The Bone Sword

by Walter Rhein

  They had killed his hounds.

  The best hounds in the North.

  Blood would be spilled for this.

  The death of his distant cousin Bertrand had not troubled the earl. The man was a drunk, a buffoon, and an overall embarrassment. Truth be told, the earl was sure the man would have met his end in a barroom brawl sooner or later. Going after his killer had been a matter of course. It didn’t do to have commoners think they could massacre nobility—even one with tenuous ties like Bertrand—with impunity.

  But Bertrand’s death had led to the death of his hounds, and that was a great loss. The earl himself had helped train them, selected their sires for breeding, and spared no expense to ensure he had the best hunting dogs Lightbringer and man could conspire to create.

  Now they were gone.

  The earl’s gauntleted hand smashed down on a rock and sent several fragments spinning into the morning light.

  Among the messenger’s jumbled news was a description of the perpetrator. If the earl were to listen to the word on the streets, the commoners described the offender as a giant of mythical proportions. He was becoming a folk hero, the daring stranger who defied the earl.

  That kind of talk would have to end.

  Nothing quieted such whispers better than the public spectacle of meat being charred off the bones. The earl smiled darkly at the thought.

  At that moment, a man approached. His name was Denz, and he was the earl’s weapons-master and captain of the castle guard. He was a full head taller than the earl and carried his muscular body with a determined stride.

  “M’lord,” he said.

  “What is it, Captain?” the darl said, weary and without looking at his companion.

  Denz shifted his feet nervously. He did not like interrupting the earl’s contemplative moments, especially when the earl was already in such a humor.

  “Something troubles me about this situation.”

  Theearl turned to look at Denz slowly. On his face was written a story of contempt and irritation.

  “Oh really?” he sneered. “Something besides the fact that my hounds and my cousin are dead?”

  “Er … certainly sir…” Denz stumbled, “What I mean is…”

  Denz tried to regain his composure. The earl watched with amused irritation. Denz was not the brightest star in the night sky, but he was the finest fighter the earl had ever seen and that made putting up with his shortcomings more bearable.

  “It’s this warrior,” Denz said, “I can’t figure out how he managed to kill those dogs.”

  The earl winced and turned back to the view with a snort.

  “The filthy coward used some sort of ambush, from what I gather.”

  Denz didn’t seem convinced.

  “M’lord, I’ve seen those dogs in action. I’ve seen them take down a bear. I don’t care what kind of tricks the fellow knew, he shouldn’t have been able to defeat them. Of all the fighters in all the known realms, only a Camden Guardsman could have pulled that off.”

  The earl laughed out loud.

  “Ha! I’ve heard the same rumors you have, that this brigand was carrying a bone sword. That’s soon to be disproved. If it’s not a forgery, then it’s probably some scavenged relic that was left on a forgotten battlefield.”

  The earl swung his arm and slapped Denz’s back in an almost friendly gesture. He began walking along the parapets, pushing the larger man along as he went.

  “I assure you this mystery man is nothing more than a common vagabond, and nothing is going to stop me from enjoying his imminent death to the fullest. That is, of course, if he hasn’t died already. Didn’t the messenger say the rogue was ill? Why is it that only the mythical parts of the story are spread by the commoners’ tongues?”

  “But what of the other prisoners?” Denz continued, ignoring the earl’s query, “Father Ivory’s message stated—”

  “Father Ivory. The mysterious brigand. The girl,” the earl said in an impatient rush. “Why speculate? Look,” he said, raising his arm to point into the distance, “they’ve almost arrived.”

  Denz squinted in the direction of his arm. Indeed, far away, he could see Father Ivory’s luxurious carriage followed by a small cart making its way awkwardly over the main road.

  “Soon we will have all our answers and our revenge. I trust this man you’ve heard of through hearsay won’t prove himself to be half the vanquishing foe you’ve permitted yourself to fear.”

  At that, the earl spun on his heel and descended into the castle.

