Path of Ruin

by Tim Paulson

  He knew it too, his face was frantic, but there was nothing he could do.

  Mia slashed at his jaw. The beaded end of her foil rapped against the chin strap of his helmet with a solid thwack, teasing it open. The impact opened a gash along his chin. Hot blood formed ribbons down his neck.

  There you are rich boy, one more scar to prove your manhood.

  Though stunned he refused to give up. It was admirable, if stupid. His left hand came around to grab her. Likely he imagined getting a hold of her and using his size and power to wrestle her to the ground. While his friends cheered he would make some pithy comment about little girls playing with men.

  Very well then, to the ground he would go. She pivoted to her right, not slapping his incoming hand away so much as redirecting it. Her left hand wrapped his elbow and took it out and down. His whole body followed like a fresh bag of manure.

  Mia dropped her foil on his wheezing chest.

  “You're slow,” she said with an air of finality. Looking up she noticed the crowd had grown. More than the soldiers, now cooks, stable hands and masons stared. She snorted and stalked off toward the rear of the castle, leaving the old man to explain to his pupils what had happened and why. The stables were waiting.

  “Picking fights with the new blood to sharpen your claws?” Asked a female voice, Ada Wolff, square jaw set as usual in a disapproving sneer.

  “I was asked,” Mia said.

  In her heart she knew she ought to ignore the comment and walk on. Mia didn't want to though. She wanted Ada to provoke her. It was past time for a lesson.

  Michael Hinds stood behind her. A short, stocky fellow, he wore his beard too long to compensate for how sparse his hair had become up top. It was lucky for him the current fashion involved large feathered hats. One of which he wore right now.

  “I wouldn't waste my time with such weaklings. I doubt even one of them will earn a place among the guard,” Michael said, stifling a yawn.

  Mia opened her mouth to reply but closed it again. She wanted to say something in defense of the boy she'd just handled, but found she couldn't.

  “Lady Mia!” A boy was running to her, a page. “The baron summons you to his study.”

  “Very well,” Mia said.

  “I suppose when the baron himself summons you to his private study you'd better go hadn't you Ada?” Michael said.

  “Yes, go see your dearest daddy. Lady Mia. I hope he pays you well enough for your... services.” Ada said, lip twisted in contempt.

  Mia's eyes widened. In a flash she closed the distance between them and wrapped her fingers around the woman's throat, squeezing while her teeth formed a feral snarl.

  Ada tried to fight back. She was taller after all, likely stronger as well, but like all the children of noble blood who's trainer's were forbidden to soil their clothes, not terribly good at close quarters fighting.

  The woman's right arm came in to cuff Mia on the side of the head. With a simple forward lean the fist passed behind while Mia's face, a contorted tornado of rage, closed in on her blonde, blue eyed opponent.

  Michael hovered nearby, clearly trying to decide whether he ought to intervene. Mia shot him a look that froze his blood and his eyes found something important to study on the ground nearby.

  Strong hands appeared on her shoulders, pulling her back. Mia was about to thrust an elbow where she knew his chin would be until she noticed the fingers missing from the hand on her right shoulder. The old man.

  “Mia stop!” he said. His deep voice reminded her of the baron and their deal.

  Mia released the other woman's throat and spat upon the ground.

  “Don't ever call me a prostitute again,” she said. “Next time, you die.”

  Michael bent over a coughing Ada as Mia stalked off, fists clenched at her sides.

  In another place she would have killed that woman and her cohort without a second thought. Soon. Just a few more lessons from this baron. When she finally got his secret she would shake the muck of this place and all the vile people here, from her boots for good.

  * * *

  Atop a makeshift wooden rampart lines released and a six foot section of iron, just hauled from the ground below, dropped. There was a loud clang as the metal contacted the wood surface. The vibration shook the entire structure.

  Henri grimaced. That iron, more than an inch thick, had been twisted like a piece of tin. Its function when affixed to the hardwood logs of the palisade wall had been to reinforce against the odd troll deciding it was worth trying to claw into the village for a taste of the garbage. Now it looked more like a corkscrew and wasn't capable of reinforcing anything.

  “Troll?”

  “No, a horror,” the Sheriff said.

  “Out here? Are you sure?” An eyebrow raised. Would people this far out even recognize one if they saw it?

  She narrowed her eyes at him, as if she knew what he was thinking. “I know what they are. Some of that baron's men came to town a few years gone. They put up placards with pictures.”

  “You saw it?”

  “Hart did first. He was on tower watch. Said it was clawing at the wall like crazy. He came an got me an I put two musket balls in it, from right where you're standing” She said with no small amount of pride. Henri knew Lissa was a woods woman from a long line of frontier folk. She spoke plainly and openly and had few vices save perhaps the fact that at nearly forty summers she'd never married nor sought a husband. Nothing in a small town made tongues waggle more than the marital status of others, especially those perceived as eligible.

  “I don't like it,” Henri said and not just because of the work it would require to heat up and hammer that hunk of iron.

