Sekant glided underneath the bandit’s outstretched arm, ducking underneath the slicing blade, which cut through cool night air, his own blade tucked close to his waist to allow himself to close the gap and get himself close to the bandit. The bearded man was clearly adept to fighting in the dark, probably navigating through the desert during nights to raid weary pilgrims. He was quick, and Sekant sensed he might have been a former soldier, considering his weapon and calm demeanor. He leaned in with his right shoulder forward, thrusting a backhanded shove with the butt of his sword into the man’s ribcage. The bandit’s reaction times were good, however, and he was already jumping backwards, Sekant’s thrust barely glancing him. Sekant leapt to his left as the bandit brought his blade down with a hammering swing, landing deftly and kicking up sand as he stood slowly.

  “Interesting,” the bearded man spoke, his face still expressionless. “You aren’t at all what I expected,” and the man thrust forward again, the palm of his hand turned down as if he meant to swing upward, with his blade pointed toward the sky. Sekant ducked under, spinning and kicking out at the man’s legs, forcing him to leap backwards. He risked a glance around him at the others.

  The girl, Lida, was fearsome for someone without any experience in actual combat. He had only known her now for a few weeks, but her brazen attitude was backed up. The two who had flanked the bearded man were so enshrouded in darkness they appeared as amorphous shadows moving at blurry speeds, but Lida’s movements weren’t unrefined in the way that one would expect an amateur. She also didn’t move the way that Sekant was used to many of the female warriors he had fought with and against moving; many instructors had taught that the natural grace of women should be accentuated in combat, pairing gliding motions and quickness, but Lida fought with intent to hurt. In one hand she carried her hunting knife that had doubled as her skinning and carving blade. In the other, she had wrapped a cloth knotted tightly around her knuckles; though she hadn’t been in many fights with trained soldiers, she clearly had scrapped enough to know how to protect her hands from unintended damage. Given what he gathered about her over the previous days of traveling together, however, none of this surprised Sekant. The one he knew he needed to keep watch of was the boy, but that would require more of his attention.

  In a dash, the leader dived forward, intentionally coming in low with a sweeping kick, forcing Sekant to leap above it. He leaped lazily over the sweeping leg, seeing as it posed no real threat. The man had some training but didn’t possess enough raw talent to beat him; the familiarity with the territory and the environmental factor of fighting without much light would even the odds, however. Sekant figured he should end the fight as quickly as possible, preparing a deflecting slash of the slashing blade he expected to follow the kick, but he underestimated his opponent. Instead of a follow-through slashing attack, the man instead used the momentum of his sweeping kick to spin and push himself with both hands against the ground to get distance. In the darkness, Sekant only saw the faintest flicker of movement, and two small knives buried themselves an inch into his skin. Without his armor protecting him, he felt the sharp pain of the throwing knives; one was lodged in the middle of his left thigh, and the other was buried in the left side of his chest, near his shoulder joint. Sekant knew he didn’t have the time to consider the wounds, however, as the bearded man was on him in a flash of movement, using the darkness of the night to come from a low position to his right, where the light was dimmest. Sekant reacted too late, his movement slowed by the pain. The man grabbed him by the throat, slamming him to the dirt, forcing him to cough out the air in his lungs.

  The man crouched over him, his hand tightly gripping his throat, his body weight holding Sekant’s sword hand down. Numbness had crept from the wound down his arm; he knew attempting anything with his left hand would be too weak to do anything. “I would have thought that you’d be better at this, considering your namesake. As far as famous progenies goes, you’re a fucking disappointment.”

  Sekant’s eyes drifted behind them, the bearded man following his gaze.

  Dayanik, unconscious only minutes before this fight had started, was already exhausted. His knees were wobbling, and he felt like throwing up, though he wasn’t sure if he had the strength to even manage that. But Sekant had trusted him to protect Lida…or at least protect himself and let Lida manage her own safety. He had snuck a few glances at her, and she had fought ferociously, despite the massive size difference. They’ve probably learned just how hard of a punch she can throw. But the men he fought were far more like lackeys than the two that had flanked the bearded man. Even so, Dayanik knew the best strategy would be to just hold their attention and let Sekant handle them once he had fought off the leader.

