by J. T. Wright
“Thank you.” Scooping up the items, Orion stood to leave.
The Attendant rose with him. “Ahh, if you would, Reann has had a rough time. Her room is the first one on the right at the top of the stairs. Waking up in privacy would be better than falling out of that chair.”
“You want me to carry her?” Orion said, his expression flat.
“I'd help, but, my back.” The Attendant placed a hand to the offending body part. “It’s why I gave up Adventuring to work for the Guild, you understand?”
“I don’t know this woman.” Orion hoped the man was joking but had a feeling that this favor was the true price of that free and empty room.
“She won’t mind. You’re her hero now, didn’t you hear the stories? An avenging angel with silver eyes. The proper ending to that tale should be a chivalrous act.”
**********
Reann did not want the privacy of her room. Orion discovered this when he opened the door in the morning and the young woman fell backwards into his own room. Her head bounced off the wood floor as he stepped out of the way.
“Ah, for Wendle’s ever-loving…” Blurry hazel eyes, creaked open and upon finding Orion standing over her with a frown creasing his face, Reann rubbed at them. “It’s you!”
The lanky woman rolled over and pushed herself to her feet. Or tried too. Her arms shook and she gulped as her stomach lurched. “Little hand here?”
Orion stepped over her and strode down the hall. He had done his chivalrous act the night before, going so far as to tuck Reann in and place a basin next to her bed. The woman might be mourning, but that was for her friends to worry about. He was a stranger, a stranger with a long road ahead of him.
“Hey, wait up.” Reann stumbled out of the room, and with one hand on the wall to steady herself, lurched towards the stairs that Orion had already reached.
Long legs carried Orion downstairs and, with a glare at the Attendant, a mousy looking girl, who had probably told Reann where he was sleeping, he left the Guild. The First Strike and Wallander were to the north, and after orienting himself with Map, Orion headed in that direction.
Meat pastries were the snare that tangled him and allowed Reann to catch up. They weren’t even that good, though he bought and ate two. He was finishing the second and brushing crumbs from his fingers when a panting Reann fell in beside him.
“Hey, you must not have heard me,” she said catching hold of his sleeve. “I said to wait up.”
“I heard,” Orion said without stopping. “I saw no reason to.”
“Polite consideration is reason enough for most.” Reann’s face was slightly too green to pull off the disgruntled look she tried to summon.
“Not for me! Not today.” Orion increased his pace. “You should be in bed. You are hungover or still drunk. You need rest.”
“Nothing like a good walk to cure a hangover,” came the reply. “Fresh air and sunshine banish all ills.”
Her mouth said the words, her stomach and splitting head tended to agree with Orion. She wobbled as she tried to match his stride. “My name is Reann of… Reann Quin.”
It was strange to give her last name. She had been Reann of the Blue Doves since becoming an Adventurer. Now, with all her companions dead, she was back to being little Reann Quin of Kilpond. She had not tacked on the name of her hometown to her introduction because the man who led the group that murdered her closest friends shared her place of origin.
“Orion Embra, Kin Slayer.” Orion always introduced himself this way. This time he emphasized his title. He hoped Reann would be one of those who mistook it for a dishonorable addition.
She didn’t.
“Clan kicked you out, but the family kept you, huh? You'd think it would be the other way around with a title like Kin Slayer,” Reann chirped, her attempt to sound cheerful ruined by a belch, “‘scuse me. You probably don’t want to talk about it. So, where are we headed?”
“We are headed nowhere. I am going to the First Strike, and you should be in bed,” Orion said. He pressed his lips together. He would be running if he walked any faster, and Reann refused to be shaken off.
“The First Strike? I know the owner; I can get you a deal! Is it back to the Guild after that?” Reann prayed the answer was yes. The bartender at the Guildhall made a hangover cure from raw eggs and vinegar, mixed with Health and Stamina potions that would have her right as rain in a heartbeat.
“No, I'm leaving for Wallander.” It was useless to try ducking into an alley to lose her. Sweet Meadows was too small, and the woman knew its streets better than he did. The town hadn’t come awake yet, so dodging into a crowd wouldn’t work either.
