Chapter 12: A Knightly Oath

Jace “Quickshot” Leál

Ayla backed away when I walked toward her, and I could see the fear in her eyes as she retreated into the dark.

I tried to breathe, to calm myself. My adrenaline still surged from what I’d just done. All the emotions I always put aside until the job was finished, came at me all at once.

I realized I was scowling at Ayla, angry that because of her, I had to kill my friend, and people who had offered me hospitality and aid. They were my comrades, people who I’d fought alongside and trusted to have my back. And they had trusted I had theirs.

Ayla must have sensed that rage. As soon as I became aware of it, I let it go. It wasn’t her fault. It was theirs.

“Ayla. I’m sorry.” I holstered my weapon, eager to get my hand away from the grip, slick with blood. Then I wiped it on my pant leg. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

“You killed them.” Ayla’s voice trembled. I could see her dark blue eyes reflected by the campfire. They were wet. Her voice was frail, soft, vulnerable in a way I’d never heard before. “You killed them without a second thought. Your own people.”

“They were going to hurt you. Whatever our history, I couldn’t let that happen. Marcus would have enthralled me if I hesitated.” I tried to make my voice gentle, despite my feelings.

I had many memories of fighting alongside Marcus. He was older, always making sure to take care of me like an older brother. We’d saved each other’s lives many times. But I don’t remember him being the kind of man who would use his power to take advantage of others. Had he always been that way, and had I just been blind to it? Or had he changed drastically since the time after the war?

I let out a weary sigh. It didn’t matter anymore.

“Come out of the dark. We need to get cleaned up and deal with the bodies before something comes looking for an easy meal and decides we look good too.” It was a weak attempt at levity.

Ayla didn’t stir right away, but she eventually did after I struggled to move the bodies with just one hand. Together, we made a makeshift sled with a piece of tarp and dragged the corpses one by one, two hundred meters downwind, guided by Ayla’s superior night vision.

To say we were exhausted when it was done would be a gross understatement. The exertion made it so I couldn’t even feel the cold, but I knew that wouldn’t last. After adding more wood to the fire, I collapsed on my bedroll and pulled a blanket over me. I wanted to be done with this night, and find the oblivion of sleep.

I was surprised when Ayla dragged her bedroll beside mine and, grabbing my shirt, pressed herself against me, burying her head into my chest. Then she wept. “You killed them because of me. They were your friends.”

Not knowing what else to do, I hesitantly wrapped my arm around her. “Not my friends. Not anymore.” I could hear my choked voice, and I knew she could hear it too. It hurt more than I wanted it to. And now that the adrenaline was gone, and the business of moving bodies was done, it all came flooding into me. With great difficulty, I pushed it all back into the black box in my mind.

Why was the world the way it was? Why did I keep getting dragged into situations where I had to kill? Would violence follow me for the rest of my life? Why were so many people quick to evil when they thought there wouldn’t be consequences—or when the consequences might be skirted through trickery or violence?

In Valenheim, there was a writer, I think his name was Fyodor. He said, “If there is no God, then everything is permitted.” I do not believe in God. Why, then, am I the way I am? How is it that I could believe in dignity and common decency while so many acted as if those things didn’t even exist at all?

With those thoughts ringing in my head like somber funeral bells, I employed an old breathing technique Mira once taught me to summon sleep. It wasn’t until Ayla’s breathing slowed and I knew she had fallen asleep that finally, oblivion took me.

I awoke at dawn to the smell of cooking meat. Ayla squatted by two pots set by the rebuilt fire, stirring them with a wooden spoon.

My muscles were stiff from last night’s grim workout. I got up and stretched. My arm was starting to feel much better. I could already stretch it out and flex it so long as I did so slowly, and my fingers were more nimble. My accelerated healing, thanks to the Soul Brand, was doing its job.

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I squatted down next to Ayla. “You alright?”

Ayla looked at me evenly, nodding slightly. Gone was the vulnerable woman from last night. She was all rough edges again, but without the hate that had once accompanied everything she said and did. “That one’s yours.” She pointed at the right pot. “I’d like to move on as soon as we can. I…don’t want to stay here any longer than needed.”

“That’s fine. Neither do I.”

