Ahhh I remember being sixteen. Vaguely. My favourite book series at the time was the Old Kingdom trilogy. I havenât read it in a while, but I think it probably holds up. Good lord the pacing.
I wrote a fanfiction of it, and Iâm going to share it with you here and now. Relax, it doesnât feature scenes of a self insert banging all the characters in debaucherous and self aggrandizing ways. All the self-insertion is as like, an action hero or something.
A few disclaimers - This is not the original version. I edited it a fair bit. For grammar and continuity, mostly. However, I do have another sixteen years of experience now... Most importantly, a lot more experience in the arts of mars. When I came across it, I was like âNot only does this not work, itâs also too fkn clean.â
Donât worry, if you do bother to read through it you wonât be coming across some Cormac McCarthy level violence.
I wrote this in like, 2004. At that point only the original trilogy had been released. I havenât even read Clariel, or Goldenhand. I really should get on it, Iâm sure itâs fucken dope.
Also Iâm well aware that even in a fantasy setting some of this shit would never happen. Where Iâve made the biggest changes Iâve tried to keep to the spirit, if not the letter of the original.
Not all fanfiction is garbage. Donât get me wrong, this totally is, but you should read The Last Ringbearer.
This will be a long post.
Deserter - 1 - Night Moves
The driving snow made visibility next to zero on the Ancelstierre side of the wall, and for once, the same could be said for the Old Kingdom side. This close to the wall and Barhedrin hill, a traveller was unlikely to die of exposure, if they were to seek shelter immediately, but the poor visibility and blanketing snow would erase any tracks made, making chances of survival poor. Law wanted to find shelter now, but that was not the mission.
<One. Meter. Spacing. Head North. Hurry Up.>
The visibility made his signals difficult to see; he hoped the squad got the message; if not, they'd get it when he sped up.
Lawrence reached the boulder at the position that the group had described for him as suitable shelter months ago; more of a windbreak really. He was well ahead of the group, but had to wait for the last of the dozen to enter the comparative calm of the lee side of the boulder before he could start erecting a shelter. Those that arrived first were skewering him with hateful glances as they set their tents up. The first one to finish, also the tallest approached him.
"Hey dick head," Law turned his head to look at him, "What the fuck is your problem?"
He obviously didn't like Law, and the rest seemed to share his sentiments. They'd probably crucify him if he knocked big stuff out.
"This is all fucked... But you do your job and Iâll do mine, chief." He replied.
âYouâre on thin ice, fuckface.â Big stuff growled.
"Back off Smith." Their leader said, Law didn't even know his rank. All the men quietened down and the leader sat down next to a boulder. Having already erected a tent by himself, Law figured it was OK to sit with him.
"That was a tough slog, but theyâll be glad weâre a bit ahead of schedule." he said.
"Weatherâs getting worse,â he said, taking out a cigar and a match, âTheyâre not stupid."
His match went out, and Law tossed him a lighter. Smoking in the field was... Not his problem.
"Use mine." The leader tried to light it.
"Gee whiz. It's not working." he tossed it back.
The storm had passed two hours before dawn, which meant that they had trudged through it for an hour or so. Law had discarded his NVG's which were faulty, and he had also discarded all his faith in the organisation of this operation. By the time they saw the sun, they were well past Barhedrin Hill, having passed under the cover of cloud and night. The weather seemed to be clearing, and soon he would be able to leave; the next ridge was where he got off this train. Unlike the night before, they all arrived together. They all gathered, got their bearings and left. They were dicks, and amateurish, but good luck to them. He held up a peace sign as they moved past him, slow and quiet.
Orders were to stay put for half an hour then leave, but along with the orders to carry no watches, he figured it was time to leave. He was in a pristine, snowy landscape, and immediately regretted not having brought skis along, this hill was the tallest one for miles. He could see a village on the other side of a valley from here, and a small wood well south of the village. Skiing from here would have been a blast. He began his quiet march back, alone. As he moved along, he spotted a funny looking rock at the foot of the hill. He bent down to inspect it and found that he had led the group in a circle. They were the night vision goggles that he had discarded well before dawn. He frowned; they had all ended up in the right place, so... what? The only conclusion he could come to was that the mission they were on was hopelessly organised.Â
He continued along, and almost missed the ski tracks following their trail. When he noticed them, he drew his silenced .45 pistol. He inspected them, and saw that they were going in the same direction that they had been walking. He had a general idea where the tracks would lead; over the tall hill. He scaled it from a different angle, it took almost no time at all. He lay prone in the snow and crawled to a small snow drift; when he arrived he saw there was a log underneath. Propped up by the edge of the log, he watched the place where he and the group had separated, he doubted that the skier would have passed there already. He was rewarded when he saw a figure in white, with skis strapped to his back pick his way past the rocks before the insertion point. He watched the figure kneel in the snow; inspecting all the footprints, but was surprised to see the figure follow his tracks instead of the groups.
"Drop you're weapons." Law ordered, with his .45 pointed squarely at the man's back as he skulked by on the rocky ground. The man dropped his skis and ski poles. He turned, the wide, predatory smile across his face twisted Lawâs guts into knots.
âLaw.â He said, and drew his sword.
"Who are you?" Law asked, looking down the sight of his weapon.
"An assassin. Sent to kill you." he replied, and advanced slowly.
Law pulled the trigger. Dead manâs click.
Somehow the assassin smiled wider and quickened his pace.
Lawrence cleaned his bayonet on the snow and examined the sword. It was nice, high quality steel. Razor sharp, but not wielded by an expert.
As the assassin had charged him, Law had thrown his gun at his face, but the assassin had expected that, and had battered the flying gun aside. Law drew his bayonet, and stepped aside across a tree as the assassin had tried to run him through. The assassin faced him, sword at the guard position. His bayonet was of the type that the perimeter garrison used; extra long, 60cm. He was a good knife fighter, maybe he stood a chance. The assassin advanced, with more restraint. He swung his sword one handed, and Law parried it as best he could. The assassin punched him in the jaw, and Law slipped on the ice, landing hard on his shoulders. The assassin laughed maniacally as he brought the sword into a high guard and swung it down towards him. Law rolled to the side, and the sword sent a spray of snow across him. The sword was stuck in a root, and the assassin was grunting with exertion, trying to pull it out. Law rolled up on his back and sent both his legs at the attacker. One of his boots crashed into his face, and the other into the hilt of the sword, breaking his hands and knocking him to the ground.
He stood up and closed in on the assassin, as the assassin tried to stand.
âWhy?â He growled, bringing his shin into the assassinâs ribs, breaking at least three.
âFuck you!â The assassin yelled. Law pounced on his back, grabbed his head with both hands and started smashing it into the hard icy ground. Then he put his forearm across the assassinâs face and pulled his hands in a gable grip with his considerable strength. He felt the assassinâs nose and front teeth break under the pressure. The assassin gargled in pain and struggled for a weapon, some snow, anything. Law bore down on him and their combined weight landed on the assassinâs face. He put his forearm on the attackers face again, and pulled, with pressure on his eye socket this time.
"They're gonna kill the Abhorsen!" he cried out. Law released the pressure, only to punch him in the liver.
"The twelve guys you guided in here!" The assassin was a sorry sight, battered face, bleeding mouth.
"Corolini! The Corvere insurrection!â
Because of a revenge plot.
Law pulled the assassinâs head back and cut his throat, blood sprayed across the scene of their fight.
He had met the Abhorsen once. He was one of the few in Corvere that weren't loyal to or paid by Corolini during the Corvere insurrection. He had been ordered to join Coroliniâs guard, drawn from the ranks of Ancelstierre's special forces. He despised Corolinis rhetoric, policy and person, and had put a bullet in his head at the first opportunity. When the fighting was over, it turned out that he had chosen the side of righteousness; some bad motherfucker Warlord, Orannis, in the North had been siding with Corolini, and had been routed. The Prime Minister of Ancelstierre had pinned a medal on his chest, and so had the Abhorsen. The assassin had said that the plan was to kill herâ someone was out to get even.
"They should have given you a crossbow, friend." He said, as he left the assassin in the snow. The objective was the Abhorsen, and he couldn't really see how it would be achieved. The plan until now however, had made perfect sense. They had equipped him well south of the wall, and taken him to the wall by horse and cart, to 'blend in with the locals.' They had shown him maps of the 'planned route', but never pictures, or first hand reconnaissance to ensure he didn't find out some of the stories he'd been told of this place were true. They had gone on the snowiest day possible so any tracks they made would be wiped clean, so they had needed him to get as far as they had. From there, Law figured that the plan was to lure the Abhorsen and her apprentice into some kind of trap, but they could well be after the entire royal family. He had to assume the worst. He picked up the trail again. He was in a very interesting position; he could stop this plot in it's tracks. Ancelstierre would think he was dead, and so would the twelve. As long as he remained hidden, he would have the power to intervene.
Deserter - 2 - Catching up
Night Vision Goggles. Zippo Lighter. .45 caliber silenced HK. Compass. 7.62mm SLR. Headlamp. With all that gone, Law would travel lighter. That was the bright side. The assassin had only carried a set of 6 throwing knives and the sword for Law, and he only had his clothes, his bayonet, a garrote and a little folding knife in addition to that. He hadnât packed heavy; two days worth of water, food and a tent. He was meant to be home by now. He didn't know the terrain, but he was an expert in fieldcraft and field survival. With all this snow around, he wouldn't die of thirst, but finding food would still be work.
He soon found that he wouldn't have time to die of starvation; the group had left all the useless gear close to where they had split up. No food, but they were close. From there, they had set a casual pace. He caught up within a day, and observed them. They were in their army khakis now, but carried swords and shields instead of guns and grenades. They all wore assorted armour, which explained their glacial pace to him. They had to carry all that crap, their field gear and rifle, and several magazines. Armed as they were, Law thought he could rush in there and take five or six before they even knew he was there, and two or three more before they could do anything about it. Leaving up to five for later, if he survived. He would have done it, if they weren't in direct line of sight to a village or something; only nine... cottages... Apart from the lack of modern weaponry, they looked like they were on patrol in the normal world. Law figured out this next part of the plan; they were going to pretend to be deserters (which they really were), but blood all over their clothes would make their reasons for deserting seem kind of weak. He'd have to continue watching. They entered the village, and Law went around it; they didn't emerge, he'd have to camp here for the night.
