“Never ever do that to me again!” Saran screamed at Blaise.
Blaise raised his eyebrows. “Do what?”
“Put me on the frontlines like that! You’re supposed to protect me!”
Ellen snorted. “What are you a coward?”
Saran looked away, “I… I guess so. If it means staying out of fights like that. I don’t want to go through that pain again.”
Ellen nodded in approval. “Good, you have good instincts then. That’s exactly the right lesson to take from your first real fight.”
He looked at her, flabbergasted. “What would be the wrong lesson? Who would want to go through that?”
She laughed bitterly. “The world is full of fools. Some men enter their first fight, and come out unscathed. They learn the wrong lesson, seeing combat as a thrill. Others convince themselves to grin and bear it to prove their bravery. They ignore their instincts, and die for it. There is only one kind of old warrior though, and it’s people like you and me.”
Saran nodded, looking at the ground, then rallied. “That’s beside the point though! You’re supposed to escort me, not throw me into a fight!”
Blaise sighed. “Incorrect. Specifically, we were hired to both escort AND train you. To that end, we took advantage of an opportunity to give you a controlled taste of combat. Had you been in any real danger, we would have saved you. In fact, that is exactly what we did. We are here to protect you young sir, not coddle you. This is a long-term contract. Teaching you to protect yourself is the best way we can protect you in the long run.”
Saran looked away, a surly expression on his face. “Fine, whatever. I’m done arguing about it. Just don’t talk to me for a while.” With that, he used spatial magic to distort his image as he had done at their first meeting.
Ellen smirked at Blaise. “How long do you think he’ll sulk?”
“You know I can still hear you right?” Saran called back at them.
A thin smile graced Blaise’s face. “I give it a few hours before his pride is overcome by his inability to see where he is going.”
“I can see just-” Saran started, before tripping over a log.
“You see the general shapes of objects, but anything that blends too well with its surroundings may as well be invisible. Especially with you angry and distracted. Now come out of there before you lose track of us in these woods.”
“No, I won't. I’m leaving the distortion on.”
Blaise made a tsking sound at him. “And here I was starting to slightly respect your performance in our lessons and the fight. Well, it looks like we are playing escort the petulant child then. Ellen?”
She nodded in annoyance. Extending her hand, a bright flash of light erupted from it, and impacted Saran. With a sound like grating metal, his magical cloak evaporated.
“Hey, what the hell Ellen?” He said, shock on his face.
She grabbed his shoulder firmly with one hand. “We don’t have time for you to pout. We’re on a schedule, and we need to get moving. There might be more goblin hordes. There might be assassins stalking us. We don’t know what will come if we stand still, so we need to keep moving.”
Saran nodded, and looked away; avoiding her gaze.
“Fine. Whatever.”
She nodded, and they continued their journey. She noticed he had developed a new habit of rubbing at a spot on his hand, one that had been covered in frostbite from the backlash of his spell. It had been completely healed by her magic, but Ellen wondered if the fight had scarred his psyche more deeply than he was letting on. Finally, she stopped him, while Blaise hung back looking on curiously.
“Look, do you need to talk about what happened? The first fight can be difficult, and I hope you’ll be educated, not crippled by it.”
“I…” He averted his eyes. “I failed. I lost control of my magic, and it nearly killed me.”
She nodded. “That happens sometimes in combat. It’s why some mages use catalysts to channel their magic. The staff or wand holds the framework of their spell, so when they run magic through it, it’ll run exactly they way they want it to.”
“But it’s not just that. I wasn’t good enough. I nearly got myself killed. I might’ve gotten you killed as well.”
Ellen laughed, a deep-throated belly laugh that ended with a short bout of snorting. “Sorry kid, it’s just that it’s been a while since anyone worried for my safety. Besides, it’s my job to worry about you, not the other way around. The truth is, you did better than most people on their first fight. It’s true you fucked up, but everyone does. You just did it with style.” She smirked at him, and he smiled shyly back at her.
She tousled his hair. “Now come on kid, let’s get moving before the goblins get warm. Plenty of chances to do better between here and York I’m sure.”
He nodded, and the trio began walking once again.
………………………………..
That night, they stayed at a tavern in a small town they encountered along the road. Ellen couldn’t be bothered to remember the name of the town, but the tavern was one of the better she had experienced. The trio all shared a single room for the sake of security, and traveled under the guise of a married couple with their teenage son. The tavern-keeper had given them a sideways glance; likely because Ellen didn’t look quite old enough to have Saran, but he said nothing.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Ellen sighed as she sank into the bed. In her line of work, a real bed was a rare luxury, especially after over a week on the road. She was determined to enjoy it while she could.
“Do you plan to take the bed entirely for yourself?” Blaise asked, speaking up from a corner of the room, where he had been sitting in a chair reading. Saran was absent, having gone to use the latrine.
“Why, were you planning to join me?” Ellen laughed.
Blaise smiled at her, a rare expression gracing his face. “Not in the way you mean.”
She winked at him flirtatiously. “But it’s so lonely. I need a big strong man to protect me.” She bit her lip to drive the point home.
Blaise rolled his eyes. “You know I don’t… roll that way.”
Ellen’s face broke out in a smile now as well. “Maybe, but it’s still fun teasing you.”
Blaise snorted, and returned to scanning his book. Ellen grinned even wider. “You know, I really should get you a colorful scarf or something. All those swooning women out there could use a little warning.”
Blaise looked up from his book. “I prefer they don’t see me coming.”
Ellen started snickering, and a tendril of shadow extended outward to smack her lightly in the forehead. She winked at him unrepentant, and he sighed, returning to his book again. She settled back into the bed, staring up contentedly at the ceiling, when Blaise lowered his book again.
