A Clash of Fates

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “Asher!” Gideon called.

  “Stay with her!” he shouted, pointing down to Avandriell.

  Leaving them behind, the ranger chased the Arakesh round onto the southern ramparts and over the platform that topped the main gates to the courtyard. Asher tried not to think about the fact that Avandriell was making her way down to the crowds that inhabited the large courtyard, confident that Gideon could take care of her.

  Instead, he focused on tracking his enemy down. The Arakesh was younger than him, evidenced by his precise and swift movements. Youth, fortunately, was often trumped by experience. Asher looked ahead, calculating like an assassin. Thinking like the young man was all too easy and he saw the obvious path.

  Past the walls, the nearest building was beyond any human’s ability to jump, but the scaffolding erected after the recent battle closed that gap just enough to make it possible. The climb down from the scaffolding, after the jump, would be slow and, in there, lay the opportunity.

  Asher ceased his pursuit and descended the closest set of steps, leaping the bottom half into the bustling courtyard. With powerful strides he was outside the keep and on the main road in a few seconds, just in time to see the Arakesh leap from the ramparts as predicted. He managed to get a hold on the second platform down from the top, his chest impacting the wood with some force.

  The Ranger raised his hand to draw the silvyr short-sword from his back. All he had to do now was wait for the fool to climb down, by which point he would be at the base of the scaffold, waiting. Asher’s hand hovered over the hilt, failing to grasp it.

  The assassin was climbing up.

  Asher swore and broke into a sprint. By the time he was ascending the lowest rungs of the side ladder, the Arakesh was disappearing over the roof. He climbed up as fast as his limbs would take him, aware that any student of Nightfall possessed the training to vanish, once out of sight. It was in this regard that the young assassin displayed his inexperience further for, as Asher reached the top, he spotted him fleeing over the roof tops when he should have already climbed down, discarded his stolen uniform, and blended into the city.

  Asher would teach him this lesson, though the dead had little need of such things.

  A northerly wind blew out the ranger’s green cloak as he navigated the broken roof and patches of slick ice. Without any great speed behind him, leaping to the next building required a lot of strength from his legs but leap he did. His arms stretched over the lip of the next roof and his hands scrabbled for purchase while his feet slipped against the wall.

  The assassin was already jumping down to the next building, taking advantage of the city’s sloping architecture. Asher heaved himself up and quickly put one foot in front of the other, renewing the chase. Approaching the other end of the roof, he caught a flash of steel hurtling up towards him. He twisted his shoulders, narrowly evading it, before he even processed the fact that it was a throwing dagger.

  With a growl in his throat, Asher pushed off from the roof and landed on the next. The angled tiles were slippery, forcing him to edge around the sides to catch up with the agile Arakesh. Again, the assassin was already crossing the gap to a church tower and disappearing down the other side. It spurred the ranger on but, in his haste, it compromised his footing. First, his right leg went over the lip, swiftly followed by his left leg. In the blink of an eye he was hanging from the very edge by his fingers alone.

  Whether the assassin had noticed or not, the younger man was now scaling down the side of the church, making for the street below. Once he hit the ground he could disappear down any number of alleys or inside a house or shop. Having not seen his face properly, there was every chance the assassin could walk past the ranger and he wouldn’t recognise him.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  Falling into the mindset of a predator, Asher prepared himself to do whatever was necessary to catch his prey. That began with falling.

  Keeping himself close to the wall, the ranger dropped down and gripped the windowsill on the next floor down. His fingerless gloves lent him extra grip, but he could already feel himself slipping. He had the briefest of moments to look at the ground where he discovered an abandoned cart. It wouldn’t exactly cushion his fall, but it took some of the remaining distance out of the fall.

  He kept any yelp to himself and crashed down onto the centre of the cart. The wood cracked beneath him, threatening to drop him further, but it held long enough for him to groan and roll off the side. As his feet touched down, so too did the assassin twenty feet away.

  There was nothing to be said, only more running. The Arakesh darted down the alley immediately in front of him. Asher rounded the corner a moment later and ducked just in time to avoid the helmet being thrown back at him. By the time his focus returned, the young assassin was barging his way through someone’s door. There was a scream from inside, followed by a clatter of debris, before the ranger darted in behind him.

  A cleaver cut through the air and dug into the door’s wooden frame, an inch from Asher’s head. The ranger shouted a vague apology to the owners, both huddled in the far corner of the kitchen, and ran through and up their stairs in pursuit. The assassin kicked in another door, crossed the small room, and forced his way through a pair of shutters. A brief fall brought him crashing back onto the street.

  Asher landed only seconds later. He tucked his legs up, absorbing some of the impact, and rolled away until he was able to jump up to his feet again. Ignoring the pain in his knees, the ranger propelled himself after the Arakesh. A young couple walked out in front of the assassin and he pushed his way through the pair, knocking the man to the ground. Having been slowed down, the killer charged through another door in the hope of putting enough obstacles between them that he might escape.

  What he didn’t know, however, was that Asher had been trained to track and capture his targets in the maze-like districts of Karath and Tregaran. Of course, that was seventy years ago or more.

