A party followed the romantic showboating, continuing well into the afternoon and evening. It was the kind of affair you would expect from a bunch of freelance rent-a-tough-guys, with copious alcohol consumption and racket raising, all the more so as there was both a high noble and a prince footing the bill. Sistilla showed great restraint in her consumption... after the first few; I think she needed to suppress her embarrassment. Despite her complete confusion about much of the drunken antics, Amillia still enjoyed herself, as many of the garrulous adventurers were more than happy to pull her into their conversations. As you can imagine, the topics of discussion were not what you would call appropriate for a ten-year-old, though it seemed most of it went over her head. While all this was happening, I watched from a corner, morose.
“Here, Olavir, have some chocolate!” Amillia said, thrusting me a handful of silky dark squares. “Onry say he has been saving these for a special occasion.”
Seemed a strange thing for an adventurer to save for a special occasion. More than likely, he just wanted her to feel included since she couldn’t drink. A heart of gold, that one.
“No thanks. I’m not really hungry.”
She looked confused and a little disappointed. “Huh? Are you sure?”
“Yep,” I said, and worried she might try to stick around, added, “That guy over there is playing some kind of dice game. Maybe he would let you play.”
That did the trick, and she whisked herself away.
Afterwards, Prince Orland asked, nearly begging Sistilla to stay a while longer. However, she had some old-fashioned views about pre-marriage affairs and wanted to “save it for after they were married.” Poor presumptuous Sistilla… They agreed to continue exchanging letters, though why they needed to agree to continue, I don’t know.
“And one more thing, my dear Sistilla,” Orland said as we prepared to depart. “Could you give this letter to Lucial?”
Sistilla tilted her head. “You want me to take it to her? Why not just send it by courier?”
“Our Father would like to keep anything regarding the double union as close to the chest as possible,” he said, and then, with a sceptical tone, continued, “he believes there are spies and other interlopers who have interests opposed to it.”
Oh, you have no idea how right your father is.
“Oh. Well, sure. I can take it to her,” she said, taking the letter with its royal red seal and tucking it away.
They carried on for a while longer with the sappy romance stuff, but I’ll spare you the details, though it seemed their wedding would be in about seven months, or terms as they call them. Sistilla told Orland to be patient until then. Another turn of the knife.
It was late in the evening when we left, and the sun had just about bid us adieu when the auto-carriage pulled out from Leits. One had to wonder why such a late departure. Surely, staying another night would have been of no consequence. Sistilla said that sleeping in the carriage wouldn’t be a problem, apparently not considering the driver. However, I suspected the real reason was she didn’t want to tempt herself by having ready access to Orland.
Perhaps I should be grateful; the attack would certainly come on the way back, and she had just ensured that everyone would either be tired or asleep. Needless to say, I remained wide awake.
I fidgeted with the red and yellow scarf Amillia had bought me. At some point, she had remembered the purchase and dug it out of my pack; I was in no mental state to protest. When would it happen? I needed to be ready to move immediately, as I didn’t think they intended to leave survivors. In fact, I was counting on it.
The time rolled on, and my anxiety only grew. The last glow of sunlight had long since passed, and everyone languished in some segment of their sleep cycle. What was taking them so long? I would be grey before they got here. Or maybe I was wrong. Maybe I misread the message? Despite myself, a wave of relief washed over me as this idea seemed more credible. Then it happened.
The front of the carriage suddenly dropped hard, sending the entire cab’s occupants lurching forward, pulling them out of some stage of NREM—not a good stage to be awoken. Within a matter of seconds, windows shatter, sending shards of broken glass scattering as masked and hooded figures dove in and took out the guards before they even opened their eyes. Sistilla appeared to have some experience with awakening from a dead sleep—probably from adventuring—and rolled away, knife drawn, eyes still half-lidded.
After the guards, they went after the driver and Sistilla; they probably regarded Amillia and me as inconsequential and therefore not a priority. Thanks to my reticence, despite being thrown forward, I was able to sneak off to the back and roll out of the door.
Hitting the ground, I crawled under the carriage to scout out the area. They had chosen an isolated stretch of road. Nothing but thick forest and brush for as far as the eye could see, and in the near total darkness, that didn’t extend far. No sign of any additional assassins, thankfully. Still, who knows if more of them lurked out in the foliage, but I would have to risk it. They would certainly find me if I stayed here. With that in mind, I made a beeline for the cover of the forest growth, probably the reason they staged the ambush here. Now it would serve my purposes well.
Once under its concealment, I crouched down and proceeded, probing with every step. With my training, I could move covertly at speed, but in this pitch-black, I had to rely on my tactile senses. Though yutsuukitsuu had better night vision than humans, it wasn’t like wearing night vision goggles. It would have been easier without shoes, curse these things, but I couldn’t risk removing them now. But there would be time for that later; I could almost taste freedom.
Even if they thought to come and look for me, and I suppose it was a fair assumption, I had confidence that I could elude detection. I had trained under the best after all. It seemed my plan had succeeded, though in fairness, I had mostly just taken advantage of an imbalance in information. While they wouldn’t find my body, they would assume I was killed. Even if not, with their daughters dead, they wouldn’t spare much thought for a missing slave. Sure, I would still have to deal with this collar, but there would be plenty of time to address that. Just needed to find something that could cut alvoloy. Still, I reveled in my pending liberation.
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“Sistilla!!” A scream pierced my euphoria.
Amillia’s voice. I paused, startled by the sudden shout, before reminding myself this was expected. The knife pierced deeper, and I gritted my teeth. Keep going, just need to keep going. Although I had no obligation to them, owed them no loyalty, it still pained me to abandon them. But these were just tricks of the mind, a kind of Stockholm syndrome.
