HE WHO FIGHTS

by Mike Morris

  Rane picked up Kara, carried her into the house and laid her on the bed, pulling the covers over her so she looked like she was sleeping.

  Rane knelt beside her. "I'm sorry, my love. I let you down. I should've protected you and kept you safe. I’m sorry." It was hard to believe he'd never see her again, laugh with her, and make love with her. Never kiss her lips or hear her say his name. Two years together hadn’t been long enough. Not nearly enough. He tried to memorise every detail about her face from the little cluster of freckles on her cheeks to the wrinkle in her brow. His emotions got the better of him as the weight of his love threatened to crush him there and then. He had no idea how he'd survive her loss.

  He ran his hand over her stomach, over the baby within, tried to imagine the life that had been growing in there, a child he was never going to be able to hold in his arms. He rested his forehead against it, and sobbed. He cried for Kara, for the baby and for himself.

  But the voice didn’t let him mourn for long. It whispered that there wasn't time to grieve. The bounty hunter would be back soon, with more men. Of that there was no doubt. Men to punish for what the others had done.

  With the voice came anger, pushing his grief to one side. Let them come, he thought. There was a reckoning to be had. He looked at the bodies in his yard. Those men had destroyed his home and his life and their deaths hadn't come close to addressing the balance. He would paint the world red if he had to, for he was owed a debt that he would collect. Someone had set these killers on him, set killers on the rest of the Legion, and caused Kara to get killed. Killed his unborn child. Whoever had done that was going to pay, even if kings and queens and presidents had to fall beneath his blade.

  He left Kara and went inside and cleaned all the blood from his body, from his hands and face. He looked at his face in the mirror as he did so, saw a long unseen face stare back. He wasn’t a man of peace. What a fool he’d been to think otherwise.

  After dressing, he stuffed spare clothes into his saddlebag and then pulled out a small chest from his closet. Another relic from the war, something else Kara had wanted him to get rid of. He glanced at her still form and tried not to think of all the ways he'd let her down and yet she'd still loved him.

  Inside were two flintlock pistols, made by the famous gunsmiths of Eldacre especially for the Legion. Beside them were two horns of powder and a pouch of lead balls. He took his time, cleaning both pistols and then loaded them. Rane poured fresh powder into the flash pan and closed the frizzen to keep it safe, then poured powder down the barrel followed by one of the balls wrapped in a bit of wadding. He pushed the ramrod down to compact everything as tightly as possible in the barrel before plugging everything in place with another piece of cloth. He strapped the holsters to his belt. He added the powder and ammunition to the saddlebags. Armed, he pulled the last item out of the chest — his old leather great coat. He slipped it on and it was like he’d never taken it off. The coat hid the guns but not his intentions.

  In the main room, he built a fire in the hearth and, with a few strikes of a flint, set it alight. He watched the flames catch and dance across the wood, feeling the heat on his skin. Once it was burning well, he used the poker to knock some of the wood out of the hearth and into the room. It didn't take long for the fire to spread, finding its way along the floor to the walls.

  As smoke filled the room, he returned to Kara. By the Gods, how was he going to say goodbye? She looked so beautiful lying there. Some part of him believed that somehow she’d open her eyes and life would go back to normal. But the fury in him knew otherwise. The voice reminded him that a different path waited. He kissed her already cold skin. “I love you. I love you so much.”

  He took her necklace and locket from around her neck and tied it to his wrist. At least he could take some part of her with him still.

  He marched from the house but only managed to walk a few yards. He couldn't leave her. He turned around to look at their house, wanting to go back inside, hold her hand one last time, kiss her one last time, but the flames barred the way. The heat pushed him back. The smoke hid his home. Everything he ever cared about burned away.

  Just like that, his life was over. He was a husband no longer. A father no longer. A man at peace with the world no longer.

  Still he watched, unable to move. The rage inside him grew with the flames. He'd stick with the plan; head to Candra first and then north to find Marcus, make sure he was safe. And then, either with Marcus's help or without it, he would find everyone responsible for sending the bounty hunters to his home and kill them all, be they Queen or President, lawmaker or lawbreaker. He wouldn’t stop until all had paid the blood debt owed.

