A Sellsword's Mercy

by Jacob Peppers

  May nodded, swallowing. “Balen and Thom are sailors, Bastion was wounded and the boy’s too young to know what’s going on. Balen and Thom will take them where they feel safest. To the ships.”

  “Yes, I suspect they will,” the captain agreed. “And it won’t take a genius to search for them there.”

  “Gods,” May breathed, as troubled by the captain’s obvious worry as anything else, for Captain Brandon Gant had never struck her as a man easily disturbed. “We have to do something, Captain.”

  “Yes. But what?” Brandon asked, and May found she had no answer to give him. All her knowledge, all her network of informants and spies was of little use so long as she remained in this cell.

  The captain must have read her thoughts on her face, for he sighed. “I’ll do what I can to get you out of here, May, but I can make no promises. The queen still listens to my counsel, but she does not seem to hear it, and I get the feeling she only does it to humor me. It is as if she’s in shock or…” He shook his head, frustrated. “I don’t know. Only that bastard, Grinner, seems able to get through to her. Still, I’ll try.”

  May nodded. “Thank you, Captain. That’s as much as anyone can ask.” He started away, but paused when May spoke again.

  “Captain…about Hale. I know how it looks, and I can’t explain it, but I don’t believe he was involved in this.”

  The captain turned and considered the giant crime boss where he sat, his head drooping on his chest. “I’ll send a healer to look at his wounds. That much, at least, I can do.”

  “Thank you, Brandon. I know things look dark enough now, but everything will work out in the end. You’ll see.”

  He grunted. “I wish I had such faith.”

  So do I, May thought. But she forced a smile she didn’t feel. “And I wish I had a bath, but the gods will what they will. And don’t concern yourself, Captain—I have enough faith for the both of us.”

  She watched him walk away, and it was all she could do to keep from screaming out, to stop herself from begging him to come back, to not leave her alone. When he was gone, she let out a heavy breath, sinking down onto the floor of her cell and leaning her head back against the wall. There had been a time, days ago, when she’d worried over the filth and dirt that covered her, when she’d been appalled at the smell that was most definitely beginning to gather around her, but she thought little enough of it now. Not, she suspected, a good sign.

  “That was a…good job. With the captain.”

  May’s head shot up in surprise. Hale sat where he had before, but he’d raised his head, and he studied her with eyes that looked black in the torchlight. May snorted. “Not subtle, indeed. And just how long have you been awake?” she demanded.

  The crime boss grunted in what might have been amusement or pain. “Never slept. Seems it don’t come as easy when…I don’t have a good whore to send me off. Tell me, woman,” he said, leaning his face forward, “you scared?”

  May rolled her eyes. “Let me guess—this is the part where you tell me I shouldn’t be afraid?”

  His laugh was interrupted by the pained hiss of a sharp intake of breath. “Hardly. Only a fool feels no fear when the blades come out, and they’re out in truth now, make no mistake. My question for you is, when they get here—and get here they will—what will you do? Will you run or beg? Will you fight?”

  May considered the question. She thought of Aaron, of Adina and the others, all in danger now, if they weren’t dead already. She thought of Grinner, so confident in his newfound power, and she realized that though she was still afraid, she was also angry. Angrier than she ever remembered being in her life. She felt her upper lip twist into a snarl. “I’ll fight, alright. And when I find out who is behind this, I’ll kill every last one of them.”

  The crime boss grinned. “Now, that’s good. Fear won’t do us much good, not now. But anger…now that we can use.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  He found her at the edge of the clearing, her back to him as she stared off into the surrounding woods as if searching for something. As he drew closer, he noted a slump to her shoulders, one that had not been there before. It gave her a broken, defeated look he did not like, one at odds with her usually confident, self-assured manner.

  She turned as he approached, wiping an arm angrily at the tears streaming down her face before turning away once more. “Leomin. What are you doing here?”

  He came to stand beside her, following her gaze out into the woods. “They are out there, yes? Those creatures of Kevlane’s, what your fa—what the Speaker calls the Lifeless.”

