Valentin reached his hand down to help the druid get back on her feet. Maeve regarded the gesture cautiously, narrowing her eyes in deliberation. Valentin could not help but feel hurt by the continued rejection from Maeve. While he could not be so judgmental over an apprehensive personality, he believed that the season spent in close proximity to each other would have meant something to Maeve’s trust of him.
Eventually, Maeve reached her hand up and grasped Valentin around the wrist. He pulled her to her feet. The pair turned and watched the pillar of flame dwindle down to a bonfire fueled by flesh and twigs.
A satisfied smirk rose on the corner of Maeve’s mouth. “It was far more difficult than I expected,” she admitted as she reached her arms over her head and stretched.
“I think this may have been the culprit,” Valentin commented.
He dangled the talisman in front of her. It swung hypnotically from his finger before coming to a rest. Valentin noticed that there was no more strange energy emitting from the talisman. No warmth sunk into his skin when he held it. It no longer pulled on its own and there was no disembodied voice that barked commands to him.
Maeve looked at the talisman with interest. She suddenly reached for the ring and held it with reverence. She squinted and tried to read the runes under the uneven light emitting from the fire.
“What is it?” Maeve asked, trace amounts of curiosity bled through her even voice.
“I was hoping to ask you that,” Valentin replied. “I found it nailed to the shack and you told me to remove it. I’m not sure who left it, but I know it wasn’t them.”
“I did?” Maeve asked with a confused look on her face. “I can decipher a few of these runes, but not enough to determine its full meaning. Perhaps Leith knows what this is.”
She pushed her finger through the empty socket in the middle. “I wonder if something is meant to be placed here.”
Valentin tilted his head to the side and gave Maeve a perplexed look before remembering that Maeve was blindfolded while he handled the talisman.
“It did have a gemstone in it until a few moments ago.”
“Where is it now?”
Valentin gestured to the patch of dirt where it shattered. He noticed a glint of one of the larger fragments that was still in view. He picked it up and held it between his fingers. The gemstone lost its color and was now completely clear, puzzling Valentin further.
“It used to be red,” he remarked, dropping the fragment into Maeve’s palm. “Let’s get out of here before whoever did all this comes back.”
“We cannot leave yet,” Maeve objected, inspecting the fragment that had dropped in her hand. “The burning cannot be disrupted or the transaction will be incomplete. The souls won’t be released until the spirit obtains what it wants, a complete meal.”
“What do we do if somebody does arrive to stop the burning?” Valentin asked.
Maeve gave Valentin a bemused stare. “That’s what you’re here for, Valentin,” she explained in a tone that implied he was foolish for asking at all.
Valentin made a sour face and leaned up against a nearby tree. Valentin wondered how easily he could manage one enemy, two, five, ten. A silent apology to Maeve left his lips. While it felt cruel to say, he had no intention of placing himself in a deadly situation for the sake of people that he did not know.
The question he balanced in his mind was the amount of people that would indicate to him the need to retreat. Too few and Maeve would likely never respect him again. Worst still, if word got out that he fled from a weak sounding amount of foes, he would assassinate his own tenuous reputation. Too many and he would be injured or killed. He worried about a potential injury more, knowing that it would be difficult to obfuscate the cause from Ferron’s discerning eyes.
He absentmindedly adjusted the straps on his vambraces. The mild discomforts of his armor melted away under the prospect of having to use them.
He caressed the hilt of Killihan’s sword with his fingers, mentally preparing himself to potentially use it. A pit devoid of confidence formed in his stomach. The prior training could only be described as a disaster. He lied to Ferron that the weight of the armor may help his form. Now, he tried to believe in that lie with all his heart. If he fought again, it would be different.
“What the fuck is going on?”
Slurred shouting came from the other side of the shack. Valentin ducked behind the tree and motioned for Maeve to join him. Had his negative thoughts summoned these people? It surely felt that way to the boy.
Three people, now sobered up by the sight of the fire, ran into view from the woods behind the shack. The light illuminated their scuffed leather jerkins and short swords pocketed in their belts. The lead one seemed to be checking the wall where the talisman was, their hands plastered to the sides of their head in frustration. The other two frantically looked around for something to douse the flames with.
Maeve looked expectantly at Valentin while the boy did mental calculations. Was three too many? Should he confront them from afar or rush at them while he had the element of surprise? How drunk were they? Would their moves be impaired by the alcohol? Were any of them favored?
“Stop them,” Maeve hissed from beside him. She pulled out a knife and held it close to her chest.
Valentin swallowed his nerves and stepped from behind the tree. He unsheathed his sword and clenched it in his right hand. He walked up from behind the trio, who were too preoccupied to notice his approach.
It was the perfect opportunity to catch them off guard and dispatch one of them quickly. His arm twitched in anticipation but his mind brought the action to an abrupt halt. Could he say with absolute certainty that these people were the culprits? What if they were militiamen from a nearby village who saw the flames? Sure, he saw one of them checking the wall of the shack, but could he rightly say that was what was happening?
