Ferrian's Winter

A breakfast fight begins the day

Who leaves the chamber, none can say.

Everyone moved at once.

The woman Bladeshifter leaped to her feet, chair clattering to the floor behind her, a silvertine sabre flashing from its sheath.

Gastan also threw his chair back, dropping to the floor and sliding beneath the table in one smooth motion.

The blond-haired Bladeshifter hurled the butter knife at Flint's head.

Flint threw himself forward onto the table.

The butter knife clattered off the Eliminator and spun away.

Surging to his feet, Flint lunged for Ferrian's Sword, extending over the edge of the table as Malvern had left it. Slamming his forearm down on the flat of the blade, the Sword flipped into the air and he caught the handle, then immediately spun his back to the table, using the Eliminator as a shield, and heard something else metallic ricochet off the crossbow.

The woman Bladeshifter vaulted the table and charged at him.

Flint met her blade with Ferrian's, in a clash of silver.

Fighting with a sword while encumbered with the Eliminator was not ideal. The woman knew this and pressed him with a series of rapid, sweeping blows designed to put him off balance.

It worked; he staggered, nearly toppling over.

Gritting his teeth, Flint recovered by throwing his body into a spin, trying to knock her out with the Eliminator, but she dodged aside.

Dammit! He needed time to load the thing, and even then it would be difficult to set up a shot…

He was forced to parry another blow aimed at his head.

"Gastan!" he yelled, "I could use some help here!"

There was a scream from somewhere near the table. Flint managed to get into position to see the blond Bladeshifter stagger away into a pillar, with what looked like a fork stuck into his calf.

A plate suddenly flew across the room towards the woman, forcing her to break away from Flint to smash it out of the air.

Gastan stood by the table, snatching anything within reach and hurling it at first one Bladeshifter, then the other.

The blond one ripped the fork out of his leg. A silvertine dagger was clutched in his hand; he used it to fend off the flying crockery. With another scream of fury, he ran at Gastan.

Nimbly, the thief leapt onto the table, kicking an empty bread basket at him, then jumped down on the other side and grabbed a candlestick.

"A weapon would be nice!" the thief yelled back, as the dark-haired woman ran at him, switching targets from Flint. He swung the candlestick up to block her blow, but it was cleaved in two by the silvertine blade. Desperately, he threw himself behind the heavy chair next to him, but she carved that up as well.

"Here!" Flint cried, stabbing Ferrian's Sword into the redstone floor. Then he hurried over to the table, unhitching the Eliminator as he did so. Swinging it off his shoulders, he slammed the massive crossbow onto it with a mighty crash.

The blond Bladeshifter sprinted along the other side of the table towards him. Flint waited until he reached the head of the table, then kicked Malvern's high-backed chair into him.

It connected, sending him sprawling, his knife sliding away across the floor.

Behind Flint, Gastan snatched Ferrian's Sword out of the floor and engaged the woman. The clash of their blades rang through the hall.

Flint pulled a bolt from his quiver and rammed it into the Eliminator, then began working the mechanism with a practised motion. His muscles were strong, it would take only a matter of seconds…

Something slammed into the side of his head, sending pain and coloured lights exploding through his skull. He staggered sideways against the table. Through his whirling vision he saw the blond Bladeshifter wielding a gilded candlestick, blazing gold in a shaft of sunlight, an equally fierce grin behind it. The man had recovered quicker than Flint had expected.

The candlestick rushed at his face a second time, but Flint grabbed it.

The Bladeshifter kicked him in the guts, instead.

Flint doubled over and the candlestick smashed into his head again, sending him to the floor. He felt the weight of the man drop onto his back.

"You're not getting out of this, Flint," the Bladeshifter hissed, hot breath in his ear. "Not again! You've lived too long already!"

The candlestick crashed into his head again.

Flint's consciousness wavered. For a few seconds, all he saw was red.

Red and black, shot through with pale light and flashing silver. Frantic reflections passed across the polished floor.

Gastan was still fighting the other Bladeshifter, and was not in any position to help.

