Heart of Defiance

by Ryan Kirk

  She knew where she was.

  Terror beating in her heart, she found the strength to stand and walk to the door. She pressed her face against the iron bars just in time to see the men turn the corner and move out of sight. She pushed against the door, looked for any sort of latch that would open it, but she found nothing. Gritting her teeth, she planted her shoulder against the door and shoved with all her remaining strength, but the door didn’t give at all.

  Feeling her strength fail her, Bai returned to the bed.

  She’d been betrayed. But why would the village lock her away? She summoned the energy to scream for help.

  But her mom’s advice echoed in her thoughts. So long as Bai was quiet and obeyed, the men would eventually let her out. Perhaps they were only trying to ensure her safety. She wouldn’t anger them by making a scene.

  4

  Delun grew increasingly certain that he wasn’t making his journey to the western edges of the empire alone. He’d already seen two men three times on the road, and thought he’d recognized a third man as well. As he rode in the small carriage, he considered his evidence.

  He’d first noticed the men in Two Bridges, the small town directly beneath Delun’s monastery. Monks coming and going often attracted attention, but Delun made a habit of noting those whose eyes followed him too closely. He attributed his continued survival to his awareness, noticing threats before they could strike.

  In Two Bridges two different men had followed him, switching off between one another so as not to arouse his suspicions. Had they been better at their craft, the technique might have worked. Both of them were amateurs, though. They followed too closely and were too obvious, their gazes always pointed in his direction. Delun wasn’t that interesting.

  At first, he hadn’t paid them much mind. More monks were reporting this type of behavior, and Delun himself had been subjected to it countless times in his travels. There were groups trying to track monks’ movements. The trend was worrying, but no specific incident elicited much concern. Delun assumed that once he began his journey west his tails would disappear.

  He’d been wrong. He’d already put leagues between Two Bridges and his destination, and he still spotted the men on occasion. As the carriage carried him, Delun considered the implications. He’d been moving without stop for over a day now. Thanks to the carriage, he could sleep while traveling. The conditions were far from ideal, but he’d slept in worse.

  Taio had spared no expense to ferry Delun quickly across the empire. More than the abbot’s dire warnings, the carriage and fresh horses were perhaps the greatest indicators of how much value the abbot placed on the information he’d received. Normally, he would have been content to let Delun walk.

  While Delun slept and rested, the men following him struggled. Delun assumed they didn’t have advance knowledge of his route. No one should know the ultimate destination besides Delun and Taio. If the men knew, it seemed unlikely they’d expend the effort to follow him. He almost felt sorry for them. They had ridden through the night and no doubt had to purchase new horses.

  He suspected that if he simply continued on he would eventually outride them. They had to be exhausted, and if their funds weren’t already depleted, they must be close. Horses were not cheap.

  Delun looked down at the copy of the letter he had made in the abbot’s study. The letter stated that the seditious organization known as the Golden Leaf was based out of a small city in the west named Kulat. Delun only possessed a passing knowledge of the city. It was one of the larger cities near the western edge of the empire, and its most strategic value was the fact that it was out of the way. There was a larger monastery inside the town and a few smaller ones scattered far and wide around the area.

  Beyond the work of the monasteries, Delun assumed the empire wouldn’t pay much attention to the area, which made it a reasonable place for an organization like the Golden Leaf to hide. The lord of that region of the empire, Lord Xun, was considered an ambitious man. He was an excellent administrator and had favor in the eyes of the emperor himself. Thoughts of the Golden Leaf, the empire, and the monasteries swirled in his head, the connections not quite solidifying yet.

  The question that loomed over all of Delun’s thoughts was if the letter and the men following him were connected. Delun didn’t believe in coincidence, and it seemed suspicious to attract this amount of attention just as he drew this assignment.

  The Golden Leaf had been a rumor for years. Like many other groups that’d popped up over the last decade, they claimed they wanted to burn the monastic system down. They’d never been much of a threat. Delun had his finger on the pulse of all rebellious activity, and he didn’t know of any actual attacks the Golden Leaf had committed. But they were unique in that all the attempts to squash the rumors about the organization had resulted in failure. At times, Delun had almost dismissed the group entirely, but the persistence of the whispers indicated some truth the monasteries hadn’t yet ferreted out.

  Delun folded the letter. The only way to answer his questions was to ask them directly. He glanced out the window. At the moment, the road behind him was clear. That wasn’t too surprising. The reason Delun had noticed the tails in the first place was when he’d asked the carriage to stop and the pursuers had accidentally ridden too close. They had played their parts well, giving Delun a short bow as they passed, seemingly uninterested in him. But they were the same men from Two Bridges.

  The sun was setting, and the outlines of a plan formed in Delun’s mind. He leaned out of the carriage. “Let’s stop for the night at the next village that has a decent inn.”

  The driver looked hesitant, the order contradicting his command to ferry Delun with all possible haste. But he accepted the change. Few openly questioned the request of a monk. Delun figured he could sacrifice one night of travel to learn more of the men who followed him.

