Matt Forbeck - Marked for Death

“Not yet,” said Kandler. He glanced at the young knight’s neck. The cut was shallow and small. He guessed that the boy had nicked himself worse the first time he’d tried shaving. The crowd pressed forward, and several men reached out to grab the young knight. They held him fast and snatched his sword from his hand. Levritt cried out in fear.

The lady knight used her sword to slap down Kandler’s blade, then brandished it before her as she spun about. The townspeople who had been hoping to grab her fell back with a communal protest.

“Sallah,” Deothen said in a firm tone, “these people are not our foes.”

Sallah glared at Kandler and stepped back from the crowd, though she kept her sword at the ready. “Levritt did no wrong,” she said.

Kandler opened his mouth to protest, but Mardak stepped between the justicar and the lady knight. Looking over the elder knight at Sallah, Mardak said, “We might see matters otherwise.”

A cry went up from Levritt, and Kandler turned to see the crowd starting to haul him away.

“Hold!” Kandler said.

The people carrying Levritt away stopped in their tracks. When they saw that the justicar was speaking to them, they put the young knight down, although they still held him tight.

“These people aren’t going anywhere,” Kandler said. “I’d like to hear their explanation if they have one.”

Some of the people in the crowd grumbled at this, but those holding Levritt let him go. One sandy-haired man to the side kept hold of the knight’s blade.

Kandler looked to Sallah and sheathed his own blade. She lowered her sword but did not put it away. She hefted the hilt in her hand as if daring the people in the crowd to rush her.

Kandler looked to the shaking young knight. Levritt gulped and stood as tall as he could, glancing nervously at the angry people who surrounded him. “So,” Kandler said to him, “what is your story?”

“Allow me,” Deothen said. He stepped forward and stood next to Levritt, putting a warm hand on the boy’s shoulder to calm him. “He is in my charge.”

All eyes turned to the eldest knight. All voices fell silent but for the sound of Norra’s muffled sobs.

Deothen cleared his throat. “This is not the first time we have encountered this woman whose body you are about to burn.” Deothen glanced about at the crowd, gauging the reaction of those who heard his words. His eyes hesitated on Kandler for a moment, but the justicar offered no consolation.

Kandler was willing to give the Silver Knights a fair hearing. He’d seen too many people lynched during the war, too many innocent souls damned to satiate the rage of an angry mob. He’d do anything he could to keep that from happening here, but he was only willing to go so far. He had Esprл to think of now.

“We first met this woman-”

“Shawda!” said Mardak. “Her name was Shawda.”

“Shawda.” Deothen nodded his thanks. “We first met Shawda last night on the edge of your town, atop the crater’s ridge. We reached your town after dusk and did not want to enter then for fear of alarming the watch.”

“So you killed one of our citizens instead?” Mardak asked in barely controlled outrage.

Deothen ignored the interruption. “As we settled down for the night, we gathered around our campfire for a final prayer. Just as we finished, we heard someone crashing through the brush in the darkness, coming from the east, the direction of the Mournland. We drew our blades, not knowing what to expect. She appeared at the edge of the fire’s light. Her clothing was rent and torn. Her skin was gray and streaked with dirt. I called out a greeting and welcomed her as a fellow traveler. I invited her to share our fire.”

Deothen bowed his head for a moment to collect his thoughts. When the knight looked back up, Kandler could see tears welling in his eyes, and when he spoke his voice was raw.

“She snarled at us, an evil light dancing in her eyes. I called to her a second time. She lowered her head and charged straight at us, attacking with her bare hands. At first I feared she might be mad, and I ordered my fellows not to harm her. As she neared, though, I sensed the evil in her, and I called for them to attack. Sallah stabbed the woman through the heart. Such a blow should have been fatal, but your Shawda kept coming. With Sallah’s blade jutting from her chest, she pulled herself further along its length until she could reach Sallah with her nails, which broke upon Sallah’s armor. Levritt stepped forward and chopped at the intruder with his blade. His blow severed her arm, which then hung from where her fingers had caught along the edges of Sallah’s breastplate. No blood flowed. The woman kept coming. She snatched her own arm from Sallah’s breastplate and swung it like a flail. The palm of her detached arm smacked Levritt in the face and knocked him flat.” Deothen glanced at the young knight before continuing on. “I have fought the undead before. I like to say I can smell them from a league away. I hadn’t sensed that here.”

“It’s the Mournland,” said Kandler. As he spoke, he gazed up at the wall of ash-colored mist. “Bodies don’t rot there. There’s nothing to smell.”

“Perhaps. In any case, once I realized what it was we faced, I called for an all-out attack. We set upon the creature and made quick work of her.”

“Is this what happened with Shawda?” Mardak asked, his voice held low. Kandler angled his body so that he could intervene between the knight and the mayor should Mardak lose control.

Deothen grimaced. “We had to be sure. As your justicar points out, we know little of the Mournland. We had no desire to have the creature return later in the night for vengeance, so we took steps to make sure that could not happen.”

“You hacked her to bits,” said Mardak.

Deothen gave a stiff nod. “And we spread those pieces far and wide.”

“We couldn’t find all of her,” said Kandler. His voice was but a whisper, not out of respect for the dead, but so that Norra might not hear.

“That was the idea,” Deothen said. Norra’s sobs grew louder, and she punctuated them with a keening wail that put a halt to all other words.

Silence fell over the crowd. None of the people surrounding Kandler, Mardak, and the knights dared to breathe a word.

“So you say,” Mardak said, restarting the conversation. Anger seethed between his gritted teeth as he spoke, each word uttered with deliberate force. “So you say, but you offer nothing to prove your words true.”

Deothen stared at Mardak, indignation stitched across his brow. “We are Knights of the Silver Flame.”

“Which means nothing here. This is not Thrane, and your goddess holds no sway in our town. Even so, how can we verify your claim? Perhaps you are brigands in knights’ armor.”

Sallah pointed a gauntleted hand at the mayor. “You are bordering on blasphemy. None can speak to Sir Deothen so. How dare you impugn his honor?” She kept her sword lowered, but she gripped it as if it might leap from her grasp and find itself in Mardak’s heart.

Mardak spit at Deothen’s feet. “What honor did you show Shawda?”

The crowd murmured in agreement. The three younger knights gasped. Sallah scoffed in disgust.

Kandler could see that this could soon become ugly. He looked around for Burch but couldn’t spot the shifter anywhere.

Deothen remained impassive for a moment, then spoke plainly to Mardak. “What proof would you have me offer?” he asked. “We came to your town as soldiers of faith, on a mission handed down to us by our greatest prophet. We have no reason to kill your people. What of the others who are missing?”

“How do you know of these?” asked Mardak.

“I told him,” Kandler said.