by J M D Reid
Ōbhin felt sick thinking that way. His friend was one of those resources. Dje’awsa had much to answer for. He hoped to lop the bastard’s head off. He’d perverted the Tones, using Black Niszeh to work such evil in the world.
“Been an hour,” Fingers grunted again. “I want to find my bed.”
“When have the dead ever been considerate?” asked Smiles.
Fingers grunted. “S’true. Supposed to write my wife today and send her money.”
Ōbhin glanced at Fingers. The man ran his thumb across the knuckles of his left hand. “You still write to her? Send her money?”
“Most of my pay.”
“Why?”
Fingers shrugged. “She’s my wife. I swore a vow.”
Ōbhin swallowed. He’d only broken vows. Vows to protect the satrap’s family. Vows to always love Foonauri. To defend her when he took her from Qoth. He’d collected his blood money and left the city reeling from the earthquake and volcanic eruption. “But you hate her. Wasn’t it the baker she, er, well . . . ? Seems a good enough reason to hate a woman for doing that.”
Fingers spat. “Truth is, she hates me. Or she should. Maybe she has taken a lover now, but she hadn’t when . . .” He cracked the knuckles of his left hand, five pops that sounded so loud in the still, foggy air. “I’m no good ‘round her. Better if I’m away. Can’t hurt her then. Never wanted to, but . . .” He snorted. “It became easier to pretend, you know? Make it seem like her fault. Else I’d just hate myself. Don’t know why I’m telling you this. Antsy, I suppose.” He spat. “Damn corpses should just come. Next thing, I’ll be weepin’ ‘bout my mama.”
The awkward silence that descended upon the three made Ōbhin’s spine squirm. He wanted the dead to attack and end his discomfort. He cleared his throat, aching to say something. Fingers’s pain bled out of the man thicker than the silvery fog cloying the air.
Clearing his throat, Ōbhin said, “So, uh, when the corpses come, you and Smiles bind up their torsos, then I’ll lop off their heads.”
“We know what to do,” Smiles said. He chuckled. “You’re worryin’ worse than my mom whenever I replace the roof’s thatch. She thinks I’ll fall off. I keep tellin’ her, ‘I’m more surefooted than Dad. When I fall, I’ll land on my arse ‘n not my head.’” Smiles shook his head. “For some reason, she don’t find that funny.”
Ōbhin snorted in amusement, glad for the distraction. He’d just been babbling there, saying the first thing to come to his mind. He felt weary, and not from the long night in the cold. It was the waiting. It tired a man’s soul as well as his body, beating down his convictions. It was easy to have courage when the blood pumped hot, but after it cooled, after you’d stewed in your thoughts for hours and hours, marinating in doubts . . .
Fingers straightened. He peered out of the slit in the main gate. “Somethin’s comin’.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The flood of cold exhilaration straightened Ōbhin’s back. The dull ache from his wound vanished as his ears pricked. A muffled sound thudded in the fog. He stepped up beside Fingers and peered through the horizontal slit. Ōbhin couldn’t see much. No lights from the neighboring manors, just a dense fog that swallowed his vision an arm’s reach away.
“Footsteps?” Ōbhin whispered, listening to the sound. It grew louder.
“Yep,” Fingers answered. He drew his binder. The soft glow of purple spilled across their chainmail. Ōbhin rested his sword hand on his blade, ready to draw as the thudding grew into distinctive steps.
A party approached, but no rattle of bones or the squishing sound of rotten flesh constrained in sagging skin reached Ōbhin’s ears. It wasn’t the dead they heard, but the living. He hoped it was just men about on honest business in the predawn hours on a foggy night. Maybe even simple burglars thinking to take advantage of the conditions to slip into one of the expensive homes along the southern shore of Lake Ophavin. Ōbhin fought against the trembles, his breathing slow.
“Ōbhin!” a hoarse voice barked out of the fog. A familiar voice. “I know you’re manning that gate. I can see you peering through the slit. Let’s talk.”
“About what, Ust?” Ōbhin shouted back.
“How can he see us?” hissed Fingers.
Ōbhin shook his head. He could see a faint glow to the left of the gate on the road. Someone held a diamond lamp, the steady light illuminating the silver fog. His thumb ran over the pommel of his sword as he considered his options.
“Step out and let’s talk, or I’ll batter that gate down and crush you beneath it.”
