Stormfyre Chapter 27

Good day and welcome back to Stormfyre! We're finally nearing the end of this novel (about nine chapters left) as I make ready to post Dragonmarch chapter 2: Misery & Hope. I do hope that everyone following along is enjoying Stormfyre. I can't believe how long its been since I wrote this! Anyhow, I digress. Please, continue reading, and I look forward to posting the remaining chapters of Stormfyre for your reading pleasure.

           

           The ship that Benmont travelled on made several stops along the coast of Umbriel. In the weeks that followed it docked for more passengers at the village of Cantam, on a peninsula north west of Twin Port. Then it came to Kehl Amon, and Fahl after that, where a strange rough looking man boarded that was too interested in everything as far as Benmont was concerned. Trying to avoid him was no easy task, but he found respite with Diela Shar. The noble woman often shared meals with him in the galley and took walks with him on deck, even though Benmont hated being amidst so many people he tolerated it, for her sake, if nothing else. Ferrin remained scarce. He had become more accustomed to travel on the sea, but was still queasy and often became sick for little or no reason. Diela thought that Ferrin was delightful company, even when she went missing a broach that she had been wearing in her hair, or a bracelet of gold that adorned her wrist. Benmont would then spend part of the night hunting the little thief down and berating him about how little he cared to be thrown overboard because he was in the company of a thief.

            But Benmont had to admit that Ferrin really was congenial company compared to Alanz. The young noble man from the north seemed to develop quite a dislike for Benmont, no matter how he tried to be civil with the man. He gathered that Alanz was jealous of the fact that Diela chose to be in Benmont's company most of the time, and not his. After time Benmont began to spend more time with her simply to anger him. He wasn't spending so much time with her because he cared for her. He didn't think that he could care for anyone else, save for family.

            During the nights when only a skeleton crew ran the deck of the ship Verion would come to him and teach him more of how to wield the quarter staff. Benmont had to admit that he did take to it much better than the blade. Each night he seemed to return to his cabin with less bruises. But he was still as exhausted as ever, dropping into his cot and sinking into a deep sleep before he could even take his boots off.

            On a starless night when heavy waves rocked the boat, Benmont dreamed that Father Alohm had come to him, told him that he had to waste no time but head north the very moment that they docked in Diez. He told him to ask Verion to lead the way to a city called Shiemin. There they would rejoin them. Benmont remembered fear in that dream. There could be no way that the father would appear to him like that unless he was dead.

            But there was the healing to keep in mind. Benmont had the Black Fever when Damien found him. With nothing more than a simple prayer he healed the youth, pulling the dread sickness from his body like some strange bloodletting.

            "The priest came to you while you slept," Verion explained to him one night while they were practicing. The ship had just passed a large, placid bay, cornering a series of stony cliffs that looked like black walls in the night. Sailors told that there were large slabs of sheet stone in the water near the cliffs, and to detour far around them was the only way to avoid skinning the bottom of the vessel and risking sinking into the ocean. Many ships had been lost in that bay over the last two centuries when a port city was built there. The city was ruins now, only gutted housings and overgrown walks to show that humans had ever attempted to dwell there. Verion told the sailor in his plain tone that only humans would even attempt such a feat to begin with. The sailor laughed and clapped the centiant on the back, telling him that he was probably right.

            "And you don't find that strange?" Benmont argued after the sailor continued his stride along the rail of the ship.

            "Holy men are capable of many things. The shamans in my tribe can call to nature. Water and even the air itself will form to their will. Such is the strength of their conviction."

            "Tribe? You never speak of your people, Verion. Do you not have a family to return to?"

            "I do. In the south where the forest is so great that no human would dare explore it lie my people. I have a brother, his name is Raisha. My wife also waits for me. I cannot return to the Council of Stone before I have repaid the father for freeing me, however. That was my vow and I will not take back my word. Therefore I will lead you to the city of Shiemin. I know where it lies."

            "You...have a wife!?"

            "I do," Verion replied, smiling at the naivety that Benmont's face portrayed. "You will marry too, one day. All humans do, when they find a life mate, one to share the burden of living in this world. Perhaps you have already found her."

            "What are you talking about?" Benmont asked, his face slowly changing to a deep shade of red. Verion's smile never wavered.

            "I have noticed you with this Diela Shar that you seem to favor so much. Ferrin thinks that you look well together. Do not grow angry when one speaks his mind, Benmont Grimnight. She is desirable, so far as humans go. You would do worse to find a different mate."

