by J B Drake
In response, Phaedus spun to him, his gaze wilting the bandit where he stood.
“When was the last time you been in a fair fight, eh Barl?” the leader spat. “You tell me that!”
The bandit named Barl kept his peace.
“Exactly,” Phaedus said, before rounding on his son once more.
“Now, you listen to me, you useless little gobshite. We’re heading out of town. You’re going to stand up like a man, and walk like a man. And I am not hearing a peep from you, you hear me? Not a word! Or gods help me, I will march you over to your uncle Cleetus’s jail-house and have him throw your sorry arse in one of them cells and toss away the key!”
“Phaedus, the boy needs healing,” Barl added.
“We’re not wasting any healing on his sorry arse!” Phaedus roared. “You hear me? You hear me, Barl?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Yes!”
“What?”
“Yes, damn it, yes! Alright?”
“Good,” Phaedus snarled, then turned to his son once more.
“You embarrassed me in there, boy,” he said, taking a step closer to his son. “You embarrassed us all in there. So, come the morning, when that bitch and her Tower friend are on the road, you’re going to make it up to us. You hear me? I want to hear that bitch scream, I want to hear her scream good and proper, or I will beat you until there’s nothing left to beat. You hear me?”
“They’re going Kirsk though, Phaedus,” Barl said, “and knowing Tesrine, she’ll get them a caravan.”
“Then we’ll follow the bloody caravan till they bloody leave it, won’t we!”
“All the way to Kirsk?”
Phaedus glared at Barl, an act that silenced the bandit.
“Her Tower friend won’t go down easy,” said the one who had spoken earlier. “Them Tower folk well trained.”
“They well trained in magic, Dennil, not fighting. You surprise them, quick and quiet-like, and all them magic training’s for nothing.”
“She won’t go down easy.”
“You lost your nerve is it? You stay back then, the four of us’ll take care of her.”
“Five,” Barl replied, nodding at the young boy beside him.
Turning, Phaedus stared at his son.
“Four,” he repeated, his lips twisted into a deep snarl, and before his son could object, the bandit leader that was Phaedus spun on his heels and continued his march to the stables.
Shrugging, the others turned and joined their leader one by one, each pausing briefly to console the forlorn youth. Then, the boy was all alone
“I’m sorry, Pa,” he cried as he hobbled after his companions.
His father remained silent.
“Pa, please, I’m sorry.”
But his words fell on deaf ears, and, hobbling after his companions, the young bandit could only watch as he fell further and further behind, and when his father and his friends rounded a corner and were out of sight, the young bandit stopped as tears stung his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Pa,” he said, fighting back the tears as he massaged his loins. “I’m sorry.”
At that moment, an ear-splitting shriek pierced the air. But it was brief, cut short as suddenly as it started, and as the young bandit’s heart leapt to his throat, sounds of battle reached his ears, sounds interspersed by the cries and roars of men that sounded just like his companions.
“Pa!” the young boy yelled as he pulled free his blade and hurried towards the sounds as best he could.
As he rounded the corner where his companions had disappeared, however, the young bandit came to a screeching halt as his face turned ashen, for he was greeted by a sight that stole his voice and numbed him to his core; before him were his companions, all lying dead upon the ground. Even in the low light he could see the deep gashes in their throats, their blood gushing free.
But that was not what stopped his heart and held him rigid, no, it was the sight of his father, the bandit leader Phaedus, standing in the middle of the carnage, his blade raised to the heavens and his head hanging limply to the side as a phantom hugged him close. The phantom held his father’s hand aloft with one hand, and his father’s convulsing body upright with the other. But more than that, it had its lips upon his father’s neck, and in the silence of the night, the young boy could hear deep and lazy slurps emanating from the phantom’s lips as his father gargled and gasped.
The boy stood rigid for what seemed like an eternity, his mind unable to make sense of what lay before him. Then, the phantom let go of his father’s hand and, letting him slide to his knees, grasped his father’s head and twisted, the sound of breaking bones sickening the boy further.
