by Rob J. Hayes
Pern placed a protective arm in front of his client and slowly started to walk backwards, forcing Swift to move with him. At first he protested but once he noticed the glowing gem attached to his Haarin’s belt Swift was compliant. They stepped backwards into the rear of the warehouse, into the shadows.
A polite knock sounded from the door to the warehouse followed by the muted but unmistakeable sound of a man clearing his throat. “Would someone mind letting me in.”
Pern couldn’t describe the feeling of terror. He couldn’t see the aura coming from whoever was on the other side of the door but he could feel it and it was like nothing he could describe. It was almost as if every emotion a person could feel had been combined into one giant mess and there was not a single glimmer of control in it anywhere. He might have turned and fled right then if not for the fact that he had his client to protect.
Swift was not so constrained. He turned and bolted to the rear of the warehouse and Pern fled quickly on his heels. At the back they found another door, this one with a heavy iron lock in place. Pern tried the handle but found it locked, before he could start breaking the wooden obstruction down Swift knelt by the door and produced a set of picks. Without hesitation he went to work and in only a few moments the lock clicked and the door opened.
Just before Pern and his client fled the warehouse he heard the crash of wood as the front door to the building burst inwards.
They fled through the streets of the craftsmen quarter at a steady pace, Pern ready to shield his client from any danger and Swift with a short sword in one hand and a dagger in the other and all the while cursing that he hadn’t brought his bow. There were few workers out tonight; few workers out at all these days in Chade but a few apprentices ran to and fro carrying goods or supplies. Pern spared them all only quick glances before dismissing them as non-threatening. They stayed clear of any soldiers they saw, it was not possible to be certain whether they were working for Swift or Drake without questioning them and Pern was not about to risk his client’s life in that way. He decided it was safer if they fled back to Swift’s estate by themselves.
They came to a crossroads in the streets and slowed to a stop. The east road led to Goldtown and back to safety though a main road such as this presented a danger. The north road led to a market and beyond that to the north gate. The south road led further into the craftsmen quarter and the west road led back to the guildhall, back to the warehouse, back to whatever terror was now in that warehouse.
Swift was breathing heavily and laughing. All men seemed to deal with fear in different ways; some froze, some raged, some became quivering messes and some, like his client, laughed the fear away rather than admit it existed.
“Ya run like the hells are behind us, Suzku,” Swift said with a grin. “I’m half tempted ta go back an’ find out jus’ who the fuck that was killin’ my men.”
Pern looked at Swift and couldn’t tell if his client was joking. Surely even he would not be crazy enough to court the sort of danger that lay back that way but the way Swift was staring back along the road they had just run from Pern was not so certain.
“Looks like we weren’t the only ones thought o’ runnin’,” Swift said with a nod. “Reckon I might be in fer a fight here.”
Pern followed Swift’s gaze and found Henry staring at them from the other side of the road, her rage surrounding her in a red haze. She had a dagger in each hand and a look on her face that said she was both willing and able to use them. Pern let out a sigh and took up a fighting stance.
Swift placed a hand on his Haarin’s shoulder. “Reckon I’ll take this one, Suzku. Me an’ Henry there got some unfinished business an’ I’m real keen ta finish it.”
Jacob Lee
The door burst inwards with a single kick sending splinters and chunks of wood scattering across the floor. Jacob took a moment to savour the musty smell of the warehouse and was immediately struck by the more acrid smell of sweat and fear. There were more than a few people inside. He stepped over the threshold.
It took him only a second to count all his potential partners; thirty-six men and one woman. It was a good job the warehouse was spacious. All those inside were armed with a variety of weapons ranging from swords to spears to axes to hammers to daggers. Jacob never carried any weaponry. It was considered strange for an Arbiter not to carry a metal weapon complete with magical charms, how else would they would focus their blessings and dispatch heresy. But Jacob was not an Arbiter, he was a Templar. He had no need for a charmed weapon because he himself was charmed, he himself was blessed, he himself was a weapon.