“Wallander? Never been, is it nice? Hey, this is the First Strike, you’re about to walk right by it!”
Orion stared at the storefront which was still closed for business. He needed a new sword, but weapon shops were plentiful, and the roads had traveling merchants everywhere. He could keep going, and Reann wouldn’t follow him out of the town… would she?
“So, Wallander, is it nice?” Reann repeated, leaning against the shop wall, out of direct sunlight. Orion shrugged a reply, hoping to discourage her. Reann wasn’t so easily put off.
“Well, ‘spect I’ll find out when we get there.” She took a canteen from inside her cloak and took a drink. Swirling a second swallow around in her mouth, she spit it out to the side. Orion, looking closely at the woman for the first time, realized she was carrying a pack and appeared fully outfitted for travel.
“You are not going,” Orion said bluntly. “You should be back with your friends.”
The door to the First Strike opened at the same time Reann started to reply. A thin, brown-haired teenager stuck his head out and peered at the two owlishly. “Hey, Reann, you here to shop?”
“Not me, Dylan, my friend here is the one with coin to spend. Give him a good deal, yeah?” Reann gestured towards Orion. Her bright smile came off a little sickly.
“Uh, sure, I'll do what I can. Should you be up and about? You’re looking…”
Orion pushed by Dylan, as the well-meaning shop clerk questioned Reann. The inside of the First Strike was tidy. Its walls were covered in weapons and shields. Racks of spears and swords were lined up in neat rows from the front door to the back counter. The number of arms was impressive. Their quality was not. A quick glance told Orion that while there were blades here superior to the one on his belt, he wouldn’t be finding any hidden treasures here.
Not that he had expected to find any, but Orion questioned why the Guild Attendant would think that this shop could meet the needs of a Silver-ranked Adventurer. Behind him, Reann turned down Dylan’s offer to fetch a Healer, while Orion chose a serviceable longsword at random. He wanted to be on the road soon, and given the shop’s inventory, his choice didn’t particularly matter.
Orion discovered a third person had entered the shop when he turned to ask Dylan the price of the sword. The new man was stocky, his face lined, and his hair grey. His thick beard was braided into twin tails, each of which had a red ribbon running through it. This was a Dwarven custom to mark a Journeyman Smith, but the man’s height said he was human.
“Put that back,” the Smith said gruffly. “It’s not for you. Come with me.”
Bemused, Orion hung the blade back on its pegs and followed the man into the back room of the shop. The lighting here was dimmer, but the contents made up for that. A single weapon in this room would be worth more than all the ones on display in the front.
“Apprenticed under Darnar Forgeheart,” the Smith said, seeing the question on Orion’s face. “Don’t sell my own work, usually. Men like you don’t come to Sweet Meadows often. Is it true you killed the men responsible for ambushing Reann?”
Orion nodded slowly. There were swords in this room that would have held his attention even when he was still a Swordmaster. Unfortunately, his purse was rather light at the moment. “You do fine work, Master…?”
“Santar, Rory Santar,” the
Smith said over his shoulder. He was pulling a long case from under a table at the far side of the room. Placing the box on top of the surface, he waved Orion over.
“Orion Embra, Kin Slayer,” Orion supplied, joining the man.
“A Rider commissioned these years ago and never came back for them,” Rory said, patting the box. “Tell me what you think.”
Orion flipped the weapon case open and looked at the contents. Two swords lay within. One was a longsword with a simple crossguard and a thin blade, no more than two inches wide. The other was a match for the blade at his hip, an Al’rashian sword, single-edged with a slight curve, suitable for use from a mount or on the ground. Both blades were made from silver-steel.
Orion drew his hand down from the tip of the double-edged sword until his hand wrapped about the hilt. He lifted it from the box and, stepping to the empty center of the room, swung it casually, testing its weight and balance. It had been made for a shorter man, but it responded to his commands, and the silver-steel it was made of gave it a comforting heft.