  She shot a look at him. Clearly, she had expected him to say something else, and she nodded slowly. “Yes, I suppose they are,” she said, looking out at the woods. “Though, I take it you have more experience with them than I.”

  “Something about which I take no pleasure, I assure you.”

  “What are they, Leomin?”

  “Once, they were men and women. Children. Now, though, I suppose ‘Lifeless’ is as good a term as any, though even that is not quite right, for it is that small spark of life remaining inside them that makes them so terrible to behold. They are fast, and they are strong, and, if the magi is given time, they will number in the thousands. If, that is, they do not already.”

  “I saw them,” she said. “In the clearing. The Akalians are known as the best fighters in the world, yet I watched two or three of them fall for every creature that died.”

  “Yes,” Leomin said. “They are terrible indeed.” He resisted the urge to ask her how she was, to see if he could find words to heal some of that pain she so obviously carried inside her. She would not thank him for the attempt, he knew, would only withdraw further into that place of agony and grief that she had erected around herself.

  “And yet…” she said, her voice little more than a whisper, “you are going to fight them.”

  “Not alone, lady,” he said. “Were it so, I do not think you could even call what would follow a fight.”

  “You and the others then. You will follow that General Envelar into battle.”

  “Yes.”

  “I saw him in the clearing, too. He is a cold one, Leomin. Cold and hot all at once.”

  “Yes,” the Parnen said. “He is. And he is my friend. Aaron Envelar is no simple man, lady, but then, these are not simple times.”

  She grunted. “That’s true enough, anyway. But what of it? I saw your Aaron Envelar fight, Leomin, saw the way he reveled in it, the way he enjoyed it. Maybe he is complicated, but he is no hero out of a storybook—that much I know.”

  “Forgive me, lady, but heroes do not live in storybooks. They never have. I will admit Aaron Envelar is no knight in shining armor but who is? He is only a man, with his own faults, his own weaknesses, but he is a man with a skill in combat unmatched by any I have ever seen, even our black-garbed friends here. Still, it is not his talent with a blade that makes him a hero—Aaron Envelar is possessed of a will greater than any I have ever known. He is not a man who loves easy, but when he does he would take on the gods themselves to protect the people he cares for.”

  “Then he is a fool, for what chance does any man have against a god?”

  Leomin considered that for several seconds and finally he nodded. “A fool. Yes, Aaron Envelar is a fool, Seline. But then, all men who have shaped history were thought so in their time. All courage contains within it foolishness, and if the world should survive what’s coming, then it and all the people within it will owe our foolish general a great debt, for it will be he who has made it possible.”

  “Pretty words, Leomin,” Seline said, “of course, you have ever had a way with words, as you have had a way with lies. Tell me, if you have such faith in General Envelar, are you truly willing to die for him?”

  Leomin laughed. “Dying is easy enough, lady. Wise men or fools, we all share that particular talent. But yes, if you must hear it, then I am willing to die for Aaron Envelar. But more importantly, I am willing to liv
e for him, am willing to follow him in what he believes needs doing.”

  She snorted. “Well, I doubt you’ll have to worry about living for him long. If Kevlane really does have many more of those creatures, the general and everyone who marches with him will be dead soon enough.”

  “Perhaps.”

  For a time, the two said nothing, thinking their own thoughts as they gazed out at the interminable depths of the woods. There was beauty there, yet danger too, slinking around the trunks of the massive oaks, lurking in the shadows. It had not found them yet, but it would. That was a thought, a truth, they both shared.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Leomin was startled and, seeing his shock, she shrugged. “I’ve spent nearly my whole life hunting death, Leomin, expecting it. I’ve wasted years tracking a monster, sniffing out his trail, following what few signs there were—rumors and rumors of rumors. I took this quest on, but I never expected to survive it. After all, anyone who goes hunting for monsters has to accept not just the possibility, but the certainty of her death, for monsters are not made to cower, but to kill. Yet, when I finally found my monster, I realized he was only a man after all. No better than other men…but no worse either.”

