Beyond The Vale

by Brian D. Anderson

  “No. I just don’t like your face. I thought it could use some bruises.”

  Buraro’s smile vanished, replaced by a snarl. Easily baited, thought Drake. A sure sign of not having had anyone stand up to him in a long time.

  Drake feigned left and then right, luring his foe to strike as a reaction rather than a precise attack, making him pay with a swat to the forearm. Buraro recoiled. The blow hadn’t been serious, but had it been a real blade, it would have left a nasty wound.

  Buraro’s face turned crimson, and veins bulged from his forehead. Drake winked and shot him a toothy smile, further fueling his rage. The image of Xavier flashed through his mind; he had reacted the same way during training.

  Drake now went on the offensive, sending a barrage of controlled strikes in a pattern designed to put an enemy off-balance rather than inflict damage. Buraro blocked each one, gradually broadening his stance, and with a quick twist and step to the right, began to counter. Drake was impressed with Buraro’s skill. The ploy had failed, and now he was the one on the defensive. The longer weapon nearly caught his left cheek once, but Drake ducked low and brought his blade up, slamming the hilt into Buraro’s midsection.

  Drake backed away, allowing the pause and his smile to do the intended damage to Buraro’s pride. “So you’re the captain, yes?”

  This drew several snickers from his companions.

  “A couple of lucky hits isn’t victory,” he shot back, his free hand cradling his abdomen. “True. But it sure isn’t defeat.” He glanced over to see that Gymal was covering his mouth

  to hide his laughter.

  Drake expected another frenzied attack. But it did not come. Drake recognized Buraro’s skill. Which meant that Buraro probably recognized he was outmatched. Perhaps his pride wouldn’t get the better of him after all. This thought was quickly proven wrong.

  “Why don’t we see how you fare with steel?” he challenged. The room fell silent.

  “I thought this was just a friendly match,” said Drake. This was rapidly gaining the potential to go too far.

  “It is. You’ll notice my laughter when I gut you.” “Buraro,” shouted one of his companions. “That’s enough.”

  He turned, glaring. “I’ll say when it’s enough. You don’t want to watch? Then get out of

  here.”

  Gymal stepped beside Drake. “Please. There’s no need for this. We’ll go.” Drake was inclined to agree. “I think that’s probably the best idea.”

  “Are you a sniveling coward, like Gymal?” Buraro taunted. “Like I said, I thought this was a friendly match.”

  Buraro stormed over to the swords and picked up two, tossing one to Drake. “I guess I

  lied.”

  The weapon was heavier than his own, with a broader blade. But in spite of its poor condition, when he removed it from the sheath, he found it well-made and perfectly balanced.

  Gymal grabbed Drake’s arms. “Please. Let’s just go.” Buraro was already positioning himself to block off the exit.

  “I don’t think we can,” said Drake. He pushed Gymal back, and nodded for him to stand near the wall.

  Try not to kill him, he thought. Let him be the aggressor. Wait for a mistake, then disarm

  him.

  Drake bowed to his opponent.

  Buraro gave him a scornful look. “Where do you think you are? The palace?”

  Drake took a side stance, sword above his head, front arm slightly extended. Buraro squared off, both hands gripping the hilt. This time the attacks would be constant, his opponent intent on a quick, decisive victory, one that would redeem him in the eyes of his friends.

  The first blow was high and aimed at Drake’s neck. Drake leaned back and leapt right, blocking the next strike near the tip of the blade, allowing the force to help him turn and duck beneath the furious barrage that followed.

  As expected, there was no pause, the attacks coming in a continual stream. Drake made no effort to counter. There had been a few openings, but all would have resulted in blood being spilled. Buraro was growing frustrated, spewing insults and taunts as he pressed forward. But

  Drake was not vulnerable to rage when in combat. It was what made him a good royal guard, as well as a hawker. He could keep his emotions in check and focus on the task in front of him.

  The hoots and cheers combined with the ringing of steel, and the volume and intensity rose and fell with each blow. Beads of sweat covered Buraro’s face as he grunted and yelled from the enormous effort behind his strikes.

  Twice Drake nearly was unable to move away in time, but as the seconds ticked by, his opponent was slowing from sheer exhaustion.

  “Fight me, damn you!” he roared.

  Drake gave no reply. He lowered the tip of his blade and eased away a few inches. Maybe he would simply give up? No. This kind of anger was only satisfied with blood. His assessment was confirmed by another blistering assault that put Drake back on his heels. Buraro had gathered what stamina he had left. It was almost enough. Drake twisted his torso to avoid a thrust, but the

  edge made contact, leaving a two-inch-long cut in his chest. A mere scratch, but enough to encourage his foe into even more aggressive action.

  Buraro brought his sword down in a wide arc, then turned his body right to bring it up again. But this time he overextended, and Drake grabbed his wrist and slammed the pommel into Buraro’s right shoulder. His opponent winced as Drake lifted a knee. The thud of the impact was followed by the clatter of steel on tile. Before Buraro could recover, Drake landed a solid punch to his jaw that sent him sprawling. Quickly he kicked the sword out of reach and lowered his own blade to hover just above Buraro’s throat.

