A Sellsword's Hope

by Jacob Peppers

  He stoked the blaze of his anger until it wasn’t a flame at all, but a great onrushing river of white heat, one that could not be stopped by any foolish enough to stand in opposition to it. Here, were those who, if left unchecked, would destroy everything he loved, everything he held dear. The bald man, standing with that smirk on his face, hardly a man at all but a creature, a thing as surely as the rest of them, one who would live off the pain and agony of all of Telrear, one who would gorge himself on their loss. In Aaron’s mind he became not a man at all, but an agent, a representative of all the evil in the world, one who owed an accounting.

  The loss of his parents, the loss of Seline’s father, the Speaker, Beth, and all the rest, he laid at the bald man’s feet. This one, then, owed a great debt, and Aaron and those others with him would collect it. He was faster, stronger, his strikes cleaner, more sure than they had ever been. But through the dual powers of his bonds both with Co and Caltriss, Aaron spread that fury, that strength, to those around him, and they plowed their way through the creatures, striking them down as they charged forward of one purpose, of one shared will, and each of Aaron’s companions that fell, sacrificing himself to that great purpose, only strengthened the resolve of the others.

  He wasn’t sure how long they fought, how many lay dead around them; he only knew that, when he risked another glance at the bald man, his smile was gone, replaced by an expression of disbelief mingled with anger. Then, Aaron sensed an attack coming, and jerked his attention back to the melee, throwing his sword up in time to block a strike that would have taken his head from his shoulders. Before he could counterattack, Gryle let out a growl and stepped forward, swinging a sword he had apparently found somewhere in a two-handed grip, like a lumberjack chopping at a tree. The attack was awkward, the man untrained, and the creature managed to get its own blade up in time. Not that it did it much good. Powered by the chamberlain’s incredible strength, the sword sheared through the creature’s blade without slowing, tearing into the creature and, when it fell to the ground, it did so in two separate, bloody pieces.

  Suddenly, a furious shout rose over the din of the battle, “Kill them!” An instant later, Aaron found a lane opening in front of them as the fast creatures moved to the side, clearing the last two dozen feet between him and the bald man. Across this empty space, the creature who had once been Savrin met Aaron’s eyes, and it drew its blade from where it was sheathed at its back so swiftly that it seemed to Aaron as if the length of steel had simply appeared there in its hands, as if by magic.

  “I’ll handle this, General Envelar!” one of the Ghosts shouted, stepping in front of him and charging the creature.

  “No don’t—” Aaron began, but before he could finish, the creature moved in a blur, charging forward, and an instant later the Ghost collapsed to the ground, dead. It studied Aaron over the corpse, watching him with the same unreadable expression which it always seemed to carry.

  “Savrin,” Aaron said. “You don’t have to do this—we’re not the ones responsible for what has happened to you. I’d help you, if I could.”

  The creature said nothing, and the bald man laughed. “Do you seek to reason with it?” He shook his head, sighing as if bored. “Aaron Envelar, what you see before you is no man but a slave, its mind, body, and soul dedicated to serving the will of my master. A weapon, nothing more. But a weapon that will do well enough for you and this rabble.”

  Aaron saw motion to either side of him as the other Virtue-bearers came to stand with him. Seline, the short blades she held in each hand coated with blood. Gryle, his sword bent and twisted, even the carefully-forged steel no match for the power with which he used it. Tianya, her hand clasped over a wound in her arm, Caleb, holding a sword in two hands, the blade shaking with nervous tremors, but his eyes confident and sure and unafraid. And Leomin, a vaguely-surprised expression on his features, as if he hadn’t expected to live this long.

  The bald man laughed, looking at each of them in turn. “This is your great army then, is it? Still, I suspect my master will be pleased to find that you have been foolish enough to bring all of the Virtues to him.” He shook his head and motioned to the creature that had once been Savrin. “Get it done quickly—there is still more work to be done tonight.”

