Chapter Five
The Change Unleashed
The man guarding the sliding wall was asleep when it ground open. The sound of scraping stone roused him and he staggered to his feet, yawning.
A crossbow bolt flew from the darkness and struck him between the eyes, killing him instantly.
Mirana dumped the crossbow and gladly took up her bow once again. Crossbows were accurate and powerful, but reloading them was painfully slow compared to simply nocking an arrow to a bowstring.
Marci looked down at the dead man and raised her eyebrows.
'I know you could have taken him, Marci.' Mirana said as she checked her quiver. 'But you did most of the work back there. I thought you deserved a break.'
Marci nodded gratefully and slid her dagger back into its sheath. The bruises on her knuckles were not going to heal quickly, not if they kept getting into fights.
Mirana kept the sword she had been forced to take up during their fight through the underground. It might come in handy. Luckily for them, Nikdo had employed fewer men than they had expected. The men he had used as guards had not been competent either. They had not been accustomed to people fighting back.
Movement at the end of the corridor caught her eye. She nocked an arrow and took aim.
'What was tha—' The doorman never finished. Mirana's arrow hit him in the eye.
They had outstayed their welcome in Haupstadt. It would not be long before this mess came to the attention of the city guard. Mirana and Marci might have done them a favour, but they would still be obligated to find out who had slaughtered a bunch of criminals in their city. Mirana also had the suspicion that the guards had been paid by Nikdo. They had to find the shopkeeper Gwanwyn had mentioned and leave soon.
Marci snatched a pastry from the sentry's table as they left and started munching on it as she followed Mirana.
As they entered the street, Mirana heard a jangling noise. It was coming from Marci's belt.
She looked to her handmaiden inquiringly. Marci stuffed the rest of the pastry into her mouth and indicated a bulging drawstring bag. 'Did you steal that?'
Marci jerked her head backwards with a slight frown, her cheeks bulging comically as she chewed.
'I suppose so.' Mirana accepted. 'Even if they weren't too dead to need it now, it's better off in our hands. Maybe we can buy some food for the journey.' Marci perked up at the mention of more food.
Mirana beckoned for her to follow and they set off for the inn, taking backstreets and alleyways to avoid roving guard patrols. They would have to avoid notice. Their clothes were covered in blood, especially Marci's.
Davion was sat outside another tavern when he caught sight of them.
Mirana was overly focused on her goal, but Marci noticed him and tugged on Mirana's sleeve.
Davion waved to them. He noticed Mirana roll her eyes as Marci hurried over. Mirana followed more slowly.
'I hope you two have had more luck with whatever it is you're doing.' Davion lifted his mug, only to find that it was empty. Why was the beer always gone?
Marci nodded, smiling as she pulled up a chair. The first thing Davion noticed was that they had both changed into fresh clothes. Their garments looked more or less the same, but they were noticeably cleaner.
Davion also noticed a few spots of blood on Marci's cheek. He inclined his head towards hers and pointed at his own cheek. 'You missed a spot,' he whispered.
Marci tried to rub it off with her fingers. Davion thought better of asking them what had happened. There were tell-tale bruises on Marci's knuckles, and Mirana seemed to have acquired a sword.
Marci gestured at Davion and held out her palms, her expression open and her eyes curious.
'She wants to know what's wrong.' Mirana supplied.
'A lot,' Davion nudged his mug around listlessly, 'nobody here will provide me with a weapon or armour. I used to be popular in this city. Now it's like I'm carrying the plague.'
'Well, they do think that you're a...' Mirana glanced around and leaned closer before whispering: 'cannibal.'
'I'm not a damn cannibal.' Davion muttered.
'You did cough up a ring. And a brooch.'
'Don't remind me.'
Marci held a finger and thumb together, her expression one of inquiry.
'I lost it.' Davion admitted heavily. 'I thought I might be able to win some man's knife in a game of dice.' He shrugged and sighed. 'I went for the boar. He went for the dog. He got the dog, and the damn ring.'
Marci sighed and shook her head. She waved a serving girl over and pointed at Davion's mug. When the girl stated that Davion had no money, Marci produced a couple of coins and raised her eyebrows. Reluctantly, the girl poured out two beers for them. Mirana declined the offer of one for herself but sat down with them anyway.
