HE WHO FIGHTS

by Mike Morris

  "I don't think he'll be back," said Kaitlyn, "and that was down to you."

  "I've seen some brave things in my time," said Jahn, "but nothing like what I'd seen tonight. Take credit where its due, son. You did good tonight. Kara would've been proud."

  Rane smiled at the sheriff and nodded his head. “Thank you.”

  "Get out of my way," shouted a man and people parted to allow Samuel and the bounty hunter through. "There he is. He's the one we want."

  "He's a demon," shouted the bounty hunter at the crowd, pointing at Rane. "Seize him."

  Samuel waved a bounty poster at the smoke-smeared faces. "There's a reward. We'll share it with anyone who'll help us."

  Kaitlyn stepped forward. "I think you're mistaken. We all saw the demon. This man and his friend just saved our lives — including yours. They'd hardly try and kill one of their own." She took a step closer. "And I don't remember you lifting a finger to help anyone earlier."

  “He’s Legion. A wanted man.” Samuel tried pushing past the town leader, but others joined her side, forming a barrier in front of Rane and Myri.

  Kaitlyn smiled. "Now we don't want anymore trouble after what we've been through tonight, and we've still got to try and put out a fire. So why don't you take your leave before you get yourself hurt for no good reason."

  Samuel wasn't having any of it. He jabbed a finger in Rane's direction. "That man murdered my son. He was only fifteen — not even fully-grown and that bastard sliced him in half like he was a lump of meat. I demand justice."

  Rane shook his head. "Please believe me when I say I'm truly sorry it happened but you getting yourself killed isn't going to make things right."

  "Why you fucking..." Samuel lunged at Rane but Jahn hauled him back.

  "This isn't the time," the sheriff said. "He isn't the monster we thought he was. He's a war hero who deserves to be left alone." He glanced over at Rane and nodded at him, letting him know enough was enough. "You saved a lot of lives tonight, Nathaniel. I wish you the best."

  "Take care, Jahn." With a nod, Rane walked to the fountain, scorched skin protesting with every step, and sat down on the steps with Kibon laid across his knees, while the two men stared at each other, carrying on an unspoken argument. He winced as a sliver of pain shot through him from one of his many wounds. He wasn't worried about Samuel or the bounty hunter. If they were going to make a move, they'd have done it by now. Trying to get the locals on their side was the last throw of their dice and it hadn't worked. Now with Jahn calling it a day, it was a just a question of how long they'd posture before backing down.

  "You'd be better off killing those two, but I know you won't."

  Rane looked down and saw Myri watching him. "You're awake."

  A ghost of a smile flickered across Myri's lips. "That I am. My hand hurts like hell." Her eyes fell to the freshly bandaged stump where her hand used to be and she rocked back in horror. "Fuck. I can still feel it. Why can I still feel it?"

  "Ghost pains. Goes after a while I'm told."

  "Shit. Shit." Myri closed her eyes and tears ran down her cheeks. "Why did I fucking listen to you?"

  Rane looked down on her, lost for words.

  "Tell me it was worth it. Tell me we got the bastard at least. Tell me I didn't lose my fucking hand for nothing,” said Myri.

  "He got away. I don't know how. I thought you had him. A cut like that should've been enough."

  "I shouldn't have stopped you when you had the chance to finish him."

  "Why did you? I thought we agreed it would be my sword that killed him."

  "Couldn't let you do that, Nathaniel. You're one of the good guys." Myri smiled. It was good to see she still could. "Didn't want you getting tainted on that bastard's blood. You've still got a chance. I'd like to keep it that way."

  "You're still one of the good guys too. You remember that as well." Rane kept his hand tight around the hilt, feeling the tingles as its magic healed his wounds. "You know what scares me the most? I didn't even think about whether to use my sword or not. It was just there in my hand. I might as well have promised myself not to breathe. How are we supposed to stop ourselves from using them if we're not even aware of what we're doing?"

  Myri cocked an eyebrow. "Stay out of trouble until we get to Orska?"