  Though he could feel the creature’s intent, knew the strike was coming, Aaron was only just quick enough to get his blade up in time. Still, the blow landed with such force, that he cried out in surprise as his sword was knocked from his grip, spinning away into the press of thin, fast creatures surrounding him and the others, a silent audience to their inevitable deaths.

  “Stop.” The creature hesitated, its blade already raised for another attack, and Aaron followed its gaze to see Leomin stepping forward. The Parnen’s expression was set, his jaw clamped tightly shut, and Aaron could feel the power of the man’s Virtue coming off him in waves.

  But if the creature was affected by the Parnen’s efforts, it gave no sign. Instead, it cocked its head, studying him, then started toward him, raising its blade higher with the clear intent of cutting him down. Leomin’s eyes widened in surprise, but he did not move, and his hands knotted into fists at his side as Aaron felt him redouble his efforts with the Virtue.

  Still, the creature did not slow, and Aaron was about to step forward, weaponless, when another voice spoke. “Leave him alone!” Seline appeared in a blur, her crimson-coated blades moving faster than the eye could follow. At least, the normal eye. The creature seemed to have no great difficulty, its blade moving with incredible speed, blocking each strike, in a distracted, almost bored sort of way, its gaze remaining locked on the Parnen.

  Finally, the woman stepped back, panting hard, and the creature’s own blade flashed out. She moved both her blades up in front of her to block it, then let out a scream of surprise and pain as the force of its blow sent her flying backward where she struck one of the Ghosts, and they both collapsed to the ground.

  Aaron watched her long enough to see that she—and the man she’d hit—were hurt but alive, painstakingly rising to their feet, then he turned back to the creature who had begun walking toward Leomin once more.

  For his part, the Parnen had fallen to one knee, and his face was sallow and pale, his breath coming in ragged gasps as if he had just expended some monumental effort—an effort which, apparently, had had no effect. No time to wait then. “Sword,” Aaron said, reaching out to the nearest Ghost who handed over his blade without comment.

  Then, with a growl, he launched himself at the creature. It was fast, impossibly so, and even knowing from which direction its strikes would come, still Aaron barely managed to block them in time, launching counters of his own that the creature brushed aside with no more effort than a man might use to swat at an annoying fly. Only his bond and a lifetime spent training with the sword kept Aaron alive, but in less than two minutes he was exhausted, his muscles straining with the effort of keeping up with the creature’s impossible pace. He tried to look for an opening to touch the creature, but it was too quick, far too quick. He was just beginning to realize that he was doomed when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, accompanied by a shout of anger.

  The creature’s sword lashed out at the approaching figure, but Aaron anticipated the strike and brought his own blade up, stopping the blow with a jarring impact. A moment later, Gryle barreled into the creature. The creature’s sword flew out of its hands at the impact, and it and the chamberlain tumbled to the ground in a heap. A second later, the creature had managed to get on top of the chamberlain, but Gryle had wrapped it in a tight hug, pinning its arms against its sides.

  The two struggled, and Gryle hissed through gritted teeth as he the creature tried to break free of his hold. “Hurry,” the chamberlain grated desperately.

  Aaron cursed and lunged forward, calling on his bond with the two Virtues as he did, and then his hand fell upon the creature’s arm. The connection came with a terrible jolt, as if he had been struck by lightning, and he
cried out in surprise. He felt the creature’s emotions rush through him like a tidal wave. Strange, alien thoughts filled his head. There was hate there, a hate so powerful he had never felt its like, hate for itself, hate for the one who had made it and for all others, an ever-hungry, devouring hate that lusted to destroy everything and everyone.

  The feeling was so strong that Aaron felt as if he would be consumed by it, but he gritted his teeth, desperately clinging to himself in a maelstrom threatening to tear him apart. Then, suddenly, that terrible sensation vanished, and all else disappeared, the people around him, the city street and the buildings crowding either side of it, all gone in an instant.

