Secrets of Arkana Fortress (29 page)

              ‘We have no homes, you fuck-bag,’ shouted a tall man with blond hair who seemed to be leading the group.

              ‘Our homes are gone. Where do you think we should go then, eh?’ reiterated a blackened faced woman with a woollen cap over her long black hair.

              The rest of the group jeered behind them and waved their weapons at Leskin.

              Leskin stood his ground, going against his urge to give in and run. He began mumbling something to himself which seemed to calm him down. ‘The last thing I want is for any of you to get hurt,’ he stated matter of factly. ‘But if you give me no choice… then I extend my apologies to you all now.’

              They laughed, a couple of them slapping each other on the shoulder in amusement. Why should they have any regard for the Traseken lawmen now? Especially a lone one in the middle of the city?

              ‘You have no power, Mr Templar,’ the blond man laughed, piping up over the din of his brethren. ‘It is
you
that needs to go home and lay down
your
weapon.’

              Leskin closed his eyes and sighed to himself. He slid his hand down to the hilt of his sword and gripped it loosely and with reluctance. ‘Then you give me no choice…’

              ‘Stay your hand, Templar. Do not hurt these civilians.’

              Leskin glanced over to the hooded figure that had walked up behind the crowd and stood a few metres behind them, one hand on the hilt of a longsword. He quickly looked the figure up and down. His eyes rested on the fiery glint from a medallion around the man’s neck - the old insignia of the Templars.

              ‘We do not harm innocent people, especially those of Traseken,’ the figure boomed amidst a plume of smoke from a nearby fire.

              The crowd was beginning to mumble, startled by the appearance of this hooded man. ‘Who the fuck are you? Another Templar, eh?’ the blond man leered. He looked behind him at Leskin then back to the newcomer. ‘Two of you against 12 of us isn’t good odds.’

              Leskin released his grip. ‘Disperse now and we won’t hurt you.’

              They laughed.

              ‘No matter what happens we do not hurt them anyway,’ the figure chimed in.

              The blond-haired leader licked his lips as he swaggered over towards the mystery man, his battered sword dangling from his left hand, and cocked his head to one side. He got close to the darkness of the hood and peered inside. ‘Who are you then?’

              The man stayed silent, nothing but his steady breathing emanating from within.

              His hood was suddenly pulled back.

              ‘Well will you look at this old man,’ the leader chuckled.

              The rest of the group tittered and smirked at his mockery.

              Leskin craned his neck to make out the man’s face. ‘Who is that?’ he muttered to himself. The face was unfamiliar, but was nonetheless a welcome friend.

              Kelken slowly met the blond man’s mocking stare. ‘I’m not going to kill you, no matter how much you try to provoke me.’

              The man’s voice descended into a harsh whisper. ‘That’s alright then, isn’t it?’

              Kelken saw the move coming. The man’s sword lifted in a swift arc, ascending above his shoulder ready to cleave Kelken’s head in two. A gloved hand smacked into his wrist, staving off the deadly strike, while the other drove upwards in an uppercut, the rock-steady fist snapping the man’s head backward. He yelped and staggered back, eventually keeling onto the floor, dazed.

              This display stunned the rest of the group, each of their faces dropping to their feet. But their expressions soon turned nasty, and the violence took them over as if they were being controlled by a puppet master.

              It was with another lightning move that Kelken unclipped the sheath of his sword from his belt and raised it in front of him with both hands, one hand resting on the hilt and the other on the shaft. Six of them encroached around him like feral beasts looking for their first meal in many months, which probably wasn’t too far from the truth – these people must have been starving.

              Kelken swung his sheathed sword and caught one of the women in the face, breaking her nose with the utmost force. She fell backwards screaming, blood gushing from her face. The other five, all men, leapt forward. There were too many for him to handle. Kelken stumbled as the wiliest two grappled with his sword and the other three moved to the back of him. There were warbles of madness coming from somewhere.

              One of the men behind him screamed as an arrow pierced his calf, causing him to go down on one knee and drop his weapon. The two grappling with Kelken hesitated. He pulled the blade end of his sword down and thrust the hilt up sharply, connecting with one of the men’s necks. A powerful head butt saw to the other. Another yelp from behind, this time muffled. Kelken swivelled around and saw San Kiln atop one of the hulking great men digging his exposed claws into his shoulders. A second scream. Another arrow had shot from Breena’s bow and lodged into the third man’s thigh, bringing the rotund figure to the floor with a massive, quaking thud.

              Leskin was overwhelmed by the five who had come at him. He had floored two of them with surprising swiftness, but the last three were proving to be surprisingly agile for weak-looking females. He toppled backwards as one of them tripped him with a pipe to the back of the legs. It was then that he was pounced on by her two scruffy comrades like preying cats. One hit him around the face with the butt of her mace. He winced with sudden pain. He was sure his cheekbone had just been broken.

              The woman who had tripped him laughed, her long black hair cascading around her face in a tangled mess. She suddenly howled as she was catapulted to one side, Kelken having barged into her like a furious Bullwark on the rampage. He grabbed the one woman’s wrist and lifted her up with ease, tossing her away like a rag doll. The remaining girl – and she was only a girl – paused and looked up, her big blue eyes suddenly drowning out the rage from Kelken’s soul. What the hell?

              Leskin gave a sturdy left hook and batted her to one side like a nuisance fly. He’d knocked her out cold.

              He lifted himself up into a seated position and observed the battered bodies that groaned and writhed in agony. How on earth had the two of them survived this onslaught?

              ‘Are you OK?’ asked Kelken holding out a helping hand.

              Leskin waved him away as he held his cheek. ‘I think that little bitch broke my face,’ he remarked as he spat onto the floor.

