Chapter 11

  Leo

  The dromon Messeas Merriment sailed from Tarona after Leo’s tarins motivated the captain to urgency. Leo and Nicco left with three household guards as escorts. They made the twenty-five leagues to the nearby fishing town of Sicinia in record time. Sicinia was part of the canton, led by Tarona. Once docked, Leo and Nicco led their mounts off the ship once the sailors finished mooring her. They rode their mounts hard and fast along the Coastal Road westward. Horseshoes sparked against the cobblestones as Leo crouched in the saddle. His horse continued to race onward toward Medistein Villa beneath arched tree branches shading the road. The Medistein Villa was located south of Avictfell, near Stirberg Castle. Nestled against the mountains and surrounded by the Skywoods, the villa served as a refuge from the chaotic city life of Tarona.

  The road from Sicinia to the villa was twenty-four miles away. With every minute that passed, more worry filled Leo’s heart. Dusk approached, and they rode onward.

  “Do not fear,” Nicco said against the rushing wind. “Their journey is much shorter than ours.”

  “Assuming they made it out of the city.”

  “Don’t waste time on such thoughts. Have faith in Tellius.”

  Nicco was right. Leo placed his trust in Nicco’s idealism. His parents’ entire journey from Avictfell to the villa was by land. But if they were being pursued, they could seek refuge with Lord Ramund Redlich at Stirberg. The Duke of Stirberg lands included the surrounding countryside south of Avictfell. The Medistein negotiated tolls and tariff arrangements every season with Lord Ramund. A sense of ease filled him at the thought his parents had a haven if needed.

  Leo led his palfrey south at the fork in the road--towards the villa. The northern branch continued onward to Avictfell. A dozen minutes had passed when Leo saw the glow of four lanterns and coach up ahead. He recognized it as his father’s. Warmth filled his heart. His parents had escaped Avictfell.

  “Father!” Leo yelled, but the coach rode on. The distance was evidently too far for them to hear. Leo kicked the flanks of his horse for a final sprint.

  As he closed the gap, the coach horses suddenly stumbled, jackknifed, and the coach flew upright high into the air until landing upside down. A loud clamor crunched the carriage. The lanterns shattered and flames licked the sky. The coach burned. Leo’s heart skittered. Horses shrieked in pain. He was within a hundred yards when he heard shouts of men mixed with the sudden screech of an injured horse abruptly ended. A masked man had plunged his sword into the horse’s neck.

  Other masked bandits charged from the woods flanking the road. The injured coachmen crawled along the road, dragging his mangled legs behind him like a foal learning to take its first steps. A bandit trampled his horse over the coachmen and a hoof kicked in his head, spilling blood and brains.

  Nicco commanded his horse faster with a kick to its flanks. “Tellius, give me the courage to face my enemy and the skill to defeat them. May your divine power protect my Essence.” Nicco retrieved his necklace from beneath his tunic and kissed it. He drew his skysteel sword Vindicator, its sweet song cut through the air. The three Medistein guards drew swords and followed behind him. Leo froze, but fortunately, his horse galloped onward. Nicco pulled ahead at a full gallop. Leo shook his head, coming to his senses, and drawing his own sword. He was no knight, but he could duel decent enough. Every blade mattered.

  Ahead, Nicco hacked one bandit from horseback in a single slash. His momentum carried him forward to cut down the brigand who had just killed the horse. Crossbow bolts whistled from the flanks and sent two of the Medistein guards tumbling to the ground.

  The third remaining guard swore. “Fucking crossbowmen,” turned his mount, and spurred it toward the roadside trees. The bandit struggled to reload the crossbow and instead raised his crossbow to block the guard’s overhead attack. A bolt pierced the guard in the ribs, causing him to lower his sword arm. With his free hand, he grabbed at the shaft, wincing in pain, but still sat astride his horse. Another brigand emerged from the trees, threw down his crossbow, and drew his sword. The brigand hacked at the guard, who met the attack with his own steel. The first bandit swung his crossbow like a club striking the guard in the thigh. The guard pommeled the bandit’s nose, sending blood pouring down his face. He vanquished one foe, but the sword-wielding brigand took advantage of the distraction, stabbed upward into the mounted guard stomach, and he slipped from his saddle.

