by Megan Derr
"I'm not sure I can move," Malea admitted, and as Sule drew closer, he noticed just how pale she was, and all the bruises and scratches, the dried blood mattered in her hair at the right temple he had not been able to see before.
Sule knelt before her and held out a hand, palm up. "Heal yourself."
Malea frowned and shook her head. "You will need your strength—"
"I can take strength from the others," Sule lied. "Mahzan won't need his. He is just a whiny mind mage who stays in the back and keeps us in a good mood when people are kicking us in the face and trying to spill out guts on the floor. In his head, the others all laughed, even Mahzan, and Sule fought a stupid urge to grin in response.
"How… how is that possible?" Malea asked.
Sule shook his head. "We share a special bond. Come, there is no time. The others will need me, and if there is going to be a fight, you will likely be needed as well."
Malea nodded, though she was clearly still reluctant to take his energy. She reached out with one hand and placed it over his heart, using her other hand to hold the one he'd held out. Sule grunted as he felt the tug of his energy being drained away, but was well-braced for the wave of fatigue that hit him next, having worked with healers before. It was worth it to see her cuts and bruises fade away, to see a healthy flush return to her skin.
After a couple more minutes, she withdrew, then leaned in to embrace him tightly and kiss his cheek. "Thank you."
"No need," Sule replied gruffly, and tucked back the strip of silver hair that had slipped forward to fall against her cheek. So strange, that wide strand of silver against her vibrant red hair.
She must have read something on his face, for she said, "It happened when my father died. It…was not pleasant. Dree used him to make a statement. I tried everything to save him, nearly killed myself in the process. My hair was like this when I woke."
"I am sorry you've endured so many terrible things," Sule replied, standing. He helped her to her feet, then led the way from the manor and back to the bar.
When they arrived, it was to a brief burst of distress from Mahzan, followed immediately by a rush of panicked people bursting from the bar, nearly running over them in the desperate scrabble to get away from whatever was happening inside. Sule grabbed Malea and rushed into a nearby alleyway to get them out of the crush. What in the Dragon?
Mahzan replied, Binhadi just stabbed one of Dree's men right in the throat.
Sule blinked at that. Tell me I just misheard that somehow.
No. I would advise you never call or even imply that Binhadi's mother is a harlot.
He would not kill over that.
Long story, that was just the end of it. Get your ass in here.
Yes, milord. Sule motioned that Malea should remain where she was, then abandoned the alley and pushed through the rushing crowds, shoving and yanking people as necessary until he finally half-walked, half-stumbled into the bar.
He crashed into a battered, bruised Kek just past the door, sending them both crashing to the floor. He landed on Kek with a grunt. "Hail," Sule said, getting his bearings back just a split second before Kek, levering himself up just as Kek gathered himself.
Sule slammed a fist into his nose. Blood gushed everywhere, but Sule only swung again, knocking him out cold. Clambering to his feet, he looked around the room. Binhadi was trapped in a corner, Mahzan was on the floor, slumped against the wall, blood pouring down the right side of his face.
Caught me by surprise, the bastards. I'm trying to quell the crowds, but it's hard with his voice and the fact he was smart enough to try and cave my head in.
Sule grunted and drew his sword, searching out Cemal, who was trapped by a handful of men on the opposite side of the room, in the small space between the bar and the wall.
A flash of movement caught his eye, and he turned toward it—and swore loudly and colorfully as he saw Malea. "Dragon's balls! I told you to stay where you were! Get behind the bar, you fool!"
Malea opened her mouth, probably to argue, but Sule did not wait to hear it. He started fighting his way across the room, horrified at the number of armed men, startled at how many seemed to be fighting them, as if Binhadi's little stunt had provoked many people into action. He grimaced, thinking of the unpleasantness of the aftermath.
"Sule!" Cemal cried, but then he was buried again in the soldiers trying to trap him like a wyvern in its pit.
"Dree, stop!" Malea screamed.