  He found himself standing on a dark shore. There was no moon or sun, the world seeming to exist in a perpetual, twilight gloom. There was a great, roaring susurration that he felt in his bones, and Aaron spun to see dark, churning waters of an ocean rearing up as if alive. Suddenly, hundred-foot-tall waves were rushing toward him, as if eager to destroy this stranger who had dared intrude upon their world.

  “No.”

  He turned and saw that another stood on the shore with him. Here, in this place of emotion and will, the long-dead king, Aaron Caltriss, did not appear in the misty, ephemeral form that he often did. Instead, he appeared as a man, a man of courage and strength who had stood against the darkness of the world. A man who had, for a time, beaten it.

  “We will stand against it,” the ancient king said. “Together.”

  “But how?” Aaron said. A great, terrible wind had risen, whipping at his clothes, and his words seemed to be snatched away, barely audible even to his own ears.

  “No man is ever so given to the darkness that he might not be made to see the light. For all his Art, for all his power, that is one thing Boyce never understood,” Caltriss said, gazing out at the approaching waves, at the storm clouds gathering overhead. “He is hate, Aaron Envelar. He has been twisted into a creature of madness and pain, yet for all that, he is human still. You must remind him.”

  “And how am I supposed to do that?” Aaron demanded.

  The old king gave him a small smile. “It takes only one light, Aaron Envelar, to stand against the darkness.” He turned back to the roiling waves. “Only one.”

  And then Aaron knew what he had to do. Yet he hesitated, gazing out into that roiling water. Co? he asked.

  I am here, Aaron, the Virtue answered. I will not leave you.

  He nodded, hesitating another moment. Then, Aaron Envelar took a slow, deep breath and stepped from the shore and into the waiting storm.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  The row boat struck the shore a hundred feet from one of the boom houses. Or so Balen thought. There was no way to tell for sure, as a wall had been built on either side of the docks, and the stone edifice blocked the structures from view. The night was dark, but in the sporadic bursts of cannon fire and by the ruddy light of the torches they carried, Balen could make out soldiers patrolling the wall, and he was covered in sweat. Any moment, one of those soldiers would look down, would see Balen and the others in the small boat at the base of the wall, and that would be the end of it.

  So far, the guards’ attention seemed more focused on the sea battle in the distance, but that was little comfort. Even if none of the patrolling soldiers noticed him and the others, the wall was twenty feet at least, and it seemed to him that their mission might well fail before it had even truly begun.

  If the others in the boat with him shared any of his own fears, they showed no sign, simply studying the wall—and the guards moving along its surface—with what looked, to Balen, at least, to be dangerously close to indifference. At least they stopped laughing before we got close. That was something, anyway, and he hadn’t been able to suppress his audible sigh of relief when Urek had called for quiet.

  “What now?” he whispered.

  “Now we climb,” Urek said, his tone business-like, almost bored. “Oh,” he went on, as if it was an afterthought, “and we try not to die.” He motioned to Shadow. “Get it done quiet and clean. If one of ‘em raises an alarm, we’re done.”

  “Aye aye, boss,” the man said, putting the knife he’d been fiddling with between his teeth—a recipe, Balen figured, for a bad day—before stepping past him.

  The first mate waited for the man to bring out a rope or a grapple, but he didn’t. Instead, he simply reached out and, as if by magic, began scaling the wall, climbing it as easily as he would a ladder, moving as silently as a ghost.

  Balen looked at Urek in surprise, but the big crime boss only shrugged. “A skill he’s practiced climbin’ into a few women’s windows, I suspect.”

  Shadow reached the top of the wall but waited, stuck against it like some great bug, as one of the wall guards patrolled closer to him. As soon as the man drew even with him, the hawk-nosed man leapt upward, his arm flashing out. In another moment, the guard’s corpse tumbled into the sea.