'Thanks, Marci.' Davion murmured gratefully. 'Maybe I should just get drunk. I might not feel it when they gut me.' He noticed Marci's smile drop. 'Sorry. Bad joke.'
Mirana gave her handmaiden a sideways glance. 'How can you drink that swill?'
Marci shrugged and tapped her throat. She was thirsty. Simple as that.
Davion chuckled and held up his mug. Marci's smile returned and they clunked their mugs together before taking a long draw. 'A woman after my own heart.' Marci blushed, but managed to hold his gaze. He could tell from her face when she drank that she still did not like the taste much. 'You get used to it.' He assured her.
Mirana leaned forwards. 'Davion, if these men who want to kill you are part of a bandit gang, why not report them to the city watch?'
Davion sighed, his mood dipping once more. 'They have an "understanding".'
'Oh.'
'Yeah. Oh.' His gaze drifted to Marci's hands again. 'Have you been earning coin in fist-fights?'
A shake of the head told him "no", but the wobbly hand she put up was harder to understand.
'Sort of?'
She nodded. A quelling look from Mirana stopped her from elaborating.
'From what I've seen, you'd make a fair bit of money.' Davion said.
'Since you can't find a weapon, I take it you're not going to fight the gang?' Mirana guessed.
'No, I will fight them.'
Marci choked on her beer. Mirana patted her on the back until she stopped sputtering. 'And I thought that you were stubborn, Marci. At least you haven't got a death wish.'
'I've got to face them. Surely you can understand?'
Mirana scoffed. 'Men! You're not going to look any more manly when they kill you.'
'If.' Davion put on a brave face, more for Marci's sake than anything else. 'If they kill me. I'm not going to make it easy for them.'
Marci gestured at him, then at herself and Mirana, and made a series of slicing movements with her hand.
Mirana sighed heavily and closed her eyes. 'No, Marci. We can't.'
Marci scowled.
'We just can't, Marci. It's not our fight.'
'She's right, Marci.' Davion concurred. Mirana looked surprised. She had not expected him to agree with her. 'That man said that his friends would kill you too if you helped me. This is my problem. You've already done more than enough for me. Anybody else would have left me on that road, maybe even killed me, and I'm grateful to you both for helping me.'
Mirana shook her head. 'Don't thank me, Davion.'
'You did help me, Mirana.'
'Only because Marci insisted on it.'
Marci tapped Mirana's shoulder and made a few simple gestures, her expression soft and open.
'It's true, though.' She waited for Marci to finish her beer. Marci was dawdling with the dregs, clearly unwilling to leave Davion alone with the prospect of certain doom.
'I've slain dragons, Marci.' Davion said, trying to lift her spirits as well as his own. 'I'll find a sword, somehow, and I'll be fine. You have your own mission to worry about.'
Marci clearly did not believe him. Her drink was forgotten now, and she was staring at him with fearful eyes. She reached out and laid her fingers on the back of his hand. He felt the callouses on her fingertips. She shook her head at him, her eyes pleading. The touch of her hand made something in his chest flutter, and the look in her eyes almost caused his resolve to crumble.
'I'm sorry, Marci. I have to, for the Dragon Knights.'
Her response was now a withering look. He could understand what she was trying to say. You're brave. But you're also really stupid.
'Yeah, probably.' He concurred quietly. 'But if I run, my brothers will be dishonoured too. Wouldn't you fight for your Princess' sake?'
Marci's features hardened and she nodded firmly. It struck Davion as odd to see such a grim expression on that guileless face.
'Marci,' Mirana stood and laid her hand on her friend's shoulder. 'Come on. We have to go.'
Marci gave Davion one last pleading look, then stood and set off with Mirana, trying not to look back over her shoulder.
It would be sundown soon.
The shop was a small place, crammed into a street which sat cramped in a neglected corner of the wall. The rusty sign proclaimed it to be: "The Wondrous Shoppe of Wonders!"
Marci placed her hand on the door, still feeling conflicted about leaving Davion to fight a hopeless battle.
'It's all right,' Mirana moved past her. 'I'll go first. Watch my back.'