“I really must ask how you manage to go from being a consummate professional to a giddy schoolgirl in the span of a few seconds. After the things I have seen in this line of work, it is very difficult for me to be anything other than what I am now.”
She shrugged. “I’m a woman. I come equipped with three or four personalities by default. I use the garbage to fuel the fierce persona. Besides, trying to keep the tough warrior woman aspect up around the kid all the time is tough. That face has too much baggage, and I’ve gotta let loose once in a while.” Ellen looked away, the moment of peace shattered by memories.
Blaise nodded silently. It was an explanation he could understand. He spoke again after a moment. “Well, we are in a tavern. If you need to let loose, why not go downstairs, and join the drunken masses? Perhaps find a nice… I want to say tavern wench, but for the life of me I can’t think of the word for the male equivalent.”
She smiled broadly. “That’s because the male equivalent isn’t ‘nice.’ At least not until I get through with them.”
Blaise choked, turning slightly red, his gaze now locked on his book.
“Oh please, if they swang your way, you’d have them wrapped around your little finger by nightfall.”
He seemed to consider this for a moment, then grinned mischievously, her mood apparently infectious. “It wouldn’t be my little finger they were wrapped around.”
She hooted and clapped several times in applause, laughing. He bowed as best he could from his seated position before speaking again. “Really though, if you feel the need, you should go enjoy yourself. I will be able to protect Saran for a while by myself, and this really is a fascinating book.” She nodded, but they were interrupted by the door banging open loudly.
“Someone just tried to kill me!” Saran cried as he stumbled into the room. His face was pale, but he appeared otherwise unharmed.
“What happened?” Ellen asked, leaping out of bed. All traces of levity were gone from her face, and Blaise idly wondered how long it would be before that side of her reemerged again.
“I was finishing up at the latrine, when these guys snuck up on me. One of them said the Duchess sent her regards, in a really dramatic voice, then they attacked me. They all charged me, and I used spatial magic to drop them in the latrine. Then I ran up here.”
Ellen spluttered in horror. “I’m not sure what’s worse, the thought of them being dropped in the latrines, or her hiring such rank amateurs. Kid, learn from their mistake. If you ever have to kill someone, just do it. Don’t try to drop witty one-liners beforehand. It tends to get you killed. Or dropped in a latrine.”
He nodded. “Still doesn’t change the fact that people tried to kill me does it?”
She shook her head. “No, you’re right. We should probably go slit their throats for good measure on our way out the door.” She looked at Blaise. “Care to do the honor? I’d rather not get shit on my sword if I can help it.”
He nodded reluctantly, and they quickly evacuated the room with all of their belongings. By the time they reached the latrines, the final man was being pulled from the latrine by his fellows. Blaise sighed as the shadows began wriggling around him. “Amateurs.”
Screams pounded the air for just a moment as spears of darkness penetrated their victims directly in their hearts, followed by the thudding sound of bodies hitting the ground. A gibbering voice could be heard a moment later, hysterical tones echoing in the sudden void. Tentacles of darkness pressed down on the final man left alive, as he whimpered. Blaise walked over to him, staring down at the sodden man in distaste. “And who might you be?”
“J-Jerome sir.”
“And what were you doing here Jerome?”
“We… We were hired to do a hit on that kid over there.”
“Hired by who?”
“I don’t know.”
A spiked tentacle pierced the man’s hand all the way through, and he cried out in pain. “Do not lie to me. From what I hear, you said it was the Duchess.”
Jerome nodded, panting from the pain. “That’s what the guy who hired us said. Said he worked for the Duchess, and the kid would know what that meant.”
Blaise nodded, satisfied. “Did he say anything else?”
Jerome shook his head. “Just told us about the money and where to find you.”
Blaise nodded. “Then you have earned a merciful death.” With that, Blaise droke the spike of shadow directly through the man’s skull, right between the eyes. Jerome barely had time to widen his eyes in surprise before he was dead.
Saran gasped in shock. “Why kill him? He was completely helpless!”
Blaise shrugged. “He was a threat. He knew where we were, and might have given other information to his employer.”
Saran shook his head. “But it’s wrong to kill unarmed people.”
Blaise shrugged again. “We are not heroes, we are killers. More importantly, we are your father’s killers. We do whatever is necessary for the completion of our contract.”
“But that’s…”
“What we were hired to do.” Ellen said firmly.
Blaise nodded. “Moral qualms aside,” he said, “I believe we are up against a plague-walker.”
Saran tried to shift gears, still subdued by guilt. “Plague-walker? Is that a branch of magic?”
Blaise shook his head. “More of an informal mercenary slang term. It means someone who is hired to stalk and kill their prey. Rather than doing this directly like an assassin though, they arrange for others to perform assassinations, or they arrange accidents. The idea being that where one attempt might fail, hiring someone who can try over and over means eventually something will succeed. Thus they are like a plague upon their victim, dogging their every step.”
Saran shuddered. “So what do we do?”
“We stay mobile. Plague-walkers are generally incredibly hard to locate, but they need time to prepare their machinations. If we avoid being in one place for too long we can likely avoid any well-planned strikes altogether until we reach York. Think of this as more of a probing attack. He hired some local muscle to determine what our strengths and weaknesses are.”
As Saran mulled this over, Blaise set about the task of disposing of the bodies. Using his shadowy tentacles to avoid getting any detritus on himself, he rolled the bodies into the latrine with a series of quiet pop sounds.The corpses sank under the surface of the goop, disappearing perfectly in the sludgy mass. Blaise was confident that no one would ever find them. Mess fully cleaned, the trio slipped into the night.