“A bit rich coming from you, arsehole,” Fritz drawled out exhausted, far too tired to say something witty. What he wouldn’t give for one of those stamina potions they had found, he should have gotten Jane to leave him one. Anger burnt at the thought of Jane leaving with all those valuable potions but Fritz pulled his tired mind back to the fight. Just in time too as the darkened blades sliced in, one after the other, at his wounded side.
His sword felt heavy in his hand, too heavy. So in desperation, calling upon his reserves of hidden strength, Fritz slung his fish blade at Steve. Haphazardly throwing it like one would a stick for a hound to fetch. I have heard that hounds liked to fetch, haven’t I? His exhausted brain supplied in that strange silliness that came at the edge of mental collapse.
Without the weight of the sword in his hand he felt surprisingly lighter, freer and was able to fling himself backwards, away from the certain death from the oncoming shadowy blades.
There was a clatter and a curse as Quicksilver struck something, hopefully Steve, and Fritz staggered back onto his feet. He searched for anything to help, Sid was still fighting, or really running circles around the hammer man, but nothing else came to his attention.
Fritz focused on the approaching Steve. There was a sheet of blood pouring from his forehead and into one of his eyes and he was breathing hard. It seemed that his fish blade had struck Steve and cut him rather nastily. Well, when I die I’ll have at least left a scar, Fritz mused bitterly.
Fritz brought up his fists, muscle memory and the Arte Pugilist guiding him into a tight, coiled stance. The Technique, I forgot about that, well let's hope that Steve isn’t prepared for this mad-mans attacks. He waited, biding his time, slowly building his stamina and watching for Steve to make an attack. His dazed mind told him that it was all or nothing for his counterattack, that he would have to make it count and then he’d have to finish it.
Fritz didn’t have to wait long. The agitated Steve leapt at him, leading the assault with his sword with no shadowed strikes to be seen. Maybe he’s getting too tired, he has cast a few already, Fritz suspected.
The sword lanced forward, a precise thrust aimed right at Fritz’s heart. Dodging down and to his right, letting the sword slip just above his left shoulder, Fritz quickly grabbed Steve’s other wrist before it could come up and gut him with the dagger. He yanked Steve’s hand down and away nearly jerking the dagger out of his grip. Now relatively sure he couldn't be easily stabbed, Fritz slipped his leg behind Steve’s own, braced for impact and shoulder barged the man, slamming him in the chest, hard.
His shoulder felt like it had shattered, he hit the metal and the shock reverberated into his hacked-up arm as, unfortunately for Fritz, the silver breastplate deflected any real damage. But it wasn’t damage that Fritz was after as he pushed with all his might to knock the rat off his feet. Steve flailed as he toppled over, almost losing his weapons, but maintaining a tight hold of them as he fell to the ground. His breastplate rang like a dull bell as it clanged against the hard stone.
With his quarry lying spreadeagled and stunned at his feet, Fritz noticed the man's forearm lay across the hole he had created earlier. Taking it as a good omen and a great opportunity he stomped down on Steve’s forearm hoping the leverage would aid him. His heavy boot met the man’s arm and with a wet crack, it broke beneath his heel, snapping as if it were plank of rotted wood. Steve screamed and cursed, he flailed slicing at Fritz’s legs with his shadowed dagger.
Fritz sprung away and out of the dagger’s short reach. He stumbled a little in exhaustion but righted himself bringing his hands back up in his coiled stance again, his shoulder and forearm burning in pain. “The dagger Steve, don’t make me kill you, I won't enjoy it,” Fritz threatened projecting his grim determination through the hoarseness of his throat.
“Piss off Fritz! Just leave me be! Why you gotta break my arm?!” Steve screamed as he got gingerly to his feet leaving his sword lying on the floor and letting his broken arm hang limply. “You rich-boy prick, come on then. When I get out of this Spire I’m gonna hunt down your brothers and your sisters, and after I'm done with them they’ll curse the day you were born, that’s if I don’t just cut their throats out before they can scream.”
That was enough for Fritz, whatever he had said about not wanting to kill Steve boiled away as his rage flared. It was one thing to hurt his friends, to hurt Fritz himself, but threatening his family, threatening their peace in their orphanage, that he couldn’t abide, not even for a moment. Fritz saw red and leapt at the man threatening his siblings, throwing himself bodily onto Steve’s gleaming breastplate.
