by Billy Wong
"What about you, then?" Ann asked. "What's your grand purpose?"
"I told you, I'm training to be an officer in the Julpy militia."
"Isn't that kind of a lowly goal for the son of an earl and a great heroine?"
Mark frowned, thinking. He had not yet reevaluated his future in light of his newly recognized parentage, and didn't intend to start until he got to know his mother. "It doesn't seem like a bad goal. My older brother's the heir, and the city needs its peacekeeping force."
"Are you going to lead the militia, then?"
"It depends on how well I do. I'm starting out at the bottom, like all the other officer candidates."
"And there are plenty of other people who could fill your rank and do just as well, right?"
"Yes. Some might do worse than me, but others could do better."
"Then what's so important about you doing it?"
Mark looked at her. "If everyone thought like that, the world wouldn't be a very nice place."
Ann rolled her eyes. "But not everyone does think like that, and there would be other people for whom the job could be more beneficial than you. By filling that post, aren't you denying somebody the chance to make a better living on the salary you don't need?"
"What if I didn't take the pay?"
"Where does the money for the militia come from? Your father's treasury, I assume? So in essence, you'd just be keeping the money either way."
Mark exhaled, wearily lowering his gaze. He was at a loss to rebut Ann, though he felt certain she expressed a wrongheaded way of thinking. She patted his shoulder, a giggle escaping her throat. "Mark, what the hell is wrong with you?! Don't get upset. I'm playing! I'm not actually trying to convince you to give up your goal. I just want you to understand how I think."
"I know. It's just not what I'm used to. I don't really know why I think the way I do, except my parents taught me to."
Ann threw a bread crumb far past the crowd of birds gathered at their feet, and they watched as one gray dove waddled after it. "See, that one's like you. Goes out of its way for what it can get right at its feet." She pointed to another, closer bird, which pecked down energetically among a sprinkling of crumbs thrown down earlier. "That one's like me. Found itself right where it needed to be and had the sense to stay where things are easy."
Mark laughed then, nudging Ann with an elbow. "But wouldn't that one have a harder time, considering it has to fight with all the others for the scraps?" The bird she had picked to represent herself stood surrounded by other doves, all of which also feasted on the nearby crumbs. "It looks like my bird found the easy path."
Ann glared at him and punched him in the arm. "Shut up, you know what I meant. And even if your twist was relevant, which it isn't... I'm not exactly unsuited for a fight."
Chapter 7
For weeks Mark contented himself with life as a Perfian guest, Ann and Saul keeping him satisfying company. The attack in the castle revived his desire to leave. He had just finished taking a bath, and been about to don new clothes lent by Saul, when the young attendant uncovered a knife from beneath the garments. Mark stumbled away in fright, tripping back into the tub, and flailed desperately to ward off the thrusting blade.
The splashing water hampered his assailant's sight, and though the knife nicked his arms it could not reach a vital spot. He kicked out, knocking the man back. As he scrambled up, the attendant charged again. Mark sidestepped, causing both of them to slip and struggle for balance on the slick floor, and punched him. The man lost his footing and fell. Mark ran for the door. A lunging hand grasped his ankle, and he hit the stone face first.
Stunned, Mark rolled slowly over, expecting the knife to plunge down any moment now. But his attacker had lost the weapon in his own fall, and straddled him to attempt a choke hold. Mark raked at his eyes, then punched him in the throat. Again he tried to flee the coughing man. He had reached the door when the knife flashed past his head, struck the hard wood, and dropped after failing to penetrate deeply. His sigh of relief was cut short when a heavy body threw itself onto his back. Borne to the ground, he groped for the knife's hilt and found it. Stabbing backwards, he pierced flesh. He got up and ran.
By the time he returned with Saul and a small army of guards, the man was dead. Mark blanched. He had never killed anyone before and felt sick to his stomach, but tried to maintain a semblance of composure.