They finally left three days later, but moved with the same non-military pace. They were here to spread a story, moving on to whatever else was next on their plan. Law decided to go into the town and find out exactly what that story was. He pulled off his balaclava, revealing his face. He had jet black hair, and hadn't shaved for days. He drew his bayonet to shave off his stubble. He had skin a few shades darker than olive, and having just taken off a balaclava he'd been wearing on and off for five days or so, his shaven head was a prickly stubble. It still looked neat, at least. In this snowy hell hole, he doubted that there was anyone else as dark as him, so he'd have to stick to their story of desertion. He went around the village again. He'd come in from the Ancelstierre side.
"Excuse me ma'am," A tall, dark and handsome Ancelsterrian Tamith had been watching for a minute or so approached her, " I'm looking for some friends of mine, they said they'd be coming through this way. Have you seen them?"
"I don't know. Why don't you describe them?" she replied.
"There were a dozen or so of them, Ancelsterrian clothes, and... uh...local weapons." the stranger replied, he didn't seem fazed.
"They're deserters, are you?" That reply seemed to get past his guard.
"Yes. I am." He replied after a moment. Tamith had promised them not to help anyone trying to bring them home; they had some pretty solid reasons for deserting, and this fellow started alarm bells ringing with his manner.
"Sorry they didnât tell me anything. Why did you desert?" She couldn't be sure about this man, but she decided to give him a chance.
"Military life... Orders. Itâs hard to explain unless youâve been there, but Iâve had to do things Iâm not proud of." In her opinion, that was the wrong answer, but that was exactly what one of the soldiers said.
"What were their names?" She finally asked.
Lawrence had picked twelve random famous people from Ancelstierre as their names. She had said "No they weren't", to which he'd replied âThey might have lied to you; knowing them and knowing me is a risk to us. Please, forget this entire conversation.â Then she had told him everything they had told her. They had been looking for jobs, and she had suggested joining the guard at Roble's town. They were hiring pretty easily, there was some trouble in the North, and anyone with some experience in the armed forces would be recruited in a heartbeat. He thanked her and moved on. The way he figured, they would practice their act at every major and minor settlement between here and Roble's town. He could move ahead, she had told him the way. If he was lucky, he would arrive days, possibly even a week or two ahead of them.
Law sighted them the next day; they were moving with good security. Slow and quiet. They werenât the amateurs they acted like on the first night. No opportunity to eliminate any of them presented itself that day, so he passed them. It took him six days to get to Roble's town at his pace, at least twice as fast as the others. There were two small towns and a village that was even smaller than the first one on the way. He ended up reaching Roble's town over two and a half weeks ahead of the others. Like the young woman had said, they had accepted him readily, and put him in the infantry under his new name Tony; his hand to hand combat skills were better than anything they had ever seen, he was told. With his equipment and skills however, they could only assume he was a deserter. He made no friends among his new colleagues, he seemed beneath their contempt, and he really couldn't blame them could he? His plan was to stay out of their sight and kill the other Ancelsterrians as they slept. Then he could slip out and go home; no one need know that he had foiled an assassination plot. Unfortunately, the recruiting centre in Roble's town was flooded with people wanting to do their part for their country, and he was transported to Qyrre. From there, he would be taken to Sindle via boat and horses.
Qyrre was next to the Ratterlin; the main river in the 'Old Kingdom'. He had never liked fishing back home, but with no friends and no reason to leave on his time off, Law decided it was a good opportunity to get out and do some recon. He hadn't caught anything all morning, and was preparing to leave the riverbank. Sword practice was in an hour, and he was bored out of his mind anyway. He turned and found the others lined up behind him.
"Lawrence," one said, "Or is it Tony now?"
They were carrying the equipment he had been issued, but he was wearing his Ancelsterrian weapons. They threw his stuff on the grass in front of him.
"Put it all on." the one he figured was the leader said.
He put on all his armour and buckled on his sword.
"You donât have to be traitors. We can all go home now." He said.
"It's over Lawrence." one said. Then he blacked out as someone clubbed him over the head.
Law was absolutely freezing when he fully came to his senses. He was tied up and lying on a gravelly riverbank, on the other side of the river, judging by the flow of water. The last five or so minutes had passed like a feverish nightmare as he had struggled to stay afloat with his hands were tied behind his back, and his feet tied together. It was nothing short of a miracle that he hadn't drowned. He wriggled out of the water as best he could; his feet were going numb. The ropes weren't tied that well; he struggled against them until his wrists were bleeding. They were tied well enough. Next he looked around for a sharp rock or something; all his weapons were out of reach. He found a long cigar shaped rock, with a rough edge, like an old nail file. He used it to sandpaper at the ropes while looking around for something that he could use to escape faster. He finally spotted a rock that was partly buried; it had a long, sharp looking ridge running along the top. He managed to cut through his bonds in four minutes or so while sitting on it, and he made short work of the ropes around his legs with his folding knife once his hands were free. He then washed his wrists, but had nothing to bandage them with. He had no idea where he was, he could only be upstream.
Four hours later, he still hadn't sighted Qyrre, but he recognized the road on the other side of the river. He didn't doubt that his ferry to Sindle had already left, he was due to leave today, and had spent a good hour looking for a rock. The others must have taken the same ferry, and he was no longer ahead of them. His advantage had been lost; but they still thought he was dead.
The ferry would have reached Sindle by now, and Law knew that on foot it would take him a very long time to catch up to his enemies. He decided that it was in the best interests of this heinous place that he steal a horse. He figured that as long as he walked along the river, he would find a farm or homestead that would have horses. He struck gold when he came across a low rock wall. He scouted around it and found it surrounded a homestead on a bit of a hill. He knew next to nothing about farming, but immediately recognized a stable between the barn and the homestead. There were two hours to go until dusk; Law decided to use that time to make this next development as bloodless and quiet as possible.
There were nine people living on this farm; an old couple, a willowy, redheaded woman and her younger sister, and a tall, muscly fellow. There were also four children, ranging in age from six to thirteen. He hoped none of them knew magic, like some of the soldiers he had met at Qyrre and Roble's town. The sky was dark, and the family appeared to be on the second floor of their two story home. He stalked up to the house, peeking into the dark windows until he found the kitchen. The windows weren't locked, or even latched. He managed to break in without breaking anything. He could hear the family was singing upstairs, then he realized that he was unlikely to find a tin of baked beans, or protein bars. With this in mind, he settled for a piece of cheese, a loaf of bread and a cured sausage. He also spotted a sharpening stone and a small satchel, which he filled with the food and sharpening stone. He left the way he came in, and left quietly. He could still hear the sounds of singing wafting down the stairs and into the kitchen. He moved quietly to the stables, and went around a large-ish vegetable patch. He unlatched the gate and closed it behind him, but he didn't latch it. He entered the stables and inspected all the horses. There were twelve in all, and lots of saddles; a lot more than twelve. He wasn't a horse guy, but part of his training for the previous three weeks involved learning to ride. He could mount, dismount and ride... sort of. He picked a horse he judged was robust enough and saddled it, then he strapped the satchel to it. He left to open the gate before going back in to take the horse.
"Don't move, or I will unleash a spell of great destruction." by the time the strong female voice who said that finished her sentence, Law had ducked behind a large sack of grain. Another door opened opposite him, and the muscly fellow was there, a bow in his hands and an arrow nocked. Law put his hands up and the woman (the younger of the two sisters) approached him; a belt in her hands. He put his hands behind his head. She stood behind him and gripped his wrist. As she brought it down he dragged her arm and put his arm around her neck. He drew his bayonet and pressed it's blade into the small of her back, while turning to face the muscly fellow.
"Drop it." He ordered. The man slowly lessened the tension in the string and put the arrow into a quiver on his back. He was about to drop his bow when a scream from the direction of the homestead saw him disappear almost before Law even noticed.
"Let me help!" The mage woman said. He released her and moved towards the horses. Then turned. Maybe they'd consider the horse a just reward if he helped them; he really needed to keep the locals onside.
The vegetable garden had a wooden fence around it; there was a tall figure trying to scale it, and two more behind him throttling each other. They were dead; he knew this because he could smell them, and because the one trying to climb the fence had five arrows through his head. It seemed under control; the arrows didn't seem to damage it much alone, but with each one, it slowed down, and became even more discoordinated. Law decided to handle the winner out of the two that were throttling each other. He drew his sword and watched. One's neck snapped; the winner snarled triumphantly as it's adversary's body went lifeless and head hung limp. Law vaulted the wooden fence.
Both dead things came right for him; lurching and stiff, but quick nevertheless. The one with arrows in it's head seemed stronger, so Law went for it first. He hacked at it, cutting it's left arm off at the elbow. He followed his hack through with a kick that snapped the thing's right shin. The thing didn't seem to care about either arm or leg; it still advanced and battered at him with the better arm. Law charged into it with his shoulder and punched it in the face with the guard of his sword, but a vice like grip on his shoulder prevented a second attack. He took the arm, dropped to his knees and smashed the second thing into one of the wooden posts supporting the fence. Hard. He heard several bones, possibly even it's spine snap. He rolled to his left and got to his feet, facing the first with his sword held underhand. He crouched, ready to spring, and a gout of flame tore through it's body. It burned with intense, orange flames that left him momentarily flashblind, then fell to the ground, finally lifeless. The second was weak, but still alive. It stood and lurched towards him. He scuttled back, giving the mage time and space to burn this one too.
"Help him!" one of the children squeaked from behind the fence. Some of the children echoed this brilliant idea.
"Fuck him," the mage woman he had taken hostage said, "We caught him stealing Carris. Fight, thief."
They wanted a show. He kicked it in the knee, which snapped. He grabbed the blade of his sword with the left, and smashed it in the face with his sword guard. It fell, it didn't die. It got up again, then he saw the one it had throttled get up too.
