Asphales felt his body moving before he even comprehended what had just occurred. Someone nearby was shouting. Perhaps they were calling out his name. He could not tell. The dell spun around him dizzyingly while men moved to and fro in slow, muffled steps. Anfrìr sagged heavily in his hands. But he knew he needed to move. He could feel death’s cold stare locked on him if he did not.
Only a stone’s throw away, Maresh lay face down in the leaves. An arrow shaft protruded from the back of his neck. Gone was the guard’s easy smile. Gone was his lively prance. Gone was his playful voice. Dead.
A hand reached out to steady him. It grabbed Asphales and pushed him low with rough force. It was only when he felt the firm grip that he realised he was shaking. A voice was shouting again. Nearer this time.
‘-hales! … Asphales!’ it spoke. The sound was like liquid, like a violent, rushing river.
Asphales came to. He looked to his right and saw Serìn’s sky-blue eyes gazing at him with grave concern. His soft features hardened into a frown. ‘You froze up, boy!’ he said angrily. ‘What’s the matter with you? Get a grip! And get behind me!’
Asphales looked around. Beyond Maresh’s lifeless form, shapes began to emerge from the trees. Over a dozen men stepped out, armed with glinting swords and daggers. A couple of them carried bows and were already notching arrows afresh. The men laughed. There was something achingly familiar about their appearance.
He stumbled behind Serìn just as the guard raised a heavy shield. A flying arrowhead met the steel surface with a clang. The arrow landed harmlessly nearby. With shield steady and sword arm upraised, Serìn took a few careful steps backward.
Moments later, a violent shout routed the company. ‘To arms, men! To arms! Formations!’ Ledner’s commanding voice rumbled like the mountains. Asphales felt a chill. It was the same resounding voice he had glimpsed a few days earlier.
In mere seconds, the company drew together, steel clanging with steel as the soldiers formed a wall with their shields. Readied weapons scraped against the metal. Even with the surprise of the ambush, the company’s response was swift and their formation excellent.
From behind Serìn, Asphales could see Valinos poised at the heels of another guard. He was drawing heavy breaths and his blade wavered unsteadily in his hands. His eyes focused coldly ahead of him. Asphales turned his gaze ahead and gulped. He tasted fear.
A tense moment settled over the clearing. The Imperial company waited readily. No more arrows whizzed past. The enemy group had converged ahead of them but did not make further movements. Asphales noticed their curved weapons and strange attire. Dressed in light and creamy colours with only skimp pieces of armour for protection, the bandits would have the advantage of speed when it came to battle.
A figure stepped forward from among the enemy group. He giggled as he moved in front of them. He carried himself with all the pompous swagger of a leader. The breeze ruffled his shoulder-length chestnut hair as he walked. Aside from his stride, the only thing setting him apart from the rest of the group was his billowing cloak, clasped at the shoulder with a bronze brooch.
He squinted as he looked the company over. ‘Only two?’ he quizzed. ‘What a shame. I was hoping we’d pick more of you off before you caught on to us.’
The Guard did not stir. Asphales realised that only ten of the soldiers remained. Maresh’s companion must have been killed beforehand.
The leader drew nearer to the company. He stood only a few steps away from Maresh’s body. He walked over, looked down in disgust, and kicked at the limp figure. Asphales winced.
‘Not even two of the best!’ he spat. ‘The Empire mocks us. This is who they send? Where is Darius? Where is Lady Loveless?’ He made a dramatic elongated gesture toward the heavens as he spoke with a voice like the soaring clouds. Asphales fumed, but none of the guards rose to the taunt and so he kept quiet.
‘Am I right to assume it was you who felled our scout?’ Ledner questioned.
The leader drew out his sword. It sprung from its scabbard with a twang. It was curved like the others, with a single edge and a wide blade. The hilt was decorated in haughty gold. He touched the blade to his lips in a mocking gesture of thought. ‘That sounds about right,’ he said casually. ‘Squealed like a pig, that one did. Stuck his horse, too.’ He licked his lips as if savouring the memory.
