Broken, bruised and cannot run
He who walks the night has fun.
Cairan lay at the bottom of the gully, breathing heavily into the dirt and dry eucalyptus leaves. Something warm trickled down his face, and he was forced to blink it out of his eye.
He tried to push himself up, but swords of agony lashed at him, almost sending him tumbling again into a black abyss.
A scream tore from his throat.
Both of his front legs were broken. He had felt them snap on the way down, and loose shards of bone shifted at the slightest movement. Gritting his teeth, he clutched at the ground, fighting unconsciousness.
“A nice chase,” a voice said, slightly breathless, from somewhere nearby. “But you really should watch your step in the dark.” The voice laughed.
Cairan glanced up without lifting his head, blinking rapidly to clear his blurred vision, trying to focus through the black mist of pain.
A slender figure limped into view, the metallic objects on his jacket glinting in the light of the fire raging on the hilltop above them.
Cairan didn't bother to reply. Grimacing, he looked around for his bow, but was fairly sure it had smashed to pieces in the fall. Arm trembling, he reached to his waist and pulled a knife from his belt.
“A pity it's you,” Nightwalker said, regarding him. “I would have preferred to kill Grisket personally. But, nevertheless...” He shook his head. “You Freeroamers are finished. Your Guard House is on fire, your people are dead, and your esteemed Commander is nowhere to be seen!”
Cairan just stared at him, saying nothing.
Nightwalker cocked his head on one side, spreading his arm. “No last words?” he said.
Cairan was silent, and lay still, save for his chest heaving.
“Not even to call me a bastard? Or tell me to go to hell? Or proclaim that I can't possibly get away with this?”
The Centaur did not reply.
Nightwalker shrugged. “Suit yourself. I'll tell you something for free, though.” He tapped the silver badge on his shoulder with his knife. “You were betrayed!”
Smiling, he turned away, knife twirling. Then suddenly he stopped, the blade in his hand going still. He stared down at it for a long moment.
“Poor, sweet Teska,” Nightwalker murmured. “You made me kill her. I think...” he lifted his head, gazing at the shifting firelight on the pale trunks of the trees. “I think I may have loved her...”
He spun back towards Cairan, knife resuming its twirling. “She reminded me of my first girlfriend,” he went on, conversationally. “The previous Bladeshifter leader killed her. So I killed him.” He shrugged. “Sometimes, life is simple.”
He stood in front of Cairan again, staring down at him. “You Freeroamers,” he pointed with his knife, “have to make everything complicated! Protecting people! Pah! What's the point? The strong always take whatever they want, and there's nothing you can do about it!”
He tossed his knife in the air and caught it again. “I know you sent a prison wagon for me,” he went on. “My Bladeshifters took care of that, as well. Damned if I'm going to rot in the King's dungeons!”
He spat, then walked forwards.
Cairan slashed at him, but Nightwalker was fast. He parried the blow and kicked the knife from Cairan's grip faster than he could blink.
“Nice try!” Nightwalker smirked. Moving to Cairan's side, he placed his boot on the Centaur's flank.
Cairan kicked at him, but the movement sent shudders of pain through him. Fighting the agony, he lunged, but Nightwalker dodged out of reach.
“Goodnight, horsey,” Nightwalker said.
He spun his knife so that it pointed downward, at Cairan's belly.
Then he raised his hand…
“G'night, Eltorian,” a voice said.
Nightwalker froze. Slowly, he turned to look over his shoulder.
A very large crossbow filled his vision, the tip of the bolt pointed at his head.
At the other end of it perched a wide, floppy hat.
“Flint!” he hissed.
Flint gave him a smile. “Ain't so glad to see me this time, huh?” he said.
Nightwalker stood up abruptly, eyes searching the surrounding forest, but saw nothing but flickering shadows.
“And where,” he asked nervously, “is your sorcerer friend?”
Flint gestured with his crossbow. “Behind you.”
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Every hair on the back of Nightwalker's neck prickled up. He whirled.
There was nothing there but a dark, rock-strewn hillside.
To his fury, he heard Flint chuckle.
The skin all over his body burned. His hand tightened on his knife.
I will hack your head off slowly, Flint, Nightwalker thought, seething. Tiny bit by tiny bit. With one of your own bolts…
He turned, still eyeing the darkness between the trees. He couldn't be entirely sure that Flint was bluffing; that sorcerer had the ability to camouflage himself...
No, he thought, after a moment. Lord Requar wasn't here. If he was, he would have shown himself by now. That bastard wouldn't have been able to resist.
“Saving Freeroamers, now?” Nightwalker sneered. “Why don't you go ahead and get your own badge?”
Flint stared back at him. “Maybe I will,” he replied.
Even in the darkness, Flint looked different. The way he held himself a little straighter. His hazel eyes were harder, more focused, lacking fear. He was leaner, too, than the last time Nightwalker had seen him, as though food had been hard to come by.
He looked as though he had gone through some hardship, and survived.
A flutter of warning stirred Nightwalker's stomach. He knew that look.
It was the look of a man that had nothing left to lose. Or to live for.
He watched Flint carefully. “Why the hell did you come back here?”
Flint raised his Justifier. “To kill you,” he replied simply.
Nightwalker's blood turned an unpleasant, sickly cold.
This time, he meant it.
Nightwalker forced a laugh. “If you wanted me dead,” he said, “you've had plenty of opportunities! And last time went so well!”
“It will go even better, this time!”
“Well!” Nightwalker said, spreading his arm. “Here I am! What are you waiting for?”
Flint was silent a moment, but didn't lower his bow. “I wanna know somethin',” he said quietly.
Nightwalker let his arm fall to his side, sighing. “Sure,” he muttered. “I've got all night...”