All evidence pointed to them being guilty, but that small chance that it was not true and he was about to commit cold blooded murder stayed his hand for just a moment longer.
“Hey!”
His opportunity faded. The person nearest to him pointed an accusatory finger his way, gaining the attention of the other two.
“What are you doing here?” The pointer asked angrily, gripping the hilt of their sword and stepping closer to Valentin. “Did you do this?”
“I am helping these trapped souls return to the Great Spirit,” Valentin answered. He gestured towards the burning roof of the shack. “The fire had gotten out of control, could you assist me in putting out the errant flames?”
He spoke evenly and coolly, not wishing to betray any emotions until he had a better idea of what their intentions were. His eyes darted between the three potential foes. They had all now taken notice of him and were keeping a safe distance away from him. They took wide steps to the side in an effort to surround him.
“I don’t think you’ll need to do that, kid,” the one that checked the wall replied. “You see, I think you took something from us. I’m not sure where you hail from or what clan you serve, around here, we kill thieves.”
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Were those people thieves as well?” Valentin asked, his eyes shifting towards the withering bodies.
“In a sen-”
Valentin had heard all that he needed to smother his doubts into silence. He retook initiative with a favored step towards the pointer, who was closer to him than the other two. Their eyes widened in surprise and they attempted to unsheathe their sword. The pointer hadn’t come to terms with the fact that it was far too late. Valentin’s sword arced horizontally at them at heightened speeds. The well-made and maintained blade cleaved through the flesh of the neck, the augmented power making the weapon stop for nothing. Drops of blood followed the blade out the other side, hovering for a moment before raining down on the dirt.
All it took was two seconds for one of the trio to be decapitated by this unknown boy that had interfered with their plans. Valentin took a pivot step and faced the other two who had managed to ready their weapons. Behind him, the head of their comrade finally thudded against the dirt.
“Who sent you?” demanded the wall checker, their sword pointing threateningly at Valentin. “Was it Catria? Perhaps Rowan?”
“Is our alliance broken?” the remaining member asked incredulously. They took a few steps away from their comrade and continued their circular walk.
“How else would they know how to find this place? Fess up now and perhaps we’ll kill you quickly.”
Valentin kept silent. The natural mistrust that brewed within his enemies kept focus away from Ferron’s arrival. He sprung forward at the wall checker in an attempt to maintain control of the fight. He launched a regular attack that was easily brushed aside by the wall checker before stepping to the side opposite of the warrior’s support.
It was now Valentin’s turn to be set upon. The pair sprinted towards them, weapons brandished. A blade was thrust towards him that he sidestepped fairly easily. Instead of swinging up at the assailant’s hands, Valentin had to rotate to deflect a strike that came from his left. Now that the situation had become direr, Valentin defaulted to his spearman’s footwork to assist his defense. While it helped him avoid the multitude of attacks that entered from all directions, it did not offer him the same ability to counterattack.
He thrusted forwards with his blade to try to create distance and offer some sort of danger to slow the pair down. He rationed his favor, uncertain of how much he had at his disposal. Small twitches and fast reactions kept the blades connecting with air or deflecting ineffectively off of his armor.
A sweeping attack from Valentin opened him to a quick stab from the wall checker. The blade raced towards him with empowered speed. Valentin used a larger burst to twist his body enough to have the blade skid across his back while he recalled his blade above his head to intercept an overhead strike from the other enemy. He kicked backwards to create distance from the pair.
Valentin felt the early greetings of fatigue. Short and sucking breaths seized his lungs in an effort to restore his expended energy. His opponents were also tiring. They did not endeavor to close the gap that Valentin created. Instead, they took the opportunity to catch their breaths and appraise their enemy with new information of his abilities.
The fire had almost entirely consumed the bodies of the people, leaving nondescript piles of ash. Whatever plans these people had enacted were now meaningless. While the flame still softly licked at the miniscule morsels that remained, Maeve’s efforts had already succeeded.
Was this the opportunity to escape? There was no remaining incentive to fight for such high risks. Nobody had managed to make a meaningful blow since the opening decapitation. The coordination that the pair possessed alone made Valentin feel justified in his sudden attack on the third.
However, it should not be him that makes the first move. To retreat from a stalemate would only provoke pursuit from the other two. They still looked too motivated to allow him to flee after ruining their plans and killing their friend. His back made for a much more attractive target to the angered pair.
From behind his enemies, Valentin saw movement between the trees. An outline used the cover of the trees to encroach upon the fighters. Was it Maeve? He realized that retreat was never an option. If she was spotted during the dash to Vescal, they would go after her instead.
Valentin ended the stand-off with a fully empowered swing of his sword. He coiled his body and sprung outwards in an attempt to gather even more force.
His attack was simple and easy to read. The other survivor raised their sword to block the attack. Sparks scattered from Valentin’s surcoat as the blades clashed against each other. A loud booming noise created a small shockwave that gusted against all three. The warrior’s face contorted into an expression of astonishment as the force lifted them off of their feet and sent them careening towards a tree. An unhealthy crunching sound punctuated the landing as the warrior collapsed limply to the ground.