Ledner nodded. His eyes hardened. ‘No more needs be said, then. You fiends are in our way.’ Ledner finally unsheathed his sword. Asphales sighted the claymore that Ledner held with one hand. It was the grey of solid stone, undecorated and plain, yet it carried the same authority as the man himself. Its length reached high above the company’s steel wall.
The leader threw back his head in roaring laughter. ‘We’re in your way?’ he boomed. ‘You’ve got this wrong. We have a task. It’s to make sure you don’t succeed in yours.’ He pointed the blade at the company. ‘And so,’ he grinned, ‘we can’t let you get in our way.’
With those words eleven of the men sprung to action, rushing forward in a clamorous shout. They brandished their cutlasses and ran without restraint. Two men hung back and raised their bows. They drew their bowstrings and waited.
‘Hold!’ Ledner yelled. The company stiffened. Asphales braced for impact.
The clash came like a thunderclap. Eleven blades struck ten shields with unflinching force. Though the enemy swords were lighter and the figures were less armoured, the unified impact slightly staggered the company. Ledner lowered his sword to try and connect with one of the men but the bandits retreated too quickly. Still the bowmen waited.
The enemy forces ran forward a second time. But while the guards aligned their shields once more and raised their weapons, the bandits split suddenly and dashed around the company in an attempt to flank them. The momentary disarray that struck the company was all the opening the enemy needed. While some guards turned to the left and some to the right, the two bowmen released arrows into the fray. One found its mark and an Imperial soldier fell.
‘Disband!’ Ledner shouted. ‘Slay the bowmen!’
At the captain’s direction the soldiers disengaged the wall briskly and sprang forward, each after their own targets. The sudden movement caught one of the bandits unaware and he collapsed in a shower of silver and red. The others clashed sharply.
Serìn, who had been guarding the outer edge of the wall, motioned behind him. Asphales drew nearer in the chaos.
‘Stay here, but don’t stay still,’ he said without looking. ‘Make me proud, boy.’
With that, Serìn dashed forward through the battle. Using the frantically moving shapes of men as cover, he ran to one of the bowmen near the leader and leapt with his sword drawn. His slender blade cut through bow and bowman. Serìn landed on top of the man and rolled away. The leader paced disinterestedly nearby.
With his guardian Serìn out of sight, Asphales felt the paralysing fear settle in once more. He gauged the battlefield raging in front of him. The peaceful clearing had turned into a field of blood. The sounds of steel and rent flesh, the yells and shouts of men rose wildly. Guards and bandits fell slain all around him. He wanted to close his eyes. To stop his ears. To disappear from this place. But he could not. He shakily raised Anfrìr in front of him.
Only a few steps away, a bandit’s cutlass cleaved through a soldier. Asphales realised the enemies were exceptionally trained. Even with minimal armour and unimpressive swords they were able to overwhelm the Guard. They sliced through narrow seams in their armour, took advantage of blind spots, and outmanoeuvred the company with agility.
The Imperial soldiers tried their best not to be outdone. Asphales noticed one of the guards rushing for the remaining bowman. The bandit unleashed arrow after arrow which lodged in the guard’s shoulders and arms, but the guard ran on unabated. He reached the panicked bowman and thrust him through as both men crashed lifeless.
Asphales became aware of his frailty and weakness. He stared at the sword swaying in his hands. He gripped it tighter, hoping it would infuse some strength into his aching bones. He had not the courage or the skills of a soldier. Serìn’s training had introduced the basics of combat, but in many ways each session only illumined how ignorant he was of warfare. And each moment of the battle playing out before his eyes shattered his preconceptions. There was no glory and no honour. Only stark necessity driving survival and death. Two sides of the currency of war.
Suddenly, he saw the bandit’s gaze land on him. All his thoughts fled like startled animals. He tried to slow his heavy breathing and pointed the sword menacingly at the approaching man. The bandit smiled.
‘I bet you ain’t never even held a sword, have you?’ he teased.
Asphales did not answer. He steadied his hand as much as he could and stared down the opponent. Be brave.