  Buraro glared up with a hate-filled expression.

  Drake waited for a few moments before stepping away and offering his hand. The others had fallen silent, staring at the scene in slack jawed disbelief. Gymal looked horrified. Though why, Drake couldn’t understand. After all, no one had been hurt, and his tormentor was defeated. Buraro ignored Drake’s offer and crawled to his feet. After a quick look to his comrades,

  he staggered out, clutching where Drake had smashed his shoulder. Gymal crossed over to stand beside Drake as the rest of the group filed out, casting uneasy glances in their direction.

  “I can’t believe what you did,” said Gymal.

  “What did you expect me to do? Let him cut me to ribbons? Besides, I thought you’d be happy to see him put in his place.”

  “Yes. But you completely humiliated the man.”

  Drake retrieved the sheath and put his sword back against the wall. “So? He deserved it, didn’t he?”

  “What difference does that make? He’s the captain of the Imperial Guard. You don’t humiliate a man like that.”

  “It seems I did.”

  “Well, I hope you have somewhere to hide. Because if he finds you, you’re dead. In fact, I’d consider leaving the city if I were you.”

  Drake was now deeply regretting allowing his emotions to override his common sense. He had hoped Gymal would be pleased to see Buraro suffer. But he should have known better. You don’t challenge those with power. This was true in Vale also. When he’d been captain of the royal guard it had taken no small measure of reassurance to see that his men didn’t hold back when they trained together. Xavier had probably never lost a match; his subordinates would be too afraid of the consequences.

  Drake put on his shirt and followed Gymal back to his office. This time he pulled out a

  bottle.

  “I want you to find somewhere else to stay,” said Gymal. “Buraro will be out for revenge, and I don’t want my aunt involved.”

  “So you really think he’ll come looking for me?”

  “Without question.” He turned up the bottle, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Go back to the frontier if you can. But at least find somewhere to stay out of sight for a while.”

  “How long do you think I have?” He wasn’t going anywhere just yet. But he didn’
t want to endanger Hanna.

  “A couple of days,” he replied, holding the bottle out for Drake.

  This time Drake took a long drink. It couldn’t get him drunk, but he wanted to appear worried. “I have a few things I need to take care of first. But if he’s really going to come after me, I think I should take you advice and leave the city.”

  Gymal was visibly relieved. “Good. Now we should go. My wagon won’t be permitted to wait more than a few minutes, and it’s already past the time I told him to come back.”

  Returning the bottle, they exited the office, and at a quick pace, wound their way through the Imperium. When they were back in the main gallery, Gymal moaned and rubbed his temples.

  “I forgot to return your pass,” he said.

  Drake fished it from his pocket and handed it over. “Do you want me to see if the wagon is still there?”

  “No. I’ll just say I forgot.”

  Unfortunately, the wagon had already left. Gymal stood on the promenade with clenched fists, head down, for several seconds before heaving a breath and waving for Drake to follow.

  “I don’t mind walking,” said Drake.

  “You’re a tinker,” replied Gymal, eyes darting to the other pedestrians walking along. “I’m a supervisor in the Imperium and the son of a General. I can’t be seen walking about like the common rabble.”

  Drake forced back a sneer. “Maybe no one will recognize you.”

  A woman in a blue shirt and pants with the Bolan triangle and circle on her chest and wearing a pistol was approaching from the opposite direction. Gymal quickly darted to the other side of the street.

  The surrounding buildings were mostly shops, though the upper floor had balconies, suggesting they might be apartments. At the corner, they turned right and ducked into a tavern a few doors further down. It was not much different to those in Vale, with a bar running along the left hand side and tables pushed against the opposite. To the rear were a few booths, and the scent of cooking meat mingled with that of ale and spirits.

  Only a few people were at the bar, none occupying the tables. The bartender, a portly fellow with a mop of wavy salt and pepper hair and flat, wide features, smiled over at Gymal.

  “You’re here early,” called the bartender. “I’m afraid Kari isn’t finished with the meals

  yet.”

  “That’s fine, Lynis. I’m not hungry.”

  They sat at the bar, and Gymal ordered each of them a glass of whiskey and a mug of ale. Lynis screwed up his face. “Bit more than the usual, I see. Rough day?”

  “You could say that,” he replied. “I let my wagon go. So I’ll be needing one later.” The bartender nodded, then went to serve another customer.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve caused any trouble,” said Drake.

  Gymal downed the whiskey. “I suppose it’s not your fault. And I should thank you for what you did. I know you meant well.” Without touching his ale, he raised his glass to the bartender for another whiskey.

  “I don’t like people who prey on the weak.” “I’m not weak,” Gymal shot back, hotly.

  Drake held up his palm. “That’s not what I meant.”

  Gymal turned back to the bar, deflated. “You’re right. I am weak. That’s why Father won’t let me join. He’s afraid I’ll embarrass him.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.” Drake drank the whiskey and took a sip of the ale to sooth the burning in his throat. “Like your aunt said: you’re his last living child. You can’t let Buraro make you feel bad about yourself. It doesn’t take courage to beat someone who can’t defend themselves.” “I only fought him because he said he’d teach me the sword if I proved I had the courage.

