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Chapter 3: The Honourable Thing

His sword was drawn and he watched a line of water drip down it. It must have started raining, though he had not been aware of it. That water, dripping from the steel blade seemed like sweat, sweat that should have been dripping from his brow. He was going to have to fight these men and maybe kill them. He should have been afraid, but he wasn't. Just like all those months ago, he was confident. He calmed himself by taking in some silent, deep breaths. Still, it was hardly necessary, his heart was not even quickening. His hand tightened, his body felt compressed, like a spring before release. Yet before he could pounce the scene before him was shattered by an explosion of sound and movement.

Men charged into the small hollow catching the group of soldiers utterly off their guard. They swiftly were brought around though and swords snapped up into readied positions and in moments full on battle was joined. The woman, with lightning on her dress, made an exclamation that was surly an oath and pointed her finger and snapped out a command. Dirk was confused because she seemed to be commanding the woman who was leashed to her. There was no way that slave could fight, or even protect her, if she was bound in this way. In any case she appeared neither strong nor armed in any manner he could make out. There was no telltale bulge or strange hang of the shoulders, which he knew as key giveaways of hidden weapons. What was this strange woman expecting her to do?

Then it happened, the woman stood and men around her were flung back and one exploded, or part of him did. Dirk could not tell. He suddenly felt sick. He had not felt the Power but he knew it must have been that.

This was going to be very dangerous! None of this made sense! If she wielded the Power why was she leashed? How could anyone leash her? Maybe it wasn't a leash maybe it was a way to link their powers? But no, the woman was not speaking to her like one of a team. Those were all orders as if given to an animal not a powerful colleague.

The battle was close and dirty now. Descending, as all battles that were not duels did. That was the way of life and death struggles. People cared too much about the outcome to care what or how they did what they did. He could feel his pulse moving now with the swinging swords and shields of the men before him. Then, from the shadows of the overhang, came a spear. It was sudden and unexpected. It flew straight as an arrow and unerring, as if thrown by a champion. There was no error. The woman with lightning-panelled skirts was ripped through, an instant kill. Her breath rushed from her lungs without words. She fell with no scream to herald her fall only the slight exhalation of the air leaving her lungs. In contrast, the woman beside her suddenly burst into anguished howls of pain and suffering.

He barely knew what he was doing. But he knew one thing. He had to protect her. This was what he was for. He couldn't let her die! He burst from his cover and ran across the small battleground. As he cut through the melee, like a cat through the dark air of midnight, the soldiers made room for him. A soldier's instinct was never wrong; they knew that he was not to be blocked from his objective. As they parted he passed them, glancing neither to right nor left. He was there at her side crouching and suddenly wary of attack from any side. The other woman, the one wearing the bracelet, was now utterly still, lain on her side, the haft of the spear sticking into the air like a morbid standard, bereft of its banner.

He stayed in his panther-like half crouch, turning slowly from side to side, ensuring he was not struck without prior warning. His eyes sought out the spear thrower, but he saw him weapon less and dead. That was the problem with throwing your spear, he thought to himself. He was ready to fight alone; he knew exactly what to do. The woman in grey had stopped screaming, though she was still whimpering. He could see no mark on her so she must have been linked with the other woman in some way. They must have been allies after all. They had been companions of a kind, each reliant on the other. He felt a welling up of sympathy for her.

The sounds of battle had passed the soldiers were dead and all that remained were the men who had attacked. They were dressed in an assortment of ways. One looked to be a soldier himself. He wore a uniform and on his sleeve he bore the diamond motif of the Nine Bees of Illian. The others seemed to know how to hold their weapons also. Still of the six of them, Dirk knew if it came to a battle it would be the man half way down the line, that would be trouble. He held a long sword and though it appeared well used the hilt and grip had been recently rewrapped. Though the blade had plenty of blood on it, there were signs of recent whetting. He had looked after his weapon and had killed several men today. He was confident and not over eager to approach, he was the dangerous one. Wearing red, holding a long sword, Dirk thought. If I am going to be killing one by surprise, it will be him, I'll wager.

"Move away from the witch!" called out one of the men. Dirk did not move.

"Come on man, think!" said the soldier. "You do no be one of these Sheenchan. They're invaders and they don't fight like normal men. They use these witches. You must have seen it!"

"You won't be killing her. She does be defenceless! She's looking a prisoner to me and in no fit state to resist you men. I will not be standing aside for the likes of you to be killing a defenceless girl when she can't even stand!" Dirk retorted.

He had been going to say, 'when she is not even consciouses', but she undeniably was conscious. He had just seen her push herself up slightly and rest her weight on one elbow. He couldn't understand why, if she could use the Power, she wasn't doing so and slaying these men who obviously wanted to kill her. The only explanation, his mind responded, was that she could not. Either because she refused to kill that way, which was unlikely considering what he had seen, or she could no longer channel for the moment. Therefore she was truly defenceless. She needed protecting.