*Klang!* The sound of metal on metal cut through the night, along with men grunting and boots scraping across the pavement. Was Sistilla fighting them off?
“Back off... *WEEZ*... you cowards,” Sistilla said with difficulty.
No, it sounded like she had taken a wound; it was only a matter of time. Despite myself, I found that I had stopped moving. What the hell was I doing!? Surely, I didn’t want to stay and witness this happening. With effort, I put one foot in front of the other. Yes, this is the right choice, the opportunity you have been waiting for. Sistilla would have been dead long ago without you. You have already paid it forward.
“Ahh! Let me go!” came another scream from Amillia.
“Let her go, you... rotter!”
Wait, did they just take Amillia hostage? That’s what it sounded like, and I felt a surge of indignation at the cowardly act. If they were going to do this, they should at least act honorably, or at least as honorably as a group of assassins could.
Dammit! No! I... Don’t... Owe... Them... Anything! I tore at my neck, face a conflicted sneer. My hand grabbed something soft. What was this? The scarf that Amillia had given me? The red and yellow scarf she had insisted was a good match? Thinking back to the previous day, she had taken a long time in that shop, looking at scarves. Only now did I recall this detail. At that time, it annoyed me that she was taking so long. But as I ran my fingers across the garment, I had to admit she had a genuine affection for me, as childish as it was.
And could I just pretend that I had no attachment to Sistilla? I had sincerely attempted to help with her ordeal, even though I knew it would mean nothing; I had nothing to gain, only wasted effort. Except…
I couldn’t gain my freedom, not like this, not with the stain of betrayal on my soul.
I gripped the scarf tight. “Damn you, Amillia...” I muttered; the knife slid out.
I ran back to the edge of the forest, not much caring about the noise I made. Turns out I hadn’t gotten far, and I realized I’d been far more reluctant than I thought. Sistilla pressed a hand against a red stain on her side, stabbed from the look of it. I cringed, hoping it hadn’t pierced viscera. One assassin lay face down, with a red pool expanding out. Despite four on one, Sistilla had taken one down. No wonder they had resorted to such underhanded tactics. She stood holding her side with a rapier at the ready, while Amillia struggled in the arms of an assailant. However, she settled down once he put a dagger to her throat.
“Drop the sword,” the masked figure said, even-toned. “Unless you don’t care about your sister.”
“You... Rotters!” Sistilla growled like a wounded wolf. “You know full well you just intend to kill us both, regardless.”
I scanned the area looking for something to change the course of events. The blackness of night concealed much, but the moon provided a thin veneer of illumination. There, on the ground next to the downed assassin, lay his sword. The assassin had the courtesy to drop it out of the direct line of sight. In this darkness, could I reach it without being seen? But swords are heavier than they seem, and this appeared to be a standard longsword—a strange choice for an assassin. For a juvenile of an already slight people, wielding this weapon would be like wielding a greatsword. Without fox magic, no telling how much help it could be.
“Well, you are going to perish either way. If you surrender, there is a chance that your sister will live,” the one argued. “But she will certainly die if you resist.”
I wasn’t expecting such rhetoric from a hired killer. You could tell his words were affecting her, as she remained silent for a long while. Obviously, he only wanted to reduce further casualties, at least for his side. However, if she held firm, it opened the possibility that circumstances could intervene; this was a public road after all.
“Let… my sister… *WEEZ* …go first!”
“You know it doesn’t work that way.”
The two remaining attackers flanked on either side of the abductor, all facing in the same direction. If I got to the sword, maybe I could throw it at him, causing him to drop Amillia. It would take some heft, though; that alone might give me away. But as low as the chance of success was, I could think of no better options.
Okay, so first, I would need to sneak to that sword, avoiding detection. I removed my shoes, as they were a serious stealth debuff, and began a slow crawl well outside of their sight. Eventually, I would have to enter their side vision, but I would minimize my time in that area.
“Promise me... you will... let her go.”
“Of course,” he lied.
Don’t fall for his lies, Sistilla! He didn’t even put much effort into it! I wanted to tell her, but that would be counterproductive, and I had almost reached the weapon. I slowed down as I entered their peripheral vision.
Sistilla lowered her weapon. “Okay...”
What are you doing, Sistilla!? As soon as the rapier left her hand, the two flanking assassins coiled to spring at her. The sword still lay a few paces away, but there was no time. They sprang at her.
Time slowed, and without thinking, I fell back on my training, fully engaging my fox magic, despite its futility, and sprinted for the blade. Only I moved faster than the two charging Sistilla. As I grabbed the sword, it felt light in my hand, as if I held a toy. Slipping back into a familiar form, sword couched, feet gliding across rough pavement, I charged past the man holding Amillia, cutting out his legs, causing him to drop her and fall to the ground, screaming. This got the attention of the other two assassins, and they spun to face.
To their credit, they didn’t miss a beat and launched an immediate offense, but I had entered the zone. Parrying and slipping under his blade, I sliced into his thigh as I moved off to his left, spinning back to bring the sword down through his neck. The final assailant charged, but…
“Ack!” he screamed as he went down, Sistilla having stabbed him in the back, the tip of her sword protruding through his heart.
She pulled it free and his body hit the ground with a thud. That was the last one, and four bodies lay scattered about. Though technically, the man without legs hadn’t completely bled out yet.
“Olavir...?” Sistilla said, face a snarl of relief and bewilderment.
Well, I’ll be damned. It actually succeeded. And I was alive—a first. Exhaustion hit me like a 2015 B?sendorfer Concert Grand 290 Imperial Piano. Actually, how had I pulled…
I blacked out.
here!
Hero - Family of the Year
Would you save them or go for freedom?
