Bound by Fire

by Ronald Craft

Chapter 8

  Fin rubbed the warmth back into his hands. “How much longer are we gonna wait, Tim? It's colder than your mum's heart out here.”

  Tim shrugged. “Quit your complaining, Fin.” Tim poked him in the head. “That woman there, she has enough coin to keep us drinking the good stuff for a long time to come.”

  There had been precious little for them to steal since they'd arrived in Pineview, but Fin thanked the stars for their luck. He and Tim were supposed to meet the rest of their gang here and head to Lochden, but the rest had never shown up. They'd been stuck here for an entire moon and with the winter coming, it wasn't looking good for them.

  Until now.

  “Yeah, but still, did you really need to bring your knives? I can think of better tools to use on her.” Fin smirked.

  Tim patted the knives at his waist. “It's just a precaution. Can never be too prepared. 'Sides, I'd planned on keeping the bitch alive. I ain't never had a red one before.” His eyes danced with malice.

  “Eh, you're too generous sometimes, Tim.” Fin did a mock bow. “I'll have fun with her.” He fingered his knife.

  “All right, here's the plan.” Tim waved Fin closer. “We're gonna go up, nice and quiet like a cat. Before they even know what's coming, we'll kill the boy, grab the woman and take the gold. All clear?”

  Fin nodded. “Aye.”

  “Right, let's do this.” Tim pulled a set of lock picks from his pocket and knelt in front of the door.

  Tim, a former locksmith, had given up his trade in favor of picking the locks he had once spent so much time creating. The man had seen quite a few more winters than Fin, but he was still just as sprightly as he'd been in his youth. Moments later, there was a sharp click as the lock sprung open.

  Fin let out a low whistle in appreciation. “Your skill with a pick gets better each time, I swear.” Fin patted him on the shoulder.

  Tim slid the picks back into his pocket and slowly pulled the door open.

  Inside, the room was dark with the scent of stale ale drifting through the door. A few of its patrons were passed out on tables near the fire. One snored so loud, Fin had to fight the urge to walk over and kick him. He took a deep breath and calmed himself.

  It had been a while since they had such good prey.

  “All right,” Tim whispered. “Like a cat.” He motioned them forward.

  Fin stepped into the dark inn. It was quiet, aside from the man snoring in the corner and the creaking of old floorboards as his weight pressed down on them. The place was darker than he thought it'd be; so much so, that both he and Tim tripped and bumped into the walls more than either expected.

  A loud squeak stopped him in his tracks.

  “Quiet.” Tim hissed.

  His eyes had begun to adjust and he could make out Tim's form standing in front of him. Fin edge forward, trying to avoid anything else that might creak, squeak or bang.

  Something clattered to the ground and they both froze.

  He turned his head and squinted his eyes, but all he could see was a cup rolling across the floor.

  Just one of the drunkards knocking things over in their sleep. Keep your cool, Fin. It'd take an avalanche to wake them up.

  Fin sighed in relief when they reached the top of the staircase. Sweat ran down the back of his neck and soaked his tunic.

  Just a little more. A little more, and she'll be mine.

  Thoughts of what he would do to the woman swam around in his mind. He welcomed the gold, but she was a rare beauty. He meant to have her for his own.

  Fin edged closer to Tim, who stood next to the door, ear pressed against it.

  “Anything?” he whispered.

  Tim shook his head. He slid down and pulled the lock picks from his pocket once more.

  A lone window down the hall let a few thin rays of moonlight into the darkened hallway. Tim's eyes sparkled and his mouth was open, teeth bared. Fin wondered what his own face looked like. His heart quickened its pace in his chest and he flexed his fingers with anticipation.

  Like a pair of hungry wolves, they huddled in the dark before springing on their prey.

  Tim set to work on the lock. His picks barely made a sound as he gently pressed and prodded. Then, another click. His lips curved upward and he nodded.

  Fin stepped closer.

  This is it.

  He could already taste her skin on his lips.

  Tim pushed the door open.

  Something flew through the air and impacted Tim's chest with a dull thud.

  Tim fell backwards and landed on his back. His eyes were wide, his mouth open and gaping for air as his last breath left him. A dagger, driven up to the hilt, protruded from his chest.

  Fin stood still, eyes locked on Tim's body in shock.

  A floorboard squeaked in front of him. His gaze shot up to the sight of a figure standing in the center of the room. Long tendrils of fiery hair surrounded her face. Fin stumbled back and slammed into the wall behind him.

  “W—Wait,” he mumbled. Fin reached for his knife.

  And then, the scariest words Fin had ever heard danced off her lips.

  “Two of you? That's it?”

  —

  Ilian climbed down the rope hanging from the window and dropped into a clump of snow. He breathed into his hands and rubbed his shoulders.