This seemed to silence the children. Law drew his sword again; the one he had thrown into the wooden post seemed weaker, so he threw his sword at the one it had throttled. It went right through it's chest, right to the hilt, and the sword emerged out the other side with a shower of sparks. He hadn't expected that, but he recovered well. He ran at it and charged it with his shoulder, then tore his sword out of it's body, ripping it in half. It didn't move anymore; it was dead, and so was he once he took care of the last one. There was no hellfire; the show must go on. He sheathed his sword and drew his bayonet and garrote. The last one lurched towards him, and he didn't move. It was finally in grabbing distance, and it growled as it reached for his throat with it's rotting hands. He took its wrist and dragged it down, looping the tough cable of his garrote around it's neck. He then got behind it and drove his bayonet into the small of it's back before pulling it back to its feet. A gout of cool blood splashed across his hand. They were strong, but slow, uncoordinated and dumb. Therefore, this one was now harmless. He wheeled with it, turning it towards the family, and started moving away from them. There was a low stone wall to his right, about seven metres behind him and twelve metres from the family. The mage woman started building up her hellfire thing again; it looked pretty ominous to him. This living corpse would burn with him.
He pulled his bayonet out of the zombie at the wall, and wiped it relatively clean on it's filthy rags. He sheathed it and let go of one of the garrote handles, then he vaulted over the wall, rolling on the other side. He then followed along it in the direction of the stables. The mage woman finally released her hellfire when he was well away from the zombie, he saw it illuminate a small part of the countryside, it cast sharp shadows all over the property. Not of him though, he was already in the stable, wishing for his SLR.
"Where the hell is he?" someone yelled. A little later, he heard a clatter; an arrow shaft bouncing through a tree.
"Not there fuckers." he said bitterly. He needed that horse, he could have left them to deal with the things. He wasnât winning any hearts and minds in this country, and this country would never win his now. He found Carris and mounted.
Being a stranger to these parts, Law decided to stick to the main roads, and turned his cloak inside out to help alter his appearance. The goal now was to get to Navis; the others would be posted South West of there, and the fastest way now was by boat. He just hoped the local authorities weren't onto him yet, but he would probably need their help later on. Mounted, it only took him four days steady riding to reach Callibe, a small settlement by southern standards, but apparently a large port city in this country. Right. Law skirted around the city searched for a dock, but despite it's proximity to water (only a hundred metres or so), and it's reputation as a seaport, there was nothing, save for a small jetty and a half built sea wall shielding part of the beach from the waves rolling in from the open sea. Law turned and walked a well worn path to the city centre, he tied Carris to a post outside a tavern. Then he asked the first person he met for directions. He got nothing but strange looks from everyone he asked for directions to Callibe's shipyards.
Law was exceptionally confused as he walked down a dusty lane winding through the limestone houses that made up this part of the seaside town. He was now looking for a law enforcement officer of some description. He found a pair of men wearing knee high leather boots, blue clothes, black cloaks and red sashes that he decided fit the description pretty well.
"Excuse me officers," Law approached them with a large, friendly smile on his face, "could you direct me to the closest boat market, or dock?" They exchanged glances.
"Of course, friend," the older one replied, "That would be Callibe, this is Telephone, a Korrovian settlement."
"You're not from around here, are you?" The younger one enquired.
"Uh. No, I'm not. I need to get to Navis." Law rubbed his chin, in genuine worry.
"Why, friend?" the older one asked, his hand moving to his hilt. The law was already after him.
"I signed up with the royal guard, but my division left me behind at Qyrre. I need to catch up." Law's father had always told him, the less bullshit the better.
"Why didn't you wait for the next boat then, friend?" the younger one asked. Law noticed a mark on his forehead, also on the older one's forehead. Then, kind of slowly, he realized that all the people he had seen do the funky magic shit had that mark, except for the mage woman from the night before. But he probably hadn't noticed it in the dark.
"I kind of... don't remember the past few days... You know how it is after a few ales..." A lame excuse, he knew.
"Well, I'm sure we can help you remember." The older one said. Law put his hands behind his head and gave up without a fight.
The constables had thrown him in gaol, and for some reason, his 'accidental deserter' story hadn't held true; someone had found a body in Royal Guard uniform down river from Qyrre, so that case was closed. He was in here for theft. The constables had taken everything but his garrote in his left sleeve, and his folding knife, in his boot. They hadn't found either. They wouldn't do him much good in a fight though; he was shackled to a wall with his hands behind his back. The cell was made of soft limestone, which wouldn't hold anyone with a spoon or chair for very long, if it had been above ground. More of a dungeon with smokeless, burning lights. The cell held three other prisoners, shackled like he was. They had been in here for an hour or two more than he had. Civil negligence (an untidy, state run stable) and public drunkenness were their crimes. Those stables must have been pretty fucking untidy. Law had the distinct impression that he was the most hardened criminal in here. The other two prisoners weren't talking to him anymore; they were fiercely patriotic, and repentant for their crimes. The fact that he wasn't had procured intense glares from the both of them for the past hour. A guard entered the cell, followed by the woman from the night of the horse. Law skewered her with an intense, hateful, defiant look, but remained relaxed, shackled low to the wall as he was.
"The dark one, with the bright eyes." She said, the constable laughed heartily at that.
"You're free to go friend, she's not pressing charges." He unlocked the shackles.
"Thank you constable. Can I have my things back?" His wrists were bleeding again; he was hungry, uncomfortable and relatively pissed off.
"What things?" the constable laughed again, "They all belong to her now. She's not pressing charges, because you do too, for the next three months, for stealing her best horse."
"They're going to kill the Abhorsen." Law had been handcuffed and placed astride the horse he had stolen. The cuffs were surprisingly modern; essentially the same design used in Ancelstierre. Which was making unlocking them very easy.
"So you're not ignoring me anymore?" the woman, whose name was Tarryn, was on the horse he had judged was second best, and she was leading his.
"I'm not kidding." He replied.
"Sure, sure, I know," the dismissive sarcasm in her voice was so thick he could taste it, "So why did you really need a horse so badly?"
Law had known that he had little chance of escape from right outside the police station or whatever they were called in this country, so when no one had been looking he had loosened his garrote a little. He was now using the tough cable to pick the locks on the almost modern cuffs, so he didn't reply.
"You know, the only reason I'm not pressing charges is because the law says I can keep you on my farm for up to three months, so you can work you're debt off," she giggled, "And a big strong man like you, can work a lot Iâm sure. You look like you have a lot of... Stamina." One more little twist...
âIâm flattered. Really, Iâve been in country for a long time,â he said, âI can show you my stamina, anytime you want. But first I have a job to do."
"Oh, no no no, you're coming with me." She replied; she really was very pretty, but the rape slave undertones of their conversation had raised his hackles. She was a very scary woman, and he had a job to do. The lock turned easily; he kicked the horse's flanks. He closed the one meter gap in a second, then tackled her off the horse. They rolled along the ground, and when they finally came to a stop, Law had his knee on her chest and his garrote around her neck. Somehow, she had managed to keep a wrist between the cable and her throat.
"As far as I'm concerned," he stopped to catch his breath, "You can help me, or you can die."
She nodded, and he brought his fist crashing down onto her face.
Deserter - 4 - the Capital
Law hadn't been in the special forces for nothing; he had come to Ancelstierre at the age of twenty two, having already undergone training for compulsory national service in his home land, Diego. He hadn't found any kind of employment, so like any other young man with no direction in life he joined the army. He was fit, aggressive and intelligent, so he was soon a corporal. After a couple of combat deployments he had been accepted into the Ancelstierre Air Brigade, where he had been for the last six years. He had been behind enemy lines before, and he treated this the same, avoiding detection by anyone. It was considerably easier here. There was no war, and there were miles between civilization (as in households and villages) in some parts of the country. By the time he arrived in the capital, it was spring and some kind of festival was in full swing. He had spent two months or so making his way here, the long way. He had gone around, through, or over mountains, rivers or valleys, taking spectacular measures in order to totally avoid people. It hadn't been easy, but he had succeeded, in avoiding people and in arriving at the capital without being killed or enslaved. His stealth skills were as sharp as ever, having been honed through hunting and hiding. Despite having lived rough for the past couple of months, he was presentable, having shaven and trimmed his hair at a small stream which would eventually lead to the Ratterlin.
His plan was to find his way into the palace and talk to the Abhorsen. With a bit of luck, she would remember his face, or recognize something else about him. He had come into the city without even being searched, and had spent all day slowly making his way to the palace, through the celebrating citizens. For the people, this was a day of celebration, but naturally, this didn't quite extend to the city/royal guard. He had resolved to watch the shifts and their changes closely, but seized the opportunity to enter the palace when an altruistic guard rushed to help a young woman who dropped a basket of painted fruit. He took full advantage of the gap, but the novelty of painted fruit certainly wasnât lost on him.
Law hadn't expected entering the palace grounds to be this easy; but he hadn't expected security around the palace proper to be so damned difficult either. He had skulked around the grounds for the past forty six hours. Everything was well guarded, or so open as to be public and useless, and he was getting desperate. He wouldnât be able to stay awake much longer at this rate. At the moment, he was stalking a pair of guards at a distance of five meters. It was now twilight, and the guards were possibly the most boring human beings on the planet. A half hour and not a word. Law heard a clatter, a small group of people running in armour coming from around the corner the pair were about to turn. Law quickly went off to the side of the path and ducked behind a small birdbath that would help break up his outline, if nothing else.
"Guard the park reservoir entrance!" one of the guards called to the pair he was stalking, they set off at a run. He waited until the dozen or so guards passed him, making good time, and then sprinted after his pair. The guards reached three caves in the side of a hill long before he did; he only arrived in time to see them sink into the shadow of the central one. There would be no sneaking past them, and he refused to kill a pair of honest men.
He circled around the hill, the problem outside seemed to have been resolved; Law could hear the sound of celebration again. He spotted a monument on the hill, being watched over by a pair of young oak trees. He made his way to the monument, quickly but quietly. No sense in moving slowly; a lone figure in Ancelsterrian camouflage and a worn ranger's cloak would stick out like a sore thumb in the middle of the palace park; it wasn't that dark yet.
