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

by Benedict Patrick

  Confident the fetid ladies were no longer there, the Silent Sparrow moved quickly towards their huts.

  Shortly before dawn, the Balefire Witches returned, their spheres of flame travelling in an undulating line, eventually touching down on the clearing they had originally flown from.

  “That was well done, sisters,” the lead hag said, her near-bald head reflecting the amber glow of sunrise that bled through the night sky. “Another village that regrets bending the knee to the Mouse Queen.”

  The other two cackled in response, and then began to yawn, their eyes narrowing to slits as the sun broke the horizon.

  “To bed then,” they said, “until the moon brings more opportunities for revenge.”

  The trio separated, each making to their own small hut that stood close by. They entered their doors, and the world seemed to breathe as the evil creatures withdrew from it for a time.

  However, not half an hour had passed since sunrise when a scream of pain filled the mountaintop. Two of the witches rushed from their homes, mole-eyed in the daylight, unable to comprehend what had just taken place. All was revealed when they inspected the home of the third and found their sister dead in her bed, a look of permanent pain frozen on her face, her chest an open wound of red.

  “No, sister, no!” they cursed, and tore the hut apart to find their sister’s assassin.

  Sometime later, no sign of the assailant had been found, and fatigue made the witches falter in their search, daytime’s cruel light stinging their eyes.

  “We will find you,” the lead hag shouted from the mountain, certain that whoever had killed her sister would be able to hear. “When night comes, we will find you, and you cannot comprehend the manner of our revenge, and how long it shall take us to finish with you.”

  They retired again, grief-stricken and frustrated, eager to avenge their sister.

  However, not another half hour had passed until a second scream tore across the mountain top. This time, only the lead hag emerged from her home. Slowly, quietly she entered her remaining sister’s home, and was not surprised to find the woman lying dead in her bed, in the same manner as before.

  The lead hag stood there for a long time, studying the scene, trying to ascertain how this had happened. This witch was the eldest of the sisters, and it was she who had approached the Mistress of the Wilds and pledged them all to her service in return for her gifts. This witch would not be tricked as easily as her sisters.

  After some time, she returned to her home. However, she did not go to sleep, but instead lit a small lamp and stood in the middle of her room.

  “I know you are here,” she said. “I know you crept inside as soon as I entered my sister’s home. You will not survive this.”

  With a small movement of her hand, her bed lifted from the floor and flew across the room, smashing into the far wall. There, exposed now on the floor, lay Silent Sparrow, ready to plunge her blade into the hag’s heart as she slept.

  “You killed my sisters, the only creatures in all the world I cared about,” the witch spat, reaching out with her hand and pulling Silent Sparrow to her feet by tugging on unseen puppet strings. “I will enjoy watching you die.”

  The hag stepped closer to the Bravador, certain that the assassin was now under her control and posed no further threat.

  “Tell me, little murderer - which part of your body should I eat first?”

  The sneer on the witch’s face turned to shock as Silent Sparrow plunged her blade - now glowing with a white light - into the hag’s heart.

  “How?” was the last thing the witch said before dying on the end of Silent Sparrow’s sword.

  “I am a Bravador, a Queen’s Blade” Silent Sparrow answered, pulling her blade free and allowing the final witch to drop to the floor. “Nobody can command me but my Queen. And she has commanded me to protect all of her people from creatures like you.”

  The light from Silent Sparrow’s rapier faded, and she left the witch’s body where it lay, beginning her walk back down the mountain, journeying to tell the people of Balefire that they were safe once again, that the Queen watched over them.

  The buzzing of insects was maddening. Arturo had been putting up with it all day, tramping through the Wildlands with the others. The route to a small village like Calvario was not the same as travelling to any of the larger Muridae cities. The path they were on, if you could call it such, showed little signs of use, much of it overgrown with the dry Wildlands grass. Tomas was probably the only person to have travelled this way in the last month.

