Chapter 23

  “You’d better get out there.”

  Fia looked up to see the bard. He slipped between the tables, tipping his feathered cap as he sat beside her on the bench. The man smiled, nodding, “He’s a rather brash young man, isn’t he? Wouldn’t want him to get hurt.”

  She sniffed, “I’ve seen him fight before; I don’t think those two will be much trouble for him.” Outside, the crowd cheered, whooping and hollering as they looked on.

  “Oh, have you now?” He looked down, smirking into his cup, as he plucked at the strings of his lute. “But how many times?”

  “Enough.”

  “But you’ve only just met. At least that’s what he told me. The boy really couldn’t stop talking about you.” His voice was soft and lilting, always on the edge of song. And his eyes were bright, sparkling as he lifted them to meet her gaze. “It seems you’ve made quite the impression on him.”

  “And he seems to have made quite the impression on you.”

  “Oh yes,” the bard chuckled, “I suppose he has. Both of you, really.”

  “He does love his stories, and you must always be in need of new songs.”

  “That I am. That I am.” He shook his head, wistfully. “Though these days, I often feel it is my older work that will stand the test of time. Anything new I sing seems to go in one ear and out the other. People these days… they don’t seem to have the memory that they used to, do they? But I am hopeful this new one might stick.”

  He leaned back, staring up at the lanterns, as he took a deep drink from his flagon. “You really better get out there,” he repeated.

  “I already told you—”

  “—Not for his sake, for yours.” He smiled again, waving his hand carelessly towards the door.

  She was starting to get annoyed. The man was so arrogant, so condescending. Even worse was that she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was right. She stood, scowling, turning to leave.

  “Oh, Fia!”

  She stopped, looking back at him. “Yes?”

  “Do keep an eye out for my new song. I think you’re really going to love it.”

  **********

  Outside, the hum of the crowd roared like thunder. It had grown considerably since leaving the inn. Patrons of the surrounding establishments had spilled into the streets, laughing and drinking as they eagerly pressed against each other to form a ring. At its center stood Eike. His opponents, circling him, each waiting till his back was turned to the other, to lunge forward, swinging. It was a good strategy, though underhanded, and Eike was beginning to lose ground. His face was battered and bruised, and blood dripped from his brow, splashing into his eyes as they desperately searched the crowd.

  Finally, he saw her. She pushed through the throng, and a wave of relief washed over his face.

  “Fia! You’re just in time to—”

  —One of the men clipped him. The man’s knuckles caught him squarely in the jaw and sent him spinning. He stumbled backwards, collapsing into Fia’s arms.

  “Cutting it a little close, aren’t we?”

  “I thought you could take them.”

  “I’m not trying to kill them,” he hissed, “we’re just teaching them a lesson. You ready?”

  She pushed him to his feet, then winked, giving him a second shove, back into the ring. “You can do it!” She called out after him.

  Eike stood, glaring at her. Then suddenly twitched, jerking his head back as the second man’s fist sailed by, narrowly missing his ear. He ducked, then swung up into the man's chin. “Any time now!” He called, as the man splashed down into the mud.

  Fia closed her eyes. The roar of the crowd faded as she searched for a spell.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Goblins. A whole horde of them. Swollen up like balloons, bouncing between the stalactites. Their grunts, fierce and guttural, echoed through the cavern, each one blaming another for their current predicament. And down below, Sophie sat, laughing in the golden light.

  Perfect. Her lips curled into a smile as she opened her eyes. It wasn’t what Eike was expecting, but she could make it work. Carefully, she held out her hand, taking hold of the dark wood.

  Murmurs rippled through the crowd, and then gasps, as Eike rose, expanding to fill the ring. The men cursed, falling back, tripping over themselves to get away as he grew to tower over them.

  “Witchcraft!” One cried.

  “No friend of a witch can be trusted in a fair fight!”

  “A fair fight?” Eike bellowed. “First, you insult my travelling companion. Then you refuse to follow the rules of proper engagement, then—hold on?” The men were already running, shoving their way through the crowd and fleeing down a dark alley.

  “Cowards,” he called after them. There was a spatter of cheers as they vanished into the night. But mostly groans. It had been a fine show, and they were bitterly disappointed for it to be over so quickly.

  Slowly, the crowd broke apart. There was more to drink, and the entertainment indoors, though predictable, was at least still occurring.

  Eike wafted over to her. His heels were floating a few inches above the street, drifting gently as he bobbed up and down in the wind. He was struggling, unsuccessfully, to anchor his feet into the cobblestone. But no one cared, only Fia, and she laughed watching the strange way he stretched out his feet, reaching for solid ground.