That, she could do.
The shop was a dingy little place. Anybody who walked in would be hemmed in by the cluttered shelves lining the walls. Mirana and Marci were able to walk shoulder-to-shoulder, but only just.
Marci's eyes darted from curio to oddity quickly, watching for danger. Many of the objects lining the shelves were things she had no name for, ranging from the seemingly mundane to the obviously bizarre.
Partially hidden in the flickering shadows was a man dressed in strange robes. The light of the candles around him danced atop his bald head. He did not lift his head, but his eyes darted up to watch them as they moved closer. The eyes were beady, shining like polished jet. 'Welcome to my shop.' He spoke in a measured tone. 'What is it that I can help you with today?'
'We're looking for something.' Mirana stated.
The man's eyes moved from hers, settled on her tiara, slid from her face, then rested on Marci. Marci tried not to show any discomfort. The man's gaze was penetrating, and she felt as if he could see through her. She felt suddenly exposed, naked and vulnerable. 'What do you seek?'
'Lotuses. From the Temple of Mene.'
The man's gaze returned to Mirana. 'I do not deal in stolen goods.'
'I was told that you would know of their whereabouts.'
The man's gaze flicked back to Marci and remained on her for a long moment. She could not suppress a shiver.
'Perhaps.' The man leaned forwards, his eyes intense. 'I do not know where they are, but I know somebody who might. There is a price.'
Marci did not react. Her mouth had gone dry and she was staring back at the man.
Mirana cleared her throat.
Marci snapped back to reality and pulled the bag of money from her belt. The man shook his head. Mirana sighed and lifted the bracelet from her belt. He refused that too.
'What do you want?' Mirana asked quietly, warily.
The man was silent for a few heartbeats. It was as if he was enjoying the tension, yet his face remained impassive. 'I would like to speak to... your companion.'
Mirana frowned, confused.
'Alone.'
'You...' Mirana spared Marci an apologetic glance. 'My friend cannot speak.'
'She does not need to. I merely wish to speak to her. Consider that part of my price.'
As much as the man disturbed her, Marci was prepared to stay if it meant helping Mirana. She gave the Princess' hand a reassuring squeeze.
Mirana sighed. 'Call me if you need to,' she whispered.
The shopkeeper waited until Mirana had left. And he waited some more after she had gone.
Marci stood before him, trying not to shift her feet as he pinned her with his scrutiny.
'You've come a long way.' When he spoke, his tone was softer. 'They will ask much of you. Too much, perhaps.'
He reached down and lifted something from under the counter. In the light of the candles, he held up a small amulet, a gem similar to a topaz set in gold shaped like an eye. 'There is a sage beyond the Broken Peaks. He will help you. Give him this, and he will see.'
Marci waited expectantly. The man still did not hand the amulet over. 'You've come a long way, and you will have further to go before the end.' Now he lowered the amulet and held it out. 'This will guide you to the sage, and to your friend's lotuses, and more.'
As Marci reached for the amulet, he closed his fingers around it. 'There will be danger. Great danger. And there may be a cost. Do you understand?'
Marci knew only that he did not mean gold. She frowned, wondering how to ask.
The shopkeeper unfurled his fingers. 'You will understand. One day.' He waited until Marci had taken the amulet. She waited for him to name his price, but he did not. 'Go on now.'
Thoroughly befuddled, Marci nodded her head in thanks, walked away and stepped outside.
The shopkeeper lowered his head. When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible. 'I wish you good fortune, Marci. They will need you.'
Outside, Marci held out the amulet for Mirana. Mirana examined it critically. 'What is this, Marci?'
Marci scrunched up her face, one brow drawn down, the other lifted. It was her way of saying that she was baffled.
'How is it supposed to help us? And how much did it cost?'
Marci held up one finger and shrugged. She held up a second finger and held out her other hand with the palm upturned. I don't know how it will help us, but it didn't cost anything.
'Hmm.' Mirana examined it with a deep frown. 'Did he say where we needed to go?'
Marci simply pointed at the mountain peaks visible in the distance. At a bit of a loss, she used her fingers to spell out "sage" as best she could.