  His walking staff hummed in his hand, emitting the faintest of warm glows from the top of it. One of the basic strategies learned in his days as an acolyte during combat magic training was using the Light within oneself to enhance a weapon. The power a weapon could wield largely depended on how much of one’s Light they could imbue an object with. Sekant had never contained much natural ability or a deep well of Light, but he figured that in a fight against those he presumed to not be capable of magic, he could enhance his staff to a point where it could withstand a sword. It took only a few defensive parrying movements to understand that this hope would not last long.

  It was all Dayanik could manage to get his staff up in time to deflect the blows, but he could feel splinters of wood hitting his hand with each deflection, as if he had simply coated the wooden stave with a thin layer of protective enamel, rather than enhancing the thing with magic. His thoughts drifted to Ket and Biriki, what will become of them if I fall, he wondered, though bolstered by the thought that Lida wouldn’t let Sekant leave them behind even without Dayanik tagging along. It all seemed so silly now, this journey to the capital, thinking that he could even hope to have survived such an ill-fated trip, and the thoughts of how immature he was for thoughtlessly sticking his nose where he didn’t belong for the sake of finding some sort of purpose consumed him as it felt like more and more coordinated blows fell upon his staff, using his basic combat training to survive a few more seconds.

  The bandit leader’s postured had relaxed, leaning his weight on his front leg, his knee bent as he kept constant pressure on Sekant’s good arm. “They’re quite interesting, these two you let tag along with you,” the bearded man said calmly as he watched Dayanik and Lida fend off the rest of his bandit crew. “Perhaps I’ll tell my men to take them alive before they deliver the killing blows, if only to see how they might entertain me. The girl, certainly. I love the ones that fight me, makes it more of a sport,” he added with a menacing, almost gurgling laugh.

  The man was just barely choking the air out of him, Sekant noticed, seemingly more focused on cutting off blood circulation to knock him unconscious, rather than kill him. I suppose I’d fetch a decent price, he figured. “They’re…just…kids,” he managed to eke out, his voice a choked gurgle.

  “And you,” the bandit continued, as if not hearing Sekant’s pleas, “I expected more from one of your renown.”

  Sekant would have rolled his eyes, if he didn’t need to focus on controlling what little air he was getting in. His eyes, their focus beginning to fade, shifted again, this time to check on Lida.

  Lida had never fought a man before. She had hunted boar, fended off a group of hungry wild wykans, and survived a tattalan attack by her father’s side when she was ten, but she had never faced a man or woman facing her with the intent to kill. The adrenaline had seemed to enhance her vision in the dark, heightened her reflexes, and she no longer felt any aches or pains from hiking for two full days in scorching heat.

  The two men must have been twins, Lida figured to herself, for they not only resembled one another closely, but they moved with synchronization that one would only be able to get through years of practice and a nearly preternatural ability to communicate without speaking. Still, their movements were haphazard in terms of their effectiveness, potentially coming from the leader’s orders to take her alive. But she had little intention of going with them alive or dead. Sekant was a trained warrior, she knew that much, so she needed to pay him little attention, but Lida knew she had to keep an eye and an ear open for Dayanik. If she had never fought a man in combat, she doubted Dayanik had ever even drawn a real blade before. These men would be difficult to fend off for too long, she knew, considering that the adrenaline could only last her for so long. They lunged and hacked at her, though the hacks were mostly wild and wide in order to corral her in to come in close to them. She figured they wanted to grab a hold of her. Even with the adrenaline of the scenario, there was no chance she had of breaking free once they got their hands on her. I will not be a liability in this fight, she assured herself.