Dree and Binhadi both looked up at her words, their fight halted by a presence neither had expected. Sule swore, turned to deal with Malea—
And then everything went wrong.
Sule saw Dree move a heartbeat before Binhadi, saw the flash of steel, cried a warning aloud and silently—
—the dagger sank into Binhadi's gut, and the look on Binhadi's face was something Sule did not think he would ever get out of his head. He had seen men die before, but this—not after surviving the fearmonger, not after managing not to kill each other, not when he was reluctantly starting to like the smarmy bastard.
He bellowed, made to move, but then the pain struck him in the gut, as hot as the blue fires that were nearly impossible for him to summon, crippling him, sending him to his knees screaming in pain and clutching at his stomach.
Through the bond, he could feel that Mahzan and Cemal were feeling the same, and with Cemal trapped the way he was—
Sule looked up, saw Binhadi collapse, and gritted his teeth. Kill Dree. Save Binhadi. The pain and all the rest could wait. A flash of movement caught his eye just as he heard Cemal scream. Sule's blood ran cold. He knew that manner of scream, a blind battle rage that he had never expected to hear from sad, gentle Cemal.
Sule stopped, not knowing any longer where to go or who to help first. He saw a flash of brilliant magic light, as though Cemal were calling up a massive shape—but then Cemal was suddenly gone.
In his place… Sule could only gape, along with everyone else in the bar. In Cemal's place was an enormous wolf-man creature. It had the fur, claws, and teeth of a wolf, but stood on two legs like a man, its body a bizarre combination of the two. The fur was the very white-gold of Cemal's hair, and its eyes were a familiar sea-green.
The wolf creature lunged, startling the men in the bar into movement—some moving forward to attack, but most fleeing as though chased by the Great Dragon himself. The wolf hit one of the men, knocking him to the floor, and tore his throat out. The wolf immediately lunged for the next assailant, muzzle dripping blood and gore.
What in the name of the Dragon? Sule asked, unable to form the words aloud. He forced himself to turn away and head toward Binhadi—bolting forward as he saw Dree try to flee. Reaching him, Sule grabbed him and threw him up against the wall.
Dree poured all his magic into his voice as he sputtered, "You don't want to kill me! You want to help me, soldier."
"Spare me your feeble attempts at manipulation," Sule snarled. "Your magic will never work on a man Oathbound to a mind mage!" Sule called up his magic, and set Dree on fire without a single shred of remorse—but killed him just as he began to scream.
Letting the body fall to the floor, he dropped to his knees and pulled Binhadi into his arms. "Mahzan! Do something about Cemal and those still alive!"
"I'm trying!" Mahzan said, slowly pulling himself to his feet. His eyes glowed silver, and those few still alive suddenly fled. Cemal stood in the middle of the wreckage, surrounded by bodies and broken furniture, growling as though displeased he'd run out of victims—or maybe the better word was 'prey'. "Shh," Mahzan said soothingly. He held out a hand, palm up, and fell silent—but then the wolf slowly crept toward him, head low, growling turning into whimpering. Then the wolf shimmered, and with a pained cry and a flash of blue light, Cemal tumbled forward into Mahzan's arms.
After Mahzan nodded that Cemal would be all right, Sule turned his attention back to Binhadi, who had passed out and looked far too pale. Sule reached up to wipe blood from his lips, his own p
ain increasing, making it hard to focus on anything. What in the Dragon's name was going on?
He looked up at the sound of footsteps drawing close, pulled a dagger—and could have wept with relief to see Malea. She dropped to her knees and covered the wound in Binhadi's gut. "I need energy," she said, but did not wait for a response, just started pouring her own into the wound.
Sule did not waste time on words either, simply placed his hand on her chest, beneath her breast and over her heart, and gave all he had to offer. A moment later, he felt it as Cemal and Mahzan join him. Together, the three of them gave their energy to Malea, who in turn used it to keep Binhadi from dying.
