Lightless night brought a stillness to the world. Only the blind beasts or creatures that could navigate the low lights of the stars made noise in the fields and groves. Chitters and croaks and warbles paired with the stirring sounds of livestock to create the unsettling ambiance of the unseen.
A small galley ladened with cloaked passengers broke the tranquil lapping of the Linnbeatha. No torches were lit upon the black waters to betray the approach of the vessel. The captain of the ship sat on the bow with their ears cupped with both hands. They used the sounds of the water against the wood and the stars to plot the journey across the massive lake. They would ring a bell three times if the ship needed to turn port and five times if they needed to turn starboard.
A drummer beat out a rhythm for the oarsmen to follow. Each drum beat was followed by the sounds of oars dipping into the water followed by a sharp swishing sound. To the passengers aboard the ship, the orders seemed unbearably loud for the clandestine mission. Regardless of their concerns, there small pocket of noise was still drown by the sounds of the night.
Torches from dock guards protecting the cargo of resting vessels could be seen bobbing on the destination shore. Any observant guards might have seen the silhouette of the approaching ship, yet there was still no stirring.
The captain ordered the ship to slow rapidly as they heard the sounds of the shallow waves lapping against the shore. Oarsmen quickly shifted the ship to the left and let it slow up against the wooden dock.
Silently and lithely, sailors hopped over the side of the ship and tethered the vessel to the docks. A plank was raised to give the passengers a safer path to the ground.
Officially, this ship was always docked in this location. Any that visited the docks that day would have seen the ship bobbing on the gentle waves of the lake. Any that checked the shipping manifest would see that the ship was not scheduled to move for another two days.
The passengers departed from the ship quickly. Their black cloaks mixed with the night, only being revealed when passing under the torchlight of suspiciously well-equipped guards. They passed the house of the dock master to hear the noises of a raucous party within. The shadows on the walls slipped back into the darkness of the village.
One group became two moving in opposite directions. One group moved along towards a dockyard towards the ships moored there while the other took the road away from the settlement. They moved slowly on the way through the village, using sparse amounts of light provided by the scant amount of late night workers to guide their way to the outskirts. It was not until they had cleared the sight of all of the hovels that they ignited a single torch. Eyes with dilated pupils blinked rapidly at the sudden illumination before acclimating to the new light.
All eyes turned towards their leader whose weapon was as black as their clothing. He turned northwards and began walking.
“This way,” he ordered.
“Yes, Deggan Valentin,” they whispered in acknowledgement.
The group moved over the well cultivated fields of the farms surrounding the Linnbeatha. Irrigation ditches snaked up the fields to moisten the soil of the further fields. Wheat stalks and rows of cabbage and beets and other early cycle produce showed signs of a bountiful harvest in the future.
The fields connected the village upon the docks with the target village. Sleeping hovels were nestled into the gentle hills that had long since had their trees torn away. A small manor sat upon one of the hills and offered a shallow vantage point of the village below.
Inside the manor lived the clan that Valentin was tasked to punish. The Entuloun clan refused all the summons that were sent by their sworn liege lords Guerros. Their brazen refusal to support inspired other clans to maintain their own neutrality. This offense could not go unpunished and the siblings of Guerros agreed that they would need to harm their own vassals to send the proper message to all those that followed Entuloun to turn and kiss the Yvonne Guerros’ emerald rings or die alone and unsupported.
Torches of the oblivious late night guardsmen illuminated portions of the manor. Valentin signaled and the torchbearer extinguished the flame.
“Remember, our main objective is to destroy as much of their property as we can. If there is wealth to be stolen, steal it. If there is something to be damaged, damage it. Ignore anyone that doesn’t fight back. We are not here to make our employers pariahs,” Valentin briefed the remaining portion of the deg.
“Yes, Deggan,” they replied in unison.
“We are not using names. We are using numbers,” Valentin reminded them. “One.”
“Two,” said Kerwin.
“Three,” said Zoe.
They continued to list off their names. Brothers Médéric and Rou were four and five, Old Laud was six, and the young Gélique was seven. If anyone were to report on this incident, they would have no names to use as leads.
“Good,” Valentin nodded that everyone was accounted for and knew their designation. “Keep alert and assist each other. We cannot tolerate a single causality they can use as clues. Now go.”
