Blaze (11 page)

Glancing up, Blaze noticed Torn fighting off a large group of warriors. His foster brother's face was doused in blood from a head wound that seemed to be impairing his vision. As he fought his way towards Torn, he saw the black-haired Knight knock two men aside and draw a second short sword as he fought two others at once. Suddenly Torn fell, dropping one of his swords and pressing a hand to his lower back. A short distance away, Blaze caught sight of a Zaltanian with a slingshot.

Torn struggled to stand while defending himself, but he seemed to have lost the use of his legs.

Panic gripped Blaze at the thought of losing Torn, the one person other than Melody to whom he felt closest. With a running leap, he landed in front of Torn and began fighting off the seemingly endless flow of Zaltanian warriors.

"Get out of here, Blaze," Torn bellowed. "You're going to get killed."

Torn was probably right. They were completely surrounded by sword and hatchet wielding enemies. Using every bit of his skill, Blaze fought like a whirlwind, acting on instinct alone. He struck, kicked, blocked, and punched. Blades slashed his arms. The tip of a sword swiped his chest.

If he had been a second slower in springing backwards, the blow would have killed him. Several times he gained control over an attacker's sword, but each time he flung it aside, remaining true to his vow to never use a weapon in battle.

On the ground, Torn, still unable to stand, continued blocking with his sword and flinging daggers.

"Blaze, get the hell out of here and save yourself," Torn cried.

To Blaze, abandoning his brother or any member of the Order was not an option. For the first time, the urge to use a sword almost overcame him. Years ago in his training, he had been an excellent swordsmen, but what of his vows? What of the spirits who would surely haunt him until

he longed for death?

Turning, he kicked aside two men who leapt on Torn. A sword pierced his ribs and he grunted in pain. His breath came in harsh gasps as his stamina waned, whether from blood loss or the endless stream of fresh Zaltanians, he wasn't sure. He grasped a soldier’s wrist and snapped it. The warrior's blade, the hilt warm and the steel slick with blood, slipped into his hand.

Glancing behind him, he saw a warrior lunge at Torn who struggled with someone else. Without thinking, Blaze used his stolen sword to pierce the man's heart. Others turned on him, and he used the blade to block and thrust. To kill. It sank into flesh and muscle. Men dropped around him.

"Blaze, no!" Torn shouted.

Ignoring Torn's frantic cries, Blaze fought against himself as well as the enemy. All his life Torn had defended him against those who thought him mad. How could he stand by and see him slaughtered? He would never have touched a weapon to save his own life, but Torn or Melody or Mahir, he realized, were a different matter.

He fought until his arms felt like lead and his lungs ached. Still his enemies streamed forth, bloody and enraged.

"Blaze," Sir Warrant bellowed, raising his sword, his face pale beneath smudges of dirt and blood.

Panting, Blaze paused as the warriors around him stepped back, becoming almost translucent.

They glared at him with glowing eyes and he suddenly realized that he had been fighting spirits.

They looked so real when they chose to that he couldn't tell which were flesh and blood and which were from the realm of the dead.

Dropping his sword arm, he glanced at the blade that was covered in blood to the hilt. A pang of horror shot through him. Several Knights and apprentices who were pulling survivors out of the rubble stared at him like he truly was mad.

Warrant took a step closer and rested a hand on Blaze's shoulder. "They've retreated. I don't think we could have done it without you."

"By the Spirit." Blaze dropped the sword on the bloody ground. His gaze fixed on the spirits of his slain enemies who formed a loose circle around him. "What have I done?"

"Looks like you're bleeding badly." Warrant inspected Blaze’s chest and side. "Get in the cottage so an apprentice can stitch you up."

Glancing around for Torn, Blaze saw two villagers stooping near the black-haired Knight. He knelt beside him and began examining his back.

"Are you all right?" Torn asked.

Nodding, Blaze looked at the villagers. "Help him inside."

"Bastard," snarled a blood soaked Zaltanian warrior.

"I'm dead because of you," growled another, peeling back battered leather armor and exposing a gaping hole in his chest. "Killer."

Shoving his way past them, Blaze stepped into the cottage where he knelt beside Torn and helped remove his tunic.

"I can't feel my legs," Torn said through gritted teeth. "Damn it!"

"It might be temporary," Blaze told him. "There's quite a bit of swelling."

"My heart." A warrior approached, holding the pulsing black organ in his hands. Blood dripped from his fingers. "You cut it out, filthy pig of the Ruby Order."

"Get away from me," Blaze snapped.

"Blaze," Warrant grasped his arm, "come with me. One of the apprentices will help Torn."

"Cold water or ice to reduce the swelling," Blaze said.

"Yes." Warrant tugged him to a corner of the room. "Sit."

"I have work to do."

"You've done enough. I think the blood loss is affecting your head."

"They're here. Everywhere."

Warrant's brow furrowed. "Who?"

"Never mind. You can't see them." Blaze drew a deep breath and leaned his head back, hoping that when he opened his eyes, the dead would be gone. He knew better, though. They would be with him now. Forever.

* * *

For Blaze, the next two days were like a nightmare. Day and night, the spirits of the dead surrounded him. They shouted accusations and verbal expressions of hatred so that he couldn't sleep and could scarcely concentrate on his daily duties. Other spirits also appeared, trying to

communicate with him. The scholars suggested that he ignore the warriors, but Blaze couldn't. He had taken their lives. He had broken the most important of his vows. He didn't deserve peace, yet

he needed it to continue his duties as a healer.

With the utmost concentration, he was able to work despite the spirits, yet their voices were strong and their anger powerful.