Eventually, Sule was forced to withdraw to avoid passing out. He slumped against the wall, Binhadi's head still in his lap, his hand still smeared with Binhadi's blood. He looked down, saw Binhadi's eyes fluttered open—and for a moment, Binhadi saw him.
He passed out again, but that one sharp look was all Sule needed. Binhadi would be all right. He laughed shakily and fisted Binhadi's hair in one hand, bent over so their foreheads touched. "You bastard son of a whore, I will kill you myself if you ever do this again."
Mahzan laughed nearby, voice just as unsteady. "I fervently hope we never experience anything like that again."
Sule sat up, looked at all of them—bloody, battered, and Cemal looked as though he were holding on by only the barest thread. "I wish I could say we will not, but I fear it is only going to get worse for us." He looked at Malea. "Thank you."
"No," Malea said, wiping tears from her face. "This is all my fault—"
"We made the choice," Mahzan said. "At least we won. What do they call it, Sule, when soldiers win their first victory?"
"True blood," Cemal answered, and the sound he made was somewhere between laughing and crying. "It's called true blood. But I thought the phrase went that true blood was the sweetest victory a soldier ever tasted."
Sule's mouth twisted. "No, true blood is when a soldier first understands that the best victory will ever feel is bittersweet."
Mahzan sighed. "I will go do what I can to calm the people. Malea, you had best come with me. Sule, I will leave Binhadi to you. Cemal—"
"I am going to arrange for last rites for all these people," Cemal said flatly. "For all these men I killed in a matter of minutes by tearing them open and ripping them apart like an animal." He stood up, and walked away, before anyone could say anything.
Sule gestured to Mahzan. "Go, you and Malea. I will help Cemal after I get Binhadi to bed."
Mahzan nodded and looked as though he were going to make some flippant remark—but only sighed again, helped Malea to her feet, and walked off.
"Dragon eat you," Sule said quietly, to no one in particular, then went about getting Binhadi up over his shoulder to carry him to their room.
MONSTER
Cemal arranged the last body, flinching at the state of it. He was too tired and drained to cry any longer, but the urge was far from faded.
All he could see was her body. His poor little sister, brutally murdered, their humble home by the sea ransacked for hidden wealth they did not possess. Only a monster, he had said, could murder a little girl—and murder her for coin they did not have, had never had!
He had vowed to track the monster down, the contemptible soldier who had made nice in their little village, had fled in the dark after committing his heinous crime. The bastard had left no evidence beyond a shattered memory stone, but Cemal had figured him out anyway. He had shadowed the bastard from the little chain of islands he had once called home, from town to town across the continent, braving roads that only the desperate used.
Finally, finally he had found the bastard in the Heart—wearing the uniform of the royal army, and the markings of the North Captain. Cemal had settled into life in the Heart, become a highly respected, highly trusted priest. He had watched and learned and planned.
He had picked his time and place with care, had visited on a night where no one would see him or miss him. He had crept into the home of the North Captain and stabbed him to death the same way the North Captain had once murdered his little sister, had taken away the last bit of family Cemal had left.
Cemal would never forget how awful it felt, the way the anguish and rage he had thought would finally die down had not gone away at all. But it was done and behind him. He had killed the monster.
It had never occurred to him that perhaps he was a monster as well. His only motive had been revenge, after all, and to ensure someone so contemptible was not left alive to do such a terrible thing to someone else.
That murder had been nothing like these. All he remembered was Binhadi falling, the pain, the rage, the fear. He remembered absolutely nothing until Mahzan's voice had penetrated whatever haze had overtaken him. In the midst of his rage, Mahzan's voice had been a cool hand upon his hot brow. He had brought back reality—a reality that proved Cemal was far greater a monster than the one he had slain.
He lifted his prayer beads, woven around the fingers of one hand, and recited the Last Rites. The words came automatically, dulled by exhaustion but sincerely said. They were trifling enough, considering the way he had slaughtered them, but it was all he had to offer.
