David Dalglish - A Dance of Blades

This time he remained patient, and he swallowed down his pride to acknowledge Senke was just as fast as him. Most opponents he could overwhelm with simple brute speed, the massive gaps in their skill overriding any of his carelessness. Not now. Senke stepped closer, swinging both his blades in a downward arc. Haern parried them aside, then looped both swords around as he advanced. Senke blocked the barrage, then planted his back foot to halt his steady retreat to the circle’s edge.

Seeing this, Haern pressed the attack, relying on his opponent’s lack of mobility. But the planted foot had been a kind of a feint, for when Haern swung with all his might, ready for the clash of steel and challenge of strength, instead Senke twirled out of the way. Overextended, he could do nothing but accept the stings of Senke’s shortswords slapping against his arm.

“Come on now,” Senke said, pausing to catch his breath. “I expected far better than that. King’s sake, I saw you handle yourself better last night against those thieves.”

Again he felt his neck flush. Was he holding back? He didn’t mean to be.

“Treat me like any other opponent,” Senke said, clanging his swords together. “Fuck. Treat me like your father. Everything, Haern, show me everything you got.”

Everything, he thought. Everything. It seemed like a red light bathed over him, flashing from a ring on Senke’s finger. He forgot they only sparred, forgot they fought in a dirt circle instead of a real battlefield. He forgot his opponent’s name was Senke, and imagined instead the glaring figure of Thren Felhorn, furious, deadly, a bow in his hands and Delysia dying at his feet. His father grinned, as if the corpse there suddenly didn’t matter.

“Hello, son,” said Thren.

He gave that image everything. His swords weaved in tight circles as he slipped from stance to stance, always shifting, always attacking. The sound of steel on steel became a song in his ears. Their blades looped and twisted, parrying away sure hits and blocking cuts that should have hit before either could counter. Thren’s grin faded, just a cold image that watched him without any sign of exertion or worry. Haern found himself wondering where he was, what was going on. Around him the alley had become an old safe house they’d lived in for a year, the hardwood floor polished and prepared for practice.

“You’ve learned nothing!” Thren shouted, bearing down on him with his shortswords. Haern’s arms ached with each block, and that ache slowed his response when one of the attacks slipped to the side, curling back for a thrust. Haern twirled, his sword parrying moments too late. His chest burned, and blood ran down. As he grunted in pain, Thren rammed his heel into his stomach, knocking him back.

“What are you to me now? What could you hope for? Come at me, son! Kill me! Your skill is nothing, nothing! ”

Haern felt his mind change, becoming something whole, focused, and dangerous. The entire world ceased to exist, and even time struggled to keep him under its rule. He let out a cry and attacked. This time his father’s attacks were no longer so frightening. Despite his feints, his parries, Haern saw through them all and refused to be controlled by them. Faster and faster he whirled, his body lost in a dance, their blades intertwined, their motions in constant reaction to each other. He managed a snap-kick into Thren’s face, dropped to the ground, and then swept his feet out from under him. As he fell, Haern lunged, one sword shoving his father’s defenses out of the way, the other stabbing for his throat.

Instead of piercing flesh, he stabbed dirt. Thren scattered as if his body were made of dust, and then he was back in the alley. The wound on his chest vanished, his pain along with it. Senke leaned against the complex, his arms crossed. Haern felt naked before him, his heart exposed and bleeding.

“Your hatred for him is so great,” Senke said softly. “It’s all that keeps you alive, isn’t it? You can’t live like that, Haern. You have every reason to escape his shadow, yet you still let it lord over you. What have you become? How many have you murdered in his name?”

“They were all guilty,” Haern shouted. “Thieves and murderers!”

“Were they always? I just saw what lurked behind your eyes, Haern, more frightening than anything your father might have done to me.”

Haern thought of all the men and women he’d hunted in the night. They’d worn guild colors, yes, but how many had been innkeepers, farmers, smiths and butchers? How many had he killed for doing business with them, smuggling and trading and selling? Night after night, he felt the waves of his dead. For Ashhur’s sake, he’d written his name with their blood!

“It’s not hopeless,” Senke continued. “I thought I’d lost you, but now finding you, I wonder what is left of that small boy who loved to read. The one who asked me about jewelry for a girl he liked. I’d always hoped that, if you’d survived, you’d have gone and experienced everything Thren denied you. Now I see you denying yourself…love, faith, friendship…and you do so out of revenge? ”

Senke walked over and sat down beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry about the illusion,” he added. “Just a trick of this ring Tarlak gave me. I had to see. I had to know who you are, how good you can be.”

“Now you do,” Haern said, feeling his insides tighten and twist behind his ribs. “Is it truly so bad?”

Senke squeezed, then smacked his back.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said with a wink. “I’m still here for you, as is that pretty red-head Tarlak has for a sister. He’s a good man, Tarlak. A bit strange, but he’s a wizard, so that’s to be expected. Stay with us. Put these streets behind you. If you’re to have a legacy, it shouldn’t be this. You’ve become the feared reaper of the guilds. Should Thren ever find out you still live, I cannot help but wonder if he’d be furious…or proud.”

He stood and moved for the door.

“Go back to your streets,” he said. “Think on everything I’ve said. There’s so much good in you, I can see it still. It’s never too late to change who you are, so long as you’re willing to bear the consequences. You’ve carried heavy burdens your whole life, Haern. Maybe it’s time you let some of them go.”

Not waiting to see if he stayed or not, Senke stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. As its lock shut, Haern felt thrust back into the world he’d called his home for the past five years, but for once, the streets seemed foreign, their alleyways and rooftops offering no safety, only a winding path deeper and deeper into confusion.

He took them anyway, getting farther with every step.

“D o you think he’s telling the truth?” Matthew asked his wife as they cuddled in bed for the night.

“I don’t see any reason for him to lie.”

“I can think of plenty. He’s hurt, sick, and in a stranger’s home. Truth might be the farthest thing from his mind. What if he doesn’t know Lady Gemcroft, only hopes she’ll take him in if we show up at her doorstep?”

Evelyn put her arm across his chest and pressed her face against his neck.

“It would explain a lot though, wouldn’t it?” she asked, her voice quiet. “Why those men were searching for him. We both knew he was no ordinary boy, not to be hunted like he is.”

“But why would Arthur’s men be after him? The whole bloody north knows he’s been courting her.” An unspoken question hovered in the air between them, until at last Matthew gave it voice. “What if the men we killed were actually trying to rescue him?”

Matthew waited for his wife to speak, trusting her to better understand these complicated matters. He could list the price of every vegetable that grew in Dezrel, what the color of the soil meant and what could grow in it, but these things were beyond him. He liked living outside the city, where so long as you paid the taxman when he came, you could live unbothered by your lord and always trust your neighbors. Hard luck comes in strangers’ hands, his ma had always said.