"A monument to those who served and died in the Corvere insurrection." This one would read, he recognised the general shape of the bronze statue; a crossing point scout and a royal guardswoman supporting a wounded Korrovian refugee. A couple of his friend's names were on this one, and his name would be on a plaque on the side, along with about twenty others. He couldn't imagine himself saying 'I'm here to help, see? That's me!' He sighed and crawled as close as he could to the lip of the cave. He hoped the guards would show the same restraint he planned to in the following confrontation.
Law cancelled his plan. He couldn't see himself dropping in on the guards and subduing them without killing them or getting killed. It was ridiculous. It would be easier to garrote the poor guys, or bayonet them in the dark, which were both out of the question. Hearts and minds; he couldnât imagine being listened to after killing loyal soldiers. He decided to wait for an opportunity to present itself. Or for the guards to fall asleep. In the cave, a door unlocked loudly.
"Still in here Maddock?" the guy who had entered the cave/exited something.
"Trouble's over. Just some damn fool who dropped some burning oil. You can leave now. You too Brie." He guessed that was Maddock laughing. It could have been the other guy. They all went through the door, talking about some travelling artists or something. The door closed behind them. No one was even breathing in that cave. Law hoped the door would be unlocked.
It wasn't. Law tried the knob, then lit a match because he couldn't even see the damn lock. He saw that like the cuffs, the lock was relatively modern. He picked it with a set of picks he had fashioned after selling Tarryn's horses, educating her on the evils of slavery and telling her to fuck off. He was surprised to see that this country had standardised the pin and tumbler locks used worldwide, which suited him just fine. On the other side of the door was a staircase, illuminated by torches every twenty steps or so. There were two torches, and a dark patch in the middle. He managed to avoid breaking his neck passing it. At the bottom of the steps there was a small dock, and a pair of iron rings, for tying up boats of some description. He couldn't see very far into the room, but he could see that the floor was actually water, and that the room stretched an indeterminate distance ahead of him, and to his left and right. Not the nation's drinking supply, so... What? He decided not to ponder the mystery and just grabbed a torch. The water was about waist deep; Law slid into it with barely a ripple, and walked so as to always be able to see the reservoir wall to his left. A minute or so later, he was in a corner. From here, he could see a fiery glow, off to his right. He doused his torch and crouched in the water, moving so as to press up against the wall. With his torch doused, Law saw another, further, fainter glow, across the reservoir.
The top of the passage he had chosen led to a grey stone wall. Obviously a secret passage. He pressed against the stone. Then he tapped around it, then he stared at it and blinked at it. Nothing. Possibly only open to people who could do the funky magic shit. He decided to try the other passage. He made his way down the one hundred and fifty odd steps and slipped into the water. He started making his way towards it when he heard steps echoing across the reservoir, down the passage he had chosen. He headed to the middle and found some columns, which he hid behind. Seven guards or so were riding a raft without even pushing or rowing, or something. Lucky bastards. They were headed towards the staircase he had just left, and had come from the passage he had been going to. As they passed, he moved into the wake of the raft. They reached the small dock and tied the raft to one of the iron rings. "Look, it's wet here," one of the guards said, "He's been here."
He had been detected somehow, which wasn't surprising. He climbed onto the dock after they all filed into the passage. He followed them up the stairs twenty steps or so behind, thinking of home all the way. Up ahead, he heard a door slide open. Stone on stone, the passage. He quickened his pace, but not enough for his combat boots to squelch. Then he realised that they didn't used to do that; these boots were relatively new and his previous pair had lasted him for years in the field... They were falling apart for some reason. He immediately put it down to the inexplicable shittiness of this fucking country. The guards were filing out of the staircase, he quickened his pace a bit more, wishing the squelch away. He was almost trapped again, and he was also almost detected as he squelched onto a fluffy red carpet. He had emerged in a very large room; a hall overlooking the entire city. The city was awash in firelight; presumably from the festival, hopefully not from that damned fool and his oil spill. The guards were still crossing the large hall, which didn't seem to be a banquet hall or anything. They weren't even halfway across. He decided to follow, feeling more than a little lost. He knew his new favourite trick wouldn't work for much longer; he was surprised it had worked a second time. He would at least follow them with more distance between them, now that he could see. A pair of guards broke off from the rest of the group and stationed themselves on either side of the entrance. Law gave up and crouched behind a sculpture of a man, a man with a funky bandolier and a big sword. The guards were out of the hall now, but more came in, protecting someone. Law shrank back behind the statue. He repositioned himself, and found that he could see and not be seen, past the statue under it's outstretched arm which was holding a scroll. The people that the guards were protecting were still too far to hear. It was a regal looking man of around fifty and a guardswoman, considerably younger than Law, and a lot younger than the old, regal guy. They looked agitated, at the moment, the old regal guy was rubbing his eyes with his palms, hard. He turned to the window.
"Which entrance." he asked, before clasping his hands behind his back and standing perfectly still.
"This one." replied the guardswoman. The old guy jumped as if stung.
"What?" he spluttered, "I want this person found... And killed if need be!"
"A full search was ordered when we first saw signs of an entrance, your majesty," the guardswoman said to the king, "This person is obviously a major threat, having some charter magic at least. I've called the best mages in the city and the whole barracks are searching." The king exhaled deeply.
"You've done well Tonin. Please, see to Sameth and Ellimere personally. And put your best at the Ambassador's door... And be careful." he added.
Law stood up and stepped out from behind the statue, hands held high.
"I'm alone," he said, "And I need to speak to the king."
"Why should we believe your story?" King Touchstone sat on a comfortable looking couch, while a guard or three stood behind him with pointy sticks and whatnot, ready to poke him really hard should he chew on his grapes too loudly. As such, he had decided to ignore the grapes.
"Apart from a body that would have been found or eaten by now," "Or raised as a hand," the king interjected and Law cleared his throat, "Your majesty, I have no evidence."
"We'll soon see if you're telling the truth." the king replied and clicked his fingers. A messenger boy entered the room and they whispered quietly for a moment. Law sat in an uncomfortable silence, feeling three separate glares boring three separate pairs of holes into his skull from three different directions. Five minutes or so passed, and the messenger boy returned with a wooden case. He handed it to the king and scuttled off. The king pulled a pair of rods from the wooden case, one black and one white. He motioned and chanted a bit, then looked right at Law.
"I'm going to ask you some questions you've already answered. Ok?" the king said, as if he had a choice.
"Yeah. Yeah, just fine." Law replied.
"Ok. What is your full name and your rank?" first question.
"My name is Lawrence James Thallim, Trooper, Ancelsterrian Air Brigade."
"Is the story you told true?" the King asked.
"Uh. More or less? I've been out there for months, but itâs correct to my recollection." Law replied, feeling slightly moronic. The guards weren't giggling or anything.
"Now I want you to lie to me." the king said.
"Uh... I fucking love this country. Everyoneâs been so hospitable. Considering moving here even." His voice trailed off. The king seemed both pleased and pissed off.
"Sir, I don't feel any different..." Actually, he did. He felt dumb. And sleepy. He was crashing.
"Your face just turned green," The king pointed out, before waving the guards away, sending the case out with one of them. âThis is a simple lie detection spell we often use in court. Simple but effective, and unfortunately, you are telling the truth.â
The king mused and leaned back on the couch. Law crossed his arms and looked him in the eye.
âThis brings me to the question... What are we going to do with you?â Lawrence felt a surge of energy, of righteous indignation.
"These motherfuckers tried to kill me, sir. Twice. It's my fault they made it this far, and I want them dead. All of them. You can use me or you can let me go. But you'll know where to find me."
The King had approved of his sense of duty. More like revenge. He had sent runners out to find where the twelve were, he had also written a letter, which Law was to show to anyone who had anything he needed. Then he had sent him to the barracks with the guardswoman, Tonin. She seemed to loathe him well enough. They didn't talk all the way to the barracks; she had ignored him when he asked her name, and Law had picked the vibe up immediately. They finally reached the barracks, no celebrating folks here. All the guards glared at him, and a big guy walked up to him.
"How did you get in?" he asked, but he wasn't curious.
"I followed you all around 'till I got lucky. I haven't eaten in three days. Anyone have food?" he replied, and sat down on a bench near a large hearth. He was brought a bowl of hot beef stew, then directed to a wooden table off to his left. Tonin sat across him.
"Security has been slack, you know? With the festival and all." she finally spoke, and she didn't strike him as the confident, competent woman who had spoken to the king earlier. The guards were displeased with him, but they were probably angrier with themselves. Not his problem.
"You watch what you can and you put land-mines and traps everywhere else." he replied.
"We have no mines." The same big guy said, watching him closely with his hands clasped beneath his chin. Law shrugged. This guy wanted to eat him alive, he just wanted his damn meal.
The king had assigned four of his best guards to accompany Law, and he had also found the twelve deserters. Apparently, they had all recently been involved in a battle close to a settlement near the Nailway. Then their division had moved east. The guard who wouldn't leave him alone the night before turned out to be in the group; his name was Mathe. There was Tonin, and Dail, a younger, slimmer version of Tonin with dark brown hair. And there was Jardin, who claimed to be the best archer in the kingdom. Which was as far as the conversation went with them; they introduced themselves, and Jardin had been the only one who had offered anything further. None of them seemed to like him, none of them talked to him, about him or around him. Which suited him fine anyway; the only four people who had treated him like a human being with rights were the two constables in Phone and the king. And Tarryn, after he had broken her orbital bone and threatened to kill her. Like he expected Mathe to threaten him within the next twelve seconds or so.
"Where did you learn to move so quietly?" Dail or Tonin asked from behind him. Dail, she had a sweeter voice.
"I don't follow.â He responded.
"You got into the palace, within killing distance of the king, and no one heard or saw you." There was no admiration in her voice.
"Standard fieldcraft, I guess." He responded.
"Thatâs pretty fucking condescending." whoops, looks like he'd finally pissed Mathe off. Law shrugged.
"Hey, I'm talking to you!" Law got the feeling that Mathe wanted to snap him in two, so he turned and unslung his rucksack.
"Step up or shut up, you fucking lid." Law challenged Mathe; he didn't think that lid would be a common insult around here.
