by Eric Angers
Vastian stood. “Then you will have to kill me, brother.” And walked out, Jaerr shouting after him.
“So be it Vastian Klensbane! So be it!”
The warm humid air might have been soothing another time, but it was heavy as he exited onto the docks. His friend and brother in the guild was the mastermind behind it all. It was too late to redeem him, and yet not too late to stop him fulfilling his ultimate goal. Vastian hurried but did not rush as he retrieved small bags of gold from stashes throughout the city. He had to plan now, figure out how to stop Jaerr and without knowing where the man was holed up at there was little hope of ending it in the city. But Jaerr knew where Vastian would be. Vastian and Norgaard. Shit. He ran.
Chapter XXII
Norgaard
The back and forth of sparring was much more evenly matched as Norgaard battled Vastian’s mercenary, Ega. The grizzled veteran sought to teach him something of real combat but Norgaard preferred evasion to straight up fighting, and he continued to elude the ever frustrated warrior. When he closed, Norgaard would spring back, or roll forward and come out behind. Each time he would throw dulled practice knives to prove he had won the encounter.
“You don’t get it, scrap, you don’t always have this much room to work with,” the merc told him in his thick southern accent. “You need to pick up that damn sword and learn how to at least keep yourself alive.”
Norgaard smiled wide, “you know we could take it inside and prove your theory, sir Ega.”
“Don’t call me sir, scrap.” he responded, “If you’re not going to take my word, then do as your master commands, learn the bloody sword.”
Norgaard returned yet another smile, “you know, he’s your master too.”
“Afraid not, scrap, I’ve no master but gold is my mistress, and he just happens to be the one paying me right now.”
Norgaard drew the pink wooden sword from his belt, which finally solicited the faintest of grins from Ega. Ega traced a narrow hallway into the dirt with his boot. They would not go inside and ruin their master’s house, but they could simulate a tight space here.
Ega attacked, using overhead strikes and thrusts due to the confined space of the imagined hall. Norgaard put up a meager defense, slapping at the opposing blade while he dodged his whole body out of the way, clearing enough room to throw his practice knives after some hasty defense.
“Maybe you’re on to something there, scrap,” Ega told him. “You can’t much use the thing yet, but you know your strengths. You will learn ta use a sword in time, but until then, ta keep yerself from getting dead, I think you have the right idea.”
Vastian burst in at a run. “No more training for the day, seal the gate, get inside!” He did not stop to see if they complied.
Ega and Norgaard both threw their practice weapons aside and closed the large wooden doors before lowering the portcullis. They joined Vastian, who was inside gathering weapons and gear. Without a word he tossed a short rapier-like blade to Norgaard and pointed to an armoire in one corner of the great room.
Norgaard found a set of leather armor within, and it looked to be perfectly sized. He listened while he donned it.
“Training is over, Norgaard, I’m afraid we have to cut it short. We leave in the morning, but we have to survive the night. Ega, make sure the manor is sealed up tight. Be on the ready tonight, the boy and I need our rest.” He looked back at Norgaard, “sleep in your armor tonight, but for now, help me pack what we need.”
Ega was gone already, sealing up windows and resetting the manor’s defenses in the form of traps. Vastian seemed to be putting together weapon kits, so Norgaard joined in, putting one together that he could use.
“What is it, Vastian?”
“I told you about the trouble with the guild. I met with my long time partner, he was like a brother to me. He is the betrayer. He will be coming to eliminate me. Tomorrow, if we live, we must warn the.. I must warn the guild.
Ega marched the halls as silently as his coat of plates and mail would allow. Norgaard lay sleepless in his bed, Vastian lay in a separate room, sleeping like a stone. How was he supposed to sleep with Ega out there making all that racket? Walking up and down, armor creaking and clanking with every step. The clumsy oaf! Norgaard tried to calm himself, he was supposed to rest, or so Vastian said. He was supposed to trust Ega to keep them safe, to alert them if anyone breached the walls. If the danger was really Vastian’s partner, he’d be at least half as good as him, and Norgaard doubted that Ega would be able to spot him, let alone stop him. Norgaard’s armor pinched him in places he wasn’t used to. He was not accustomed to sleeping with blades on his person, either, under his pillow and beneath his mattress. Even the short rapier was still attached to his hip. If someone invaded the manor he was supposed to awake from sleep and be aware enough to defend and even attack. Sleep? Not this night.
The attack came in the deepest dark before dawn, Ega stopped his rhythmic pacing. Curious. Norgaard peaked out into the hallway where the mercenary was peering out a slit in a boarded window.
“Two figures up over the wall, scrap, guarantee there’s a third on the side I can’t see. Be ready.” He paused again and turned to look at Norgaard. “Remember how I didn’t want to train inside and destroy the place?”
Norgaard stopped and thought about it then grinned and his tension eased away. A silent laughter took him and the mercenary both, just before the crash of glass around them. Traps sprung but the dark figures dodged. Shining blades capped the ends of their limbs, glinting in the moonlight. Their bodies were but specters of darkness and shadow, impossible to discern except for the flashing steel they held.
