by James Dale
Jack's initial stroke had carried him into a crouching position, from which he exploded as the man on his right neared. His blade swept up in a blurring arch, slicing the man's cheek to the bone. The force of the swing spun Jack around and he let his momentum carry him into a spinning, round house kick which he used to drive the attacker on his left breathless into the clapboard wall of the alley. Still letting momentum propel him, Jack fell to one knee, and with an overhand stroke drove his blade deep into the unprotected side the of the center man, just above the hip. The man collapsed backwards with a high-pitched scream as the razor-sharp sword sliced into his body with sickening ease.
The fury of Jack's actions momentarily stunned his attackers. In the space of only seconds, he had mortally wounded two of the men, bloodied another and left the forth breathless. But the fight was far from over. He was half blind from the blood pouring into his eyes and facing two swordsmen relatively unhindered by their own injuries. Jack could hear the ringing of steel behind him and Kirk Vanar shouting, "For Thonbor! For Duke Braedan and Thonbor!" and knew the guardsman was engaged with the two men who'd come from the tavern's kitchen.
There would be no help coming from his back. His only hope was to take the offensive, catch the two men he faced off guard, and try to disable one of them quickly and even the odds. Perhaps then he could stay alive long enough for someone from inside the tavern to come out to investigate the ruckus occurring in the alley. Preferably someone like the monstrous bartender Hugh or the burly Sirranon and not some ruffian who might just side against him in hopes of sharing the loot lifted off the body of a dead officer.
Before the two men could regroup to advance on him, Jack sprang forward with a shout, his face a bloody mask as he whirled his sword above his head like a flashing vortex of steel death. The surprise of his attack had the desired effect, and the two men hesitated, unprepared for this unexpected advance by their wounded prey. The uninjured man was the first to recover, but not before Jack had closed the short distance separating them where his impaired vision would less a disadvantage.
Locking swords with the man, Jack quickly maneuvered his opponent's body between him and the other attacker and they drew close, arms and legs tensed in a test of strength. They were nearly equal in height, Jack being taller by about two inches, but the other man was close to thirty pounds heavier and quickly managed to push him backwards until he encountered the boarded wall of the alley. The man smiled in triumph, revealing a mouth full of yellow stained teeth, but his victory was short lived. In desperation, Jack snapped his neck forward, crashing his forehead into man's face, crushing his nose with an audible snap of cartilage.
Though stars danced on the edge of Jack's vision from the force of the blow, the other fellow received the worst of the encounter. He staggered a few steps away, blood pouring from his shattered nose, and shook his head in attempt to clear his own vision. Guided purely by instinct, Jack lunged forward, his sword point plunging into the man's throat just above his Adam's apple and exiting without resistance from the back of his neck. Impaled on sharp steel, the man opened his mouth to voice the horror he felt as his life slowly slipped away, but all that emerged was a bubbling croak, followed by a stream of dark blood.
As the man slipped from the tip of his blade and fell to the ground, Jack once again swiped at the blood flowing into his eyes from the wound on his forehead. He turned to face the last attacker, who glance quickly at his three fallen comrades lying in bloody heaps in the alley. Deciding he'd seen enough fighting, the man threw his sword to the ground and sprinted back out the alley and into the night. Letting him go, Jack turned in time to see Kirk thrust his sword into the heart of the last remaining attacker. The man shuddered violently, then his legs slowly buckled beneath him and he dropped to the ground.
As Vanar placed his foot on the man's chest to withdraw his blade, Sirranon emerged from his kitchen doorway, a stout oak cudgel in hand, followed quickly by the huge bartender and several patrons from the bar. "Yh's Holy Balls!" he cried, "What's going on out here!" Then he saw the carnage and Jack leaning wearily against the wall of the alley for support, his face and most of the front of his shirt covered in blood. "Hugh! Get the flaming watch! The Duke of Thonbor's been hurt!"
As the bartender ran out to the street in search of the peace officers, Vanar rushed to Braedan's side, easing him carefully to the ground. "Give me your apron Sirranon!" he instructed the tavern keeper. The man quickly doffed the garment handing it to the guardsman, who began to gently wipe the blood from Jack's face and inspect his wound.