'That won't be easy,' Mirana assessed quietly. 'But if that is where we must go, then so be it.' She weighed the amulet in her hand, then handed it back to Marci. 'I trust you to look after this, my friend.'
Marci half-smiled and slid the chain over her head, dropping the amulet under her tunic. It felt warmer against her skin than she had expected.
They pressed through the crowds in the square, Mirana was eager to leave Haupstadt at last.
Marci halted outside one of the shops, wondering. She still had plenty of coin left. Maybe...
Mirana stopped and regarded the shop. 'Go on, Marci. Just don't spend all of that money.'
Marci smiled gratefully at her and stepped inside.
Davion was sat in the shade of the stables outside the city gates. He was taking deep, calming breaths.
Unarmed and without armour, he simply sat and focused on each inhalation and exhalation. Four seconds in, four seconds out, four seconds in, four seconds out. Counting each breath stopped him from dwelling on the fact they might be his last.
His focus was disrupted by the crunching of feet on the road. Mirana was striding from the city, her bow across her back. She looked to the horizon with slightly narrowed, utterly focused eyes. Behind her came Marci, her cloak wrapped about her slim frame.
'You found what you were looking for?' Davion called.
'Not yet.' Mirana answered shortly.
Davion stood and stretched. 'I wish you both luck.'
'You're really going to stay and fight?'
'I have to.' Davion stated firmly.
'Well, if you want to get yourself killed, that's up to you.' Mirana declared. She swept past without another word.
Davion shook his head.
Marci stopped in front of him, peered after Mirana, then lifted from beneath her cloak the warsword she had bought and held it out for Davion.
'Thanks, Marci.' He grinned. 'They won't stand a chance now.' Bullshit of course, but he didn't want to worry her.
She was a smart girl, though. She saw through his feigned confidence. She reached down and pulled the dagger from her boot, which she pressed into Davion's hand. The skin on the back of her hand was soft and warm, and he felt the callouses on her fingertips. She looked up at him beseechingly.
For some reason Davion noticed the faint freckles dotted across her nose next. With her head tilted up and the breeze plucking at the collar of her tunic, he also saw the golden chain of an amulet. Lastly, he noticed a series of white lines criss-crossing her throat. 'I have to do this, Marci.' He told her softly.
She sighed and nodded slowly. She pointed at Mirana, who was now waiting and tapping her foot on the ground, arms folded.
Davion understood. She had her own rules to follow.
He watched her go, regretting not getting the chance to know such a remarkable woman better.
Davion weighed the sheathed sword in his hands. It was no greatsword, but it was still a good weapon. Marci had chosen well.
Mirana hesitated at the corner. 'Good luck, Davion,' she called, and vanished out of sight.
Marci held up a hand in farewell. Davion had the impression that she was forcing herself to leave.
She turned the corner and disappeared, leaving him alone.
They came for him minutes later.
They came on foot, jeering, showing off and making it more than obvious that they were going to kill him.
These men were experienced killers, and they had the numbers. They moved in slowly, preparing to attack one at a time, keen to make this last. Davion was happy to oblige. The longer he stood, the more of the bastards he could take down.
He lifted the sword, its weight reassuring despite the odds.
The first man came at him with a spear. Davion used a half-swording technique, wielding the sword like a quarterstaff. He caught the spear with the cross-guard and pushed it away, allowing him to bash his opponent's skull in with the pommel.
As another charged at him with a hatchet, he drew Marci's dagger and buried it in the man's neck. He had no time to wrench it free when a sword was swung at him. He used the dead man in his arms to take the slashing blow, pushing him at his attacker to knock him back, and then stabbed his next foe in the chest.
A searing rip of pain tore across his thigh. Something hard slammed into his shoulder next, the spiked head of the mace puncturing his skin.
Davion twisted on the spot, his sword opening the gut of one man. Davion left him where he lay, writhing and screaming and trying to hold his intestines in, and smashed his blade into the head of a man as he lifted his maul high. The man was wearing a kettle helm which prevented Davion from splitting his head open, but the sheer force of the blow rattled his brain inside his skull. He dropped the maul and staggered, groaning, blood running from under his helmet. Davion cut him down before he could recover.