The man laughed. ‘Look, boy. You don’t need to die here. Jus’ come with us. All quiet like, no fuss. Otherwise I’ll stick you.’
The bandit kept speaking, but his words sank into the background noise of the battle song. Then the bandit lunged with weapon upraised. Asphales felt the nauseating rush of battle. His pulse hammered at him. He angled his sword to meet the oncoming weapon. The bandit’s cutlass scraped away unfulfilled.
The practiced motions of Serìn’s drills and exercises sprang to mind instinctively. Two steps back. Lean left. Raise sword to the right. Parry. Each movement came naturally as if from some hidden spring inside him. His warrior instincts were only infantile but they kept him alive.
The notes of battle played as they should. Each metallic clang and crash came as expected. The bandit huffed and grunted in frustration, each of his blows missing Asphales’ figure or greeting stubborn steel.
Then the bandit feinted a reckless manoeuvre, catching Asphales unaware. The cutlass screamed towards his throat. Moving away with no time to spare, the blade licked his shoulder and drew a line of red. Asphales grimaced and threw a slash of his own that caught the bandit’s forearm. He snarled in pain. Enraged, the man threw himself at Asphales, perhaps in hopes that the wound had dulled his reflexes.
The moment rushed by in the span of a breath. Asphales caught the crazed dash. The killer intent in the man’s eyes. The sharpened glint of the blade. He saw his opening. Some awakened impulse inside him moved his muscles in a single fortunate and flawless step. Asphales ducked beneath the bandit’s swing and drove Anfrìr with all the strength he could muster. The blade snuck underneath the bandit’s breastplate and pierced with a crack. It lingered like the drawn-out note of a coda.
The man collapsed on top of Asphales, sputtering blood. He dropped his weapon and struggled briefly. Asphales watched the man’s life slip away. His eyes dimmed, cold and colourless. Still.
Asphales rolled the bandit over and drew out his sword. Thick crimson liquid fed the daylight shimmering beneath the blade’s surface.
He felt sick.
He shivered. His hands, numbed with cold, could not even feel the hilt he so tightly gripped. It was a long time before the ringing in his ears subsided and other sounds got through. Grim and gruelling was the music played in steel and blood.
* * *
A sliver of scarlet darted through the woodland tangle. It moved like the breeze. It moved with the familiarity of someone who belonged in the forest. It overturned nothing and upset none of the order of the woods. Each step was nimble yet determined. Every leap was graceful yet decisive.
Signs of disturbance were everywhere. The dead embers of a bonfire. Discarded utensils. Broken arrow shafts. A body. All the tell-tale markers of a marauding band of raiders. The slender shape followed the blights on the serenity of the forest. They would lead to the offenders like breadcrumbs to a meal. The figure ran onward.
* * *
Valinos heard the order given to disband and engage. Ledner himself took charge and raced after one of the bandits, while another guard sailed straight toward one of the bowmen. On the other side of the clearing, Serìn took care of the other archer. The enemy leader seemed uninterested to engage in combat. He merely walked aloofly and gave indistinct commands. The man infuriated him. His pride and temerity dug into Valinos like nails. But he realised the man was dangerous. Serìn himself must have thought the same, for he drew back and took on other targets.
Valinos focused on the situation at hand. A couple of men fell around him, collapsing in a heap of cloth and metal. The adrenaline kicked in as a bandit ran toward him with a cry. Fool.
The intensity of the moment steadied his hand and quickened his stance. Valinos spun around the dashing bandit and brought his dark sword down against his back. A valiant attempt, but the unpractised motion only landed the blade away from its mark. Valinos retreated quickly and brought the sword up in a defensive stance that Serìn had shown him.
The tottering bandit regained his balance and faced Valinos again.
‘Feisty one, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘Won’t do you much good tryin’ moves like that before you’ve even got your feet wet.’
Valinos scowled at the bandit but said nothing.
