Those Brave, Foolish Souls from the City of Swords: A standalone Yarnsworld novel

by Benedict Patrick

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright Page

  Welcome to the Yarnsworld

  Chapter 1

  The Lonely Farmhouse

  Chapter 2

  El Elephante and The Queen's Blades

  Chapter 3

  The Legend of the Black Shepherdess

  Chapter 4

  Silent Sparrow and The Balefire Witches

  Chapter 5

  The Sacking of Bajapena

  Chapter 6

  Roaming Iguana and the Ghost Girl

  Chapter 7

  The Story of Vengeful Badger

  Chapter 8

  The Lady's Revenge

  Chapter 9

  Crazy Raccoon and The Massacre at Morelia

  Chapter 10

  A Word From the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Those Brave, Foolish Souls From The City Of Swords

  Copyright 2017 Benedict Patrick

  All rights reserved.

  www.benedictpatrick.com

  Cover design by Jenny Zemanek

  www.seedlingsonline.com

  Published by One More Page Publishing

  To be notified when Benedict Patrick’s next novel is released, and to get free stories set in the world of Those Brave, Foolish Souls From The City Of Swords, please sign up for his newsletter.

  The Yarnsworld is a place where folktales and fantasy meet. It is a place where monsters from stories are real.

  In the Yarnsworld, the line between reality and stories isn’t quite as defined as in our own. It is a place where folktales – and a knowledge of those tales – are an important aspect of life, no matter where in the Yarnsworld people live. Knowing those stories can be the difference between life and death.

  This tale takes us to the city of Espadapan, and its surrounding Wildlands. This is a grittier part of the Yarnsworld, where morally conflicted masked swordfighters take advantage of whoever they can to rise to the top of the heap.

  Don't draw your blade in the City of Swords, unless you're willing to kill… or ready to die.

  The muttering of the crowd gave Arturo his first hint that something was wrong. In the distance a baby wailed, slightly higher pitched than one expected in a busy marketplace. The crowd rippled, innately sensing something was amiss. Across the Great Plaza, cries broke out. Arturo knew what was happening before the words reached his ears.

  “Masks in the street! Stable fight!”

  Nervous murmurings turned to panic, as the good citizens of Espadapan broke and ran. Children were picked up by fathers, goods were left in the market stalls. A cloister of Queen’s Brides, in their grey habits, quickened the pace of their single file march, moving directly away from the source of the disturbance. People were panicking, but even in their distress there was something almost rehearsed about these actions, the sense that most here had experienced this mad dash before. One does not live for long in the City of Swords without learning how to stay out of the way of the swordfighters.

  Arturo’s pulse quickened. This was exactly what he had come here for.

  “We should go,” his guide suggested, tugging at Arturo’s sleeve. “This is not safe. You will see, we should not be here. We will go.”

  Arturo did not look at the hunched, dirty man, his bright eyes too busy scouring the panicking mob, doing his best to pick out the combatants.

  “No, this is what I paid you for, to find the Bravadori, the swordfighters.”

  “Yes,” the man said, “but not like this. This is not safe, we should go.”

  Arturo caught a flash of metal from under the man’s sleeve. He was playing again with his concealed blade. Arturo had caught sight of it when the guide had first approached him at Espadapan’s gate, and had not been surprised by it - he knew that life here was dangerous, and even those who were not Bravadori needed to protect themselves. He also knew outsiders were seen as easy prey. Arturo suspected this man, who had vowed to be Arturo’s closest ally when he had first received coin, was just waiting for a dark alleyway in which to slit Arturo’s throat and take his belongings.

  Nevertheless, Arturo was new to Espadapan, and the man had served a purpose. A purpose that had now been fulfilled. Arturo’s heart began to thump. He was not used to initiating violence.

  But I’ve got to show I’m no easy mark, if I’m to survive. If I’m to impress.