  Another brigand from behind the coach picked up an intact lantern lying on the ground and threw it. The lantern glass smashed into the road before Nicco’s horse. Flames erupted outward like a rock disturbing a still pond. Nicco’s horse reared back in fear, throwing him onto the cobblestone road. The bandit who had slain the horse rushed forward toward Nicco with a raised blood-stained sword, ready to hasten Niccos’ exodus.

  Intent to aid his prone brother, Leo urged his mount forward, quickly closing the distance. Leo hacked downward with all his strength. The bandit parried, sending sparks streaking through the darkening sky.

  A heartbeat later, Nicco drove his sword upward through the bandit’s chin, and the blade pierced through the top of his skull. “Behind you!” Nicco yelled and yanked his sword free.

  Leo turned. With gritted teeth, the mounted brigand swung his sword sideways. Reflexively, Leo put his sword in front of him, blocking the blow. A hand grabbed his tunic from behind, pulling him to the ground. Leo’s back slammed into the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs. His sword fell free from his grip. Leo reached for it, but a boot kicked it away, sending it sliding into the burning coach. Panic pierced him as another blade poised above him, ready to stab downward. This is how I die.

  An instant later, Nicco sliced off the assailant’s hand. Warm blood sprayed Leo’s face. Leo blinked the blood from his eyes. Nicco’s quick slash across the throat splattered blood, silencing a shrill scream. The bandit’s head tilted back, dangling from the spine like a puppet, gazing at the Void above.

  “Tend to your parents!” Nicco commanded. Nicco stepped toward the darkness, positioning himself to defend Leo’s back. Three blades glinted from the burning coach. The bandits converged on Nicco. Steel clashed between swears and grunts.

  With a head shake, Leo gathered himself and crawled to the coach’s door. Flames swelled, and the heat stung his eyes. He held up his hand up shielding his eyes. Inside, Otto lay in a very inhuman-like contorted pose. His arm bent backward at the elbow and he was twisted beyond any normal range of motion. Blood saturated his scalp.

  Sophia was unconscious as well. There was blood on her too, but her body seemed to hold a more natural pose than his father’s. A chest had spilled its contents onto the roof of the carriage--which currently positioned upside down was the floor. Blue and violet salts sprinkled among silver and gold tarins. Leo reached inside the window past salts, scrolls, papers, and treasure. He grabbed Sophia’s arm and shook her. “Mother, wake up! Mother.” Heat surged inside the coach. The smoke billowed out the windows.

  His mother’s eyes blinked open, dazed. “Mother! Give me your hand.” Leo doubted she heard him. Her expression was still one of stunned confusion. Leo grabbed her hand and pulled. That got her attention. She was halfway out the window when she said, “Leo?”

  “Yes, Mother,” he said, sounding both anxious and relieved simultaneously. “It’s me. Hurry, the coach is on fire!” He strained again and pulled her free. She sat on the road and looked over at the partially decapitated man Nicco had slain. Sophia’s back arched, and she vomited. Leo glanced back toward Nicco. His movements were a fluid dance, like a Senkouan acrobat. He parried and attacked and had already killed one of the three bandits. His skills extending beyond the tourney field. Seeing him fight outnumbered, Leo realized why many regarded him as one of the best swordsmen in the realm. Satisfied Nicco had his situation in hand, Leo turned back toward the coach--back toward his father. He fought past the pain as his skin sweltered from the heat.

  “Father. Father! FATHER!” Leo yelled. Otto didn’t respond. He seized his father’s leg and pulled. He struggled against his father’s weight. Sophia’s lighter frame had been easier to retrieve, and she had been half awake. Otto lay like dead weight. My father is dead. Leo fought against fire but failed; the flames forced him to flee. The shirt on his left forearm caught fire, and he dashed away. Frantically, he swatted the flames with his right hand.

