Four of the thralls came to face me, and I used Sunder on the first. He held up his sword to block, but my ability cut through it—and his chest—easily. He fell, choking on his own blood.
I activated Dodge twice to avoid the next two attacks, and when the third fighter took an overhead swing, I rushed in and stabbed him in the gut with the long spike on the end of my new axe. His strike had landed on the top of my shoulder, but its power was reduced by my proximity. He dropped his sword and fell back clutching his belly.
Hana spun, two swords flashing in her hands as she cut down a woman who held a pair of clubs. Another group of the thralls had come from around the corner and stared in shock at the slaughter of their companions. Three men and two women stood, weapons held loosely in their grip. Hana took a defensive stance and waited for them to advance.
Not disliking the gained XP, but feeling the slaughter was too one-sided, I shouted, “Wait! Look what happened to your friends. Why waste your lives? We will let you live to either join the fight against the one you serve, or else return to your families.”
Embers and Alysand stood watching us, and the sheriff called out in frustration, “Ignore that cabrón! Just kill them! Or else suffer the consequences!”
The woman who stood at the front of the group sheathed her sword defiantly. “No, this is foolish. I’m not from Gilsby, but my village is just fifty miles south of here. None of what we’ve done for Dintheel has been good. What else are you willing to do for the safety we have been offered?” She turned to face the others with her to see what they would do.
One by one, they either dropped their weapons or sheathed them again. A man in the back simply turned and ran away.
I looked to Hana, who gave me an approving nod.
“It’s done, then,” I said, lowering my axe. “Leave, then, or else wait if you want to know how you can fight against the Rat King.”
To my surprise, the other four stood their ground and turned to see what would become of their leader.
Embers turned to face Alysand, his features twisted by hate. “Let’s finish this then, damn you.”
Alysand gave him a simple command. “Draw your weapon and take aim.”
My gut fell as I watched the man do as he was asked. What kind of madness was this? If the old man wanted to die, there were easier ways about it.
Hana protested, “Alysand, what are you doing?”
The gunsinger looked to me then. “Madi, will you count to three for us? The time has come.”
I sighed and shook my head. Yet what was I supposed to do, refuse the man? “Okay,” I said. Then I drew in a breath, watching the two men standing rigid, a silent battle already waging, and counted, “One, two, three…”
As my count finished, I saw a look of resolve cross Sheriff Embers’ face, and his arm flexed. A single shot rang out and the young man lowered his pistol, took a few steps back, then fell to his knees.
I looked to Alysand and saw him reholster his pistol, vengeance and heartache battling for dominance in his eyes.
A few of the thralls gasped behind us, then the pistol Embers had been holding clattered on the cobbled stones. Embers slumped back, the sound of his ragged breath heard by all.
Alysand walked over to him, knelt down before the man, and retrieved the fallen pistol.
Embers shot out a hand and gripped Alysand. “Hold, bard of the old ways. I… I’m sorry. Hate blinded me. My name is Wyan. You killed my father after he had joined a group of bandits. The train heist outside of St. Fenn.”
Hana and I walked closer, and to my surprise, though the man had a hole in his chest, he seemed to be recovering from the wound, color already returning to his cheeks.
Alysand answered him, his voice composed and gentle, “I have not forgotten St. Fenn. I’m sorry this is how we met, Wyan.”
The young man pulled Alysand closer and told him, “Dintheel, the Rat King, told me I would be able to kill you. And I will not die from this wound.” The young man tore open the front of his shirt, his hand trembling over a piece of metal lodged in his sternum. “Unless you remove this, not only will I heal, but my heart will be his to command again. Please…”
The bullet hole looked to be closing already, a red glow surrounding the wound.
Alysand pulled a knife from his belt and wedged it under the piece of steel on the man’s sternum. Wyan nodded. “Do it, Alysand. And… I’m sorry about Corbrae. He was a good man. He would have wanted his pistols to go to a nobler man than me.”
Prying the steel fragment from Wyan’s sternum, Alysand replied, “I will be certain they do. Rest now and join your father.” An audible click resounded, then the red light faded, and the wound in his chest bled with renewed force. He coughed twice, blood spilling from his mouth, and went still.
Alysand sighed heavily and closed the man’s eyes. He removed the second pistol from the man’s hip, then called to the thralls who were watching, “You there. Make sure him and the others are buried. Then meet me in Benham town if you wish to fight. We will be assembling a force there. Bring any who wish to kill a few rats.”
I did not know what to say, so I busied myself by strapping on my axe again and holding the cut above my ribs. This whole trip to Gilsby had been none of my business, but I was glad that we had been there to help the old man.
The
