The Lure of Fools

by Jason James King

  “Yes, child?” the monk asked in a fatherly tone, although it was undercut by a current of repressed irritation.

  Jekaran dipped his head in respect. “I am sorry to disturb you, but I am looking for a member of your brotherhood.”

  “Come back tomorrow then.”

  The monk began to close the door, so Jekaran blurted out, “Your sanctuary turns away petitioners?”

  The old man gave Jekaran a flat look. “We serve The Divine Mother’s children from dawn to dusk. Even the servants of Rasheera need rest.”

  He started to shut the door again, but Jekaran stopped the door with his foot.

  “Do I need to send for the city guard?” the monk asked.

  “I am looking for a man named Irvis. I have important business with him.”

  A knowing look passed over the monk’s face. “Ah, I see. Well, Brother Irvis isn’t here right now.”

  “What?” Jekaran asked in surprise. “When will he return?”

  “I am sure I don’t know,” the monk said dryly.

  “Is he on a pilgrimage?”

  The monk smirked. “Something like that.” And then he pulled the door shut.

  Jekaran stared incredulously at the monastery’s doors for what felt like an eternity. Where was his uncle’s friend? He sighed as he turned and began walking away. He would come back in the morning when the monastery was open and find a different monk to ask. Maybe he could get a better answer then.

  Tired and frustrated, Jekaran wandered through Rasheera until long after dark. What was he supposed to do now? Every minute he carried the sword, he risked being arrested for illegal possession of a weapon talis. The possibility unnerved him. And then there was the Rikujo. What if Kaul had used a speaking stone to send word to the band that worked this city? What if they were on the lookout for him? Jekaran’s anxiety heightened and he obsessively surveyed his surroundings. The alleyways, rooftops and darkened doorways stoked his fear; men could easily wait to ambush him in those shadows.

  Jekaran abruptly stopped walking as he caught sight of a barefoot woman dressed in what looked like an expensive, sleeveless gown. Her long, dark hair grazed her creamy skin, and a stunningly perfect feminine shape swayed as she moved. Divine Mother, but she’s beautiful. Absolutely the most gorgeous woman Jekaran had ever seen. Probably not much older than himself, she was a noblewoman to be sure. But what was a lady doing walking alone and barefoot on the city streets after dark? He looked around, searching for a gentleman escort, which she didn’t have. Strange.

  His gaze stopped short, though, as he spotted the gang of footpads trailing her at a distance. There were six of them, all dangerous looking men, all watching the lady intently.

  Oh no, Jekaran groaned. She doesn’t even see them.

  Whatever the noblewoman’s reason for being out after dark, by herself and without shoes, she was in danger. He clenched his teeth. He had to do something.

  The sparsely occupied street met his scrutiny with a mocking silent laughter. The handful of quiet travelers paid no attention to him, the woman, or the band of men waiting for their chance. And no guards, his thoughts growled. Where were they when you needed them?

  Jekaran swiveled his head back in the woman’s direction, his muscles tightening as she turned down a darker side street. “Dammit!” He said aloud as the gang of toughs sped up to overtake her. His hands tightened into fists at his side. He couldn’t let them have her, but at the same time, interfering would get the attention of Rasha’s police. With an illegal weapon talis in his pack, and possibly Rikujo assassins after him, getting involved in an incident like this would draw a terrible amount of attention. He might as well jog down the streets shouting his name. And that’s if he survived the encounter, which was a dubious prospect at best.

  Jekaran almost convinced himself to turn away, but his conscience wouldn’t allow it. And if he was completely honest with himself, it wasn’t just his conscience. He had always wanted to test himself in a fight. He was fit, a hunter and a wrestler, and had long fantasized about playing the hero. Well, here was his chance.

  Jekaran drew his hunting knife and sprinted across the street. He had no idea what he was going to do when he caught up to the men, but he couldn’t leave the woman to her fate. Maybe he could scare off the footpads somehow, or maybe just his catching them would drive them away. Or maybe they’ll tear you apart, he thought ruefully.