Quieted footsteps rustled up the side of the hill. Like moths, the assailants were guided by the flames towards their destination. The outlines of the guards became defined as the distance was shrunk. Their sleepless eyes did a poor job of scanning the deep darkness that enveloped them. Their postures slowly relaxed before quickly tensing up again like a jolt of energy.
In fights between people blessed by favor, it is impossible to gauge how powerful their opponent is. There is no aura that coats them or intuition that triggers in response to their presence. Physique or dress have no bearing of what lies within. All one can hope to do is be better equipped and possess the initiative.
Valentin had no idea how powerful these guards were. Common reasoning inferred they possessed talents required to be given such a position. Even in the event that this was an heir in disguise, it was irrelevant. The guard did not see Valentin, only a flash of black metal sprung from the darkness. Their soul was extinguished before moving a single muscle to react. They collapsed to the ground before even comprehending what had occurred.
Valentin grabbed the torch from the ground. Looking around, it appeared that his group had faced no difficulties in their ambush. He paused for a moment to listen for any disturbances before continuing with the plan.
The torches that lined the perimeter now pointed inwards towards their owners. As they passed through the weakly protected manor, the flames were pressed against any fabrics or straw that it could find. Small bursts of light plumed all over and slowly grew brighter and hotter and larger until screams and confusion erupted within the darkness. Anyone that departed with a weapon was quickly dispatched. Their hasty exit from the burning buildings meant they had to abandon their armor and were easy prey to the well prepared attackers.
A mass evacuation started from those that resided in the perimeter. Servants and panicked guards that abandoned their weapons fled from the scene, unaware that were not being assailed or pursued. Only the blind stampede resulted in casualties. Even if they had their vision, it was doubtful they would have been any more courteous to those that were caught underfoot. The mangled bodies could be easily justified within their own minds. It was not their fault, it was the attackers that made this happen. A destroyed corpse was but a consequence of a situation beyond their control.
Valentin moved into the main manor. The confused residence watched the black garbed invader brush his torch again their walls. Tapestries burst into flames, illuminating their startled faces with greater clarity.
“Run,” Valentin barked, triggering the observers to devolve into panic.
Most ran to alert their masters and clansmen of the situation while others drew daggers and iron pokers towards Valentin.
“Keep him here for a moment while we get help and real weapons,” a man with handsome features ordered.
They charged him within the tight confines of the hallway. Some took empowered steps forwards while others hung back to find an opportune moment to strike. The fastest one was impaled on the end of Valentin’s weapon. He swung the body down hard atop a man with a fire poker that had swung the improvised weapon towards Valentin’s legs. A grunt left the man’s bloodied mouth as he held his face.
Valentin used the blockage in the hallway to step forwards and gift a rapid strike towards the nearest armed person. The force of the strike shot their mortally wounded body at those that stood behind them. A distraught look passed their faces when they saw another of them had perished.
“Run,” Valentin ordered again, hoping that his display would have instilled enough spare to drive them away.
Contrary to Valentin’s intentions, it appeared that the survivors dug their heels in deeper in his presence. Their faces were contorted to hold greater conviction than when they had begun. In their nightwear and holding improvised weapons, they obeyed the order provided to them and stood tall against the overwhelming foe. Only one person appeared to be wavering. They hid themselves away towards the back corner of the group internally debating if their loyalty was worth their life.
Valentin sighed in disappointment. Did no one value their lives? Did they fail to understand its fragility, even in these moments of vulnerability? Valentin had no choice but to assume that they were deluded by the word bravery. In some, there was true belief that the tables would turn when those that had left them returned with weapons and protection. In others, there was fear of the repercussions in the even that Valentin was defeated and they had fled their post.
He failed to be terrifying enough. He did not instill enough fear to crush their hopes and make them flee their posts. There was no more time left for warnings or pleading. All this would be is another failure in Valentin’s mind.
Wordlessly, he sprung forward at great speed. His moves lacked the performance he had displayed prior. All that remained were efficient killing moves that culled those in front of him. A shallow chop into a head ripped and twisted into a skewer of the neck behind them.
One of them charged Valentin while he extended forwards. To a veteran fighter, the amount of times that Valentin had channeled favor was high. A reasonable warrior would assume that there was a limit to the energy that could be expended. Valentin’s body appeared vulnerable and lacked the options necessary to evade without expending his low remaining energy further. Failure to exploit that opening would, in no uncertain terms, be considered folly.