No one was getting him out of this, except for himself…

Pain avalanched through his head from yet another blow. A couple more and the Bladeshifter would be proved right…

The crimson floor was rapidly darkening. He could feel his own blood trickling onto it. So much red. Like the red dripping through the slats of a little bridge over a rivulet, mingling with the cool water; above it a black-clad body lay destroyed, along with all of his precious trophies. Like the dark stain dampening the moss of a forest floor, released from something that had once been his own sister – or so he had thought. Spreading across a white marble floor from someone he was supposed to have murdered, but instead became his friend. Dripping off the hand of a young man who had stubbornly followed him and filled the city with snow…

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

And through it all, a smug voice from long ago; the near-forgotten words that had started this treacherous descent into madness…

Flint… How would you like to assassinate a sorcerer?

Rage swelled within him, gathering until it was almost greater than the pain. With a roar that tore out of him like an animal, he threw the Bladeshifter off his back, swinging his fist in a blind, wild arc.

He was rewarded with a crunch as it impacted the man's cheekbone, sending him reeling, the bloodied candlestick tumbling to the floor.

His vision throbbing, blood leaking down his face, Flint gritted his teeth and forced himself to his feet. Staggering back to the Eliminator, he grabbed for the crank, missed, grabbed a second time and gave it a final, hard pull.

The bolt clicked into place.

Flint flicked off the safety catch.

Swaying, he glanced over his shoulder at Gastan. The thief was handling the long Sword expertly, but Flint didn't have time to be impressed. Taking up the Eliminator, he swung its great silver bulk off the table…

The blond-haired man got to his feet at the same moment, only to find the giant crossbow suddenly pointed at him, loaded, a foot from his chest, and a very angry ex-Bladeshifter on the other end of it.

He froze.

"Now," Flint snarled, "who's lived too long already?"

He watched the blood slowly drain from the young man's features.

"Sh… Shadow!" the man cried, without taking his eyes from Flint.

Across the room, the woman Bladeshifter swung a final, vicious swipe at Gastan, then pulled away, glancing over and also turned to stone.

The dining hall fell still and silent. Nobody dared to move.

The blond man's eyes flicked from side to side, as though desperately searching for something else to use as a weapon, but everything that had been on the table was now scattered around the room in various pieces.

Flint took a single step forward, pressing the point of the bolt against his chest.

He heard the man's frightened intake of breath. His eyes widened.

"Ah, screw this, Strike!" Shadow called out. "You think that mad servant's gonna let any of us walk outta here alive? Pah! If Jewels wants that crossbow so bad, she can come an' get it herself! I ain't gettin' blasted to pieces by her trophy, or burned to death by some sorcerer! And I ain't endin' up in that cursed Chasm, neither!" Spitting on the floor, she turned and started walking towards the doors.

When she reached them, she lifted her silvertine sabre and hacked at the lock until it broke. Then she cracked the door a couple of inches.

"Coast is clear!" she yelled back. "Strike, c'mon!" Without bothering to wait for her companion, she slipped through the doors and was gone.

Flint's bloodshot eyes remained blazing into the one remaining Bladeshifter in front of him. His finger was poised on the trigger.

With extreme slowness, the one named Strike took a step backwards, never taking his gaze from Flint.

When nothing happened, he risked another.

Then another.

Gradually, he backed away until he stumbled on the pieces of chair that Shadow had hacked up. Then he scrabbled away and sprinted like a cat from the room.

Flint let him go. He couldn't stomach shooting another man in the back.

Easing the safety catch back on, he sagged back against the table, lowering the Eliminator until it rested on the floor. He leaned down and picked up his hat. The movement sent fresh pain thundering through his head. He took a deep breath to keep from passing out.

"Gastan," he said, wiping away some blood leaking from his nose, and pressing his hat back on with a wince. "You alright?"

The thief stood in the middle of the hall, very still. "F-fine," he replied, breathlessly.

Ferrian's Sword slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor. He crumpled to his knees.

Pushing himself off the table, heedless of the Eliminator crashing to the tiles, Flint ran to the thief's side. "Gastan!"

The man was struggling for breath, his face pale. His left hand was pressed to his chest, the front of his shirt stained dark. He removed his hand, staring at the blood smeared on it. "How… did that… happen?" he murmured.

Grabbing Ferrian's Sword, the Freeroamer raced back to the table and sliced a strip off the tablecloth, and gathered up all of the loose napkins he could find. Then he hurried back to Gastan, pressing the bundle of linen against the deep gash in his chest, and using the strip of red tablecloth to bind it.

"There's a Lady who can heal you only a coupla' miles away," Flint told him. "On the hill outside the city."

Gastan met his eyes, looking dazed. "Why… are you… helping me?"