“Open it,” Ōbhin said. “Get ready to lock it shut behind me.”
“We’re not leaving you stranded out there,” Smiles said.
“You will if you have to,” Ōbhin answered, his heart laboring. In this fog, he wouldn’t see much, but neither would they. Ust must have guessed I was at the gate. Where else would I be?
Fingers pulled up the heavy beam of hard oak that fitted into iron braces on the back. Smiles shouldered open the right half of the gate. It creaked and groaned, protesting the movement. When he had the clearance, Ōbhin stepped out into the foggy night.
“Well?” he demanded. “If you want to die so badly, I could have assisted you back at the Gray Pillar.”
“Why didn’t you?” Ust asked, the footsteps approaching.
The glow grew brighter. Shapes appeared around it. Behind it. Stone was the first to come into view, his heavy maul draped over his shoulder. He wielded what most men would need two hands to use with only one. He wore old splint mail stretched over his chest, the bands of metal plates unable to cover his waist.
“Ōbhin,” Stone grunted. “Can you believe this fog? It’s thick as my ma’s stew, and that stuck to your ribs.”
“You can walk away,” Ōbhin said. Stone talked the most when nervous.
“Can’t,” he said as Hook appeared next.
“You don’t want to disobey Ust, do ya?” said Hook, brandishing his namesake before him. “You thought you could, Ōbhin.”
“Do I need to kick your teeth in this time, Ust?” Ōbhin asked, tense. He was waiting for the corpse dogs or the shambling death to spill out next. For the flap of dead wings above. “I already embarrassed you in front of your men. You want me to do it again?”
The glow in the fog grew brighter and then Ust appeared out of the swirling white, the light shining from his eyes. Around that glow, Ōbhin could make out drying streaks of blood, crimson tears. His normal mane of thick, tangled, and greasy hair was gone, shaved away. A pattern of crimson streaks crossed his scalp like he’d been cut open and closed up.
Ōbhin saw no wounds for that blood to spill from.
Ust stood naked and in a powerful stance, the cords of his muscles bugling across his exposed body. More blood streaked his inner thighs and his hands. Smears spilled over his feet. When Ust blinked, the light winked out for a moment. A queasy writhe went through Ōbhin as the rest of the bandits materialized behind the unnerving bandit leader. Whiner Creg, his backsword held low, spat. Laynet, Jamis, Naston, and Anbrian flanked like a pack of dogs eager to tear apart their master’s prey.
The only one not present was the archer, Handsome Baill.
“Niszeh’s Black Tone,” cursed Ōbhin, “what did Dje’awsa do to you?”
Ust looked down at his hands, the light shining from his eyes spilling over his muscles. The skin of his head looked puckered in places like something thin had been inserted between it and the skull.
“Dje’awsa’s a petty man,” Ust said. “He doesn’t like being defied, not even a little bit. He seems to think he’s royalty or some crap. Quite the opinion of himself. Of course, the things he knows. The things he can do to a person.”
“For a price. What, my death?”
“And Avena’s.” Ust smiled. “He was real disappointed not to get his hands on Carstin. Apparently, a man near death, hoverin’ on the edge, is an interestin’ specimen to work upon.”
“So he had
to settle for his corpse?” demanded Ōbhin.
“Corpse? Don’t know ‘bout that.”
“You dug it up for him. You delivered it to him.”
Ust burst into laughter. “Oh, if that’s what you think. Well, those aren’t my secrets to share. I’m here for one thing.”
“Killing me on Dje’awsa’s behalf?” Ōbhin drew his tulwar. He activated the emerald. The deadly hum filled the air, emerald painting the eddying fog.
Stone stepped back and brought his maul into a guard position. The smirk on Hook’s face vanished. He swallowed. The other highwaymen recoiled while Ust marched forward. He didn’t have a weapon, not that any sword could survive a resonance blade’s cut.
“No walking corpses to seize me and hold me down so you can kill me?” Ōbhin demanded. “You think your rabble has the skill or the weapons to defeat me? I’ll cut you all down. I’ll leave you bleeding in the road crying for your mothers to swaddle you and hold you to their sagging teats. I’ll sever your legs. Your arms. I won’t kill you, I’ll cripple you!”
“Dje’awsa might be petty, but he knows not to bring his . . . amusements to Dualayn’s estate.”