However, the confidence expression turned to confusion when Valentin dropped his torch and curled a mailed fist. He threw an empowered hook forward while also taking a large step to close the distance faster.
The grossly inefficient style that Valentin was employing in this fight was to the martial world as an old money noble buying out competition in a merchant’s space. There was no venue for someone of above average skill to compete when such an overwhelming force arrived. There existed no reasonable counter strategy when caught unawares.
Blood splattered from a broken nose. A handful of teeth clattered from their mouth as they stumbled to the ground with their mind spinning. They had no time to recover as the tip of Endless Hunger pierced the back of their neck.
The two remaining people that were tasked to stall Valentin dropped their weapons and ran past him into the courtyard, their minds consumed with fear. Their support had not come in time and they were abandoned to the mercy of their assailant. Valentin pushed forwards, he had wasted enough time at the entrance. His disappearance would allow those that wished to escape the confidence to flee from the main entrance.
Valentin saw that the Entuloun guards that had left to gather their armor were fighting against two broad-shouldered assailants in black cloaks in one of the rooms that had yet to be engulfed in flames. One used a long sword to ward off two foes while the other wailed upon his quarry’s head. The hammer in their hand sculpted dents into the iron helmet and blood flowed ceaselessly over their motionless face.
Valentin’s halberd pierced the back of the neck of one of the defenders. The final one tensed up at the sudden disadvantage they had been placed in. That moment of hesitation was all that was required for Médéric to dispatch them, leaving the three black cloaked figures as the only survivors of the small battle.
“One,” Valentin said as a formality.
“Four and Five,” replied Médéric while Rou delivered another savage and unnecessary blow to the defender’s lifeless head.
“Leave the main entrance open,” Valentin ordered.
Médéric nodded in understanding. He grabbed his brother’s wrist, which had been going for another hit, and led him from the room in the direction that they had likely entered from. The sound of shattering wood shortly followed.
Valentin roamed the halls. All those that spotted him turned and fled in the opposite direction. There was no armed resistance in the depths. Now fully unopposed, he quickly found the stairs that led from the servants quarters of the first floor to the quarters of the prominent clansmen.
A loud sound reverberated further down the hall. A tall warrior in black tackled his foe against a wall, knocking the wind out of them. A barrage of punches rained down from above through their weak guarded and down upon their head. It did not take long before their arms dropped to their sides and they fell motionless.
“One!” Valentin shouted down the hall towards the victor.
“Two!” Kerwin shouted back.
“Follow me!”
The pair moved up with the smoke to plunder the rooms of the true targets. Servants carrying massive paintings brushed against the men that they could not see properly. Some even offered a courteous apology on their way down.
“Ignore them,” Valentin ordered when he saw Kerwin preparing to strike a servant carrying a particularly colorful piece.
On this esteemed floor, it appeared that nobody had evacuated yet. Men and women in handsome nightwear barked orders and servants that were frantically stuffing sacks full of fine clothing and jewelry without consideration of its condition. Their frenzied preservation of their wealth made them oblivious to the new arrivals on the floor.
Servants with bloated sacks of valuables scampered towards the black wreathed pair. They skidded to a halt and the sight of their bloodied clothes and weapons. Frozen in fear, they dared not make any movements in fear of agitating these death dealers.
“Drop it,” Valentin barked.
His orders received instant compliance from the two servants. They held out their shaking hands and feebly held them in a defensive position above their heads. Eyes were clenched shut as they waited for the death blow that never arrived.
“Leave,” Valentin ordered, nodding his head to the stairs and shifting his body to allow them a path to escape.
The servants did not need much convincing. With looks of deep relief, they quickly took the opportunity that was given to them before it was revoked. A smug noise escaped Kerwin’s mouth at the pitiable sight.
“All of you, leave your possessions and run,” Valentin boomed, utilizing a small amount of favor to cut through the chaotic shouting that enveloped the floor.
People jolted in shock at the unexpected noise before turning their heads to see the invaders at the stairs. They stared blankly at him, without true comprehension of his words. Servants offered questioning glances at their employers, their hands hovered hesitantly over the next valuable they had been tasked to secure.
A sharp faced man with a goatee was the first to react. He unsheathed a sword that was fastened around his riding clothes and pointed it towards the intruder. Two others followed suit, much to the relief of the rest of the clansmen, who continued their activities without further worries. In their eyes, the matter was already settled. It was no longer worth spending time spectating while there were more important things to take care of.