  Rane shook his head. His hand went to Kara’s locket. He rubbed the silver between his finger and thumb as if that would take all his troubles away as easily as it removed the soot and ash that covered it. What he'd give to be back at his cottage with Kara, away from all the madness. But she was dead, and all the wishing in the world couldn't make things the way they had been. Already her face was starting to blur in his memories. It was as if he could only see her out of the corner of his eye and not gaze at her directly. How much longer before he'd not be able to do even that?

  Life. Just when you thought you couldn't feel worse, it finds a way to prove you wrong.

  "I miss you so much. Kara," he whispered to the wind.

  "Pardon?" said Myri.

  "Nothing. Just feeling sorry for myself. Ignore me."

  "You're allowed to — you look like a human candle."

  "What a pair we make." Rane tried to laugh but failed.

  "I suppose we're going after him then?"

  "Once we've healed. You know we have to."

  "The oath again?"

  "The oath." Rane owed Marcus his life many times over and he deserved to be put to rest. Rane had no idea how they were going to do that though. Twice now they'd faced him and twice they'd only just escaped with their lives. “It’s all I have left.”

  Myri didn't reply, and when Rane looked, she was asleep again.

  He hugged Kibon closer, needing its magic, knowing it was killing him. Had Marcus known his sword was changing him as the blade turned black? Had he fought the transformation? Or was he unaware, even now, of the horror he'd become?

  Overhead, streaks of purple and scarlet turning the early morning sky into a viscous bruise. How apt, thought Rane as he struggled to his feet.

  Part III

  15

  Rane stopped his horse on top of the rise and gazed out over the road ahead. His hand drifted to the hilt of Kibon, hanging on his hip, but he barely noticed the buzz of magic it gave off. The sky was a wash of the purest blue with only the occasional wisps of cloud to mar it, over a forest-laden emerald carpet. Even the air tasted different, cold and clean, with just a hint of pine on the tongue. It soothed his skin, still red and raw three days on from Rooktown and, for a moment, he was happy just to sit there and enjoy the view.

  "Any sign of Marcus?" asked Myri, drawing alongside, her right arm in a sling.

  "Not for a few miles," replied Rane. He shifted in his saddle, grimacing as another part of his body complained. Kibon had done wonders for him but he was still far from being back to his best. If only they'd had the luxury of resting until they'd healed — they'd spent a day sleeping in one of Rooktown's many abandoned houses, but the fear of losing Marcus's trail stopped them from staying longer.

  Myri leaned over the side of her horse and gazed down at the sheer drop from the narrow path they followed. "Do you think he's doubled back?"

  "I don't think so. He was more seriously hurt than we were. I don't think he'd be able to climb either up or down to get back around us and this is the only path through the mountains."

  "At least he's heading in the direction we need to go." Myri spat over the edge and watched it drop, before turning to Rane. "Once we go around the Dead Lands, it's a straight run to Orska. Personally, I still say we leave him for now, get cured, then come back and get the bastard."

  Rane rubbed his hand over his face and instantly regretted it as the burnt skin protested. "He could kill a lot of people between now and then if we did that."

  "Yeah, he could but I don’t see how we can do anything except end up dead ourselves. You might not have noticed but we’re not in good shape."

  "You nearly cut him in half. It'll take him a l
ong time to heal from that and we can’t give him that time. He’s weaker than us for now. We’ve got to take advantage of that.”

  "Speak for yourself — you've still got both hands. He could be cut into quarters and still be better than me in a fight." Myri’s voice was full of anger and frustration.

  "You'll adjust, be as good as you ever were. You just need..."

  "A miracle," snapped Myri.

  "I was going to say practice," replied Rane. "Look, I'm not suggesting you're wrong in what you're saying — I just don't see how we have any other choice."

  "Let's get on with it then." Myri spurred her horse forward. She didn't look back to see if Rane followed.

  Rane let her build a slight lead on him, to give her some space. Myri had changed since Rooktown — there was no denying that. Hardly surprising after what had happened, but even so it worried him on top of everything else. There was a tightness to her that never seemed to disappear. An anger that was just looking for an excuse to unleash. He hoped that, as she accepted her injury, the old Myri would return.