  The carriage came to a stop outside of a small inn located near the heart of a town. Delun rented a room for the night, ensuring it possessed a window that looked out on the streets. Before long he was perched next to the window, his room dark, watching the few people below. The town was quiet tonight, the road nearly empty. It made the gathering of the three men in the alley across from the inn all the more suspicious.

  Delun stole out of his room, exiting the inn near the rear where the stables were. From there he made a wide circle until he was behind the men, on the other end of the alley from them. He stood behind a corner, listening to their conversation with ease.

  He was convinced these men knew little about their craft. They’d made no effort to encircle the inn, nor had they placed anyone in the common room to mark his comings and goings. The final fact that damned them was that they spoke normally in the alley, making them painfully easy to eavesdrop on. Delun was almost disappointed by the lack of challenge they presented.

  “Wherever he’s going, I suspect he will continue to have fresh horses. We can only keep up with him for another day or two before we run out of money.” Delun marked the speaker as the tallest of the three. He spoke with an air of authority.

  “What should we do?” asked another, small and thin.

  The tall man didn’t answer for a moment. “We’ll follow as best we can. When we can’t any longer, we’ll send a bird with everything we know.”

  The third man, who appeared to be the muscle of the group, spoke softer than the rest. “We could kill him.”

  “You want to try your skills against this one?” asked the tall man, clearly incredulous.

  The small man chimed in. “Of course he does. That monk has it coming to him, after all he’s done.”

  Delun frowned. So they weren’t just following him because he had left the monastery. They knew who he was.

  The tall man calmed the other two. “Perhaps it might come to that, but I do not think he is as easy a target as you think.”

  The third man’s response was almost instant. “A knife across a sleeping man’s throat kills a monk just the s
ame as a farmer.”

  Before, Delun had debated the best course of action. Now, he had no question. These men weren’t just following him, they spoke like practiced criminals, men seriously contemplating the killing of a monk. They had sentenced themselves to death with their own words. His duty, as one who upheld justice in the empire, was clear.

  Delun stepped from around the corner, making his movement sudden enough that it would draw their attention.

  The tall man cursed and the other two turned around to see what had alarmed their leader.

  Delun savored the looks of fear on their faces. For all their bravado a moment ago, when real danger appeared, they knew how little weight their words carried.

  He had expected the third one to strike first. Of the three, he seemed the most eager for violent resolution. The monk arched an eyebrow in surprise when it was the small one who darted at him, daggers appearing in his hands as if by magic.

  Delun stepped back to avoid a slashing cut aimed at his face, then stopped and grabbed the man’s second arm as he stabbed at Delun. He executed a quick reversal, jamming the dagger into the man’s own shoulder. The small man’s eyes widened with pain and Delun shoved him down.

  Delun didn’t have time to finish the kill. The third man slashed at Delun with a sword, forcing him to back up again. The alley just wasn’t wide enough for him to move the directions he wanted. Delun saw the way the man stumbled forward, the power of the strike pulling him off-balance. The man might be a murderer, but he certainly wasn’t a trained warrior. He handled the blade like a man who only knew the pointy end was supposed to go in the opponent. There was no grace or style to his movements.

  The small man was getting to his feet, though. Soon it would be two against one, and Delun didn’t need that complication. He waited for the swordsman to swing again, then stepped easily inside the man’s guard and chopped viciously at the man’s throat. His quick strike was true, and the man dropped his sword as he gasped for air. Delun threw an elbow into the man’s face and borrowed the sword.

  With a blade in his hand, he slapped aside the small man’s incoming dagger and stabbed him through the heart. The man never had a chance. Like his burly companion, he lacked the training necessary to be a threat. The third man rolled on the ground, trying desperately to find air. Delun drove the sword through the man’s chest and into the dirt below, putting an end to his struggles.

  Delun turned to see the tall man standing at the mouth of the alley, his sword drawn, but his body frozen. It seemed he had lost his courage. That was a shame. From his stance, Delun could tell the man had received more training than the other two combined. If they had all attacked together, Delun might have had a real fight on his hands.

  Hate glowed in the man’s eyes, and Delun figured it would only be a moment before anger overwhelmed fear. He’d seen the same reactions often enough.

  His hands held behind him, Delun made the first sign for an attack, feeling the energy build up near his hand. He would have preferred to use only his bare hands, but something in the man’s stance persuaded him preparation might be worthwhile.

  The tall man darted forward, his body balanced over his feet at all times. He led with a series of thrusts. In the alley, against an unarmed opponent, the technique was excellent. The man never lost his balance, never gave Delun an opening to attack. The sharp steel of the blade cut the air between them, creating an impassable barrier. Delun retreated a few steps before deciding he wouldn’t win this exchange without his gift.

  Changing his tactics, he formed the second sign and held his hand out in front of him.

  The tall man stopped attacking the moment he realized what he was looking at.

  Delun released the attack, the wave of energy crashing over the other man, sending him tumbling back several paces. To the man’s credit, though, he hung on to his sword.