            "A mate?" Benmont nearly screamed. He knew his face was burning with embarrassment. That damn centiant was getting a laugh out of making him play the fool. Damn him! Struggling with his rage, he breathed in and out until he thought he could control the fire in his chest. If Alanz couldn't get a rise from him with his petty jabs, then he wasn't about to let Verion do it.

            "You humans grow agitated about strange things. Perhaps I have been incorrect in my assumption that you are fond of her. Humans are hard to tell in that fashion."

            "Perhaps," Benmont agreed, his voice guttural.

            "I think we will dock in two days. We will take the father's advice and trek north. I am sure that Ferrin will be glad to set foot off this ship. Will you?"

            "Why wouldn't I be?" Benmont questioned, his tone ice even as his face burned.

            "Good," Verion stated without giving Benmont another look. "Be ready to travel then. Sleep well this last night. I will inform Ferrin, knowing how much trouble he has been causing you. I will see you on the dock." Verion left and Benmont spun around, slumping down on the rail, holding his head in his hands. If Verion's words were false like he knew them to be, why did he react so? His mother always told him that a liar grows defensive when confronted with the lie. Growling, he pushed away from the rail and made his way to the stairs. A good night's sleep sounded alright to him.

            He was almost to the stairs when he heard the whistle of an arrow streaking toward him. Reacting on impulse, Benmont dropped to his knees and rolled off to the left, bringing him behind several wooden barrels that were lines up on deck. A second arrow struck the middle barrel, making it wobble, but Benmont kept it straight up with an open hand. What was going on? More assassins? How did King Steelbreeze get influence out here? Verion told him that the king of Dagoth had a wizard in his council, in secret at least.

            Pushing thoughts from his mind, Benmont rolled away again, quarter staff in hand. He stood straight behind a mast; waiting with baited breath for one of his would be killers to make a move. A shadow came to life ahead of him. A man dressed in a heavy cowl and knee high boots raised a long bladed dagger and let it fly for Benmont's head. The big youth ducked and rolled, standing less than six feet from the man and bringing the staff down hard. Just as the dagger impacted into the mast point first Benmont found his mark, nearly breaking the staff over the man's head and dropping him in one blow. Not bothering to discover the identity of the man he fell into shadows, trying to conceal himself as he heard a bow string being notched. He could barely see a second man atop the captain's cabin, long bow swiveling this way and that, looking for a target to fire on. He was too far for the staff, and didn't dare yell for help, so he did the wisest thing he could think of. He waited.

            A sailor made his way along the walk to the right side of the sailing ship when the assassin noticed him, letting the shaft fly at him before the sailor came too close to Benmont. The sailor wheeled around but failed to dodge the lethal attack, taking the shaft right through his neck. He grasped in vain at the feathered end as blood frothed on his lips and he toppled backward into the sea. The assassin notched another arrow into place as he climbed down from the cabin's roof. Benmont sucked in a sharp breath of air and leapt forward as fast as his legs could propel him, moving without a cry as he jumped the barrels that he had used for cover only a moment ago. The assassin seemed taken aback, wheeling the arrow around as fast as he could manage but the large youth put his staff in the way, blocking the bow. The shock of the impact caused the man to let the arrow fly, sending it safely over the side of the deck. The assassin twisted the bow in his hand, using the string and the bow itself to bind Benmont's staff and send him stumbling back with a quick shove.

            Lowering his center of gravity, Benmont wrenched the bow out of the man's hands, sending it flying it behind him into the darkness. The assassin pulled out a slim long sword from one of the folds of his cloak, brandishing it as he moved forward to meet Benmont. Sword and staff collided three times. Benmont held the staff in both hands the way Verion had shown him to make it easy to deflect the cutting edge of the long sword. After the forth strike the assassin took Benmont retaliated, pushing the blade nearly to the deck with one end while he brought the other end in and clipping the man in the face. A muffled cry rang from the assassin as he fell hard to the deck, using one hand to keep himself up even as he fought to keep hold of the sword he carried. Speckles of blood trailed onto the deck as he rolled from a clubbing attack. Benmont cut the attack short when he saw the man move away, spinning with it and then stabbing as his foe stood straight. Another grunt escaped the assassin’s lips as he doubled over, the length of the quarter staff finding him square in the stomach.