  He didn't blame her desire to get to Orska quickly either. By the Gods, he was as keen to get there himself. He could almost feel the place calling to him, the tug of some invisible rope pulling him north. But they had to stop Marcus first. Too many people had died at his hand already. Rane's oath and his conscience wouldn't allow him to risk that tally mounting.

  At first Marcus's trail had been easy to follow despite the delay in going after him. The man — if he could still be called that — had lost a lot of blood from his wounds. When he'd escaped from the inn, he'd headed straight out of Rooktown, not trying to hide his path. He spent some time under a bridge, judging by the blood he'd left there, but that was the last obvious stop they'd found. As the distance grew, the trail had grown fainter and fainter until they were following broken twigs and crushed grass. No doubt Marcus's black sword was healing him just as Kibon was helping Rane.

  Now on the mountain path, things were even harder. There was no blood to follow or tracks left in grass. The stony ground and rocky slopes left nothing. At least there was only the one path, with a sheer drop on one side and a sheer mountain face on the other. All Rane and Myri could do was keep going.

  As much as he didn't believe there was a way for Marcus to climb back past them, Rane continued to look for any sign that he had or for a potential hiding place where Marcus could be taking shelter. The man was weak, wounded and no doubt desperate but he was still dangerous. Rane wasn't going to chance losing him.

  He sucked in the cold air, enjoying the way it soothed his burnt lungs as he watched Myri disappear down the trail. A thought flashed through him that she was the enemy, that everything she'd told him had been a lie, designed to trick him — and he found his hand was already on his sword, the blade half out of the scabbard. But no. He forced Kibon back down, unclenched his hand from its hilt. Thoughts like that were proof Myri was right. He tried to remember who he had been before the darkness grew within him — the boy who'd signed up to become a soldier, who found pride in helping people. A man bound by an oath. Strengthened by it. Kara had found it in him. Now Rane had to hold onto it. He had to keep the monster within him at bay. He couldn’t become like Marcus.

  At least the journey down the hill was quicker than the ascent. Despite the beauty of the mountains, Rane was happy to back on level ground again, moving forward. The rocky path turned into a worn gravel road through green fields of wild grass, a welcome wash of colour rolling off towards the horizon.

  Myri seemed happier too. She waited for him to catch up once more. "Sorry about earlier."

  Rane waved the apology away. "Don't think about it. It's been hard on both of us. It's not like either of us planned for this."

  "Do you mind if I ask you a question?" said Myri as they rode through the long grass. "Why'd you leave the Legion? We all thought you were a lifer — destined to take over from the Lord General when the time came. "

  "Maybe once, but not towards the end. Not once I could see an end to the war, see us winning. I gave everything to The Oath but it also took everything from me."

  "We saved a lot of lives."

  "I know that. But I was enjoying the fight too much. Enjoying every life I took. Every one. Loving that rush as they died. The burst of magic. And as much as I loved it, I hated it. I knew it was wrong.”

  “The sword was making you feel like that.”

  “But I didn’t know at the time. In the end, I just had to get away from you all, from the Legion. Find another life. Try and find some peace." Rane laughed, but there was no humour in his voice. “I used to count the days I’d gone without killing. Felt proud every day I kept my sword in its sheath.”

  "But you're Legion. You're like me. This is our life. We don't do peace. We weren't meant for cottages and countrysides, fishing and nights cuddled up by the fire. Weren't you going mad with boredom?"

  Rane thought of watching sunsets with Kara, eating fish caught from the brook behind their house. "No. Never. It was all I ever wanted."

  "Fuck. You surprise me." Myri lifted her stump. "You know why I'm pissed off about this? Not because it hurts or any shit like that. It just means I'm not going to be as good a fighter as I was. And I was pretty fucking fantastic when it came down to it. But what am I going to do now? I can't even sweep the streets." Myri paused, looked at Rane with fire in her eyes. "You know what? Marcus chopped the wrong person's hand off. He should've got yours. By the sounds of it, you won't need it."

  "I've got a few debts to call in before I hang up my sword again. Some people have got questions to answer."