"All the guards on patrol are getting reduced pay for a month after what you did, Lawrence," Tonin said, "That's everyone, except for those on leave, or away, because you were in the grounds for three days."
"That sounds like your problem." he replied, and Mathe drew his sword. Law unbuckled his.
"Hand to hand combat. No weapons." Apart from his garrote and folding knife, Law was now totally unarmed. Mathe seemed to approve, he dropped his sword and got in a boxing stance. When Law didn't move at all, Mathe advanced slowly until they were toe to toe. Law didn't move, so Mathe swung. Law parried the fist down with his left and followed up with a short sharp hook with the same hand, and a driving elbow with his right arm. Then he gave a short sharp shove to Matheâs face. He was bleeding from his broken nose; Law brought a round kick thudding down into Matheâs thigh, before he closed the distance low, picking Mathe up by the hips and bringing him crashing down onto the ground, onto his neck and shoulders. While he was dazed, he dropped onto Matheâs stomach with his knee, hard. Then grabbed Matheâs lapels with his arms crossed. Mathe started to mumble, his skin and breath heating up with faint light.
âNo!!â Tonin screamed; Law pulled his arms apart, pulling Matheâs collar tight, then he drove his forehead into Matheâs mouth and drove his knee harder into Matheâs stomach. With a sigh, Mathe passed out.
Limping, face swollen, Mathe was now properly chastened, but now the others kept a larger distance from him. Before it got dark, Jardin shot some rabbits dinner. They camped under a rocky outcrop on a hill that was strangely out of place; it was in the middle of nowhere, a hill in the middle of a totally flat plain. Law ate with the group then moved away from the fire. He found himself on the exact opposite side of the hill. He heard Tonin and Dail coming.
"Don't you want to sleep near the fire?" Dail asked.
"It can be seen for miles, he replied, âThatâs... Well itâs fucking dumb.â
She left right after that, but Tonin sat down.
"Why?" Tonin asked. Law opened his mouth to speak then paused.
"... I hadnât stopped to think how you all might be different here. Where Iâm from, back home, in the field if you can be seen..." he put his fingers in the shape of a pistol. He got the feeling that she didn't dislike him as much as she let on.
"Are you lonely back home?" she asked after an uncomfortable silence.
"No. I'm not." he replied. She leaned against him and put her hand between his legs.
"But you are lonely here." she whispered in his ear.
"Fuuuuuck.â he whispered. He turned to her and grabbed her head and lower back, firmly but gently, and kissed her passionately. He hadnât been with a woman in months, it hadnât taken much to seduce him.
He pulled her on top of him as they kissed passionately; he ran his hands along her, feeling her firm athletic body through her clothes and around her armour. She put her hands on his solid biceps and shoulders. He loosened her breeches, and began to pull them down, dying for a taste of her wetness.
She had a lot of bush, they hadnât bathed in a couple of days but fuck, that was fine... He moved down to kiss her on the lips but she grabbed his wrist firmly, pushing against his face and yelled âWhat the fuck are you doing?!â
âIâm going down... Donât you guys...â
âGet the fuck off me!!â She yelled.
He got off her to sulk, and she was gone.
Tonin and Mathe were shunning the company of the rest of the group, probably because the rest of the group wasn't ignoring him for once. Dail and Jardin didn't seem to dislike him, which wasn't saying much.
"If I were to get lost, what would I do." he asked aloud, for the benefit of Jardin or Dail, who were talking about what passed for pop culture in these parts.
"Don't," they both replied almost simultaneously, "You got through the woods south of the capital, but the north is more dangerous. You'd need to know magic." Jardin continued. That was the answer Law had been hoping for. That, or directions to somewhere of significance.
"Can you teach me?" he asked.
"No, it would take years for you to know enough to survive." Dail replied, which signalled the end of the conversation. At nightfall, they came across a small village, Wais. As they walked by, the villagers peered out of their cottage windows, some occasionally saluting or waving. At his companions, not him. The looks he was getting made him feel like garroting someone. Dail rapped her knuckles against his arm.
"To them, you are unusual Ok? They've probably never seen someone from across the wall this far north."
"Thanks." he replied; he hadn't realised he had made his displeasure so evident. Tonin left the group for a minute; Law saw that she had spotted the village leader. She conversed with her, a grey old woman being supported by a lean young man of twenty or so. She returned with information, which she shared with the group, taking care to exclude Law.
"Apparently, a division of soldiers have passed through Wais, and among them were a dozen or so foreigners. They were dressed identically to the others, but were easily distinguished by their uncivilized, vulgar ways..." She told the group. Law thought about asking for some clarification on that, but decided it would be a pointless exercise. On the subject of pointless exercises, his mind drifted, speculating on their whole plan; he had already tracked them down and he still couldn't figure out their plan.
"... and finally, they should be camped in one of the two fields along the North of this road, at most, two miles North of this town here."
Deserter - 6 - the Battle
The rhythmic thumping of hooves ahead warned them of an approaching rider. Jardin nocked an arrow and took position behind a tree, Law unsheathed his bayonet. A rider emerged from around bend in the path, wearing kingdom colours. He saw Tonin, Dail and Mathe and started yelling.
"Not that way! The dead are attacking! I'm getting the Abhorsen!" he called to them as he passed. The dead; those three things on the dark farm. There would be hundreds of them, and the twelve would be pretty busy. Surely, he could take three or four of them in the confusion, but only if they got a move on. Jardin decided to lead, and they managed to reach the encampment five minutes later. By the time they did, the battle was well and truly over, a victory to the dead, apparently. The few guards who were still alive were fighting ferociously, in the centre of a clearing with hundreds of charred corpses strewn around.
"... Fuck." Jardin whispered, and signalled for the group to stop on the tree line. Law sheathed his bayonet, and drew his sword, which had been provided by his majesty. Jardin put a restraining hand on his shoulder.
"What are we waiting for, we have to help dammit!" he whispered to Jardin.
"Look closer, Law." he replied. Law looked. The twelve were in the centre of the clearing, hacking at the dead, fighting alongside other guards... who were in pretty bad shape. He didn't get it. He said so.
"That one there has a broken neck. That one has his throat torn out." Jardin pointed at two guards, and as Law looked, he saw that the twelve deserters were the only guards who were actually alive, and fighting.
"The dead are fighting each other?" Law said.
"It doesnât make a lot of sense, my explanation is that with the Royal Palace garrison only accepting the very best soldiers..." Jardin began, slowly backing up, "If twelve soldiers survive an... onslaught this huge, they would be, well, they could walk right in."
"I thought of that," Law continued, "Twelve guards in the right place at the right time can kill the entire royal family and escape. But thatâs a lot of work and not great odds." Jardin nodded. They both retreated.
"I can't let you go by yourself." Tonin stated, while checking the edge on her sword for something like the twelfth time.
"What do you mean âletâ me." Law replied.
"How many necromancers do you think can control enough dead to defeat two hundred charter mage guards this easily?" she said.
"I don't know." He knew she had a point.
"After Sabriel and Lirael stared cleaning the kingdom up, none. There's more than one controlling that lot, and together,they are very dangerous." That answer didn't help Law very much.
"The Abhorsen is coming, with Thirty six guards!" Jardin interrupted them then. stalked off. He signaled for Law to follow. He stopped at a small hillock well back from the clearing. Thirty six guards were standing at attention, in the dark, and a caped figure that he almost recognized was standing amongst them.
"Tonin!" she recognised Tonin immediately. They embraced warmly, she then shook hands with Jardin.
"Which one of you is our Ancelsterrian?" she asked.
"I am," Law stepped forward, "Lawrence Thallim, Ancelsterrian Air Brigade ma'am."
"Right. I've heard quite a bit about you, and this plot you've uncovered. I need your help.â
The going was slow over the corpses of fallen soldiers, and other, dismembered corpses that could have been months old. He had crawled over fifty metres, and still had over three hundred to go before he was within striking distance of the deserters, who had built a fire in the centre of the clearing. They were sprawled around it, and one thing they weren't faking at the moment was exhaustion. He stopped moving when he heard paces over the trodden grass, ahead of him. One of them was moving away from the fire to take a leak or something. He hoped that he had the decency not to do it over a dead body; especially not his, very much alive, body. If he went out past the trees, the Abhorsen's guards would handle it, or Jardin would. He passed Law, and started speaking to a dead body.
"I always liked your ring, Fallon, thanks a lot." He recognised that voice; back in Ancelstierre, he would always carry a pack of cigarettes under his left sleeve, and blow smoke in Law's face, because Law didn't smoke. He was looting! Law stood up slowly, garrote loose and ready. Cigarette guy spat something out and searched another body. Law moved slowly so he wouldn't alert him, and finally reached him when he was still deep in a dead man's pockets. Law planted his boot against smokerâs bent knee, and wrapped his arms around his neck and head in a strangle. He squeezed, bringing his elbows together and did his best to tear smokerâs head off. The traitor wheezed and mewled desperately, but was unconscious before he could really begin to resist. Law lowered the body quietly, then bound his wrists and angles together tightly. If this wasnât over in the next ten minutes or so, smoker would have permanent nerve damage. Law started crawling again. It took him almost half an hour to cover the three hundred metres to the ring of firelight; the deserters had been busy clearing a circle free of bodies, but they hadn't really done a very good job. He was safe here, and he could hear their conversation. None. Maybe they were too tired for talk. He could see his next target; he was sitting on a log on the other side of the ring of firelight. He began his crawl.
"Where's Trent?" one of them asked.
"Probably still looting." another replied. They all looked in the same general direction, and Law took the opportunity to put his bayonet into his targetâs neck and pull him off the log. He pushed him against the log and moved back out of the ring of firelight. They turned.
"Phil's gone!" one cried, "Phil! Where the fuck are you?" They were in a panic, but decided to get ready to move. They lined up and filed out of the field, leaving the fire burning. Law got up and followed, on foot now. He stooped while walking to pick up a dead man's sword, and slowly caught up to them. When the last one was in arm's reach, he hacked wildly, at the neck region, then hurled the sword at the second last one's back. The first man died quickly, but the second was only battered by the hilt of a flying sword.
"Someone's here!" he shouted.