‘It’s a shame we’ve been told not to kill you, boy,’ the man said. His face scrunched into disgust. ‘It’s your type I like to kill best. Angry and smug. Lonely and feelin’ like the whole world owes you something.’ The bandit grinned madly. ‘Am I right, boy? You just want to leave your mark in this here life. Your fear is being abandoned and forgotten.’
Valinos tried not to react to the man’s taunting words. Anger boiled within him. It raged like a storm. It thundered silently and threatened to break. The hatred formed a thousand unspoken words inside him.
‘But see, even though they said they wanted you alive,’ the bandit intoned madly, ‘they never said how alive.’
The words made Valinos shudder for an instant, and the bandit took advantage of the momentary halt. He yelled and swiped with the cutlass, each swing a note of madness on the score of battle. Valinos parried and dodged as he could, channelling his anger with every move. He tried to get his own thrusts in but the bandit avoided them with ease. Occasionally, the assailant’s sword scratched his breastplate.
Valinos felt frustration welling within him. Serìn’s training had not been enough. That blond prankster should not have wasted it on his games. He needed more skills, more strength, and more time in battle to take on these enemies. He railed against his own weakness and lack of preparation. His icy topaz eyes cooled with each slash.
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The bandit laughed. ‘I don’t know what they see in you, boy, but they want you to come with us. Maybe you’re the lost son of a lordling of some sort, ‘cause you sure prance with the same self-righteousness. Them types tend to get burned. So cool down and stop fighting for your own good.’
Valinos’ anger burst. Rage fuelled the sword and nourished his hands. In a flash, the bright steel cut through the bandit’s defences and rested at his neck. The bandit’s eyes shot wide with panic.
‘What do you know of me?’ Valinos asked coldly. The blade sang. The tune was red. The music was sweet.
The man fell clutching at his throat with reddened hands. He splayed onto the leaves with a heavy thud. Autumn’s colours smeared with deep crimson. Valinos let the blade rest at his side, its thirst for blood quenched. He caught his breath, not from exhaustion but from the realisation of what he had done. And from the fact that he did not find it entirely unpleasant.
He gazed at the bloodstained blade and his chinked armour. He ran a finger absently over the cracks. Valinos recalled the long hours in Paran’s armoury, forging and shaping the metal. In the seclusion of the workshop, without the experience of the wider world, it was hard for him to imagine what happened with Silnodìr’s weapons and armour export. The wars that his town funded and the weapons it provided were problems far removed from his everyday experience.
But now he saw it. He was in the middle of it. The vestal weapons and armour he created had been tempered and tested by real battle. Valinos could not help the pride that filled him. And with the pride came a hunger for more. For all that the dead bandit’s words had taunted and angered him, there was a ring of truth to what he said. Valinos looked around at the slain men spread across the dell. He would not die here. Not until the world knew his name.
Questions irked him again. The dead man confessed he was not the target, at least not for assassination. That was unsettling. He was sick of mystery. He was sick of deceit. He was tired of groping around in darkness, following blindly with no discernible direction. Valinos turned to the leader and seethed. He stormed toward him, intending to get answers. A reckless venture perhaps, but he had had enough of the unknown.
As he walked toward the leader, Valinos noticed Ledner stepping in the same direction. The captain practically waded in blood, so many were the stains on his armour. He had lost his shield, but he worked his sword efficiently. The dull grey blade slew two more bandits in one fell swoop. The broken bodies caved like crumpled puppets. Valinos stood impressed by the man’s strength and command of his weapon.
The leader finally took notice and stepped forward, curved sword in hand. For once something other than boredom and disgust coloured his vain agate eyes. He flicked the hair out of his eyes with a smug look.
The two men circled each other slowly, each warrior sizing his opponent. Valinos could only watch. He realised a duel begins long before any weapons clash. Their fight commenced with the tense silence that linked their gazes like a coil of iron wire. Before words were spoken there was the violent hush that settled between the two men. An invisible cage locked the two combatants in its bars. And only death would open it.
‘Has the mutt come begging?’ the leader asked harassingly.
‘Even a dog can cause some damage,’ Ledner said between panting breaths.