            Not knowing quite where to strike next, Benmont dropped the staff and axe handled the man on the back, knocking him flat against the deck. He doubled up one of his fists and brought it down hard on the back of the man's skull, listening with grim satisfaction as it crunched under the force of his blow. With barely enough time to stand, he was struck across the back, searing pain making him scream. Pitching over the man he had just felled, Benmont sought to roll with the blow but fell flat on his back, grinding his teeth while the pain fought to claim him. With a pain filled cry Benmont rose to confront the last of his attackers. The man had a long sword, the edge wet with Benmont's blood even as he felt cold wetness spreading down his back, staining his vest and breeches. The assassin lunged forward and swung in a lengthwise arc, nearly gutting Benmont as he fell against the mast where the crow's nest was. Another stroke came flashing for him, but Benmont leaned away, letting the glistening edge find the mast instead of his neck. He dropped and punched, taking the man in the chest, forcing him back. The assassin dropped back with the attack, bringing a booted foot up and kicking him on the jaw and dropping him. Blood seeping from his mouth, Benmont ran a hand along his chin. He sneered at the man that poised his blade to impale him.

            "Go ahead! Do it!" Benmont screeched at him. But the man suddenly went slack and dropped the sword out of nerveless hands where it stuck point first into the deck. He fell over backward, red blossoming on his chest before he stopped moving. Another figure came out from the shadows behind him, sheathing a short sword he wore strapped to his side. Benmont fancied that it was the same strange man that had come aboard when they docked at Fahl.

            "My pardon," the man told him, "But here I was enjoying my nightly walk along deck when I hear the sound of battle. Three against one hardly seemed like fair odds to me, so I decided that I would help you. I hope you didn't find that insulting?"

            "I'm bleeding," Benmont informed him.

            "So you are," the man stated as he nodded his head. "That might be a problem. You there!" the man shouted to one of the sailors that were closing cargo doors near the poop deck, "Are blind as well as deaf? A man has been attacked here and needs our help! Stop what you're doing and come here!"

            Benmont was about to voice thanks to the man when a filmy blackness fell over him. He closed his eyes slowly, feeling the pain slip farther from him. It was a pleasant feeling, the blackness. Then there was nothing.

           

            Benmont awoke with a start, sitting up on his bed and tossing the sheets back. His chest was covered with bandaging, fresh from the feel of them. He was in a bedroom of some kind, complete with a dresser and wash basin. His clothes were hanging from the back of a chair at the corner of the room, pressed and washed, smelling of vanilla, much the same way Diela did when she sat for lunch with him in the galley. But this was not the ship. He could see out a window near his bed. The sun was nearing its peak, and there was an immense brick building only thirty feet or so from the window. He was a city. Diez, he hoped, unless that rough looking fellow kidnapped and took him elsewhere. With the way his luck ran he wouldn't doubt it.

            He lay back on the bed, feeling stiff and sore from the wound on his back. At least he hadn't been asleep long. The wound didn't have time to heal. He threw an arm over his eyes to block the sunlight. For some reason it bothered him. He was almost drifting back into sleep when a familiar voice found him.

            "Benmont. You need to go. Your friends are waiting for you. There is no time to delay."

            "Mother," Benmont stated, not feeling surprised in the least. "I suppose that this means I died in that battle?"

            "Hardly, my son," Delia's apparition said with a smile. Her gowns floated around her as winds only she could feel propelled them. The gown she wore was elegant silk, nothing that she would wear in life, mostly because she couldn't afford it. Her hair was pulled back in a tight pony tail, making her look younger than she had in life. Benmont felt tears stinging his eyes and tried to wave her away. The action made him groan with pain.

            "Go away!" he cried hoarsely, "My mother is dead! I will not be haunted by phantoms!"

            "You have played this part too long, my son. I haven't the time to listen to the tantrums you so enjoy. I brought that man to you on the deck of the ship, knowing that you might be overwhelmed by the assassins. His name is Jared Tombes, and in him you have a common enemy. One that he has been fighting far longer then you. Take him as an ally."

            "Common enemy? What nonsense is this? Why are you still doing this to me? Was it not hard enough to see you dead? Must I also live with your ghost?"

            "I am here only to aid you, Benmont. I am concerned about you. I gave warning that one of the people you travel with is close to something...evil. He will succumb to this evil if you do not help him. This evil is ancient, cursed by the One to wander as the restless dead for eternity. It must bond with a mortal being to placate the hunger that ravages it. When this host has no more life to give they will die, and rise from their death as one of the Unforgiven."

            "How would I even attempt to kill such a creature, if they are as old and as powerful as you say they are?"

            "Weapons made by mortal men cannot harm the Unforgiven. They have given up their bodies."

            "Then what the Hell are you telling me this for?" Benmont growled. Delia gave him a sharp stare and he lowered his gaze feeling the fire of anger in his gut snuff into cold ashes.