  “You came all by yourself?” Arturo asked the Wildman again, incredulous. Despite the company around him, Arturo had never felt so alone, and he was used to growing up surrounded by the Wildlands. However, this was different. Espadapan had disappeared beyond the horizon, and all they could see was rock, dirt, and sparse pine trees, sucking up what little moisture they could pull from the soil.

  Tomas shrugged, giving a sheepish smile, using his machete to hack away at some of the long grasses in front of him.

  “Nobody else was going to do it,” he answered, “and how else could we stop Procopio? I did it for my Rosa, and for my girls.”

  “Your girls?”

  It had not occurred to Arturo that Tomas might have had a family at home. The little man had certainly not mentioned it during their time together in the city. However, now on the road, Tomas was a much more amiable companion.

  “My wife and daughters. One of them… Valeria, she is gone now. The bandits took her on their first raid, and she… we found her two days later. She is happier, now.” Tomas made the Queen’s mark, looking to the sky.

  Arturo grew solemn. He had not contemplated the losses that Tomas might have already experienced, the events that would have led him to starting his dangerous journey.

  “Didn’t know your kind prayed to her,” Crazy Raccoon interrupted.

  Arturo jumped at the sound of the Bravador’s voice. He had grown up hearing stories of Crazy Raccoon, and still found it difficult to believe the famous Bravador was now his travelling companion.

  “The Queen?” Tomas asked. “Yes, yes we do. We, um, it was part of the pact our great-grand fathers made, to put aside the worship of our former lady and to pay homage to Queen Isabella instead. And she has been good to us.”

  “Really?” Arturo said, uncertain. He had seen little in his life to convince him the Queen was still alive, or still held any power.

  “Yes,” Tomas said, looking at the Bravadori walking beside him. “Yes, she has sent us you.”

  Arturo was silent, slightly stunned by the reverence in Tomas’ voice. Me, a Bravador. I’m the last line of defence for you and your people. It had been a different experience on his father’s estate when Arturo had joined in with a large group of seasoned professionals, hired to protect his family’s land. They would have succeeded with or without Arturo’s help. Calvario had no such guarantee.

  “Yes, indeed she has,” Crazy Raccoon agreed with the Wildman, slapping Tomas on the back in response to the compliment. “And no finer pair of Bravadori could you have to protect your little village. Me, a veteran of many years, a walking legend, so they say. And Starving Pup, a fresh page, a new story waiting to be written.”

  A walking legend. Arturo smiled at those words. Crazy Raccoon was exactly what he had come to Espadapan to find. The man was a hero, and Arturo had lapped up the stories of the Raccoon’s exploits just as readily as he had the tales of El Elephante and Vengeful Badger. And finally, when Arturo was losing faith in his dream of becoming a Bravador and all he had thought it would entail, this man had walked into his life. Crazy Raccoon had joined them without asking for reward. The man seemed excited to be able to do good, he seemed so willing to trust in Arturo and his fledgling abilities.

  Crazy Raccoon was all that Arturo dreamed he might one day become.

  Smiling, Arturo did not turn to look at the black figure that walked a short distance behind them. Yizel had been quiet ever since C
razy Raccoon had joined them, but she had still agreed to come along. Arturo, to his shame, understood her silence. Arturo had not realised how reviled the Shaven were by rest of the Bravadori, had not realised how evil her crimes must have been to be branded in such a way, but Crazy Raccoon had made that abundantly clear in his short time with them. The Bravador was harsh with Yizel, but Arturo could not argue his logic. The Bravadori celebrated success, and condemned failure. Losing one’s mask was the highest form of failure for a Bravador. Yizel had indeed fallen low. From the corner of his eye, Arturo considered Yizel, wondering what horrible crime she had committed to have her mask stripped from her.

  “What’re they for, then?” Crazy Raccoon said, snapping Arturo’s eyes back to him.

  “What, sorry? What?” Arturo said, realising Crazy Raccoon was studying his mask.

  “Your marks on your mask, the blood. They mean something? My rings are just decoration. Inspired by a raccoon, obviously. But a lot of Bravadori mark their masks to mirror their actions. Those drops of blood - they men you’ve killed?”

