by B J Hanlon
Edin gritted his jaw but couldn’t stop the tears from forming. He remembered sitting with his mother in the great room, her chasing him as a child in a foolish game, reading to him, telling him stories.
Kes, Berka and he, running by the river, Kes and he talking beneath a tree, her head on his shoulder, her kiss…
He swallowed and wiped his eyes. These were good memories, experiences that would never happen again.
Suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore. The woman appeared with more ales and Edin took a deep drink. Grent eyed him and told her to keep them coming. Edin had three ales down and was working on the forth when his food arrived.
Edin picked at it with his fork while he tried to keep the thoughts from his head. The few times he heard the minstrel’s voice, the words pierced his thoughts, cutting into him like a blade to the heart. Edin tried to put the food down but pushed it away after a few bites.
“You must eat,” Grent whispered, though his tone was soft.
“I can’t,” Edin said pushing the food with his fork.
“Force yourself, this is the best meal we’ll have for at least another couple of weeks.”
“My cooking isn’t up to your lofty standards, eh sword jockey?” Horston said. “It’s at least as good as this rubbish.”
Edin sighed. After a few more ales and half of his food Edin’s head and stomach began to swim as he looked at the patrons—mostly men, glossy eyed and warbling.
The bard finished her songs.
A few tables away sat a petite woman staring into the eyes of a larger man. They seemed to be around Edin’s age. He watched the man slip his hand onto hers as a sly grin came across her face. The man winked and slowly they stood heading for the door.
A few men, guards by the looks of them, were laughing at the bar. The portly man behind it was grinning with them, obviously having just told a joke.
Master Horston leaned back and closed his eyes. He looked almost asleep in his chair. Grent however was watching with intensity. His ever-present gaze washing over the patrons.
The bard and her man were discussing something. She had a pack slung over her shoulder as he held her instrument and another pack. She was leaving in the middle of the night, walking out like a person in her tragic melodies.
Edin watched as they tried to move through the crowd, the big man in front. He slowly parted groups of people, some men and women stopped to shake the bard’s hand as she moved. She met them as if she were a noble glad-handing with subjects.
Suddenly a large man, the size of the bodyguard stood and swayed on drunken feet. Three more men that were at his table followed his lead.
The first one put his hand out and started to talk. His voice was louder than the rest and with his friends he seemed as confident as a prince behind stone walls.
“Miss, your songs are as lovely as you, we wish to thank you from the bottoms of our collective hearts. May we buy your ale tonight?” The first man said, a wayward smile on his lips. Even from the corner Edin could see the man was missing a few teeth.
“Thank you for the kind words and offer” she said, “but I’m afraid I have to decline.” The bard looped an arm underneath the bodyguard’s as they side-stepped around the first man, but one of his friends stood in front of them.
“You insult us by denying our pleasure, our company is sought after by many women,” his friend said.
“I’m certain of it,” the bard said with a polite bow, “but I must be off.”
“I am Mal, leader of the Maltus Company and we do not take well to being insulted. Join us for a round and then share our beds tonight. You’ll never belt out those sad tunes again.”
The sellswords reminded Edin of Dexal and his followers. Edin felt his cheeks grow red. The pompous thug who bullied his friends was dead, but that didn’t absolve Dexal of the torment he’d unleashed them.
This man was the same, thinking he could push people around because of the length of his sword... Edin cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders back. The ale seemed to have loosened his muscles, which was always good for a fight.
“Don’t worry big man, we’ll return her in one piece.” A grin came over the first sellswords’ face.
The bodyguard said nothing, but his shoulders were tense and his jaw was set.
Grent was staring at the men as well, he glanced to Edin and quickly dropped a thick hand onto Edin’s wrist.
“We will not get involved,” Grent whispered.
The second man, clearly drunk, pulled his arm back as if to throw a haymaker. He was slow, telegraphing his punch at the bodyguard. The bodyguard simply stepped into it and head-butted the man on the nose. A sickening crunch echoed through the inn as the attacker crumbled back.
A few people yelled out, more men stood. Some drawing swords, other’s long knives. The bartender started yelling, but no one was paying him any mind.
Another of the drunk’s friends stepped up to throw a strike at the bodyguard, the man blocked it and kneed the man in the stomach before pushing him in their direction. The man was stumbling in a half fall when he was only a few feet from their table, his feet trying to keep pace with the lean of his body.
Grent stood quickly and caught the sellsword before he could hit the table and knock over their ales. The man threw a wild elbow behind him.
Grent growled as he took the strike in the ear. In a flash he gripped the man’s wrist pulling his arm straight. He spun facing the other way and brought the man’s arm down on his shoulder. The crack and following scream from the drunk covered the rest of the noise for only a moment. Grent let go of the useless arm and dropped his elbow into the man’s face. The mercenary dropped to the ground.
Edin was mesmerized, his heart was racing as he watched Grent step out. A sellsword came at him with a pair of daggers. Grent twisted between one wild slash while arching his back to avoid a thrust. A moment later, the man crumbled. Edin glanced back to the instigators. The bodyguard was still standing, but blood was pouring down from the side of his head that was a soupy mess and a deep gash on his arm.