  Arturo grabbed the guide by the wrist. He could feel the edge of the blade under the man’s sleeve, and tightened his grip, forcing the concealed blade to cut into the man’s skin. Arturo’s hand was protected by his own thick duelling glove, but the guide winced in pain, drawing backwards but finding himself caught by Arturo’s surprisingly firm hands.

  Arturo drew himself closer to the guide’s face. “Now, you listen to me, and listen well. You’ll not be using that blade on me. You’ll not be taking my purse. I’ve paid you for a service, and you’ve delivered that service to me. I am happy, and will not pursue you. Understand?”

  The small man nodded, grimacing at the pain in his arm.

  Arturo pushed the man to the ground, at the same time slipping a hand into his own jacket pocket. He pulled out a black domino mask, decorated with specks of red, and the small guide gasped.

  Arturo, fingers quivering with excitement, fitted the mask on, covering his eyes.

  The guide made the Queen’s mark, pulling away from Arturo at the same time.

  “I didn’t know,” the small man stammered, scurrying away in the dirt. “I didn’t know you were one of them.”

  Arturo could not help but grin as the thief turned tail and ran.

  One of them. He thinks I’m one of them.

  Arturo nudged the mask again, making sure it was firmly in place. He flexed his shoulders, and checked for the hilt of the rapier that was fitted at his waist.

  He thinks I’m one of the Bravadori.

  A scream from the other side of the plaza brought Arturo back to the present. Most of the great square was clear now, market stalls abandoned. From the other side of the square came noises that quickened Arturo’s pulse, bringing out beads of sweat on his forehead.

  There. Sword fighting.

  All Bravadori were swordsmen and women. All had the Knack for it. Most men and women of the Wilds and the Muridae would eventually develop a talent for one skill in particular, and to survive as a Bravador one had to have the Knack for swordplay.

  Arturo adjusted his mask one more time, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.

  Time to introduce myself.

  Arturo scurried across the square, moving quick to find the combatants before they moved elsewhere, but also doing his best to not be seen. The rapier at his side already marked him as fair game, but his new Bravador mask practically invited aggressive attention. He did not want anyone to spot him until he knew which stables were taking part.

  He rounded a tomato farmer’s stall and finally caught sight of the fighters, two women and a man. All had blades drawn, and Arturo could tell by the coloured bands on their arms that two were Paws, and one was a Whispering Mouse. All wore masks, each different and colourful.

  Outnumbered, the lone Mouse - her mask crimson, with long plumed feathers sprouting from the top of it - was losing ground, and the Paws were pressing that advantage. They took turns to dart in, swiping at the Mouse, causing her to react more frantically, moving backwards with hurried footsteps. From where he stood, Arturo could see the Paws were edging her towards an unbroken wall. Two on one situations were nearly always i
mpossible to win, especially when all involved had the Knack for it. When the Mouse had nowhere else to move to, it would be over. She would not be killed - Bravadori tried to not kill each other, as each of them carried the Queen’s gift and might be called upon to defend the city - but she would be humiliated, and getting hurt or even maimed in stable fights was commonplace. In the worst of situations, she might even be called upon to forfeit her mask, to forever give up being a Bravador.

  Arturo gripped the hilt of his rapier, blood pumping. After dreaming about seeing the Bravadori for so long, what luck to come across this fight after only an hour in the city.

  The Lion’s Paws and the Whispering Mice. The two largest Bravador stables in Espadapan. I hadn’t even considered presenting myself to either of them, not so soon. Perhaps join another, smaller stable, and eventually gain enough renown to move to higher ranks. But this is too good an opportunity to pass up.

  He studied the combatants again, aware that the longer he remained here, the more likely he would be discovered.

  The male Paw - his green-dotted bandana covering his entire head, like a hood - laughed as the Mouse stumbled slightly, righting herself in a panic, waving her rapier wildly at her attackers to warn them she was still a threat.