  “Very funny,” he whispered, standing on the tips of his toes, “What did you do?”

  “I was teaching them a lesson. Don’t you think it worked?”

  “Seems more like you’re teaching me a lesson,” he growled. But as he did, his foot slipped and he cried out, floating up towards the rooftops.

  “Fia? Fia! I don’t like this! Get me down!”

  “Alright! Alright, don’t worry! I got you.” She raised her staff, and with a pop, he began to descend, drifting down like a fallen leaf.

  “You don’t need to be such a baby about these things.”

  He lifted his head, glistening with sweat, a lopsided smile awkwardly tilting across his face. “I probably didn’t need to come out here, did I?”

  “I asked you not to.”

  “I was just defending your honor.”

  “I know,” she sighed. “Thank you.” He held out his hand, and she pulled him up, straightening his disheveled robes. “Let’s go back inside. Hopefully no one ate our stew.”

  **********

  “Hey, watch it!”

  The wooden boards of their room creaked as he squirmed, shuddering in the moonlight under the weight of their struggle.

  “If you’d just hold still, I’d already be done!”

  “I feel fine!”

  “You’re going to feel it in the morning if I don’t finish this.”

  “I don’t understand why you don’t just use magic.”

  “This is magic.”

  “Well, it's not very fast, is it?

  “I suppose not,” she sighed, covering the last of his bruised skin, “now get to bed, you’ve had far too much to drink.”

  “Everyone wanted a drink with the night’s champion,” he grumbled, lurching forward and tottering over to his bed. “It’s not my fault I’m so popular…” He collapsed amongst the sheets, asleep before his head hit the pillow.

  It was late. Down below, the inn had grown still, the last of its patrons, asleep along the benches. Outside, the moon hung high, peaking through the curtains, casting long shadows across the floor. All was quiet, save for the rumbling of Eike’s snores.

  A candle flickered, dancing on a chest beside his head. It would do no good to leave it burning. Eike’s dreams were restless, and already his hand crept towards the flame. Left to his own devices, they were likely to wake up in ashes.

  But as she crossed the room, a sudden chill filled the air, and she stopped, shaking in the cold. Was the window open? She turned, just in time to see a figure forming.

  A hooded man rising out of the floor. Black tar spilled beneath his feet, a hollow pit from which the wraith emerged. In his hand was a dagger. A twisted blade, notched and jagged.

  He leapt forward, lunging at her, slashing wildly.

  There was a ring as steel met steel, and suddenly Eike was beside her. The stupor had left him, and his eyes narrowed in anger. With a flick of his blade, he sent the dagger clattering to the floor. Then he swung, cutting straight through the shade.

  It toppled to the floor, ink gushing over the wood, sinking into the shadows.

  “What was that?” He shouted, wiping the dark sludge from his sword.

  “I’m not—Look out!”

  A pale hand reached out, clawing from a shadow on the wall. It raked across Eike’s back and yelled, falling to the floor. Reaching further, the wraith began to pull itself from the void. Twisting and cracking as its shape contorted through the umbral mirage.

  She sent golden spears flying towards it, piercing its limbs and pinning it back against the wall. It drooped over them, shape melting as it receded into the gloom.

  “The shadows!” she cried, “We have to get the lights!”

  Eike nodded, clambering to his feet. His back was painted red, deep gashes tore through his robes, cutting deep into his flesh. He launched himself towards the candle, grabbing it in his hand and crushing the flame. Fia held up her staff, and the cracks in the curtains began to stitch themselves closed. In moments, the room was cloaked in darkness.

  “Where is it?”

  There was a rustling at the far end of the room. Then silence. She stood, back pressed to Eike’s, his blood sticking to her robes. Their tired breath, all that could be heard. Deep breaths. Calm. Breathe in, Breathe out.

  And then it struck. The dagger caught Fia in her shoulder. She screamed, hand flashing up to grab it, gripping the weathered arm, holding tight so it could not pull away.

  “Now!”

  Eike spun around her, his steel leading the charge. There was a shriek as his sword slid between them, skewering the wraith upon its point.

  It howled, floundering along the blade, searching for an escape. A shadow, a dark pool to sink into. But there was nothing. Nowhere to escape to. The darkness shrouded all, and the shade screamed in fear. Soon the writhing gave way to twitches. And then he grew still.

  But he did not melt. With nowhere to run, his body hardened, the ink within drying as he withered into nothing.

  Unmade.

  Cycle: Timor 3-3