‘What can you do?’ the leader taunted. ‘You are hardly worth my time. I find it undignified to kick at dogs.’
Before Ledner could reply, Valinos took a single step. He immediately felt the tension. He had walked inside the warriors’ arena.
‘Stay back, boy,’ Ledner barked.
‘For once the runt speaks some sense,’ the leader said in reproach. ‘This really isn’t your place.’ His eyes shifted to meet Valinos. ‘But stay put, child. I’ll deal with you later.’
He froze. There was more condescension and disdain in that single gaze than all the suspicious glares of Silnodìr. He sensed the infinite pride that rumbled behind the leader’s eyes, the sense of entitlement that surpassed that of royalty.
‘Run,’ Ledner said. ‘Get away from here. I’ll never let them take one of my own company! Go!’
Valinos stepped backward. But his foot had hardly landed before the leader closed the distance with lightning speed. His agile step kicked leaves up into the air. Then, in a single swift motion, he sliced the back of Valinos’ leg and struck his head with the hilt of the sword. The helmet rang deafeningly.
Valinos collapsed with a scream. The clearing spun around him and a sharp pain pricked every slight movement. Disoriented, he could not even direct his arms to the cut on his leg for comfort. He opened his eyes and tried to focus them. Blurry figures drifted.
‘Now, you won’t be going anywhere.’ The leader’s muffled voice spoke through his dizziness. It seemed to emanate from everywhere at once. Valinos tried to crawl away, but the cut complained with every inch he moved. And so he stayed put, inert and helpless. He threw off the constricting helm with a clang.
The leader turned expectantly to Ledner, as if to prove a point. ‘Can you defend your own? Can you keep up with me?’
‘The haughty light is snuffed; and what awaits the proud eye but the darkness of the sword?’ Ledner recited dryly.
‘Don’t presume to think that quoting literature will improve your standing, dog. I grow tired of your incessant barking.’
Both figures sprang off the mounting tension toward each other. Ledner’s heavy sword came down with mountainous force. The proud man raised his lithe blade with windy fury. The peal came like the breaking of the clouds.
There was tightness as the blades hung suspended between their gaze. Then the figures rebounded only to lash out a second time. And a third time. And a fourth. Each crash resounded and screeched. Ledner was angry stone. The other man was violent wind.
Valinos watched the duel though his head throbbed and his leg ached. He saw the true danger lying in the arms of the proud leader. He had strength comparable to his speed. Somehow his feeble weapon could hold off the captain’s greatsword. Valinos noticed well-trained muscles bulge and tense with every collision. His footing was immaculately placed to meet the captain’s assault.
Ledner’s discipline was evident also. He baited moves and attempted to retaliate. Each time his blade would swing just shy of its mark. Valinos wondered whether it was the size of the thing or simply the exhaustion that surely corroded the captain’s reactions.
Eventually the blade connected. In a misstep, the proud man outstretched his sword arm but Ledner was already gone. With a spin, the captain brought the greatsword down. The leader had only enough time to raise his weapon over his head for protection. The weapons clanged. Due to his awkward position and lack of balance, the leader came crashing down into the leaves. But before Ledner could land the killing blow, the man darted in a series of acrobatic motions. His cape trailed like an afterimage.
An angry glint flashed in the leader’s eyes. The wounded pride frothed beneath his glare. He shook his cape roughly, as if the dirt and leaves were an affront to his dignity.
Then his stance changed. His attack patterns shifted. The slashes came in relentless flurries, each one seeming to begin before the last completed. Overwhelming agility kept Ledner on the defensive. The captain struggled to deflect each strike.
Suddenly, there was a break in the relentless sound. The leader’s blade had cut through. Valinos gasped as he saw the captain’s sword fall away heavily. One more move and it would be over.
Valinos strained to understand what happened next in the space of a couple of blinks. Before the man’s sword could cut a final time, Ledner gripped the leader’s cape with his now empty right hand. Valinos noticed it was horribly deformed. The previous slash had torn away part of Ledner’s palm and severed a few fingers. The bandit leader struggled to move free but the captain’s grip held. With his left hand, Ledner drew a dagger from his belt. The leader twisted hard to avoid the attack. Before Ledner tumbled clumsily, he managed to raise the dagger in one hard motion.
