The Sun Guardian

by T. S. Cleveland

  Scorch came to stand beside Kio, who was holding the sword in one hand and Julian’s hand in the other. He glanced around at the bruised and bloody faces, smiling softly.

  “We have to fight our way out of here, but we will get out,” he said, putting as much conviction as he could muster into the words. For good measure, he winked. Then he felt like an ass for winking. Then he said, “I’ll protect you,” and headed through the broken door. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard dozens of feet following.

  “Scorch.” Kio touched his arm, and he looked over his shoulder to where she walked behind him. She offered back the sword and he accepted it with a solemn nod.

  The fastest route would be the one he’d just traveled, leading out to the circle, but a look at the others made him discount the option. Once outside, they would need to scale the walls to escape and most looked too haggard to climb. The best chance at leading everyone to safety was the way Ebbins brought him in, but Scorch had been in such a haze at the time, he wasn’t sure he remembered the way. It had been a labyrinth in his concussed state. Unfortunately, it was the only solution he could think of, and so he turned down the hall he thought might be the right way and tried to walk confidently as he led the others.

  They managed to maneuver through three hallways and up one set of stairs before they ran into the first team of masked men. They appeared around a corner, fully armed and breathless, a leader at their front shouting orders to “move faster.” When they saw the escapees at the end of the hall, they paused for a moment, shocked, and then everything happened rather quickly.

  Scorch raised his sword and ran toward them, an angry cry tearing from his lungs. He met the leader of the masked men with a crash of metal, meeting his blade once, twice, before he knocked it from his grip and it clattered to the floor. He kicked it back with his boot and punched the stunned guard in the throat before tossing him out of the way. He greeted the next man with a kick to the groin and a swift sweep of his foot that had him falling onto his back and smacking his head against the floor. Scorch picked up the abandoned sword and tossed it behind him before moving on to his next target.

  He tried to keep the bulk of masked men trapped, but there were too many, and he couldn’t stop a swarm from maneuvering past him in the narrow hall. He worried until he heard the sharp ringing of connecting blades. After slamming another assailant against the wall, he stole a glance behind him to check on how the others were faring. Kio had taken up one of the discarded swords and was slashing at the masked men approaching her. Her skill looked sloppy, but her swings were fierce. Julian circled around one man’s back and pushed him off balance. The masked man fell forward as Kio heaved, and the blade pierced through his stomach.

  That was when the others went wild. All that time starved and locked up and forced to kill one another, and now they wanted blood they could choose. They raised their voices to a fearsome howl and moved forward like a single unit of revenge, weaving around Scorch and throwing themselves on the remaining masked men in the hallway. They didn’t need superior skill when they were running on pure adrenaline and savage reciprocity. A few picked up swords but most settled for their hands, strangling and scratching and biting and kicking, and when all the masked men were dead or dying on the floor, they moved on, a wave of destruction, not even waiting for Scorch.

  He followed behind them as they ravaged corridor after corridor, beating down every guard they encountered. When he passed a splintered old door, he finally recognized where he was. He slowed, peering into the room where Ebbins had dragged him. The sallow man who had judged Scorch’s worth was lying dead on his rug. Scorch felt a flutter of satisfaction and then hurried to catch up with the mob he’d created.

  He found them storming the front door of the building, could make out Kio in the front, hacking at the chain lock with a sword until it busted. The escapees rushed outside, stomping on the final masked guards on their way out. Scorch followed them into the sun and watched as everyone scattered, running in different directions, some into the woods, and some down a dirt road.

  He was gathering himself, trying to decide his next move, when he heard someone approach from behind. Before he could react, something sharp pressed into the small of his back.

  “You’re gonna pay for what you’ve done to this place, boy,” Ebbins rasped. “You’ve just ripped the income out of my hands, so I’m gonna to need to rip something out of you. It’s only fair.”