  “Leo!” Nicco called. Leo turned his head. One of Nicco’s foes had turned his efforts toward Leo. A masked brigand snarled and thrust his sword.

  “Noooo!” Sophia wailed. An instant later, her body sprung between Leo and the snarling brigand. Sophia’s eyes bulged wide. Blood seeped from the corner of her mouth. Leo looked down at the sword protruding from her stomach. Tears of pain fell from the corners of her mouth. She tried to speak, but only coughed blood.

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  Leo thrust his still-burning forearm into the face of the brigand, who yelled in pain and turned away. “You bastard!” Leo yelled and drew the dagger from his belt with his blister-burned palm. Leo reached around his mother, driving the dagger down, striking where the neck meets the shoulder. The brigand fell to his knees and flopped forward onto his face.

  Sophia collapsed into his arms. Leo caught her and knelt down. He took the hem of her dress and smothered the flames on his forearm. Burning blisters still beat with each pump of his heart--yet his mother’s expression pained him more.

  A horse neighed. The sole remaining bandit limped towards the horse with his right leg dragging behind. Leo met Nicco with desperate eyes. Nicco yelled in frustration, eyes flicking between the bandit and Leo--hesitating. The bandit pulled himself into the saddle. With a stern kick, the horse galloped north along the road. Nicco ran toward his horse and grabbed its reins, intending to mount it and give chase.

  “Help me!” Leo pleaded.

  Nicco looked at Sophia, bleeding in Leo’s arms. Instead, Nicco released the saddle horn, sheath his sword, and ran towards Leo. “Put pressure on it,” Nicco said. He grabbed the sword still stuck in his mother and yanked it free. Sophia’s body convulsed. Nicco threw the blade aside and it clanged against the road. He grabbed a handful of the hem of Sophia’s dress and pressed it to her back.

  More blood gushed from her stomach. Leo pressed his hand to cover the wound. It didn’t help. The blood seeped out between his fingers. He looked into his mother’s eyes. Her mouth opened, “cold,” Sophia said as she wince in pain.

  Sweat ran down his back. Flames roared, consuming the entire coach. A foul smell of burnt flesh wafted the air.

  Leo looked at Nicco, desperate for an answer. Nicco’s face was hard yet sad, a mix of anger and disbelief. Two men in their prime, best friends, brothers in all but name. Helpless, Leo watched as the light left his mother’s eyes.

  “I love you...” Sophia coughed blood, “...both.” Sophia eyes stared into the Void as her last breath left her.

  Leo bit back tears. Nicco screamed in rage. Forged in fire, bound in blood, sharing the pain of their parents’ death united them. Leo held his mother tight to his chest as Sophia’s Essence made its exodus to the heavens above.

  * * *

  The tree’s shadows stretched like grasping claws as dusk came. Leo and Nicco sat upon the cobblestone road in the smokey, darkening sky. Small flames still smoldered, parts of the coach casting an eerie glow around them. Only embers, charred wood, and ash remained. The fire had consumed all. Only Otto’s charred bones remained.

  “We should go,” Nicco said. “The escaped bandit may return.” Leo sat frozen with fear and grief. Nicco touched his shoulder. “Leo, we should go.”

  Leo wiped his eyes. He gently sat his mother’s head down and stood. “I’ll get our horses.”

  Leo shook his burned hand as though it might rid himself of the pain--it didn’t. Peeled flesh of red and black hung free from his blistered hand. It took all his courage simply to touch his hand with a finger. Pain pierced the spot he touched like a crow pecking a carcass. He cradled his hand close to his body, wincing as he flexed it to ensure he could still use it. With his good hand, he retrieved a burning wheel to use as a makeshift torch. He walked down the road, searching for the mounts.