There was a sickening squelch. Blood and hair sailed into the air. The leader shrilled. Ledner fell. Valinos almost felt the satisfied smile as the other man recoiled in pain.
‘You rotten mutt!’ he shrieked. The cutlass dropped. He plunged to the ground with jerky spasms and hands clawing at his face. There was a ceaseless gush of red.
Both men lay on the ground. Ledner was still. His breastplate bobbed rhythmically with hefty breaths. His right arm rested idly on his hip. The leader rolled around in agony. He spat and cursed.
When he rose, Valinos saw the damage. The right side of the man’s face was a bloody mess. A long gash extended from his cheek to his forehead. A fleshy wound festered where his eye should have been. There was a gap in his chestnut hair. Pure malice coloured his remaining eye.
He eyed his prey. Stepping slowly and determinedly, he circled the fallen captain. The leader stepped on Ledner’s left hand until the dagger dropped. He bent to lift it and looked at the bloodied blade with hatred.
‘Allow me the courtesy of returning your wretched words and your knife,’ he said. ‘And when you greet the gods beyond the starry veil, tell them Shurun’el sent you.’
The dagger came down cold and hard. It pierced through cracked metal. The leader held it down firmly above Ledner’s heart. The captain moaned and jerked. He went limp and calm.
Valinos turned away. His head had cleared a little from the blow but it was filled with the smog of loss. The pain in his leg faded briefly but his limbs burned with the desire to run. The captain was dead. What hope was there for their company now?
‘Ha, that was poetic if I say so myself,’ the man who called himself Shurun’el said. ‘You damned Anardaëans and your prophetic irony.’
Valinos spun. He saw Shurun’el looking down at Ledner’s body. Shurun’el cursed him once more and then began to wipe the blood off his face. With every tender touch, he let out a howl of pain. Shurun’el remained standing, madly admiring his wounds.
Valinos took the chance. He pushed at the ground hard. His leg resisted the effort to lift with overbearing pain. Valinos gritted his teeth and held his restless tongue. Eventually, he caught hold of his sword, planted it, and managed to rise shakily. He looked around. The clamour of battle was dying. Very few men were left standing. And to his grave concern, Valinos noted more men in the bandit’s cloth than in Imperial steel. Serìn downed another man a stone’s throw away. The blond guard spotted Valinos’ drooping form. He threw a glance Shurun’el’s way. He understood.
Valinos caught sight of Asphales on the other side of the clearing. His friend was sprawled on the ground, but alive. He seemed delirious. A body lay next to him. Valinos began to move. He limped carefully, avoiding pressure on his wounded leg. The cold steel dragged. Each step sent ice and fire through his limbs.
* * *
Asphales found himself staring at the sky. Clouds of white streaked the blue carelessly. A wind arrived and rustled the trees. The forest creaked with age like an old chair. Leaves blew about him, orange and red and brown specks against the pale distance.
There was a disconcerting quiet. It was almost peaceful. But then he remembered. It was the calm of the wreckage after a storm.
A shadow covered his sight. It took a moment for recognition to settle in.
‘Asphales,’ it called. The voice of winter. He remembered Valinos. His friend’s familiar features coalesced above him. Long hair, dark as night, swayed gently. Thin facial hair of the same jet colour framed his mouth. It was set firmly and unsmiling. Eyes of topaz blue watched him. They were greyed by sorrow.
‘Valinos?’ he asked weakly. ‘What’s happening?’
‘We have to get out of here,’ Valinos said. ‘The company is…’
Asphales sat up. He spotted Anfrìr lying next to him, bloodied. He looked to his left and saw the corpse. He scampered away in a panic. Valinos stepped over and offered a steadying hand. Asphales noticed a limp in his friend’s pace. He saw the shredded trousers and the clean cut.