  Balen stared in shock, then turned, sure that one of the other guards must have noticed, and saw one a short distance away that had just turned back on his patrol, heading in the other man’s direction. He’ll see, gods, he’ll see him. But the hawk-nosed man had somehow managed to take the guard’s sword before throwing him over, and now he was marching toward the other guard, in direct imitation of the dead man. So precise was his act that had Balen not witnessed the attack himself, he would have thought Shadow was the guard.

  The approaching guard, too, seemed not to notice the difference. Not, at least, until he drew closer and froze. The water crashing against the harbor made it impossible for Balen to make out the man’s words, but he didn’t miss the defensiveness in his posture. A defensiveness that lasted for the second it took Shadow to lash out with the blade. Moments later the guard was following his dead comrade into the water.

  Balen found that he was sweating, holding his breath, and he looked around the wall but saw no other guards close enough to worry about. Shadow apparently noticed it too, for he was soon lowering a rope down to those in the boat, fastening its other end to the wall. Gods, Balen thought. Two men dead without even knowing what was happening. So fast…

  He nearly screamed as someone clapped him on the back, and he spun to see the crime boss grinning at him. “Relax, first mate. We’re on your side.”

  For now, Balen thought, and gained little comfort from the thought. After all, as the big crime boss was only too keen to say—they were criminals, after all.

  “Well,” Urek grunted as he turned to Beautiful, “ladies first.”

  ***

  Balen was the last up the wall, and he was panting from the effort by the time he half-climbed, half-collapsed onto the stone with a grateful sigh.

  “Stay low,” Urek whispered, “don’t want any of these bastards catchin’ sight of us and wonderin’ why there’s five guards where there ought to be only two.”

  An order which Balen was all too happy to follow, as his breath was wheezing in his lungs—from fear as much as from exertion—and the muscles of his arms and legs felt weak. They waited, Balen’s heart galloping in his chest, as Shadow untied the rope and hung it down the other side of the wall. Far too quickly, he was forced to follow the others as they climbed down.

  “Well,” the crime boss said once they were all crouched at the inside base of the wall. “That was easy enough. Now for the hard part.”

  Balen, whose feet had slipped nearly a dozen times on the water-soaked harbor wall and had felt sure each time he was going to follow the hapless guards into the shadowy depths, could have argued about how easy the climb had been, but he decided there was little point. He was here, after all, and it was far too late to turn back now.

  “Alright, first mate,” the crime boss said, turning to him. “Take point and lead us to this boom house of yours.”

  “Me?” Balen said. “On point?”

  “Well sure,” Urek said, grinning, “that way, if they’ve got archers posted, at least I know the first arrow won�
��t hit me.”

  Sighing heavily, Balen started forward, the smiling criminals following.

  ***

  Aaron stepped off the shore into the dark water, expecting to be swallowed by it. Instead, the water seemed to retreat before him, receding farther with each step he took. There was a lantern in his hand, though he had no understanding of how it came to be there. By its light, he watched the water gather around him, swirling and shifting as if it desperately wanted to consume him, yet seeming to be held back, somehow, as if pressing against an invisible wall. It takes only one light, he thought, the dead king’s words repeating in his head, to push back the darkness.

  He stepped tentatively, all too aware of the water gathering around him higher and higher as he walked, until looking up, he realized that he was surrounded on all sides by great towering walls of it, so high he could not make out the tops. Swallowing, he pressed on through the damp trail the separating waters left before him. He didn’t know for how long he walked, but eventually the path he followed opened into a wide circle.

  The man knelt on both knees, his bare back to Aaron. The sellsword could see the man was wracked with tremors, as if he was freezing. The stranger did not turn at Aaron’s approach, and soon the sellsword was standing beside him. Savrin. But when the man turned to him, his eyes were not the dead, emotionless eyes of the creature he had become, but those of the man he had once been. “I…don’t I know you?” the man asked.

  “Yes,” Aaron said. “We’ve met before.”