They were criminals, after all, not trained guardsmen—those, thankfully, still hesitated, not joining the fight—men and women who had spent their lives preying on the weak, counting on the elements of surprise, brutality, and numbers to survive. But here, now, their numbers seemed to mean nothing, and the only surprise was the efficient, shocking violence with which their comrades were cut down.
Adina saw the moment when things changed, the moment when what had been an army bent on blood became instead a crowd of terrified men trampling each other to get away from Aaron and the black-garbed figures. Soon, there was no one left to fight, no one left to kill, and Aaron and the Akalians stood surrounded by dozens of bodies, facing the guardsmen and, in front of them, Councilman Grinner who gaped at the bloody spectacle, his body rigid as what little remained of his men fled past him.
“Impossible,” he said. “Fight them, you cowards! Stand and fight!” But he might as well have said nothing, for all the attention the criminals gave him, and soon he stood in the street facing Aaron and the others, the guardsmen at his back, his own men scattered.
***
“Oh, by the gods, I can’t believe it,” May breathed, watching the criminals rushing past the guards and into the alleyways, the faces she was able to see twisted in fear, their eyes wild like those of hunted animals. The guards still made no move, only stood still in the street. “Hale,” she said, “I don’t…I don’t think the guards are going to attack. I think…I think we’re going to be okay.”
The crime boss didn’t answer, and May turned to see him still sitting with his head back, his eyes closed, his hands gripping the bloody haft of the axe. “Hale?” May walked back into the tailor’s shop. “Hale, didn’t you hear me? I think we’re going to live to see tomorrow, after all…” She trailed off, noticing, for the first time, how very still the crime boss was. His chest did not rise and fall with his breath, did not move at all.
“Oh, Hale,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
But the crime boss did not respond, and the only answer she received was in the form of the small, knowing smile that still sat on his face. Whatever his final thought had been, she supposed that, at least, it must have been a good one.
***
“Well?” Grinner demanded, turning to the guards behind him. “What are you waiting for? Kill them! Your queen demands it!”
“They don’t work for you, Grinner,” Aaron said, walking closer, his bloody sword held down at his side. “They never did.”
“Don’t you hear me, you fools?” Grinner screamed, his anger giving way to fear as he stepped back, watching Aaron approach. “Kill them! In the name of your queen!”
The guards still did not move, did not so much as answer, and Grinner tried to push his way through them, but for all their unresponsiveness, they stood like a wall, barring his way. Shooting a glance over his shoulder, Grinner made a terrified, mewling sound in his throat as Aaron drew nearer. He moved as if to run around Aaron, but one of the Akalians stepped forward, bringing the old crime boss up short. He tried the other side and was met with the second black-garbed figure, moving up to bar his path.
“W-wait, Silent,” Grinner said, his breath rasping in his chest. “Just wait a second. I can help you—we can help each other.” The sellsword did not respond, only kept walking closer. “Damnit, you fool!” Grinner screeched. “Think about this, about what you’re doing!”
“I have, Grinner,” Aaron said, his voice calm and cold. “I’ve thought about this for a long time.”
With a hiss of rage, the crime boss jerked a cruel knife from somewhere inside his tunic and rushed Aaron. The sellsword brought his blade up, striking the crime boss’s wrist with the flat of it, and Grinner screamed in pain as the knife flew from his fingers. The older man stumbled backward, his hand clamped around his wrist, and Aaron followed, in no hurry now.
“J-just wait, damn you,” Grinner said again. “I did what I thought was best, can’t you see that? For everyone, for Perennia and Telrear both.” He stumbled away, toward the wall of a nearby shop, and Aaron followed him. Grinner screamed, his breath coming in ragged pants, and he pulled his mask free, throwing it at Aaron even as he turned to run, but the implacable guardsmen stood on one side, the Akalians on the other, and there was nowhere left for him to go.
Aaron took in the old man’s ruined face. “Our crimes always catch up to us, Grinner. No matter how fast he is, how hard he tries, no man can outrun his reckoning when it comes.”
Grinner growled, an inarticulate, wordless sound, and swung a fist at Aaron. The sellsword avoided the blow easily, leaning his head back so that it passed in front of him, then kicked the crime boss in the stomach. The breath exploded from the older man, and he slammed into the wooden wall of the building, crumpling to the ground in a gasping heap. “T-trial,” Grinner croaked, “t-there must be a trial. Y-you cannot kill a man without proving he’s g-guilty first.”
Aaron laughed. “I’m not sure what gave you that idea. It seems to me you’ve killed plenty and planned on killing plenty more. Where were their trials, I wonder? Besides, Grinner, your guilt is writ plain for anyone with eyes to see it.”
Grinner gave his own laugh then, a desperate, wretched thing as he looked up at Aaron, one ruined eye weeping a clear substance onto his face. “You are a fool, Aaron Envelar. You always were. And when Kevlane comes with his army, you and everyone you care about will die.”
“Maybe,” Aaron said, grabbing the crime boss’s lank hair and pulling him up, slamming his head against the wooden wall of the shop. “But however it ends, I’ll be here to see it. You’ll just have to guess.”
