CHAPTER 48
PROTAGONIST SWITCH: FAITH PINCK
I still haven’t killed anyone. But neither have I been inactive in this fight. My arrows pierce the arms and legs of the thieves, leaving them wounded and unable to fight. If they do try to fight, they are usually mowed down by the Castrum warriors.
I don’t like watching this battle or being a part of it. There’s a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. There’s something about this battle that feels inherently wrong. I know that it’s okay for me to help defend the people of Castrum Fortress; I’m not going to dismiss the truth for a feeling. But seeing humans slaughter each other, hearing their screams of pain, and feeling their blood spurt onto my skin…and for what? What are we even fighting for?
It is questions like these that make me feel like lowering my bow, sheathing my dagger, and fleeing the chaos. One bandit lunges over the battlements and slits the throat of one archer, and then another archer retaliates by shooting an arrow through the bandit’s head. Another warrior of Castrum repeatedly hacks at the torso of a thief, and I’m forced to look away—although I’m tempted to tackle the Castrum warrior to the ground in order to restrain him. Most of all, I’m tempted to just drop to my knees and pretend the fighting isn’t happening; I’m tempted to just give in to the violence around me and let it take me so that I don’t have to be a part of it anymore.
But that won’t do. I’m here to protect people. I can’t do that by needlessly getting killed, just because of my own weakness. Accepting that it’s difficult to attack other humans is the first step I take. The next step I take is to allow my instincts to take hold of me; I block with my dagger, and when I see an opening, I cut at the limbs of whomever I’m fighting.
These two steps have been repeated many times.
The bandits haven’t quite taken the walls yet…yet. But they’re going to. I can already hear the Castrum commanders calling for a retreat. We dealt a harsh blow to the thieves; at least fifty of them are dead or injured. Maybe that will be good enough. Maybe now the bandits will realize the senselessness of all this violence.
I dance away from the bandit I’m fighting; he’s tall, taller than even Tarsh, but he’s strong. His hair is red, like John’s, but darker. He fights with a short sword, I with my dagger. We’ve been exchanging blows for hardly a minute and I can already tell he’s better than me.
But his weakness is in his underestimation of me. I’ve been told this by John before and I’ve discovered it for myself; I’m both flexible and fast. The thief seems to think I am neither; he seems to think I’ll be an easy kill. He lunges at me, striking downwards once, then twice. I deflect both attacks, and when he raises his arms to batter me again, I dash forward, dipping my body low, and I slash his shoulder at the joint. He screams, a trail of blood following my dagger. I grit my teeth, saying involuntarily, “Sorry!”
In my peripheral vision, I see that there’s a thief about to attack me from behind. Grunting with alarm, I pivot to meet his blow, my heart racing and my senses intensifying as I watch him slash for my neck. As I complete my spin, I recognize in an instant that I’m not going to be fast enough; I raise my weapon in reaction to his incoming blade, but I already know it’s not going to work.
His sword halts an inch away from my throat, and I grunt again, staggering away from the tip of his sword. For a moment, I watch the bandit, who’s brown eyes are fixed on me, but his elderly, grim face remains perfectly still. A moment later, there’s a spray of blood from the back of his neck, and he drops to the ground dead.
Tarsh appears in his place. “You don’t need to apologize, Faith,” he says, coming to stand beside me. “We all know that you wouldn’t fight if you didn’t have to.” He gives me a gentle smile.
It’s a somewhat awful thought, but I think, At least he’s able to kill.
I relax for a moment; I feel safer now. There are only ten Castrum warriors remaining, including Tarsh and myself. The bandits have officially taken the walls, outnumbering us three to one. And they group together, charging in unison. Lowering their bodies and running with their arms out behind them, all I can really perceive is the glint of their weapons, the brown of their shirts, and the black of their masks. Then there are their eyes, beady and angry, glowing with the fire of determination. And some of them even possess a smile of confidence.
Tarsh steps in front of me to intercept one thief before he can stab me. The rest of the Castrum Fortress warriors shuffle backwards, almost giving way into a full-fledged retreat. The thieves are about to break through our ranks, rush past us, blades flitting outward and slashing through our bodies, and then they’ll continue onwards into the stronghold. I tense, gripping my dagger tightly.
Three orbs of sizzling blue light soar over our heads. They collide with each other directly in front of the bandits, and a small explosion causes the air itself to burst and light up as if it were filled with stars. At least ten thieves fall. I look behind me, searching for the one who fired the orbs of light; I already know who it is.
Calm but earnest, Ashida paces slowly towards the front of our ranks. The members of Castrum Fortress salute him as he walks by, making way for him to approach. Ashida still seems wounded, as he walks with a slight limp. But he’s determined. And now that he’s here, I can tell he has no plan to go back. Tarsh and I step back, both of us staring at him. “Well, Ghost of Hedekira,” Ashida says, looking ahead both at the wounded and approaching thieves, “from what I’ve heard, the Brown Bandits don’t do well with explosions.”
Tarsh grunts, and then nods tersely.
Palm facing upwards, Ashida raises his hand to about chest height, and seemingly at mental command, another three orbs of star-like light form in the air above his skin. Then he says in a firm voice: “Houshutsu!”