Norgaard did not freeze as he thought he would, instead his knives came into his hands practically of their own volition, and then launched them in a flurry at the first target. Ega faced the other, and the trainee and trainer fought, back to back as if they had known each other and fought with each other for years.
The ball of black Norgaard faced cut the air with his own weapons, disrupting the flight of Norgaard’s knives and dodging them simultaneously. Ega had drawn a longsword and worked at parrying a whirlwind of blades from his opponent. Norgaard took in his surroundings, a narrow hall, an enemy that could dodge or otherwise parry his knives. He sighed as he drew the rapier.
The ensuing melee was fast and ugly, neither Norgaard or Ega looked the professional against such foes with their quickness and camouflage. All they could do was protect their most vital parts, leaving arms, legs, and hands exposed to the cut of their blades. Downstairs they could hear another struggle, which would include Vastian, whom Norgaard hoped was winning. All they could tell from the sound was the lower level of the manor was going to be in ruins. Barely a thought could be spared for that, though, as the shadows themselves were still striking at them. Norgaard tried to parry and throw but the figure was just too quick, too skilled at this game. It did not inspire much confidence in Norgaard that they would make it out of the encounter seeing Ega was having just as much trouble.
“We can’t defeat them, scrap, not like this,” he said above the noise of the clash of steel. “We die tonight.”
“I know, Ega.” The words struggled to form on his lips.
“We would have a hope if it were two against one, but this way.. never.”
The shadows snickered at their plight, assured of their eventual victory. They pressed the attack, not foolish enough to be baited into any sort of ‘fair’ fight. Blood spattered the windows and walls and floors, the blood of Norgaard and Ega. But they stood. They continued to hold their defense. Their resolve was waning, their muscles burned and fatigued, they would soon spill the rest of their blood in the hall, but neither would allow themselves to be the first to fall, for that would only seal the fate of the man beside him.
A third ball of shadow emerged from the stairwell, Norgaard could see it, there was no way to know who it was, but if their current enemies were any indication.. Steel thrust out from the third sh
adowy figure, long and slender, it struck Norgaard’s foe in the side and the illusion concealing his foe finally failed him. A lithe sinewy boy faced them, dressed in black utility uniform, clutching his side. That boy turned to the newcomer, Vastian, and attacked while defending against Norgaard. But Norgaard was no longer effective in the dance that Vastian now led. They were all just puppets dancing in his little show. With rapier and dagger in hand he handily parried then stabbed, dodged and slashed, turning and spinning, smoothly walking through the fight as if it were no more than an eventide ball. The dark assassins were revealed in the moonlight and even they began to look clumsy as Vastian worked them over, even toyed with them. No longer were Norgaard and Ega even involved, through Vastian’s movements he pushed them off to either side of the hall and faced down both attackers on his own. Should he fall, Ega and Norgaard would finish it swiftly, but it did not appear likely.
Time had seemed to slow, and Norgaard studied the movements, studied the entire thirty second engagement. There were three hundred and six different strikes in that time, and Norgaard didn’t find it odd at all that he had counted them. Finally, the last blows fell, and the assassins lay motionless on the ground. Then Norgaard’s master slumped. Norgaard made a move to go to him but stopped with a stern look from Ega. The old merc just shook his head.
He could see now that Vastian was not untouched in the encounter, there were tears in his clothing and wet spots of blood here and there. That reminded him of his own wounds and he cringed as they burned in response.
“Get some rest, both of you, there won’t be another attempt tonight.” Vastian said and he slowly limped out of the hall toward his room.
Norgaard glanced at the corpses in the hall outside his room as he passed. Blood had soaked into their black clothing but little made it to the floor, it was the first dead bodies he had ever seen. He left them there and returned to his room. Unable to sleep, he busied himself cleaning the blood from his weapons and armor, and only after did he attend to his wounds.
Chapter XXIII
Vastian
The world had become a blur for Vastian ever since he found out about his friend Jaerr’s plot. The betrayal was enough to cloud his mind, but the physical fatigue was taking its toll as well. Vastian was not young like Norgaard, and he had not been keeping busy in Asunder before they met. The stress of trying to train him, and now he may as well have been working again, it was wearing on his body. He hoped no one had noticed, he tried to maintain an air of strength, even with his allies, but he could not always help his body’s reflex.
The three assassins that had attacked them that night were skilled, and had they not been tired from the extended encounter there was no way he could have defeated them both. That morning they packed up and left for a place known only to Dead Men and Vastian sent Ega on his way.
“Take my ship to Surest, Ega, wait for word. If you don’t hear from me or Norgaard in six months, sell the ship and split it with the men,” he had told him, but he knew someone would be back for the ship. If not himself, then it would be Norgaard.
