Axeton stopped behind the Quinns’ house, one of the last residential buildings before reaching the village square. There wasn’t anyone inside, but if there were any posted lookouts, they’d be watching windows, so Axeton had to still be careful. He got close to the ground and peeked around the corner of the house. The church was still standing, a scant ring of men around it. Some were dressed in the Grenfield blues, others seemed to be bandits or thieves, with no real uniformity to them.
There was still no sign of Dorian, but Axeton knew that meant nothing. The man’s ability to disguise himself was second to none, and was known for infiltrating his own ranks to weed out anyone he didn’t feel was worthy of being in the Knights. He also held the Gift of Leadership, was extremely useful at Grenfield; it allowed him to almost control anyone once he established himself as their superior. Axeton hadn’t seen his old master in over ten years, but knew that he had to tread carefully.
The priest stood up and was about to take a step towards the square when his hand subconsciously rose up to deflect the sunlight gleaming off the Bell of Avara, which it did every time he approached the church at around this time of day. But something was different; he hadn’t been blinded. Axeton looked up the small, boxy tower that protruded from the far end of the church, and the Bell was gone.
Damn, he thought. I thought I had more time.
Axeton also looked around, and was stunned. Despite Tommen telling him that Baron Estes told everyone to meet at the church, there was no sign of any people at all. In a village of two hundred or so people, they wouldn’t have all been able to fit in the church at the same time, not even counting any guards in there with them to make sure they didn’t try anything. The courtyard in front of the beloved church house was completely bare.
Maybe some escaped, and the rest were inside, the priest thought. He began to formulate a plan, thinking about what he had at his disposal, then remembered.
When he had first stumbled into town and before his house was built, Axeton had to live in the church house for about a year. In that time, he made himself familiar with every square inch of the property in case he had to make a quick getaway. In the room he used, there was a hidden tunnel behind some loose stones near a bookshelf. He prayed to Avara that Dorian and his bandits didn’t find it. The room has been used for storage since he moved out, mostly blankets, candlesticks, and hymnals, so it shouldn’t be an attractive place to loot. He could sneak in, eavesdrop on whoever was in charge, and hopefully get some people out. The residents of the village had to be there.
The only problem was, the tunnel ended just before the river that ran about 300 yards past the church house, which was being patrolled by alert enemies. Axeton didn’t have time to go to the edge of town and follow the river to get into the tunnel; he needed a distraction.
The house he was currently hiding in wasn’t attached to a store front, but it did have the typical things a family would have inside: food, toys, clothes…and all of it flammable. He created a long trail of these items, end to end, leading to a pile quietly made of chairs, thick bedding, and all the lamp oil he could find. He lit the end and hopped out the window, giving himself a wide berth of the house while still trying to remain hidden.
The church house was just in front of Axeton, to the left. He skirted his side of the road, getting as far away from the Quinn's home as he could. The houses were more of the same as he went; empty. Some even had lunch still on the table. Weapons, at least what little weapons the small village had, were still inside. The priest met no resistance as he scuttled from house to house before a blast of hot air erupted from where he had left his fire going.
Axeton looked back briefly. The force had blown out the windows of the Quinn’s home, and smoke was boiling out of every fresh hole the explosion had made. He hoped that the sweet family that owned the home would forgive him for what he had to do, if they were even still alive.
The bandits and recruits stood confused for a moment, before one of them seemed to collect himself and take control. Axeton couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, but his rigid gesturing towards the burning house, then towards a cluster of his underlings removed several of them that were in the priest’s way. While they were all distracted, he looked to his right, verified that there was no one there, then bolted across the street.
The smell of smoke started to waft towards Axeton’s nose. He looked carefully across the street, noticing that the blaze had jumped to another house. He watched the Greenfield recruits and bandits scrambling to check the houses nearby for any remaining loot before they burned.
Axeton passed the stables on his way past the church. The few horses the town had, mostly large plowhorses, were very upset and making a lot of noise. Seeing Axeton calmed them down for a moment, but they soon started whinnying loudly again. The noise wouldn’t have spooked them for this long, he thought. They must have the same uneasy feeling that I do about what’s going on.
He looked around. The stable boy, an older teen named Jaxx, was of course nowhere to be seen. Axeton had known the boy for a long time, and knew that if the horses were stressed, he would be there to help.
Axeton carefully made his way towards the river, the sound of the water rushing through, and the sweet smell told him I was close.
