long gone. Will could smell her scent lingering in the air. Lily. He wanted her near.
She is the enemy.
“Let us find Modwyn and leave this place,” Ehan said, interrupting Will’s thoughts.
They scanned the tavern for Modwyn, but he was nowhere to be seen. Then, Will remembered that the young Master-at-Arms and the Payne knights hadn’t entered the Pale Nag.
“Where do you think they-”
Will didn’t finish his question before Modwyn strolled through into the tavern, nursing a flagon. He was alone.
Pulling Modwyn to their table, Will asked, “Where are the Payne knights?”
Modwyn laughed, “Oh, I’m not too sure. Disappeared when we were at that other pub.”
“Good. Modwyn, we have to leave the city right away.”
The young Master-at-Arms looked at Will then to Ehan with concern etched in his face. “My gods, William. What has happened?”
“Some men jumped us. We killed them,” Ehan whispered succinctly. “The city guard is after us and the Payne knights are working for the Shadow Liberator.”
“Ah well, sounds as if we must be off. Prolly, best we get out of here sooner rather than later,” Modwyn said casually.
“What about my father? Vale is returning with him and Baruktaråg. They won’t be long.”
“We have no time to wait,” Modwyn said, downing one last swig of his mead before hurrying Will and Ehan onto their horses.
The three riders galloped towards the nearest gate.
Ehan’s horse whinnied nervously as a line of red-caped soldiers bustled into the street, blocking the city gate. On the contrary, Soulfire seemed to revel in the action and charged forward with a burst of speed.
Not to be outdone by Will, who was now a horse’s length ahead of him, Ehan lowered his barbed spear like a lance and urged his horse onward. Will summoned up his power, beating down the mental barrier that contained his Furialist magic, and prepared to enter the fray. Then, rushing from his lips, “Raisíth!”
The red capes flew out of his path. Ehan buried his spear into the body of a flying soldier only to wrench it out as they continued to dash towards the gate. Will turned in his saddle and saw that Modwyn and had disappeared. He furrowed his brow and exited the city without him.
Leaving Slyminia behind at a rapid pace, Will watched city guards pour out of the gates. By the pale moonlight, he could just barely see the red and blue uniforms they wore. A whistling in the air prompted Will to return his eyes forward again. He ducked and urged Soulfire on as arrows fell from the sky like lethal pellets of hail.
Carefully, Will grabbed his bow from the saddle pack and pulled taut an arrow, turning to fire upon the Slyminian archers. He released the tension from the bow and saw a red and blue-clad guard fall.
Then, Will spotted a figure riding towards them. “Modwyn returns! Ehan, around the next bend!” Will shouted over the wind rushing in his ears.
Ehan nodded and altered his course, riding toward a fruitless orchard. They waited for Modwyn off the road, concealed by a copse of trees. Minutes later, Modwyn slowed his horse to a walk and approached Will and Ehan.
“My father?” Will asked with urgency.
“I did not see him, though that means little. We must keep riding; we have not much time before the citadel sends mounted guards after us,” Modwyn stated.
“How did you escape those guards?” Ehan asked suspiciously.
“With a little help,” Modwyn replied. He nodded, staring into the woods, as if signaling for them to leap to life. While the trees did not move, Will started in his saddle when seven men, including the three Payne knights, jumped out from the trees lining the roadway. He did not have time to draw his weapon before the men wearing all-black uniforms had wrestled him to the ground and bound him.
“Modwyn! What betrayal is this? What have you done?” Will shouted angrily.
“Gag them both!” Modwyn ordered. His voice grew cold and everything about “Sorry, Brightflame. The Liberator of Shadows cannot abide you gallivanting around the country any longer. It will be my honor to bring you to him for he has desired to meet you for some time.”
Will squirmed, shouting through the rag shoved in his mouth.
“Easy now, Will,” Modwyn smiled wickedly, “Let’s not have any of that. I would have you know that Shadow asked for your presence… dead or alive,” Modwyn sneered, drawing one of his throwing knive
s.
“Two horsemen approaching from Slyminia, Sir,” a reedy scout informed Modwyn.
“Wonderful, right on schedule. Take your positions. Time has come end the life of the Great Matthew Stormhand,” Modwyn said grandly.
Despite his gag, Will shouted every curse he knew at Modwyn and even made up a few, but all that sounded was a muffled drone. “Be quiet!” Modwyn snapped, flicking a knife that landed between Will’s legs. “Or I might teach you how to throw these knives, yet.” A shadow fell over Modwyn’s face, and only his dark eyes could be detected as they shone dangerously in the moonlight.