  Scorch felt his blood rushing hot. He spun, knocking Ebbins’ sword clear and wrapping his hand around his throat before he could so much as breathe. As soon as Scorch’s skin made contact around the leathery neck, Ebbins’ face began to turn red. Sweat dripped down his brow and his eyes widened with surprise. Scorch detected a spark of understanding in the twist of his face before he reared back his sword and pushed it through the slaver’s stomach.

  He let him drop and stared at the red marks he’d left on his throat. Scorch wouldn’t let himself feel anything but righteousness for his death, not after what he’d done to Flora, not after the work he’d been doing, enslaving men and women to the Circle for coin. He wiped the gore from his blade on Ebbins’ trousers, and a familiar glint caught his attention. Lying beside Ebbins was the sword he’d taken from Scorch, the one from the Master, the one piece of the Guild he had left. He dropped the lesser blade and reclaimed his own, unbuckling Ebbins’ belt and pulling it free to wind around his waist, along with the matching scabbard. He sheathed his sword and the weight was an instant comfort, as well as a reminder.

  Scorch was beaten and bruised, bloody and filthy. The time he’d spent in the stone depths of the Circle, he hadn’t been able to think clearly, but now he was free, and his responsibilities as a guardian weighed heavily on his thoughts. His mind was racing so fast he failed to notice the two people walking from the tree line until they were upon him.

  He focused his eyes on Julian and Kio, who stood there, just as filthy as Scorch, watching him patiently but expectantly, clearly waiting for something.

  Scorch didn’t look back at Ebbins’ slain body, but he saw Kio’s eyes wander toward it. The daylight leant her olive skin an ethereal sheen. She looked like a goddess beside Julian, whose bruises were fading to a torrid green and yellow. His eye, at least, was less swollen.

  “You’re bleeding,” Kio pointed out after averting her eyes from Ebbins.

  Scorch lifted a hand to his face to feel for blood. He couldn’t remembered being hurt in the escape, but there was a trickle of red slick easing from his nose.

  “Come with us,” Kio said. Scorch noticed her own face was relatively unscathed, only a small bruise forming on her jaw and the burn on her cheek.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “We’re taking the road until we hit the next village. I need supplies. You look like you,” her eyes flickered over his body, “might need supplies, too.”

  Scorch began to refuse, but his voice faded after a struggling second of trying to drum up excuses. He had regained his sword, but he’d lost the medicinals Etheridge allotted him, along with his spare clothes and bedroll. But none of that mattered when he’d also lost his coin purse. “I have no means to refresh my supplies.”

  Kio smiled and stepped past him. He watched her kneel beside Ebbins’ body. She reached a hand beneath his gore-stained vest, and, a moment later, her hand re-emerged with a leather pouch that, when shaken, betrayed a considerable clinking of coins inside. She tossed it at Scorch and he caught it with one hand. He fingered the pouch. It wasn’t his, but there was a good chance a heft of the coin inside was. Still, he hesitated.

  “Either you take it or leave it for scavengers. In this corner of the world,” she said, gesturing at the building behind them, “that coin will probably do more good with a guardian than with anyone lingering around the Circle.”

  “We’re lingering around the Circle,” Scorch mentioned, but he stuffed the coin purse into the waist of his trousers and tied the strings around h
is belt. He smoothed the long trim of his jerkin over his stomach and gave Kio a shrug. She returned his shrug with a nod, stepping past him and taking up Julian’s hand.

  “Come with us,” she repeated. “Let me take care of your injuries. I would see you well before parting ways with you. It’s the least I can do after what you’ve done for me.”

  Scorch was about to open his mouth to argue when a searing pain in his thigh activated the searing pain in his shoulder, which spurred the dull ache in the back of his head. He couldn’t deny he was in poor shape.

  “Where I’m from, I was training to be an herbalist,” Kio entreated. “Please allow me to help. It would be an honor to assist one from the Guild.” Julian leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Kio made a face, and then added, “I’ll buy you a drink.”

  Scorch smiled and the clawed mark down his face tugged tight at the expression. “Pull my leg, why don’t you? Fine, yes, I will be happy to accompany you to the next village.” He glanced down at his filthy state. “Maybe I can get a bath before that drink though.”