Suddenly, he heard a sharp, gruff bout of laughter and froze, before ducking behind a tree. Peering around it, Axeton saw three bandits, not Grenfield recruits, standing or sitting at the river. They were mere feet away from the hidden church entrance and they didn’t even notice. One had his boots off, soaking his feet. Another was napping, and a third was stalking through bushes, scavenging for berries. The sound of the river must have masked the explosion, because they seemed to not have a care in the world.
THEY’RE IN THE WAY the angry voice reasoned.
Yes, but I could distract them, he argued. The priest’s mind was getting further and further away from the peaceful life he preferred, and this voice wasn’t making it any easier.
WITH WHAT? The voice replied. THIS IS YOUR EXIT. YOU CAN’T DRAW ATTENTION HERE. KILL THEM.
But three at once? Axeton worried.
YOU’VE WORKED WITH WORSE, the voice consolidated.
Axeton knew the voice was right, as much as it pained him to admit it. If these three men had to die, it was a price to pay to secure the lives of hundreds of his friends and family.
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He took a deep breath, calming his nerves as he carefully and quietly unsheathed his blade. The river at this point was surrounded by trees, so Axeton didn’t have to worry about the sun catching the flat side of his blade and betraying his position.
He got down low, turning the sword’s hilt so the wicked inner edge was facing inward as he held it in his upturned fist. Grenfield didn’t teach a Stance like this, anything that had to do with subterfuge was severely frowned upon. This…he learned from Dorian himself. Ironic that three of his men would die when he used it.
Flexing the fingers in his left hand, he slowly approached the napping bandit, who had propped himself up against a tree with a hat over his eyes. Axeton reached the same tree from the opposite side, then quickly reached around the trunk. Jerking his left arm back, he hooked the man’s neck in the crook of that arm, and he immediately started spurting out a choked, gagging wheeze. Axeton pulled his arm up, straightening his torso, then plunged the sharp tip of his sword into the bandit’s chest, just below the sternum. He tried in vain to grab him with his arms, but he couldn’t get an angle and his strength waned quickly. Axeton thought he was done fighting when the man started kicking the gravel under his feet.
Axeton cursed, then released the bandit as he continued to kick. He hurriedly scurried past him, climbing over the mound covering the hidden entrance and dropping onto the ground on the other side of it.
“Heph, stop stomping over there you idiot. If we’re caught screwing around, we…”
The priest had landed within feet of the scavenger, his back turned to him. The sound of his landing on discarded twigs had startled him mid-sentence, and he turned around. He saw Axeton, his shirt held out in front of himself as a makeshift bowl, his eyes wide.
The priest and the scavenger stared at each other for a small moment, the gravely kicking of the dying fellow bandit slowing down. He looked at Axeton’s sword, which he had brought forward as part of the beginning of Stance Seven, blood dripping down the edge and onto the steel grip of his knuckles. His eyes shifted to the sword, then in the direction of the bandit still in the river, then to Axeton’s other hand, which he brought up into a single finger that touched his lips. He nodded, his own lips and chin quivering.
The bandit swallowed dryly and took a sharp breath inward. He quietly muttered, in a harsh whisper, with his nose gesturing towards the village.
“Is…I…what do you want…?” He begged.
Axeton’s anger made his voice hard to control.
“I want to know where everyone in town is, as well as the Bell of Avara. I know Dorian is trying to steal it.” Axeton seethed, looking for an excuse to kill this man sooner.
The man looked confused.
“We came for a Destined Object, “he replied. “A really, really old one. But it was supposed to be a smash and grab, no one had to get hurt”.
Axeton winced at the memory of Tommen, dying in the mud. He pulled the blade closer to the scavenger.
“That doesn’t sound like a plan he would make,” Axeton corrected angrily. “WHERE. IS. EVERYONE?”
The man’s demeanor changed, from scared to apathetic and wistful.
“Look, I don’t know who you are, or what’s going on, but we don’t know where everyone is,” he answered, frustrated. “Last time I saw any townsfolk, their dirty asses were being led to that ugly church in the middle of town. My commander said to go hang out by the river and wait for instructions, so that’s what we did.”
Axeton glared at his face for signs of lying. His eyes widened slightly, then shifted violently to my left. The priest tilted his head in that direction and heard a crunch.
Ducking down, Axeton’s head barely passed under a horizontal blade strike that came from behind; River boy had tried to sneak up on him. The priest pulled himself back up as he heard the scavenger let loose his shirt’s payload and go running, stumbling through the riverside grass and bushes. Axeton answered the attack from his flank with a heavy strike using the backside of his sword. It clanged against his cross guard and the shock caused him to drop his weapon. The other one is going to go get help, Axeton panicked. I can’t let him .