Will hung his head. Ehan looked up, proud, and ready for death. Wait. Vale is with Father, Will thought desperately. Yes!
Vale, stop Father and Baruktaråg. Modwyn has betrayed us, binding Ehan and me. It’s a trap, and they have spotted you.
In the distance, Vale roared furiously. Will heard a man hiding amongst the trees whimper at the sound. Then, your father was right; Modwyn is a traitor. I shall warn him, and we will rescue you! I will not fail in my promise!
Vale, no. Escape while you can. Run, I will be fine. Vale! Will shouted at Vale, but received no response. They have an ambush set, prepared to cut you down. You cannot come.
Will looked at Ehan, and as if the Sashan understood, Ehan nodded and a faint smile could be found on his face. Ehan enjoyed a good fight. Will, however, dreaded the moment when Matthew would ride into the ambush. Will heard the patter of horses galloping. Inwardly, he groaned. They have come.
Matthew and Baruktaråg rode past where Modwyn had the boys captured and tied, but Vale was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, arrows streamed from the trees. Some glanced off of the heavy armor Matthew and Baruktaråg wore, but a few penetrated deep into their sides. Men burst from the forest, and arrows continued to pour out of the forest with daunting accuracy. Modwyn laughed before rushing at his ambushed prey.
Dismounting agilely, Matthew whipped his sword from its sheath, slashing a man’s throat. Baruktaråg heaved his axe and cleaving foes with mighty blows. Three men fell in the first seconds. The dwarf’s strength seemed unfazed by the wooden shafts burrowed in his armor.
Suddenly, Vale sprung from the trees above, landing on an archer’s back and sinking his fangs into the man’s throat. Modwyn delayed rushing in to meet Matthew and Baruktaråg in order to throw several daggers at the two warriors. They flew with the deadly accuracy Will had observed at school; each found its mark but merely burrowed into armored backs, and no real damage was done.
Will urged his power to come forth, summoning a fire to eat at the cords restraining his wrists. Releasing himself and Ehan from their bonds, Will leapt into the fray.
Matthew’s sword cut more slowly now as his endurance failed him. The arrow lodged in his chest hampered breathing. To Will’s horror, Matthew began to stagger, his eyes losing their red gleam.
Will and Ehan struggled to slash their way to where Matthew and Baruktaråg fought.
Vale and Will each struck down another man. The battle had turned, and it was apparent by his renewed speed that Matthew had caught his second wind as he fought again with vigor. The Furialist began to roar a single phrase with each stroke of his sword, “My son!”
One of the archers fled. Will watched him go and summoned the energy to kill the deserter. Before Will could slay the man, the assassin stopped and turned. He drew back a last arrow and loosed it into the center of Matthew’s back.
Dropping his sword, Matthew gasped. The scene seemed to last forever. Will ran to his father. The soldier, sensing victory, rushed back to the battle and drew a curved dagger.
Will watched as his father fell to one knee. Matthew spat blood from his mouth. Staring forwards unseeing, Matthew eyes lost their focus.
“NO!” Will and Modwyn screamed in unison. The beast in Will’s mind raged; his eyes flared; his blade erupted into flame.
Modwyn stabbed his own man through the heart, shouting, “He was mine to kill!”
Will leapt upon Modwyn. Fury coursed through his body. Modwyn barely blocked the first strike. The clash sent sparks flying wildly. Will beat back Modwyn with cut after cut. Drawing his sword back, Will brought the flaming blade down with two hands.
Modwyn raised his sword to block the killing blow. With an explosion, Modwyn’s sword turned to dust and floated away in the wind. The Master-at-Arms was flung to the ground from the force of the impact.
Attempting to regain his feet, Modwyn staggered up, but Will kicked Modwyn to the ground. Modwyn scuttled across the road on his hands and knees. Will kicked him again, rolling Modwyn onto his back. Will raised his sword.
“William, my boy, what are you doing?” Modwyn squealed.
“Something that should have been done long ago.”
Will swung the sword down and avenged his father. Modwyn’s head lolled limply, and Will hurried to the fallen Furialist. “Father!”
“My son,” Matthew uttered weakly. Suddenly, the fire in Matthew’s eyes flared. He grabbed Will’s cast down sword and jabbed over Will’s shoulder, right into the throat of a leering assailant raising his sword to strike Will down. “My son!” The fire in Matthew’s eyes burned bright. “Flee! Go with Baruktaråg, he will take you to safety. Hurry, Will!”