            "I will give you the means to defeat this creature. Know that the means will not make this task less dangerous. You will have to do battle with a force that is centuries old, existing by preying on countless souls that were lulled by its charms. I have faith in you, though, my son."

            "Swell," Benmont retorted, and then looked at his mother to make sure that she wasn't looking crossly at him. Delia approached the wall near the window where Benmont's staff was leaning. Gently she took hold of it, making it levitate in her embrace. A powerful glow emanated from her hands, radiating a warm glow that calmed Benmont, making him feel a serenity that only death could give him. The glow permeated the staff and seeped into it, making it ebb with holy light. Then the glow faded from both Delia and the staff until she was no more and the quarter staff was floating in air, making its way over to Benmont. Reluctantly he took hold of it, feeling how warm the staff became in his mother's touch.

            "You will do well in all things, my son. I am proud of the man that you are becoming. As for this noblewoman that you seem to fancy, I think that she may be right for you. I give you my permission to court her if that is your wish," His mother's disembodied voice faded as it spoke until it was no more, leaving Benmont alone in the room again.

            "My dead mother gives me permission to court a girl that I have no interest in. Great." Benmont used the staff to stand and he dressed as fast as his wound allowed, feeling a strong hunger in his belly. He had just pulled on his boots when there was knock on the door and it began to open. Ferrin poked his head in, smiling from ear to ear when he saw Benmont standing there, looking as grim as ever.

            "Thanks for waiting until I said to come in, Ferrin. I see that being off the sea has made you as obnoxious as ever." Ferrin shrugged as he slipped fully into the room. Benmont made sure that his goods were close about him before looking back up at the thief. "What if I would have been naked when you entered?"

            Ferrin made a strangled look with a hand clutching his throat and Benmont crossed his arms along his chest. Whoever had sewn the shirt shut from the slash that opened it was a good seamstress. He would have to thank them for it.

            "What do you want?"

            Ferrin opened the door and swept an arm like a servant beckoning his lord to enter the next room ahead of him. "I don’t think so. You go out first." With a hurt look on his face, Ferrin stepped out of the room. Benmont took up the staff, still feeling the warmth that surrounded the wood, and followed him. Verion was just outside the door, standing stock still in the hall and peering out the window at a grove of trees that were planted at the front gate of the house. A host of birds were flying to and fro in the limbs of the trees, seeming to enthrall the centiant.

            "Verion, where am I?" Benmont questioned as he approached the centiant. Verion only half looked at him, reluctant to let his eyes fall from the tree line.

            "You are in the city of Diez. I carried you off of the ship after you were attacked by those men. It seems that some of the sailors were paid a fair amount of gold to ignore the attack. You are lucky to have lived through it."

            "I just found out that luck had nothing to do with it."

            "You smell of the roaming dead. She returned to you."

            "Yes, and gave me a purpose for finding our companions. How much time have we wasted?"

            "A day at most. You are fit enough to travel?"

            "I am. We need to reach Shiemin as soon as possible."

            "Shiemin?" came a feminine voice from down the hall. Benmont stifled a groan as he craned his neck to look at Diela Shar. She was dressed in a plain gown that swept the floor, her hair let loose to flow over her shoulders. Benmont couldn't help but notice that looked quite beautiful. He also noticed how amused Verion looked when he faced the centiant. Ferrin would have giggled if he had a voice to do so.

            "What business do you have in Shiemin? Surely you shouldn't travel so soon after what happened on the ship. You have barely begun to recover."

            "I am fine," Benmont said gruffly. When he noticed the hurt enter her eyes he forced his tone to become smooth, "But thank you for caring for me. I am in your debt." He had the sudden urge to tackle Ferrin. He didn't even have to look behind him to see the grin plastered on that scrawny thief's face.

            "You’re very welcome," Diela replied, "But you should thank my mother rather than me. She allowed you into the house even though she knew nothing about you. She has also allowed Ferrin and Verion to stay here. Though for Verion I'm sure that it was no bother. He was always helping mother in the gardens."

            "I will thank her, but I need to set off immediately. My friends are going to the city of Shiemin and so must I."       

            "Your friends? How will you get there?"

            "Walk, of course," Verion added in as he turned his attention back to the birds.

            "I won't hear of it," Diela Shar told him, putting a finger to his broad chest to emphasize her point. "Shiemin is a long walk from here. In your condition, with the cold weather, you wouldn't make it very far before you took ill. I'll ask my mother to have an escort bring us to Shiemin. It would be swifter than walking. And safer."

            "I would not want you to...did you say 'us'?"

