The Chosen - Rise of Cithria Part 1

by Kris Kramer

  Chapter 16

  Luckily, the dog woke him up.

  Aiden stirred from his sleep to hear Bastion scratching at the door and whining, desperate to get outside. The old dog usually slept through the night, only rarely waking him to go out. And even on those nights when he did want out, he would make it clear with nothing more than a lazy whimper and a tired gaze. Tonight, however, he tried to get out like Death itself prodded him.

  "Hold on."

  Aiden groaned as he climbed up from his bedroll. In his groggy state, the events of the prior evening seemed distant and vague, for which he was grateful. But the longer he was awake, the faster those brutal memories would return, and he may never get back to sleep. So he hurried to throw the door open, let the dog out and then fall back to into bed, before the horrible details of his life seeped back in to his consciousness.

  Before he could reach the door, though, Bastion's whining turned to barking. Loud, aggressive barking at something on the other side. Before he could shush the dog, the door slowly cracked open on its own. Surprised, Aiden backed away and leaned against the wall on the hinged side of the door, waiting to see who was brazen enough to come into his house, unannounced, in the middle of the night. Bastion did the same, staying near Aiden and well away from this intruder, but still barking like his life depended on it. The door closed as if being slowly pushed, but Aiden saw nothing in the darkness. Slits of moonlight streaked in through a few wooden slats in the roof and from the south-facing wall, providing only the barest hint of light. It was impossible to see any kind of detail, but Aiden could make out shapes and edges, and he knew where everything in the room should be. But even with all that, where he'd expected to see a person standing, there was nothing.

  That's when he groaned. Finias, Aiden thought.

  Somehow the boy had found out where he lived and had come here to finish what he'd started on that road outside Alvarton – stealing his belongings. Aiden was in no mood for games, though, so he decided to teach the boy a lesson. He didn't want to hurt him, not really, but he did want him to know that he'd gone too far this time. He grabbed the spear leaning on the wall next to him, and swung it out in a wide arc, aiming low for the shins. The spear struck something hard – his ankles, Aiden thought – and a figure appeared from the darkness, his fade broken by the impact. He toppled forward to the ground, having been caught in mid-stride by the blow.

  Aiden firmed his grip on the spear shaft and jabbed the point down at the intruder's neck, fully prepared to give the young bandit a tongue lashing. Now that he had him lying prone on the ground, though, he hesitated. He could only see a vague outline, but the figure below seemed too short and bulky to be Finias, and the clothing he wore wasn't right. Aiden tapped his bare toes against the man's leg and felt what was unmistakably some kind of hardened leather armor.

  His stomach turned. This wasn't Finias, and it wasn't some random burglar. The man lying prone on the floor of his home was a fadeblade. Questions flooded his mind, fueled by panic. Why would an assassin sneak into his home at night? They didn't break into houses to steal; they did it to kill. Quickly, silently and without mercy. What had Aiden done to warrant a death sentence? He pushed the spear against the man's neck, making it clear that the smallest jab would pierce his throat and kill him. Aiden knew from years of experience that you didn't play nice with fadeblades, because they certainly wouldn't play nice with you.

  "Who are you?" he asked, ignoring the still-barking dog.

  The man said nothing. Aiden pushed down on the spear just enough to see him squirm a little bit.

  "You either talk to me, or you die."

  Aiden swore he saw the man smile in the darkness, and he wondered what could possibly make him so confident. Bastion's barking had become incessant, past the point where he could think clearly. He looked over at the dog, about to yell at him to be quiet, but he saw that the barking wasn't directed at the man on the floor like he thought. He barked instead at the open space to his left, in front of the door. In front of the open door.

  Aiden froze. Another fadeblade had come inside.

  Adrenaline surged through his veins as he realized he had no time to waste. He swung the spear out again, wide to his left, and clipped the second fadeblade in the arm, breaking his cover. He'd been in the process of leaping out of the way when he got hit, leaving him on the far side of the room, which gave Aiden enough space to bring the butt end of the spear back down onto the first man's head, cracking him in the skull and knocking him senseless.

  The second fadeblade leapt forward. Aiden barely managed to move out of the way, bringing the spear up to parry one of the two daggers the assassin no doubt held. He still couldn't see much. He had only a general awareness of movement, and a sense for when and where he would be attacked. That was enough to handle the first few seconds of this fight, but wouldn't keep him alive much longer than that. He lunged forward with the spear, missing, then jabbed two more times, both of which were parried away. Aiden swiped the spear sideways, forcing the fadeblade to keep his distance until Aiden could figure out his own plan of attack.

  A burning, wickedly sharp pain flared through his leg, and he turned to see the man he thought he'd incapacitated jabbing a small knife into his calf. Aiden grunted, refusing to let them hear him scream, and brought the butt end of the spear down again, hopefully knocking him out this time. The second assassin used the opening to pounce across the room, his daggers flying out in wide arcs. Aiden used the spear like a staff and brought it across his body, trying vainly to defend himself. He knocked away one of the daggers, but the other dug deep into the side of his chest. This time he let out a howl.

  Aiden was sure he would die. The blade had struck him just under his left arm, aimed for his heart no doubt, and for a disorienting moment he wondered if this was the last thing he would feel in his life. His leg was on fire, his chest wracked with pain, and the burning weakness of the poisons coating the two blades coursed through his body. His strength would fail at any moment. His knees would buckle, and he'd collapse to the ground and die, lonely and forgotten.

