Rise and Fall (25 page)

Jonrell winked as he stepped down the rope ladder. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

“Forgive me, Kaz,” a voice whispered in his mind. He couldn’t say who the voice belonged to or when it spoke, but it repeated itself over and over until his eyes opened. He was uncertain if those words had jarred him awake, or the cool breeze that sent a shiver up his spine. The dewy grass he lay on heightened his senses, pressing against his bare skin. Regardless, he was alert now.

He blinked his eyes until they adjusted to the overcast light. His body felt like a giant wound. Small aches and bruises pulled at muscles, and cramped limbs longed to stretch out as he forced himself to a standing position. A wave of dizziness washed over him. The sudden assault to his senses brought him down to one knee. Reaching back, he felt his hair caked in dried blood. He steadied himself again, much slower than before and though his head still pounded, the dizziness waned.

A dry mouth and empty stomach told him he had been unconscious for some time. He looked down at himself for the first time, seeing his nakedness. There was no sign of any personal belongings, only the remains of loose bindings around his wrists.

Someone did a poor job at trying to bind me.
He looked around his feet once more, hoping there was something nearby he could use, but he found nothing.
I’d rather have a blade than anything else.

The thought struck him as odd at first, a weapon being so important to anyone. Then he reasoned out that with a weapon, he could hunt for food, dig for water, and skin an animal for clothing. He considered his current state and began asking himself questions.

Why wouldn’t I have a blade now if it’s something I desire so much?
He took a step forward and his head pounded.
Have I been in a fight? I must have been. Disarmed and left for dead.

He stared out over a wild land. Trees and brush grew in a haphazard manner around rocks jutting through the uneven ground.
I don’t recognize any of this. Nothing is familiar. Where am I?
Then he stiffened and tried to think of what had led him here. He couldn’t.
Who am I? I…I don’t remember anything.
A whispering voice echoed in his mind again. “Forgive me Kaz,” it said. The voice was deep and not his own, he realized after repeating the words aloud. Still, something about the way those words were said brought him both comfort and sorrow. Comfort when he realized the words were spoken to him and sorrow from the voice’s solemn tone.
I at least have my name.
“Kaz.”

Kaz hoped the voice would keep talking and give him more information but it remained silent. Still, just knowing his name improved his spirits. Rather than dwell on a poor situation, he set off to at least solve one of his problems and allowed his instincts to take over as he traveled the unfamiliar terrain.

Sometime later he found a stream nestled within a thick forest. Shallow but moving, it was more than he expected to come across. He drank heavily, slow at first so as not to upset his stomach. He washed the blood from his hair as best as he could, shivering as the cool water ran down his back. Having seen after his most pressing problem, he set off to solve the next.

Kaz wandered up the stream for several hours, stopping to drink as needed. He headed toward a stony hill where he hoped some breed of bird might make its nest amongst the crags. He looked to snatch an egg or two to satisfy his hunger after poor luck fishing in the stream.

He reached the hill and started to ascend its slope. There weren’t any nests, but he discovered several bushes of wild berries near the hill’s crest. He picked one bush clean, the sweet taste a treat to his tongue. When done with the first, he moved to the second.

A noise startled him and he froze, inclining his ear toward the sound. He heard voices that seemed to be coming from the other side of the hill. Being so close to the top, he decided to risk the last few steps, and peeked over the edge.

He spotted a tall warrior, some thirty feet below, with his back to Kaz. The warrior wore armor the color of blood. He held a longsword in his hand, the blade matching his armor. Five men arrayed in a mismatch of armor and weapons stood surrounding the warrior some distance back. Two bodies lay near the warrior’s feet. Despite their numbers, each man seemed leery to press an attack.

A voice called out from a small set of trees some twenty yards behind the men encircling the warrior. A squat man appeared in yellow robes, stepping from behind a wide oak, his hands concealed in his sleeves. Something about the man in robes angered Kaz. The emotion triggered a piece of his memory.
A shaman.