  Arturo nodded. “Bandits. Two bandits. They attacked our estate not long after my Knack emerged. I killed them before the rest ran off.” Arturo neglected to mention how terrified he had been at the time, or how sick he had been afterwards.

  Crazy Raccoon nodded in appreciation. “Not bad, not a bad start. There’ll be plenty more drops on there before this is through. Might have to rename you after that. Red River. Could be a good name, if you’re decorated in red.”

  Red River. Not half as bad as Starving Pup. Now I just have to earn it.

  As night fell, so too did Arturo’s spirits. The buzzing of the insects did not stop, and he fancied he would never get to sleep with the droning invading his thoughts. He was just thankful that very few of the mosquitoes decided to feast on him.

  Tomas worked on a campfire, and Yizel drew close to the rest of the group for the first time.

  “Won’t a fire attract attention?” Arturo said, nervously, looking at the flat land around them. He knew all the stories about chupacabra, witches and other monsters that roamed the Wilds, but even as remote as his estate had been, none of those creatures had ever come close. There was also the constant threat of bandits, which of course he had more experience with.

  “Yes,” Tomas said, in reply. “Yes, this light’ll be a beacon to them, and they’ll come running towards it. But only so far. Most of the Wild beasts fear the fire, and having one going’ll keep us much safer than none at all. Even if they couldn’t see us, they’d smell us. Long as we keep the fire burning through the night, we’ll be safe.”

  “We’ve got to keep the fire going? How did you survive the nights when you were travelling to Espadapan?”

  Tomas gave a weak smile. “Didn’t get much sleep. I’m warning you now, we’re going to hear a lot of noises tonight. But we’ll be safe enough.”

  Arturo paled.

  Yizel pulled out some flint and started to make it spark, with Tomas joining in. Both did not speak much.

  Arturo moved forward to help the two of them, but Crazy Raccoon put a hand on his chest, stopping him.

  “No,” he smiled at Arturo, shaking his head. “That kind of work is for them. Our work begins when the fighting starts.”

  Arturo felt a small bloom of shame when Yizel glanced his way at this, but he followed Crazy Raccoon’s lead and retired to a nearby cluster of rocks, eager to spend some time learning from the great Bravador. There was something Arturo had been wanting to ask him since he had joined the group. Something Arturo had been curious about ever since putting his own mask on.

  “So,” Arturo began, after a few moments of silence watching Yizel and Tomas bring life to the campfire, “what’s it like?”

  “What?” Crazy Raccoon said, confused.

  Arturo winced. He did not know why, but he was embarrassed to ask the question. “What’s it like being a Queen’s Blade?”

  Crazy Raccoon’s confusion remained for a brief second, then the man smiled. “What do you mean? You’re a Queen’s Blade too. All Bravadori are. And we know what it feels like to be Bravadori, don’t we?” Crazy Raccoon leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “Magnificent.”

  Arturo leaned back, unnerved by the wolfish grin on Crazy Raccoon’s face, and shook his head.

  “No. I mean, it is great being a Bravador,” he replied, unsure if he really meant that answer. “I mean, it’s what I’ve always wanted, so it is great to finally be living my dream. But being a Queen’s Blade… does it happen like they say in the stories?”

  Recognition dawned on Crazy Raccoon’s face, and he leaned back, a smug smile forming. “Ah, what is it like to feel the Queen’s power flow through you, to know you are her instrument, protecting her people so far from their homeland?”

  Arturo’s heart beat a bit faster. “Yes! What… how does it happen? What does it feel like? Does her gift only come when you’re protecting people? How do I know I’ll receive it? Does… does it really make your sword glow?”

  Crazy Raccoon thought for a bit. Arturo felt the older man was possibly labouring the process, making a bit of theatre out of it. “You know, that’s a difficult question to answer. When you get to my stage, I don’t think I’m ever not a Blade. That make sense? It almost feels like the Queen’s power has a constant connection to me, like she has access to me all of the time. Must be something to do with how long I’ve been a Bravador for, and how successful I’ve been. For me, it just feels normal. But you must understand, what’s normal for me is what most others strive for.”