They fell down together, Fritz gaining the upper hand and landing on top of the startled rat-faced man, it seemed Steve hadn’t aligned Strength attributes either. He let the Arte Pugulist guide him, grappling the hand that held that cursed dagger with both of his own hands. He slammed the tightly closed fist into the hard stone, again and again and again, until Steve’s grip loosed and he dropped the bone blade, the shadows that had been gathered around its edge dissipating with a subtle hiss.
Steve screamed in frustration and Fritz screamed back as he let go of the man's wrist and began pummelling his face with a rain of fists. “Don’t... you... ever… threaten...my...family,” Fritz yelled out in rhythm with his blows. Steve’s bloodied head bounced off of the stone, his nose and cheeks cracking, then breaking from the repeated strikes. Fritz didn’t know how long he continued to hit the man, his vision swam, black replaced the red. Then he was lying down unable to move, talk or even think.
As he sank into the dark two bright blue moons came into view, he tried to focus on them but it had become far too hard, the heavy, the dark took him. I’m dead... Mourn me. I’m dead
---
Sid was keeping an eye on Fritz’s fight, looking for an opportunity she could use to help the intense idiot. But she also had her own fight to see to, the hammer man was tough, he obviously had more points in Endurance than she did, but that was okay. Fleet made her far quicker, able to dash away then catch her breath for some moments before the hammer man was within charging range again.
He had some sort of Ability that was preventing her from hitting him cleanly with her arrows, she only had her last arrow left and didn’t want to waste it. The game of cat and mouse continued until she saw Fritz take that sword to his forearm. Sid cursed under her breath and decided to take a risk, she ducked behind a pillar threw down her bow and readied the fin sword Fritz had given her, his first gift to her, she thought oddly as she wrapped the blade in Wind Strike’s power.
The air rustled around the fin sword a subtle twisting of the air could be seen around the edges. I wasn’t going to be as effective as it would have on an arrow, Sid knew from her research, but it would still add something. That something could be enough to turn the fight in her favour or at least she hoped so.
She hid, waiting for the hammer man to stride into view. Sid suspected she had messed up when she heard Fritz and Steve begin to scream at each other, but it just seemed Fritz had made Steve angry. God’s knows he had a talent for that.
As she listened trying to pick out what they were saying, a shadow loomed from behind. She ducked and spun, just like was outlined in the Arte Pugilist, however, she also adapted the Technique by thrusting her fin sword with a twisting motion stabbing at whatever was casting the creeping shadow.
The blade glided easily with the motion, the Wind Strike enhancing its grace and speed, plunging into the side of the hammer man who had attempted to sneak up on her from the pillar's other side. Blood sprayed from the wound as the wind ripped around the blade, tearing flesh and spraying Sid and the pillar with scarlet. The man grunted in pain but brought down his copper hammer anyway, hatred brimming in his pale eyes.
Sid jumped back spluttering and wiping the blood out of her eyes, the first hammer blow came down short missing completely and cracking against the floor and sending stone chips flying. With a gurgling yell, the man holding the gaping hole in his side, turned and fled behind the pillar as Sid had done so before.
Sid knew the fight was over, that wound would bleed heavily, and unless the man had a healing potion or Ability he would be dead within the hour.
It wasn’t the first time Sid had to kill, and it wasn’t even someone she really knew, unlike last time. Sid couldn’t bring herself to care, not at this moment, not now and maybe not ever. It’s just the way things are, reign or be rained on. She told herself, shivering slightly whilst reciting one of Tallie’s favourite sayings.
Cautiously Sid snuck around the other side of the pillar, stalking her prey, she kept the fin blade at the ready and tracked the man through the maze of standing stones, watching the blood trail he left as he fled. She stopped the hunt, Hunt? Really? You’re not a hunter, you’re a thug, when she heard Fritz and Steve screaming bloody murder at each other. Her concern for Fritz got the better of her and she retreated, abandoning the chase to aid the insane rogue.
