by Jeff Wilson
a Rend who forced himself upon the daughter of the Lord of House Edorin!” yelled Hathim, seething with contempt.
Here, Hathim might not have even been speaking of Aisen’s father, Aedan Elduryn. He instead appeared to be referencing a vile bit of speculation, that Aedan had wed Kyreth Edorin’s daughter to cover the fact that she was carrying the son of a Rend who had taken her captive. Some of the bolder versions promoted the idea that the Rendish man who had violated Aisen’s mother, had been Beodred, the leader of the Rendish alliance that had attempted to invade Nar Edor.
In those stories, Aisen was not of Rendish descent through the one time leader of the Sigil Corps, Aedan Elduryn, he was the son of a vicious Rendish man from Seridor who had brought violence to all the shores of Nar Edor, until he had died in defeat here some twenty years ago. Though the timeline would have fit, this story about Aisen’s parentage was untrue. All such claims had been demonstrated to be false, but that had done substantially less than nothing to stop the rumor from spreading.
“House Hemir,” Aisen responded, “has no honor left. You need not risk your life, defending something that is gone already.”
Aisen’s insult was no exaggeration of the truth. House Hemir was of no importance in any of the affairs and activities across Edorin lands. Hathim’s father, Baron Gensaer, was a public embarrassment, famous for having wasted all of the resources of his family. They were destitute, and relied entirely on patronage from House Edorin for their support. Behaving as if all of this were somehow Aisen’s fault, Hathim stepped forward aggressively.
“Inflicting a long painful death upon the insult to House Edorin that is its bastard son,” said Hathim, “will go far in restoring that honor.”
Aisen was not the sort to rise to bait thrown at him from an enemy, and he was tired and worn out from his fight with Beonen, but his patience was worn down even further still, and so he responded in anger without stopping to take any thought. Hathim, only moments before filled with righteous indignation, now shied back and dropped his sword, cringing in terror as Aisen surged forward and caught him around the throat. Aisen raised him off of the ground and pinned him against a column near the center of the room.
He was relaxing his grip, and in the middle of contemplating whether he ought to lower the terrified noblemen to the ground, when two of the others came rushing in to aid their friend. Temet, who of course no longer had a sword, crashed in, knocking Aisen to the ground, and in the process he freed Hathim who promptly collapsed upon the floor. Aisen knew that there was a second enemy, but he found he could spare no attention to locate the other threat, as he was now pinned to the ground on his back. Between the weight of his armor, and Temet who lay atop his chest, Aisen was immobile.
The second nobleman drew his sword, and brought it slashing down against Aisen’s leg, where it was deflected harmlessly away by Aisen’s protective plate armor. Aisen almost felt that he deserved what was happening. As outmatched as these men may have been, he had left them with the opening that they needed to take him down when he had allowed Hathim’s insults to draw away all of his focus. He had very little strength left, but he was not about to give up.
Reaching his arms around Temet, who was in turn holding him down as though his life depended on it, Aisen’s hand felt the rough edges of a patterned surface which had been carved into bone. It was the grip of a knife belted at Temet’s side. Why hadn’t Temet drawn this weapon when he had had the chance? Aisen recalled what Beonen had said of the others: they had come only to observe. Hathim was obviously here for more than that, but perhaps not all of these young men bore him such hatred. Aisen pulled the knife free.
He could have killed Temet, but the man had only attacked in defense of his friend, and Aisen did not want to regret how he chose to respond. Noticing that Aisen had gotten a hold of his knife, Temet spared him of the need to make that difficult decision by getting to his feet and backing away. The second nobleman had since been joined by the last of the group, and he was at the present moment, preparing to put an end to his downed target. He was aiming another attack, this time at Aisen’s exposed head.
Deflecting the attack with his arm, Aisen saw that the man had made a mistake. He had stepped in far closer than he had needed to, and his legs were within easy reach. Aisen drove the knife he had taken from Temet, deeply through the man’s leg, and quickly pulled it back out, dropping him to the ground. The young man, forgetting everything but the pain of his injury, cried openly as he knelt within the blood which was rapidly issuing from his body. Aisen then rolled up onto his own knees, so that he faced his opponent, and he tore through the man’s torso with the knife.