Matthew shoved the sword into Will’s hands and staggered to his feet again. He gathered his own sword and deflected two arrows with the blade. With grunts of equal parts pain and fury, he struck down two men. Another arrow pierced the armor covering his chest.
Rough hands grabbed Will’s shoulders, pulled him away. Will struggled to get back to his father, but Baruktaråg’s grip was strong, and despite his struggling, Will could not break it.
Mount your horse, Will, he cannot hold them off forever, Vale ordered.
Will swore vehemently into the night’s air. He breathed heavily for a moment then, hot tears streaming down his face unnoticed. This cannot have happened. No! No! No!
“Go, Will!” Ehan shouted, mounting his buckskin.
Will reluctantly scrambled into Soulfire’s saddle. He wiped at tears streaming from his green eyes. Will looked back once more to see four men, swords drawn, fighting Matthew. Turning away, Will left his father to fight alone. Will’s heart wrenched and his stomach lurched. He heaved over the side of the saddle, tasting bile.
Go, Soulfire, go, Will whispered too weary in his heart to kick Soulfire into a gallop.
Yes, Master William, Soulfire replied obediently. They rushed down the path after Ehan and Baruktaråg.
Reunion
Matthew Stormhand fought alone. He was outnumbered seven to one. With each strike, Matthew felt himself growing weaker, but he must buy time for his son; he must.
With a whistle, his sword decapitated a soldier. He spun and hacked an arm off of another. Another long swoop of his sword finished the amputated man. He looked down at the five arrows and three knives protruding from his chest, knowing that there were more sprouting from his back. His armor was red from his blood and that of his enemies. Matthew dropped his sword and spouted flames from his hands into the darkness of the forest until the trees--and everything hiding among them--were burning.
A shrill twang sent yet another arrow into his back. Matthew fell to the ground facedown. The flames erupting from his hands died. His breath came in rasps. Matthew spat, a glob of blood, and coughed from the effort.
“Find the others. This one is ours,” a hiss was uttered from above him. Matthew recognized the voice.
“Finish me, Agrim,” he whispered.
The Hunter kicked him in the ribs. Matthew screamed. A pain exploded in his side like that he had never felt before, the pain that precedes a violent death.
“Oh trust me, dear brother, I will. All in due time,” the Hunter jeered again. “You spent all your life trying to hunt me down, to kill me, your eldest brother. You should have joined us while you could, when the Shadow promised us a life beyond what any of the others could have imagined. But you were always one to play
the honorable part. That’s why Father liked you best. ‘Glory to our people,’ and all that nonsense he tried to instill in us,” Agrim growled. “It was just noise. Meaningless noise.”
Squinting his eyes, Matthew retorted, “Father liked me best because I did not kill innocents and I would never betray our people. Agrim, you know this.” Matthew spat up more blood. “Now finish me!” he hollered hoarsely to the ground.
“Yet you have betrayed our people, Mattias. Where is your wife? Where is that Imperial bitch? And the half-blooded bastard son she bore you, Brightflame they call him? Pathetic.”
Matthew did not respond, but merely ground his teeth against a fresh wave of agony as Agrim tweaked an arrow lodged in his shoulder.
“Oh, Mattias, we would not want you dying that quickly. Where is the fun in that?” the Hunter whispered. Agrim wanted to play.
Rolling onto his back, Matthew managed to grin through his pained grimace. He stared defiantly into the face the Hunter, the Furialist who had been his brother and friend once upon a time.
Agrim threw off his hood, staring into Matthew’s face with fiery hatred. Matthew saw the four, long, deep scars running from his right temple to his chin. Agrim’s blade shone red as he said, “You have to realize, my brother, that your heroics have not saved your son. By our men or by us, he will be caught. You see, the Brightflame has something of ours, and we are very keen on returning it to the proper hands. Once we’ve got what we want from him, we will bring the Brightflame before you, and he will be killed.” Agrim smiled cruelly, crouching down to whisper in Matthew’s ear, “You’ll watch your only son murdered before your very eyes and then, only then, will I send you to the afterlife.”
Matthew Stormhand saw the armored fist come down and saw no more. Tying Matthew to the back of a horse, the Hunter laughed and mounted his red steed. He rode off, leaving the dead to rot.
Daybreak shone over the horizon, but the sun did not warm Will. He felt cold and empty. Led by Baruktaråg, they rode without stopping or speaking until evening. Dismounting Soulfire and slumping against an aged cedar, Will gazed at the ground listlessly. Why?