  “Nor I, but you should know, people will be talking about this. They'll be saying that maybe it's looking for you and your boy. It isn't, is it?” Her brown heavily lidded eyes regarded him intently. He knew she was just doing her job, trying to make sure he wasn't a threat to her town, but it still smarted every time a constable or sheriff stopped to have a chat with the dark skinned man, just because.

  “No,” he said, knowing from experience that the less you said to these sorts of people, the better.

  She stared at him for quite a while as if weighing his response against some inner truth meter built from years of experience mediating the disputes that came up in a frontier town. He knew also that it was a ploy. People like her loved to pause, to make the silence uncomfortable so he would fill it with words, all to get more fodder for her mental truth machine. He waited.

  “So you can fix it?” She asked, having apparently decided to end the interrogation for the time being.

  Henri knew she had more questions. It was understandable. The flow of movement tended to go into the cities these days. People moved for work in the factories, mills, or docks and to bask in the new glorious technological achievements so widely known and sought like indoor plumbing. Rarely did anyone move out to the frontier, especially a skilled working man with a child in tow, doubly so if that man and his boy had dark skin.

  He knew how odd it seemed. He kept telling everyone the same story too, that after the death of his beloved wife he'd decided to move out here to find a safe place to raise his son. It helped that it was largely the truth. The folks he told would nod their heads and tell him how quiet it was, save for the odd bear or troll, but they didn't really believe him. Neither did their sheriff.

  “Not relishing it, but yes,” he said.

  How he longed for the metal press machines that would have reduced the chore from hours of heating and hammering to minutes. At least the work had been good for his arms. They never stopped aching but they looked great.

  “Will it be done today? I'm concerned it might come back.”

  “As long as it gets to the forge in an hour or so, yes.”

  “I'll have the boys bring it right down.”

  “Good,” Henri said and left.

  As he walked down the wood board steps from the battlements he knew
the conversation wasn't really over. Lissa would find some reason to come by and chat him up, asking about his job back in the city, his place of birth, his favorite foods, just digging for something she didn't like. Like all the others in every other town they'd been in she'd accosted him immediately when he arrived but when he'd set up shop in the old forge,vacant since the previous blacksmith had packed up his hammer and moved to the city, Lissa had seemed satisfied. Now he'd be forced to endure it all over again.

  What was a horror doing out here anyway? What was going on in those hills beyond the fields? He'd really liked this place. It was clean and quiet and the people weren't all bad once you got past the usual village provincialism, but he'd come here for safety. Those creatures were anything but safe. One horror was bad, but when you saw one, it was a sure bet more were on their way.

  As he approached the forge he could see a familiar form stooped over one of his display tables. It was the village school teacher Miss Emily and she appeared to be handling a dagger. The particular one she'd chosen, longer than usual with extended guard prongs on either side of the blade, was a Miranese design meant to be used in the off hand while fencing. Consequently it had remained unsold on the table since he'd crafted it two months ago.

  Behind her, his son was playing in the dirt.

  “Taking up fencing?” He said, well aware it was not the case.

  Truthfully there was no reason to sell fencing swords or daggers out here, those were for cut purses, military officers and the obnoxious children of nobles, all of which were mercifully absent. He did however do a brisk business in musket repairs, musket balls, nails, horseshoes, door handles and hinges. Coming out here had been like traveling back in time.

  That was just fine.

  “No, I was just checking out your dagger,” she said with a mischievous smile.

  He sighed. “It's the same as it was yesterday. Done early today?”

  She replaced the weapon on the table. “Oh yes. They forgot to tell me about last night's special visitor until I already had the children through early lessons and playing on Harberry hill,” she said as her eyes wandered to stare at his right forearm.

  He knew this because as he reached up to scratch the edge of scruffy beard that had been growing along his chin her gaze followed like a dog's on a piece of meat.

  “And?”

  “Ah... and when I'd brought the children in, all the parents were there waiting, haranguing me for being a fool for taking their children outside! Ha!” Emily laughed bitterly.

  She really was pretty, he thought, as he looked at her. More than that though, Emily was a good person. She laughed easily, smiled often and had a quick wit about her. He'd been surprised to hear Emily hadn't considered going South to attend one of the women's colleges. She'd said it was because she felt tied to the village, that it was her home. It was a shame what had happened to her husband.

  “That's the way with parents. As you are well aware, all problems regarding our children are the teacher's fault.”

  “Always,” she said and smiled.

  A clang from behind him had a familiar ring to it. He turned to see four of the volunteer town guard hauling the corkscrewed iron bar.

  “As you can see I've got a lot of work on order today. Is it possible you could continue watching Adem for me? I'd be glad to compensa-”

  She touched his forearm, squeezing a little. “I'd be glad to. As long as we can have that talk.”

  He knew what she meant to talk about. As comely as she was, he'd already told her where his feelings were. His thumb rubbed the wedding band on his left hand.

  “I can't Emily. Would you please just take some coin so I don't feel like I'm taking advantage of you?”

  Her green eyes smoldered at him. “I don't need coin! I'm lonely Henri. Maybe I don't mind if you take advantage of me.”

  He grumbled.