  One of the twins ducked in low, forgoing any feint with his blade at her legs, fully intending to simply tackle her to the ground, but he dove too low, making it obvious what his strategy was. The other twin went high, jumping off a wall of jagged rocks that corralled them in and came down with both hands in a motion meant to use the pommel of his scimitar to knock her unconscious. But Lida knew how to navigate a tight squeeze, literally, and dove forward, rather than waiting to jump back into either twin’s attack. As she dove, she rotated her body in a half circle motion, her hunting knife slicing up as she brought her other knee down. Both hits connected with good timing; her knee went straight into the diving twin’s lower back, sending him reeling on the ground. Her knife was bloodied, severing hands from wrists. The now-handless twin dropped to the ground, screaming and writhing in agony. The one she had sent her knee into sprang up immediately upon hearing his brother’s screams, his expression transformed from one of intense focus into bloodthirst and anger. He yelled a guttural yell, his voice actually carrying an octave or two higher than one would picture such a large man to, hacking and slashing wildly at Lida, but his movements were sloppy and careless now, allowing Lida to dodge and circle around him. “Now that one of you is down,” she gestured at the other brother, whimpering in a fetal position sobbing at his bloody stumps, “it won’t be so tough to cut you down.”

  The dimmed sky seemed to grow darker for Sekant as he faded toward falling unconscious; even the sounds started to become muffled. He could hear the screams of one of the taller twins coming from Lida’s direction, and if he had had the strength he would’ve smiled at her capacity to surprise him. Instead, he tried to sharpen his focus on the bandit leader, whose fingers seemed to dig deeper into his neck after Lida had clearly injured one of his men, losing his focus on Sekant as his anger stoked. “Truly, I meant to leave you all alive tonight, if only to die stranded in the desert,” he started, his voice welling with anger. “However,” he continued as he sunk his boot deeper onto Sekant’s arm, but Sekant had lost feeling in that one as well, sensations of pain fading from both of his limbs, “even after finding out who you are, I’m not sure if you’re worth the price on your head to the…right people.”

  All acolytes were trained in the capital to use defensive magic on the battlefield, rigidly forcing the young boys and girls to be prepared to protect the vulnerable against groups of foes greater in number, expected to be able to handle one’s self against a dozen combatants if need be. Training, however, could never prepare one for a true life-or-death scenario. Dayanik kept the memory of their commencement ceremony, where assignments were given the graduated acolytes, now adorning the full robes of the Brotherhood, and at which a speech was given by Fenal Kotukular, the First Seat of the Council. He had once been a combat-focused priest, low in rank but of much skill. Dayanik remembered the emotionless expression as he spoke to the graduates, staring beyond them as he looked back into his own memories: Some of you may face war, some of you may face death. Others you may fear death and seek refuge in the light. To those who would question the one who seeks the light, I say first, remember the second and third tenets of Amune, our savior: To be empathetic is to dip a ladle within the well of light within each of us and borrow from the strength of its golden waters. And that to be honest at all times, with others and with thine self, is to face the fire of a thousand suns and to not shrink from its heat. While the heat of battle is nothing in comparison to the cold embrace of the Darkness, it should terrify you all the same.

  The memory had been burned in Dayanik’s memory all the same, as the face of the First Seat looked almost horrified as he evoked the memories of his time at war, speaking to children upon their graduation. The priests and graduates held respect for all of the Council of Seven, but there was an implicit, elevated level of respect for Fenal. By all accounts, during the very earliest days of the Iron Wars, when battles were jarring from their increased levels of horrifying violence, Fenal had personally fought off entire battalions in numerous skirmishes, earning him a reputation as the fiercest combat priest in the entire world. To hear such a man echo fear found from deep within his own heart as a message of warning both frightened Dayanik and reassured him, as he knew felt vindicated in his belief that he was unsuited for war.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Suited for it or not, however, fighting had found him, and Dayanik worried that death would come for him sooner than later. The lesser bandits had been individually attempting to close in and harry him, but luckily, he carried enough light to swipe away their attacks, but Dayanik felt his clothes soaked through with sweat and his hands ached from holding the quarterstaff. It’s now or never, either they’ll try and break through or I can take a risk and make the first move, he thought to himself, ignoring the beads of sweat bringing a stinging sensation to his eyes. He knew that if he waited too long, they would simply outlast him and kill him, and at last glance, Sekant had been defeated by the bandit leader, so he knew that there was no real hope of rescue. Now was the time; one of the bandits came from his right side, cackling, his hand held up wildly carrying a hatchet to swing at him. Dayanik sunk all of his body’s energy into the tips of his fingers, feeling it instantaneously carry through the cracks in the staff like blood in a body’s veins, reaching the end pointed at the bandit. A bolt of light, well, more like a wild spray of inconsistent sparks, plumed forth from the staff as if they were feathers in a pillow fight. As meek and sloppy as they would have appeared to an instructing priest, they connected all the same. The man fell to the ground in pain, shrieking, as what remained in place of his face was a charred, smoking mess of burnt flesh.