  He instinctively twisted away from the pain and the dagger came free with a sharp tug. Aiden had suffered many injuries in his time in battle, and as soon as that dagger came out of his chest, he realized what had happened. Instead of piercing his heart, it had stuck in his rib. By chance or by fate he was still alive, although by the slimmest of margins. The poison might still finish him off, but he could still fight, and if he was going to die, then he would at least take these assassins to hell with him.

  The assassin hesitated after pulling his dagger free, waiting to see if he'd done enough damage to Aiden to finish him off at his leisure. But that hesitation would cost him. Aiden lunged forward now, not with the spear but with his body, using the spear only to keep the daggers at bay. He reached out with his left hand and grabbed the fadeblade’s armor at the shoulder, slipping his fingers under the seams around the neck. He dropped his spear and pulled his enemy in close, using his raw strength to spin him around and wrestle him into a bear hug, keeping his arms pinned. The struggle, and Aiden's momentum, knocked them both off balance and they crashed to the ground, the fadeblade taking the brunt of the fall. Aiden did everything he could to keep the furiously squirming smaller man in his grasp. He grabbed the man's right wrist, then pried the dagger in his hand loose and it fell to the wooden floor with a thud. Once he did that, he kept the other arm pinned as best he could and wrapped his free arm around the fadeblade's neck, fully intending to choke him to death.

  The assassin fought for a while, pushing and twisting, trying to break free of Aiden's grasp, but it was of no avail. His last gasp at life was a weak stab at Aiden's leg with his other dagger, which broke the skin but little else. Aiden ignored the pain and squeezed the life out of the fadeblade, using all of his anger and pain to fuel him. He didn't let up, not even when his assailant – now his victim – stopped moving. Not until he was sure he was dead. Only when he felt the
body go limp in his arms did he finally stop.

  Aiden let go and rolled away. His chest heaved from the exertion, though whether from the poison, or just the normal rigors of battle, he didn't know. He lay there for a long moment, catching his breath, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the pain from his wounds. He wondered if he could be content with dying now. His attackers were dead, or at least they would be when he could stand and finish off the other one. He'd been victorious, but he didn't want it all to end with a few bodies rotting away in this shack out in the middle of nowhere. Who would mourn him? Who would even know what he'd done tonight?

  The dog barked again, and he tensed, immediately worried that a third assassin had come. But when he stopped to listen, he realized the dog had barked at noises coming from outside. Noises that sounded like more fighting. He stood up slowly, groaning, and leaned on the wall alongside the door to gather his strength, then pulled open the door to see what other trouble had found him.

  Illuminated by moonlight, three men fought each other fifty yards away, straight down the main path to his house. Two of them were lightly-armored, with no standards or recognizable badges of association, mercenaries most likely, fighting an older man wearing dingy robes and holding a sword and a stick. The mercs were fairly young, and in good shape, but their older opponent held them at bay with a variety of efficient parries and clever use of his environment, dodging between and behind trees and skirting around exposed roots and thick brush. He moved like a man who'd known combat for a long time, like many of the experienced old soldiers of the war, who only became so because they'd learned that survival was paramount.

  The old man held out his hand and a flash of light brightened the forest. The two mercenaries staggered back, suddenly blinded for a few crucial seconds. Aiden blinked away the disorientation, which didn't affect him as much at this distance, and realized that he wasn't seeing just a soldier, but a priest. Priests were more than just religious figures. They were also healers, drafted into the war effort to fight with and protect Calderan soldiers, a task some of them took to more readily than others. As Aiden watched this one duck, dodge and spin away from the attacks by the mercenaries, he was reminded of a priest he'd once known. A priest who had watched over him, and helped him learn what it meant to be a soldier of Sothera, and of Caldera.

  The same priest who now fought in front of his house.

  Aiden's eyes grew wide when he recognized the face of Riordan. Riordan of the Warhounds, one of the few men in that storied company who'd been a friend to him. Aiden shook his head in awe as the magnitude of this moment hit him. This was more than chance. And far more than just dumb luck. The events of the last day were nothing short of destiny, a long overdue response to every prayer he'd ever made. There was no more doubt now that the Goddess had finally, and truly, called to him, daring him to take back his life.

  Aiden hurried as fast as his failing strength would allow him to the chest in the corner. He opened it and pulled out his long sword and then dragged his shield out from under the stack of armor that lay on top of it. He hefted the shield on his arm, tightening the straps just enough to feel snug. He held his sword in his hand, feeling comfortable with the weight and balance. He smiled. He'd just survived a brutal assassination attempt, he was wounded in the leg and chest, poisoned, and getting weaker by the minute. But he had a friend outside who needed him, a friend who'd come to find him, a friend he wouldn't fail.

  He limped out the front door and down the path in front of his house, banging his sword on his shield as he did. The mercenaries, who until now had been held at bay by Riordan’s magic and defense, backed away in surprise. They'd probably expected to see two assassins walk out of that house, not this stout armsman who should be dead by now. Aiden glared at them, sizing them up as decent enough fighters, but they were confused by Aiden's appearance, and slow to adjust.

  "Aiden," Riordan said, smiling at him as if nothing untoward was happening. “Think you could give me a hand here?”

  Aiden watched as the two mercenaries backed away, not sure who they should worry about more.

  “It would be my pleasure,” Aiden replied with a smile. He hefted his shield up and charged into the fray.