A club struck him in the back. As he stumbled, he thought he saw a movement in his peripheral. He had no time to look though.
With a fierce cry, he swung wildly. His foe fell back, his head half-severed. He let himself fall into the simple, brutal method of fighting humanoid opponents. Parry, counter-thrust, strike. Parry, counter-thrust, strike. Parry! Counter-thrust! Strike! Block, strike the head. Dodge, sever the arm. Deflect, gut-thrust.
Davion turned away from another dead man and saw the leader, a tall man clad in a dented breastplate. He was wearing one of Davion's gauntlets, the one with his shard inside.
The unseen blade drove through his back and out through his front. And Davion knew that was the end of him.
He staggered forwards and fell to his knees, blood soaking the ground around him. His fingers could no longer hold his sword. At least he had gone down fighting. But his thoughts strayed.
They said that a dying man thought of his mother. They said that a dying man cried for his mother.
But Davion's thoughts lingered on Marci. It was a shame he had barely known her. He hoped she achieved whatever it was she wanted to do.
The bandit leader stepped forwards, a wicked grin on his ugly face to match the wicked, ugly blade in his grasp. He was going to say something witty, no doubt, or just throw a cheap barb.
Davion tilted his head back, hawked, and spat. The man chuckled and lifted the blade.
A sharp, piercing whistle made the man turn his head.
Because of the glare of the sun, Davion never saw her launch into the flying kick. He saw the results clearly though.
Backed by the golden light of the sun, Marci twisted in the air, her foot connecting with the leader's head. Davion would have expected him to be knocked sideways, maybe even knocked cold. But even though he was mortally wounded, he could not help but stare in avid shock as the man's head snapped sideways so forcefully that his neck broke. Shards of bone split his skin and he cartwheeled. Marci's kick actually spun him straight into a heap.
She had barely landed before she drove her fist into a man's stomach. He went down like a sack of flour, coughing up blood. Marci spun on the spot, angling her body so that her second kick took the next man full in the face. He was killed instantly, the power of Marci's strike driving shards of his smashed nose into his brain.
One of them charged at her with a long axe. She seized the haft and his arm. With a single wrenching movement, she dislocated his arm and took the axe for herself. As the axeman now bereft of his axe staggered back, howling, Marci swung the axe into a swordsman's chest, snapping the haft but leaving the iron head buried in the man's heart. She dropped the haft, turned and drove her palm into the wailing axeman, smashing his ribs.
It was incredible.
Davion knew that he was watching a brutal spectacle. Part of him knew that this was repellent, watching a woman who seemed to have the strength of a god contained in her slim limbs shattering and crushing bodies. At the same time, it was the greatest display of martial prowess and skill he had ever beheld.
Even Kaden would have been astounded.
As Marci snapped a man's wrist, then killed him with his own sword before sheathing it fatally in another thug's chest, Davion thought that he had gone about the business with the Eldwurm the wrong way.
If Marci had been with him, perhaps they could have taken it down.
But Marci was just one woman, and the numbers were still against her.
Davion saw the bandit bend his bow as Marci broke another one's back. Before he could try to warn her, an arrow plunged into the archer's throat. He released his own arrow as he died, but it thudded harmlessly into the ground.
Standing in the distance was Mirana, her bow singing. Two men ran at her, but were intercepted and mauled by Sagan.
A man with a greatsword roared and charged towards Marci as she took down one of his comrades. As strong as she was, she could not hope to block such a weapon with her bare hands.
Davion pushed off his back foot, forcing himself to his feet. Blood poured from his wounds, soaking his tunic and breeches and splattering on the ground.
Marci turned to see the greatsword whooshing towards her.
With a cry of effort and pain, Davion met it with his own blade. He felt the force of the blow travel up his arms and pushed against the blade, stopping it from travelling further. His knees buckled as his sudden strength, driven purely by desperation, began to fade.
Marci darted in and launched a savage kick. It hit the man right between his legs. With a horrible scream, he stumbled back. Marci drove her foot into his ribs. He fell to the ground, now silent.
Marci locked eyes with Davion. His legs buckled and he almost fell, only staying upright by leaning on his sword. Marci's eyes went wide when she saw his wounds.