  “You fucking bastard!” another one of the bandits screamed at Dayanik, sprinting at him rather than minding a safe distance. The flash of brilliant light had dulled his perception of the terrain, however, and he failed to see his writhing companion’s leg flailing, sending him stumbling into the dark. Dayanik didn’t hesitate. He swung the staff down hard, not bothering to even use any residual light to strengthen the wood. It cracked upon the man’s skull, knocking him out cold. Dayanik wasn’t the strongest of men, so he figured that in his even weaker state that he probably didn’t kill the man, but the man was instantly still, so he turned to face the others.

  Sekant felt the unsteady pressure of the fingers around his throat release, giving him some oxygen to take in a breath. The hand was quickly replaced by a swift boot to his chin, nearly knocking his eyes back and causing him to dip in and out of consciousness for a moment. The bandit leader then took his boot and placed it on Sekant’s chest, leaning down, virulently angry. “Your lot’s not worth the price you’d fetch,” he spat in Sekant’s face. Even in the darkness, with his vision nearly shot from the strangulation, Sekant could see rage on the man’s face as clear as day.

  The bandit had released his uninjured arm to kneel on his chest, but Sekant had lost all feeling in that arm from the weight; he tried to squeeze his fingers and feel his hands, but it felt too fuzzy to know if anything happened. He decided to speak instead, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper: “doubt…you’d get much…anyways.”

  “Heh,” the anger disappeared momentarily from the bandit’s face “I’ve heard your brother’s placed a ripe bounty on your head, word’s spread throughout the worst circles.”

  A flame flickered across Sekant’s eyes, but only for a moment. “Yeah, you…” Sekant coughed for a moment, “you look like you frequent the worst circles.”

  The man put more weight into the boot on Sekant’s chest, forcing a gasp. “Whatever you want to say, you ripe sack of shit, best get it off your chest now.”

  “I want…you…off my chest,” Sekant eked out.

  The man bellowed a laugh that echoed off the high walls of the rocky outcropping sheltering them from the nightfall of the desert, seemingly carrying to the heavens and getting louder and louder as it carried up. “After I kill you, I’m going to have my way with the girl,” he nodded at Lida, who herself was still fending off the last of the bandit leader’s guards. Sekant’s eyes flickered louder this time, his face contorting into a mixture of hatred and disgust. “Then,” he pointed his blade at Dayanik, who was raggedly fending off two of the bandits, having already incapacitated two himself, “I’m going to tie up your scrawny servant and have him fed to the matrons.” He bellowed another laugh.

  Sekant had heard enough, his face feeling as if it had a torch held to it despite the cool air, he burned with rage. He then noticed something strange: while his uninjured right arm was still numbly recovering from being cut off from blood circulation for so long, the pain and numbed sensation in his wounded left seemed to have abated. Perhaps it was the rage or that he had simply adjusted to the feeling, but he flexed the fingers feeling them wrap into a tight fist. Then, without needing to further test the movement, he brought the fist up, connecting squarely to the right side of the bandit’s jaw, a crunching sound heralding the pain to follow. The blow sent the bandit sprawling across the floor of their shelter, kicking up dust as he fell awkwardly. Sekant rose slowly, grabbing his sword that had fallen only a few paces away when they had initially tangled. The bandit didn’t speak now as he struggled to his feet, his jaw hanging agape and drooling, broken and unhinged, a dribble of blood mixing with the drool. Sekant leaned back, jutting his hips out as he stretched himself, his body still aching. In a flash of movement, the bandit tried running away, toward Dayanik’s direction, either to flee or to take the boy hostage, but Sekant didn’t bother to find out. His body recovered enough from the strangulation, he dashed forward at a blurring speed, swinging his blade as he came parallel with the bandit, quickly beheading him without saying another word. He had no time to savor the kill, however, as a staccato scream pierced the night: Lida.