The man dropped his sword, and stared down helplessly as life began to leave him. Aisen saw now who it was he had just injured. It was the young nobleman from House Novin. Although Aisen had trained endlessly to become proficient in combat, he had never killed anyone before. He didn’t have the time now to reflect on this, as there were more enemies in the room. Baron Udras’s son was mere feet away, but he appeared hesitant. Wisely so, given what he had witnessed a moment before.
In the other direction, behind Aisen, Hathim was not nearly so cautious. He had recovered from his earlier fright, and had collected from the ground the sword that he had dropped earlier. Whatever honor he felt he had, it was clear that he believed that Aisen had insulted it. In one hand, he held his sword, and in the other, he held a parrying knife. He hurried forward, intent upon running his sword through Aisen’s back.
Ignoring the son of Baron Udras, Aisen rose to his feet and turned to face a charging Hathim, who was by now screaming invectives at the object of his hatred. Aisen could not control the man, and he did not dare take him lightly, so Aisen quieted the tormented cries by putting his knife through Hathim’s throat.
Aisen turned then to look upon the son of Baron Udras. He had never seen a man look so frightened, and he learned then the ways in which fear could drive a cornered man to respond. In an attack that rivaled some of the strikes Beonen had delivered, the nobleman swung his weapon at Aisen’s neck. Aisen knocked the swing away with his arm, his armor saving him once more, as it had now done so many times. The son of Baron Udras followed this attack with several more, each one growing successively weaker. Such was the fury with which he attacked though, and the almost crazed manner in which he harmlessly battered at his armored enemy, that Aisen was for a moment, thoroughly confused.
Aisen had no weapon with which to fight back; Temet’s knife was still in Hathim’s throat, but his training took over and when an opportunity came, Aisen trapped his opponent’s blade between his left arm and his chest plate. Stepping in with what little he strength he had left, Aisen threw his fist, supported by the solid steel of the gauntlet which wrapped his hand, into the side of his enemies head. The blow tore gashes into the man’s face, and terminated with an audible crushing sound, a noise made by the splintering of bones. The man’s head snapped back from the impact, and then the son of Baron Udras collapsed, falling lifeless to the ground.
Aisen fell too. His strength had been spent. As he rested upon his knees, Aisen realized that he was not safe yet, there was one remaining man. It was a struggle to raise his head. This difficulty was not solely the result of Aisen’s weakened state; it was also caused by his reluctance to view the harm that he had inflicted. When Aisen did look up, he immediately located the last of the noblemen, the young man from House Afnere.
Temet, having witnessed everything, and finding himself in a burial chamber in which there were now three more lifeless bodies than it was intended for, was desperately trying to leave. Temet’s long knife had inflicted most of the damage on the fallen bodies, but it had done so in Aisen’s hands, not his own. With his sword and knife sheaths both empty, he was no longer a threat to Aisen, and he had never meant to be one to begin with.
For Aisen, this had been an unimaginable disaster. Having gone this far, it might have made sense to kill
Temet as well. The young nobleman was not going to give anyone an honest accounting of what had taken place. But Aisen had neither the strength nor the resolve to consider the idea. He was sickened by what he had done already. So Aisen remained where he was, watching the one surviving nobleman struggle with the heavy beam which secured the doors. It was plain to Aisen, that what had taken place here, would cast a dark color upon his name, one which he would never be able to erase.
A surge of energy formed just behind Aisen, giving a warning, but too little time in which to react. Beonen drove the blade of his knife deep, piercing cleanly through the armor that protected his brother’s back. Aisen heard himself scream, but he did not recognize at first that he had been the source of the sound, and he was too weak to respond.
Beonen tried to pull the knife free, in order to strike again, but it was stuck, and he only succeeded in breaking the blade just above the guard. Then his eyes came upon the hilt of the Edorin Sigil Sword, which was firmly seated within the scabbard belted at his brother’s side. If Aisen could have turned to see his brother’s face, he would have seen desire written in every part