Axeton picked up a smooth river rock, took aim at the fleeing bandit, and snapped the rock towards him, hitting him in the back of the head with a sick, wet thud. He went down and stayed there.
He spun around to the only enemy left, catching him as he entered Stance Six: Thorrack. He spun his long, flat, two-handed sword in a small arc over his head, ending with the blade held just off his right shoulder. He pulled the blade down in another horizontal slash with his left arm to guide it, the thin metal shimmering and trembling dangerously as it cut the air inches from Axeton’s chest.
A Wavesteel blade. Shit, Axeton swore. I always hated sparring against those. The metal’s movement is too unpredictable, the best things to do are to either dodge and wait for an opening or run. And I can’t run now.
The priest stutter-stepped quickly forward, his blade poking out towards the enemy, testing his defenses. He deftly hopped back. Damn, he’s fast, Axeton thought. He answered Axeton’s prodding attack by removing his right hand from his sword’s hilt and with lightning speed, punched towards his head. It caught him in the chin, turning his head and dazing him as he regained his grip and steadied his feet.
He slowly began to circle the blade around his head again, whipping it faster and faster as he took steps towards Axeton. Using the momentum he had generated, he kept lashing out, the snake-like movements of the chaotic steel getting closer with each strike. Axeton was in retreat, backing up and waiting for an opening, hoping he didn’t run out of land.
Suddenly, Axeton’s foot slipped on a rock and his leg gave out from under him. He slammed into the ground, his right arm twisting as he tried to prevent himself from being skewered by his own sword as he fell. The arm hit at a bad angle, and Axeton felt it pop out of the shoulder socket. Grunting with pain, Axeton caught the bandit trying to close the gap, bringing his steel around for a final snap to finish him off.
With his dueling arm in no condition to defend, the priest reached out with his other arm, grabbed a handful of river sand, and threw it in his enemy’s face. He reeled, spattering and coughing, his eyes watering. The blade fell to his side as he turned his arms around to rub the sand away. Axeton sprung up from a low crouch and tackled him square in the chest. Forcing the air from his lungs and pinning him to the ground, he pulled his knee up to keep him pinned and started punching him in the side of the head.
Each of Axeton’s strikes was like slamming his fist into a brick wall.
He must have a Fortitude Gift, Axeton thought.
After a few blows, he recoiled as the pain from hitting the man’s head overwhelmed his fist. Axeton’s opponent used this opening to bring an arm forward, the Wavesteel blade’s shimmering steel trailing quickly behind. Axeton instinctively brought his arm up to defend, and was rewarded with a thin, but thankfully shallow, cut along the back of his arm.
The man smirked at finally connecting with his weapon, then tried to kick Axeton off while he continued to wildly swing his sword in my direction. Axeton leaned back, then stomped hard on his hand, forcing the man to release the blade as he let out a sharp grunt. As soon as he stopped kicking to focus more on getting his weapon back, Axeton snatched his wrists and pivoted his own legs, his boots jutting into the enemy’s throat. His wheezing became raspier and raspier as he ran out of air, Axeton could feel his teeth violently chattering as his jaw struggled in vain to find a way to intake just one more breath. He finally went limp, and Axeton rolled off into the sand, panting hard.
FINISH IT, the angry voice implored with a sadistic pleasure.
Axeton huffed, not wanting to kill an unconscious man. The voice was not pleased.
ARE WE REALLY DOING THIS AGAIN? YOU CAN’T AFFORD TO WASTE TIME TYING HIM UP, OR RISK HIM ESCAPING TO WARN THE OTHERS.
The voice was right, he had to do it. At least the man wouldn’t be awake for this.
Getting up from the ground and dusting himself off, Axeton began kicking him, flipping him end over end along his side until he splashed into the water, face down. The priest grimaced as the man began choking reflexively, unable to save himself from drowning. The breathing eventually stopped, and Axeton turned to check on the last bandit he had dispatched temporarily with a rock.
The gatherer, as it turned out, had met a relatively peaceful end as well. The rock Axeton threw knocked him out cold, where he had fallen and hit his head on a rock. He had died before he hit the ground.
Axeton pressed a finger to the man’s neck and confirmed his findings, before returning to the hidden tunnel entrance. It was a small door, surrounded by rocks on all sides and covered in an overgrowth of ivy. He pulled the ivy away, revealing the ancient door before stepping inside.