  When Jekaran reached the side street, the scene greeting him gave him pause. The six toughs had encircled the woman, and, although they were making lewd and menacing comments, she looked completely oblivious to the fact that she was about to be raped.

  “So you can help me secure an audience with your king?” the woman asked.

  The toughs snickered and one of them said, “Of course we can. You just need to come with us.”

  “Where?” the woman demanded.

  “There’s a large wine cellar in a house not too far from here,” one of the shorter footpads supplied with a suppressed giggle.

  “Why there?” the woman asked.

  “Because that’s where the king is,” a burly man wearing only a vest and trousers answered in a patronizing tone.

  The woman hesitated a long moment before finally shaking her head and answering cautiously, “No, that is all right. I thank you for your generous offer, but I will not be needing your assistance.” She turned to walk away but had to stop when one of the footpads refused to move out of her path.

  “Please allow me to pass,” the woman said in a dignified tone. That surprised Jekaran, for the woman had obviously caught on to the fact that she was in danger, yet she didn’t sound afraid. In fact, her tone made Jekaran think of a queen issuing orders.

  “We can’t let a pretty thing like you walk around the city all alone, especially at night.” The speaking tough’s voice was drenched in patronizing menace. “There are dangerous men about. Lecherous creatures that might,” he giggled, “take advantage.”

  A wave of knowing laughter passed around the circle of toughs.

  “Thank you, but I will be going now,” the woman said. This time Jekaran caught concern in her tone. She circumvented the footpad blocking her path, but was yanked to a halt as he grabbed her by the arm.

  This is it, Jekaran realized. Suppressing his instinct for self-preservation, he leapt out of the shadows and hurled himself at the back of the tough closest to him. Jekaran crashed into him and the man pitched forward. Before he knew it, Jekaran found himself lying awkwardly on the back of the footpad, the other toughs looking down at him in a stunned stupor. Strangely, the noble woman was gone. The moment became frozen in confusion, the footpads standing, dumbfounded, staring down at him and then searching for the woman.

  “Where did she…?” he heard one of the toughs trail off in confusion.

  Then the moment thawed.

  The burly man beneath Jekaran bucked him off and quickly scrambled to his feet. Jekaran urgently scooted backward, putting as much distance between he and the thieves as he could before rising to his feet. When he stood, he saw the six footpads were all locking angry stares onto him. Jekaran made to raise his hunting knife in warning, but froze in horror as he realized that he no longer held it. I dropped it! A quick scan of the ground proved ineffectual in the dark and the reality of the danger he was in settled on him with nauseating dread.

  The man Jekaran had tackled, a bald, muscular man wearing a goatee, took a step toward him and growled, “You scared that girl away!”

  “You certain it was me, or was it that ugly face of yours?” The words left Jekaran’s mouth before he could stop them. That was stupid, he berated himself. Really stupid!

  The goatee man grinned and took another step forward. “Oh, see. We were just going to beat you and take your coin, but now I think we’re going to have to slit your throat.”

  Jekaran inched backward, trying to purchase himself as much turning distance as possible. “So you need money?” Jekaran asked in a sardonic tone. “Th
at why you were going to take that woman? Cuz you’re randy and didn’t have enough coin for a night at the brothels?” he paused and eyed a stack of wooden crates on his right side. “I guess you must be tired of buggering each other.”

  The grin faded from the goatee man’s face and he lunged at Jekaran who, at the same moment, lurched to his right. Using both his hands in an explosion of effort, Jekaran tipped the stack of wooden crates over, collapsing them between him and the gang. Without waiting to see the crates hit the ground, Jekaran turned and exploded into a sprint. He heard the man’s surprised yelp as a crash echoed through the street, and then him snarling, swearing and calling for help from his men.

  Jekaran reached the connecting street and darted left. He had settled on the monastery as a destination, hoping to find a place to lose them along the way. If not, then he hoped there would be enough people still in the city square to discourage the toughs from attacking him. The shouts of the men behind him echoed through the streets, and he gauged how far back they were without having to turn around. His breathless, lopsided smile grew and then faded. He managed to put enough distance between them that they would no doubt have a difficult time seeing him in the dark of the night. That would give him an opportunity to hide and not be seen.