She ate hot gruel seasoned with cinnamon, not much different from what she’d eaten every day. While mine was reheated stew from last night. I hadn’t eaten last night. My hunger made it easier to forget the man who made the stew.

We packed everything worth taking into the back of the wagon. The weapons would be particularly valuable. They’d fetch a pretty penny once we got to Tempest.

We tied two of the three extra Striders—all of which Ayla had already fed and watered—on either side of the wagon, and secured the last one behind.

Then we both climbed on to the buckboard. I took the reins, and we were off. The site of the bloody massacre I’d wrought left behind.

Ayla was different around me. If we hadn’t been traveling for weeks, I might not have noticed the difference, but I had. The constant tension in her shoulders was gone, her eyes when she looked at me no longer contained the ever present shadow of mistrust.

It wasn’t long before she opened up and asked me something that weighed heavy on her mind.

“Jace, what are you planning to do with me?”

I smiled. She had asked me this question many times, but this was the first time she was ready to hear my answer and believe me. “Nothing. I’ll take you to an enclave, or find a party of elves as soon as we get out of the Waste.”

I could feel Ayla’s gathering intensity until at last she asked: “Do you swear you have no ill intentions toward me or my people?”

“Aye, I swear. So have I said, may it be so.”

Ayla shook her head. “I do not have any gift that will bind you to your words. But I am pleased to hear you say it.” She took a deep breath to calm herself, then let it out slowly and gazed into mine with her unfathomable blue eyes. “I’d like to trust you.” She surprised me greatly with her forcefulness. “I do not understand why you chose my dignity over your comrades’ lives, when doing so must have been difficult. Even so, you have been more reliable than some of my own kind at times, and I will no longer question your motives.”

“It was no more difficult than doing the right thing ever is. At any rate, thank you kindly, princess.”

Ayla glared at me, her cheeks turning red. “Just because I have said I trust you, does not give you permission to call me a princess. I am no such thing.”

I grinned. “I beg to differ. If I am the knight who rescued you. You are the maiden. That makes me the hero and you the princess.”

Ayla scoffed and barked a laugh. “I have lived over a century. I hope you do not truly believe I am a maiden.”

I scowled, trying to drive away the warmth crawling up my neck as my mind went places. “That isn’t the point of the… You know what? Never mind.”

During the final two days of our journey out of the Waste, we talked about many things. Ayla told me of Tyrna, and the many enclaves she’d lived in since the war, last of which was Verdanveil. She told me of her sister, of her role as a devotee of Danu, and her desire to reach the Great God Tree of Danu.

“The priestess of Verdanveil told us there are still God Trees beyond the Waste. I seek the Godtrail, so that I may petition Danu directly.”

“You think you can literally talk to your goddess at this God Tree?” I tried to keep the skepticism out of my voice, but it was no use.

She frowned at me. “I don’t expect a faithless person to understand.” Ayla meant it, but once again, I was surprised by the lack of bite to her words.

“So where is this enclave?” I asked. “East isn’t exactly very specific.”

Ayla shifted in her seat. “I do not know.”

“Well that’s helpful.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I propose that when we reach Tempest, we’ll try to gather information. Mayhap someone could point us to any nearby elf activity.

“You’ll need to keep your headwrap on tight, and wear it low to conceal your ears. You can keep my cloak as well. As far as anyone knows, you’re just another Valenheim exile trying to make a life out east. If anyone asks, just tell them you don’t like talking about your past. That won’t be a strange answer out here. Anyone who presses, just stare at them until they give up.”

Ayla’s eyebrow arched. “Does that really work?”

“Like a charm.”

The kilometers melted away. Slowly, we climbed higher, the terrain becoming greener, trickling streams becoming more frequent. The road became more distinct, and we began to pass small settlements and farming communities. Any people outside watched us warily as we passed.

Then there were other wagons and travelers coming from the north and south, joining alongside us. Some were friendly folk who called out to us and waved, asking for news from out west when I told them where we came from. Many were surprised that we’d taken the route through the Valley of Death.

As dusk began to descend, we saw the city in the distance, its many lights like a twinkling storm nestled in the heart of the basin. Tempest rose on the horizon, a patchwork of repurposed materials slowly giving way to fresh stonework, evidenced by the construction along its edges. The shadow of death was behind us. We had no way of knowing what challenges lay ahead.