The bard, who Edin thought would be cowering or trying to make an escape was facing two men, they looked to be the sellswords who had been laughing with the bartender.
They were now only a few feet from Edin’s table. His heart was pounding, it was obvious the first four men and probably the others were all part of the same crew.
Unless they had help, the bodyguard would most likely be killed and the bard raped and tortured. Edin wouldn’t let that happen. He stood, grabbing his mug Edin tossed back the remainder and then threw it at one of the men advancing on the bard. It slammed him in the side of the head. The force caused him to stumble into his companion.
The bard took advantage. She stepped forward, with some of the quickest strikes Edin had seen, she hit with open palms. Her movement was like a viper striking its prey. The one Edin hit with the mug dropped. His friend turned toward the bard and unsheathed a small knife.
“Ah crap,” Grent said with a sigh. He moved quickly between the bard and the knife wielder. The knife wielder’s eyes widened just before Grent smashed a metal tankard into his face. The man’s head whipped back with a strike as blood sprouted. Grent turned back to the bard and gave a short bow. A loud thump came from the far side of the bar. The bard yelled as Edin spotted the bodyguard and the first sellsword still standing.
The sellsword held a long sword in front of him pointed at the man. Drops of blood were dripping from it and the bodyguard as he fell into the table.
They were on the far end of the inn, impossible to get to. Unless Edin used his talent. He could throw his energy, though he’d be instantly drained and vulnerable. Edin would have to be carried out.
Grent glanced at him, his deep eyes wide and burning with fire. “Don’t you do it,” he said seemingly knowing exactly what Edin was thinking. Mal swung back and jabbed his blade into the bodyguard’s chest.
The bard screamed and from somewhere pulled out a
pair of long knives. She leapt onto a table and ran across the tabletops and chairs as if she were walking on water or flying. Quickly she was on the other side of the room. She flipped down behind Mal and plunged both of her knives into the man’s back.
Grent shook his head and drew his sword. “Stay,” he said as if Edin were a dog. There were three guards left standing, their blades were out.
The barkeep and the rest of the patrons seemed to have fled. At least six of the sellswords, the bodyguard and a few other patron’s lie on the floor moaning or silent. Pools of blood mixing together like oceans on a map.
The three guards faced the bard, her eyes seemed to be glowing red in the firelight. The blood from her blade shined black.
Grent was quick. The woman glided over the tables while Grent crashed through them. He smashed the hilt of his sword into one of the guard’s head, continued the movement slamming an elbow into the second and head-butting the third. The three men went down too fast for the bard or Edin to really make out.
She stood looking at him, her mouth open for a second and then closing with pursed lips.
Grent bowed again and said something. She nodded and took a step toward the bodyguard. Edin couldn’t tell from here if he still lived, but from the look of the stab wounds, if he did it wouldn’t be for long. Putting a hand on his chest she bowed her head.
The barkeep leapt up from behind the bar and scanned the ruins of his place. His mouth dropped. “You will pay for these damages!” he shouted toward the bard. Then he looked at Grent who was huffing, “and you.”
Grent took three large steps forward, “you will pay for not having people to stop animals like these.” Grent lifted his sword to the man’s neck. “With a quick flick of my wrist, your blood will be scattered across the walls and you will bleed out in moments.”
The man gaped and fell back into the wall knocking down a pair bottles on the shelf behind him. Glass shattered. Grent turned to Edin and Master Horston who finally decided to wake, though made no move from his seat.
“What did you do now Grent? Ruin our only chance for a bed.”
Grent gritted his teeth and glared at Edin. “Grab the packs and meet us out back. We have to run.”
7
Men (and a woman) of the forest
They walked, or more accurately jogged, well into the night. Edin on shaky legs tried to keep up as the two men and the bard led the way. He estimated it was around three in the morning before they finally crashed into the edge of the same forest they had exited weeks earlier.
Grent called for a cold camp, no fire, so as not to give up their position. He’d found a spot just below a small earthen ridge that would block the view from the road. Despite the letdown of missing a comfortable bed, Edin was asleep as soon as he laid against the pack.
It was a dreamless sleep and Edin was grateful when he woke sometime in the late morning. The familiar smells of the forest drifted around him. Grent was lying on the ground, his cloak pulled over him, a few feet to his left was the bard.
She was quiet but her eyes were open, watching him. Watching the group.
Edin smiled at her uncomfortably.
She didn’t return the smile. He walked a few paces into the trees and stood behind a bush to relieve himself.
He didn’t know what to do, after the night before and their second quick flight in a few weeks he didn’t want to wake up the men and didn’t know what to say to the woman. Grabbing a waterskin and heading to a flat spot on the ground just out of sight from the camp, he stretched. Might as well get at the workout before Grent woke and berated him.
The previous day, Grent taught him the next six movements of the Oret Nakosu. He ran through the twelve though not working as hard as he could’ve.
It didn’t matter, sweat still poured out of him as he took down the water. He peeled off his sticky tunic and laid it across a branch to dry.