  Leomin studied her for some time before finally speaking. “That explains why you did not bring the blade home when you held it at your father’s throat, lady, but it does not explain why you would accompany us.”

  “Maybe I’m bored?” she said, trying for a smile. When Leomin only watched her, saying nothing, she finally sighed. “Very well, Leomin. It seems you will know all my secrets, after all. I’ve spent the time since I was a child focused on death, seeking it, in truth, not just for the man I hunted but, I think, for myself as well. It would be…I believe I would like fighting for life instead.”

  Tears gathered in her eyes, and it seemed to Leomin that she was like a dam holding back a raging river of emotion. It would break, sooner or later, and when it did he hoped only that he would be there to see it. There would be sadness, of course, but he thought that, within those currents, there would be joy as well. Still, he had some idea what dangers lay ahead of them, more than she, and his first instinct was to grab her and shake her, to scream that she must be insane, that she should get as far away from him and the others as possible. Though all lives led to death, the task which he and the others undertook was almost certainly the quickest path to it.

  His second thought, though, was to embrace her, to see if he might in some small way erase the pain and loss he saw etched into her face. Vengeance was a cruel master, but the abandoning of it left a hole in a person’s soul that was not easily filled. He wanted to tell her he was glad she was here, with him, that he was overjoyed that she would be with him and the others whatever came.

  But instead, he only nodded, doing his best to school his features to avoid betraying his own mixed feelings. “And your father?” he said, hating himself for asking but knowing it was a question that should—no needed—to be asked.

  “Not my father,” she said. She held up a hand to forestall his comment. “Oh, do not look so scared, Leomin. I will not kill him, but neither will I claim him. He abandoned me long ago, made of me a stranger—doing that was his choice, not mine. I will not hate him, but neither will I love him. He is nothing to me but a man I might pass in a busy city street and never see again—no more, no less.”

  “But, Seline,” Leomin said, unable to resist moving forward and putting his hands on her shoulders, for she looked so vulnerable, so small in her grief. He thought at first that she would knock them away, but she did not. “Your father,” he said, his voice soft and low as if speaking to a wounded dog, afraid that it might bolt at the slightest provocation. “I’m sure he had his reasons.”

  “All men do,” she agreed, looking into his eyes. “But his reasons are not mine, Leomin. I will come with you and the others, will help however I can, but do not ask me to love him. Do not ask me…” She trailed off, tears streaming down her face, and Leomin pulled her against his chest.

  “I will not, lady,” he whispered. “And I swear to you that if ever I might save you hurt, I will do it. I will not abandon you.”

  She nodded against his chest, and he felt the wet, but not unpleasant sensation of her tears soaking through his shirt. After a time, she backed away. “What will you do now, Leomin of the Parnen?” she said. “You know all my secrets—they are laid bare before you.”

  He smiled, and somehow the smile felt more real on his face than thousands that had come before it. “I will cherish them, lady. You are beautiful. You know that, don’t you?”

  She gave a sardonic grin. “More pretty lies.”

  “No, Seline,” he said. “No more lies between us. Remember?” He started to say something more, but paused as he felt something from behind him in the Akalians’ barracks, a surge of power akin to that given off by the bond of the Virtues. He turned, frowning. “Did you feel that?”

  “Yes,” she said, her own expression troubled. “I…what was it? Is it…them?”

  Leomin had no need to ask what “them” she meant, for his first thought had also been of Kevlane’s creatures, that they had somehow already found them here, but using his own bond, he reached out tentatively to that surging power then finally shook his head. “No,” he said. “Not them. I think it is your father and the others. And…I think that we should go to them.” He turned back to her. “Will you come?”

  “In a moment,” she said. “I think…I would like to be alone for a time.”

  Leomin frowned, thinking, and she sighed. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Leomin. I’m not going to hurt myself, if that’s what you’re thinking. And do you really think you could stop me, if I meant to?”

  “Lady,” Leomin said honestly, “I have seen you move. If that was what you wanted…I doubt my eyes would even be fast enough to see it.”