  “I’m glad you said it first,” Kio agreed.

  They started their way down the road. Scorch would get clean, get bandaged, and get his plan straight. The Circle was an unexpected hindrance, but he would not abandon his guardianship. He repeated his mantra as they walked: save the High Priestess, save the High Priestess, save the High Priestess.

  Vivid

  5

  Considering the volume of men and women loosed upon the countryside, Scorch expected to come across others from the Circle on the way to the village, but none emerged from the trees to join their trio. They walked in silence, which Scorch attributed to the wariness of his companions and the harried business of his own mind. He attempted to organize his thoughts, wondering whether he should write Master McClintock and tell him what happened, warn him about the slavers and the Circle. He felt like he’d been trapped in that cage for weeks, but he knew, rationally, that it had been nowhere near as long. He asked Kio, and she told him with a sad smile: “Two days.”

  Two days was all it had taken to unravel Scorch. True, he had summoned his wits in the end, but would he have pushed himself to do so if not for the dark-haired stranger’s prompt? The gloom of such thoughts tried dragging him down, but Scorch twisted his mood brighter with the reminder that he’d only been delayed from his journey for two days. Hopefully, two days would not be the difference between assassins reaching the High Priestess and Scorch arriving in time.

  He was still teetering between self-loathing and reluctant optimism when they entered the village hours later. It was simple and small. The blacksmith and tanner and seamstress shops were nestled beside one another on the main road, and an inn sat in the midst of several one-room homes. Set up at the edge of the village was an herbalist tent and Scorch felt a sudden pang for the Guild. After agreeing to meet back at the inn in an hour, Kio parted ways with Scorch and Julian, heading straight for the tent to restock her medicinals.

  Scorch watched her retreat with an admiring eye. “Right,” he announced. “I need fresh underclothes.”

  He walked with Julian to the seamstress and they handed over a hefty portion of their newly acquired coin in exchange for garments that weren’t covered in blood and grime. Scorch left the shop with clean linen shirts, underclothes, and a spiffy new jerkin, as well as a fresh bedroll and a satchel in which to carry his new possessions.

  Kio was waiting for them outside when they reached the inn, which was surprisingly large for a village so small. Either they entertained a great number of passers-by, or patrons came from nearby villages for drinks. Scorch couldn’t care less as long as there was a tub. When Kio announced they did indeed have a tub, and that she had already procured them a room and requested hot water by the buckets, he felt satisfied. Kio put up hardly any complaint when Scorch and Julian insisted she bathe first, and they promised to let her poke and prod at their injuries afterward. In the meantime, they would eat.

  The lighting was dim inside the inn and Scorch was instantly on alert. The hour wasn’t terribly late—the sun had only recently started thinking about going down—but there were enough patrons that their arrival drew no one’s attention. Kio nudged past Scorch and headed for the stairs. He watched her ascension and made a note of the room she entered—second door to the left—just in case. Julian harrumphed at his shoulder, making Scorch jump.

  “Sorry,” Julian apologized.

  “No, I—” Scorch began, but what was he to say? I’m feeling a tad jumpy because the last time I was in a place like this, I got a girl murdered and myself kidnapped? It wasn’t the way Scorch wished to start his evening, so he forced that old familiar smile onto his face and said, “Just a bit tired.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” was Julian’s reply, delivered in such a dry tone that it took Scorch a moment to realize he was attempting humor. The fact that a man with that many bruises could still attempt mirth caused warmth to spread in Scorch’s stomach, and he clapped Julian amicably on the back.

  “Some food will help. I’m famished,” Scorch announced, clicking his fingers playfully to catch the attention of the kitchen boy. One look at Scorch had him bustling over with a grin. Much to his credit, he didn’t shy away when he got close enough to see their injuries and, most likely, smell their smell.

  “Didn’t see you boys come in. Here for a room?”

  “Oh, we have one of those already,” Scorch replied. “We could really do with a bite.”