He failed. "Are you all right?" Saul asked. "You're shaking."
"I-I'm fine. Who was he? Did you know him?"
"Not well, but I've seen him around. What I don't know is whether he was a spy from the start, or just too greedy to refuse the offer that doomed him."
In either case, the castle no longer felt safe. If one assassin could reach Mark here, why not others? Led into a private room to review the confrontation in depth, he told Saul, "I think I should go. If I'm going to be in danger anyway, I'd rather be doing something than just waiting to get killed."
Saul shook his head. "You would be at greater risk out there than staying here. Don't worry, I'll make sure to have you better protected."
But even if security was tightened, how many enemies might already have infiltrated the staff? It might be an irrational terror which compelled him to leave, but he could not fight it. "My mother still hasn't come back; I'm getting worried about her, anyway. Can't I go?"
"I won't stop you. Be sure this is what you want to do, though."
"I am. Ann calls me a wimp enough, that I'd like to give her a reason not to anymore." Though deathly afraid, he still heard the voice of pride.
Saul looked towards the door and lowered his voice. "You should probably sneak out tonight, to try and throw your enemies off a bit."
"What about Ann?"
"I'll tell her. Probably better for me you leave when she isn't ready to follow, anyway."
Mark shrugged, admitting to himself that he would have felt safer had Ann been allowed to accompany him, and left. Then he went to his room and cried, not knowing if he would ever again feel safe.
#
Because of his exhaustion, Mark managed to sleep a little bit. The face of his would-be assassin haunted his dreams, making sure he did not get much real rest.
He exited through his window late that night with Saul's help, the prince providing him a little raft with which to cross the moat after descending the castle wall via rope. Mark departed town and headed south with a pack newly stuffed with food and supplies, yet unassured he would be able to cope with the perils of his journey alone. He had needed Ann to save him just getting to Perfia itself. Would his modest abilities suffice to preserve him in the barbarian lands? He supposed he would have to rely on what diplomatic skills he had, as they were at least superior to his prowess in combat. But he was not familiar enough with tribal culture to even count on that.
It was quite a pleasant surprise when, early next afternoon, Ann caught up to him.
"Ann!" he cried in joy. Wearing golden chain mail and a crossbow and several daggers in addition to her sword, she looked quite well equipped to protect him. "How did you find me so quickly?"
"Saul can't keep a secret," she said with a big grin. "It took all of a minute for me to see something was wrong with him in the morning, and a few more to find out what.
"You're pretty slow, you know that?" She wiped at her sweaty brow. "Then again, I did run all the way here."
"Did your father give you permission to go? I don't want you to get in trouble."
"Relax, he knows it's futile trying to stop me from doing what I want. Besides, I'll be protected." She looked over her shoulder. "Expect to see my bodyguard anytime soon. Even I can never seem to lose him for long."
Mark was surprised by the lack of annoyance in her voice, which had always been present in previous discussions of Kyle. "I thought you didn't like him? You almost sound happy that he's coming."
"I don't like him, but he is a good fighter. And with you to take care of, I'd be more than welcoming of another loyal, help
ing hand.
"So, how do you feel about becoming a killer just like me?"
Saul must have told her, though Mark didn't know how either of them could be sure he had not killed before. "I'm not proud. I can appreciate your courage more than ever, though."
"You want to borrow some of mine? I'd be willing if it was actually possible. But at least you found enough of your own to save yourself."
They kept walking, Ann chatting as if unconcerned about anything while Mark kept glancing back for Kyle. Not much later, the bald knight appeared over a hilltop behind them and joined them without a word. Clad in cloak and breastplate, he seemed even more imposing than back in the castle. Like Ann, he was armed to the teeth with sword, shield, knives, and bow.
"Sorry about dragging you into this," Mark said.
"Your apology is unnecessary," Kyle replied flatly. "The blame for this falls solely on the brat."
"Who are you calling a brat, you big chunk of wood? And why are you here, if you're going to complain like this?"