  Leo found his mount first. The mare munched on the leaves of a tree several dozen yards away. The horse stirred as he approached. Fear of the fire still glistened in its eyes. Frightened by the flames, the mare snorted and trotted away. Leo dropped the torch and calmly approach once again. This time he managed to mount the saddle before riding further down the road, where he found Nicco’s horse. He reached out to grab the reins, startling the beast, which jolted and ran a dozen yards away. Leo wished he had some way to control the emotions of the animal. He approached again, this time slower, talking with a calm, comforting tone. Leo wondered if the words weren’t somehow meant for himself as well. He clutched the reins and wrapped them around his saddle horn. He petted the horse's neck and returned to Nicco near the smoldering carriage with both their mounts.

  Sophia’s body had been slung over the saddle of a third horse that belonged to one of the dead brigands. “We can bury her at the villa,” Nicco said. “I think she would like that.”

  Leo nodded. “The place she cherished most.” Leo looked over toward the charred ruins of his father and the coach. “There isn’t much to bury of our father.”

  “His Essence is with Tellius now. That’s what matters. They both watch over us from the heavens above.”

  Leo dismounted and walked over to the coach. No tears came. He didn’t know why. Perhaps he had none left, or perhaps his father’s death still hadn’t sunk in. He stood hypnotized by the burnt bones. Not a trace of paper or parchment remained. The scrolls and salts had all burned.

  Misshapen coins from cultures surrounding the Enthos Sea rested on the charred cobblestone. Tarins, Kaljer kukats, and Lyrean lyra had all partially melted. Warped into odd ovals and irregular shapes. The coins covered the charred cobblestone. Pools of silver had melted, only to cool into splattered puddles. Leo ignored them. Otto’s platinum chain hung around the charred spine. Diamond jewels encrusted the diamond-shaped holy symbol of the Tellisium. Rings still rested on charred fingers that looked like twigs. His left hand had a golden wedding ring around it. On the right, his father’s platinum signet ring encrusted with the Medistein seal.

  Both pieces of platinum jewelry were undamaged. Leo knew little about smithing, except that platinum had a high melting point. So high, in fact, that it required smiths to work the metal over a forge of Traessyean fire. Few dared such a thing, given how dangerously hot and sticky the substance was. This rarity of Traessyean fire inflated platinums value.

  Leo carefully took the rings off each finger and put them in his pocket. They were warm to the touch. His golden wedding ring had warped into an oval shape. He lifted the necklace over his father’s blackened skull. “May your Essence grace Tellius,” Leo whispered. It felt odd giving a prayer to his father’s god instead of his own, but it was the least he could do to honor his memory. Leo wanted to stay and wait for the fire to die out so he could recover his father’s bones, but they had to get to the villa.

  “Leo, come look at this,” Nicco called out, snapping him free from his transfixed gaze on his father’s burned bones. He moved to Nicco. Nicco kicked a sword, which clattered as it slide across the road. The brigand’s hand still gripped the hilt.

  “It’s just the hand of an asshole who murdered my parents.” Leo nudged the hand with his boot.

  “Our parents,” Nicco corrected. “Otto and Sophia were as much my parents as yours.”

  Leo’s throat clenched. How selfish of me. His heart aches as much as mine. “Our parents,” Leo agreed. Leo held out Otto’s holy Tellisium necklace. “Take it.”

  Nicco shook his head. “I can’t.”

  Leo pressed it against Nicco’s chest. “As you said, our father.”

  “In Essence, yes, but by blood--”

  “You are Telliusian, I’m not,” Leo reasoned. “I’m sure Father would have wanted you to have it.”

  Nicco hesitantly took the warm necklace from Leo’s grasp, then draped the necklace around his neck.

  Leo reached back into his pocket and retrieved the two rings. Gold and platinum rested in his blistered palm. He fingered the signet ring and slid it onto his left ring finger. He placed Otto’s wedding ring back in his pocket. “This one belongs to Mother.”

  “Yes, now look,” Nicco said and grabbed Leo’s forearm. Pain flared in his arm and Leo jerked his arm away. It hurt more now that adrenaline and emotions had subsided. “Sorry,” Nicco said. “Look at the tattoo on his hand.” Nicco picked up the sword by its cross guard, the hand still clutching it. “Do you recognize this emblem?” Nicco asked. Atop the hand rested a black tattoo of three crossed swords the size of a gold tarin. Leo shrugged. Nicco gave a lopsided frown. “And people say you’re the smart one.” Leo gave a feint half grin at the joke. “This is a mercenary company, sigil of the Black Blades.”