Jacob allowed those arrayed before him a moment to notice his coat. They would probably be more likely to answer his question if they knew he was part of the Inquisition.
“I am looking for the man known as the Black Thorn,” Jacob said pitching his voice to carry throughout the warehouse.
Some of the men looked about as if trying to locate his quarry but Jacob had already scanned all the faces, and with far better vision than any of these sorry specimens, and had concluded Thorn was not among them.
The biggest man Jacob had ever seen stepped up in front of him and spat onto the dust covered floor. “Already sold my friend out once today. I’ll be fucked if I’m givin’ him up ta a damned Arbiter an’ all.”
The giant planted his left foot and swung a massive sword at Jacob with his right hand. Jacob stepped into the coming attack and, with a lightning fast punch to the giant’s hand forced him to drop the sword. With a roar the giant lunged at him and Jacob locked hands with the bigger man. It had been a long time since he’d had a true test of strength and he was eager to find out who was the stronger.
With his hands gripping the giant’s Jacob pushed and the giant pushed back. The big man’s strength went beyond human and Jacob could feel sweat running down his face as both men growled and snorted at each other. His blessings began to itch as they did when he drew too much power from them.
The giant’s strength may have been inhuman but so was Jacob’s. His strength was a divine gift. A failed experiment he might be but only half-failed. The blessings had been successfully transcribed onto his skin but the process had broken his mind. Jacob knew he was broken, knew he could no longer tell right from wrong and he knew the music he heard wasn’t real but it was a thing he couldn’t control. It was a thing he no longer wanted to control.
He heard the giant’s sharp intake of breath at the shock an instant before he felt the big man’s wrists snap. The giant roared in pain but only for a second. Jacob drew back his fist and punched him in the chest. He felt ribs snap under the force of his fist and with his heightened hearing Jacob heard the giant’s heart stop. The massive corpse swayed for a moment before crashing to the floor in puff of dust.
One song ends and another begins.
A woman screamed a hoarse guttural sound full of pain and anger. Then she charged him and she wasn’t alone. Partners from all over the warehouse started to converge on Jacob.
He let the music take him.
His first partner was a young man with a sandy coloured dusting of hair on his top lip and a rusty long sword. Jacob swayed to his partner’s rhythm and span into the man’s waiting embrace, his elbow connecting with the man’s face. As bone broke and splintered under the force Jacob plucked the sword from his partner’s limp hand and planted it in its owner’s sternum before looking for his next partner.
The second partner was an older man with a split lip. He thrust a spear at Jacob. The Templar caught the spear on the first beat of the drum, snapped off the end with the second beat and sent it flying back to its owner on the third beat.
He could see the woman with the scar on her throat so eager to reach him, so eager to join the dance but there was a wall of partners between him and her.
Jacob’s next two partners lasted only two beats a piece. The first died with a broken neck, the second with the first’s axe in his skull.
His next partner was more elegant;
an older man, grey in hair and with two heavy hands. An iron mace flew towards Jacob’s head and in only a moment he had revelled in the beautiful symmetry of the flanges and spotted a tiny blot of dried blood inside one of them, no doubt left from the last time the weapon was used. Jacob ducked under the swing, took hold of the shaft and spun around, dragging the heavy handed partner with him, forcing him off balance. It took only a single punch to shatter the man’s arm. Jacob spun away from his partner, taking the mace with him and then span back. The mace connected with his partner’s face and blood, bone and brain erupted from the shattered mess. Someone close by screamed a woman’s name but Jacob could barely hear over the music. He looked for another partner.