Seven globes of light appeared around the tree line of the clearing, and they slowly rose in the air, illuminating the area. Everyone dropped to the ground, save Law and three of the deserters, who started running. Each fell when they were feathered with arrows. Law decided to drop too, just in case. Thirty soldiers emerged from the tree line and they were not pleased. A lot of their friends had been killed on this night. One of the deserters decided to run, after all. Law grasped a sword and gave chase, he drove the sword into the thigh of one of the other deserters as he ran. The one who had decided to run was running in a random pattern, to avoid arrows. He was close to the tree line, but Law was the faster runner, and hadn't spent hours hacking and moving dead bodies that day. Law reached the trees soon after him, but lost him. He couldn't see any tracks or anything in the dark, but was saved when a massive ball of light hovered past the tree line. He could see the tracks now, but the light was low to the ground. It was so bright it was disorienting. It was white light, but was so intense everything seemed to be in black and white. Law sped up a little, soon he was running. He couldn't see any shadow, and missed the pike staff poking out of a tree to trip him. It almost had the desired effect. He dived instead, and slid for a moment, drawing his bayonet as he regained his feet. He turned to face his assailant. He could remember the face, but nothing about the man.
"Lawrence," the man acknowledged him, âYou fucking cockroach, you are unkillable.â
Law didnât respond, he evaluated the situation instead. Time was on his side, after all. But the range wasnât. The traitor advanced slowly, Law retreated slowly. The traitor thrust with a lunge, and law retreated back and to the left, swatting the end of the pike away with his bayonet. He had lunged but not overcommited. Fuck. The traitor took a half step, then lunged. The head of his pike held low, he brought it up, trying to punch it through Lawâs chest. Law scooped it aside with his empty hand, and desperately closed distance. He was too close for the pike to be useful now, so the traitor let it go and began to grapple instead. But Law had charged right into him with a lot of momentum, and they fell to the hard ground, Law landing across the traitorâs chest with his body. He bore his weight down on the traitorâs chest and neck, and the traitor desperately struggled to grip his arm, to shake him off, clawing at his face, pulling at his clothes. Law scrunched up his face and closed his eyes, he dropped the bayonet and reached for his clearing knife at his chest, he pulled it out and brought the blade to the traitorâs chest. He dropped his weight on the knife, and it sliced through his gambeson, stopping on a ring of chainmail. He dropped his weight on the knife again and again and again, until the ring split and his knife plunged into the traitorâs chest. The traitor gurgled, and sprayed blood on Lawâs face.
Law stood up, wiped his knife on the traitor and spit on him, before retrieving his bayonet and leaving the woods.
Tonin and some guards had arrived, and had seen the end of the fight. And had seen the look of naked rage on his blood spattered face.
Law was sitting on a rock, facing south and longing for home. One of the female guards from the Abhorsen's force was sitting next to him. She was a tall, blonde, slim woman, around seven years his junior. Her name was Elina and she wouldn't leave him alone. Lucky for him though, she was the quiet type, like him.
"You are an excellent killer." she finally said, after a half hour of emulating Law's south facing silence.
"I beg your pardon?" He replied.
"Mind if I sit down?" she asked. She already was, so Law turned. It was the Abhorsen. He gestured towards the rock.
"You captured one of the assassins without being heard or seen or even hurting him. Then you killed another while he had a pike and you had a bayonet. That is impressive.â She said.
The silence stretched out between them.
âIâm a good soldier maâam. A career soldier.â He finally said.
"We knew about you before you talked to the king you know; the Clayr saw you." she said.
âTell you what, it sure was helpful of the Clayr to lend a hand whenever I needed one over the last couple of months.â Bitter sarcasm for royalty. He wasnât in great form.
"I take it Elina hasn't explained the Clayr's primary occupation yet." Sabriel said.
"We see into the future." Elina finally said; a musical voice belonging to a person who wasn't where she wanted to be.
"Really? Neat. Have you talked to the guy I caught yet?" Law said. His temper was short; no longer had a reason to be here, and he hated it here.
"He's very difficult, milady." Elina said.
Law glared at her, then stood. Fists clenching and unclenching.
"We need your help," Sabriel said to Law, "You do things differently, you can get things done that a charter mage can't, and we need to finish with the conspirators once and for all." Law thought for a minute.
"Iâve done enough already. Take me home." He replied after a minute or so of mental deliberation.
"They were all right about you," Elina said, "You are boorish, and vulgar." Law didn't reply; didn't move. The Abhorsen was watching both of them like a hawk. Finally, Elina got up and strode away angrily. Law still didn't move. A moment later, he was in the dust, he had a mouthful of leaves and Elina was on his back, yelling in his ear.
"I saw you in the palace, I saw us together in the future and I begged to be allowed to meet you! I can't believe I wasted my time!" she yelled, hurting his right ear. Law was pissed off now. He brought his hands and legs underneath himself and rolled underneath her. She seemed a little surprised and leaned back. He scissored his legs around her arm and her neck, and began to apply pressure.
Then she immobilised him with the magical equivalent of a stun gun. Multiplied ten times. He came to his senses an undetermined amount of time later, being restrained by four guards. Elina was sitting on the rock, looking worried, and the Abhorsen was next to her, looking amused. He was covered in cold sweat, and felt dreadfully tired.
He threw up and passed out again.
He came to in a crappy little bed, made of straw. He was in a messy little room, which looked like it had been a shed a few hours ago. He assumed that he was in Wais, the town that he had passed through a few nights ago. Light was streaming in from a window above his head, and Elina was watching him from a chair in the corner. All his things were in front of her, including his clothes. He was naked under the sheets.
"Can I have my clothes?" he croaked; his stomach was cramped, and his side was numb, where Elina had applied her magical stun gun.
"So, you're awake." he had startled her. She stood up and unfolded a bathrobe that had been in her lap, and tossed it to him.
"We need to talk." She said, and sat back down. Law eyed his garrote on the table, next to his bayonet, folding knife and clearing knife. He looked back at her.
"You threw up all over yourself. You carry a lot of weapons.â She said.
âI want them back. Am I free to go?â He said.
"Go on then." Elina said, but didn't move from the chair. He stood up and started putting on his clothes.
"Before you go, we do need your help. We can give you a lot. We can be... Very persuasive." She said, in a rather bored monotone.
âMoney is persuasive.â He responded.
"That has already been arranged. Your payment will be a very fine sword, fine boots, a fine cloak, clothes from the best tailors and one hundred and fifty silver deniers." She said. One hundred and fifty silver deniers. There was no Old Kingdom currency exchange, and the price of the silver melted down would barely pay for a street tough with a gun in an impoverished country.
He stopped and stood, clenching and unclenching his fists, seething with anger.
Finally he began to speak. Slow and controlled, but far from calm.
âThat is not nearly enough money to pay for someone of my training and experience, let alone for a mission of this complexity,â his anger began to subside but he continued with this tone, âI have not been home in months, my chain of command does not know my whereabouts, and when I return I will be charged with desertion. You need to do better.â
He finished with his boots and walked to the table.
âDo you know what they do to Deserters?â He put his bayonet in it's sheath and put his garrote in his sleeve, as usual. Elina shook her head no.
"It belongs to the kingdom." She replied. He scoffed and looked for the doorknob. He opened the door, and she made no move to stop him.
"What do they do?" She asked, disinterested.
He put his hand up in the shape of a pistol, and he left. He had been in a shed, on the outskirts of town. A guard moved from behind a tree, he looked like he had been taking a leak.
"Hey, you, wait!" he called. Law stopped, and the guard approached him.
"Have you come to an agreement?" he asked.
"Yeah, I go home now." he replied. The guard eyeballed him suspiciously.
"Give me your sword." Law said. The guard grasped the hilt of his sword, but didn't hand it over. Law started to turn, and gave him a vicious right hook to the jaw. The guard dropped, and Law took his sword.
âSorry chief. Take it up the chain.â He said, as he buckled it on.
"Wait!" Elina called from somewhere behind him.
He walked off without a word; he heard running behind him, and prepared to get tackled again; last time he'd been surprised, but he'd always had a trick or two up his sleeve...
"Please, just hear me out!" Elina said, as she caught up with him. He stopped.
"We need you to assassinate someone for us," she said, "Please, no one else will be able to get into the place you need to go!" He looked at her skeptically.
"You have no idea how lucky I was that night. I've never been that lucky, ever." he replied.
"If you help us they wonât shoot you; we can secure diplomatic immunity for you."
The last news he heard on the matter before leaving on his mission was that Ancelstierre was already aware of his being alive, they had been for a long time, and they weren't very pleased. As for his mission, it involved finding a certain Keenan, a barbarian necromancer, and killing him. No one had listened when he had said that he wasn't the man for the job, that he had entered the palace out of sheer luck. Wherever Keenan was, he was well protected. He imagined how much easier this job would be with a scoped rifle. Hell, he would settle for his SLR and its iron sights. They had given him a sword, boots and a cloak instead. Serviceable, but not the best quality. They had given him a mail shirt, and he also had a little purse full of silver pieces. Then they had driven him to a hill and told him to make his own way to a fortress a mile to the east. There was a tall hill around halfway there; Law had been the section scout; from that hill, he would have been able to put a few rounds in Keenanâs direction quite precisely. He would have had a hard time getting away clear if what he had was a rifle, but up close with a sword, this mission was a suicide mission. He couldn't really think of a good reason to carry it out, but he started walking anyway. Law realized that for the first time in a long time, he was actually afraid; he wasn't sure if he should be happy or not. The truth was that this little trip into the Old Kingdom had changed his life; whether or not he lived, whether or not he returned home, he would have to kiss certain parts of his life goodbye. His career in the military, his pension... He sighed wistfully, and concentrated on his job. One problem at a time.