  Arturo’s mind filled with red at the cruel laugh. He did not want to be in a stable with someone who took so much pleasure in outnumbering his opponent. Arturo stood up, drew his rapier, and brought his Knack into play.

  Time seemed to slow as his gift took over. His awareness reached out, searching at the world around him, focussing on the nearby swordfighters, giving Arturo an insight into their behaviours. The male Paw was the dominant of the pair - the female did not move until a fraction of a second after her partner - so if Arturo attacked - announcing himself with a shout, of course, as no Bravador would stab another in the back - then the male would take him on, leaving his colleague to deal with the Mouse, the known quantity. The male Paw was keeping most of his weight on his back leg, preparing to lunge forward for a decisive strike. It was an aggressive stance - it had a name, Arturo knew, but he never had anyone to teach him these details - but restricted the man’s movement, which Arturo would use against him. This was Arturo’s Knack, his gift, to read otherwise unnoticeable patterns from his opponents’ actions and use this information to predict how they would act in battle. As time sped up again, as he readied himself to put his predictions to the test, he realised he had never before used his gift against another sword fighting Knack.

  “Don’t draw your blade in the City of Swords, unless you’re willing to kill or be killed,” he whispered, repeating the mantra his mother had uttered as she had kissed him goodbye.

  “So be it,” he said.

  At that moment, a scream erupted from behind Arturo. Taken by surprise, all bravado left him and he dropped his rapier, ducking under the tomato stall to avoid being seen. He was surprised to see that beneath the stall was already occupied. A young Queen’s Bride, obviously separated from the older members of her order in the commotion, looked at him with wide eyes.

  Arturo raised his hands, inhaling a breath with which he planned to tell her not to worry. The Bride reacted first, drawing a small, sharp blade, and poking it towards his groin.

  “Not one fucking step closer,” she whispered. “Any movement from you, and I swear by the Queen’s tits I’ll have your balls off before you can touch me.”

  Arturo froze, shocked more at the language coming from the Bride than her threat.

  She motioned with the knife towards the cloth Arturo had just dived under. “Get out. This is my hiding place. Find your own.”

  Arturo looked to his left, to the plaza walkway he had been standing in moments ago. The sound of footsteps, belonging to many more bodies than the three fighters he had been watching, were close, but were not right outside. Perhaps he could make his way out without being seen.

  He turned back to the Queen’s Bride, and saw a puzzled look on her face. He himself was surprised at the age of the girl. The Brides’ grey habits did a lot to conceal the physical features of those who wore them - sacks with a hood, the ranchers back home had called them - but looking closer at this girl’s face told Arturo she was younger even than his twenty years.

  “Where’s your sword?” she asked him. “Ain’t you all supposed to have swords?”

  Arturo felt his face flush, and he glanced out to the plaza again, to his rapier lying in the dust.

  Bravadori do not abandon their weapons at the sound of battle.

  He turned back to the Bride, lowering his hands, and giving the winning grin that so often gained him favour with the girls back home, ready to explain.

  The Bride did not give him time to speak. At the first sign of movement from him, true to her word she darted her blade forward, aiming its point between his legs.

  If not for Arturo’s own Knack, he would have been an easy mark for the girl. However, at her threatening movement forward, his gift took over. Time slowed again, giving him plenty of opportunity to assess and deal with an attack that should have taken less than a second to spill his testicles over the market floor. With his gloved hand, he batted the Bride’s attack to the side, her blade cutting only air. He grabbed both her wrists, and time sped up again.

  “Stop,” he said, as the girl spat and hissed at him, surprising him by attempting a head butt that he only avoided by allowing it to make contact with his chest instead of his face. Having gotten close to him, she attempted to use her teeth, clamping onto his new black suit.

  Arturo laughed, both through how ineffectual her attacks were, but also to mask his confusion about how to deal with the situation.

  “You going to savage my buttons until nightfall?”

  “Get the fuck off me,” she shouted, face still buried in his chest, teeth working furiously on the black leather.