The woman with the scarred neck came at Jacob snarling and he rejoiced. A female partner would maybe remind him of Sarah. He brushed away her sword with an empty palm and reached for the woman’s neck. A sword fell between them and Jacob recoiled, pulling back his hand just in time to stop it being severed. His blessings made him strong but they did not make him impervious to cold steel. The man attached to the sword was the spitting image of the heavy handed partner only younger. The sword darted at Jacob again and again and each time he ducked or twirled away. Then Jacob let a single thrust slide past him and placed his right hand on the man’s chest. He felt a rib snap under the force and the man flew away from him. His sword clattered to the floor with a metallic shriek.
So many partners and so much music. Jacob’s next four died too easily. One with a crushed larynx. Two with their own swords in their guts and the fourth with a snapped neck.
People were fleeing now, rushing to the warehouse doorway to escape him. The floor was becoming slick with red blood and some of those people tripped, a couple were likely trampled. Jacob dodged a spear thrust, stepped up to the man holding it and planted a knee in his stomach, as the man doubled over, retching blood onto the ground Jacob plucked the spear from his grasp and pinned him to the floor with it.
Then the woman was back, shouting at him. There was but a small distance between them and Jacob crossed it with a skip. He was too fast for her and the sword strike fell well wide. He gripped both of her hands and squeezed, pulling her close into his embrace. He felt a finger bone crack, a knuckle pop and he savoured the bulging of her eyes as she lost herself in the pain.
For just a moment there was a lull in the music and the sounds of the dying filled Jacob’s ears. The woman was screaming in pain, men lay on the floor nearby crying to the Gods. Somewhere close by a man said for Joan and grunted as though lifting something heavy.
Everything went white.
Henry
“How’s the leg, Henry?” Swift asked, grinning.
The leg ached, always ached these days but sometimes more than others. Most times she just grit her teeth and ignored the pain but sometimes it made her limp and unfortunately now was one of those times. Made her angry that Swift could see how his handiwork pained her, how it affected her but then anger was a constant companion these days. There were times when Henry wished she wasn’t angry, times she wished she could be happy but she knew it was just fantasy. As long as the bastard who’d raped her was still alive, as long as the cause of her shame was still breathing there could be nothing but anger.
“What makes ya think this time’ll be any different, Henry?” Swift asked. “Last time ya was top o’ ya game an’ I still beat ya. Fair fight too. Remember? I know I do. Ya won’t believe how much she struggled, Suzku. At first anyway. Reckon she took ta likin’ it soon enough.”
Henry let the bastard talk, circled him, waiting for him to make a mistake, to look away. His bodyguard watched the entire situation with a carefully passive look on his face. As long as he didn’t involve himself she stood a chance at least.
“See the thing ‘bout our Henry here,” Swift continued, not taking his eyes off of her “she’s a dangerous little thing, real scary but she ain’t too good at takin’ a hit. Never seen someone get punch drunk so quick. Couple o’ good strikes ta the face an’ she was swayin’ on her feet. So I pinned her arms together, bent her over an’ had a bit o’ fun. Now come on, Henry, admit it. Ya liked it.”
It was too much to take. Henry screamed and launched herself at him, daggers flashing. Swift blocked one of Henry’s strikes with his own dagger and the other with his short sword. Just as Henry was about to feint back and strike again Swift’s sword whipped at her and it was all she could do to stumble away.
Henry settled herself into a knife fighter’s crouch, ready to spring into action. Her left cheek felt wet and started stinging. A quick touch and her finger came away red; a shallow cut but a cut all the same. That bastard Swift was too quick for his own good.
“Ya see, Suzku. She’s got this way of wrigglin’ like she don’t want it. Feels so good. And the noises she makes.”
Henry attacked again, feinting right and then leaping left, one dagger looking to parry his sword, the other to find his gut. She knew if only she could get inside his guard Swift would be done for; she’d never met a fighter who could beat her up close.
Swift dodged backwards and Henry followed him. Without warning the blooded bastard stepped into her and before she could react he kicked her in the leg, the left leg; her bad one. Henry collapsed with a squeal and scrambled away from Swift, struggling to regain her feet. Her left leg screamed in pain and she realised she’d dropped one of her daggers. Swift plucked the weapon from the ground and considered it for a moment before tossing it away into the shadows.