"Not as bad as it looks," he announced. "Nice and clean. The bleeding has nearly stopped already. It will probably need stitches...but what's another scar to show the ladies? Are you wounded anywhere else?"
"No," Jack replied, taking the apron from Vanar and pressing it to his forehead. "You?"
"Not a scratch," Kirk said, shaking his head. "Lucky for me they seemed more interested in your skin. Their mistake," he grinned, showing relief now with the danger now passed.
"This doesn't make sense," Sirranon muttered. "Let's have a look at the buggers stupid enough to attack two men in the uniform of the Dragon guard."
"Here now!" he said, toeing the man Jack had run through the throat. "This bastard is Jean de'Marko, a knee-breaker for some of the local money lenders. Who else do you owe money in town other than me Kirk?"
"No one at the moment," the guardsman replied. "Besides, they weren't after me. They were after Duke Jack's head."
"And what have we here?" the barkeep said, kneeling beside the dead man and removing a leather draw pouch from his belt. As he opened it, several gold coins spilled out into his palm. "Dorkarrs?" he pondered. "Now what's Jean the Knife doing with Doridanian gold?"
"Check the others," Jack said, a chilling thought occurring to him at the mention of Doridanian gold. Vanar proceeded to inspect the two men he had killed while Sirranon did the same to the others. Each man had a money pouch containing several of the same coins.
"They weren't after money. That's for sure," Sirranon said, as he counted out the gold coins. "But if they weren't robbers, or collecting a loan, what were they doing attacking you two?"
"Assassins," Vanar immediately concluded, turning to Jack. "What else could they be with all this foreign gold? It appears Doridan is still determined to collect on the justice you escaped in Dorshev. No offense indeed your grace," he added hurriedly.
"None taken," Jack nodded wearily. "And I believe you may be right. It doesn't look like my pardon from King Theros carried much weight with Doridan."
"The king will not like this," Vanar growled. "Not at all."
As they spoke, a squad of the watch arrived with a clatter of hooves and several silver and black clad guardsmen rushed into the alley with drawn swords. "I am Sergeant Will Varlaas," their leader announced. "What went on here?" Noticing Jack's crossed sabers, he quickly added, "Sir."
Vanar introduced himself, being from a different company than the other sergeant, then went on to inform Varless the wounded officer was Duke Jack Braedan and there had been an attempted assassination of the new Lord of Thonbor.
"Blood and Fire!" Varless swore, knowing it was going to be a long night. "Morand," he said, calling to one of his men. "Fetch the captain. He'll want to hear of this. And get the chief surgeon as well. Your grace," the sergeant said, turning to Braedan. "It will be a few minutes before he arrives..."
"I'll be fine," Jack assured him.
The guardsman saluted Braedan, then began directing his men in their investigation. As the watch went about their business of inspecting the five corpses, Sirranon returned to the tavern and retrieved some clean towels and a corpsman's kit for Jack's wounds.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Jack asked when Sirranon's ministrations restarted the bleeding. "Don't you think you should wait for the surgeon?"
"Bah!" Sirranon snorted in disgust. "That army sawbones won't know anything about getting a soldier ready f
or the next fight. He'll probably want to cut off your head and put a tourniquet around your neck! Your grace, I learned more about treating battle wounds during my twenty-five years in the legion than most healers could in a century."
"Yh's truth," Vanar nodded, coming to the defense of his former company sergeant. "He stitched me up several times and I'm still around to tell about it."
"Satisfied?" Sirranon asked. "Good. Now hold flaming still and let me work."
"Okay," Jack relented. Did he have a choice? "But I really do think you should...Ouch!"
"Be still!" Sirranon muttered, pinching the edges of the cut together. "This is going to sting a bit."
As the old warrior began to deftly sew up the wound with needle and thread, a large crowd began to gather around the mouth of the alley as word spread through the area of the attempted murder. Although Brythond was a large city, the largest in all of western Aralon in fact, boasting nearly two-hundred thousand souls, it was relatively peaceful for its size and such violence was far from common. When it was learned one of the intended victims was none other than Jack Hawkfinder, the crowd swelled to unruly numbers as people pushed to get a closer glimpse of the pirate champion of their beloved princess who'd become the new Duke of Thonbor.