Serìn bounded up toward them in that same moment. His neat hair was ruffled, the blond colour tainted with blood and dirt. His tired eyes were drained of their sky-blue tinge. One of his shoulder plates shattered and fell, leaving his bloodied flesh exposed.
‘It’s time for you to go,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Starlight preserve us, but what a mess we’ve run into,’ he added to himself.
‘Who are they? What do they want?’ Asphales asked.
‘I wish I knew, boy,’ Serìn said. ‘But they’re not your ordinary bandit gang, that’s for sure. Now, up you get, time to move.’
‘I think Valinos is injured,’ Asphales said as he stood up.
Serìn looked him over and spotted the wound. ‘That’s not good,’ he cringed. ‘How will you—’ He cut himself off and looked around wildly. Not finding anything of use, he reached under his cuirass and ripped a part of the cloth.
Asphales watched as Serìn squatted and wound the tattered cloth around Valinos’ thigh. He did it quickly despite his wounded shoulder. Valinos flinched as the guard tightened the final knot.
‘It’s not a proper binding but it will have to do. Once you’re safe, you need to clean the wound and do it up right.’
Behind Serìn, three bandits converged on the last remaining guard fighting. The man fell with shards of metal piercing him like vicious teeth. A dozen steps away, the bandit leader turned around. Half of his face seemed to be red. There was a body at his feet.
‘Captain Ledner is dead?’ Asphales asked in disbelief. It was barely more than a whisper. Shock and anger and guilt and sorrow gripped him with smothering force. They choked him.
Serìn’s face darkened. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘which is why you need to get out of here.’
‘What about you?’ Valinos questioned. His tone was sharp.
Asphales shot him a worried look. His jasper eyes rippled.
Serìn cracked a smile, his usual cocky, knowing grin. ‘Don’t you worry about me,’ he said. ‘It has been a pleasure to be your master.’
‘Serìn, no!’ Asphales pleaded.
‘Second test, boy,’ he said. ‘Get out of here alive, make it to Fara’ethar.’ Serìn did not look at them. His voice shook. ‘Please. Let me brave this storm alone.’
The bandits eyed the group and chuckled. They began to make their way over. The leader stepped near a tree and bent to pick up an object.
Serìn turned to face the enemies. ‘Go. Run for the trees. Head south. Follow the river.’ He swung his sword in one of the complicated motions he had taught them days earlier. ‘You know, you were my favourites of any recruits I’ve had the pleasure to teach. Make me proud. Starlight guide you.’
Asphales faced away and left. It was the hardest thing he had ever done. He walked off with the heaviest steps he had ever taken. Valinos followed him in a rushed limp. They headed for the trees.
As they neared the edge of the clearing, Serìn’s melodious voice rose dimly. ‘There once lived free a maiden fair, as wild as raging stream… Ah, I have always loved that song.’ His words faded away into faint music.
They entered the tangle of the forest. The leafy canopy covered them like a shroud. Asphales welcomed its embrace. It hid him from the gloomy openness of the dell that shattered him. Away from the sun’s constant gaze, he hoped the darkness concealed him. From the bandits. From the world.
Asphales and Valinos trudged through the forest as silent and hurried as they could. The air was still. Asphales listened for the river. All he heard was the singing of Serìn’s blade as it held off three other voices. He kept his eyes on the scattered trees ahead. There was no pattern to them. No guidance came from them. They were grave and grey like wayward tombstones. Their steps disturbed the silken silence of dead men.
But soon there was only one set of steps where previously there had been two. Asphales no longer heard the distinct uneven walk of his friend. He turned and saw Valinos leaning against a tree, face tightened in pain. Teeth grit. Fist clenched. Asphales rushed back and offered his shoulder for support. He noticed the sweat. The bruise around his temple. The frustration in his eyes. Slowly, they moved again together.
‘Damn it all,’ whined Valinos under his breath.
‘Don’t worry,’ Asphales said. ‘We’ll get through this.’
The distant metal chant ceased. The quiet came like the snapping of a rope. Then a cry like a splash of water broke. Asphales knew. He brushed his cheek and his eyes roughly and picked up the pace. The tombstones loomed larger.