“Empty the sacks and fill it with as much jewelry as you can. Leave the fabrics to burn, we don’t need them,” Valentin instructed Kerwin.
“Yes, One,” Kerwin replied in acknowledgment before quickly getting to work on his task. Valentin expected the man to question why he wasn’t invited to the fight, but it appeared thoughts of gold outranked thoughts of crimson.
“Are you sure that you wish to take us on alone?” Challenged the sharp faced man, lowering himself into a striking posture.
“I give you one final offer to flee this place. Else Ortus will next greet your ashes,” Valentin warned, a tinge of frustration in his voice.
“There is no choice,” another Entuloun noble countered. “We will have both our lives and our clans honor once we slay you.”
These noblemen were better trained than the haphazard display that he saw at the entrance. They possessed a higher caliber of poise and calm than their hired swords. Further negotiations were pointless, the cruelty displayed on the floor below held no bearing on the psyches of these new adversaries. They had not witnessed the fates of those that opposed him. The blood that he was bathed in had little legitimacy to these new faces. It could be from numerous unarmed civilians as equally from their guards.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
With this frustrating thought in Valentin’s mind, he charged forwards. Without armor, none of his noble opponents could afford to stand resolutely in his path. The hallway lacked the space necessary for his foes to stand three abreast and forced them to stagger their position one pace away from each other.
Unfortunately for Valentin, the hallway was also too narrow for him to perform any meaningful swings at his adversaries. His chops could only be at a quarter power of their true potential without the ability to twist his body all the way back. His options were limited to thrusts and weak swings.
He opted for a thrust to test his opponent’s reactions. The sharp faced man stepped quickly to the side and a half pace backwards. A small splotch of crimson sprouted on the cloth around the man’s abdomen. The sharp faced man winced from the pain of the parting blow but remained on his feet, ready to meet Valentin’s next attack.
Valentin coldly pressed forwards, striking again in an attempt to suffocate the man in attacks. However, his retreat closer to his kin allowed them to cross their weapons to slow the blow enough to be properly escaped from.
Valentin pressed and pressed further and further. His obscene strength pushed them all down the hallway. His blows could do no more than knock them backwards while his opponent’s stamina persisted. He knew that he would outlast them and once they finally capitulated, he would stand victorious.
The ones that chose to ignore the fight now showed worried expressions towards the eventual fate of their clansmen. Occupants of the rooms that Valentin had pushed the fight beyond attempted to flee the room towards the stairs, their possessions in tow. However, they were quickly accosted by Kerwin. The warrior exercised far less kindness than Valentin. He unsheathed his sword and pointed it into the neck of the first noble that tried to reach the stairs.
“I thought we made it clear to abandon your possessions if you wished to live,” he threatened sternly. “I lack the patience that my leader does. You will not get further warnings.”
Sounds of rustling from behind informed Valentin that they had given up on escaping with their things and chose life. He wondered why they clasped so desperately for such inconsequential baubles. Instead of attempting to stop the fire and organize to repel their attackers, the leaders chose to secure their personal wealth. A panicked mind was the most irrational and their poor response was what the Guerros Matriarch had planned on when she drafted this mission.
Valentin struck again, this time collapsing the form of the crossed swords. With the small gap, Valentin did a weak thrust into the unarmored chest of the sharp faced man. An attack that would have normally been a scratch on armor turned into a fatal puncture to the heart.
The fight continued over the dying man. His glassy eyes watched his clansmen being forced further and further backwards towards the large doors at the end of the hallway. Their tired arms blocked less and less with each savage thrust levied against them. Sweat soaked their bodies and they desperately panted to suck air into their lungs. Their guards were lower, arms fatigued by the reverberating strikes that traveled up them.
Another one fell. A puncture wound to the neck that was delivered too quickly to defend against sealed their fate. They were too weak to even clutch at the wound before falling on their face dead.
The last of the challengers stood beleaguered and alone. Valentin could see their tired eyes burning in frustration. Two of his kin had been slain without them even offering an attack in turn. An unacceptable thought absorbed their mind. The idea of being pointlessly slaughtered was too great for the lone survivor.
They recklessly charged towards Valentin. Tired muscles were spurned forwards by willpower. Lungs shuddered in air and the heart beat rapidly. If they could land one decisive attack, then everything would have been worth it. The lives lost would not have been in vain.