            "Of course. It may be the last chance that I get to spend time with you for a long while. I will come along. Only to Shiemin, of course." Ferrin stepped past Benmont and swept a low bow to her, taking one of her hands and kissing it gently as she put a hand over her mouth to conceal her smile. The gangly youth stepped back, right beside Benmont and nudged him on the side. Benmont returned the nudge with a little more force than necessary, nearly spilling him over.

            "That would be most kind of you, lady," Verion stated in his deep baritone. Diela nodded her agreement and set off to fetch her mother. Benmont caught her arm as she spun to leave; trying not to hurt her with the sudden rush of anger he was feeling.

            "Diela, my lady you do not have to accompany us. I am sure that you have things that need attending. Like Alanz, or..."

            "I have not seen Alanz since we docked in here. He must be attending court," she moved down the hall, but turned to flash him a warm smile, "I'm glad that I could repair your shirt for you, Benmont. Is it too tight?"

            "It's...fine," Benmont muttered, suddenly feeling like a caged animal. "Thank you."

            When she had disappeared down the hall Benmont let out a deep sigh. He put a hand to his forehead and rubbed his temples. He felt Ferrin pat his shoulder sighed even more deeply.

            "Swell."

            The night air was cold as it blew through the streets of Bastual. Cameron Reol made a brisk pace as he walked, holding his cloak tightly around him, one hand to hold it shut. He exhaled vapor and shook his head. It was going to be an early winter this year. Perfect travel weather for heading north. The lights of a broad walled tavern loomed before him, doors held open by wooden pegs to allow lamp light to flood the street. There were voices laughing and singing, making a crude chorus in the still night.

            Shrugging off the cold as he entered, Cameron scanned the nearly filled tavern for somewhere to sit where he wouldn't be bothered. The last thing that he needed was to get involved with a tavern brawl. Damien wouldn't be very pleased. There was a small table at the back of the room near the hearth. It was half in shadow, with no one around it. Weaving a path toward the table in the back, he stopped only to tell one of the tavern maids to bring him a mug of mead for him. He placed a silver piece in her hand and the dark haired maid smiled prettily at him before making her way to the bar.

            He stripped off his cloak and set it over the back of the chair. He wore the armor that Ferrin had found for him, and a blade at his side. He may have gone out for relaxation but it never hurt to be prepared. The maid made her way over and set the mug of frothing alcohol down, along with the silver piece that he had given her.

            "That was for the mead," he told her, "You can keep what's left over."

            "Kind of ya," the maid said in a thick northern accent, "But the young lady at the bar said that she'd fit the bill if ya wanted some company at yer table."

            Cameron lifted his head to scan along the bar. There was an assortment of travelers and merchants that had ended their business day, not a single one that he would even entertain the notion of spending time or sharing drink with. Except for the last person at the bar, nearest where he happened to be sitting. A lovely woman in a leather tunic and dark blue leggings was sitting there, her long blond hair kept in neat braids that trailed almost half way down her back. She gave him a sidelong look that was questioning. Cameron smiled as he looked up at the tavern maid.

            "Tell her that company would not be a bad thing."

            Several minutes later she was sitting across from him at his table, a goblet of blood colored wine cupped in her hand. She had a long bladed rapier at her side and a dagger belted to the back of one of her leggings.

            "My name is Sonja. A pleasure to meet a fellow man at arms."

            "Cameron. And the pleasure is all mine."

            "You have a strange accent, Cameron. Where do you come from?"

            "I just arrived from the city of Twin Port, actually. It's nice to have my feet on solid ground." He leaned back on his chair and drained the mug that he was drinking from. The maid came over and replaced the mug with a full one, leaving them to the privacy.

            "I have heard many rumors about the land south of the Crossing. Is it true that Dagoth seeks the High Throne?"

            "It is, I'm sorry to say. A civil war has divided the southlands. It isn't going to be safe her much longer, once the king sets his sights on Avalon. The Eagle is the only thing standing in the way of King Steelbreeze and total domination of Umbriel."

            "Sounds grim," Sonja said with a full lipped smile. "Have you heard any rumors while you were in Twin Port?"

            "You might say so," Cameron replied, "A thieves' guild called the Silent Brotherhood made an attack on a noble man when we were trying to leave the city. It was only a rumor that it was the Brotherhood but they were skilled fighters. It was fortunate that we got away from them at all."

            "I suppose it was fortunate," she said around her drink. Her eyes were large, staring intently at him. She emptied the goblet without taking her eyes off of him, setting it down as she licked her lips clean. Cameron gave her a curious smile.

            "I didn't know that it was growing so late," Sonja said after she peered out a window, "Would you care to walk me home, Cameron?"

