“That’s him. I didn’t hire him because of his skill with those ludicrous whatever-they-are he fights with. Obviously. You want to know why I did?”
Haern stared at him with an expression showing he didn’t think himself having a choice in whether he found out or not. Tarlak blinked.
“Right. Anyway, he’s a blacksmith, and with my help, he can create items that many would sell their souls to own. Would you like to run faster? Jump higher? Or perhaps a fancy sword or three…”
“I’m not much for bribery, either.”
“Don’t see why you shouldn’t be. You spend your nights crawling around the rooftops killing thieves. Might as well get paid for it.”
Haern turned his chair so his back was to Tarlak, and he stared out the window.
“Very well.” Tarlak stood. “I’ll leave you be. Take a nap, or vanish in the afternoon. You aren’t held prisoner here. Think about my offer, though. We may not be much now, but I think we’ve got potential.”
Haern snorted. Whether Tarlak heard or not, he didn’t react, only went up the stairs. Staring at the men and women still fighting the fire, he wondered what in the world had gotten a hold of him. That wizard was no better than anyone else, not even his father. He killed for money, except he used fire and words instead of a blade. What could have possibly possessed Senke to join them?
He closed his eyes and felt the light of the sun warm his face. Come that afternoon, he’d sneak his way out. Oh, he had no delusions of abandoning Delysia and Senke completely. He knew himself better than that. It’d be easy enough to keep an eye on them, though, keep his eyes open for a wizard in yellow, accompanied by a beautiful girl with hair like fire…
When he opened his eyes, many hours had passed. He shook his head, fighting the grogginess. His back ached, and it popped several times as he shifted his upper body side to side. Senke stood at a small counter, eating cold bread leftover from that morning. His fingers drummed the counter, the sound no doubt what had awakened Haern.
“You chew like a cow,” Haern said, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his eyes.
“And you look like one, only worse. When was the last time you had a bath?”
“Consider that a luxury my life cannot afford.”
Senke shoved the rest into his mouth and wiped crumbs from his shirt.
“Here” he said, his mouth full. He pointed at Haern’s swords. “Been a long time since we sparred. Thought it’d be a nice way to catch up.”
“Where?” The room was cramped as is. Senke nodded toward a back exit.
“There. Come on.”
There was a small space of flat dirt out back, part of an alleyway that ran behind their group of apartments. The faint outline of a circle remained dug into it, and Senke refreshed it with his heel.
“Only person to train with has been Brug, and trust me, that’s not much of a workout. You’ll do me fine.”
Haern stretched away the rest of his drowsiness. Senke had been the better fighter when they last met, but the years had hardened Haern, granted him strength and height while his nightly excursions had honed his reflexes and skill. He touched the tips of his swords together and bowed. Senke had carried two shortswords with him, and he wielded those instead of his maces.
“Maces will be too slow for you,” he said. “So let’s try the blade.”
Eager to show how much he’d learned, Haern initiated their combat with a quick lunge. Expecting the ensuing parry, he followed up with a slash with his other weapon, using it as a distraction to allow his first thrust to pull back and thrust again. Senke, however, hadn’t been Thren’s enforcer without good reason. He shoved both attacks high, stepped closer, and feinted an elbow to Haern’s face. When Haern stepped back, trying to fall into position, Senke pressed the attack, keeping his swords out wide. The second elbow that came flying in was no feint, and it smacked into his chest with a heavy thud. Again he stepped back, but instead of chasing, Senke pointed to where he’d stepped beyond the bounds of the circle.
“Out,” he said.
Feeling his cheeks flush, Haern stepped back into the practice ring. He wasn’t focused, wasn’t analyzing Senke’s reaction like he might other opponents. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm. A nod, and they resumed.
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.”
