Douglas Clark - Saving Solace

Gerard laughed.

"Well, they are!" Jutlin said hotly, flushing with anger.

"Come on, Jutlin, we're wasting time," Gerard said. "You and I both know that. Where is your brother? I'd love to meet the rascal."

Jutlin backed away. "I told you in town, I ain't got no brother."

"That's all right, Jutlin," said a voice from the depths of the barn. "No use pretending any longer."

A man stepped out of the shadows, the man Gerard had first seen aboard The Merwitch wearing his peculiar dun-colored robe and cowl. The man with the familiar face Gerard had seen at the gaming table at The Trough. A face that looked familiar partly because it bore such an obvious resemblance to Jutlin's, although in the case of the brother, the face was more muscled, hardened. The brother came forward now, his cowl thrown back to reveal that menacing face.

"I'm the one you want to do business with, Sheriff," the newcomer said easily. "Aren't I?" He paused, considering. "You do want to do business, don't you?"

"That's what he told me back in town, Garth," whined Jutlin, backing farther away as if he might just slip out the door and escape.

"Shut up, Jutlin," Garth said, the command sounding casual on his lips, as if he'd spent a lifetime perfecting just the right tone with which to dismiss his brother. 'Let me do the talking." He turned back to Gerard. "My brother says you want a cut of our little action, is that right?"

"You're selling arms and swords to all comers around here, am I right?" Gerard asked. Drawing his sword, he plunged it dramatically deep into the crate of flaxseed he had opened earlier. Feeling around down in the depths of grain, he drew out one of the distinctive, curved-bladed words. "The elves and Samuval's band and Paladine knows who else. Anyone who can pay, right?"

"That's right," said Garth without moving, his eyes narrowed and hard. "And why shouldn't you have a cut of the action in order to look the other way, isn't that right?"

"The other sheriff, he wasn't smart that way, so-" Jutlin began.

"I told you to shut up!" Garth barked, more vehemently this time.

Jutlin, obviously afraid of his brother, let his sentence hang unfinished. His back was now against the barn door, and he looked distressed at being unable to edge away any farther.

There was a tense silence. "Lay your weapon down," Garth said at last.

Gerard looked at his hand as if surprised to find he was still holding his sword. "Now why would I do that?"

"Because we're all friends here, just doing a little friendly business together," Garth answered tersely.

"All friends," Jutlin repeated, sounding nervous.

"You, sir, are no friend of mine," Gerard said, brandishing his sword before him. "And you and your brother are under arrest."

"What?" said Garth, chuckling. He stepped fully out of the shadows at last, revealing one of the curved swords at his belt. "Oh my, are you trying to arrest me? That could spoil a beautiful friendship before it even gets going." He drew his own sword. The curved blade gleamed wickedly in the lantern light. "Besides, I think you miscalculate the odds here. After all, there are two of us, and only one of you." He gestured for Jutlin to come around from behind Gerard.

"Count again," said Vercleese, stepping out from behind a stack of crates, his own sword drawn.

So swiftly that it surprised everyone, Jutlin gave a shout and kicked over the lantern. The fire burst out and spilled rapidly over the straw-covered floor. Gerard, momentarily distracted by the flames, heard a groan and turned. Vercleese was slumped over, a knife protruding from his armless left shoulder. The knight clutched the knife hilt with his right hand and wrenched it free. But when he grabbed up his sword, he staggered, unable to keep his footing. He crumpled.

"Villain!" Gerard shouted. He charged Garth, and their swords met with the ring of clashing metal. The fire, meanwhile, was spreading through the barn, licking at the crates and boxes. Smoke filled the air, burning Gerard's eyes and throat. The heat scorched his entire body. The flames lit the scene garishly as he and Garth fought, matching each other blow for blow.

"Gerard, behind you. Watch out!" Vercleese cried from his crumpled position.

Gerard dodged another stroke from Garth and whirled just in time to catch Jutlin sneaking up behind him, one of the curved daggers in his hand. Jutlin froze, coughed on the heavy smoke, then dropped the dagger and ran for the barn door, flinging it open and disappearing into the night.

Through the open door, fresh air poured into the barn, fanning the flames into an inferno. The fire crackled and roared, climbing the walls and dancing along the overhead beams.

Gerard was clearly the more skilled fighter, but he was also fatigued from his long day at the fair, including the swordplay demonstration. Garth's violent style of attack pressed him hard. At one point, Garth's blade cut a wild swath through the air, slicing into Gerard's sword arm. Gerard grimaced and followed up on the stroke, finding a momentary advantage as Garth recovered his balance. Slashing downward, Gerard sent the arms dealer's weapon skittering across the floor. Garth lunged for it desperately just as part of the roof collapsed, engulfing him in flames.

Gerard rushed over to Vercleese and heaved him to his feet. With the knight leaning on him heavily, Gerard guided their path through the open barn door and into the night, where they coughed and wheezed in the clean air. But Gerard paused only long enough to see Vercleese safely away from the burning building; then he dashed back inside, holding his breath as long as he could against the thickening smoke. He found Garth's booted foot protruding from a heap of debris. The charred boot seared Gerard's fingers, but he pulled the man free, dragging him out of the barn The villain was still alive, though he labored for every breath. Gerard rushed over to a water trough and filled a bucket, splashing Garth with the contents to put out his smoldering clothes. Garth gasped at the shock of the water, groaned, and lost consciousness. Gerard, still retching from the smoke, collapsed beside him. Together, he and Vercleese watched the building burn to the ground.

Fortunately, Thomas saw the blaze from the checkpoint and delivered the message to Blair right away instead of waiting until midnight. Garth might not have survived otherwise. When Blair arrived, he promptly took charge, summoning a wagon to carry Garth to Mistress Hulsey's shop, and insisting that Gerard and Vercleese accompany them there as well, despite their grumbled protests that they didn't need the aid of a healer for their wounds.

Argyle Hulsey bound Gerard's wound with salve and supported his arm in a sling. He grimaced each time she poked or prodded him.

"And you," Mistress Hulsey went on, turning to Vercleese, "surely you should know better by now, getting into trouble, having already lost an arm."

"Aw, what more could happen?" the knight asked sullenly. "You can't cut the thing off twice, after all." He winced at her roughness as she wrapped his wounded shoulder in linen strips soaked in pungent ointment.

"Go, the both of you," Mistress Hulsey said when she was finished. "Let me see to this other one." She indicated Garth, whom she had already treated sufficiently to keep him from dying. "Maybe he'll be grateful for my services."

"Will he live?" Gerard asked.

With her birdlike manner, Mistress Hulsey cocked her head and considered Garth, who moaned and tossed, still in an unconscious state. "Well, he's badly burned, and he won't ever be quite the same, but yes, I think he'll live. Not that he'll thank you for it, is my guess. Now go. Leave me be in peace."

She shooed them out the door. Gerard arranged to meet in a few hours with Blair and Palin, who had learned of the fire and met them on their way to Argyle Hulsey's shop, then stumbled up to his room at the inn for some much-needed sleep.