            "Of course," he told her, standing up and holding out his arm for her to take. She obliged, tossing a few silver pieces on the table as they left the tavern together. The wind had risen in the short time he had been inside, howling through the alleys that lined the sides of all the buildings on the streets. He and Sonja began to walk toward the north end of the city, Sonja talking about her adventures to the north. She was mildly surprised when Cameron told her that he was heading in that same direction.

            "What would take you north?"

            "A priest, if you can believe that. He says that there are things to accomplish there, and I don't intend to argue with the man. He always seems to be right in the end, anyhow."

            A noise down one of the alleys at a four crossing of streets caused him to stop, bringing a hand to his sword hilt. There was someone down the alley, Cameron could see. It could be a homeless man, but he didn't think so. A homeless man wouldn't take such care to avoid making noise, and didn't often find the courage to try mugging a person that carried a sword at their side, much less two people. Cameron pulled Sonja away from the mouth of the alley and under the eave that lined the picture windows of the Shoppes.

            "What is it?" Sonja asked in a whisper, finding the hilt of her rapier as well.

            "A thief," Cameron told her, or worse. He's in the alley, waiting for us. We'll wait to see what he might want with us at the corner of the Shoppe." He stalked to the edge of the building, staying low and keeping his hand on the hilt of his sword. If he was lucky, he wouldn't have to shed blood. The militia wouldn't be happy to see him after what happened in the Hall of Wisdoms.

            "A thief?" Sonja asked softly, "Are you sure? Your eyes must be very sharp."

            "My eyes aren't the only thing that are sharp on me," Cameron returned. The man only poked his head from the alley but that was all Cameron needed him to do. Shooting his open hand forward he caught hold of the thief in one hand, twisting the loose clothing until he had a strong hold on the man. A dagger appeared in the darkness as the man stabbed forward but Cameron was faster, clamping a hand down on his wrist and jerking it sharply. The man screeched as his wrist snapped and the dagger fell to the ground, Cameron pulled back a fist and punched him in the temple, rendering him senseless. The thief fell to the ground face first.

            He wrenched his sword free and peered down the alley, knowing that where one thief was, more would follow. There was only darkness waiting for him. A hiss of air told Cameron that there was someone at his back. He had only a second to react to the attack, so he dropped forward, rolling off the body of the felled thief and coming to his feet on the other side of the alley's mouth.

            How could I have been so gullible? Cameron wondered as he faced Sonja, her rapier gleaming off the distant lamp lights. She grinned at him, stalking first to the right and then left, her smile anything but inviting now.

            "You are very good indeed, just like my master said you would be."

            "How did the Silent Brotherhood get news here so swiftly, thief?"

            "We are everywhere, Cameron. You cannot run from us forever. Better to end this now. If you surrender I promise to kill you painlessly. I really don't want to harm you. Even if you win, you cannot be in two places at once."

            "Two places...damn!" he growled, lunging for Sonja as he slammed his blade hard against hers, knocking her backward. Sonja let one of legs go, allowing him to pass with only a glancing blow, then stepped behind him and thrust the blade in. Cameron spun about and slashed the blow away, but not fully. The rapier pierced his leather armor at the sleeve, cutting a gouge at his shoulder. Cameron parried the blade and took it from her hands. The rapier spun gleaming into blackness, clattering to the ground somewhere down the alley. Sonja pulled free a pair of long knives from sheathes that were hidden on her back and threw both of them at him with deadly accuracy. Cameron dropped to his right knee, avoiding one of the knives as he put his blade flat in front of his face and deflected the knife, sending it hurling into the street. Sonja spat out a curse as she dove down the alley for her sword, Cameron fast on her heels. She rolled and stood, throwing a fist full of ground up powder into his face. His sight left him and he staggered back, swinging wildly as he clawed with one hand to return his vision. He could hear his sword ringing wildly off the stone and see the dull spray of golden sparks every time he connected with a wall.

            Something stopped him from going any farther back, and the splash of loose water told him that it must be a rain barrel. Not bothering to wait for Sonja to put a sword in him, he flipped backward over the barrel, gripping the rim with his free hand so he pulled it over on himself as he went down. Cold, dirty water washed over him as he crashed awkwardly down onto the street, first striking the ground with his back and then his side. The water had done what he hoped it would do, however, and freed his vision. Standing, he was barely able to turn aside Sonja's second attack. He almost slipped in the puddle that he had just created, stumbling further into the center of the street. Sonja screamed a battle cry and lunged for him, cutting straight down with incredible speed. Finding better fighting ground, Cameron blocked the blow by putting his sword over his head. He caught her rapier in a second parry, this time stepping closer and taking her right hand with the sword.