  “I’m going to let you go. No stabbing or biting, and I’ll let you go. Won’t touch you, either, but you’ve got to calm down.”

  The Bride stopped moving, but Arturo could still feel her tense in his grip.

  “All right, letting go now. I’m trusting you.”

  He loosened his grip and the Bride pulled backwards to the other end of the stall, eyes wild, her blade, quickly recovered, clutched close to her chest. Arturo was impressed that she was more angry than scared of him. A lone tassel of auburn hair escaped the tight grasp of her wimple at her forehead.

  “You’re a bit feisty for a Bride, aren’t you?” he asked, smiling.

  “You’re a bit ugly for a pig, aren’t you?” she retorted. Arturo looked confused at the random insult, then she finally laughed at him. “Bit fucking stupid, too.”

  Swallowing his irritation, Arturo tentatively took his eyes off the girl to peek out from under the cloth that draped over the stall, hiding him and the Bride from the rest of the plaza. He could see his rapier lying there, a gift for his birthday last month. However, the other shouts from the plaza told Arturo there were considerably more than three Bravadori out there now, and from this vantage point, he could not tell if it would be safe for him to crawl out and retrieve his weapon.

  He reached his hand into the sunlight, and then withdrew it when he realised how much it was shaking.

  Ashamed at his own fear, Arturo looked again at the Bride to see if she had noticed his weakness. She seemed calmer now, almost curious, as if she had used up all her anger.

  “You’re leaving? Doesn’t sound like they’re gone yet.”

  Arturo gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “The fighting’s still going on, but I think it’s moving away from the plaza. But you don’t need to be concerned about it - this is a Bravadori matter. Ordinary citizens don’t need to fear, you won’t be harmed.”

  The Bride’s face crumpled in confusion again, almost as if Arturo had told a joke with an unusual punchline. She studied his face for a moment, then said, “You’re not like any Bravador I’ve ever met.”

  He flushed at this, turni
ng to look out of the hiding place to hide his embarrassment. He wanted to fit in, not stand out from the other Bravadori.

  “They’re moving away. I’ve got to go.”

  To Arturo’s surprise, the Bride reached across to him and held his hand. “You don’t need to head out there. Stay here, and be safe.”

  Arturo’s heart melted, and he smiled at the kindness of this stranger.

  “Thank you, Sister,” he replied, checking again that his mask was sitting properly on his face. “I know I don’t need to. But it’s why I came here. I came here to meet the Bravadori.”

  I came here to become one of them.

  Arturo pulled back the stall covering, ready to move out, and the girl pulled on his hand again. “They’ll kill you. Everyone wearing a rapier in Espadapan is a target to them, and any fool can see you aren’t one of them, even with that mask on.”

  His face burned at her words, and part of Arturo urged himself to listen to the Bride, to stay cowering with her and then traipse off home to his parents after the fighting had finished.

  But I’ve come this far.

  He smiled at her. “Bravadori don’t kill without good cause. They - we - are the burning light that protects Espadapan from the dangers of the Wild. We’re the Queen’s Blades.” He dipped his head in a tiny bow, then crawled back out to the daylight to reclaim his sword.

  The sounds of fighting were further away now, and Arturo cursed - he could lose them altogether, if he wasn’t careful. The Great Plaza was the heart of the city, and the constables would flock here at the report of violence, although they would probably take their time if they knew it was Bravadori who were causing the disturbance. Arturo was not surprised that both sides of the conflict wanted to move their disagreement elsewhere. He listened again, the echoes of steel ringing against steel bouncing off the tall buildings that lined the market place, including the high dome of the Queen’s cathedral.

  East, he reckoned. The fighting’s headed east. Arturo had only arrived this morning, but had studied maps of Espadapan for months in preparation for his journey. He had a fair idea what lay in that direction - Barrio Palacio and its luxurious buildings, including the palace - but could not decide which of those landmarks the warring Bravadori would make a line for.