Valentin had no inclination of humoring his opponent’s feeble last stand. He showed their continued tenacity with a cold methodical strike that extinguished their flame.
His opponent’s pupils shook in fear, as though they finally recognized what Valentin truly was. It was only in their final moments that they came to terms with the futility of their situation. Valentin stood over them, watching them die. He wondered what thoughts filled the mind in these final moments. He wondered if they dwelled upon their regrets or focused upon the happiness that they had. The amount of time would only be a few seconds, but how long did it feel in their head?
Valentin turned from his grim task to see that the hallway had been entirely evacuated. The lone exception was Kerwin, who was still sifting through the abandoned belongings to enrich is own haul. In the place of the missing people, the smoke from the fires set below began to thicken on the upper floor as the flames consumed the manor.
“Two! You have a minute before you need to flee. I am going to check this room and go with you,” he instructed.
When a wave of acknowledgement was returned, Valentin turn to push open the doors of the final room. Even before he could see inside, he could already hear the hurried shouting of people organizing their escape.
The people inside turned at the new entrant. Looks of hope turned to despair at the bloodied appearance of the intruder. Those with a better vantage of the hallway could see the strewn bodies of their more martially gifted kin. A scream of terror soon entered the room, spurring those inside to hasten their actions.
A window had been thrown open and those inside were lowering themselves from the window to escape down the side of the building. The lack of ropes or tied linens implied that there was some sort of escape ladder built into the side of the structure. An old woman was clambering down the side, leaving an old man, a young man, and two servants.
“Run, father, I will hold him off!” The young man shouted. He reached for a long sword off the wall and pointed it at Valentin.
“You must be victorious, Batistin. Our clan cannot lose any more than it already has.”
“Flee and live,” Valentin said to the sword tip. “I don’t kill those that do not fight.”
The blade was still pointed directly at Valentin. There was no trust in Batistin’s eyes towards Valentin’s words. To him, they were no more than the honeyed words of a snake. However, Batistin did not strike.
One by one, the remaining occupants of the room quickly slipped down the side and out of view. Batistin gave a quick glance towards the window and smiled softly at his success. He hardened his expression and lowered himself into proper stance in front of Valentin. The tip of the weapon moved erratically and trepidation gripped his shoulders.
“You’re terrified,” Valentin observed calmly. “I can see you shaking. Run away and you will live.”
“I cannot let your grim deeds go unpunished,” Batistin asserted. He clenched his muscles to suppress the fear he was exhibiting.
Valentin felt like he was running in circles. He was replaying the same situation over and over again. Why did no one accept his mercy when it was provided? He could see Batistin shiver with fear. The path to escape was available, he even said he would not pursue. So why? What was he doing wrong?
“Fine,” Valentin spat. “Fine! If you want to die, then I will oblige!”
He swung down with a heavy blow in the direction of Batistin. The high ceilings and wide spaces allowed him to strike with all of his force. Deep down, Valentin still hoped that this savage attack would be motivation enough to instill enough fear to spur Batistin to flee from this fight. He needed to display the gulf between them in terms of ability. That was the language that people understood.
However, unlike the other opponents that he had faced, Batistin was already frozen in fear. His knees shook and he held his weapon weakly in the path of Valentin’s swing. His mind appeared blank without even the thought to try to dodge away from the attack. Valentin’s intimidation had already succeeded, yet Batistin still stood in his way.
The halberd cruelly carved out Batistin’s life. His body rent asunder by the empowered swing. Bones were crushed and muscles were ripped by the evil weapon. There was never any hope that he could have overcome his opponent, yet his stood there anyways.
Valentin stood stunned at the result of the attack. It didn’t make any sense to him. Batistin lacked the skills of his clansmen in the hall. He even lacked the skills of the guards below. He was no better than a practice dummy. What compelled him to stand up to Valentin? What was the purpose of fighting?
“What is wrong with all of you? Do you have no interest in surviving?” Valentin roared in directionless frustration.
“One, we need to leave. We are out of time,” Kerwin informed him. His bag was overfull with valuables. The outlines of trinkets and baubles bulged against the walls. His eyes drifted down towards the brutalized body on the floor.
“We leave through the window,” Valentin stated. “There is a structure that will take us down safely.”
Valentin clambered down the side of the manor first. True to his expectations, there were stone rungs carved into the structure. The room faced the backside of the manor and Valentin saw a small trail wind into the black fields.