There were tracks in the dirt; deep imprints of hobnailed boots. An armed patrol. He stopped imagining what his first meal when he arrived home would be, and forced himself to focus again. He was around a kilometer from the fortress, assuming that Old Kingdom miles were the same as miles everywhere else, and assuming that his conversions were accurate. He followed the tracks quickly and quietly, being careful to stick to the frozen areas so as not to leave footprints. They led directly to a track, which curved gently from his left to his right when he arrived. Law crossed the track and crouched behind a shrub on the other side. He waited a few minutes to make a decision about which way to go; no guards came for him to follow, so he just went to his left. He kept his eyes opened, and moved parallel to the track; he didn't dare go through the woods, there were probably bear traps or something in there. He spotted a guard tower around the bend and went deeper into the woods. There were lots of twigs and pine cones and stuff on the ground, but the wind rustling through the trees masked his sound. He could actually move quite quickly under these conditions, but he was looking for information. At the guard tower, the track went off in two other directions; it continued, and also went into the centre of what Law imagined would be a big circle; the centre was his destination.
The towers and the traps had made him expect a high efficiency military structure, but the so called fortress was more of a casually guarded castle, which suited him fine. The castle struck him as the type that they had in the educational books he used to read as a kid; with cross sections that showed a secret entry/exit or five. That would be ideal as an entrance, but the assassination had to happen tonight; he would never find it in time. He had approached the castle from one of the sides, as he went around it, he saw that the moat was filled with hundreds of sharpened stakes instead of water. He searched for the front way in, and found it on the other side of the castle; it was protected by an old school drawbridge, and apart from the secret entrances that would have to exist, this was the only way in or out. He hadn't been spotted yet, so he found himself a nice bush with a direct line of sight to the drawbridge, a mere thirty metres from the drawbridge. The drawbridge was being lowered. Law peered around the thick foliage of the bush; a dozen guards or so were being allowed to enter. The drawbridge hit the dirt with a loud thud, and the guards passed over the hardwood with their hobnailed boots. The drawbridge was slowly raised again; Law made a run for it when it was at around one meter's height; it was being raised so slowly that by the time he reached it about four seconds after getting up, it was still below shoulder height. He grabbed the drawbridge as it passed, and shuffled over to the right chain, then he moved hand over hand on the chain. The opening that was slowly reeling the chain in was a square with meter sides; easily large enough for him to crawl through. The bridge was starting to move faster; Law stopped moving hand over hand and waited. He swung his legs into the opening and held onto the chain. He was dragged into the opening; once in safely, he let go of the chain and started crawling.
The opening stank of decaying flesh; Law could already guess that the drawbridge wasn't powered by mules. He shuffled through the tunnel like opening, and found he was right, it was powered by the dead. He could see them chained to a wheel, still walking, still reeling the drawbridge in. The drawbridge hit the stone wall with a dull thud; the dead went limp. Law would have described them as lifeless, but... A big guy with an axe walked by the opening that Law would obviously have to exit from. Red cloak, red leather boots. He walked by again and Law edged closer to escape. The plan was to leave the room noiselessly. He would be able to garrote or knife this guard silently, but it was probably in his best interests to let him live, he might be missed. Law watched closely; the guard spent fourteen seconds to the left of the opening and three to the right. He exited the opening, and the room when the guard had his back turned, without being seen. He emerged in a long hall; blue carpet, gold trimming. There were tapestries and paintings on the wall; fields, forests, mountains... He passed several doors, all of which were locked and silent. As he moved down the hall, the sound of celebrating got louder and louder. He tried door after door; they were all locked. He finally reached a door that seemed to have the celebrating behind it. It seemed to have quietened a bit though. The door was unlocked; he walked into a banquet hall and closed the door behind him, and no one saw him enter. A minstrel, or a bard or something was singing a ballad about someone-iel's triumph over the dead hordes. Not Sabriel or Lirael, he knew those names. Everyone in the room was entranced by her story and her sweet singing voice. Law scoped the room out; the guy at the head of the table seemed especially interested. He was a tall guy, a bandolier across his chest was making his meal kind of difficult. Keenan. They had described Keenan to him in general terms: tall, pale, red hair, bells across the chest. He spotted a dark corner that would provide a better view of Keenan. He made his way there and watched Keenan and those around him. Six others in the room wore bells, and all of them sat at the same table as Keenan.
The banquet ended a long time after Law entered the room, possibly two hours. Law managed to take some chicken and a mug of ale to wash it down with; he hoped it had a low alcohol content. He saw Keenan and the minstrel leave the hall and followed. A guard had followed ahead of them, but when he had heard Law, Law had hit him hard enough to put him in a coma and had dragged him into a dark corner, there was no shortage of those. The guard had been carrying four throwing knives. Law had commandeered them, and had hurried after Keenan and the minstrel. The hall was pretty long, and they were well ahead of him. Law decided to take a risk and started jogging. Someone screamed ahead, and he heard light footsteps around the corner. There was a suit of classical knight's armour in an alcove to his left, and to his right. He ducked behind the one to his left. The minstrel passed him, and he could hear that Keenan followed. Keenan passed before he realized it. He drew his bayonet.
"Everything all right sir?" someone asked, "We found this one running and caught her for you."
"Yes. Release her and carry on." His husky reply. Law peeked out of his alcove. No one in sight. He emerged from his hiding place and ran down the hall Keenan and the minstrel had just come from. He scanned left and right as he ran, until he found a door that was ajar. He entered, and when his eyes adjusted to the poor light, he saw why the minstrel had screamed.
Dead people, chained to the walls by their throats. They were in an advanced state of decomposition, and Law didn't doubt that they were of the walking variety. He heard a snarl behind him; one was attacking. It reached out for him with rotten, gnarled hands. He punched it in the jaw, and the metal collar around it's neck restrained it as it swung viciously into the wall and collapsed. He heard Keenan and the minstrel approaching; Keenan was sweet talking the bard. Law saw another door and tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. He entered the room and closed it behind him. This room was nothing like he had expected; there was a rack of wicked looking weapons above the hearth, but other than that, he guessed this room was as normal as they came... in this kingdom. There were bookshelves, a desk and a bed. He would fit under the bed. He crawled beneath it, and he could still hear Keenan outside the first door.
"Close your eyes if you like, my pretty," he said, "I promise, no harm will come to you." Right. What a creep. Law still clutched his bayonet. He was under the bed of the man he was meant to assassinate, and no one had any idea. Maybe the Abhorsen had picked the right man after all.
"So, you see, my pretty, They are there for our protection!" Keenan said as he entered the room.
"Oh, my, your room is beautiful! Look at the view!" the minstrel had a musical voice, very nice. Then he could hear sounds of kissing and foreplay in the room. It didn't take long for them to get started, or to finish. He put his own situation out of his mind and focused on ending Keenanâs situation. He could hear light snoring on the bed above him, and gently felt the mattress. The minstrel was a pretty little thing, barely twenty one by his guesstimate. Keenan struck him as slightly older than that, and he was a tall, solid guy. He didn't want to kill the minstrel, so he started quietly shuffling out of his hiding place. Evil laughter filled the room and Law froze. The snore turned into a gurgle, and an arterial spray covered part of the wall, and half of Law's face. He ducked back, just in time to miss being squashed by the minstrel's corpse. Keenan laughed again and Law felt his weight shift on the bed. Law felt a cold rage start within him, and he gently felt the bottom of the mattress, to locate Keenan. Shoulders here.
"Ha ha, motherfucker." he whispered, more to himself, and plunged his bayonet into the mattress. The sixty centimetre razor sharp blade cleared the mattress and bone in Keenan's back easily. Law thrust another three times and emerged, face covered in blood. He looked stunned but not dead. Law leapt onto Keenan and began stabbing into him like a sewing machine. When he was done a few seconds later, Keenan had scores of holes in him and was definitely dead. Law cleaned his face and bayonet on the sheets and left the room. As the blood pounding in his head subsided, he could the sound of chaos tearing through the castle.
He left the way he came, hiding often, as guards passed to and fro in the halls. If he could find his way to the banquet hall, he would be able to leave the castle. He found the door to the banquet hall and entered. There were guards everywhere, in a protective circle around six frozen figures. Law skulked around the room, and found himself an out of the way pillar to hide behind. Four of the figures started moving again, ice cracking as they reanimated. Literally frozen, apparently.
"It's no use!" one wailed, "I saw both Abhorsen and her apprentice waiting for us in death! We can't bring them back!" They were scared shitless, and Law finally had a general idea what necromancer meant. They had sent him on a suicide mission, something worse than a suicide mission. He waited in his dark corner, waiting for something to change, letting him leave. The four remaining necromancers conferred for a little, gesticulating wildly and shuffling nervously.
"Search the grounds!" one called to the guards, "And escort me to my quarters." He picked up a pile of things he had on a table, then led the way out the door closest to Law's hiding spot.
"What do we do?" the remaining three were just as lost as him. Law waited for the pair of guards following the necromancer to leave before following. He crossed the threshold and went left, hoping to go around the hall and find some place he recognized. The guards were around the corner, the Necromancer had dropped his stuff and they were wrapping whatever the things were in one of the cloaks. Law ducked back around the corner.
"Over there!" one called. Too late. He drew his bayonet, and crouched.
"Come back, cowards!" the Necromancer yelled; he had a chance. Law rounded the corner, and there he was. He was taller than Law, and had a bigger sword, of black metal. He was wearing chain-mail, and a bandolier of bells. He raised his sword with his left hand.
"I will subjugate your spirit." he said, before his sword burst into dark, oily flames. He crouched and reached for his bandolier, Law threw his bayonet into his centre mass. It struck his wrist with a shower of sparks, and severed his hand from his arm.
The necromancer looked at the stump, then focused on Law again and started swinging his flaming sword left handed.
The Necromancer was clumsy, but he was fast. He advanced, flaming sword swinging, and Law drew his own sword, wielding it like a very big knife. He parried the sword into the stone wall, and followed through with a shoulder charge that knocked the necromancer back. The necromancer slapped Law's shoulder with the flat of his blade, and Law's cloak set on fire. Law kicked the off balance necromancer, who landed hard on the floor, dropping his sword and reaching for a bell. Law was still on fire, but he swung at the necromancer instead, cutting his left arm off at the elbow. The necromancer cried out in pain, and Law took off his cloak, before kicking the necromancer in the jaw. The necromancer spat teeth, and Law stood over him, and began hacking down at him with the sword, cleaving his skull in two.