The single squad of guardsmen was soon hard pressed to hold them at a safe distance and only the help of several volunteers from the Dancing Unicorn and a constant stream of loud and colorful curses flowing from the mouth of Sirranon succeeded in keeping them out of the alley. They dispersed quickly enough however, when a mounted company of one hundred guardsmen arrived roughly fifteen minutes later, with none other than Field Marshal Tolkaen himself at their head. It took but a few shouted words from the most respected warrior in Brydium after King Theros to convince the crowds safer entertainment could be found elsewhere in the city. Tolkaen dismounted with the easy grace of a man who'd spent close to forty years in the saddle and strode purposefully over to where Jack rested between Vanar and Sirranon.
"Evening Colonel," the Dancing Unicorn's proprietor nodded, giving the Field Marshal a bloody handed salute.
"Sirranon," Tolkaen sighed with a shake of his white head. "Why am I not surprised to find you in the thick of this mess? Is he dead?"
"Not quite sir," Jack said, opening his eyes. "Though I'll likely wish I were come morning. What are you doing here?"
"I was out...visiting one of my commanders," Tolkaen explained with a look plainly implying it concerned the new patrol Theros had ordered south. "When a rather large fellow burst into Third Squadron headquarters shouting the new Duke of Thonbor had been assassinated. I sent word to the palace for the king's physician then rode straight here to have a look for myself. I'm relieved to find he was mistaken."
"He wasn't off by much sir," Jack replied, then quickly recounted for the general the events of the evening.
"Damn!" Tolkaen swore when he'd finished. "The king will not take this affront lightly if it proves to be true."
"Who else could it be sir?" Kirk asked, standing.
"And who might you be son?" the general inquired.
"Sergeant Kirk Vanar, sir!" he said snapping to attention. "Third Stone Riders, Seventy-first Cavalry! Sir!"
"That's...uh, not entirely accurate," Jack grinned, despite his aching head. "I kind of...well, promoted Kirk earlier this evening to Captain of the Thonbor garrison."
"Vanar?" Tolkien said, looking hard at the guardsman. "You wouldn't happen to be Brand Vanar's younger brother, would you?"
"Yes sir!" Kirk barked, and though he was standing ram-rod straight while addressing the commander of Brydium's Legions, he somehow managed to stiffen even further at the mention of his dead brother's name.
Tolkaen studied the young guardsman for several seconds, then an approving smile softened his rugged countenance. "Well, since you've already bloodied yourself as the duke's man, I suppose I've no choice but to sign the transfer papers in the morning."
"Thank you, sir!"
"Now the first thing I want you to do Captain Vanar is find a few good swords to stand as Duke Braedan's guard."
"Sir…" Jack started to protest.
"Stand down commander," Tolkien said sternly. "You may be a duke, but while you are in that uniform, I outrank you."
"Yes sir," he sighed wearily, too tired to argue.
"Just a heavy squad should do for now I'd say," the general mused, eyeing the carnage in the alley. "You'll know where to find them I suppose?"
"I know a few who might volunteer," Vanar smiled.
"But only a squad for now," Tolkien warned him. "Keep it as quiet as you can. If word gets out you’re recruiting troops for Jack Hawkfinder, you'll have half of my legions wanting to sign up."
"Yes sir."
"Sirranon?"
"Yes Colonel?"
"Did you give him those stitches?"
"Aye," the bar keeper grinned.
"Then I guess there's no need for him to wait around for Doctor Gallon."
"Don't rightly see why he should sir," Sirranon nodded.
"Captain Vanar. Acquire a carriage for Duke Braedan and see he returned safely to Count Arthol's estate. Any questions the watch needs to ask him can wait until morning."
"Yes sir," Kirk saluted sharply.
"Well Sirranon," Tolkaen said, turning to the old warrior, "as long as I'm here, I might as well let you buy me a drink."
"If memory serves me Colonel," the barkeep laughed. "It's your turn to buy."