            Sonja let loose a shrill scream as she watched her hand fall to the street, still clinging to her rapier. Breath coming in fast, she took her cloak and wrapped it quickly around the stump of her hand to keep from bleeding to death. She shot a furious gaze at Cameron.

            "How could you?" she moaned at him, "My hand...?"

            "Give as good as you get. Don't they teach you that saying in the Silent Brotherhood?" Sonja snarled at him, and then dropped to her knees as blood loss made her weak. Cameron moved forward, holding his sword before him.

            "I'm taking you to the sheriff. You can explain to him..." His words cut short as Sonja leapt up, the dagger from her boot free of it’s sheathe. She was almost on him by the time he leveled his sword, slashing his cheek almost to the bone with a backhand cut. Cameron ducked a second swipe, ignoring the stinging pain that gnawed at him. She tossed the dagger around in her hand and dove in to stab him but Cameron side stepped the attack and drug his sword across her exposed stomach, closing his eyes as he felt it tear open flesh cleanly. Sonja made a pathetic cry and pitched forward, blood pooling so fast around her that she must have been dead before she even struck the ground.

            Cameron knelt over her, swiping a lock of hair from her pale face. Her eyes were sightless. "I'm sorry." he mumbled to her before making haste back to the manor house. If he were lucky he would make it in time to stop the other thieves. If he were in time.

            Kirstin was just about to lay down to sleep when she heard a crash in Creed's study. The sound was distant, and she was going to ignore it, but something drew her curiosity. Gathering a robe about her and tying it at her waist, she opened her door and peered down the hall to where the study was near the stairs. The door was ajar, with dim light emanating from it. There were silhouettes moving in the study, taking care to keep quiet. One of the silhouettes approached the door and closed it. Kirstin slipped back inside her room and dressed as quickly as she could, using a piece of thin cloth to tie her hair out of the way. Pulling her sword, Trost's sword, free of its scabbard, she slipped back out into the hall and approached the door. Putting her ear to the door availed her nothing. Whoever was in there was taking care to stay silent. Swallowing hard, she grabbed the latch and threw the door open. She gasped at the sight before her.

            Klem, Creed Soames' personal guard was kneeling over his employer, a knife in his hand. Creed was lying still, on his back, like he was already dead. On his desk there was an open book and lantern with its hoods turned up. A spilt glass of dark leaf tea was wavering back and forth near the desk's edge.

            "Fool girl," Klem exclaimed, "That was a big mistake." With the wave of his hand he motioned a pair of men that were at the corner of the room toward her. There was nothing discernible about them, hidden as they were in their cloaks and hoods. All she could really tell about them was they were relatively her height and carried long swords.

            "Guards!" Kirstin screamed as loud as she could. One of the men pulled a throw knife from behind his back and whipped it at her but she pulled the door shut as fast as she could. She heard the heavy thump of the blade connecting in the wood and the tip appeared near almost at shoulder level. He had been aiming at my heart, she thought frantically. How much skill does it take to throw a dagger right at someone's heart? She ran down the hall for the stairs, leaping down the first few, then losing her balance and falling all the way to the landing near the middle. Forcing herself to stand, using her sword like a crutch, she looked up to see the pair of men making their way for her. Then there was the clatter of armor and weapons as a host of soldiers ran past her, shields forming at the front line, spears lowering to impale the intruders. Another dagger was thrown with blinding speed, felling a soldier in the second line by sinking right into his face. Then the thieves were falling back, running for the study where Creed was laying, possibly dead.

            Both men stopped just shy of the door lowering down as they spied Damien standing there, hands clasped in prayer. "I call for divine guidance in the name of the One. I ask of you, lend me your great strength so that I might end this struggle and stay the murderous hands of these dark hearted men. I thank you, my God, Amen." With the finish of his prayer he held out his hands and pulses of light made them glow with power. Both of the thieves suddenly found themselves unable to move, caught fast by the power of the One. Damien approached them, unafraid as they struggled to free themselves from their bonds. Soldiers appeared behind them, silver armor shining in the lamplight from the study. Their spears were still lowered, and they invoked a charge.

            "No!" Damien screamed at them, throwing out his hands as if he were going to bind them as well. He averted his gaze as the spear tips found their targets. Both of the thieves gasped with pain and were knocked free of their binding, staggering backwards on the ends of the guards’ spears.