He could not understand the conversation between the warrior and shaman and couldn’t tell what the dispute was about. However, Kaz found himself siding with the warrior below, if only because of his growing hatred for the man in yellow robes.

Kaz reached to his waist for a dagger that was not there and instead settled for a rock at his side. He quickly scanned the side of the slope and found a path which he used to descend in a quiet determination.

* * *

You’ve done it again, haven’t you? You just couldn’t let things go and give them what they wanted. What are a few coins to you anyway? But why should I? If I let every second rate thief who thinks he can use a sword get the better of me, it won’t be long before everyone is trying it.

Jonrell glanced down at the two dead bodies in front of him, each pumping blood from a hole in their gut. He looked up again as the remaining five bandits closed in. They had killed his horse with a crossbow bolt through the neck. Outrunning them in full armor was not an option. So Jonrell had retreated to the rock face, using the wall to protect his flank. The two men on the ground had come at Jonrell before the others arrived, their strikes sloppy.
These others won’t make the same mistake.

Those who encircled him were a motley group, dressed in bits of mismatched armor, rusted in spots where the dirt had washed away. The grime on their faces was as thick as their smell.

Their drawn swords were in no better shape than the pieces of mail and plate crudely strapped to their frames.
It should be a crime to treat one’s blade in such a way.
Jonrell imagined how odd the contrast must be between their appearance and his own.
Well if I die, at least I’ll look good doing it.

The threat of such bandits was reason enough to travel in groups, but Jonrell had decided to go out for an early morning ride to clear his head and ran right into their ambush on the way back. He had hoped that going out in full armor would have been a deterrent for such an attack, but instead it only grabbed their attention.

Stupid. I should have known better. What would a poor man be doing with such nice weaponry?

The one in the center approached with eyes flicking to the two men bleeding on the grass before him. Jonrell winked and the man froze, unsure of the meaning.

Jonrell changed the grip on his sword.

“Hold!” a voice shouted, and the five men stopped, too far away for Jonrell to take advantage of the distraction. A stout figure appeared from behind a wide oak wearing yellow robes, hands concealed in his sleeves. Sweat sat on his brow despite the cool morning air which told the commander that the mage had at least one spell ready to unleash. A smile crawled across the mage’s face as his eyes met Jonrell’s. He moved forward, away from the tree, and stopped. “Don’t take your eyes off of him. But do not act without my command. Is that clear?”

Several men grunted in reply.
Great. Yellow or not, a mage of any sort changes things. If I was lucky, I may have been able to best the five but not now.

“Do you know who I am?” asked the mage.

And he has an ego at that. Gotta love a mage with an ego. Well, at least I should be able to stall him while I try to think of a way out of this.
“Can’t say that I do, but I’m assuming I should, right?”

The mage chuckled. “Always full of jokes, aren’t you, Commander?” He smiled. “Don’t look surprised. I know who you are. Our little meeting was not mere chance.” He paused. “But to your question, I don’t expect you to remember me. It was very long ago. I was only a boy.” The mage’s forehead wrinkled and his voice took on an edge. “But I haven’t forgotten you or your band of mercenaries, especially that old man, Krytien.”

There was something about the look in the man’s eyes that caught Jonrell off guard, something familiar. He couldn’t place the mage but it was obvious the yellow-robed figure was well acquainted with him and his crew.

So a mage with an ego who appears to be bent on revenge. What a great morning.
“Ah, so you’re saying you’re familiar with our work? Good,” said Jonrell, trying to be indifferent. “You mentioned Krytien. Perhaps I can reintroduce you two. He’s quite fond of mages who’ve taken such an interest in him.”

“No. The old man will get his on my terms, not yours. You are simply the bait to bring him to me.”

“You think so? I’ve already killed two of your men. Who’s to say the rest aren’t going to join them?” He leveled his sword, pointing it at the center man’s throat. “I think I’ll start with this one.” The man gulped as he squeezed the hilt of his sword.

The mage laughed again. “So full of confidence, and yet the odds are not in your favor today. But don’t fear. As I said, I prefer you alive for now.” The mage removed his hands from his sleeves, and a small glow crawled along his skin. “However, if you won’t come quietly, I can kill you now and worry about Krytien later.”