Kyle fell silent, and Mark could not help feeling sympathy for him. Whatever faults he had, it was only his job to follow Ann. He did not deserve to be taunted for it.
"Anything I should know about how to behave around the locals?" Mark asked as a distraction. "What should I do to avoid causing problems?"
"I would have many helpful suggestions," Kyle said, "but I doubt you could remember them all at once. My best advice would be not to kill any animals we do not say you can."
"Why not?"
"The various tribes each identify with different animals," Ann said, "and forbid killing them within their territory. As it'd be hard for you to learn all the details, you should probably just not harm anything you see."
For all they outwardly differed, Ann and her bodyguard shared a reassuring competence. They continued on in diverse moods, Kyle alert and quiet, Ann typically social, Mark responding halfheartedly to her while hiding his unease. He tried to feed off their confidence, expressed in both her bubbly cheer and his stoic calm, but remained distressingly anxious. Even if they were highly capable as individuals, he worried they would not fare so well supporting him. Ann seemed not a great team player, and Kyle too might overestimate Mark considering the charge he was used to defending.
Mark chided himself for his mental reliance on his companions' protection. Wasn't he a man? He should hardly be so dependent on others to keep him safe.
They traveled for two days without incident, the Perfian slopes left behind as they crossed dry, brownish-grassed plains. Ann continued to spar with him now and then, though they had no time for extensive practice. The second night Mark's turn to keep watch came, and seated cradling Ann's crossbow he heard a rustling from the brush nearby.
"Who's there?" he demanded in a less than intimidating tone. "Answer me!"
He got no reply. A shape moved closer to him. Perhaps his general nervousness accounted for his hasty reaction, as he shot at it. There was a yelp and a sound of something falling. He crept forward followed by Kyle and Ann, who his shouting had already awakened.
"It's a wolf," Mark said when he laid eyes on what he had slain. "Just a wolf."
"Aren't we in Moonfang territory right now?" Ann asked.
"Moonfang?" Mark's voice became small. "Don't tell me their sacred animal is a wolf."
"What do you think? Not that I'm scared—but you've really gotten us in big trouble this time, Mark!"
#
They resumed their journey with new wariness, even Ann more subdued now. Their best bet, Kyle noted, was to get off the tribe's land before they could be found. Though they had hid the wolf's body, the barbarians' mysterious ability to know when one of their beasts died was well documented. Escape proved impossible, when early in the evening they found themselves set upon by a small army of painted warriors.
Tanned and nearly naked, the wild men howled like the wolves they revered as they bounded forth through tall grass. All three companions drew swords, Ann dashing to meet the attack while Mark hung back with knuckles white around his hilt. Kyle, for his part, hesitated between aiding his primary charge and the one who would probably need it more. Then the barbarians were on them, and each of them forced into a battle of his or her own.
Mark retreated from a trio of warriors on shaky legs, aghast they would gang up on him when he might not defeat even one. He slashed wildly about him to keep them back, cleaving the head from a spear, but feared he could not keep it up for long. He parried a chopping axe, and a moment later had to twist aside from a thrust spear. The lanky foe whose spear he'd broken rushed in, long knife in hand. He backpedaled, trying to give himself room to swing, but the man was coming on too fast. The blade flashed up...
Ann barreled in from the side, shouldering the barbarian away through the air. She spun on her heels, cutting down both of Mark's other foes in one swipe. "Anyone who wants to hurt him," she said in a cold voice, "will have to get through me."
A mass of warriors surged forward. Ann sliced a man from shoulder to hip, elbowed another violently aside, and met the rest with equal ferocity. Screams and spraying blood filled the air as her sword carved a path of death towards the heart of the crowd. Meanwhile Kyle wreaked his own havoc among the enemy. Though he seemed to prefer sparing his opponents' lives, many of his deep cuts to arms and legs might well be crippling. For a little while Mark just watched, awestruck at the devastation caused by his companions.