“So you remember that Dualayn is under the Boss’s protection,” Ōbhin said. “When he finds out you’ve threatened Dualayn and his servants, Grey will have you all gutted. I don’t have to lift a finger.”
“We won’t harm Dualayn. Right, boys?”
Nervous laughter echoed behind Ust. Stone didn’t join them while Hook brayed like a donkey.
“I just want Avena,” said Ust. “I’ll break anyone who stands in my way.” He grinned. Through the glow of his eyes, Ōbhin could see only a dark maw between Ust’s lips. Hungry, devouring. “You and those other two guards at the gate can walk away.”
“You’ll let me live? I though Dje’awsa wanted me dead.”
“He can kill you himself. This is your chance. No hard feelings. You taught me a valuable lesson that day, Ōbhin. I’d grown lazy. Lax. Thought I had achieved all I could. My band, some coin, the pleasure of women. What more did I need?” His hands balled into fists, the muscles in his body bulging. Across his pecs and his abdomen and up his arms, veins popped out against his naked flesh. His skin creaked like it stretched to contain his newfound strength. “It motivated me to find power. To step beyond the limits of my flesh. Dje’awsa changed me, Ōbhin, and it is all thanks to you. So walk away with my thanks. Keep running, and you might even escape Dje’awsa. What he plans to do to your corpse . . .”
“Why run?” Ōbhin demanded. “I’ve found a place I like. I’m tired of being a vagabond.”
Ust chuckled. “Always a woman that gets you into trouble. You had your warning. I’m coming for Avena. She’s a saucy thing. Might replace Ruvine with her and—”
Ōbhin launched into his attack, an overhand swing to cut Ust in half. This wasn’t murder. This wasn’t bursting in on a public house by carving through the wall and cutting down a surprised man. This was defending his employer’s estate. The blade hummed as it slashed down at Ust.
A flare of purple light erupted before Ust’s left shoulder. A barrier of energy not unlike the binding that burst from the tip of Avena’s rod flashed between his weapon and his enemy. The resonance blade hit it and recoiled. The shock of impact shivered up his blade.
Nothing but another resonance blade could parry his sword.
Energy rippled across the shield before it winked out of existence. The other bandits shouted, surged forward, triggered by Ōbhin’s attack. He caught his balance, falling in a guard stance while Ust smirked, arms folded across his chest.
Naston thrust a sword at Ōbhin. He flicked his blade, slicing through the tip. He followed with a horizontal slash that sliced through Naston’s upper body, severing both arms and his torso. He fell in pieces between Ōbhin and Ust. Ōbhin pivoted and changed his swing into a cutting arc at Ust’s right side.
The purple barrier flared. A shield of energy. Ōbhin’s blade struck, the humming increasing in pitch for a moment before his attack rebounded. He shifted on his boots, a growing fear swelling in his heart as Ust uncrossed his arms.
The bandit chief’s arm blurred. It moved faster than Ōbhin could see or react. It slammed into his chainmail armor. Ribs cracked. The force of the blow hurtled Ōbhin down the road. Fog swirled around him. He crashed onto the ground before the gate with a grunt. His head slammed back into the hard-packed dirt of the road.
Bright lights flashed across his vision as fuzzy pain danced across his mind.
“Ōbhin!” Fingers shouted, bursting out of the gate.
“Close . . . it . . .” Ōbhin groaned, his words slurred. It hurt to speak. To breathe.
Through dazed eyes, Ōbhin struggled to follow the battle. Struggled to stand. Numbness spread down his limbs. He’d been punched by Stone, and it never threw him back five paces. And the speed . . .
Fingers ducked a powerful swing from Stone’s maul. The guard slammed his rod hard into Stone’s liver. Purple energy sprang up like the shield. It bound up Stone’s arms, pinning them to his sides. Fingers hooked the bandit’s foot and slammed his shoulder into Stone’s torso, sending the huge man crashing on his arse.
Smiles went for Ust. He rushed past Ōbhin, binder held up and ready, purple light spilling over his chainmail. Smiles slammed it hard at Ust’s side, shouting a wordless howl of battle. Ōbhin struggled to move. To sit up. He gripped his sword, his digits locked around it.