“Fa-“
Valentin heard the stifled scream of a small child when he reached the ground. He could see a group of people gathered down the pathway, their silhouettes revealed by light of their burning home. The person that they waited for, the one they prayed would climb through that window did not arrive. Instead, the wicked intruder descended from their chambers to stand before them and send a clear message of the fate of Batistin.
He turned away from them to assist Kerwin who was climbing down with one free hand. Creaking sounds of weakening wooden beams could be heard from inside. The manor rumbled towards a collapse.
“Let’s regroup with the others,” Valentin said to Kerwin.
“Why?”
Valentin stopped to look at the silhouette that was speaking. The old man from the room slipped from the shadows and into the light. Valentin groaned internally at the appearance. He had pretended to not notice them to allow them to escape. Now they had chosen to confront him needlessly.
Kerwin, who had not invaded the main quarters raised an eyebrow in interest but quickly lost interest when he saw the man was unarmed. Instead, he chose to mimic his deggan’s mannerisms.
“Why did you do this?” Batistin’s father demanded.
Valentin considered humoring the old man with an answer. In the shock of the attack, the man had lost reasoning. Offering any clue could lead to his group’s exposure later on. Choosing the cautious approach, Valentin ignored the question and turned away from the silhouettes again.
“You killed my father!” A shrill voice shrieked from the group of silhouettes.
Valentin and Kerwin turned again to see a girl bolt out from the shadows towards them. The girl had broken free from the shadowed group and charged past the old man. Anger set her eyes ablaze and cast aside her instincts of self-preservation. She was not yet old enough to have had her Bloodstone. There was no power she could use or weapon she could wield to be of any threat to the pair of warriors.
When she was only a few paces away, Valentin stomped his foot with empowered force. The force of the winds that emanated from his boot knocked the girl onto her backside and gusted dust around them.
“Wait!” The old man called. His legs were unwilling to move forward in fear of triggering an attack from the two invaders. “She’s just a child!”
Valentin stood over the girl. The bravado of her immature actions had been sucked away from her and left nothing to defend her against the overwhelming appearance that stood before her. Valentin made a show of it. He shot sparks from his eyes and leaned forward to cover her world with his existence. He thought this as a lesson, a fear instilled that may cause her to survive in the future.
“Run,” he boomed with an empowered voice.
The girl did not move. She could not. Her legs refused to cooperate with the command she was given. She was frozen to the ground in terror and could only cry helplessly. She covered her body with her arms to shield herself from a blow that would never be delivered.
Valentin once again turned away and left the shadows to reclaim their child. His actions was not only a lesson for the child, but for the survivors as well.
“That girl will have nightmares until she is one hundred,” Kerwin joked, shifting his bag of wealth from one shoulder to another. “In a perverse way, she should be grateful that she gets to live with her clan. If we were true brigands then we would have taken her and-“
“Enough, Two,” Valentin interrupted, disinterested in the grim explanation. “Let’s regroup with the others. We are done here.”
The courtyard looked as though Ortus had descended upon it. Raging flames from the vandalized buildings illuminated the chaos around it. Without any orders from the Entuloun leaders, guards and servants alike were thrown into confusion. Some were fleeing while others were attempting to douse the flames by the bucketful. The line of people escorting water from the well to the fire did little to reverse the destruction to the manor. Gaps in the line implied defectors that believed they were better served to flee the carnage.
Skirmishes between Valentin’s group and the remaining guards migrated from the torched interiors into the open. A pair that looked like Médéric and Rou were fighting a pair armored guards near the entrance of the manor. Both pairs of combatants appeared to be at the limit of their stamina. Further ahead, he could see more black figures competing against a slightly larger amount of adversaries.
“Two, hand me the sack and go support Four and Five,” Valentin ordered, gesturing towards the standoff. “Meet me ahead.”
“Yes, One,” Kerwin dutifully responded, dropping the sack and sprinting in the direction of the fight.
Valentin threw the sack over his left shoulder and proceeded ahead. He didn’t feel the need to track that fight any longer. Kerwin was skilled enough and rested enough to finish off his enemies on his own if the situation called for it. If it were not for Renne already possessing the position, Kerwin would be a strong candidate for Vice Deggan.