  He secured his sword in place on his back. Rane the warrior was back. The killer was free.

  5

  Rane raced down the dirt track, urging his horse on. He needed to get away from the cottage and the darkness within him. He rode hard, losing himself in the power of his horse, letting the thunder of hooves match the fury in his heart. The forest was a blur as he fought the temptation to head into town and look for the last bounty hunter and anyone else who might’ve helped him. The urge sat in his chest, pushing down on him, making it hard to breathe. The voice called out for blood. But no, he told himself, a promise had been made. An oath given. There would be blood enough later.

  A mile on, he guided the horse off the track and headed north. He hated that the horse had to slow down as it traversed the uneven ground but it was a safer route to take. He wasn’t going to make it too easy for anyone in pursuit.

  The sun disappeared behind the canopy of leaves the further Rane went, throwing deep shadows around him and taking the warmth out of the day. He lost track of time as he allowed the horse to wander northwards and then up — a sign that he was nearing the Eshtery quarry. If he stuck to the eastern flanks, he'd avoid any of the workers' huts that he knew were dotted around.

  Slowing down also meant Rane had no distractions from his thoughts. Rage fought with grief, guilt tangled with sorrow. Thoughts of Kara and their child-to-be became like wisps of smoke in his mind, so real only a day before. The pain burned inside, worse than any wound or injury he'd ever suffered. Why had those men come for him? Why couldn't the world have just left him alone in peace?

  But he knew he'd wanted the fight, needed it. Even now there was a part of him that rejoiced in the path of blood he now followed, free to kill. It was a madness that threatened to overcome everything else. There would be no holding back, no restraint. The guilty would die.

  Rane rode on, chased by darkening shadows until he found a small stream. His horse needed water and a rest so he dismounted, hobbled the horse and left it to chew on some grass. He slumped down against a tree, giving into his exhaustion. As he closed his eyes, his thoughts drifted from Kara to men he'd killed.

  Why did the five nations want the Legion dead? Their reward for saving mankind shouldn't be to be hunted and killed. It didn't make any sense.

  He flexed his right hand open and shut, looking at his scar. When they'd started winning against the Rastaks, Rane had been proud of the mark. They all had. It was the sign of victory, that they'd done the right thing. Now it could well be his death mark.

  He must’ve drifted off at some point because when he opened his eyes next, it was dark. For a moment, he half thought he was at home by the riverbank. He groaned when he remembered the reality. The horse was skittish, spooked by something, so he clambered to his feet to calm her down. His back complained as he did so, stiff and sore like an old man's on a cold day. He was too used to sleeping in comfortable beds in the warm. He cursed his weakness as he tried to soothe the horse.

  The horse dug her hooves into the ground and neighed her discomfort once more. A second later, Rane heard what was bothering her. Dogs. Hunting dogs. They were coming after him. The voice sighed with joy and his hand twitched to unleash Kibon.

  The barking echoed through the woods, making it hard to judge its direction. They'd set a l
ot of dogs on him too, judging by the noise.

  Rane had two choices — try and run, hope for the best, or stay and fight, sword in hand. Hiding wasn't an option while the dogs had his scent.

  The cacophony of barks grew louder, a wall of sound surrounding him as he tried to work out what to do. The horse skittered about under him, eager to be anywhere else but where they were.

  Run or stay. Run or stay. He tossed the options around in his mind like dice. The voice told him to fight. He could feel Kibon’s eagerness at the thought of blood. But the dogs wouldn't be alone. Men would be with them, and only the Gods knew how many. Good. Plenty to kill.

  But to wait in the dark for an unknown number of enemies wasn't a plan. Even with the sword's powers, too many and it was suicide. Rane had no desire to do that yet.

  Fighting wasn't the answer. Not yet.