  “Aye, we’ve got those, as well.” The kitchen boy was tall and wore his hair pulled back with ribbon. “Sit wherever you like and I’ll bring something for you to nibble.”

  “Obliged to you,” said Scorch, waving Julian toward a table against the back wall. They took a seat, Scorch careful to angle himself in his chair so he could keep an eye on the inn rooms, the bar, and the front door. They sat in silence until the boy came back and set a tray of bread and cheese on their table, along with a few mugs of spiced wine. They thanked him and tucked in, both too hungry to try for conversation until they’d finished half the spread.

  “So,” Scorch ventured after a hearty sip of his drink, “how do you know Kio?”

  Julian looked perplexed as he inhaled another bite of cheese. Scorch waited patiently for him to chew and swallow, and then he said, slowly, as if Scorch was simple minded, “Her cage was next to my cage.”

  Scorch shuddered involuntarily at the word “cage” as Julian shoved more food into his mouth. Only a few hours ago they’d been locked up in the Circle. It was weird to be sitting comfortably in an inn and sharing a meal when they might have been made to kill one another on the morrow. Scorch didn’t want to think about it, so he pursued his curiosity from a different angle.

  “You didn’t know each other before? She’s very affectionate with you.” Scorch hadn’t spared much thought to it at the time, but Kio and Julian had seemed familiar with one another from the beginning. He assumed they had met previously, but Julian shook his head.

  “You don’t have to know someone a long time to feel close to them.”

  Scorch felt a stitch in his chest at the statement. He’d known many people for a long time and never felt close to them. How was it Julian felt that way about Kio?

  “So you two are close,” he hunted. “Need me to get my own room tonight so you can be even closer?” He hadn’t expected to see Julian’s blush beneath all the layers of bruising, but scarlet crept up beneath the yellow mottling of his cheeks.

  “It’s not like that,” Julian insisted, hiding his red face in his mug. “Kio kept me alive. I wouldn’t have made it past my first fight if it hadn’t been for her. But it’s not like that. I’m not like that.”

  “Oh, I see,” Scorch whispered good-humoredly. “What are you like?”

  Julian let out an exasperated little sigh. “Devoutly abstinent.”

  “Is this an inappropriate time to mention my insatiable attraction to priests?” joked Scorch. Julian looked
unimpressed and Scorch wondered if he would need to be added to the Immune to Scorch’s Charming Personality List. “Sorry,” he offered. “Afraid I’m a bit of a heathen.”

  “You saved my life today. And Kio’s. I don’t care if you’re a heathen.” Julian clanked his glass against Scorch’s. “Besides, the only ones I’ve met who are truly unforgivable in this world are elementals. Luckily, they’re few and far between.”

  Scorch’s laugh burned in his lungs. “Luckily,” he agreed with a hasty swig from his mug.

  “They’re the reason I was brought to the Circle, you know,” Julian continued, his one good eye growing darker. “The slavers were in my town searching for elementals and they found me instead.”

  “Why would slavers want to bring an elemental to the Circle?” asked Scorch, mimicking his tablemate’s body language and shifting forward.

  “They wouldn’t,” answered Julian. “Too dangerous. But they would try to kill one and bring its corpse back to the Queen for a reward. It’s been that way ever since she passed the ordinances. Best Queen we’ve had, if you ask me, and the reason the elemental population is so low these days. There’s someone who understands how horrendous those creatures are. Not to mention she’s a loyalist of the High Priestess.”

  “I see,” laughed Scorch. “So you’re hard for the Queen. Saving yourself for her?”

  Julian leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. If not for the bruising, Scorch would have sworn he wasn’t sitting with the same man who’d been trapped in the neighboring cage. The person watching him was sharper somehow, now that he’d been freed from his wiry prison, and Scorch wondered if he even remembered curling into a ball and sobbing. Maybe he was just trying his best to forget, or, like Scorch, pretending he’d already forgotten. Regardless, Julian was appraising him with a smirk on his swollen face.