Then Ann yelled, "Stop gawking and cover my back!" and he rejoined the battle.
Kyle fought his way to their side, limping from a wound in his thigh, and they stood back to back against the swarming foemen. Barbarians closed in, only to be beaten scrambling back by Ann and Kyle's blades. Despite the threats surrounding him, Mark felt less terrified than he would expect. Weak though he might be, he could hardly have asked for two better comrades.
Even so, the weight of numbers was beginning to take its toll on them. Mark noticed wounds on both Kyle and Ann, and had to believe they were tiring. In the end, it seemed doubtful their skill would prevail against the many enemies yet standing. Still, nearly a score of Moonfangs had been killed or disabled, and the rest grew hesitant to continue the attack.
"We only want the one who slew our brother," said a huge bear-cowled barbarian Mark had seen exchanging blows with Kyle. From the direction of his stare, he had already read the guilt in Mark's eyes. "Hand him over, and we will let the rest of you go."
"Him?" Ann asked teasingly. "What makes you so sure I wasn't the one who did it?"
"Stop playing, Ann. This is no time for games." Kyle transferred his gaze to the likely leader of the barbarians. "But neither can you expect us to simply abandon one of our own."
"He has broken our sacred law. Now he must pay."
"That's one choice," Ann said. She smirked. "The other is that we kill the rest of you."
Kyle tapped her shoulder. "Control yourself. Why not find a peaceful solution instead of wasting more lives?"
"There will be no deals," the big barbarian boomed. "Hand him over if you are not prepared for death."
"You mean your deaths?" Ann mumbled under her breath.
Mark looked pleadingly into his would-be executioner's eyes. "Don't I at least get a trial?"
"Why? Are you denying your guilt?"
"I-"
"Yes," Ann interjected. "Mark didn't kill your friend. Can you prove he did?"
"You are the only city people known to have traveled through our land recently. Thus the burden of proof is on him."
"But how can he prove it?"
"He may request a trial by combat. With me."
Mark paled. Him, against that behemoth? He had seen the man fighting evenly with Kyle for the short time they faced each other. How could he stand a chance?
"What weapons?" he asked, and swallowed.
"Bare hands. Justice will be decided by the pure vessels of the spirit."
Sheathing his sword, Mark balled his fists and forced himself for
ward. Kyle's grasp on his trembling arm stopped him. "What are you thinking?"
"I thought you wanted to avoid further bloodshed. Isn't this the only way we can do that?"
Ann rolled her eyes. "So you getting slaughtered wouldn't count as bloodshed?"
"It would be suicide of you to challenge him," Kyle agreed. "Fear not, I know more of their culture than you. Tell him you demand the right to choose a champion."
"I... demand the right to choose a champion."
"What is this? Are you a man? You may choose as you wish. But whatever happens will be on your conscience."
Kyle stepped towards the barbarian and raised his hands, then winced with the pain of wounds in his arm and thigh. Sweat gleamed on his bald head. "You're hurt," Ann said. She removed her weapons and placed them on the ground. "I'll handle this."
"Aren't you hurt too?" Kyle asked, studying a bloody slice across her chest.
"Yours will hamper you more. Don't be stubborn, you know I have a better chance at this."
"My duty is to keep you out of danger."
"You mean like how the fighting just now wasn't danger?"
"Isn't he kind of big for you to take without a weapon?" Mark asked.
"Len's big, and I have no trouble with him. Besides, better me than weary old Kyle here."
Mark looked at the knight. Though he had still fought well up to the break in combat, his wounds seemed to weaken him now. As much as he feared for Ann's well-being, he feared making the wrong choice and dying more. "I'll take Ann."
Kyle glared at him.
"A little girl?" the barbarian mused. "Do not think I will be fooled into taking it easy on you. I hope you will have no regrets if War-Chief Ulf of the Moonfangs frees your spirit from its shell."