  The tall man struggled to his feet, but Delun had no intention of allowing him a chance to regain his balance. Honorable combat was a lie. Victory or defeat was all that mattered. He stepped up close to the man, and before he could swing his sword Delun had thrown him down the alley again.

  The man fought his way to his feet as Delun approached. This time the man swung wildly, but Delun was prepared. He blocked the strike with a quick one-handed shield, using the sign of the first attack to focus his energy in his other hand and release it.

  The tall man slammed into the wall of the alley. This time, though, Delun didn’t release the attack. He kept the pressure on the man, rendering him immobile against the wall. Maintaining the attack, Delun reached out with his free hand and wrested the sword from the man’s grip. With careful precision, he drove the sword through the man’s shoulder and into the wall behind him, pinning him there.

  The man gritted his teeth in agony but refused to scream. Delun didn’t mind. Less attention usually made this sort of work easier. He released his attack, satisfied when the man’s weight settled on the sword. Delun walked down the alley and found the small man’s clean dagger. Short blade in hand, he turned back to the tall man.

  “Now,” he said, “I have some questions for you.”

  5

  Bai didn’t feel well. Her skin felt clammy to the touch and she couldn’t stop shivering, even though she didn’t think it was that cold in her cell. She had lost all track of time inside the dark, windowless room, but when she’d woken up for the third time, it had been to someone dumping a bucket of cold water on her. They hadn’t asked any questions. They’d just poured the bucket out, making sure every drop fell on her, then left without another word. Since then, she’d felt her health slip away.

  To fight the growing panic, she imagined the blossoming spring outside. The end of winter was always one of her favorite times of year, with small green plants budding through freshly thawed ground. If she focused, she could almost make herself believe she was there. She could almost feel the heat of the sun on her skin.

  Almost.

  A grating sound from outside the door spiked her heart rate. The fear, beating hard in her chest, caused her limbs to tingle with terrible expectation. When the door to the cells didn’t open, she breathed a long, slow sigh of relief.

  Her days in the cell had not been pleasant. At first they had asked her questions. They all had so many, but she had no answers. Though she was certain days had passed, her memories hadn’t returned. She still remembered her mother sending her to the market, and she was convinced she remembered a group of boys playing catch.

  After that she knew only blackness and the terror of waking up in the ruined square. She couldn’t explain why she alone had survived, and without so much as a cut. At times, she desired the truth as much as those who questioned her. She told herself she wanted to know what happened. She wanted to know what killed her mother.

  The accusations leveled against her were horrible. Bai knew from their questions that they believed she had been working with a monk. Their ruthless logic was clear. Only a monk possessed the power to destroy so much of the town. If she had been left alive, it meant she had been involved.

  She refused to believe them. She hated the monks as much as anyone in her village. They took food and money and provided little in return. They were little more than thugs with the backing of the empire. The nearest monastery was several days away, in the town of Kulat. If a monk did make it all the way to Galan, it was only to procure supplies. They didn’t keep the roads and towns clear of crime, and they rarely offered aid. The idea that she would work with one of them made her stomach queasy.

  And yet, she didn’t have a better answer. The only other explanation she could think of was luck, and the rest of her life disproved that idea easily enough. Luck had never been her companion.

  At times, when she had the strength to face the truth, she admitted that some core part of her was okay without knowing what had happened. She couldn’t imagine a reason for being alive that didn’t terrify her. Perhaps it would be easiest to let the truth hide in the unreachabl
e blackness of her memory.

  Her ruminations ended abruptly when she heard the heavy key in the door that led to the cells. As far as she knew, she was the only prisoner, and the thick walls meant no sound other than her own breathing echoed in the hall. The sound of the key, soft as it probably was, sounded like thunder to her ears.

  The door opened and daylight speared into the hallway. She closed her eyes against the brightness and scrambled back into the corner of her cell. If it was daytime, it meant that Wen was probably on duty.

  Her heart thudded in her chest and she looked desperately around the room for something to defend herself with. The reaction was instinctive but futile. She closed her eyes again, curling into a tiny ball, hoping that maybe this time it would be enough to cause him to lose interest.

  Bai heard his footsteps, slow and ponderous, and she knew her cause was hopeless. They stopped, right outside her cell door. She cracked one eye, keeping the slit narrow enough that hopefully he wouldn’t notice.

  Her breath caught in her throat, even though she knew what she’d see.

  Wen stood there, his face still a mask of cold rage as he stared in at her.

  Bai didn’t know how long the stare lasted. She refused to look, knowing what she would find and not wanting to offer any encouragement. She held her knees tightly to her chest, hoping that this time he would go away.

  Her body tensed up uncontrollably when she heard him lift the bar that blocked the door to her own cell. She wanted to cry, but tears refused to come. Tears would only make him more angry.

  Bai knew Wen’s sister had lived near the market square. She had died that day. Wen had volunteered to help watch Bai in prison.

  She forced herself to look up. He hated it when she cowered, and sometimes it made what came next worse. He held a tray of food in his hands, a simple bowl of rice with a few vegetables. Her stomach growled. How long had it been since they’d brought her food? From the pain in her belly, she guessed at least a day or two.