  But where?

  A bridge crossed the city’s main river a short distance ahead, and the sight stirred an idea in Jekaran’s mind. With every ounce of will and physical strength he possessed, he doubled his speed and soon found himself crossing onto the bridge well ahead of the gang. Trusting the distance he had managed between himself and his pursuers, plus the shadows of the poorly lit street, was enough, Jekaran climbed up over the rail of the bridge, and lowered himself to hang above the river. He pumped his legs to give him momentum and then swung underneath the bridge. He landed on a small ledge of stone, his shoes struggling for a foothold on top of a patch of slick moss. Jekaran’s arms flailed as he fought to gain his balance, struggling to keep from falling into the water. Frantically he searched for something to grab onto. A protuberance in the arch glared at him, and he gripped onto it, his fingers flaring in pain. A curse died in his throat as he heard voices above him.

  “I saw him run this way!” one of the footpads affirmed.

  “Then where did he go?” another asked skeptically

  “Just go!” he heard the goatee man bark, and then the sound of fast heavy footfalls.

  Jekaran breathed a sigh of relief, waited a long moment, and then began to climb up the side of the stone bridge. His head had just crested the rail when two pairs of strong arms grabbed him and roughly pulled him over the rail and onto the bridge. A blow to his gut took the wind out of him, and Jekaran found himself lying on his side, looking up at six angry faces staring down at him.

  “You must think we’re blind and stupid!” The goatee man kicked him hard in the ribs.

  Jekaran gasped, sucking wind so hard that his vision began to dim. “Just stupid,” he wheezed. That provoked a hard kick to his back drawing out a harsh grunt from his throat.

  “You don’t learn, do you?” the goatee man said with a measure of incredulity. He leaned down, hauled Jekaran to his feet, and then backhanded him so hard he spun and fell eight paces away from the group.

  As he hit the ground face-first, Jekaran felt his duffle slide up to the back of his head and something fall out. A metal clatter on the cobblestone bridge told him that Ez’s sword had fallen out of the bag. Through double vision and involuntary tears, Jekaran saw the sword lying on the bridge only a few inches in front of him.

  “Not going to crack wise?” he heard the goatee man deride. A round of laughter rang in the night air.

  He knew that he should just keep his mouth shut, but Jekaran couldn’t help himself. “Don’t need to,” he groaned. “Your friends have noses. They can smell you.”

  Surprisingly, that evoked laughter from the goatee man’s fellows as Jekaran pushed himself to all fours. The muscles in his legs tightened to stand, but a shoe in the middle of his back slammed him back to the ground.

  “I think we’re going to have to cut out that sharp tongue of yours,” the goatee man growled as he grabbed Jekaran by the hair and yanked his head back.

  Having no other options, Jekaran reached toward Ez’s sword and touched the handle with trembling fingers. He slid the handle into his palm and gripped it.

  Then everything changed.

  Time itself seemed to freeze and the clouds of panic veiling his mind cleared. Jekaran’s eyes fell on the amethyst jewel embedded in the face of the sword’s cross-guard and the pulsing purple light it emitted. In the same instant, he became aware of a mental tether-there was no other way he could describe it-connecting his mind to something in the sword. It was as if he was talking to a person, but without words. Knowledge flooded his brain: battle tactics, sword techniques, a dozen different possible actions he could take against the thug pressing down on his back.

  And he understood it all. It was as if Jekaran was suddenly an expert fighter, swordsman, general and martial artist.

  Jekaran threw his head all the way back, a loud crunch followed by a pained yell confirming he had struck the goatee man square in the nose. He rolled left, knocking the thug off him in the process. Before Jekaran knew it, he was on his feet with Ez’s sword in hand.