            "Father!" Kirstin yelled out as she made her way through the hall, "Lord Soames has been injured! You have to help him!" Damien followed Kirstin into the room, her sword still out as she made sure that Klem wasn't present still.

            Damien ran to Creed, falling to his knees and checking his pulse before tossing his sleeves back before beginning his prayer asking the One for the strength to heal Lord Soames. Sweat beaded on his brow as he raised his hands toward the heavens, hands outstretched in his plea to his God. Kirstin watched Creed fade until there was nothing there. His chest failed to rise; his working mouth closed for the last time. Creed Soames was dead.

            "Father? Why?" Kirstin asked him, feeling tears coming to her eyes. Damien put an arm around her, letting her rest her head against his chest. Damien closed his eyes and wept with her.

            "It was his time to go home, my child. We must trust in that."

            Klem was quick to flee the room when the slay masters went after Kirstin. He was smart enough to know when a job had gone sour. If the slaymasters were swift enough they would kill the wench before the guards of the manor slew them. At least Creed had been killed. The poison was enough to kill three men his size. Gaidin had his message now. And Klem would have the reward for his deed.

            He ran to the front gate, making sure that the soldiers weren't trying to pursue. Every light in the manor house was beginning to light up. Fools, he laughed silently. If they thought he was still inside after killing the Lord of the house, then they were all buffoons. He grabbed the gate and was about to swing it open when a broad sword stabbed through the bars and cleanly through his shoulder. Klem dropped the knife he was carrying and stumbled back as the blade pulled free of his flesh, ringing when it came out.

            "Going somewhere, Klem?" Cameron questioned as he opened the front gates. Klem's jaw dropped at the sight of the man.

            "It's not possible! Two slaymasters came for you! How could you have survived?"

            "It's called skill, Klem. Would you happen to have any?" Klem clenched his teeth and pulled free a short sword along his back. Blood was staining his entire shirt and the blade shook visibly in his hand.

            "Show me," Cameron told him. Klem swiped for his head and Cameron leaned back. Another stroke rang through the gardens surrounding the manor. Cameron put a foot forward and knocked Klem off balance. He fell into a rose bush tangling himself in thorns as he fought to get free. Keeping his screams in, Klem ripped free of the bramble, thin lines of blood criss-crossing his face. Klem threw himself at the warrior and they exchanged blows, back and forth, the ring of sharpened steel echoing in the open air. The main doors to the manor house opened and soldiers came spilling out, stopping short to watch as the pair of men continued their duel. Mindless of the gathering soldiers, Klem pressed in with all the dexterity he could manage, cross slashing and thrusting after the second cut was turned astray. Cameron parried and chopped down. Klem turned aside the sword and pushed it low to the ground. He grunted as he swiped backhandedly for Cameron's stomach. The warrior leapt back, bringing his longer blade over Klem's attack and cleaving the man's face and neck open. Screaming, Klem fell to his knees. A second stroke removed the thief's head from his shoulders, making it roll along one of the walks of the garden.

            "Where are my companions?" Cameron asked the guards, "Where is Lord Soames?"

            "He is dead, master Reol. We believe he was killed by the man that you've just slain," one of the guards informed him, "But the priest and the lady Kirstin are alright. It was the young lady that alerted the lot of us as we were patrolling the main floor."

            Cameron sheathed his blade, making his way past the soldiers. His thoughts from earlier in the night echoed in his mind. If he were only in time.

            Kamil pulled Maria closer to him as they shared a seat in the tavern. There were few people left, being long past midnight, but Kamil didn't care. The flaming haired young woman laughed huskily and leaned against his chest as Kamil drank from his tankard. They exchanged a kiss in the shadows as a maid came over to collect his empty tankard.          

            "We will be closing soon, young master, young mistress. Thought I'd let you know."

            "That is fine," Maria told her, we didn't intend to stay here much longer anyhow. Maria tossed the maid a gold piece as she got up from Kamil's lap, dragging him up with her. "Let us leave this place, my darling." Kamil agreed, letting her take him by the hand until they were outside, in the cold wind. There were soldiers passing by, shouting something about a murder, but to Kamil it didn't seem important. Only Maria mattered.

            "It's cold out here," Kamil said, shivering when a strong wind rolled down his back.

            "With all the drink you've had how can you even tell?" Maria asked, her tone playful. "Come, Kamil. I know a place where we can find privacy. There are hours before the sun rises. I am sure that your companions won't miss you too much."

            "I sure have missed you, Sara," Kamil told her as she led him down a back alley that ran the length of the tavern. She gripped his hand tighter and looked back to smile at him.

            "I have missed you as well, my love. One might say that I've been dying to see you."