  Lida had actually managed to kill the second bandit twin, his body crumpled on the floor of the rocky outcropping, clutching at a belly that was gashed open, entrails spilled to the dusty stone. The other twin had either died or simply fainted from the pain of losing his hands, his eyes open but his jaw slacked open. One of the lackeys, however, had thought best to take her distracted state into account and had run up to her, pinned her down and managed to knock her knife away as Dayanik fought off the last one. Lida had screamed a short yelp, caught off-guard, as the man managed to pin her arms behind her and place his dagger against her throat, picking her up and displaying the hostage to Dayanik and Sekant. The stench of sweat and onion-soaked breath was making her gag as he held his face right behind her ear. “You bastards move and I fucking gut her, you hear me?!” he shouted in a desperate, savage voice.

  Seeing Lida, knife pressed to her throat, was enough to freeze Dayanik right in place. As a result, the remaining bandit, armed with a bumpy wooden cudgel, really just a somewhat-polished tree branch, managed to strike him directly in the temple. Dayanik crumpled, too dehydrated and exhausted to stand such a blow. “NO!” Lida screamed, immediately beginning to tear up.

  “Hells,” Sekant cursed silently to himself, angry at himself for letting the girl get captured while he was being bested by a simple bandit but also at the boy for letting himself get distracted in combat so easily.

  The lackey that had knocked Dayanik unconscious sauntered over to Lida, placing the cudgel directly under her chin. She was nearly his height, and her dark brown eyes seemed to be alight with a fiery rage, the tears streaming freely down her cheeks, hot against her cooled skin. She spit in his face.

  The lackey backhanded her across the face with his free hand. “Tsk tsk,” he wagged the cudgel at her. “Gonna have to teach you some manners when we get out of here,” he winked at her.

  “What ‘bout him?” the bandit who had a dagger pressed against her throat asked. Now that he wasn’t shouting in desperation, his thick accent, so southern he sounded as if he could be from Tas Utul, was evident. He released Lida’s hands, the dagger pressed against her throat securely keeping her from moving too much for fear of nicking her throat. The two bandits looked over at Sekant, who had remained still, his blade still at his side, trying to watch him without blinking as Lida shifted in his grasp. “He’s going to have to go, right?”

  The bandit with the cudgel nodded in agreement without looking back.

  Lida shifted again; the bandit pressed his dagger closer to her throat. “I’m not like the other men you’ve had, girl, I promise.”

  Sekant’s tongue clicked in annoyance at their disgusting nature.

  “You,” the bandit with the cudgel raised it, pointing it at Sekant. “Drop the blade, I’ll end you quick.”

  “Oh, you will? What a kindness,” Sekant said, his voice flat and quiet, without even his typical sarcasm.

  “We got the girl, and we’re gonna kill her if you don’t drop the blade and kneel.”

  Sekant didn’t even feel like grinning at the man, whose voice shook. Something told Sekant that this man was half a moment from soiling himself. Instead, he nodded, eyebrows raised as he looked at Lida, still shifting uncomfortably, waiting for her eye contact. Sekant dropped to one knee, his blade in hand but at his side. As the man uncomfortably tried to come over with a false sense of swagger, Sekant saw Lida’s eyes and nodded.

  In a flash, both men were dead. Sekant had cut diagonally across the bandit’s chest before he could open his eyes between blinks. The bandit dropped the cudgel as he turned, stumbling and falling backwards, dead. Lida, meanwhile, had to slough off the other bandit, whose limp body had sagged over her, as if she was carrying him like a rucksack. While the two lackey bandits had kept their gazes affixed to Sekant, she had shifted enough to reach the small throwing dagger buried within her leather bracer, with its blade no more than three inches long, and place it in a spot where she could use momentum to bring it out of its sheathing and slash it in one motion. In the moment that Sekant had made eye contact with her, seeing him nod, she knew that he had spotted her plan. As Sekant had swung his sword through the chest of the other bandit, she had driven the small blade straight up, burying it so deeply in the bandit’s throat that she felt it pierce through the roof of his mouth and even through the middle of his nasal cavity. The man had blinked, the smallest trickle of blood coming out, but she ripped it down and back, slashing his throat and severing through to his spine, killing him instantly. She threw him off her shoulder and into the dirt. “Thank the gods, his breath was about to kill me,” she quipped, sheathing the blade back in her bracer. Then, hearing the groans of Dayanik as he stirred, she ran over to him.