“You should’ve run,” the phantom said as it stepped over his father’s body.
The boy stayed silent, his mind blank as his blade quivered in his hand.
“It would’ve been more fun if you’d run,” the phantom continued as it made its way towards him. “You humans taste so much better when your blood’s been pumping and your fear has run wild.”
Still, the boy remained rooted.
“No matter,” the phantom said at it reached the boy, “a meal is a meal.”
It was then the boy saw that the phantom was not a phantom, but an elf, a girl, one with silver hair and silver bloodshot eyes.
“Please,” the boy pleaded, his trousers darkening as he spoke, “please, don’t kill me.”
“Oh, my dear,” the elf said, placing a calming arm about the boy’s neck as she took his blade from him, “I’m afraid it’s far too late for that.”
“Please…”
“Tell you what,” the girl replied, smiling, a smile that showed teeth coated with blood. “How about we find a nice secluded spot to see the night through? I promise it won’t hurt, it’s the least I can do. How does that sound?”
“Please…” the boy repeated as tears rolled down his cheeks.
“There, there,” the girl said, pulling him close and kissing him on the cheek. “Come, I know just the spot. Come.”
And so, with tears streaming down his face, the young bandit was led deeper into the night, his mind awhirl as his lips repeated the same words over and over.
“Please, don’t kill me.”
*****
It had been a fitful night for Marshalla, her dreams filled with the young bandit. Sometimes his blade was drawn, others, his hands were formed into fists. But dream after dream, she’d watch him come for her, a hateful sneer upon his lips as he tried to kill her, and dream after dream, she’d watched him succeed. And so, when the morning sun spread its light into their little room, Marshalla was more than ready to rise.
“Morning,” came a voice from behind her as she rose to sitting.
Startled, she turned, her eyes falling upon a smiling Anise Fairweather. She was seated in the corner, her blades drawn and by her side.
“Morning,” Marshalla replied, a tired smile parting her lips.
“Sleep well?”
Shaking her head, Marshalla rose from her bed. “Not overly.”
“Hrm.” Anise nodded. “Dreams filled with your fine young friend from yesterday, perhaps?”
With a wide yawn, Marshalla nodded, then, scratching herself, shambled over to the wash basin.
“Did you fare any better?”
“In what? Sleep?”
Marshalla nodded as she reached the basin. There was already water in it.
“Not especially.”
Frowning, Marshalla turned to her companion. “How long have you been up?”
Anise smiled. “One of us had to stand guard.”
Marshalla stared hard at her. “The whole night?”
Anise’s smile grew. “Sleep is over-rated, my dear. Especially for a Tower mage.”
Rolling her eyes, Marshalla shook her head as she began to wash herself, Anise’s chuckle echoing about the room. Barely had she finished than a heavy knock came from the door. Frowning, both she and Anise shared a glance as the Archmage
picked up her blades.
“Open up!” a voice barked. “We know you’re in there! Open up! It’s the law!”
The heavy knock came again, this time rattling the door on its hinges.
“Just a moment,” Anise shouted as she scanned the room.
“Open this door! It’s the law, damn you!”
“We’re not opening that door till we’re decent!” Anise bellowed as she darted about the room, grabbing what few belongings they had strewn about the room and shoving them into their bags as she went. “So shut up and wait!”
“Anise, what’s going on?” Marshalla asked, an edge to her words.
“It’s the—“
“I don’t care who the bloody hells it is, damn it! We’re not decent!” Anise yelled back before turning to Marshalla.
“Get dressed,” she said, nodding at Marshalla’s boots.
“What’s going on?”
“We’re about—” Anise began, then a loud crash silenced her.
“Are you deaf?” she thundered at the door. “We’re not opening that door till we’re decent!”
The crash came again.
“You can bash your fool heads against that bloody door all you want, it’s not budging! We’re! Not! Decent!”