“Why'd you do it?”
He rolled his eyes. “You'll have to be a lot more specific–”
“My sister!” Flint said, voice and eyes hard. “Why'd you kill her?”
Nightwalker couldn't stop himself from bursting out laughing, delighted at the flare of anger in the other man's eyes. “I'm flattered!” he told Flint. “Really! But unfortunately,” he shook his head, smiling, “it wasn't me!”
“Like hell it wasn't!” Flint shot back. “Six years ago, in Hillbank! I came back home to find our house on fire!” His eyes burned with years of pent-up grief and fury. “I had to drag my sister's charred corpse out of the wreckage!”
Nightwalker put his hand to his chest and sighed. “How sad...”
“You bastard!” Flint's eyes narrowed. “I asked around the village afterwards! It wasn't no accident! A black-clad figure with a metal jacket was seen skulkin' around the house, an' you're tryin' to tell me it wasn't you!”
Nightwalker spread his arms again, and turned around in a slow circle. “Take a good look at my jacket, Flint,” he said, amused. “Do you see anything belonging to your sister there?”
He took his time, making sure that Flint was thoroughly able to scrutinise all his souvenirs. When he turned back, Flint's Justifier was lowered, and he looked uncertain.
The expression on his face was hilarious.
“Oh dear,” Nightwalker said. “I hope you didn't carve out a bolt just for me...”
Flint's eyes hardened, and he hefted the crossbow up again. “So maybe it wasn't you!” he growled. “But you know who it was, don't you?”
Nightwalker just smiled at him. “I would love to tell you who murdered your precious sister, Flint,” he said. “But I'm afraid I can't.”
He saw Flint's jaw clench and his hands tighten on his Justifier.
Nightwalker strolled towards him, twirling his knife. “Do you know why?”
He stopped with the crossbow right in front of his face. “Because,” he said, lifting his blade and tapping the end of the bolt with it, “she isn't dead!”
The look of shock on Flint's face lasted only a second before the loudest roar any of them had ever heard shook the forest.
Then the canopy above them burst into flames.
Flint picked himself up off the ground to find Nightwalker gone and the entire forest on fire.
Hurriedly, he snatched up his Justifier and slung it on his back, shoved his hat on his head, and scrambled over to Lieutenant-Commander Cairan.
The Centaur was still conscious, but weak with pain. His legs were broken and his dark skin and hide were streaked with blood and sweat and dirt.
“L-leave me,” Cairan whispered. “I cannot walk. G-go while you still can...” With a quivering hand, he unpinned his badge and pressed it into Flint's palm. “T-take this to Commander Trice. T-tell him what happened...”
Flint looked around. The forest was roaring, burning leaves falling onto them, the heat becoming intense. In moments, there would be no escape route…
He stared down at the badge for only a moment. Then, before he could think about what he was doing, he shoved it back at Cairan and took a firm hold of the Centaur's arms.
“Brace yourself,” Flint told him. “This is gonna hurt!”
Then he began dragging the Centaur down the gully.
* * *
The mountain pass was dark, a sliver of moon making itself seen now and again through gaps in the high peaks, like a furtive spy. Stars sprawled brilliantly overhead, glittering in an endless sea of black.
Below, a dim white globe floated along the trail, occasionally making darting movements, like a tiny, lost, newborn moon.
“You cannot be serious!” Arzath's voice rang on the cliffs as he scrambled after his brother. “You do realise, don't you, that the Dragon is going to follow us!”
“I am aware of that,” Requar's voice drifted back to him.
“It can sense our magic!” Arzath went on. “It will sniff us out like a hound!”
“Likely,” Requar replied, stopping at the ford, “it deliberately hunted us down in this valley.” He paused. “For revenge, I presume...”
“Exactly!” Arzath said, hurrying up beside him. He stood watching his brother direct his spell over the river, checking the flow. The white light reflected in the water and gleamed on wet rocks. “You would prefer to wander around with a Dragon on our tail?”
Requar started over the shallows. “It is one of the last of its kind,” he said. “I have no wish to be responsible for the extinction of a magnificent race…”
“WE'RE the last of our kind!” Arzath reminded him vehemently.
Requar spun in the middle of the river. “You want to kill it just because it exists?”
“No,” Arzath replied, glaring at him, “I want to kill it because it is going to EAT US!”
A furious roar answered his comment, echoing through the valley.
They both looked up.
Requar turned and started running, his boots splashing through the river.
“Arrggh!” Arzath said in frustration, and ran after him.
They were navigating a clutch of boulders when a massive shape slid across the sky above their heads, swallowing the stars.
Requar extinguished his seeking spell with a quick wave of his hand, and they both dropped into a crouch, shields ready.
The Dragon soared silently onwards, however, drifting languidly over the crags, moonlight glowing through its wings, heading for the forest.
They watched it, tense, until it had disappeared from sight.
“Brilliant,” Arzath exclaimed, getting to his feet. “Now it is going to wait for us at the bottom of the path!”
Requar whirled on him, glaring. “Will you quit with the sarcastic comments? You are getting on my nerves!”
“Oh!” Arzath jumped off the boulder. “You are the one who didn't feel like slaying the Dragon! We could have fought it back at the castle, when we had the chance! Now, it is going to ambush us!”
Requar turned away. “Perhaps,” he muttered, igniting his spell again with an angry snap of his fingers, “I should have left you as a demon-wraith!”
Arzath strode up beside him, eyes widening. “Perhaps,” he retaliated, “I should have left you as–”
He cut his words off just in time, with a sharp breath.
Requar stopped, and spun. “Left me as what?”
“Nothing!” Arzath stormed ahead, fists clenched.
“If that Dragon gets in my way,” he vowed, “I WILL kill it!”