              ‘Look at it this way – she could’ve broken your balls and ruined your life forever.’ Kelken smirked and held out his hand again. ‘Stand up, Templar.’ He pulled the young man up onto his feet and dusted his arms off.

              ‘Who are you?’ asked Leskin, his eyes pointing at the Templar medallion.

              Kelken quickly tucked it back underneath his tunic and turned his head to one side. ‘I’m just a friend helping you out.’

              ‘You’re a bastard Templar that’s what you are.’ Leskin’s eyes lit up with a mixture of annoyance and relief. ‘Don’t try and fool me; I think the entire city saw that medallion.’

              ‘I’m no Templar.’

              ‘Then what? You stole it? Bought it? Killed someone for it?’

              Silence dropped over the pair of them, nothing but the cracking of the fires and shuffling of the downed people.

              ‘I must go… I have a job to do.’ Kelken turned around to beckon Breena and San Kiln when a hand gripped his arm. It was powerful inside that mailed glove of his.

              ‘Don’t bullshit me, I saw how you fought. I recognise the form you used to minimise casualties – only a Traseken Templar is taught such a method.’

              Kelken sighed loudly, half huffing. ‘I’m not a Templar anymore – I am here by chance that’s all.’ He glared at the young man and felt the gripping hand let go. ‘Now let me be on my way.’

              Leskin folded his arms calmly. ‘Do you remember the oath you once took?’

              Kelken stopped his withdrawal.

              ‘If you’re determined to deny who you are then why hold on to your old life? How can you say you’re not a Templar when I just witnessed you save me from death?’

              ‘I didn’t have to help you at all.’

              ‘Then why did you?’ Leskin was becoming more assertive, his shoulders tensing at Kelken’s aversion.

              ‘Can’t I help someone in need without having a reason to do so?’ Kelken snapped. Having this young man question his motives and reasons was downright infuriating.

              ‘There is a reason for everything someone does, no matter how trivial they think it is. Merely wanting to help me has its reasons. Do you even know what they are? Or are you living in denial or something?’

              ‘You’re beginning to piss me right off. I wish I’d left you to get fucking carved up now.’ Kelken’s throat growled like an angry tiger’s.

              Leskin took a step back. ‘Sorry. I’ve got a tendency to open my mouth without thinking. My mentor always tells me that.’

              There was a silence where Kelken stared at the young Templar, slowly assessing him and who he was. ‘Who’s your mentor, kid?’

              ‘Less of the kid,’ Leskin barked with protest. ‘I’m 26, not 16.’

              Kelken laughed softly. ‘Sorry.’

              ‘No worries.’ Leskin looked down at the young girl he had knocked out. She was still unconscious on the floor, her hair covering her head like a thick canopy. ‘My mentor’s name is Rolden Trist… know him?’

              ‘No.’

              That was a lie. Kelken knew exactly who Rolden Trist was. He had been his old partner back in the days of the Templars, as well as one of his closest friends once. It was warming to hear that Rolden was still alive and well, carrying on his work in such a downtrodden city. When Kelken left all those years ago there had been a fight – Rolden had done his utmost to make his friend stay in Traseken, but all to no avail. They both fought like reptilian and feline.

              Kelken touched his neck where an ancient scar still lived. It was the wound Rolden had given him during their final fight, the one that had ended in blows. He could still feel the cold steel of the sword.

              Breena leaned on her dad’s shoulder and blinked at Leskin. ‘Are you both unhurt?’

              Leskin smiled at the sudden appearance of such a beauty. ‘I… yeah, we’re fine.’

              She smiled back briefly. ‘Come on, dad, we need to move.’

              ‘Agreed,’ Kelken replied as he checked his sword over.

              ‘Is this where we part ways then?’ asked Leskin.

              ‘Afraid so. You should report back to your commander.’ Kelken pulled his hood back up over his head and breathed a sigh. ‘Farewell, Templar Leskin.’ With that, he turned on his heels and glided up the street with Breena in tow.’

              Leskin took a moment to assess the litter of battered and bruised civilians on the floor. One was crawling away on all fours while two of the women tended to each other’s aches and pains. Just then a feline hobbled past him without looking, both his paws gripping the straps of a backpack.

              ‘Hey, Kelken, wait up will ya?’ he called.

              A distant curse could be heard, no doubt aimed at the feline’s careless utterance of the old man’s name.

              The young Templar rubbed his chin as he walked to one side of the street, his gaze locked onto the furry figure until he disappeared around a corner. ‘Kelken is it? Hmm.’

***

A vicious wind blew between the broken buildings, flapping Kelken’s cloak like a bird’s broken wing. He knelt down and examined a small dark pool of something on the cobbled floor.

              ‘Looks like blood,’ he remarked, rubbing some of it between his fingers.

              San Kiln snorted. ‘Yeah, about the fiftieth one we’ve come across since getting here.’ His whiskers twitched as he smoothed the fur on his neck carefully.

              ‘Not quite; this is the blood of a Bullwark.’

              ‘How can you tell?’ San Kiln asked curiously.

              ‘I’ll show you.’ Kelken reached over and picked up a flat piece of stone from a broken wall. He began to smooth the blood onto the flat surface until his hand was more or less cleansed of it. ‘Watch.’ He picked up a second flat piece of stone and pressed it against the bloody side of the other. He then gripped one of the two pieces and lifted it up.

              San Kiln watched with wide eyes as the other stone stayed firmly stuck to the other. ‘It’s like glue,’ he spluttered.

              Kelken raised a knowing eyebrow underneath his hood. ‘Indeed.’

              ‘Well… you learn something new every day, don’t you?’