  Denz remained on the wall for a moment, watching. The earl’s confidence had not completely pacified him. Something about the little cart in the distance struck him as distinctly ominous.

  Chapter 5

  To Face the Stake

  Noah peered through the bars of the cart. The meticulously tended green field surrounded castle Miscony. For nearly three hundred yards, not a piece of vegetation reached higher than a man’s ankle. Castle Miscony itself sat on a small rise in the center. Its ancient walls were an impressive sight, as was the pile of timber being prepared for the roasting of the prisoners in front of it.

  Noah swallowed hard. The calm that Malik’s presence had bestowed upon him seemed to evaporate.

  “It looks like they’re serious,” he said in a stuttering voice. “Do you think they’ll give us a night’s rest, or is it to be out of the cart and into the fire?”

  The words were bland and rolled off Noah’s numb tongue without emotion.

  Malik didn’t look up, too busy making a painstaking examination of the cart’s floors, walls and ceiling. “Don’t even talk about being burned,” he said gruffly.

  “Well, it’s fairly hard not to think about it when the only thing to look at is a big pile of kindling surrounding a post bearing my name,” Noah replied.

  Malik ran his fingers along the floorboards, pausing occasionally to pry tentatively. “What do you mean there’s nothing else to look at? Look at the greensward, the Miscony grounds are renowned for their beauty. You can see the famous Miscony Labyrinth down in the valley.”

  “The Labyrinth?” A sliver of annoyance mixed with panic entered Noah’s voice. “They’re going to roast us alive.”

  Malik looked up. For a long moment, he stared at Noah. So intense his piercing gray eyes were, Noah eventually had to turn away. Finally, the lean warrior spoke in a low, serious tone.

  “They could build the pyre from here to the moon and it still would have no relevance to us,” Malik paused, his voice softening. “I don’t plan to be on that pyre, and you shouldn’t either. It doesn’t exist. Don’t let it steal your concentration, you’re going to need all of your wits about you to survive.”

  Noah glanced back at Malik, who smiled. He reached down and jerked hard on a floorboard. A section about eight inches long and two inches wide broke free. Malik lifted it up and gazed at it appraisingly. The shard of wood tapered to a natural point.

  “Perhaps I haven’t been clear about myself,” Malik said in a low, deadly whisper. “I can be pretty dangerous when I have to be.”

  Noah nodded, not doubting the lanky ranger’s words. He glanced at his sister, curled up in a ball in the corner of the cart. Ever since their father’s death, she had been in a nearly catatonic state. She had always been a deeply sensitive person, she had not yet had time to process the pains they had been through.

  Malik followed Noah’s gaze and the already hard look of resolve he wore tightened even further. He set the wood shard next to his knee and reached into the hole he made, questing for some loose piece of metal, wood or stone that he might be able to use as a weapon. After a moment, he extracted his hand and tossed a heavy bolt up into the air playfully.

  “Good,” he said to himself, “this should be enough.”

  He took one look out the bars and judged how close they were to the castle, then dodged over to Noah furtively. Noah almost jumped back in fear over the change that had come over Malik. The warrior acted giddy, as if
he greatly enjoyed himself.

  “Listen,” Malik whispered in a sharp voice, “it’s hardly common knowledge that I’m healed, so I’m just going to lay in a lump until they carry me out of this cart. Fortunately for us, the oafs didn’t bind my hands. As soon as I can, I’ll get you a dagger. When you stab, go for the throat, it’s the most exposed, most lethal place you can put your blade. Drive the point in,” Malik demonstrated with an imaginary thrust, “and pull.” He demonstrated with a sharp jerk of his hand that was perpendicular to the original thrust. “If you can’t reach the throat, go for the groin.”

  Malik slunk off to the other side of the cart and threw himself down into a lifeless lump, the wooden shard tucked secretively in his left sleeve.