Jonrell paused as a man emerged from behind an oak tree some distance behind the mage. He was unlike anything the commander had ever seen with skin as black as night. He was well over six feet tall and seemed to be carved from granite as slabs of muscle flexed with each silent footfall. Most surprising, the man wore no clothes. He held a large rock in his hand and his eyes were focused on the yellow-robed mage, inching ever closer with the grace of a panther.

A rock isn’t much but I guess it will have to do. He’ll probably die before he gets within five feet but maybe the distraction will be enough to give me a chance. Just need to keep him talking.
“One Above, this is getting ridiculous. Will you just tell me why you want me and Krytien dead? Otherwise, let’s get this over with.”

“You killed my family, both my father and mother while in Thurum. It was at Asantia!” yelled the mage.

Jonrell’s eyes widened ever so slightly as he did his best to hide his reaction. The look in the mage’s eyes suddenly made sense. Asantia had been one of the darkest times in the Hell Patrol’s history, and many of those memories still haunted his dreams. One of those images that had etched itself into his mind was that of a young boy cradling the bodies of his mother and father, staring at Jonrell with hollow eyes as he walked by.

I’m not surprised he never learned to move on, even if his parents deserved to die.

“Well, I can see how that may bother you,” said Jonrell trying to keep the mage’s attention as the black man continued his approach. “But that was years ago. We killed a lot of people in Asantia, and last I remember, they were trying to kill us. It’s called war.”

“No!” cried the mage. “That mage Krytien burned my mother alive as she tried to save my father. They were killed in cold blood. And that’s not all…” The mage fell in a slump as the black man’s hand crashed down on the back of the yellow-robed figure’s head with the sharp crack of shattering bone. The five bandits turned toward their leader.

Jonrell rushed forward, sweeping his sword across the center man’s unprotected neck, severing his head.

Well, no one can say I didn’t warn him.

The man to Jonrell’s left swung his rusted blade upward wildly. The sword sliced through the air. Jonrell easily moved away from the attack and carved into the man’s torso.

The sound of fighting came from behind, but Jonrell had no time to look as another bandit came at him. More skilled than the previous men, he parried the first combination of attacks before dipping his blade too low. Leaving himself unprotected, Jonrell stabbed him in the chest and the man crumpled to the ground.

Jonrell spun, expecting another assault. To his surprise the last two bandits were dead and the black man stood over them holding one of the rusted swords in his hand. Despite helping Jonrell only moments ago, he looked ready to spring into another attack. The black man twisted his feet in the dirt, shifting his hands around the sword’s hilt.

What is his problem? He kills three men to help me and then acts like I’m next. Does he really think a naked man is going to intimidate someone in full plate?
The black man lowered his gaze and the knots on his shoulders flexed.
Well, maybe it will a little.
Jonrell then realized his own position and that he too had faced the man in anticipation for an attack. The commander lowered his sword slowly and straightened his stance. “Thanks for the help. Do you have a name?” he asked, trying to break the tension.

The black man frowned and said nothing.

Ok, that didn’t work. Maybe try a different language.
Jonrell tried again in several other tongues he had picked up during his travels but each was met with the same response. Then it hit him.
Idiot. Look at his skin. It’s much darker but it makes more sense than anything else.
He tried Byzernian, thankful for the recent practice he had while traveling with Wiqua. “My name is Jonrell. Do you have a name?”

This time the man responded, finally relaxing a little. “Kaz.”

Kaz. It’s a start. Though at this rate we will be standing here until sundown.
Jonrell decided to take a risk and sheathed his sword, removing his gauntlets afterward. He extended his hand slowly to the man. “Thank you for the help.” After a moment, Kaz lowered his sword as well and extended a free hand in return.

One Above, the raw power in his grip.
Jonrell smiled as their hands released, but Kaz did not reciprocate. Jonrell decided not to let the silence drag. “Which island in Byzernia are you from?” he asked.