  Following the screams and yells of the new intrusion, he chased the Arakesh inside. There was a woman crouched over her husband, who was nursing a cut on his head, and a small boy cowering under the table. The child pointed at the next room but didn’t dare come out from under the table. Asher nodded his appreciation and held his hands out to calm the parents, making it clear that he was only in their house to get the intruder.

  The next room was dark, illuminated by a single gleam of light from the shutters. Where most might have been tempted to squint into the shadows, Asher observed the motes floating in the shaft of light. They were moving fast, their direction suggesting that something large had recently run to the right side of the room. Confident, the ranger planted a solid boot on the end of the dining table, shoving it into the shadows.

  The sound of it impacting the assassin’s head was satisfying.

  Knocked back from his hiding position, the young Arakesh swiped at the sundries on the table. Asher raised his hands and protected his face from the projectiles, but the assassin used his moment of blindness to roll across the table top and swing a kick into the side of the ranger’s head. The next thing Asher knew, he was collapsing through several shelves on the wall, bringing down plates and decorations.

  It was the sound of steel sliding from leather that sharpened his focus. Aware of the assassin’s general position, Asher launched his foot in that direction. He caught him in the gut, mid-swing, and threw him to the other side of the room. Emerging from the debris and splintered wood, Asher glimpsed the dagger in his enemy’s hand, the blade catching the light.

  “Where is Veda Malmagol?” the ranger growled.

  The Arakesh responded with violence. His attacks were fluid and well-practised, every strike angled to deliver a killing blow. Asher deflected what he could with the leather of his bracers while inserting counterattacks to put his foe off balance. One such attack staggered the young assassin, giving his next attack a wide sweeping angle. The ranger easily snatched his arm from the air and shoved the tips
of his finger up into the soft skin of the Arakesh’s wrist, forcing his hand to snap open and release the dagger.

  Without needing to look, Asher dipped and caught the falling weapon. One perfectly placed thrust drove the blade into the assassin’s thigh, where it severed an artery. The ranger rammed his own head into the Arakesh’s nose and forced him onto his back, careful to keep the dagger in place.

  With one knee pressing down on his enemy’s chest, Asher reached out and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the precarious blade. “If I take this out, you’ll be dead in minutes,” he threatened. “There are Keepers in the city, mages who could save your life. Tell me what I want to know and I will bring them to you.”

  The Arakesh remained very still, sweating in the gloom. His eyes, however, were wild. They scanned every inch of Asher’s face before taking in the room.

  “Don’t listen to it,” Asher warned. “Your training. Right now you’re looking for solutions, opportunities, anything you can use to escape. Do you feel that cold steel in your leg?” The ranger applied a small amount of pressure, increasing the panic in the assassin’s eyes. “Accept the reality of your situation. There’s naught but magic that can save you now.”

  The assassin sneered. “You are a traitor!”

  “Focus.” Asher pressed the dagger just a little further. “Did Veda Malmagol send you? Or did he have you waiting here, watching?”

  “They’re going to kill you,” the Arakesh spat. “My brothers and sisters… they’re going to—”

  Asher flicked the fool’s eyeball, silencing him with a shot of pain. “Where is Veda Malmagol?” he demanded. “Where’s the Father?”

  “You won’t see him coming!” the assassin boasted. “We might be few now, but we are still Arakesh. The order will live on.” Without warning, he yanked at Asher’s hand, tearing the dagger free from his leg.

  “No!” the ranger protested, but it was too late.

  Arterial blood gushed from the wound in his thigh. Asher moved to apply pressure and staunch the flow, but the logical conclusion was inescapable. Instead, he roughly grabbed the young assassin by the collar and lifted his head from the floor.

  “Where are they?” he fumed. “Where are the others? Are they in Namdhor?”

  The Arakesh boldly maintained his defiant expression, determined to meet his maker with some dignity.

  “Fool!” Asher berated, letting him drop down.

  “They’re… coming for you,” the assassin stuttered. “They’re all… coming for you. Before this is over… you will know… real vengeance.”

  Asher imagined the full weight of the Arakesh coming down on him, now, when his focus was most needed elsewhere. And how would he defend Avandriell from some of the most efficient killers in the realm? It made his blood boil.

  “When you get wherever you’re going,” the ranger uttered, “tell them I sent you. And tell them more are coming.”

  The Arakesh’s look of defiance faltered. Perhaps he was beholding the doom of all his kind, there to see in Asher’s eyes. Or perhaps he was seeing the great many that had fallen to the ranger’s blade, there to take him to the beyond.

  Asher stood up as blood pooled around his boots. On the one hand, he was glad to be looking down at another dead Arakesh but, on the other hand, he couldn’t help but see the wasted life at his feet.

  Turning away from the body, he reassured the family that the man who had broken into their home was dead. He also told them not to enter the other room until the body was dealt with. In the meantime, he needed some fresh air.

  Outside, the winter chill was a refreshing balm. He felt the wind sting a handful of new cuts he had received in the fight and on the pursuit.

  A shadow ran over the street and, before he could look up, Inara was landing on the stone in front of him. There was a touch of magic to her impact and it cast mud and snow in every direction. Rising from her crouch, the Guardian strode towards him with concern marring her expression.