Valentin continued his swing until the force spun him all the way around to face the remaining warrior. The wall checker was mid swing and Valentin took a short hop to the side before striking with a low, upwards stab aimed at the foe’s neck.
The final warrior’s eyes glowed and their body contorted quickly enough to avoid the thrust. They took a balancing half-step back, but their form had been fully disrupted by Valentin’s attack. Unable to quickly recover and sensing the boy’s intentions, the warrior threw a wild sideways attack to force him to retreat.
However, counter to Valentin’s strategy so far, he stepped into the warrior’s strike. He pushed his body into the warrior’s arm, terminating the attack. With his left hand, Valentin gripped the warrior’s head while his right arm was pulled tautly behind him. He held the longsword with one hand like it was a massive dagger.
The warrior tried to arrest Valentin’s arm with their left hand. Their eyes became clouded with fear and panic, unwilling or unable to process their impending demise. Those eyes only watched helplessly as Valentin’s shoulder snapped forward with empowered speed. The force that delivered the blade caused the weapon to be buried to the hilt in the warrior’s throat, ending the warrior’s life almost instantly.
Valentin’s move put him uncomfortably close to the warrior in their final moments. For the first time of his life, he watched the luster recede from the eyes of a person. He observed the inevitable metamorphosis from human to corpse. Their body went limp, now only suspended above the ground from the blade that impaled it and Valentin maintaining a vice-like grip on their skull.
“Valentin,” Maeve’s voice echoed from the trees. The druid left her cover, sheathing her knife.
The boy’s fingers loosened and he planted his left foot on the warrior’s chest. He pressed down to slowly dislodge the blade from the corpse. Blood trickled from the blade and stained the ground while the warrior that was once human collapsed to the ground.
He stood over the body and breathed heavily. A success such as this was beyond his expectations. Blood leaked slowly from the gaping neck wound. The headless corpse of his first victim caught the corner of his eye. Maeve stood over the warrior that had collided with the tree. What part of his mind possessed him to unlock such savagery? Such power? These moves had never been taught to him before, he had never seen them performed as a demonstration. Whence did these ideas come into being?
“This one still breathes,” Maeve stated. She ushered Valentin over towards her.
The warrior’s chest rose and fell rhythmically. It was the only thing that the boy saw moving. Blood oozed from the warriors ears and voyaged down their cheeks. It dribbled into little puddles on the jerkin. Their hand spasmed near their blade but did not grip the weapon.
“We should finish them off,” Maeve declared, eyeing Valentin’s bloodied weapon.
“Ferron might want to ask them some questions,” Valentin protested. “It’s possible that they have a bounty on them.”
Maeve shook her head. She placed her hand against the warrior’s head and pried open an eyelid between her fingers. The warrior did not react to the druid’s manipulation of their body. It stayed inert when she lifted its arms or placed incense beneath the nose. All it did was slowly inhale and exhale. Even the twitching hand had grown still.
“They have perished but the body has yet to understand,” Maeve explained. “There is no further information you can get from them.”
Valentin slowly nodded his understanding. Maeve stepped away from the body and Valentin plunged his blade into the warrior’s unarmored neck. He winced. Now that his frenzy from battle had subsided, the act of killing had, once again, become cumbersome to him.
He knelt down and grabbed a handful of dirt. Following Hrost’s instructions, he rubbed the soil on the weapon in an effort to remove the blood from the blade. He then wiped the bloody mud from the sword with a cloth. He had never cleaned a blade this way, but the sword looked clean enough that he could remedy it later.
“Help me move them,” Maeve requested, already reaching for the warrior’s feet.
They piled the bodies next to their original pile. The supernatural flames of their first visitor had disappeared entirely, leaving piles of ash behind. Behind them, the shack had almost entirely burned down to the foundation. Valentin silently prayed that the burning cleansed them of their pains from living and brought them relief.
Maeve started stuffing the leftover twigs into the pile. Before Maeve doused the bodies in the perfume, Valentin raised his hand up to stop her.
“Help me check to see if there is anything on their bodies that could give us a hint of who they are or what they are after.”
Valentin dug through their pouches with the hopes of finding something useful. He found numerous copper coins, one silver eagle, a flask of some fermented drink, a set of dice, a whetstone, and a comb.
“I couldn’t find anything,” Valentin groaned. “No orders, no insignias, no nothing.”
“I did not find anything of note either,” Maeve agreed. She emptied the liquid upon the bodies. “They did say some names, did they not?”
“I hope it is good enough to be useful,” Valentin sighed. Catria and Rowan. He must commit those names to memory.
Maeve once again steepled her fingers at an uncomfortable angle with her palms far apart. She shut her eyes and pointed her face skywards towards the dying light of the day.
“Oh Great Spirit, you who is all that was and will be.”