He replaced his sword in its sheath and drew one of the blades at his side. The crime boss struggled against him, screaming, his wide eyes studying the blade with a sick fascination, but Aaron slammed his head against the building again, and his struggles weakened. “M-mercy,” Grinner gasped in a weak voice. “H-have mercy, Aaron.”
Aaron cocked his head, studying the man. “This is mercy.” The crime boss started to say something else, but whatever it was going to be turned to a wet, gurgling sound as the blade opened a bloody furrow across his throat. Grinner’s eyes went wide with disbelief, as if even now he could not believe such a fate had come upon him, and he wavered drunkenly, his mouth working as if he would speak, but a moment later he collapsed at the sellsword’s feet.
Aaron felt no joy as he watched the man breathe his last, no pleasure, only a vague relief at a job done, one that had been long overdue. He thought of the countless men and women who had suffered and died because of the crime boss’s machinations, thought of all those living who would carry the scars of his cruelty.
Aaron let out a heavy, tired sigh. “This is mercy.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Boyce Kevlane finished reading the letter again, a mixture of emotions crossing his features, and, at this moment at least, they were his. Here, within his personal quarters, if nowhere else, he could wear his own face instead of that of Belgarin. Soon enough, every man, woman, and child would come to know his true face, would come to fear it. For the tournament had been progressing well, his days spent watching over the proceedings, wearing the face of the dead king, his nights filled with the working of the Art on those men and women who had come for the tournament, turning them into creatures, his creatures, adding scores to his ranks.
Given how close he was to having an unstoppable army at his command, the letter’s contents should not have bothered him. Yet, they did. A minor setback, nothing more, but however useless, it was a victory for Aaron Envelar and those others with him, and that thought rankled the magi more than he would have thought possible.
So when he looked up at the man standing before him, his face was twisted with anger. “Your master, it seems, is dead.”
The muscled bodyguard’s eyes went wide at that, his face twisting with emotion, and more than Kevlane thought such a man might feel for his charge. “D-dead?”<
br />
“Oh yes,” Kevlane said, rising from his chair and moving around his desk. “Dead. It seems that Aaron Envelar himself slit his throat for him.”
The man’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, and when he spoke his voice was low, scared. “But…what will I do now?”
“Oh, do not be so upset,” the magi said, coming and placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You are a big man, strong, capable.” He grinned. “I’m sure that we might find something for you. For where one master dies, surely another might fill his place.”
The man’s eyes went wide as he realized exactly what the magi’s words meant. Kevlane nodded to Caldwell who stood at the side of the room with the creature, Savrin, only recently returned from his hunt of the sellsword in the forest. A failure that had been also, for Kevlane had never expected the cursed Akalians to show up, to throw in their lot with Aaron Envelar and the others. A setback, but one that, he told himself, would not matter, in the long run.
He stepped away, walking toward the window as the creature moved forward. Kevlane was so lost in thoughts of vengeance, of the terrible devastation he would wreak on the sellsword and his companions, as well as the Speaker and his ilk, that he hardly noticed the big man’s screams as he fought—quite uselessly—against the creature. In another moment, the screams cut off. “Put him with the others,” the magi said. “I will see to him soon enough.”
“Of course, Master,” the advisor said, bowing deeply, but Kevlane was already turned back to the window, staring out at the darkness. Tomorrow, the tournament would continue, his work would continue, and soon, he promised himself, the world would know all too well what he had wrought.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Aaron stared at the pyre, the flames rising far into the night, and though the towering blaze illuminated the field surrounding it in a ruddy glow, it did nothing to chase away the shadows that crowded in his mind. He wasn’t sure how he felt staring at the flames as they licked at the body within. Was it sadness? Relief? Did he feel anything at all? He had known Hale for many years, and the man had tried to have him killed more than once. That should have been enough to guarantee some satisfaction at the sight of his body feeding the flames, but he had also saved May, had given his life to do so, and so as he departed the world he had left a great debt at Aaron’s feet, one the sellsword could never repay.
“The boss always wanted it this way.”
Aaron turned at the sound of a deep voice to see a big man standing before him, one he didn’t recognize. Behind the stranger stood several others, the biggest woman he’d ever seen, a man with a hawk-nose, and a youth who shifted restlessly from foot to foot. “Do I know you?”
“No, Silent, you don’t, but we know you well enough,” the man said, offering his hand. “The name’s Urek, and if you don’t mind, I reckon I’d like to shake the hand of the man that did for that bastard Grinner once and for all.”
Aaron grunted and shook the offered hand. He expected the man to squeeze in an effort to show his strength, as so many men—particularly men of his size—did, but he surprised him with a handshake that, though firm, was surprisingly gentle. “You worked for Hale then?”
