helmet and Aldric coldly marked him down. Such headgear would be useful when he had to walk unnoticed from the citadel. Cocking the
taiken
double-handed behind his head, the boy took a soft step forward.
Even now he was not ready to strike without warning from behind like an assassin—but giving this murderer fair warning was downright stupid. Then his problems vanished as, for some reason, the helmeted man looked around. His head tumbled to the floor wearing the slightly confused expression of a man who literally never knew what had hit him.
Aldric stepped across the corpse,
taiken
already in attack position and concentration focused on the second man who gaped, foolishly forgot his torch was a useful makeshift weapon and dropped it in favour of his sword. The delay was nothing less than fatal.
Something flickered across his body from shoulder to hip and the hand which steadied his scabbard. It was a stroke so old that it came from a time when
taikenin
were curved—but neither time nor straight blades reduced its efficiency. The mercenary stood for a moment, eyes and mouth wide with shock. His left hand dropped from its wrist just an instant before his body split along the huge diagonal cut.
Aldric stared at the exploded corpse for several minutes. After his near suicide and the shock of everything that had followed, he was close to fainting. Only adrenalin had kept him on his feet, and now it ebbed swiftly to leave him nauseous and unsteady. This revelation of his own appalling skill was too much. He had never killed before, and to start like this… And why that cut—something out of the distant past? The sour taste of vomit rose in his throat and his head spun. Then, as he had been taught, the
kailin
breathed deeply, pushing the shattered dead from his plane of awareness. They ceased to be sickening, just as they had ceased to be threatening. Regrets, qualms and conscience would remain, but they would no longer interfere with his survival.
He did three things in rapid succession: broke his father’s sword against the fireplace and left its shards respectfully at the old man’s feet; picked up the soldier’s helmet, shook out its ex-owner’s head and set it on his own; and set a torch to the place. Noting with grim satisfaction that not even fresh-spilt blood stopped the flame from taking hold, Aldric bowed once to the funeral pyre and walked away.
There were still only one or two people to be seen, and he wondered where they had been earlier on. It was only when Aldric rode out of the stable that he realised with horror that he had seen no other horsemen. The roan gelding seemed to be shouting for attention as he trotted quickly for the drawbridge, but since an alarm gong began to sound as dark smoke billowed from the donjon, nobody showed much interest. It gave him the chance to pause near the winding-gear for the drawbridge and delicately saw through the ropes holding its counterweight portcullis. There were no guards anywhere, although the icy wind slicing in from outside should have told him why.
As the cords began to unravel and snap of their own accord under their burden, he set heels to the horse and went over the bridge as fast as he was able. Even then he felt a sudden upward lurch as a rattling rumble broke out behind him. His mount jumped the last few feet as the drawbridge made a violent, uncontrolled ascent and slammed behind him with a huge hollow bang.
Aldric rode straight for Baelen Forest, though had he known of the guards sheltering from the wind within the gatehouse his course might have been more crooked. Instead it remained as unerring as the arrow which slammed into his left shoulder. The boy might have gasped, even screamed—he could not remember. His only recollection was of the world spinning away down a long polished tube that had utter blackness at the bottom.
When he came to his senses there were trees all around him and the horse had slowed to a walk. The high saddle had held
taiken
double-handed behind his head, the boy took a soft step forward.
Even now he was not ready to strike without warning from behind like an assassin—but giving this murderer fair warning was downright stupid. Then his problems vanished as, for some reason, the helmeted man looked around. His head tumbled to the floor wearing the slightly confused expression of a man who literally never knew what had hit him.
Aldric stepped across the corpse,
taiken
already in attack position and concentration focused on the second man who gaped, foolishly forgot his torch was a useful makeshift weapon and dropped it in favour of his sword. The delay was nothing less than fatal.
Something flickered across his body from shoulder to hip and the hand which steadied his scabbard. It was a stroke so old that it came from a time when
taikenin
were curved—but neither time nor straight blades reduced its efficiency. The mercenary stood for a moment, eyes and mouth wide with shock. His left hand dropped from its wrist just an instant before his body split along the huge diagonal cut.
Aldric stared at the exploded corpse for several minutes. After his near suicide and the shock of everything that had followed, he was close to fainting. Only adrenalin had kept him on his feet, and now it ebbed swiftly to leave him nauseous and unsteady. This revelation of his own appalling skill was too much. He had never killed before, and to start like this… And why that cut—something out of the distant past? The sour taste of vomit rose in his throat and his head spun. Then, as he had been taught, the
kailin
breathed deeply, pushing the shattered dead from his plane of awareness. They ceased to be sickening, just as they had ceased to be threatening. Regrets, qualms and conscience would remain, but they would no longer interfere with his survival.
He did three things in rapid succession: broke his father’s sword against the fireplace and left its shards respectfully at the old man’s feet; picked up the soldier’s helmet, shook out its ex-owner’s head and set it on his own; and set a torch to the place. Noting with grim satisfaction that not even fresh-spilt blood stopped the flame from taking hold, Aldric bowed once to the funeral pyre and walked away.
There were still only one or two people to be seen, and he wondered where they had been earlier on. It was only when Aldric rode out of the stable that he realised with horror that he had seen no other horsemen. The roan gelding seemed to be shouting for attention as he trotted quickly for the drawbridge, but since an alarm gong began to sound as dark smoke billowed from the donjon, nobody showed much interest. It gave him the chance to pause near the winding-gear for the drawbridge and delicately saw through the ropes holding its counterweight portcullis. There were no guards anywhere, although the icy wind slicing in from outside should have told him why.
As the cords began to unravel and snap of their own accord under their burden, he set heels to the horse and went over the bridge as fast as he was able. Even then he felt a sudden upward lurch as a rattling rumble broke out behind him. His mount jumped the last few feet as the drawbridge made a violent, uncontrolled ascent and slammed behind him with a huge hollow bang.
Aldric rode straight for Baelen Forest, though had he known of the guards sheltering from the wind within the gatehouse his course might have been more crooked. Instead it remained as unerring as the arrow which slammed into his left shoulder. The boy might have gasped, even screamed—he could not remember. His only recollection was of the world spinning away down a long polished tube that had utter blackness at the bottom.
When he came to his senses there were trees all around him and the horse had slowed to a walk. The high saddle had held
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