  “It would solve a lot of problems for both of us!” she added hastily. “Tongues would stop wagging about you... and about me. I don't escape their judgment either you know, though how I was responsible for Hans being mauled to death by the bear he was hunting is beyond me.”

  He was about to protest again but she shushed him.

  “Hear me out. You need someone to take care of Adem while you work and you need to make inroads here, to become part of the community. I've lived here my whole life, I can help the two of you fit in and make friends. Who knows, perhaps in time Adem could have a brother or sister or two... I'm almost positive our lack of children was Hans doing, he had some issues with his... ah, equipment,” she said, obviously willing him to accept, expecting him to.

  The way her large brown eyes looked up at him he could feel her loneliness. He felt that too. His body yearned for the touch of a woman but not this one, another. One he'd pledged himself to forever, one he'd never see again.

  “I'm sorry.” He said, watching her face fall. It made him sad for her and also for himself. She was right, it would be better for him and for Adem. He just couldn't.

  “Where you want it?” said a guardsman, clearly wishing to put the damned iron bar down and be done with it.

  “Inside, just to the left of the forge, let me show you.”

  “Henri, this is not over!” Emily said as she moved to where Adem was now stacking towers of pebbles and then knocking them down triumphantly.

  “Yes it is.”

  “Oh no it's not! When you come by later, I'm going to let you sample my wares,” she chirped brightly.

  One of the guards snorted with laughter, almost dropping the bar.

  “Emily!” Henri said, reddening.

  * * *

  Nearby in the shadow cast by an overhanging eve at the back of the cobbler's shop stood the form of an old woman. She waited, observing as the little boy with the curly golden hair and brown skin placed one tiny pebble upon another, building impossible little towers that stood too tall and too firm, especially given the uneven breeze that tousled the boy's hair and his teacher's skirt. The young woman was busy throwing herself at the boy's father. That was good. It was a distraction. Distractions were often quite useful.

  Chapter 2

  "Be mindful of your own arm's curve. You want the edge to lead through your target before turning."

  -Scarosian treatise on saber fencing, 1533

  When Mia arrived at the tall stained oak doors to the baron's study she knew at once he was within. The sweet scent of his favorite tobacco seemed to seep through the very wood. Likely someone else had preceded her only moments before, drawing out some stray zephyrs of the pipe. She rapped upon the door using the cast brass knocker shaped like a griffon's eagle head and lion paws.

  “Come,” called a familiar voice.

  She put her weight into the solid door and stepped into the study. High bookshelves dominated the room like the towers of a castle. They were crammed with every manner of books. Great old illuminated tomes sat adjacent to newer printed volumes but all were bound in the finest gilded leather. There was a globe as well, one marked with many tiny pins. Nearby was the monstrous fireplace, currently dark but filled with dried wood in anticipation of the colder days soon to come.

  The baron sat forward in his high backed chair and took a puff on his pipe as she strode into the study. Next to him stood one of his two closest advisers. Johannes, a wisp of a man with a long neck wrapped by an enormous white lace collar, was currently pointing to a section of a document on the baron's desk.

  Movement to her right drew Mia's eyes toward the line of tall windows. Aaron was there, her “brother” or so she'd been told to call him.

  “Good you've come. Johannes, leave us, please.”

  “Of course my lord. We can finish this at... some other time,” Johannes said, his voice slippery sweet.

  Mia half expected a forked tongue to flick out with every other word. She knew the man was related to the Haletts in some way, for that matter technically her own relation, a loathsome prospect. She was glad when he'd gone.


  “Mia, close the door. We have business,” The baron said with the stem of his pipe clasped firmly in one side of his mouth. His hands lay below on the desk, fingers clasped.

  “No training today then?” She nodded toward Aaron.

  Though Aaron was tall and those lanky arms could conceivably give him good reach he was anything but physically gifted. There were pools wagered, won and lost, based on which bit of carpet in which room, hall, or stairwell, he would take a tumble on next.

  Her question was ignored.

  “Have a seat,” the baron said.

  Aaron came away from the window and nodded to her as he lowered himself into one of the two smaller chairs arrayed in front of the baron's oak desk.

  “I've no interest in family chats,” Mia said and turned on her heel to leave.

  “I said have a seat!” the baron said, cold blue eyes alive and sharper even than his tone. “Don't worry. You'll like what I have for you.”

  Curiosity piqued, she obliged, though to do so she was forced to pull the pistol from behind her back and place it on the baron's desk.

  “Carry that to bed with you?” Aaron said with one raised eyebrow.

  “It's better company than some, or so I hear,” she said.

  Her adopted brother shot daggers from his eyes but said nothing.

  The baron eyed them both.

  “I have good reason to believe an army of imperial troops composed of nearly all the empire's levies has crossed the border to our lands near the Fife river. The invasion I feared has come.”

  “Full scale war then,” Aaron said, a grim set in his jaw.

  “Indeed.”

  Mia said nothing but her mind rushed forward to the thrill of combat. She'd worked as a mercenary in the past but always in minor conflicts between nobles or cities, never a real war. Troops hadn't marched in any numbers in the Northern lands in decades. Largely because of the man puffing his pipe in front of her.