At the sound of his voice, the globules of his power rush outwards at a startling speed, detonating as they strike the bandits. Screams of pain erupt, even as there’s an eruption of smoke and light. As the smoke clears, the eyes of the remaining thieves fall onto Ashida. For a moment, they simply regard the scout. And then they pivot away, dashing for their ladders and grappling hooks.
We cry out, cheering as they flee. Men clap Ashida on the back, and Tarsh and I give each other a high-five. “You did it, Ashida!” I say to the scout.
“Perhaps,” Ashida replies, smiling softly, “but our captain is the one that has gone to deal the real blow.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, frowning.
“I don’t think they were retreating just because of me,” the scout explains, turning his gaze towards the camp of the Brown Bandits. “We thought we should try to direct their attention inward, away from the castle, and it seems like we have.”
I grunt, turning to look at the thieves’ camp too. A lone rider is approaching the site…and whoever it is, they’re garbed completely in armor. “Which captain is it?” inquires Tarsh, running with me to the edge of the wall so we can see better.
“The one that always has to be the center of attention,” Ashida snorts. “It’s Frances.”
PROTAGONIST SWITCH: AETHYER GRIM
“The captain is dead!”
The Brown Bandits are in a frenzy. Lots of the remaining bandits just saw what I did. And they’re reacting in the way I expected them to; they begin robbing each other.
Of course they would. Their so-called “society” is collapsing. With the death of their captain, and the failed attack against Castrum—indicated by the bright blue explosions that’ve been appearing on the wall—they begin to do what they do best: steal. They want to grab whatever they can and get out.
There’s some sort of commotion at the front of the camp too. But I’m too busy to care. I have to get Adelynn out of here. Part of me hates what I just did: I slaughtered a one-armed woman. But I don’t care; she threatened Addy. She was going to kill her. I couldn’t allow that. And like I said before, she was a monster. She was ev
il. And I hate evil.
Addy and I are surrounded by the remaining members of Sharon’s guard. Unlike me, these people actually were devoted to protecting Sharon; they believed in her; worshipped her.
With that thought on my mind, I’m prepared to kill all of them too.
Both my sister and I are armed; me with my hand-and-a-half sword, Addy with her short sword. We work as a team, just like we always have. We get rushed from every side—but we’re able to cover every side.
Addy is amazing. And I don’t say that just because she’s my sister. She really is. She might even be more skilled than me. Sometimes it seems like she’s so small and frail, like when Sharon knocked her to the ground. She probably could’ve escaped when Sharon tried to kill her; I’m almost certain of it. But it was easy for me to forget that when all I wanted to do was stab Sharon in her pompous face.
The first bandit to attack me Adelynn kicks to the ground, striking him right in the face. One thief tries to stab her while her back is turned, but I deflect his attack, squatting low for balance as I do, because I know what Addy is about to do. Jumping upwards, she pushes with her feet against the next bandit that engages her, back flipping upwards. She lands squarely on my shoulders. A moment later, I hear her blade swipe through the air several times. Three more of the guards go down.
Then she leaps from my back, her curly, black hair flitting about her face. I engage two more of the guards, kicking outwards and using my knee to block my opponent’s blow by striking his elbow. Then I spin away, slicing the second on under the thigh. He’s easy work for me then.
The rest of Sharon’s guard begin to disperse, fearful of our skill. Good, I think grimly, that’s how it should be.
Then I turn, facing the direction of the castle, and I realize that they weren’t running from me.
There’s a knight standing in front of us, beside the decapitated body of Sharon. He’s not very tall, but, with his feet placed in a firm position, and with his bright armor glinting, he looks formidable and powerful. Brandishing a sword with a cross-guard and a round buckler, he’s ready to fight. This is the person that must have been causing so much commotion at the front of camp. Whoever he is, he must have made it past the camp guards quite easily, and effectively: his sword is wet with blood.
Then the knight speaks, and I’m surprised to discover that it’s the voice of a girl. “Where is Captain Sharon? I thought it’s time we settled this.”
I frown dully. “Right next to you.”
The knight recoils, seeming to expect an attack, for she bounds away to her left, taking up a defensive stance. When no assault comes, she looks around, saying eventually, “Where?—I can’t see anything in this helmet.”
“Look down,” I say. A large, blinking green arrow appears in the air, pointing at Sharon’s head.
The girl locates the head of the captain, and seems to stiffen. “She’s dead?” she asks, although it’s a dumb question.
“That’s right,” I confirm grimly.
The knight’s shoulders droop. “Oh…” Then she bursts out in a frenzy, “Then I put all this armor on for nothing!”
“Sorry about that,” I say, feeling slightly amused. Adelynn walks up beside me, staying close. She doesn’t seem to trust the knight.
“Who killed her?” the girl asks.
“I did.”
The helmeted head of the knight turns to me. “Why?”
“Probably for the same reason you wanted to kill her. To end the violence. To cause the Brown Bandits to collapse on themselves.”
After a pause, the knight drops her sword and shield and raises her hands, lifting the helmet off her head. I grunt; it’s the same girl I fought before, when I had gone with Sharon to retrieve Tarsh Landid. Captain Frances Beznar, if memory serves. Staring at us with content, but scarred, depressed eyes, she says, “Thank you.”
And then she drops down to the ground on her face.
Addy and I panic. “What the hell!?” I say, rushing to the girl.
“Are you okay?” Addy says, joining me.
There’s no response for a moment, but then we hear the girl mumble from where her face is plastered to the ground. “Please take this armor off…”