Chapter Fourteen
Golden Lions of Thonbor
As Sirranon led Field Marshal Tolkaen into the Dancing Unicorn, Vanar set out to commandeer a carriage and drafting a squad of guardsmen to escort Braedan back to Count Arthol's estate. With the weight of the Field Marshal's order behind him, he accomplished both tasks with little difficulty and they were soon on their way. Vanar sent one of the troopers ahead with word they were coming, and by the time they arrived at the Prime Minister's home, Count Arthol was waiting at the gate with an army of servants. Gweneveare included.
"What happened your grace?" the count asked as he helped Braedan from the carriage.
"It was nothing," Jack replied. "I'll be fine."
"The messenger said you had been injured in a fight?" Arthol said. "Outside the Dancing Unicorn?"
"It looks as if the Doridanians have decided to ignore my pardon," Jack explained. "Someone at their embassy apparently hired a few thugs to discuss the matter with me and we had a...slight disagreement. It was not serious really."
"Not serious!" Gweneveare exclaimed, her eyes flashing like azure fire. "You are covered in blood!"
"It isn't all Jack Hawkfinder's," Vanar said, coming to the defense of his new duke. "And it's not as bad as it looks. Head wounds are notorious bleeders," he continued with an appreciative smile at the beautiful servant. "My lady..."
"Who are you sirrah?" she asked, turning her anger on the young man.
Even the battle hardened guardsman took a half step back at the vehemence in her voice. "Kirk Vanar, m'Lady. Captain of his grace's..."
"A Vanar?" she cried hotly. "It is a wonder he still lives!"
"That's quite enough Gweneveare," Count Arthol said sternly. "Apologize to the captain."
"But your grace! He's a Vanar!"
"Now Gweneveare!"
"Yes your grace," the young woman said meekly, but the fire did not leave her eyes as she turned back to Kirk. "I apologize captain."
"Now take Duke Jack inside and see he gets cleaned up," the count instructed her firmly. "And no badgering him. He will receive amply chastisement from Thessa tomorrow whether he deserves it or not."
"Yes your grace," Gweneveare took Jack by the arm and with a last venomous glare at Vanar, led him through the gate. The count's command lasted only until they were safely inside the house beyond his sight and hearing.
"Whatever were you thinking? Going to such a place! You could have been killed!"
"Well, it was exactly what we had planned for the ev
ening," Jack smiled, but the look on Gweneveare's face erased his grin quickly. "Was I supposed to know something like that was going to happen?" he asked defensively.
Should he have been? Maybe so. Knowing what he knew about Kiathan, was it really a great surprise? But should he have expected it to come so quickly? How had those assassins known where to find him anyway? Someone must have watched him leave the palace and alerted the Duke of Raashan's agents and they'd followed him to the Dancing Unicorn. But who? One of the spies Nalon-Lox had spoken of perhaps? A lackey of Kiathan at least. He was suddenly relieved Field Marshal Tolkaen had ordered Kirk Vanar to begin recruiting troops for him. Reaching Brythond had lulled him into a false sense of security, but tonight's incident had been a painful reminder he was not beyond Kiathan’s reach. Or the dark-King's. Not even in the capital city of his staunchest enemy. He would remember to be more careful in the future.
"I'm sorry," Jack apologized. "I promise I'll be more careful."
"Well...see that you do," Gweneveare said slowly, surprised he didn't try to argue he could take care of himself as she had expected. "I would advise you to steer clear of that captain! It was a Vanar that allowed Thessa to be taken by the Kadinar."
"Gweneveare..."
"Yes?"
"Never mind," Jack sighed.
He'd been about to argue her judgment of Kirk was unfair, and probably would not have been shared by her mistress. The attack at the Dancing Unicorn was not the guardsman's fault, nor was Kirk's dead brother to blame for the horrors Thessa had endured while in the hands of the Kadin raiders. But Jack was too tired to do it tonight. Just now all he wanted to do was get out of his sticky, blood soaked clothes, get cleaned up, and slide into his warm, safe bed. The news Kirk was going to be the captain of the Thonbor garrison and the steward of his lands could certainly wait until later. Say...fifty or sixty years later at least? "Good night Gweneveare."