Instead, Valentin focused on the fight ahead of him. He saw two figures fighting against four others. Instead of crossing blades, they were feeling each other out. Even with the numerical advantage, the guards seemed wary of their opponent’s abilities. They slowly spread out to surround their opponents. The punctured bodies that Valentin walked by told the story of why they were so wary.
As he got closer, Valentin recognized the figures as the barrel chested Old Laud and the smaller figure of Gélique. It fit Laud’s personality to keep near the newest member of the deg. Valentin closely looked around the corpses and the courtyard with the realization that only six were accounted for.
Zoe was missing.
Her body was not strewn upon the ground with the rest. Whether that was a good sign or not, Valentin could not yet say. He needed to finish things quickly, even his stamina was not endless. His fighting spirit was waning and the accumulated fatigue that accompanied his exertions was sinking into his muscles.
“Surrender, and flee this place,” Valentin interjected.
He moved behind the nearest guard and rested his halberd on their shoulder. All six of the combatants flinched in surprise at the sudden addition to the fight. Valentin felt the mask on his belt vibrate at his actions as the guards did not capitulate.
“I’m not pointing it at them,” Valentin protested. “My arms are just tired.”
The mask continued to vibrate angrily at Valentin’s attempt at twisting its words. It seemed the rule was less about the action of pointing the weapon, but using it as a form of intimidation. Even if such a loophole didn’t exist, it was still worth trying.
“What are you doing you-“
The guard did not have the ability to finish their question. Valentin had already wound his halberd backwards far enough to deliver a ferocious strike. Endless Hunger struck the guard’s neck. It tore through the flesh with an eerie, unnatural ease. Their head toppled before the mask that finally stopped humming in anger.
“Enough,” Valentin commanded, lowering his weapon. “The manor is lost and your masters have fled. Drop your weapons and we will not pursue you.”
Uncertain looks were shared amongst the surviving guards. A silent debate took place over whether they should trust the invader’s words.
They were soon given little choice. Loud crashing noises could be heard from the manor as important structural beams were burnt enough for them to snap and partially collapse. Running directly towards them from the spewing embers of the dying house were Kerwin, Médéric, and Rou. If the guards stayed fighting, they would soon be overwhelmed and killed anyways.
When the first guard cast aside their weapon and ran for the exit, the other two stood in apprehension. They were watching to see Valentin’s sincerity. If the first one could escape unscathed, they surely would as well.
“The offer will expire,” Valentin stated, spurring the other two to quickly follow suit and leave.
“Thank you, One,” Laud said. He sighed in relief that the danger had passed. “I was near my limit.”
“Where’s Three?” Valentin asked without allowing the conversation to detour. “Have you seen her?”
Laud and Gélique exchanged uncertain looks while the other three caught up to Valentin. Médéric was supporting his brother who stood on uneven footing.
“No, we have not seen Three in some time,” Gélique admitted nervously as though Valentin would punish her for the uninformative answer. “She went towards the manor while Six and I stayed out here to secure our exit.”
“Two, Four?” Valentin asked expectantly.
Both Kerwin and Médéric gave Valentin blank expressions.
“You all stay here,” Valentin ordered, giving the bag of goods back to Kerwin. “I’ll go find Three and bring her back, even if it’s just a corpse.”
Gélique flinched slightly at the prospect of Zoe being dead. The rest offered Valentin steeled looks of understanding.
Valentin strained his eyes to investigate the area near the manor. Now that the main structure had collapsed, the remaining servants desperate to save it finally surrendered and fled to the hills. All that remained was the sounds of crackling and the rumbling of collapsing structures. If she could not be found out here, then Valentin hoped that she had been thoroughly burned beyond recognition.
“One,” a voice called out to Valentin.
“Three?” Valentin replied, looking frantically around him. “Where are you?”
“Over here. In the shadows.”
Valentin caught the direction of the voice this time and moved towards it. The nearest building had already burned down to the embers and offered little light to the area around it. However, Valentin quickly found several bodies strewn across his path. Their blood had soaked into the soil and made the ground soft under his footsteps.
“Which one are you?” Valentin asked, unable to detect any of their features.
He felt a tug on his trouser leg. Her black uniform had camouflaged her from Valentin’s sight. She was lying amongst the rest of the corpses. Worry crossed his face at the condition of his warrior.
“How serious are your wounds?” Valentin asked before moving her irresponsibly. “Where were you injured?”