  Myri inclined her head. "As I said, peace isn't what we do. Fighting’s as easy as breathing to us. We live by the sword, and we'll die by the sword whether we find a cure or not."

  "I remember you were always talking about heading back home after the war as well. Seemed pretty set on it too."

  This time it was Myri’s turn to laugh. "Oh I did. Went back South, to my hometown in the Islands, had dreams of picking up my life where I'd left it, maybe having a family. You know, normal stuff, like you. Turned out I wasn't the same person anymore." She raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't so good at normal stuff as I thought I would be."

  "What happened?"

  "Nothing happened. Maybe that was the problem. People there hadn't experienced the war — hell, most of them hadn't even left the town in the time I'd been away. They'd heard about the fighting, but it was just stories passed on by travellers or when the taxman came looking for more money. They'd not had people bleed to death in their arms while they tried to hold their guts in. Hadn't experienced that all-consuming fear of not knowing if they were going to live or die from one minute to the next."

  "That's how life's supposed to be."

  "I know. By the Gods, how I know. But I walked into the local inn and everyone's there and it's as if the last five, six years haven't happened. Erin's behind the bar, like he'd been when I left, and he saw me, and he just said 'Hi Myri, how are you?' Like I'd last seen him the day before. I wanted to cut his throat open from ear to ear."

  Rane didn't tell her he knew that feeling only too well. It was why he'd lived in the middle of nowhere — he hadn't trusted himself not to act on the impulse. “But was that the sword making you feel like that?”

  “Who the fuck knows? I just knew I didn’t fit in.” Myri shook her head at the memories. "I smiled at familiar faces, tried joining their conversations, pretended to be interested in their lives as they pretended to be curious of mine — but it was all too hard. Too trivial. I walked around the next few days like a ghost, a memory too stubborn to fade away. But I eventually got the message. When a caravan came through, I signed up with it, working as a hired sword. Didn't even look back or say goodbye, and I can't say if any of them even noticed I'd gone again.

  "The caravan took me to back to the main land, on to Napolin, picked up more work there. I had to use my sword a few times, enjoyed that, so I went looking for mor
e trouble. The more dangerous the gigs, the better. Felt like I was alive again, out there on the edge with people like me who'd survived the war, and the blood, and the mayhem. For a while, being an ex-Legionnaire got me respect and rewards. And I loved every minute of it. Loved having my sword in my hand again." Myri laughed again, but there was no humour in it, only pain. "Then I headed back to Candra, met up with Jefferson and got back into the game properly. He'd lost too many Legionnaires after the war and was happy to have me back. Being amongst soldiers again was good for me, especially Legionnaires who were just as crazy as I was. Barrack life helped drown out that voice in my head, or maybe it just gave me plenty of opportunities to indulge it with blood.

  "Didn't even notice my sword turning black. I just wanted to kill every fucker I could." She looked at Rane, eyes blazing with fury. "I still do."

  “I was lucky,” replied Rane. “I had Kara to concentrate on. It helped supress those feelings. When she died, they all came flooding back. Part of me was glad, if I’m being honest. I finally had an excuse to fight again. To kill again.”

  “You must be bloody ecstatic then with this current situation. Because there’s no end of blood waiting to be spilled.”

  “Believe me — I’d rather be at home with my wife. I’d give anything for that.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt you. You’ll just have to make do with being stuck with me.”

  Rane smiled. “There are worse things.”

  “I’m sure.”

  They crested a hill and found a small single story building, made of stone with a sod roof, nestled amongst the green fields. Just an ordinary working home, not much different to the cottage Rane had left behind. Two pens for livestock were at the rear of the house but both appeared empty. A small pond was to the right of the building. It had to be said it was a beautiful spot for a farm.

  "Shall we call in? See if they've seen Marcus?" suggested Myri.

  Rane looked at the farm again. It was too quiet. Too tranquil. A sickness crept into his gut. "Come on." He ran his hand over his weapons as they rode down, reassuring himself that his pistols were in his holsters, Kibon on his back. He wished he had more weapons, wished he wasn't still raw from his burns, wished all was going to be well. But every soldier could tell you what wishing was good for.