They must have felt Keenan die, they would have felt this guy die. Law figured he had six seconds or so to do something brilliant. He decided on going back to the door to the hall and finding some place to hide. There was nowhere to hide near the door, so he extinguished a torch instead, and crouched in the darkness. The door opened, and guards poured out, about six of them. A necromancer followed, and left the door open. No one followed the necromancer. Law decided to risk it and skulked behind him, bayonet in hand.
"Erdel! Behind you!" someone shouted, the Necromancer turned just in time for Law to drive his bayonet into him. He put his hand on the necromancer's shoulder and stabbed him under the ribcage, through his stomach, left lung and heart. He pulled the knife out obliquely, creating an enormous wound. Even still, the necromancer stood unsteadily on his feet. He stabbed the necromancer again, in the side of the neck. The necromancer finally fell lifelessly to the floor. No guards came from around the corner, Law leaned against the wall, hoping no one would come near. No one did. After thirty seconds or so, he ducked into the hall, and dashed behind a pillar. No hellfire or anything. The hall was deathly silent, and empty. Law could hear the sounds of battle outside the castle; leaving the way he came in wouldn't be an option, he would have to follow the others.
He wandered the halls with his sword at the ready; they were at least thirty seconds ahead of him, and he had to assume they were running. Up ahead, a man ran out of a door, in one hell of a hurry; Law followed him, hoping he wasn't running into a fight. He wasn't. He was heading back to the banquet hall, deeper into the castle, where it was relatively quiet. He went into the banquet hall, and pulled on a tapestry. Law ducked behind a table, and heard a loud click, somewhere nearby. The man crawled under a table and pushed on the flagstones. A trapdoor opened up, and Law followed him down it. There were torches on the wall, and Law had smashed the man on the back of the head with the pommel of his sword. He walked quickly down the tunnel, hoping he was the only one in it. He sheathed his sword and pulled a torch off the left wall. Then, the torches ran out. He moved faster, then slowed down after a minute or so when he saw firelight up ahead. The ground was rough, the footing uncertain; he still needed his torch, and he probably needed to hurry up as well.
When he caught up to the firelight, it turned out to be a passage with torches in it. He decided it wasn't the way to go and took the darker passage.
There was more firelight ahead.this light was moving forward; definitely at least one person. He advanced slowly. There were two necromancers trying to escape. The one without the torch paused, and Law stopped, slowly drawing a throwing knife. He turned and spotted Law, and opened his mouth to voice warning, Law threw the knife into his mouth, and the other Necromancer turned. Law threw his torch at the last one, but it missed, and skittered off the stones, remaining alight. He drew his sword with his left hand and drew another throwing knife. The necromancer dropped his torch and drew a sword, which started glowing white hot, without melting. He reached for his bandolier to draw a bell. Law threw his knife, but the necromancer dodged. It missed his hand and stuck to his vest of thick leather. Law charged the necromancer and kicked the bell out of his hand. The bell flew into the wall and cracked; the clapper making no noise as it swung inside the bell.
Whatever was meant to happen didn't, and the Necromancer swung his white hot sword at Law. Law hopped back a step and parried clumsily. He lost his balance and dropped his sword to balance. The necromancer stepped forward and thrust with his sword; he stepped to the side and stomped on the necromancerâs foot, scraping his boot along the necromancerâs shin. He drove his shoulder into the necromancerâs body, who dropped his sword as he bounced into the wall.
Law followed the body check through with an elbow that drove the necromancer's forehead into the wall forcefully. The other one had survived a knife in the mouth somehow; he was coughing and slowly getting up. Law would have to make sure. He drew his bayonet and sliced the throat of the necromancer that was against the wall. Then he stepped in, pushed the Necromancer who was recovering to the floor and knifed him twice, like he'd been taught; femoral artery, control the arm, subclavian artery with the entire length of the extra long sword bayonet. The necromancer hung slack. The last necromancer drew another sword as Law drew his bayonet out of the dead one. They faced each other squarely.
"I'm going to enjoy beating you on your terms, Hero, before subjugating your spirit." The necromancer said, in a husky voice.
Law stood silently, assessing the situation. The necromancer smiled at him, and unbuckled his bandolier, letting it fall to the ground. Then he lunged at Law, swinging his sword. Law stepped in while cutting an angle and blocking the blow. He followed through with a slash to the face of the necromancer, who dropped his sword and turned away.
"Mercy! Please!" The necromancer gurgled, as blood streamed from his face. Law kicked the necromancer's sword away.
"I can make you more powerful than you can imagine!" he pleaded, hands behind his head. Then he mule kicked Law in the stomach; a powerful kick that briefly brought him to his knees. He dropped his knife and bayonet as he pushed off the ground. A moment later, he had his garrote in his hands. The Necromancer was up, a four inch metal talon in his left hand, and a very long dagger in his right. He was armed to the fucking teeth, and all Law had left was a couple of throwing knives he couldnât reach, a small folding knife on his belt and a garrote. Law twitched nervously, and the Necromancer launched a frenzied attack. His hands were almost a blur, but somehow, Law managed to catch the dagger with the garrote and direct it into the wall. The Necromancer's weight was in that blow, he broke a knuckle and winced in pain, also dropping the dagger. Law looped his garrote around the Necromancer's neck and planted his left knee in his back. He pulled, and the necromancer thrashed like a freshly caught fish. The kevlar composite of the garrote handles broke in two then crumbled into powder, and the Necromancer fell to the ground. For a moment, Law stared incredulously at the powder in his hands, then reached for his folding knife. It wasnât there.
"Looks like you're done for, friend." the Necromancer said, pulling another claw and fitting it into his right hand. Law retreated down the hall, back to the castle, with the necromancerâs continuous slashing attacks mere inches from him, the entire trip back.
He had gone down the other passage, and tried to take a torch. They were all mortared into the walls, however, and eventually, he had burst out a door with a battle raging around it. He was behind enemy lines; he was in the kitchen, and the Necromancer's guards had overturned a table and were firing arrows at kingdom archers. Stalemate. Law quickly dragged an unsuspecting guard to the ground by his face, and savagely stomped on his face, but realised too late that he was an archer. He took an arrow anyway. The necromancer emerged a second later, as disoriented as he had been. He was still in the door, and now that he had a weapon, Law decided to attack. He tackled him back into the passage.
He felt pain in two places as he hit the ground; in his chest and in his back. He coughed and tasted blood. He was feeling cold, and tired, but he still had one job to do. It was done. His tackle had pushed the knife that had stuck in the Necromancer's armour earlier into his heart. He rolled off the necromancer and almost fainted as pain spread out through his entire body. He reached behind his back. He was bleeding badly. His immediate assessment was that he didnât have a fist sized exit wound in his chest so it must be a .223. Then he remembered where he was. It was an arrow. The blood was dark; the arrow seemed to be in his liver; he didnât have long. He gathered his strength and grabbed onto the necromancerâs lapels with crossed arms. He pulled his arms apart with all his strength, and the necromancerâs collar tightened around his neck. The necromancer struggled weakly, slick bloody hands struggling to find purchase anywhere on Lawâs head or body. It felt like an age before his weak struggling faded to nothing, as Lawâs vision faded to black.
Deserter - Epilogue - Exile
Law opened his eyes, Elina was sitting next to him. She smiled as he awoke, and he groaned.
"It's a healing spell, you'll be fine in a week or so." she said.
"Thanks." he croaked, and closed his eyes.
"Where am I?" he asked a moment later.
"You're in the infirmary in the Palace barracks," she replied, "I'm here because offered to take care of you."
"Because I was wrong about you." She replied.
"When can I go home?" he needed to know.
"I'm afraid you can't," Someone else said. An older voice, the Abhorsen's, "The Ancelsterrian Army doesn't want to even hear about you, and one General Cardon tells me your assets have been seized by the state." Law opened his eyes to look at her.
"I suppose I could stay here," he conceded, "But I don't want to. You didnât tell me what a necromancer was. Way I see it, you owe me.â
"We know, but they won't hear of it," she replied, "We can make your life here comfortable, there's a position open for you in the royal guard." Law sighed. There was so much he didn't understand, and he had accepted that he would never live to see his home again anyway, although he'd thought he wouldn't live, period.
"I don't belong here." he finally said.
"You killed five necromancers with no knowledge of magic," Elina said, "If you donât belong weâll make a place for you." Law sighed again. He was going to die on this side of the wall, he would have to accept that sooner or later.
"Why didn't you warn me about what could have happened to me?" Law asked, "Why didn't you tell me my spirit could have ended up subjugated, and why don't you tell me what that means?"
"The greater good, Law," Sabriel replied, "We needed a killer, and I don't know anyone quite like you." Law didn't feel complimented.
"Iâm a soldier, not a killer. I spent half my career training local security forces. Iâm not just a killer."
"They would have enslaved you for all eternity. All eternity.â Elina said. Law didnât have a response to that.
"There's nothing for me here." he breathed, then closed his eyes. His eyelids were heavy, his chest was tight and painful. A minute or so passed.
"My apprentice and I were waiting in death for you to kill Keenan. He crossed over into death and we bound him before he could recover. A little while later, the other necromancers crossed over into death, and we sent a signal to the royal guard, who were waiting to attack around the castle. We managed to bind two, but the others escaped us. We never expected you to hunt them all down, but you did, and we were victorious. You were like.. Like a catalyst. Without you, many more lives could have been lost, including my own. We appreciate what you've done, and are ever grateful." Sabriel said, quietly, "We had known about them for a while, but we never expected them to take an initiative before we did. Because of you, we managed to turn their initiative against them."
"That much I more or less gathered, but what did I have to do with all this? Why did they bring me here in the first place?" he croaked; he was feeling weak and sore from being awake for so long.
"The Corvere insurrection; some people thought Corolini was the greatest leader Ancelstierre ever had. You killed him and I opposed him. The group of Necromancers and one of those factions joined up for what was basically a revenge plot and a coup rolled together." She replied. Great. He opened his eyes.
"So thatâs I can't go home," Law said, âThey might even be doing me a favour by exiling me, I canât ever be safe at home.â Sabriel nodded. His return home really was out of her hands; he'd have to stay.