Ust’s fist blurred in a sideways punch. Smiles struggled to change his momentum and dodge it. The blow hit him in the head. Ōbhin heard the loud crunch of a skull cracking. Smiles soared into the wall and slammed hard into it. He dropped his binder and hit the ground. For a moment, caused by some addled fancy in his mind, Ōbhin thought he saw Smiles’s skin ripple like it was liquid, becoming pasty white for a second before returning to Smiles’s beige.
Ōbhin grunted at the sting of grief. He’d heard the bone crack. Men didn’t survive injuries like that. “Bastard! Kill! You!”
“Will you?” Ust demanded. “Friend of yours? You’re good at getting those killed, aren’t you?”
Ust seized Ōbhin by the right ankle and dragged him towards the gate. Ōbhin groaned, breathing hurting. The fuzziness on his brain faded. He tried to shake it off then kicked, struggling to break free of the iron grip locked around his ankle.
Beyond, Fingers battled Whiner Creg. The skinny bandit might be a sniveling coward, but he had skill with the blade. He pressed Fingers back, forcing him to block with his binder instead of attacking. They vanished into the swirling fog, vanishing from Ōbhin’s sight.
Ust reached the gate and slammed his fist into the wood. It shattered into a burst of kindling. Ōbhin gaped. The display of titanic strength shocked him back into clear thinking. No man could do that, not even Stone.
“What are you?” Ōbhin groaned.
“Improved,” Hook said, looming over Ōbhin. “You shoulda run. He’s gonna make you watch.” The man leaned over, his nose smashed and broken many times. His hook loomed over Ōbhin’s throat. “I could be merciful. Save you the pain.” He jerked his hook away and cackled. “But where’s the fun ‘n that? You thought you were better than us. But you’re just a common murderer. How many did you kill for Ust?”
“Too many,” Ōbhin spat. He still held his resonance blade. It hummed, draining the charge in the emerald.
The rusted end of the taunting bandit’s hook pressed beneath Ōbhin’s eye, threatening to rip away his vision. “T’would be a mercy, but Ust wants you to watch. With his strength, I don’t think Avena will survive long. She’ll—”
Ōbhin’s sword slashed through both Hook’s legs above the knees. The bandit howled in agony as he collapsed on his belly, blood spilling from the severed stumps. He screamed, his good hand clawing at the grass, the hook tearing furrows.
Ōbhin already moved. He sat up, pain screaming across his chest as broken ribs ground together. He slashed at Ust’s hand gripping hi
s ankle. Moments before impact, the purple flared, absorbing the blow. Ōbhin screamed in frustration and pressed his blade against the shield, struggling to cut through the protective energy.
A faint glow of purple bled out of the back of Ust’s hand.
With a snarl, Ust swung Ōbhin like a club. The air whipped past his head before the ground rushed up at him. He released his resonance sword and thrust out his arms before him. He hit, elbows bending to absorb the impact. His right wrist burst in numb agony as it bent back too far. Tendons snapped. Bones creaked. Almost broke.
He howled as he rolled onto his back. His hand bent at a strange angle, fingers splayed and useless in his leather glove. Ust, uncaring, dragged him through the gate and towards the manor house.
“Ust!” Hook howled. “Ust, he cut off my legs!”
An ugly chuckle rumbled from Ust. “Guess you don’t get to watch the fun. Pity. Knew you were eager for what was left over.”
“Laynet! Jamis!” gasped Hook. “Help me. Anbrian, please! He cut off my legs!”
Anbrian kicked one of the severed legs away and barked an ugly laugh. “Guess you’ll need some hooks for those, too.”
Jamis spat on Hook as he strolled by, following Ust out onto the lawn.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ōbhin kicked, struggling to break out of Ust’s iron grip. The feeling in his toes retreated. He cradled his right wrist to his chest as he struggled to think. He had to escape. There had to be a way for him to kill this bastard.
He kicked his free foot into the back of Ust’s calf. He gasped. It was like hitting living marble. Ust didn’t even look back. He kept marching across the yard towards the manor house looming ahead in the fog.
“Niszeh’s Black Tone!” spat Ōbhin. He searched for a weapon.
Roars burst out of the fog. To the left, from the blackberry gate, Cerdyn and Aduan appeared out of the swirling vapor, their binders glowing bright, their chainmail rattling. Cerdyn had almost Stone’s bulk, and Aduan wasn’t much smaller. They knew how to crack heads. They could tangle up Ust and his bandits with ease.