  She smiled. “They’re something aren’t they?”

  “The Virtues?” Leomin asked, and she nodded. “Yes. They are something.” He glanced back at the barracks from which that power still radiated.

  Seline laughed behind him. “Oh, go on then, Leomin. I will follow soon enough.”

  Leomin smiled at her. “I’ll be waiting.”

  ***

  Seline watched the Parnen walk toward the barracks, the usual swagger in his step that she suspected he didn’t know he had. Not that his lack of knowledge would keep her from teasing him about it the next time they spoke. She felt…strange. Lonely, tired, sad, all of those things, but most of all she felt lighter. It was as if a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders, and though she had carried it long enough that she might never walk properly again, still she would walk, and at least she was done carrying its weight.

  Leomin had only just disappeared inside the barracks when the Virtue of Speed materialized in front of her, a glowing ball of yellow light that swirled and danced as if it contained within it some great storm. “You said nothing of how you feel for him.”

  “No,” she said. “I did not.”

  “Then, perhaps you have not told him all your secrets, after all.”

  She smiled. “Perhaps not.” But she thought that, given time, she would. She glanced back at the forest where, somewhere not so far away, those creatures hunted her and the others. She would tell him. Given time.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “…Just don’t make no sense, is all. Why would they off and disappear like that? And right before we go marchin’ to war, too.” The man shook his head as he leaned back in his chair, glancing at his four companions seated around the table. “I tell you, it just don’t make sense.”

  “Don’t it?” another spat. He was a big man, his stocky frame thick with muscle, and if the scars on his face—a nose that had been broken more than once, and an ear that looked like a lump of misshapen wax—were any indication, Darrell suspected he was a man who had little time for words, a man who preferred to finish his arguments with fists instead of rh
etoric. “I ask you,” he said, glancing around at the others seated, “what type of fella is it that runs off right before the blood lettin’ starts? Seems to me there’s only one kind—a coward.”

  Darrell watched the reaction of the man’s companions from where he sat in the corner of the tavern’s common room, his hood pulled down to cover his face, and was dismayed to see them nodding slowly in agreement. All but the first man who shook his head slowly. “Just never would have thought it of the general, is all.”

  “Yeah?” the big man answered, a challenge in his eyes. “Well, I never would have thought I’d see you get knocked on your ass by a woman in the practice grounds neither, Lemm, but thinkin’ a thing don’t make it true, does it?”

  The first man colored at that and looked as if he would argue, but remained silent.

  “There is another possibility though,” a new voice said, and Darrell bared his teeth as the man spoke, for this was the man he had come to listen to, the one he had painstakingly followed through Perennia’s streets.

  “Yeah?” the big man said, as if daring the other to contradict him.

  The one who’d spoken only shrugged. “Could be you’re right, and I can’t say as it’d surprise me none. Lot of folks are brave enough when the swords stay in their sheaths, or when they figure it’s other folks’ll be doin’ the bleedin’ instead of them. But those same ones’ll trample you into the dust if you’re in their way when they take it in mind to run.”

  The big man grunted. “That’s what I said, ain’t it?”

  “So it is,” the other agreed, “so it is. And put it mighty good you did, too. Only, you asked what kind of man runs right before the fightin’ starts. Well, seems to me that there’s two kinds. Cowards, like you said, and one other…” He hesitated for effect, glancing around as if expecting that they might be overheard. Not that it mattered—Darrell had listened to many such men in many such taverns over the last few days, and he knew well enough what he would say. Knew, too, that those who would disagree with the sentiment were growing fewer and fewer every day. “Well, the other’s a traitor. Far as I’m concerned,” he said, pausing to eye each man in turn, “a fella like that is the worse of the two. Sure, a coward might discover on the day of a battle that his legs ain’t good for nothin’ but running, but a traitor, well, a fella like that never meant to fight at all. He’s the kind that won’t meet you blade to blade, the kind’ll sneak up on you when you’re abed and slice a smile in your throat.”