He clapped hand on Gastan's shoulder. " 'Cause I'd be a bloody stain on the floor right now if it weren't fer you!"

He looked up at the entrance doors, which were still ajar.

No one appeared there.

"Shadow was right," he growled darkly. "That snake-eyed servant wanted us to kill each other. Convenient for him; gets us all neatly outta the way. No one to expose Lord Malvern's so-called 'secret'." He shook his head. "But we didn't, and he was countin' on that, too – 'cause now we've got evidence of violence drippin' all over us, givin' him a mighty great excuse to throw us into the Chasm!"

Gastan said nothing. His head sagged.

Flint grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. "Gastan! Stay with me! Don't you bloody die, dammit!!"

The thief smiled weakly. "D-die? M-me? That would be… a… shame…"

Flint patted him on the arm. "Good man!"

Then he got up and jogged over to the Eliminator, hitching it, still loaded, onto his back. Picking up Ferrian's Sword, he jammed it securely between the crossbow's arms and shaft. Then he returned to Gastan, helping the man to his feet, supporting him as best he could, burdened with oversized weapons as he was.

They made their way quickly to the door. Flint shoved it open wider with his boot, and peered out.

There was no sign of Valen, the Bladeshifters, or any other servants or Guards. To the left, the corridor ended in a window. Beside it, tower stairs wound upwards. To the right was a corner leading back to the landing above the entrance hall. Flint listened carefully, for any sound of footsteps or movement, but heard nothing.

The Manor was eerily silent. Sunlight beamed through the right-hand window, brightening the crimson wallpaper, but it was about as cheerful as a sinister smile.

Flint and Gastan moved along the hallway, as swiftly and quietly as they could manage. They were around the corner in moments, encountering no one, and less than a minute later stood at the top of the main staircase, bathed in coloured light, staring down into the empty entrance foyer.

All of the lights had been extinguished, no doubt on Malvern's command, but the arrival of the sun made it a little less gloomy. One of the doors leading from the hall was closed; they could hear the faint sound of voices from behind it.

The parlour, Flint thought. Malvern and Jewels were there, waiting for General Pine to arrive.

There was no telling where Valen had gone.

The left entrance door was punctured with a large, ragged hole from the Eliminator's brutally powerful bolt. The various bits of debris had already been cleared away, leaving the hall otherwise spotless. The right-side door was ajar.

Presumably, and wisely, the Bladeshifters had fled that way.

But Flint hesitated. Once again, something felt amiss. That open door had the look of a trap written all over it in giant, gilded letters.

This whole mansion is a damned pit of snares, he thought, gritting his teeth.

But he had no other choice. Gastan was fading fast, struggling to hold onto consciousness, dripping blood onto the floor. Flint had to get him out of there, find a horse and get him to the Lady.

They started down the stairs.

They made it all the way across the hall, and Flint was beginning to think he had been wrong, that they were going to escape the Redwick Manor without further incident… when both front doors suddenly opened wide, and Valen strode through.

He was accompanied by two Redwick Guards.

Everyone stopped dead.

To Flint's surprise, the servant looked taken aback, as though he had not expected Flint and Gastan to still be there. "Seize them!" he ordered the Guards.

Flint could do nothing. There was no time to extricate either the Eliminator or Ferrian's Sword. One of the Guards pulled Gastan roughly away, the other grabbed him and shoved him against the wall.

Flint tried to fight back, but the Guard took hold of his head and rammed it against the wall, almost knocking him out again. The Guard held a blade to the back of Flint's neck as Valen ordered the second Guard to remove the Eliminator and Sword. That done, Valen patted him down and went through his pockets, divesting him of anything else of value he could find.

Through his pain, Flint wanted to scream.

"You're a piece of work!" he cried in fury. "Why'd you give me my crossbow back?!"

"I had hoped that you would put it to good use," the servant replied absently. "Unfortunately, you did not, and those deplorable Bladeshifters escaped. But I expect Lady Jewels will be delighted to have her plaything back." He was admiring Ferrian's Sword.

"That Sword belongs to a sorcerer!"

Valen gave him a smile. "It certainly does, now," he said. He gestured casually at the Guards. "Throw them off the Bridge."

Tucking Ferrian's Sword neatly under his arm, he spun and strode away.

Flint screamed curses at him as he and Gastan were dragged out the door.