Asphales went on. Light filtered ahead. The end of the woodland tunnel opened into brightness. Asphales caught a hint of purple. Directionless, he made for it. The tangling roots of the dense forest made walking with Valinos difficult. If there was another clearing or a tract of unobstructed land they could put more distance between them and the enemy. Perhaps they could use it to orient themselves to the river.
‘Just a bit farther,’ Asphales said. Valinos seemed to be drifting into unconsciousness. He moaned an indistinct response.
Asphales pushed through a shrub and into the light. He was not sure what he had stepped into. It seemed a different world. When the stinging brightness cleared, Asphales was standing at the edge of a vast field of purple flowers. Tulips, he guessed. The meadow steeped gently into a hill. Purple covered the entire spacious area. The breeze shook the flowers gingerly, skirting them and setting them alight with motion. Over the hill he spotted more trees. Gohenur continued, but here the autumn brown gave way to evergreen. It was like standing on the edge of seasons, the flow of time distorted and confused.
But the moment of peace was too briefly infinite. Asphales’ reeling thoughts were shaken by the sight of a familiar figure. An unwelcome, threatening figure. Only a bowshot’s distance away to his right, the bandit leader stood. Too close. Too soon. Too proud.
Behind him, noise gathered like an approaching landslide. Running. Shouting. Laughter. Bandits. His thoughts accelerated. His head spun. Panic settled. Fear.
He gripped Valinos more strongly and jogged toward the hill. It was a vain attempt. It was futile. He heard the sound of a drawn bowstring and the taunting silence that followed. This was the end. He knew it. He took in the tranquillity of the meadow. His mind was surprisingly clear.
Then he felt a ripping, roaring pain. An arrow flew past and planted itself in the ground amidst the flower bedding. Asphales dropped Valinos and fell with a yelp. His hand drew instinctively to his right side. He fingered the wound and felt the blood flow. Fortunately, the arrow had not stuck, merely lacerated the flesh above his hip.
He looked over and saw the leader with bow in hand. He did not look pleased. The wound was not enough. Asphales eyed Valinos, who lay among the flowers unconscious. The bandits took the cue and sprang out into the field, swords brandished and grins stretched. There were still three of them.
Then Asphales heard a soft rumble rise over the hill. New footsteps dashed. Light. Firm. He looked up and saw an armour-clad shape leap into the fray. This was no member of the company. It was a knight. Shining with silver and glinting with gold, the armour looked like something out of Asphales’ fantasies. Full helmet protected the knight’s face. Intricate and ornate steel shielded the knight’s body. A sword was sheathed at his side and he held a stately spear in hand. Was this a dream? Where had the warrior come from?
The knight’s movements were nimble. Fluid. Swift. The masked warrior battled the bandits with ease. It was as if he was stepping through the practiced motions of a dance. The knight handled the spear with careening grace. Blocking. Striking. The first bandit was thrust through in a blink. But even with the spear occupied, the knight wielded the shortsword with his free arm. The blade was an elegant thunderstorm. The second man fell to its silver allure.
The last bandit tried to run. He sprinted and tried to warn the dumbstruck leader. ‘Get away from here, sir, it’s—’ The spear burst through him in a flash of red steel. His crackled voice ended.
The leader scoffed loudly, cursed, and retreated to the trees.
Asphales lay speechless. This was the way heroes in stories fought. This was the courage and the skill of legend. He blinked, almost expecting the knight to fade into his imagination and there to remain only the cold gaze of the bandits. A mirage. An illusion.
The knight stared for a moment into the forest, then turned. He walked toward Asphales. Gently. Perfectly. His consciousness slipping, Asphales caught a last glimpse of the saviour. The knight took off his mask. No. Her mask.
She was beautiful. Her scarlet curls danced in the wind. Her emerald eyes caught the radiant light with a solemn, wistful gleam. She stepped lithely amidst the tulip field. The flowers draped her in a violet cloak. She belonged perfectly. The colours were hers.
Then he collapsed into black…