  “Mercenaries sell their sword to any who will pay.”

  “True, but look at the other bodies.” Nicco gestured toward the other dead brigands. “They are all wearing black. Black armor, black tunics, black boots.”

  “Brigands like black.”

  “Yes, but not all black--only black. Usually, they wear variations of earthy-toned colors and normal steel armor. These men even have black armor. Thats done by burning oil into the surface. My point is the black is intentional. Your common brigand rarely cares how he looks. He spends his money on beer and whores, not armor.”

  Nicco was right. They all wore black. Every single piece of clothing and armor was black.

  “These men are members of the Black Blades,” Nicco reiterated.

  “Alright,” Leo said. “We know who killed our parents.”

  “We can go to the Black Blades captain and ask him who paid the contract.”

  “In my limited experience, I don’t think it’s customary for mercenary companies to reveal such things.”

  “True, but we can persuade him to tell us.” Nicco had a fair point.

  “Is such a thing likely?”

  “The Black Blade’s captain is a man by the name of Bastian Bach.”

  “You know of him?”

  “Better. I know him. I have trained with him on many occasions.”

  “Can he be bought?”

  “Most likely,” Nicco said. “And should he suddenly find himself renewed with honor? I can make him?” Nicco tapped the blade of the sword. Leo didn’t doubt that. If Nicco exhibited confidence in his abilities to defeat a man he had trained with, that was all the persuasion Leo required. What made Nicco stand out as a superb swordsman was not only his mastery of various forms and styles, but his ability to remember men’s fighting styles. If someone fought Nicco at a tournament in the past, Nicco claimed to remember his style and form. A sort of sixth sense. Nicco knew swords and armor, like Leo knew architecture and banking.

  “If we kill him, would that not upset the company?”

  “It might,” Nicco shrugged. “But every man has a price. Just be sure to bring enough gold.”

  “Where do they reside?”

  “Usually in Avictfell, but I have known them to travel around a bit.”

  “Where?”

  “Any city that can accommodate ten thousand men,” Nicco said.

  “That narrows the list.”

  “It does, but that’s not the standing size of the company. Most members journey home and work more peaceful jobs. Except during a war or a fight.”

  “Fortunate for us. I prefer not to pay for ten thousand mercenaries. What’s the size of the company during peacetime?”

  “Perhaps several hundred, a thousand at most.”

  “That lengthens the list,” Leo said. “That means we may have a hard time finding this Captain Bastian.”

  “True, but given our location, it’s likely they came from Avictfell, Tussen, Sicinia, or maybe even Lenoa.”

  “I say we start with Avictfell.”

  “Agreed, but first let’s get to the villa.” Nicco pried the fingers from the blade. The severed tattoo hand fell to the ground. “Here, take this.”

  “I don’t need it.”

  “And where is your sword?” Leo glanced back behind toward the burnt rubble. He doubted the fire had destroyed it. The blade must have cooled by now.

  “I wouldn’t,” Nicco said. “The flames likely weakened the steal. Breaking a blade during a fight is the last thing you want.” Leo had to agree with Nicco’s logic. “If we encounter those brigands again, you might want it.”

  He required no more convincing, having no desire to sift through ash and debris to find a sword of no particular significance. Leo took it by the hilt and sheathed the sword. He managed to mount his horse using only one hand. Nicco handed him the reins of the horse, carrying his mother’s body.

  Nicco then picked up the severed hand and put it in his saddle bag. “Evidence,” Nicco said as he climbed into the saddle. They trotted southward toward the villa.

  They rode in the darkness for another hour, refraining from going too fast. Nicco had tied Sophia down, but Leo didn’t want his mother’s body to fall off. When they rounded the last corner of the road, horror befell him.

  The Medistein Villa burned.