Orion’s wrist snapped as he parried and sent a riposte to pierce the air. He swayed and stamped as he put the blade through its paces, listening as it sang. He lost himself in the familiar movements of techniques he had long mastered. When he lowered the sword at last, a thin sheen of sweat covered his face, and applause erupted from behind him.
Dylan and Reann had joined Master Santar at some point, and they both reacted as if Orion had been putting on a show for their benefit. Rory only nodded approvingly, his arms crossed over his chest.
“You do fine work, Master Santar.” Orion placed the blade back into its case. “Too fine for me to afford, I'm afraid.”
“That’s as I expected. You don’t have the look of a man blessed with wealth.” The Smith picked up the blades one after another and sheathed them in black scabbards made of soft leather. “But these aren’t for sale. Take them as a gift.”
He pushed the swords towards Orion, and Orion found his fingers closing around them. He held them a moment before asking, “Why?”
It was a reasonable question, and Rory seemed to expect it. The Blue Doves had been popular, but merchants and smiths didn’t give away their goods to avenge pretty girls. Heroism was not worth as much as silver-steel.
Rory cleared his throat as he considered his reply. “My boy was an Adventurer. He left for Kilpond three years ago and was never seen again. Dale and his lot… they came into town three days after the lad left. They said they hadn’t met him on the road but…”
Orion took two stilettos out of his Storage. He had taken them off Dale after the man was dead. At the time, he had thought they were too good to be in the hands of the Assassin.
“Those…” Rory’s eyes teared up, “those were Sam's, alright…”
Orion placed the knives on the table. Tapping one with a finger, he said, “I killed the Archer with this blade.”
That would mean something to a mourning Al’rashian. It would mean something to the Dwarves Rory said he had apprenticed under. The look on the Smith’s face said it meant something to him as well. Rory placed his hand over the hilt and stood silently grieving, as Orion switched out his borrowed blade for the longsword. He put the two curved swords into Storage and, with a bow to Rory, left the man to his memories.
Saying a quick goodbye to Dylan, Reann trailed after him. Outside, she said, “That was well done. Most would have kept the knives. So we are off to Wallander now? Or do you need more supplies? I know all the…"
“We are off to nowhere!” Orion whirled on the woman, anger in his voice. “You can go where you like, but it will not be with me!”
“Why not?” Reann shot back. “It’s a long way, right? You'll need someone to watch your back. Why shouldn’t it be me? I'm a Wind Blade, you won’t find a better Rogue on the Kilpond circuit!”
She flourished her knives as she spoke, demonstrating her proficiency. A demonstration that was ruined when one knife slipped from her unsteady, shaking fingers to clatter to the ground.
Soft metal. Wind Blade was probably impressive in Sweet Meadows, but in Orion’s mind, the Adventurers with Secondary Specializations were just those who hadn’t developed their Skills and Attributes enough to gain an Advanced Class.
“I don’t need anyone to watch my back, and if I did…” Orion caught himself before he insulted the woman. “You are staying here.”
“I think I’m going!” Reann contradicted him, retrieving her knife. Daggers twirled in the women’s hands as she tried to stare the Al’rashian down. “Tell you what. Five minutes! Friendly duel. You lay a finger on me, and I’ll admit it’s my loss. We can start whenever you’re ready.”
Reann doubted she could beat Orion in a serious fight, but avoiding him for a few minutes? Child’s play for a Wind Blade. When Orion slapped one blade out of her hand and twisted her arm behind her back, before relieving her of the second, she couldn’t help but wonder what types of games he played as a boy.
Thinking they were through, Orion tossed the confiscated knife to the ground and walked away. He heard Reann curse, and a moment later her footsteps coming up behind him.
“You said you’d turn back.” The words were a low rumble originating in his chest.
“No, I didn’t. I said I would count a touch as my loss,” Reann responded, falling into step beside him. “And you can’t count that anyway. I’m hungover, remember? So, what’s Wallander like?
Orion’s breath hissed out from between clenched lips. He gestured to the gathering crowd of people traveling the streets while going about their business. “It’s like this, but bigger.”