“Aye,” the big man said, and Aaron didn’t think it was a trick of the firelight that made it appear as if the man’s eyes were misted over. “He was the boss, alright, and a better one a man couldn’t ask for.” He snorted, glancing behind them where thousands of men and women had gathered to pay their respects to the dead crime boss as well as those others who had died because of Grinner’s crimes, those whose bodies now fed the other pyres spread out before them. “I think he would’ve shit, he’d seen this. Still, the flames are right anyway—boss always said that when he died he wanted his body burned. Told me the worms were fat enough already, he didn’t mean to give ‘em any free meals.” He snorted, rubbing at his eyes. “He was funny like that. A simple man. But complicated too.”
Aaron nodded. “Yes. Yes, I think he was.”
Urek smiled. “He always liked you, Silent. Respected you—it’s why he tried to have you killed so much, you know.”
“I’m glad he didn’t like me anymore than he did then—some of those times were far too close for comfort.”
Urek laughed, clapping Aaron on the back. “Well. I just wanted to let you know, I appreciate what you did—we all do. If you ever need anything, all you got to do is ask around for old Urek, how’s that? You do that, well, we’ll do what we can for you.”
“We?” Aaron asked.
The big man rubbed a hand across his unshaven face, shaking his head as if embarrassed. “It’s the damndest thing, but well, we’ve got a lot of criminals without a fella to call boss floatin’ around now. And you know enough of us to know we ain’t no good at all without someone to tell us what to do.”
Aaron nodded slowly, realization dawning. “And so that’s you then?”
The man hocked and spat. “Not by choice, I’ll tell you that much. But sure, I suppose it is. For now, anyway.”
Aaron couldn’t help but grin at the man’s obvious discomfort. “So you’ll be the one telling everyone else what to do then.”
“Seems that way. Though the gods alone know who’ll be tellin’ me.” He clapped Aaron on the shoulder once more, then turned and walked away, the others following after him. Aaron watched the man go, thinking that Hale would have been happy with how that had turned out, at least.
He turned back to the flames, watched them dance, and reflected that it was a strange thing about people—they were always more, and always less, than you thought they were. Hale had been a criminal, a murderer and a thief, but he had also been a hero. Queen Isabelle was a ruler of a nation, the daughter of a man widely considered the best king Telrear had ever known, and yet she was a coward. Thinking of her, he glanced at where she stood flanked by guards, looking small and weak and afraid.
Once they had gotten the guards under control and hunted down those of Grinner’s men who they could find, they had marched to the castle, Adina brimming with barely controlled rage at what her sister had allowed to happen. Adina had rebuked her, had told her that her actions might well have doomed all of Telrear. Aaron had expected the queen to argue, to defend herself, but she had only sat in her throne and weathered Adina’s scorn. Even when the princess had informed Isabelle that she was to make no more decisions without first consulting her, still she had not argued, and the expression that came to her face was not one of anger or offense, but of unmistakable relief.
Aaron thought about that as he gazed at the pyres, thought about a lot of things, thousands of questions and so few answers. He watched the fire burn down until there was little left but ash and glowing embers. Then someone touched him on the shoulder, and he turned to see Adina standing there. Behind her stood May and the first mate, Thom—the two holding hands as if, after their ordeal, they didn’t dare let go of each other—Leomin and his new woman, Seline—and what a shock that had been—and Gryle. Save for them, everyone else was gone, the field that had been packed with people the last time he’d looked up now deserted and empty.
He had the vague memory of Wendell muttering something about being tired and needing some sleep, but he thought it all the more likely that the sergeant had decided that now was as good a time as any to pay for the pleasure of a woman’s company.
“Aaron?” the princess said. “Is everything okay?”
He gave her a small smile, then let his eyes take in the others. “Not yet, but it will be. We’ll make sure of it.”
“So we will go to war then?” Gryle asked. There was no fear in the man’s voice, no recrimination or discontent, only the question.
“We’re already in a war,” Aaron said, gripping Adina’s hand and starting away from the fire. “It’s time we started fighting it.”
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Once again, Dear Reader, we have come to the end. I hope you enjoyed spending some more time with Aaron, Adina, and all the others.
The final book in The Seven Virtues series will be out soon. In the meantime, if you’re looking for something to read while you wait, you may want to take a look at The Son of the Morning: Book One of The Nightfall Wars.
If you enjoyed A Sellsword’s Mercy, I’d really appreciate you taking a second or two to leave an honest review on Amazon—as any author can tell you, they make a tremendous difference.
If you’d like to reach out with any questions or comments, you can send me an email at [email protected] or visit my website. I’d love to hear from you!
Note from the Author
Another part of the journey is finished, dear reader. We have traveled far and seen great, terrible things together, but we are not quite done—not yet. If you are tired, do not fret, for I, too, am weary. Let us pause here, then, to gather our breath, our strength, for I believe that we will need it soon. The end is close now, so very close.
Look, up ahead of us. Do you see the chasm? Can you make out the bridge traversing it?
That is the path we must take—there is no other. Please, do not ask me if it will hold our weight, for any comforting words I might offer would ring false, and whatever else passes between us, let there be truth. Let there be that, at the least.
I can’t promise that we will make it across—I can only tell you that others have come before us to this place, that they traveled this very bridge, crossed this very chasm. As for what transpired once they reached the other side…that is something we will discover soon enough.
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