She suddenly stumbled towards him, her mouth open as if yelling without sound. An arrow protruded from her right shoulder. Marci staggered, her face drawn with pain. She seized a fallen spear and hurled it at the bowman responsible. He just had time to see his death rushing towards him before it pierced his chest. Almost half its length passed through him before it stopped and he finally toppled.
Another man ran at Marci and swung his blade. Marci pitched forwards, blood coursing down her back.
It was not enough to kill her.
But it was enough to force the change in Davion.
Without warning, there was a sense of another intruding in his mind, and with it, his body changed.
Red scales sprouted from his skin and arrayed themselves, his body swelling to twice its normal size, shredding his clothing. Claws sharper than stilettos sprang from now inhuman hands. A hooked tail whipped from his back and wide red wings unfurled. His vision became tinged with yellow, and Davion retreated.
Something else was in control now. His wounds sealed themselves as if touched with liquid fire.
They all scurried away from him, rightfully terrified.
'Witness your doom, insects!' Davion's voice carried under the strident, growling tones of the other.
The creature which had been Davion seized one man and literally ripped him in half. Unholy strength surged through his limbs, and he threw one unlucky man straight into the gatehouse, splattering it with blood.
All this thing wanted to do was kill. And kill it did. The ground before the gates was soon saturated with fresh blood.
Flames licked between his teeth and he advanced on a solitary figure standing in the distance. She had been frozen in fear at the change. Seeing the beast advancing on her, she bent her bow and loosed an arrow. It struck the beast's scales, right where its heart would have been, and bounced off harmlessly.
Something struck its head, hard. Hard enough to actually open the skin, which seared itself shut instantly.
The Davion-dragon monster turned towards a smaller figure, down on her knees, an arrow lodged in her flesh. The scent of warm blood flowing from her wounds was tantalising.
The beast ran its tongue over its needle-sharp fangs and advanced.
The woman reached down and held something up. Something red, glowing blue at the tip. The beast stretched out a clawed hand, ignoring the arrows bouncing off its scales. By now, Mirana was reaching for her next arrow but found only empty air. With a desperate shout, she jumped onto Sagan's back, yanked the sword from her belt, and charged at what had been Davion.
The beast paused. It could see its reflection in the blade the woman held before it. Yellow eyes with narrow black slits stared back into eyes which should have been human.
With a rush of awareness, Davion returned. He felt the full weight of what he was and what he had done come back to him, saw his monstrous visage reflected both in his blade and Marci's eyes. His scales receded painfully into his skin and he shrank back to his normal size, the tail and wings snapping back into his skin. He was on his knees now, cradling his head in his hands. He tasted blood in his mouth. Blood which was not his own.
'What have I done?' Davion wailed.
Marci lowered the gauntlet and moved towards him, seemingly heedless of her injuries or Davion's nakedness. For a moment, he seriously hoped that she was going to ram that blade into his heart.
She did not. She reached out and touched his face, her eyes compelling him not to give in.
Sagan lurched to a halt, his claws scattering loose stones. Mirana pointed her sword at Davion.
Marci looked up at her and shook her head urgently.
Mirana grimaced. 'Come with us.'
Davion hesitated. He heard the gates clank open and turned his head to see a battalion of men in mail advancing on the carnage.
'Come with us, or we will all die here!'
Marci shook Davion's shoulder and indicated Sagan with her eyes.
He finally managed to nod.
Despite her injuries, Marci helped him up onto the saddle and paused to scoop up his fallen sword. Mirana shoved a cloak at him and waited for Marci to climb on before spurring Sagan away from the city. A few arrows were loosed at them, but Sagan was too fast for them and before long they were well out range of the bows of the militia, weaving through the trees, Sagan's loping run taking them far away from Haupstadt.
None of them would ever set foot in that city ever again.
Since it's not a term people come across often, I will clarify here: a warsword is basically a twin-edged straight sword similar in length to a longsword, often associated with English men-at-arms and knights, particularly during the War of The Roses during the 15th century. It has a broad, heavy blade (not to be confused with the broadsword) and is well suited for hacking and slashing attacks, unlike most longswords which have thinner blades and are ideal for piercing and thrusting attacks.