  “What happened? Are you hurt?” Inara clearly had a lot more questions than that, but she was content to hear those two answers first.

  “I’m fine,” Asher reassured, his chest still heaving. “There was an Arakesh inside the keep. Took a guard’s uniform. He saw me, but Avandriell seemed to give him pause. Instead of attempting to kill me, he fled.”

  Inara peered through the broken door but there was nothing to see in the gloom. “Why would an Arakesh run instead of attack?”

  The assassin’s last words echoed in Asher’s mind, answering Inara’s question. “Because they’re all coming for me,” he relayed. “I think he was supposed to report back to Veda Malmagol. Then they could coordinate an attack.”

  By the look on Inara’s face, the seriousness of that statement wasn’t lost on her. “The last thing we need right now is the Arakesh threatening you.”

  “They’re still in Alijah’s pocket,” Asher pointed out. “They were always going to be in the middle of all this.”

  “Did he speak to anyone?” the Guardian asked.

  Asher shook his head. “He was too busy trying to evade me.”

  A sharp squawk bounced off the alley walls around the corner. The ranger would have known that voice anywhere. A moment later, Avandriell came bounding out of the alley with such speed that she ran part-way up the adjacent building and leapt towards Asher from some height. Her wings unfurled and the dragon glided into his arms. Her jaws snapped repeatedly before her emotions washed over him. His sudden departure had left her feeling frightened, but his own emotions had put the fight in her bones.

  A few seconds later, a dishevelled Gideon Thorn skidded out of the alley with a handful of Namdhorian soldiers behind him. The old master visibly relaxed when he spotted Avandriell in Asher’s arms. “She’s fast,” he panted.

  Asher looked down at her. “You’d find me anywhere it seems.” A low clicking sound resonated from Avandriell’s throat and she nestled her head into his chest. The ranger was unfamiliar with dragon behaviour and sounds, but he could sense the hatchling’s joy and comfort at being reunited with him.

  “Since you’re alive,” Gideon remarked, “I’m assuming he isn’t.”

  Asher simply nodded at the splintered doorway, where the soldiers were now entering to calm the family and see to the body.

  “Arakesh,” Inara informed gravely.

  Gideon’s mouth twisted in contemplation. “It seems your business with them is yet to conclude.”

  “It will,” the ranger said gruffly.

  “You have a plan?” Inara’s raised eyebrow spoke of her doubt.

  “I do,” Asher replied, making for the alley that would take him back to the main road.

  “And what would that be?” Inara asked with exasperation.

  The ranger paused and looked back at them. “I’m going to help The Rebellion stop Alijah. Nothing else matters. When they come for me, I’ll…”

  “Kill them all?” Inara assumed critically. “That isn’t a plan. We don’t know how many are left.”

  “Don’t worry,” Asher smiled. “My plan was to stand behind you.”

  Inara sighed and looked to be on the verge of a verbal assault when Asher caught a glimpse of a figure behind her. They were further down the street, barely visible on the corner of an alleyway. Hooded and robed, there was something wrong about them, just as there had been with the young assassin on the ramparts.

  The ranger strode forward, parting Gideon and Inara to get a better look. Between their movement and the onlookers who had steadily filled the street, Asher lost sight of the observing figure.

  “What is it?” Gideon asked, following his gaze.

  Asher didn’t answer right away. Instead, he continued to investigate the crowd, assessing each of them for any sign that they were more than they appeared. Back in his day, it would have been impossible to distinguish an Arakesh in a crowd such as this. But this younger generation, trained outside of Nightfall’s terrifying halls, were inexperienced and hea
dstrong.

  “Asher?” Inara probed.

  “It won’t be long,” the ranger said ominously.

  “And then what?” Gideon enquired.

  Asher took a breath. “It’ll either be them or me. It was never going to end any other way.”

  15

  Farewells

  Per winter’s demand, the sun remained close to the horizon as it passed over the world. Kassian tilted his head as he scrutinised its position in the sky. They should have left for the south by now. They had, at best, somewhere between four and five hours before nightfall; then the darkness and drop in temperature would force them to camp.

  Perched on a ledge, beside one of the catapults, Kassian looked down the main road of Namdhor, where he could see that they were almost ready to depart the north. A good number had amassed to take the fight to the enemy and an even larger number was gathering to say farewell to their heroes.

  He didn’t like to think how many of them would never see home again.

  Then again, given the scant supplies they had scavenged from every nook and cranny, there was a good chance they wouldn’t reach The Moonlit Plains before they ate each other. With that in mind, he made sure to enjoy every bite of his small pie.

  In quiet moments such as this, he liked to imagine Clara sitting next to him. She would playfully accuse him of eating his pie with all the manners of a pig and praise the incredible view before them. She would also ask him what he planned on doing when they reached The Moonlit Plains.

  The answer was clear to the widower, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it, even to a person who wasn’t really there. Kassian was immediately frustrated by that fact. Since that night, the night his world had been shattered, he had thought of nothing but killing Alijah Galfrey. Now, after so many days and nights of hate-fuelled violence, he wasn’t sure he wanted to spill the blood.