“Anise?” Marshalla asked.
“We’re about to be arrested.”
“What?”
“Get dressed,” Anise repeated.
“Why?”
“Our friends from last night,” Anise replied as she tied her bag shut. “Seemed strange they’d be able to strut around here so brazenly. Only thing that made sense was if the law was friendly with them.”
“Oh, gods,”
“Get dressed, Marsha, quickly,” Anise said, hurrying over to Marshalla. “Quickly now.”
With her heart climbing up her throat, Marshalla did as Anise asked, and before long both were dressed, their bags filled and tied, and with one last scan of the room, Anise wandered over to the door.
“Whatever you do, Marsha,” she said as she reached for the bolts, “keep your hands in plain sight at all times.”
“Alright,” she nodded just as Anise undid the binding spell upon the door and threw it open.
The moment the door flew open, four burly men charged into the room, swords drawn and shields at the ready. Within moments, they’d surrounded the pair, their gazes as menacing as their sword points.
Then, a fifth man walked in. From his demeanour and his deep sneer, it was clear he was the one in charge.
“Good morning to you too,” Anise said in a voice of supreme calm.
The leader’s sneer grew, but as he drew breath one other hurried in behind him. Marshalla recognised her at once. It was the maid that had shown them to their room the night before.
“This them, then?” the leader growled, nodding at the maid.
“Yes,” the maid mumbled, her gaze at her feet.
The maid’s words heightened the dread coursing through Marshalla.
“I see,” the leader said. “And which one jumped Thom?”
“She didn’t jump him, though,” the maid protested, staring at the man. “Thom was running his mouth again, she just—”
With a sharp wave, the man silenced her.
“Which one?”
“That one,” the maid mumbled, pointing at Marshalla. She could barely look Marshalla in the eye.
Nodding, the man stared at Marshalla with eyes filled with hate. Then, he turned to Anise, and as he stared at her, his gaze fell upon her blades.
“Phin!” he barked.
“Hunh?” the man closest to Anise turned to him.
“Get them blades.”
“Oh,” Phin replied, and turned to do as he’d been ordered.
As Anise turned to stare at him, however, he hesitated.
“Phin!” the leader barked.
With mouth agape, Phin stared at his leader, then at Anise once more. Anise’s gaze had lost all its warmth, and as he stared at her it was clear he feared her more than he feared their leader.
“Phin!” the leader bellowed.
“What’s all this shouting, then?” came a voice from outside the room.
As everyone turned to the doorway, all watched as the inn-keeper barged into the room, wedging herself between the maid and the leader as she entered.
“You shouldn’t be here, Tesrine,” the leader growled as a deep frown twisted his lips. “This is man business.”
“Man business?” Tesrine roared as she turned to face the leader square. “Already warned you before, Cheetus, don’t ever use that man business nonsense in my inn, don’t you dare! You want to talk man business, talk it outside, you hear?”
“Fine!” Cheetus barked, “it’s law business!”
“What’s the law got to do with my inn? And why you bothering my guests? And without even telling me!”
“Not in the mood for your nonsense, Tesrine, this—”
“Nonsense?”
“Yes, woman, nonsense!”
“In my inn?”
“Damn it, Tesrine, this—”
“Can we all just calm down, please?” Anise bellowed, silencing the pair. As one, both turned to glare at her.
“Now,” she continued, turning to the man named Cheetus, “how about you tell us what we’re accused of?”
For a brief moment Marshalla felt sure the man was about to draw his blade and cleave Anise in two, such was the gaze in which he held her, but instead he cleared his throat and stood tall.
“You and your friend are charged with killing four beloved members of our town, and the disappearance of two others.”
“Killing?” Tesrine exclaimed.
“Yes,” Cheetus replied, rounding on the inn-keeper. “Your two friends here went and killed all of Phaedus’s crew last night. Found them all this morning. Only, Phaedus wasn’t nowhere to be seen. Thom neither. There was blood, though, leading to the woods. We followed it, but it led to nothing.”