  “But how will you get a dagger? What about Jasmine? What if …”

  “Quiet!” Malik snapped. “Just relax, once the chaos hits, these things have a way of working out. But don’t blow our element of surprise with silly chatter. Surprise is the best weapon we have.”

  “Great,” Noah said, and he slumped down next to his sister.

  Father Ivory’s carriage pulled into the courtyard and the Earl of Miscony, surrounded by a troop of soldiers, met him with due ceremony. A large group of peasants gathered along the road to the castle and they stood in their homespun garments, shifting back and forth to catch a glimpse of the prisoners.

  The earl glanced over at the detention carriage and snorted in displeasure. It contained nothing more than two children and an inanimate, filthy corpse. Curious, the earl stepped over to the cage and poked the prone body sharply with his pewter-tipped walking stick. The end drew back bloody, but the body made not so much as a grunt.

  “Pathetic,” the earl sneered. He stood next to the carriage as Father Ivory stepped down.

  “Report?” the earl said, not wasting time.

  “Devil worshipers, m’lord,” the priest replied shaking his head sadly.

  “Sentence?”

  “Fire.”

  “Done,” responded the earl. After word had come of his dogs, the earl had been toying with the idea of keeping these three alive for session or two of torture to satisfy his need for vengeance. However, faced with the pitiful state they were in, he decided it was better simply to wash his hands of the matter.

  “Guards, take the bodies to the pyres,” he said, turning his back on the scene. He stepped alongside Father Ivory as the elderly man made his slow way along the cobblestones.

  “What of the children?” the earl asked.

  “They claim to be healers,” Father Ivory snorted.

  The guards made their way to the heavily sealed door of the cart and began to open it. The earl and Father Ivory stepped onto the podium, which stood beside the pyre, to begin addressing the crowd. They had not had much time to prepare notes, but it didn’t matter. This sort of business was always the same.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the earl began in a booming voice, “behold those who have spilled noble blood.” He gestured to the cart. “Behold the fate that awaits them.” He gestured to the pyres. “Such is the fate for all who defy the orders of your divinely selected leaders.”

  The earl would have continued, except all the faces in the crowd turned at once. At first, this annoyed the earl, and he banged his gavel on the podium to regain their attention. Only then, in the silence that followed, he heard the commotion, and with the perception of that sound that he decided to swivel his regal head in the direction his lowly peasants had chosen to regard.

  His jaw dropped in shock.

  Malik waited as the guards entered the cart. They grabbed his legs and dragged him onto the dusty cobblestones to let him fall like a sack of flour. He landed with an audible thump that provoked a chuckle from the crowd.

  Through all of this, Malik still waited.

  The guards milled about him absently. This was just a job for them, and Malik had seemed fairly helpless lying there. Nothing to worry about.

  Had any one of them thought to bind his hands, Malik would have been forced to act.

  But none of them had.

  Had any one of them thought to strike the body, or search it adequately for signs of life, Malik would have been forced to act.

  But none of them did.

  And so, Malik had the benefit of waiting. He took advantage of it, waiting as he lay prone on the cobblestones in an enemy city, surrounded by enemy guards, armed only with a shank of wood, a rusty bolt, and the element of surprise.

  Malik waited.

  He waited as they pulled Noah and Jasmine from the cart. He waited as they wrestled with them roughly in the street. He waited until the guards had almost forgotten he was there. So still was his body, so unperturbed, so deathlike. He waited until they unconsciously began to accept that he was no threat.

  It takes a great amount of mental energy and discipline to stay on guard in the face of absolute motionlessness. Deep down, none of them believed that a human being with any fire left in his soul could skillfully feign indifference in the face of the pyre.

  Fear of death was too strong.

  Adrenaline was too powerful.

  No human being could thwart it.

  No human being could overcome it and lie still.

  Malik contained the anxiety, but it built in him.

  Finally, the moment came when every guard had turned away to either face their earl or the beautiful blond prisoners who would be their victims of the day. Malik stood and gained his footing before the alarm even sounded. But by then it was too late.