  She supported his shoulders, kneeling beside him, as he rubbed the back of his head and laughed nervously. “I messed up again, didn’t I?” he asked, his voice quiet.

  Lida shook her head, “you were wonderful, Day. You took on four of them all by yourself.”

  “Next time,” Sekant said, walking over to them, “don’t let threats and distractions cause you to dither and falter.” He crouched down as he came close, picking up the dropped still faintly glowing quarterstaff and held it up, examining it. He ignored Lida’s look of disapproval and held the glowing tip of the walking stick to Dayanik’s face, examining the wounds. “Still, what you did was brave.” He gave a half smile of encouragement with a nod.

  Dayanik’s face blushed and he faltered, not knowing what to say. Lida’s flash of anger turned into a smile, her eyes welling with tears. She blinked them away, however, looking back at Dayanik.

  They returned to their sleeping area, the night sky re-enveloping them in a chill air, as Dayanik extinguished the light from his staff. Sekant had noted that he would keep watch over them the remainder of the night, clearly rattled by the encounter. He wasn’t the only one who would stay awake the rest of the night, however. Once Lida had slipped into slumber, which came quickly as the adrenaline of the night had waned, Dayanik sobbed. He sobbed quietly, not interested in drawing any attention to himself or in rousing Lida from rest. He covered his face with both hands, hoping that covering his face would somehow quiet him too. But a pebble smacking the dirt beside his blanket rattled him from the fitful state. He looked over at Sekant, unsure if someone had moved past him in the night. But as the dawn was quickly approaching, he saw the older man, still facing the entrance of the shelter, wave and beckon him over.

  Dayanik tiptoed so as to not stir Lida or the animals, cautiously approaching with his hands fidgeting nervously. Sekant barely acknowledged his approach, not glancing at him, still staring intently at the horizon. He folded up a small piece of paper and put it inside his pocket without breaking his gaze away.

  “You’re angry at yourself for her getting caught up in that, aren’t you?” Sekant asked.

  “N-no, well…yes…sort of,” Dayanik said.

  “She can handle herself. I’m sure you know that better than I do.”

  “That’s…not…that’s not what upset me.”

  Sekant said nothing.

  “I just…I hate it…being a burden, I mean,” he continued. Dayanik shuffled in a mixture of annoyance and nervousness. “You saw it, I should be capable of handling simple bandits. I’m trained by the church to defend myself and others. But…I get…scared,” he said.

  “That’s it?” Sekant replied flatly, voice still quiet and contemplative.

  “What?”

  “You two, you’re like family, right?”

  Dayanik now said nothing in response, confused.

  “All that happened tonight was that you two supported each other. Asking for help, needing help, isn’t a burden. Not to those who care for you and want to protect you. It’s simply what you do.”

  “I just…I don’t know what can be hoped of a coward…” Dayanik started his reply, but then, remembering what Sekant had said earlier, adjusted, “a weakling, like me.”

  Sekant shrugged, “all any man can be hoped to do is fight to pursue what’s in front of him…and to fight for those who stand behind him.”

  Dayanik remained silent, unsure of how to respond at first. “And…if I’m scared of what’s in front of me, what do I do then?”

  “Lean on those by your side. Protect who you can, when you can; the ones you care about. Let them do the same for you. You’d be surprised by what you have the strength to do, so long as you’re willing to fight until your very last breath to protect what matters to you,” Sekant answered. As he spoke, the first sunrise crested over the horizon, bringing with it a bright blue hue to the sky and the warmth of the next day.