  The horse reared up, begging to be let loose, its eyes wild with fear and suddenly the answer was obvious. Rane removed all his ammunition and powder from the saddlebags and fixed them to his belt. He ripped up an old shirt in two and tied the cloth around the horse's front legs.

  "I'm sorry, girl," he said to the horse, as he slapped her rear as hard as he could. Not that she needed the encouragement to run. Rane watched her disappear into the darkness. Let the dogs chase after her. By the time they caught up with the horse and found it riderless, he’d be far away.

  Picking up his water skins, Rane climbed up the nearest oak. The thick branches carried him high above the ground and mingled with other trees, allowing him to jump from one to another. He moved slowly, losing himself in the shadows and the leaves until he found a deep, dark nook to slink down into. He folded his coat around him, becoming a shadow. He waited, listening to the hounds as they got closer and closer. His mouth dry in anticipation.

  He spotted them quick enough, following his trail from Eshtery. At least twenty of them — all good hunting dogs. The townsfolk must've spent the day gathering the hounds up to give chase. He was a fool for falling asleep and making it easy on them. Rane had lost his edge in the two years since the end of the war. It’d been all too easy living with Kara in his cottage, being happy. He had to rediscover the soldier in him if he was going to fulfil his oath and get his revenge. He'd not make such simple mistakes again.

  The dogs reached the tree he'd been sleeping under, swarming around its base and snapping at his scent, but losing it again at the water's edge. They barked and howled in frustration.

  Torchlight flickered in the darkness, following quickly on the hounds’ tails. Riders. One for every dog, and a lot more besides. No one was taking any chances by the looks of things, sticking together and taking care in the dark. As they got closer, he saw their weapons. Swords and knives glinted in the torch light and the odd pistol too. Rane smiled. They’d no idea he was above them, watching, waiting like death. It would be so easy to just jump down and let Kibon loose. His heart raced at the thought. Do it, the voice urged. Take their strength.

  "He's crossed the water, trying to lose us," shouted one man as he caught up with the dogs. Rane tried seeing who it was but without any luck. Were these his neighbours that hunted him or more bounty hunters?

  "Well, get them on the other side then, Davey. Let's not waste time," answered an older man, a voice Rane knew well. The sheriff, Jahn. So much for his easy smiles and claims of friendship. "Shouldn't have to state the obvious."

  Davey and two others cajoled the dogs across the stream. Once over, the hounds were off like a shot with the scent fresh again in their nostrils.

  "Whoo!" yelped Davey. "We've got him." He took off with the other two without waiting for the rest of the group.

  Jahn wasn't so eager and waited for the others to catch up so he could watch them cross over the water. Rane could see the top of his head and the perfect spot to slip a knife in from. All he had to do was drop down.

  More men passed beneath. Little did they know how close to dying they all were. The voice knew. It pushed Rane to act, strike first, be the warrior that had driven the Rastaks to their deaths and destroyed Heras' demons. He ground his teeth together as he held his fury back. It wasn't the right time. These weren’t the ones who had to pay.

  "Is he as dangerous as they say?" asked a young lad, riding near the back of the pack, almost too small for his saddle. His voice sounded like it had only just broken that summer.

  "Who told you that, son? He's just a man like your father or me," replied Jahn. “He's just got himself in a bad situation."

  "But he killed his wife, didn't he?"

  "We don't know that. We've just got that bounty hunter's word for what happened up at his cottage. Until we speak with the man himself, I'm not passing any judgements."

  "Yes sir," replied the boy but he didn't sound too convinced.

  Another man picked up on it and laughed. "Think we should send Johnny back to his Mam? Don't want him getting scared in the dark now."

  "Worry about yerself, Simon Wayland," snapped Jahn. "The man we're hunting has already killed six men. Only a fool wouldn't be worried."

  "Ah. Be off with you," replied Simon. "We've got more than enough men here. He's just a crazy man with a sword. No more than that."

  The older man snorted. "I've heard enough tales of what the Legion did in the war. They were deadly fighters. If they’ve all gone crazy that don't make them any less dangerous, only more so. Respect who you're hunting or they'll be adding your name to the dead."