  The shank was ready in his hand and plunged deep into the throat of the first guard before the man fully turned around. Malik grasped the hilt of the weapon at the guard’s belt and pulled the blade from its sheath as the guard collapsed.

  The nearest crossbowman lifted his weapon, only to be struck in the eye by an expertly hurled metal bolt. He jerked then the weapon discharged, launching its death into another confused and spinning guard.

  Three down, and Malik had a sword now. This was when the earl turned to look.

  Malik dropped to one knee, the heavy military issue blade he’d taken spun in an irregular arc over his head. It cut at thigh level and disabled three more guards in one swing. Malik was up again before they had fallen, grasping a dagger from the belt sheath of the nearest screaming foe. This weapon he threw in Noah’s direction. The blade came to a quivering halt in the body of the burly guard holding the boy.

  “Remember,” Malik called, “throat or groin!”

  Not pausing for an answer, Malik dove effortlessly into a roll that culminated in a low thrust that gutted another guard.

  No orders had yet been called, so fast and lethal had been Malik’s attack. Two more fell before they even realized what was happening. The man moved in a blur, his blade seemed to be everywhere, and with every guard that fell, Malik slipped another long dagger into his throwing sheath.

  From his perspective on the podium, the earl had a better grasp of the situation, as did Denz on the upper wall. Even though they both knew their duties, neither of them reacted. The attack was so savage, so unexpected, so indescribably perfect that, despite all their training, all their preparation, they simply stared, slack-jawed.

  Malik spun and killed. He hurled a torch into the pyre and the flames erupted with a roar.

  The noise broke Denz’s trance. He called for his guards. He ran down the wall, then descended the stairs three at a time.

  But it was too late.

  With the fire lit, Malik knew he was clear.

  His sword descended across the leather harness shackling the lead horse to the detention cart and Malik leaped on it with a graceful vault.

  He kicked the horse forward and ran down two more guards before he pulled beside Noah and Jasmine, reaching for them.

  “Come on!” Malik cried.

  They stared at him in shock and awe.

  “Come on!” he cried again with greater urgency and the two lifted their arms to be pulled up beside the frenzi
ed warrior.

  Spinning the horse on its heel, Malik hurled his stolen sword into the carriage driver and retrieved his own bone sword from a storage box at the side of the wagon before urging the horse out of the courtyard. At the portcullis, he kicked savagely at Denz’s descending form; the weapons-master fell to the ground unconscious before he was even able to give the order to lower the castle gate.

  As the sound of Malik’s escaping horse grew fainter in the decimated courtyard, the earl stared in fury into the distance. He said nothing, he simply watched the stolen horse and its riders disappear into the woods.

  He made no noise.

  He did not move.

  But the wood of the podium rattled and splintered beneath his clenching hands.

  Chapter 6

  Ominous Reflections

  Malik kept the stolen horse on the main roadway well past the limits of the greensward and deep into the forest. There was no need to hide his tracks, the road was well-traveled and no tracker would be able to distinguish the hoof prints of his steed from all the others.

  At the same time, Malik knew it was no good to stay on the main road for long. He had no doubt the earl was in possession of horses much faster than the ones that had been delegated to cart pulling, and he was equally certain that a pursuit would be organized in short order. So, after several miles, when the road crossed a small, chattering stream, Malik did not hesitate to urge his mount from the road and into the burbling gully. After a few hundred meters, when the sight of the road was concealed by the green summer branches, Malik guided his horse up a bank and proceeded his flight cross-country.

  They rode in silence, well into night. Neither Jasmine nor Noah ever heard any pursuit, but the thought nagged in their minds throughout the day, dancing in their consciousness like a flock of malicious wraiths. They had defied the earl. The thought was incomprehensible. The consequences were sure to be dire, but, at the moment, the two young siblings were too stupefied to grasp them.