  Who was that?

  Ilian looked up to the window he had come from. The sound of boots clomping across floorboards and screams came from within the building. Ilian took a step back. He'd never heard a man howl like that before.

  The hell is Karena doing in there? Sounds like the entire inn is up in arms. Gods, she isn't going to kill all of them, is she?

  He gazed around the inn. I've got to find somewhere to hide. There might be more of them.

  Ilian pulled a dagger from his belt and gripped it in his hand. The sight of the blade reminded him of the promise he'd made to himself the night she took it from him.

  I'll kill her.

  Karena must have sensed that he'd never used it before when she had taken it from him. He wasn't a fighter; had never used a knife for anything but cutting food. What could he possibly do against a trained killer like her? He tightened his grip on the hilt.

  At least he had his knife back. He'd figure out the rest, later.

  Snow crunched under his boots as he crept around a corner of the inn. The whole town was quiet save for the repetitive creaking of signs as they swung back and forth. Behind the building, there was a large stack of what looked to be empty barrels.

  Looks like that's about as good of a hiding spot as I'm going to find.

  Ilian was half way to the barrels when someone stumbled out of an open door and crashed into a crate. The wood cracked and splintered under his weight.

  “What the hell is she?” the figure gasped.

  A man with a stubbly face, oily hair and a simple tan coat stood in front of Ilian. He stared back through the door as if expecting a demon to burst through at any moment.

  Ilian felt his pain, knowing all too well what that demon was. He took a step backwards in the hope that he'd escape the man's attention. His foot found a sheet of ice hidden under the snow, sending him onto his bottom with a loud thud. He lifted his hand from the snow.

  It was empty. The dagger was gone.

  The man's head whipped around. His eyes narrowed when they settled on Ilian.

  “I know you, boy.” He took a step towards Ilian. “Tim and I saw you earlier.” The man drew his blade and took a step forward. “You're not like her, are you? Least I can kill you for what she did to Tim. Maybe she'll give up if she sees her boy all cut up.”

  Ilian scrambled backwards, searching the snow around him for the dagger.

  What am I going to do? I have to find it. Have to—

  He felt something cold and hard beneath his hand and grasped it. Ilian brought himself up to his knee and pointed the
dagger at the man. He tried to keep his arm from shaking, but it only shook harder. His heart felt as if it would explode if he moved.

  The man sneered. “What are you going to do with that, boy? You'd better drop it before I accidentally maim you. Better to die quickly, don't ya think?” The knife danced around in his hand.

  Ilian took a step back. What was he going to do? He had no experience in fighting. His thoughts were racing, but he found no answers to his dilemma.

  The man rushed forward and swiped at Ilian's right side. He jumped back, barely dodging the assault.

  Before he could recover, the man was on him again. Ilian narrowly fought off a stab at his chest with his own blade. His hand stung from the impact, and he almost dropped the dagger.

  I'm being pushed back. I have to do something. Anything!

  Then, an opening appeared. The man swung wide, his blade aimed for Ilian's neck. Ilian ducked low and rushed forward, aiming straight for the man's stomach.

  You're mine.

  Ilian's blade struck air as his assailant whirled away from his strike. The man's hand latched onto Ilian's arm and twisted it around his back, sending waves of pain through his shoulder. The man jerked his arm harder and Ilian cried out, dropping his blade to the ground in the process.

  He could smell the man's foul breath as he chuckled behind him.

  “Tim taught me that one. I never thought anyone would actually fall for it.” He sniffed. “Now, what to do with you?” He twisted Ilian's arm some more, invoking a shout of pain. “Ah, this will do.”

  He kicked the back of Ilian's leg. Ilian fell forwards and felt his assailant's hand on the back of his head. The world around him turned into a white blur as his face slammed into the ground. Blood trickled from Ilian's lip, coloring the snow below him a pinkish-red.

  “This is a nice weapon you've got here.” The man held it next to his face so Ilian could see it. “I don't hear anymore screaming, so I imagine that she-demon is probably on her way out here.” He sat on top of Ilian's back. “Guess I should at least take care of you before she comes for me too. This is going to be very painful.” He drove the dagger into Ilian's back.

  Pain shot through Ilian's body and he screamed. He forced his mouth shut and gritted his teeth. Pain and an anger he'd never known enveloped him.

  You bastard! I'll kill you. I'll kill you. You're going to bloody die.

  The man pulled the blade from his back and plunged it in again. “This is for Tim.”

  His body spasmed and his mouth gaped open, but only a gurgle sound escaped it this time.

  Images of Ilian grinding the man's bones to dust, ripping his heart from his chest, and slicing skin from the bone flashed through his mind.

  The man stabbed Ilian's shoulder and moved the blade around inside of his flesh.