Turning back to Anise, the man scowled. “You’re going to tell us what you did with Phaedus and Thom, or, gods bear me witness, you’ll rot in them jails.”
“Cheetus, that’s nonsense!” the inn-keeper exclaimed.
“Is it?”
“Yes!”
“Your own maid just said they jumped Thom at the bar.”
“No, I never!” the maid exclaimed. “Thom started it! Phaedus wanted to finish it, but that one stopped him,” she added, nodding to Anise.
“You got nothing, Cheetus,” the inn-keeper said, moving to stand between Cheetus and the pair, “Thom started it, not them.”
Cheetus shook his head. “That don’t mean they didn’t sneak out at night to do the killing. Your own girl said the older one was looking at Phaedus funny!”
At this, the maid dropped her gaze.
“Cheetus, everyone looked at Phaedus funny,” the inn-keeper countered, “he was a right bastard, that man!”
“Have a care, Tesrine,” the lawman snarled as he took a menacing step forward.
“Have a care nothing,” Tesrine replied. “They didn’t kill nobody. They was here all night, I swear by it.”
Those last words caught the man named Cheetus off guard, and it showed. As if lost for words, the seething lawman glared first at the inn-keeper, then the maid, and then at Anise and Marshalla both.
“You can’t swear by nothing,” he said at last, turning back to the inn-keeper.
“Can’t I?” Tesrine replied, sticking her jaw out at him. “This is my inn, Cheetus, I know the ins and outs of it, and I tell you now, no way those two could’ve left this room without me knowing, no way no how. And I say to you now they never left.”
Cheetus moved to speak, but it was clear he knew the battle was Tesrine’s. Snarling still, he turned to the pair.
“We’re not done,” he growled, then spun about and stormed out.
As he left, the other men lowered their swords and followed, and soon it was just the women left.
“Thank you, Tesrine,” Anise began when they were alone, “we—”
“Take off,” Tesrine broke in as she stared from Anise to Marshalla. “Both of you. Now!”
“What?” Anise frowned.
“What happened last night’s none of my business, but left to me, Phaedus deserved killing, good and proper.”
“We didn’t kill anybody!” Marshalla exclaimed.
“Like I said, none of my business. But Phaedus and Cheetus be brothers, and they been looking out for each other since they was kids. That man’s got killing on his mind, and you stay here long enough he’ll haul you both to that jail-house of his, and neither of you ever getting out alive.”
Marshalla glanced at Anise, who stared at the inn-keeper, her face as if made of stone.
“Tenya’ll take you to the stables,” the inn-keeper continued, nodding to the maid. “You go with her. Go get your horse and ride, you hear? You two ride hard and far, ride till dark.”
Marshalla and Anise exchanged glances.
“Thank you,” Anise said at last, then reached for her bags.
The inn-keeper grinned. “No, dear, thank you. That old bastard’s been nothing but trouble since his brother became the law.”
“We…” Anise began, but instead simply smiled and hurried to the door, Marshalla and Tenya in tow.
Fuming, Mardaley glared at the fountain. Though his blood boiled and his mind raged, he remained rigid, his gaze set forward and his lips frozen in an eternal snarl. His was a demeanour that saw off all those who briefly entertained the thought of sharing his bench with him, a thought that a single glance at his countenance banished at once. But if Mardaley noticed their puzzled glances, or their hurried steps, he did not show it.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were scheming to take a life,” came a voice from beside him.
With a start, Mardaley turned to the figure at his side, the one who’d dared to approach him, and, for a time, his snarl dissipated. For a time.
Baern frowned as he sat. “Ill news, then?”
Sighing, Mardaley nodded. “Got word from Drake this morning. Neither of them showed.”
Baern’s frown deepened. “What do you mean, neither of them showed? Neither of them went to the inn?”
Mardaley shook his head. “Neither of them went to the damn town.”