Grabbing his sword, he began to practice the first couple of forms that Grent taught him, going through each one multiple times, switching between fast and slow. During one of the slow forms he heard a loud sigh. Edin glanced back and saw the woman watching him.
In the early morning she looked older than the previous night. Maybe a decade older than Edin, but she’d changed from her dress into a form fitting set of trousers and a tight tunic that hugged her lean body and showed off her ample breasts. Strapped to each hip was a foot-long knife and from the comfortable way she stood, she knew how to use them.
“Good morning, can I do something for you?” Edin said looking at her. He pulled out of stance mid form and faced her. He remembered the way she ran across the tops of the tables with such ease it seemed as if she was gliding.
“Men and their big swords,” she said shaking her head. “You never learn it’s not the size that matters.”
He wasn’t sure but he almost saw a smile on her face. “Excuse me?”
She just shook her head and waived for him to continue.
His sweat was drying in the cool wind that whipped around the earthen ledge to the east. Edin felt self-conscious and turned slightly away from her, trying to make sure to keep the woman in his peripheral vision. She looked like she’d have no qualms about slipping one of her daggers into someone’s back… then he remembered she did that last night.
Edin continued the form, at points he heard random tsks and throat clears from her causing him to lose focus and stumble. He finished the set and replaced his feet to the standing position ready to repeat it only at a faster pace. He heard the slink of blades slipping from sheaths. Edin quickly turned to see the woman coming at him with blades out.
She attacked with lightning speed, her knives slicing through the air. Edin backed away, his blade parried the first strike but the second was somehow in his guard, the blade, two inches from his throat.
She smiled and stepped back. “Want to try again?” she said.
“I wasn’t ready.”
“You’ll need a lot of practice before you can take me.” She moved again, this time striking one blade low following with the other higher.
He blocked the first and the second. The third blade swiped dangerously close to his midsection as he leapt backward. He wasn’t certain if she would’ve stopped or just gutted him. His heart pounded as he reset his feet and waited for the attack. The bard didn’t move. Was she waiting for him to attack?
He stepped forward and poked the blade at her chest, quickly she parried it with her knife and spun in a circle, he watched as her second blade twirled in the air and she caught it in a reverse grip. She twisted inside his guard with a blade a finger’s breadth from his heart.
Her shoulder was pressed into his arm, her leg between his.
She looked up into his eyes from inches away and smiled a shockingly beautiful grin. Edin swallowed as she kept her eyes locked on his.
“The sword forms he’s teaching you are fine. But you’ll need to spar to get the feel of a real fight.”
Grent appeared, his sword was drawn as he dashed into the makeshift training ground. He pointed his sword at them with an angry stare.
“Move away slowly,” Grent said, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
She shrugged and pried her body away from Edin, a part of him was fine with the knife that close to his heart as long as her body came with it. She slid her blades into the sheaths.
“Oh master guardsman, so protective over the young lord. I wonder how protective you’d be over me.” She shot Edin a quick wink and sauntered over to Grent. She stopped a few inches from his blade. “Can I pass?”
They held each other’s gazes for a few moments before he lowered his sword. Grent walked over to Edin and eyed him. “What happened?
“I… we just were sparring.” Grent grunted and looked back. They both watched her walk, her long copper ponytail swaying above her thin hips. Though Edin was looking just below those.
Grent turned back and slapped Edin in the face.
“Ow, what was that for?”<
br />
“Stay away from a woman like that. I wasn’t sure yesterday, but now I’m certain she’s part of the order.”
“Order?”
Grent shook his head. “We should be rid of her soon. A person of her… nature doesn’t hang around long.” He slid his sword into his sheath and stalked back to the camp.
Edin needed a few moments to calm himself down, maybe hop in a cold river, though he didn’t know if any were nearby.
After retrieving his tunic and returning to the camp he saw the woman sitting against a tree. Grent sat across from her, the pair having some sort of staring contest like children.
Master Horston watched the pair with either fear or amusement. Edin couldn’t tell which.
The bard clearly didn’t seem to be worried about the old man, then again, she didn’t seem worried about a terrin either.
“What’s for breakfast?” the bard asked.
“We only have enough for us,” Grent said. “I’m sure you can find your own food.”
“Are you telling me to leave?” She fluttered her eyes. “A small woman like me all alone in this big forest, bad men chasing after me?”
“Something tells me you’ll survive,” Grent said.
“I may, I may not. I lost my… friend last night and since you two saved my life last night… well at least stepped in to help, I feel like I owe you. I always pay my debts, though usually with other means.” She looked up at Edin with another wink.
His heart raced and his palms went sweaty.
“I’m Dephina, bard to princes, dukes, and the nobility of Bestoria. My songs pierce your heart and soul making you feel things you’ve never felt.” She shot her eyes to Grent. “Feelings are hard to explain...”
“I know what feelings are, you can’t come with us,” Grent said, “You are free to go.”
“But I can’t. I have a strict code of honor.” She said and Grent snorted. “You may think you know me guardsman, but believe me you do not.” She slapped her thighs with a thwack. “Now where are we headed?”