“Not as serious as theirs,” she joked back at him. “I’m just exhausted, that’s all. Help me up and we can get out of here together.”
“Don’t jest at a time like this,” Valentin scolded, lowering himself to Zoe’s body. “If you were fine then you’d be up already. Where is your injury?”
“Left thigh,” she answered. “I didn’t do a good enough job finishing one of them off and they got me when I wasn’t looking.”
An involuntary reaction temporarily prevented Valentin from touching Zoe’s thigh. If it was the inner thigh, the blood loss may already be beyond saving. He pressed past his fears and reservations and proceeded. He touched around her leg. His left hand went slick with blood from the outer thigh. While it was less likely to be fatal, he still needed to act quickly.
He looked around for a place with light to move her to so he could see what he was doing. Unfortunately, the lights of the fires were quickly dying with the lack of fuel to keep them burning. He briefly thought of the best person to have join.
“Seven!” Valentin boomed to ensure that Gélique heard him. “Come here and bring a torch!”
It was only a moment before the girl arrived with a torch blazing in her hands. Zoe was finally fully visible to Valentin. The tear in her dark colored pants were the only way to tell that she was wounded at first glance. Her clothes would not stain and her covered face did not reveal its condition.
“I am here One,” Gélique panted from sprinting over. She was too out of breath to even gasp. “Oh Mother, what has happened to Zoe?”
“She was stabbed in the leg,” Valentin informed her. “I need you to provide me light so I can treat it.”
Gélique nodded and held the torch in a place that gave the best illumination for Zoe’s leg. The wound still slowly oozed blood and the girl muttered something at the sight.
“Apologies for what comes next,” Valentin said sympathetically.
He made work of undoing Zoe’s trousers to gain better access to the wound. He forced his eyes to blind of everything but the injury as he yanked them down to the knees. If he had trusted Gélique’s abilities, he would have had her do all of this herself. However, the girl had no training the apothecary arts and could do more than be a feminine gaze over the process. He hoped that Zoe appreciated how deliberate he was with that choice.
He removed a small jar full of honey from a pouch. Taking off his bloodied glove, he stuck a relatively clean finger into the jar before spreading the substance over Zoe’s wound. The honey infused with carocome saliva should be sufficient to prevent her from dying of infection in a few days.
An awkward silence spread over the trio while Valentin had to wait for the few minutes that Zalavo mandated before wrapping the wound. Zoe had to lie helplessly in that exposed condition. Valentin was upset on her behalf, such a procedure would have been difficult for him as a patient.
“I need to allow the honey to set before wrapping it,” Valentin explained to the confused girl standing behind him. There was no doubt she was internally wondering why her deggan had ceased his work.
“O-of course, De- I mean One,” Gélique stuttered. “I did not believe that you were doing something uncouth.”
Valentin nodded and waited patiently until he felt that a satisfactory amount of time had passed. Then, he rolled up his sleeve and undid the cloth ribbon he had wrapped around his forearm. Wordlessly, he wrapped the cloth tightly around the leg and returned her trousers to their proper arrangement. He hoped that the extra pressure from the clothes would serve to secure the bandages tighter to the wound.
“I’ll carry you out,” Valentin offered to Zoe once he had dressed her and finished his work.
“That’s unnecessary,” Zoe weakly protested.
She did not resist when Valentin pulled her up and placed her on his back. She had enough strength to wrap her arms around his shoulders. A faint breath brushed the back of his neck and tickled his ears.
“You know, I once carried my brother like this in the middle of the night,” Zoe said to no one in particular. “He didn’t make it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but I need you to focus on surviving. Thinking of the dead brings you closer to them,” Valentin requested. “We must make haste, we have wasted enough time here.”
Valentin and Gélique hurried back to where the other four had been nervously waiting. Confusion turned to a mix of horror and relief when they saw Zoe clinging to Valentin’s back. Valentin wordlessly pressed past them with Gélique and the rest quickly turned to follow before they had the time necessary to process what they had seen.
“Zoe, what happened to you?” Kerwin asked. His voice danced between banter and grim worry. “You look terrible.”
“You should see how my enemies look if you think this is terrible,” Zoe replied.
“Will she live?” Laud tried to ask Valentin quietly to spare Zoe from the truth if the answer turned out to be grim.
“She will survive if she wishes to,” Valentin replied. “I am not carrying a corpse. Now, enough talk. We need to make it to the bridge before Ortus stirs.”