"Look stranger," said the soldier in an uncomfortable voice. "You're not with them and the Light take me if I want to be killing one of my own countrymen today! There's more than enough o' these Sheenchan to be fighting without killing each other protecting them!"

"Sorry" replied Dirk, "but I cannot let you kill her."

"Why not?" replied the man, his voice betraying his exasperation, though he held his weapon, a heavy broad sword, with a steady hand. "Why are you defending her?"

"Because it is the honourable thing to do and I consider myself a man of honour."

"Then there is nothing more to be said," finished the soldier. "If your one, who talks that kind of fool's talk, there do be no convincing you. Light! You sound like a Whitecloak!" Despite the man's obviously disparaging comments, his voice carried, with its exasperation, a certain respect. Dirk took comfort in that and got ready, his left hand slowly pulling his dirk into a throwing grip.

"Kill him lads. You know if she gets free, she'll kill hundreds. It's worth one of our own to kill one of her."

No sooner had he spoken than the dirk had been sent flying. The man in red died before he was aware he was under attack. That would make this next part a lot easier. The men shouted angrily and came at Dirk in a rush. These men were for the most part not trained swordsmen. They held their swords low and Dirk silent and brooding in the wake of his first kill was merciless.

His sword whistled down over the guard of the first attacker, killing him even as he charged. He pulled it down and through cutting till he was clean of the windpipe and sending his blade down to knock the second attack, aimed at his front, to one side. Without true aim he swiftly slashed his sword back horizontally across his chest. This made the man who's blade he had deflected retreat from him. Four left.

He pulled his sword around and flipped it so it went around his wrist. He moved it from a backhanded grip and back to a forward grip in a blurred moment. He was not thinking about that though. He was concentrating on the two men who had not charged outright. One of them was the soldier. It looked as if he would be the next biggest problem. He was cautious and probably had been reasonably trained in swordplay.

Almost unconsciously he blocked the blade from the left and allowed the pressure from that block to send his sword blade across to block the attack coming in from the other side. When out numbered it was crucial you never stay still, unfortunately he could not leave the girl, so he was going to be surrounded. That annoyed him, because he was wise enough to know to put his back to a wall. Instead he settled for constantly turning. He tried lulling them by turning at a constant speed clockwise. He deflected each attack and then as the more cautious two entered the fight he made his move.

The soldier attacked him a classic form, a long overhead arcing blow intended to split open his unprotected head. Knowing this would expose him, he pulled his own sword into a two handed grip, then he slammed it into his opponent's blade. This jarred his enemy forcing him to move back to recover himself. Then suddenly increasing his tempo dramatically he span counter- clockwise and gutted the man behind him. He had been about to slay him from behind and had not expected to need to defend himself. The shock on the youth's face almost overwhelmed Dirk. He could have been one of the apprentices from Outlook pleasant, but with a sword in his hand. This boy was not ready to play the game of swords with killers.

Now spinning as if he had danced with a sword since his first naming day he slew another, passing his sword above his head to parry an attack, due for his back. But it was over, there were only two and neither of them was the man in red. He might have been a match for Dirk, he had looked dangerous, but these two were too slow.

He lunged forward and his sword was partially blocked by his opponent's sword coming across. However, even as his sword was being pushed to one side and safety, he stepped forward and shoved his shoulder into his opponent. As the man fell backwards, reaching out reflexively with his free hand to break his fall, Dirk moved over him and stabbed his sword down impaling his chest. But his luck had run and so had some of his strength. He had put too much into that sudden burst of movement. The soldier finally landed a slash across his black. He jerked away from the bite of the blade, but he could feel the blood along his back. Not too much and best of all he still had feeling. His spine had not been severed, that would have been death. No the soldier had not made enough of his chance.

Turning and rolling at the same time he came up in a crouch facing his opponent his sword raised to block an overhead swing that did not come. The young woman in grey had grasped the soldier's leg to prevent him following Dirk. He could have sworn aloud. No! Why won't you just let me protect you? Don't die on me! I hate it when they die!

The man had turned and for some unfathomable reason she did not flee. She seemed unable to move. Maybe her injuries were worse than he had supposed. The soldier raised his sword, she was going to die, and he would not get there in time. He was going to have killed for nothing. But then his hand suddenly touched something cold, but wet. The wet part was warm; it was blood, flowing over the hilt of his dirk. Pulling it free and snapping his wrist forward in one motion he let fly. The soldier fell.

He moved over to the girl slowly looking at the death he had wrought. Six dead, with the other men and soldiers littered all around. It had been right, it had been! He stooped down to try and lift the girl. She wouldn't let him at first and then when he managed to move her, she cried out as if she was going into cramps. Exhausted momentarily, by everything that had happened, he released her and sat down.

It was hitting him what he had done. He had killed people, six of them and now he might not even save her. He didn't even know her! She was an invader and used the Power! She couldn't even move she was so injured. "Why did I do it" he groaned in momentary self pity. But his own answer came back. Because it was the honourable thing to do!