She needn’t have bothered, ducking around the last pillar hiding Fritz and Steve from her sight, and saw a ghastly tableau. Fritz straddled on top of Steve and pummelling him, caving in his face in with his bare fists, Quicksilver lying a couple of feet away. He was also screaming, not in fear but in pure unabated rage. Through his screaming fury Sid was able to make out the words, “Threaten. My. Family,” yelled in time with his bone-breaking punches.
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Sid watched, it was all she could do, she was stuck in place recalling all the times when her own rage had pushed her into the same violent trance. The times she had beaten someone half to death for crossing her or for getting too close. The difference it seemed was that Fritz wasn’t going to stop at half-dead, no, it looked like he’d only stop when he ran out of that furious fire. Where was this anger, this fight to survive, when I strangled him before?
Sid thought back on the scrap she had fought with Fritz those couple of years ago. Finding the memory tinted in red, like looking through a stained glass window venerating the Jorved of the Red Road.
That’s right, I was furious that night too, he almost got past me, almost one-upped me and I couldn’t let that stand. She remembered creeping up behind him as he snuck, getting her scarf around his neck and garroting the idiot boy. He fought like a cornered rat and she like a rabid dog until he fell unconscious from the lack of air, it’s not like she needed to choke him out though, just less bruises this way. For both of them.
She shook her head dispelling the memory. Seeing Fritz slouch then start to slip to the side, Sid ran to catch him but was too late as he slumped onto the stone with a thud. As she stooped to his side she could hear him whisper something as his dazed eyes stared into the distance, unable to focus on anything.
“What was that? speak up, Fritz,” She softly said.
Fritz’s grey-green eyes saw her then, and he stared into her own eyes intensely, the faintest impression smirk graced his mouth and he whispered.
“Mourn me, I’m dead.”
He fell limp, unconscious and Sid grimaced, shaking her head. What was it Bert had said about Fritz’s declarations of death? He’s always doing this? Was it? His injuries didn’t look too bad apart from the nasty gash in his forearm. As Sid had no healing potions or grease she searched the bodies of Steve and the spearman, he looked familiar but she couldn't recall his name. She shrugged, just another dead gutter rat, she’d seen that far too often to be sad about it.
Opening Steve’s bag she found what she had been searching for, another unsealed half full grease tin. She pulled her arm down in a triumphant gesture a quickly returned to Fritz’s side. Applying the grease liberally to the gash and then what little remained onto his skinless, bruised and probably broken knuckles.
She sat back with a sigh of relief as she finished, waiting for the substance to take effect. She wrapped the injured limb in some strips of cloth, an amateur bandage job compared to Jane’s but it would have to do for now.
Not wanting to waste too much time she continued the looting, the drowned don’t need dinner, reign or be rained on. Or so the sayings went.
She worried about the man she’d let flee, hoping it was the right choice, that he wouldn’t return or take one of the only Doors out. If she had the numbers right she knew that there weren’t enough Doors for all of them, that’s if the horrible voice hadn’t lied.
She hadn’t heard of that happening but this whole Spire was far stranger than it had any right to be. She sighed there were just too many unknowns about the Spires, especially for someone like her, a poor, orphan, thug.
Removing Steve’s breastplate proved annoying work, she had to fiddle with the latches until they became unclasped. Then pull the armour open like a trap door, leaving her finally to tip out Steve’s corpse and the blood that had been pooling in the back. It was disgusting, to say the least.
She began to clean the armour of its blood stains, using a little of her water and a couple of rags she had scavenged here and there. In the midst of her cleaning she heard a thundering thudding noise then another. It reminded her of the sound the Upper Ring’s portcullis made when slamming shut just louder, far louder.
Sid got to her feet and looked out over the plains, she couldn’t make out anything new or odd, but there was something different. She just couldn’t tell what. She spat in frustration and returned to where Fritz lay, looking him over once to check if he was breathing. He was. She exhaled, weariness heavy on her breath, stretched her tight shoulders and got back to work, looting and cleaning the loot. Same old, same old.
“You better wake up soon, Fritz, I’m not gonna wait for you.”
---
Fritz woke up, some great thunder had struck and he was afraid he was in a storm. A storm was deadly if you didn’t have shelter, especially so in Rain City, you could easily be washed away with the other detritus in the torrential flooding and no one would miss you, not in the Sunken Ring.