“Ya really shouldn’t have come alone, Henry. Had yaself the Black Thorn at ya back but no, not Henry the Red. Always had ta do it alone didn’t ya. Hell I bet that dumb fuck, Thorn doesn’t even know who ya really are does he?”
Henry found one of her hidden throwing knives with her right hand and launched it at Swift. Fair to say he wasn’t expecting it, only just managed to get out of the way in time and by the time he had recovered Henry was on him. She brushed aside his sword and barrelled into him, sending them both crashing to the ground. For a moment she couldn’t tell which of them was which, who was on top and who was thrashing below. Then the world righted itself and she found herself straddling Swift, her dagger darted towards his throat but he was too quick, he caught her wrist with his left hand and punched her in the face with his right.
Henry found herself sprawled on the floor, a painful moan escaping her lips. She cracked open an eye and saw Swift regaining his feet. Bastard hadn’t even taken a scratch. He kicked her other dagger away, making sure it was out of reach.
“See the thing is, Henry. Unlike the other members of our ol’ crew I did some diggin’ inta ya past,” Swift looked back to his bodyguard and Henry tried to shake the bright lights from her vision. “See it turns out Henry the Red is actually Henrietta Vert. She’s a damned noble born brat an’ I don’t mean blooded, oh no. Henry here comes from the Five Kingdoms; she’s a fuckin’ royal bastard.”
She didn’t know how he knew but what she did know was he needed to die. Him and that bodyguard of his both. Some secrets were Henry’s alone and she’d protect them with blood if need be.
Swift looked past her, the grin gone from his face. “Seems like her backup’s arrived. Reckon you’ll keep fer later, wouldn’t mind tryin’ out ya royal cunt again ‘fore I kill ya.”
Henry managed to block Swift’s first punch but she didn’t even see the second, she felt it connect with her jaw though and then she felt nothing.
Anders
As if fleeing from the terror of the warehouse wasn’t enough, Anders was now breathing heavy from his brisk jog and was beginning to suspect at least one of his ribs might be cracked. He had Swift and the Haarin to thank for that and unfortunately it looked like he was about to have his chance at payback. Considering how the last encounter had ended it was not something he was looking forward to. At least he had the Black Thorn with him. The moment they had realised Henry was gone they looked around and found Swift gone also, it didn’t take a genius to
realise the little murderess had gone after the man who had caused her so much pain.
It wasn’t until they heard Henry’s battle cry that they knew where she had gone and if it wasn’t for her shrill vocal outburst it was unlikely they’d ever have found her. Still, Anders wasn’t much used to running and neither was he in the best of conditions. It was, in fact, taking every ounce of intestinal fortitude he had not to pull up and heave his lunch onto the streets of Chade.
As they got closer Swift noticed them. Anders saw the blooded bastard punch Henry and she went down heavy, crashing to the ground in a heap and not moving. Despite his lack of breath, the burning in his chest and the more than certain feeling he was hopelessly outmatched Anders drew his sword and broke into a sprint, leaving Thorn behind.
Anders leapt at Swift and the bastard parried his strike and then sent back one of his own which Anders dodged away from.
“Suzku, deal with Thorn. Don’t kill him, jus’ hold him up ‘til I’ve finished with this fuck,” Swift said and then turned his full attention to Anders. It was about then Anders realised the most likely outcome of his current predicament was his own death. Still, it wasn’t the first time Anders Brekovich had faced certain death, he had in fact made something of a habit of surviving his own demise.
Swift thrust with his short sword. Anders parried with his longer blade and then flicked an attack at his opponent’s sword arm. Swift jumped backwards with a laugh. He had the speed and the strength advantage but Anders had the better reach and hopefully a touch more skill. He had, after all, been trained by Crucible’s finest master at arms. Of course half a lifetime pickled on the floor of any tavern that would have him may have rusted his training a little.