  I thought if I learned to fight, father would have to change his mind.”

  “I think you’re better off staying out of it. After all, it’s going to end soon, right?” He looked over to a patron a few stools down. “I told you not to talk about that.” “I know. I’m sorry. But it’s true.”

  “It’s easy for you to say. You were a soldier. Don’t deny it. No one fights like you who wasn’t. You’ve served. I haven’t. No one looks at you like a coward.”

  “Fighting doesn’t make you brave. And killing doesn’t make you a hero.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re not the son of a great General, who’s too weak to take care of himself.”

  “Maybe I don’t understand what it’s like. But here’s what I do know: You want respect? You want people to look up to you? Then earn it. Tell me, how did Buraro get his position? He looks young.”

  “His mother is the Emperor’s personal aid.” “So he didn’t earn it.”

  “No. But people still respect him.”

  “They fear him,” Drake countered. “There’s a difference. They may treat him with respect, but only because if they don’t, he’ll hurt them or destroy their lives.”

  “Fear, respect…in the end, the result is the same. And I’m still powerless to do anything about it.”

  “No, you’re not. You only think you are. But as long as you do, people like Buraro will always make you afraid.”

  Tears welled in Gymal’s eyes. “I hate him.”

  Drake wasn’t sure if he meant Buraro or his father. Probably a bit of both. In truth, he did not feel sorry for Gymal. He’d seen those with privilege weep that their lives were unfair, while

  those with nothing found joy. How did a woman like Hanna tolerate this simpering fool? Though the answer was obvious. It was often easy to overlook the failings of someone you loved.

  They drank for a time in silence, Gymal eventually choking back his tears and staring at his glass. After four more whiskies and two ales, it was clear that his intent was to get drunk. Drake kept pace, though the vex crystal kept the intoxicating effects at bay.

  After the eighth glass, Gymal slammed his fist on the bar and let out an incoherent yell.

  This drew the attention of the other patrons, but he didn’t seem to care.

  “You know,” he said, slurring heavily. “I know things. Things that not even that bastard Buraro knows.”

  Feigning drunkenness, Drake affected an exaggerated look of surprise. “Like what?”

  He threw a glance around the room and then threw his arm over Drake’s shoulder. “I know what the new weapon is.”

  “What?”

  Gymal cocked his head. “Well, I don’t know exactly what it is. But I know where they’re working on it. I bet Buraro doesn’t know that.”

  “But he’s the captain of the Imperial guard.”

  Gymal wagged his finger. “The weapon isn’t in the Imperium.” “Then how did you find out about it?”

  He lowered his head and leaned in. “My father told me.” Drake gave him a skeptical look. “Are you sure?” “Absolute…ly. What? You don’t believe me?”

  Drake shrugged. “I guess so. But why wouldn’t it be in the Imperium?”

  “Too…too dangerous. One wrong move and bam…Can’t bring something like that around.

  But you know what?” He leaned in even closer. “They almost have it figured out.” “Who?”

  “The people working on it, stupid. My father only told me to make me feel better.” He pressed his finger to his lips. “But you can’t say anything. He made me promise to keep it a secret.”

  “Where are they working on it?” he asked. “Oh, no. I’m not telling you. I promised.”

  Drake blew out a breath. “I knew you were lying.”

  Gymal shoved him in the chest, unbalancing himself in the process. Drake caught his arm just as he was about to fall from his stool.

  “Don’t call me a liar!” he shouted. “Just go north outside of the city and you’ll see. Guards everywhere.” He spun and ordered another drink.

  The bartender was hesitant. “Shouldn’t you be getting home?”

  “I’ll tell you when I go home,” he retorted, nearly toppling over as he flailed his hands

  about.

  �
�I’m getting tired,” said Drake. He had what he needed. Nothing more reliable than a drunk with self-esteem issues and a loose tongue when you wanted to know secrets.

  Gymal lowered his head, forcing a breath through closed lips. “I suppose.”

  The wagon arrived a few minutes later, and Drake instructed the driver to take them to Hanna’s apartment. Gymal was passed out by the time they arrived, so Drake carried him in and laid him on the sofa.

  Hanna was in the kitchen, having her customary evening before-bed tea. “So Gymal took you to the tavern, I see,” she remarked disapprovingly.

  Drake smiled and joined her. “I’ll be going soon.” “I hope it’s nothing my nephew said.”

  “No. It’s not like that. I just have some things I need to do.” “Nothing that will get you into trouble, I hope.”

  Drake laughed. “Not too much. You don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

  He could not help but feel guilty for what he was intending to do. If it were not for the fact that he was trying to save Vale, he would have abandoned the plan. To his dismay, he felt a kinship with the Bomar. While they did display many traits he loathed, there were kind people among them. But kind people were always casualties in any conflict; he had learned to accept this as fact. His thoughts turned to Lenora. She would never be able to live with such terrible knowledge. It was what gave her the qualities needed to heal Vale. But that also made it necessary to have ruthless people on her side – those who could commit the deeds she could not.