He glanced around in fear, but feeling no rain or cold he began to get control of his rapid breathing. No storm, not in the Sunken Ring, in a Spire. Much better, he thought sarcastically but not altogether untruthfully.
He made to sit up but his head swam so he let himself lie there, just for a moment. Then a moment or two more. His hands ached terribly, especially his left. He squeezed his fingers into a fist, testing for anything broken, but just found his muscles tight and swollen. A cool numbing sensation was seeping into his knuckles so he waited for the healing grease to work its healing.
He lay there for some minutes nauseated by the coppery smell of blood and the sour-sweet smell of that healing grease. He must have had at least a bucket of the stuff applied to him by now, and who put it on me this time? Must have been Sid, I’m so glad I voted him into our climbing team, Fritz mused surreptitiously rewriting history.
Fritz heard the scraping of boots returning to a spot a couple of feet where he lay. Heard Sid messing with some metallic object, probably Steve’s breastplate. Fritz decided to keep resting his eyes, not planning anything nefarious like playing a small joke on Sid, no, nothing like that at all. It took some control to stop himself from giggling like an idiot and giving his game away.
He heard Sid sigh, then in a soft almost cute voice said, “You better wake up soon Fritz, I’m not gonna wait for you.”
Delighted at such an obvious cue Fritz immediately replied, “Watch out you almost sounded like you cared.” Out of one eye, Fritz saw Sid startle then curse under his breath.
“I don’t care, Fritz. You’re just Bert’s best chance to get out of here. And I owe him,” Sid responded gruffly as he hid his shock, poorly.
“I see, I see, all for Bert. Paying back a debt, lucky guy,” Fritz said disbelievingly, smirking at Sid.
“Are you just going to lie there forever? I wasn’t lying when I said I won't wait around for you,” Sid said, polishing the last of the blood off of the silver breastplate, and looking into its mirror sheen with a satisfied smile.
“Sure, sure getting up. Such a strict nurse, I’m not sure if I like it or not,” Fritz teased, sitting up with a little vertigo, it wasn’t so bad as to keep him down this time, but he could not quite stand yet. From his seated position he searched the area and immediately noticed something ominous.
“Uh Sid, that thunder wasn’t just me hallucinating was it?” He asked the man now fastening the latches of the silver breastplate he now wore. Fritz had to admit it looked good on him, in a shining knight sort of way.
“No, I heard it too. I don’t know what it was though, someone's Ability?” Sid replied offhandedly standing, stretching and checking how the armour fit.
“Was it two blasts?” Fritz asked apprehension settling in his chest.
“Yes, why? Is that important?” Sid smiled absently as he swept his fin blade through the air, seeing that the breastplate barely weighed him down or restricted his movements.
Fritz stiffed a gulp as he looked at those bright green-blue lights at the end of the floor, two of the six had disappeared. “I’d say so, two of the Doors are gone, probably closed.”
Sid stopped in his tracks then let out a hissing breath of anger, “How did I not realise that? I need to move, only four Doors left.”
Fritz’s stomach dropped, he ran the numbers quickly in his mind. Two down, Toby and Jane? Can't see who else it could be. Three more are needed for Veronica, Lynn and Naomi. Two more for Bert and Sid and one for me. He reasoned rapidly, coming to the conclusion that even if none of Steve’s crew went through a Door, there would be two of them left behind.
To die.
Maybe we’ll draw reeds or something?
Fritz looked at Sid, watching him closely, suspiciously. Would Sid betray me? Kill me right here? No that didn’t make any sense. Why waste all that precious grease? How far can I trust Sid? Do I even have a choice but to trust him?
From the cast of Sid’s face, Fritz could tell that the man was asking the same sort of questions, he stared hard at Fritz, taking a few seconds to make up his mind.
Sid strode over to where Fritz sat, fin blade in hand and a serious, dark look etched into his fine features. He loomed over Fritz and stared down, bright blue eyes bored into Fritz’s, in that moment he knew that his life was in held the balance. Weak as he was, he retreated to his last bastion, his disarming charm, let’s hope it works this time.
He met Sid’s glare with his most ingratiating smile.