  In a roar of pain and rage, the goatee man launched himself to his feet and lunged at Jekaran with a dagger. He pivoted at the last moment, sidestepping the thrust and swinging Ez’s sword down on the man’s forearm. Blood splashed Jekaran’s shirt as the severed arm fell to the ground amidst shocked howling. Something took control of Jekaran and his right leg shot up, connecting with the goatee man’s chest and knocking him over the rail of the bridge.

  A heightened sense of his surroundings alerted Jekaran to an advance by three members of the gang. As if he had trained with the sword all of his life, he whirled toward his attackers and effortlessly lopped off one of their heads. The other two had no time to react as Jekaran fluidly brought his free elbow down on the second man’s face and then shoved the sword into the third man’s chest. He yanked the blade out and spun, swinging the sword at the second man. Blinded by the blood and tears from his now broken nose, the defenseless tough never even saw the edge of the sword as it sunk into his shoulder and then cut all the way through. He fell to the ground in two pieces. Jekaran quickly spun to face the remaining two thugs who stood several paces away at the beginning of the stone bridge. Their eyes grew wide and their faces pale. A long, silent moment passed between them, and then the thugs turned and sprinted away.

  Jekaran lowered his arm and wearily dropped the sword to the ground. As soon as it left his hand, the mental connection he felt retreated. It was still there, but it felt muted as though it was no longer at the front of his thoughts. The expert knowledge of fighting and swordplay vanished, and he suddenly had no idea how he had fought with such deadly grace. His confidence gone, Jekaran’s senses were abruptly assaulted by the stench of blood and spilled viscera. He vomited and stumbled away from the corpses, collapsing to his knees near the front of the bridge.

  As a farmer, he had done his fair share of slaughtering animals, but this was different. This was terrible. He retched again. Although sick at the sight of so much carnage, death he caused, he felt no guilt. No, instead he felt a thrill of accomplishment, of pride, but no remorse—as though he had done something great.

  That disturbed him, and his stomach twisted again.

  The clanking of armor drew his attention up to four men of the city guard rushing toward him, weapons drawn. Great, Jekaran thought, now they show up.

  When the guards reached him, one hauled him to his feet and began interrogating him immediately while the other three moved onto the bridge to survey the carnage. “What happened here?”

  “I was att—” Jekaran began.

  “Captain!”

  Jekaran turned his head and saw the guard holding Ez’s sword. This is bad, he realized with an inw
ard cringe.

  “A weapon talis!” the guard called.

  The guard looked at Jekaran, the man’s eyes growing hard. “You’re in a lot of trouble, son.”

  Tears streamed down Maely’s cheeks as she watched two of the four armored guards bind Jekaran in hand shackles and then march him away. She had fetched the city guard to save Jekaran, not to get him arrested. Surely he had not killed those thieves, but, if not Jekaran, then who? And even if he had killed them, the law was clear about a person’s right to defend themselves, even unto death. What was going on?

  Maely scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Certainly, this was all a misunderstanding. She had to get help and she could think of only one person who could give it. Jek’s not gonna like this, she thought as she turned away and began to sprint down the street.

  She didn’t know exactly where to go, but she decided to start at The Wandering Willow.

  Stripped of all his possessions and tossed into a small square cell already occupied by someone sleeping in the corner, Jekaran stared down at his clothes, still stained with splotches of blood. Not being a nobleman, he knew he would have no trial, or even the opportunity to plead his case to a tribunal. He would rot in this cell indefinitely until one of Rasha’s magistrates had time to review the charges against him and declare a sentence, perhaps even death by hanging, as Ez had suggested. Not for killing the four thieves who had attacked him, but because he had been in possession of and used a weapon talis, a grievous violation of the king’s law.

  Under the Aiestal caste system, nobility was determined by talis possession. The richest merchant in the city would therefore be of an inferior social status to even a poor family if they lawfully owned a talis. Of course, that was a ridiculous example, for talises could be bought and sold, and a wealthy merchant would likely own several. However, weapon talises were a different story. They could only be awarded by the king and then only to high-ranking military leaders or celebrated soldiers. Illegal trafficking and unlawful possession of a weapon talis was severely punished. And Jekaran had done far worse. He had actually used a weapon talis.