Sule set the body alight, and Cemal stepped out of the way, turned to head for the next one—and stopped as he realized there were no more. He was done. Not certain what to do next, he just stood there in the bar. Very little of the room had not been destroyed—every last table and chair was broken, the barrels and bottles behind the bar shattered, the floor was covered in food, drink, blood, discarded weapons and scraps of torn clothing.
Cemal jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder, turning around—and froze as he realized it was only Sule, and he was being a halfwit. "Sorry," he muttered, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are we done here, then?"
"We're done getting rid of the bodies," Sule said.
Cemal flinched at his callous tone. They were more than bodies. He pulled away and made for the door, desperate to get away.
Outside, however, Sule grabbed his arm and forced him to a halt. "You need to let it go."
Cemal stiffened. "Leave me alone."
"No," Sule said. "You want to be sorry that you took lives, then fine. But don't feel remorse for killing criminals in the process of defending your own people, your own team. They deserved whatever happened to them the moment—"
"Leave me alone," Cemal snarled and jerked away—only to be grabbed again and thrown against a wall, then pinned there. He started to call up his magic, then remembered himself and withered. "What do you want?" he asked dully.
"You are a Shield," Sule said. "Act like it."
"I lost control of my magic! I turned—I turned into a beast! I slaughtered those men like an animal, like a monster!" Cemal snarled. "That is not the behavior of a Shield!"
Sule sneered at this, and Cemal could feel his impatience. "A Shield is a soldier, and soldiers kill. It is not their first choice, or even their third, but no one takes up a sword without accepting they will be forced to choose killing at some point. Shields are no exception to that."
"I didn't use—"
"I don't care!" Sule interrupted. "Do not get stuck on the literals. You think I have not killed men with fire as often as I have with blade? I am what I am, and the Heart had far more problems below the surface than most people ever realized. We captured most of those problems, but some could only be killed. Those men were attacking us, and if not for Malea, Binhadi would be dead. If we had survived losing one of our Oathbound, those men would have slaughtered us in our crippled state. Maybe you do not care for the way you killed them, Cemal, and certainly you should never be happy about taking lives, but do not waste time or energy being ashamed you killed them. It was us or them, and they were the ones who chose to fight."
Cemal shook his head. "They were enchanted."
"I doubt it," Sule said. "A smart man uses magic for the ordinary, but he would never trust magic alone to have his
back in a fight like that. I would be willing to bet my life that money more than magic persuaded them, in which case I have absolutely no pity." Sule tilted his head. "How does a man so reluctant to fight become a soldier?"
"It was asked of me, and given the way I have shamelessly used the church to my own ends most of my life, I could hardly refuse," Cemal said tiredly.
Sule frowned, but the impressions that leaked from his mind were of pensiveness. "You mentioned that once, weeks ago when we first started this journey. You used the priesthood to travel to find a murderer. But you've never said who they killed."
"My little sister," Cemal said, too weary to hold the words back. Or the thoughts, he realized, as a look of rage and horror overtook Sule's face as he saw Cemal's memory of his sister's body.
It had been just three years after their parents had died while out on their fishing boat. Cemal had been attending school on the mainland for a year, working hard to make his parents proud because they'd sacrificed so much to give him the opportunity. After they'd died, he had quit school to take care of his sister, had resumed the arduous life of a fisherman because it was all that brought in money on their isolated island home. Centuries ago their ancestors had been banished to those empty isles, the original inhabitants long ago wiped out by illness and harsh times. The mainland had believed, or at least hoped, his ancestors would go the same way, since they were pasty, feeble exiles with no concept of island life. But they'd held on, and if not flourished, at least survived to live quiet, relatively peaceful lives.
Visitors had come to town, men from the far away cities deep into the mainland where the scent of the ocean was long faded, where the only bodies of water people ever saw were the rivers and ponds and the famous Great Lake that Cemal had only ever read about and seen in paintings in the monastery where he'd studied.
He had come home from market to find her dead in the main room of their little three room cabin, stabbed over and over again as though by a madman. All the dishes were broken, the furniture shattered, the pillows and cushions cut open, the mattress of his bed torn apart—