“How much bigger?”
“What cities have you seen?” Orion asked, wondering why he bothered.
“Grew up in Kilpond. Worked the circuit for the last ten years.”
“What did you do before that?”
“Washed dishes at the Bearded Lion mostly. That’s an inn in Kilpond. My ma and pa run it. Well, ma runs it. Pa hunts and keeps the pantry full. Leaves the hard work to the little woman, he likes to say.” She grinned and shot Orion an expectant look. When the man’s stone face didn’t budge at the joke, she started to think he had no soul.
Her mother was an ogre of a woman, three times as fat and half again as tall as her father. In Kilpond, calling her a little woman would have drunks rolling and in tears with laughter. Orion, having never met the married pair, failed to react.
“You should go back to Kilpond. It’s your home,” was the only response Reann got.
“Won’t. It’s time I stretched my legs and saw a bit more than the backyard. The folks will understand.” She hitched her pack up on her shoulders and nodded to the guards at the gate as she and Orion left the shelter of Sweet Meadows wall. “Owe you a favor, and you need me.”
“You owe me nothing. The Guild paid the bounty. I do not need you.”
“It’s not about money, it’s about lives.”
Orion had no way to counter that, and didn’t try. He stretched out his legs, hoping silence and speed would be answer enough.
It wasn’t. “What’s your Level anyway? You must be up there to be so arro…confident.”
“14,” Orion said shortly. Bind or Water Shackles would hold Reann in place long enough for him to escape. Once they were out of sight of the town’s guards.
“Bullshit!” Reann exclaimed, “You’re lying! Dale and that lot were third rate, but they were mid-twenties at minimum.” She assumed Orion had a Specialization at best. No local Dungeon could attract better.
Orion’s hand closed about his hilt. His voice was cold as he spoke, “That statement is why you should stay, why you shouldn’t travel with me.”
“How do you mean?”
“I'm going to rejoin my Clan, and you know nothing of Al’rashians.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Your face carries no scars. Do you like it that way?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You called me a liar, and young Al’rashian Warriors carry two swords.”
“What?” Reann was baffled. She was determined to leave the Kilpond circuit and all its ghosts behind. She was ready for a new start, and Orion, a man who could defeat three Iron-ranked Adventurers by himself, seemed a reliable person to team up with. That the man spoke in riddles, she put down to his efforts at driving her away.
“You called me a liar. Most Riders would challenge you for that.” Deciding they were far enough from the city walls now, Orion stopped and faced Reann, carefully judging the distance between them.
“Al'rashians get offended by the truth?” Reann spoke lightly, but there was a challenge in her voice. “What was that about two swords?”
“Young Riders carry two swords."
“Smart, good to have a spare,” Reann quipped flippantly.
Orion wasn’t amused. “Don’t interrupt! They carry one sword for battle and the other for duels. Their dueling blade they coat with the extract of searing berries.”
“Poison? Not a fair duel if you use poison.” Reann wondered if the fluttering in her stomach was caused by last night’s excesses, or the way Orion’s eyes flashed in anger. She cleared her throat and attempted a more conciliatory tone. “What’s this have to do with you being a liar?”
The other members of the Blue Doves would have taken her words as a mocking apology. No Adventurer in Sweet Meadows who knew her would have found them offensive. Orion wasn’t a local, though. His hand was a blur as his sword left its sheath. Reann took a step back and prepared to defend herself.
Orion’s sword was back in its scabbard as if it had never left. A stinging sensation on her left cheek caused Reann's fingers to touch her face. They came away bloody.
“Searing berry extract isn’t a poison. It might cause dizziness in a person with low Constitution, but no real harm. Its purpose is to mark.” Orion’s clipped words drew Reann away from contemplating the crimson on her fingertips. “A cut made with a blade treated with the extract will always scar. A scar that only a high priest or grand cleric can remove.”
Orion stepped close to Reann. She had always been a tall woman, but she felt like a child standing in the Al’rashian’s shadow.