The Knights and apprentices watched him with wariness in their expressions. His patients no longer seemed to trust him, and he didn’t blame them. He was becoming as crazy as so many people had always thought him to be.

"Blaze," Torn said from where he lay on a cot in the makeshift infirmary. The black-haired Knight still hadn't regained feeling in his legs, yet Blaze wouldn’t let him give up hope. With a regiment of exercise and massage that he had been working on with the spirit scholars’ help, he believed Torn would walk again. "Tomorrow I go home with the seriously injured. Warrant said Lock's ship docked about an hour ago. You're coming with us."

"Because I can't be of use here." Blaze drew a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he squeezed his throbbing temples. He was so tired. If only he could sleep for a while. "I can't make them go."

Torn touched his arm. "I know."

"If I don't do something about it, I'll be useless to the Order. Useless to myself and to Melody. How will I explain this to her?"

"Look at me."

Blaze held Torn's gaze.

"I need you to help me, Blaze." Torn's words were as much for Blaze's sake as for his own. Even in the midst of his own pain, Torn thought of someone else. "You can help me walk again. You're the only one."

"No. I've shared my skills with many."

"Your skills for murder, pig?" a warrior hissed close to Blaze's ear.

Gritting his teeth, he tried ignoring the chorus of voices that sang of spilled blood.

One of the spirits, his face ashen and his eyes gleaming with hatred, sat beside Torn on the cot and traced the Knight's face with the point of a dagger.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Torn said. "I do need your help."

Slowly, Blaze nodded and turned away. When he looked back, the spirit was gone.

"We'll get through this, Blaze. Both of us."

Forcing a smile, Blaze left the infirmary. He needed fresh air. Maybe a drink of water from the well. Though he longed for the comfort of Melody's embrace, part of him cringed at the thought of

seeing her again. He couldn't bear to see the spirits around her, to have her sullied by his crimes.

Though he didn't regret saving Torn's life, he wished that in the battle he had lost his own. Surely even death was better than living with the spirits' wrath.

Chapter Six

Hulking men in bloody armor loomed over Mahir. The elderly Knight, oblivious to the warrior spirits surrounding him, stared at Blaze with discerning eyes.

"I realize that I must be punished for breaking my vow," Blaze stated. Mahir stared calmly, silently, as if waiting for him to continue. "If you would like me to step down from leadership of my faction—"

"That's not like you, Blaze, to hide from a problem."

"I assure you, my problem will never leave me. I cannot hide from it. No longer am I fit to lead those of the green sash."

"Really?" Mahir drew a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. "There is not one Knight here, not one, who has never made a mistake."

"My mistake claimed lives."

"You are a warrior, Blaze. I know you have succeeded for many years in living as such without killing. How you and the rest of your faction have survived is something I cannot begin to explain.

You are the finest Knights we have. You know that."

"My men are deserving of praise."

"As are you."

"I have killed, father." Blaze stood, his fists clenched. "I have pierced flesh with pointed steel and watched life bleed away. I have done what I demand my faction does not. I need punishment."

"No one is more qualified to lead your faction. You created it, Blaze."

"Which is why my crime is more horrible than if it was committed by another man."

"But you are just a man." Mahir smiled slightly. "You do realize that?"

"I don’t want to be anything but that."

"Blaze, you have certain gifts which most of us can never understand."

Gifts.
Blaze glared at the leering spirits who plagued him day and night. The scholars visited him less, as did the many other ghosts with whom he had often conversed. At times the gentler spirits had annoyed him, but he usually welcomed them. How many times had he been given the privilege of carrying messages to loved ones of the deceased? His communication with the realm of the dead had brought peace to many. Now it was driving him to madness.

"Torn and Warrant said you haven't been yourself since the battle. I know you've seen many battles over the years, Blaze. You've nearly gotten yourself killed marching unarmed into the heart of them. Since you picked up that sword, you've changed. Tell me what's wrong."

For the first time Blaze was hesitant to disclose his spiritual communications with the man who had rescued him from a madhouse. Perhaps Mahir should have left him in that cavern of insanity

all those years ago.

"Blaze?"

"When I confronted my faction. . ." Blaze drew a deep breath. "When I looked into their eyes and told them I had done what they are forbidden to do, I expected some anger. Some disgust."

"You're seeking punishment from everyone. Why? Men in your faction have at times broken their vows. They have been overcome by fear, by survival instinct. You have never punished them for it."

"For them to break a vow. . ." Blaze shook his head, searching for the words as the spirits shouted in his ear. At any moment he was going to shout back. He couldn’t. Not in front of Mahir. Not in front of anybody. "It rips their soul to take up arms."

"You admit that if one of your men breaks a vow in momentary desperation, if it is something he has rarely, if ever, done before, then you understand that he is human. He has the same instincts of

every other animal who breathes and thinks and feels."

"Yes."

"Then why can't you judge yourself in the same way?"

Mahir's next words were overpowered by a chorus of war cries.

"Blaze." Mahir grasped the younger Knight's shoulders and shook him. "What is wrong?"

Blaze tugged away from Mahir's grasp and walked to the window overlooking the courtyard below. Torn, with the aid of two canes, walked alongside his wife who gazed at him with such affection that Blaze suddenly longed for Melody. He had written to her upon arriving home, but she was not in Femmeglen. She had been assigned to a village on the Northern Continent to train midwives and would be gone for several months. His message had been forwarded to her. Though

he longed to see her again, part of him was glad he didn’t have to, not while he was obsessed with these blood dripping, snarling specters.