He attempted to explain to Norgaard where they were going and what was happening, but he wasn’t sure the boy understood entirely. It did not matter much, he never intended to allow him to help when it came time to confront Jaerr. He kept Norgaard with him to help with scouting, and so that someone would know if Vastian died.
The trip was mostly quiet, though there was much to say. The two of them had healing to do, preparing to do, and their talk focused on day to day needs rather than what they might face. Vastian didn’t need to tell the boy they could be facing up to fifty of the best fighters in the world. He knew. Was there hope? Yes, of course. There was always hope. If they could just get there in time and warn the Mantle bearer, they would have allies, and if they could buy just enough time to kill Jaerr, his coup would fall apart.
Norgaard. The poor kid got tangled up in Vastian’s affairs just like Valrissa. No, Val never did get involved, she knew nothing, and he still lost her. He had to stop blaming himself. He had to let others make their own choices. Norgaard could decide on his own. And so far he was choosing to follow along.
They were close to the meeting place. The only members of the guild that occupied the area would be the mantle bearer and his bodyguard. He assumed it would be simple, meet the bodyguard, explain what was happening and then be put in a cell to be questioned. At the very least, they would prepare themselves for the slim chance it was all true. At worst, they would try to kill them both.
“There’s a ruin ahead, Norgaard, their scouts should see us well before we reach the entrance,” Vastian said. “Put on your cloak, cover your face. Let me talk.”
The ruin was just as he remembered it, fallen and half standing pillars here and there, the forest overgrown and taking over. Rubble littered the area enhancing the sound of their footsteps. No scout calls reached his ears. They passed several building foundations, just stone peeking out of the undergrowth at ankle level. There was nothing to camouflage the entrance, it was just a wooden door set in a stone archway, facing forty five degrees into the earth. The Dead Men did not worry about anyone stumbling on the place, if they were unfortunate enough to do so, a scout would see to them. That was how the place got the name: Void Halls. Anyone who went there, disappeared as if into the void.
The door was not latched and a stench escaped from the thin crack. It smelled of death. Drawing his weapons he knew it was pointless, and Norgaard followed suit. He kicked the door open and descended into the darkness on cold slate steps. Torches had extinguished and he instructed Norgaard to close the door behind them while their eyes adjusted. The smell was unbearable and both men found more clothing to wrap about their heads over their noses. It was little help. After a few moments they continued, and Vastian knew that in front of him should have been two passageways, left and right, and then a great hall before him. On the near walls he would find braziers that he could light.
Soon, as they reached the floor the sound of their steps changed from the solid tapping of slate to the splash of water. No, not water, thicker, stickier. When Vastian finally lit the brazier even he gasped. The walls ran red, the ceiling, the floor. Death was all around them, nearly a hundred bodies lay in twisted wrecks on the floor. There were no chairs in the hall, not an altar, nothing, so every man and woman died gasping the blood of every other. Vastian knew none of them and all of them. One of them would have been the mantle bearer, but nothing would tell him apart now. Now that Jaerr had the mantle.
The blood had congealed in most places but managed to run wet in others, but it had pooled in the great hall half an inch thick. Black robes tinged with crimson hid limbs set at horrible angles, deep cuts revealing the meat of humans. He could tell there was a fight for some of them, but a large number had died instantly. Jaerr’s men would have struck first, secretly before moving to second targets who may have had some reaction but died nonetheless. Third targets fought back, however, and counted among the dead would be some of the traitors. Small consolation.
Norgaard was retching behind him, the boy had never seen much death. Vastian had. He had been surrounded by such a grisly scene only once before, and he was the one that caused it. So many years ago, in that broken down old abandoned warehouse in Phelandir, where he slaughtered the gang that had killed her. They were just children, many of the gangs were. Run by the elder children right down to the youngest street urchins. His knives made quick work of every one of them. Their blood washed over his skin, ran like rivers down the uneven floor. When it was over he stood there, broken, sobbing, not just for her but for what he had done. Hardness was gone from him and that is when he fled.
“Norgaard,” Vastian squeaked. He regained his voice quickly, “We have to move. He’s already ahead of us, we can’t let him succeed. This.. this will be the whole world.”
Norgaard composed himself and looked at his master. He had to be wondering just how the two of them were supposed to defeat Jaerr and
his assassins. It must have been hopeless to him.
“We’re going to need more horses,” Norgaard said.
Vastian’s own head rose just a touch. He had picked the right apprentice. “Then let’s go.”
Chapter XXIV
Norgaard
“I don’t think we get to talk like this enough, Norgaard.” Vastian said out of the blue during one of their rest cycles for the horses. Every so often they let them walk rather than gallop on their journey through the empire. “This past year it has been master and apprentice, we don’t much speak as equals, or work that way either.”
“Master, that’s just the way it is, it has to be.”
“No, not anymore, not for awhile now. I think of you as an equal, I trust you as one. I trust very few with my life, but I would sooner put my life in your hands than anyone else’s. Remember that, because your training isn’t over.”
“What do you mean? How can you trust me if I’m not even done training?”