  Ilian gasped in pain. His vision swam and the world around him grew dim.

  “Before I kill you,” blood gushed from the wound as he pulled the dagger out, “I just wanted you to know my name. It's Fin.” He sounded pissed.

  The images continued to flare through his mind. Ilian's anger warmed his blood and pulsed within him.

  Die. Die. Die.

  Something inside of him snapped.

  “DIE YOU BASTARD,” Ilian yelled at the top of his lungs, releasing his pain and anger all into a single wave of heat.

  Fin screamed.

  A new kind of pain seared through Ilian's body and stole his breath away.

  The weight lifted off his back, and Fin slump into the snow behind him, still screaming. Ilian looked at the dagger in his arm.

  It was wreathed in blue flames.

  A fire burned along the entire length of the blade and up the hilt. Ilian stumbled to his feet, expecting his arm to light on fire. And yet, it didn't. Even the pain in his back and arm had vanished. He jerked the blade out and held it out in front of him.

  The wound smoked and hissed as the blue fire swirled up and around his shoulder. A moment later, not even a scar remained.

  Fin knelt, eyes wide as he stared at the remains of his right arm. It had been burnt to a stump just above the elbow. “Wh—What have you done?” He let out a cry. “My hand! What the hell are you?” Tears streamed down his face.

  The flames flickered and died out. Ilian looked at the blade as if expecting it to catch on fire again.

  Nothing happened.

  His anger was replaced with both fear and awe. Ilian flexed the muscles in his arms, half not believing what he was seeing. He lowered his gaze and took a step back as he noticed all the blood on the ground beneath him.

  That's my blood. I was definitely stabbed. What happened? What was that?

  “You bastard,” Fin screamed. “I'll kill you for what you've done to me!” Fin staggered to his feet, his face pale and covered in sweat. His breath came in ragged gasps as he stumbled towards Ilian. He brandished his dagger in his remaining hand, the point aimed for Ilian's chest.

  Ilian tried to move out of the way, but he was still weak. His legs gave out and he fell forward; right into Fin's path.

  This is it. I die for real this time.

  Whatever power had just saved him was gone. Fin's eyes were wide with hatred, his teeth bared like a wolf. A gentle breeze teased Ilian's hair and kissed his cheek.

  The breeze grew into a whirlwind.

  Fin never reached Ilian. His last good arm, severed at the shoulder, fell to the ground. Blood sprayed out of the wound and pooled on the ground beneath him.

  Karena's blade pierced Fin's neck, splattering blood across Ilian's face. Fin made a gurgling sound before dropping to the ground.

  He spasmed a few times before going still.

  Ilian's whole body shook.

  This is too much. Too much death. I—I what was I thinking?

  He was convinced more so now than ever before. This woman was a demon sent from hell for him. But, what had he ever done wrong? Nothing. He had done nothing wrong. And yet—

  “What the hell did you do to his arm?” Karena knelt beside him, studying the stump of Fin's right arm. She wiped off her blade on Fin's clothes.

  Is it some kind of ritual for her to clean her blade on her opponents corpse? This is the second time...

  Karena snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Well?”

  “Wh—What?” he stumbled, ripped out of his thoughts.

  She eyed him. “I'm asking you, what the hell did you do to him?”

  Ilian stammered and waved his hand around, pointing at his arm, but nothing coherent would come out.

  “Calm down, Ilian.” Karena laid her hand on his shoulder. “What happened here?” Her voice was gentle. Something resembling sympathy shown in her eyes.

  Caught off guard, Ilian could do nothing but stare at her. This woman, who killed others ruthlessly and without feeling was being nice to him? It didn't make sense.

  He took a several deep breaths. “He stabbed me and—I just—screamed—and then next I know, he's screaming too, my dagger is on fire and he has no hand. And somehow, my wounds are healed. That's all I know.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “I see.”

  Karena sheathed her dagger in the blink of an eye. “Come on, we need to clean up. The bar keep is beside himself with fright inside. I need to calm him down so we can get out of here on schedule.”

  “What about the others?”

  “The others?” Karena asked.

  Ilian gulped. “Did you...”

  She snorted. “No, I didn't kill them. I just rendered them... unable to fight back. You might think I'm a monster, but I don't kill indiscriminately. You have much to learn about me, boy.”

  Much to learn... how long am I going to be stuck with her?

  “Let's get you cleaned up. I'm bloody tired and there's no way you're getting back in the bed like that.”

  Ilian walked close beside Karena as they went inside. She frightened him in s
o many ways; but, at the same time, the mere sight of her flared his temper, and made his blood boil. He knew that someday he'd have no choice but to kill her.

  And yet, he found himself strangely comforted by her presence.