  The answer disappointed Arturo. He had hoped for more insight into what made Bravadori truly special, why their mere presence seemed to protect Espadapan from the horrors of the Wildlands.

  Then he spotted Yizel, looking at Crazy Raccoon with a raised eyebrow, disapproving. Noticing Arturo’s attention was diverted, Crazy Raccoon turned around and spotted the woman’s look before she could mask her expression.

  “Got a problem, Shaven?”

  “No problem,” Yizel answered, skewering one of the quail they had bought in the plaza earlier, without looking back at the Bravador.

  “Don’t suppose you’ve ever felt what the boy is talking about?” Crazy Raccoon asked her, accompanied by a taunting grin. “You were one of us, once. Did you ever feel the Queen’s power?”

  Yizel raised her head, her impassionate face looking at Crazy Raccoon briefly. Then she returned to her giblets, saying only, “I’m not sure.”

  Crazy Raccoon laughed, turned away from her, and began to rummage in his pack for something.

  Curious, Arturo shuffled over to Yizel. “Did something happen? Something you reckon might have been her?”

  Yizel hesitated again, not looking at Arturo, but her mind also no longer on the meat in front of her. Finally, she spoke. “One of my first tasks after I joined the Whispering Mice was guard duty for a small farm a day’s travel from the city. Probably a bit like your father’s.”

  Not like my father’s, Arturo thought, but said nothing. His father’s land could hardly be compared with a simple farm.

  “On the second night, we heard howls from out in the Wilds. Not wolves. I knew straight away it wasn’t wolves. There were three of us, which had seemed a lot when we were going up against small groups of bandits, but not when we had to face… whatever was out there.

  “They worried us for about an hour, before they attacked. They most resembled… horses, I suppose. But they had no faces. Where their faces should have been, the flesh had been peeled away, leaving a mess of red. Their hooves were hands, I think. I can remember them groping and reaching in the dark, the bellowing cries coming from those gaping wounds on their heads.

  “One of the other Mice fled straight away. That was his last night as a Mouse - we shaved him the next day, after we survived.”

  “You fought them, then?” Arturo asked, incredulous.

  Yizel nodded, and a rare half-smile inched across her face at the memory.
“Yes. My friend and I, we weren’t the type to back down. Also, we had been paid, and I’d seen the children in the farmhouse. Not a chance I could have lived with myself if I’d walked away from them.

  “I’m not sure how many of the beasts were there. But as I stood back to back with Deliana, something… something changed. I felt powerful. I felt… I knew I was going to win. I knew the farm was going to be safe.”

  “What about your sword?” Arturo pressed. “Did it glow?” It always happened in the stories, when the Queen gave her gift.

  Yizel turned to Arturo, the full smile on her face pleasantly alien as she opened her mouth to respond.

  It was at this moment Crazy Raccoon burst out laughing.

  “Drink my own piss,” he bellowed, a full sound coming from his round belly, “Never thought I’d hear a Shaven speaking about something like that.”

  “She was a Bravador once,” Arturo said, uncertain about challenging Crazy Raccoon, but not liking the way the conversation was going. “Stands to reason she’d have been a Blade as well.”

  Crazy Raccoon chuckled. “Yeah, but not a very good one, was she? Were you?”

  Yizel scowled, but said nothing.

  “No, I didn’t think so,” Crazy Raccoon said. He turned to Tomas, who was wide-eyed and quiet at the tension between the swordfighters. “That food ready yet?”

  The four of them settled down quietly to eat, Arturo feeling that inviting more conversation might reignite the tension between Crazy Raccoon and Yizel. He would rather not have eaten quietly, however, because night fell quickly, and as Tomas had promised, the noises in the dark began.

  It started with simple movement in the dirt and dry bushes just out of reach of the campfire’s light, but close enough that the dead rustling made Arturo’s arm hairs stand up straight. He stopped eating the first time he heard the noise, mouth wide open, ears straining to hear more.

  Eyes darting around the campfire, he became aware the others were doing the same.