  The men rode across the stream and passed under the tree where Rane was hiding.

  "I'm scared," said the young kid, still loitering at the back. "Not sure I really want to be doing this."

  "Don't you worry, son," assured Jahn. "We've got enough of us here to look after you. You won't be doing any fighting."

  "Can't I go home?"

  "You'll be safer with us. Can't send you off on your own in the dark in case you find him and what would your Ma say to me then? Skin me alive she would." Jahn laughed. "I'd rather face the man we're hunting than your Ma all riled up."

  The boy did his best to join in the joke but his face gave away his fears. He kicked his horse to join up with the others and only succeeded in spooking the beast. It reared up on its hind legs with a snort of displeasure, throwing the boy from his saddle. He hit the ground hard, and lay half in the water, half out, dazed as can be. And staring straight up at Rane.

  Time stopped. Rane knew he should move — kill the child, kill Jahn, kill them all — but the boy's face held him fast. So he just stared back, wondering when the shouting would start.

  It only took as long as the boy needed to get air back in his lungs. "He's up in the trees! Up in the trees!"

  "What?" Jahn spun his horse around, searching the branches.

  The kid was on his feet, pointing. "There! There he is." He fumbled his sword as he tried getting it out of the loop on his belt and the weapon fell into the water, but the old man wasn't so slow. He had a flintlock pistol in his hands and pulled the trigger. He still hadn't spotted Rane but the shot would summon the whole hue and cry.

  Rane launched himself out of the tree, straight at Jahn. He crashed into him, knocking him straight from the saddle. Rane landed on his feet, the old man didn't and a knee to the head put Jahn out for the count. The kid was screaming for all he was worth but Rane ignored him and swung up onto the old man's horse. He could hear the others racing back, shouting and whooping. He spurred the horse and took off down the riverbed.

  He kept low on the horse's back as it galloped through the water. Bushes and trees blocked off either side, creating a tunnel to charge down. A low branch just missed his head and Rane prayed one of the other riders wouldn't be as lucky. Again, there was the urge to just stand and fight but he pushed the thought away.

  He spotted a break in the shrubbery to his left and guided the horse through it. The animal seemed happier on drier ground and found another burst of speed as it weaved through the giant oaks, growing more confident in the night. Rane ris
ked a glance back and saw the torches burning through the darkness in pursuit. They were still a good distance away but closing far too quickly for his liking.

  The ground slowly rose, making it harder for his horse keep its pace but Rane pushed it on. He knew the animal's strength would fail soon but he needed to cover as much ground as possible. "Come on, you can do it," he urged as the ground climbed higher.

  A patch of open sky loomed ahead as he reached the edge of the forest. Bursting through into open ground, filled with nothing but tall grass, felt like victory. He could do this.

  Without letting the horse slow down, he swung down from the saddle and hit the ground at a run. The horse carried on as Rane took off up the hill on foot. Without the drumming of the horse's hooves filling his ears, he could hear the hue and cry getting closer.

  Keeping low, he ran along the edge of the forest to higher ground. He knew somewhere nearby was the quarry. If he could reach that, he could find a route down and away that the horses and dogs couldn't follow.

  On and on he went. The air burned in his lungs and his legs complained but he didn't slow down. He didn't have that luxury. How had he let himself get this out of shape? He stumbled on a hidden rock, twisting his ankle the wrong way, sending shards of pain shooting up his leg. He reached up and touched the hilt of his sword and felt a burst of energy run through him, masking the pain, fuelling him on.

  His world consisted of the five yards in front of his face. Up and up he went. Couldn't stop. He’d rest later and live. Slow down now and he'd die. Sweat stung his eyes. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He'd kill for a slug of water but there wasn't time even for that.

  Just as he thought he couldn't go on, something changed in the air. There was the sense of space looming even though he couldn't see it yet. He half-ran, half-crawled up the rocky slope. Escape was ahead.

  He clawed at stone and dirt as he scrambled onwards, feet shifting and sliding under him and then the world disappeared, as the ground dropped down three hundred feet.