EPISODE THIRTY-ONE:
WHISPERS FROM THE PAST, PART 2
The confused thought pushed through the panic that suddenly bloomed in Vash’s mind.
The Knights of the Hidden Star advanced with a discipline the palace guards had lacked, their movements coordinated and precise. Their shields locked together, forming a tight line of protection. They carried short spears, perfect for close quarters.
Vash knew the knights outmatched his people. The Eth Mitaan were skilled, but they were thieves and assassins, not soldiers.
"Fall back!" Vash shouted, his voice hoarse. "Lys, cover us! Jak, Pya, Olver, to the balcony!"
Vash turned, seeing Lys step out of cover and take aim at one knight in the front rank. There was a hiss of air over Vash’s shoulder. With horror, he realized what it was, opening his mouth too late to call a warning.
The short spear slammed into Lys’ chest, the force knocking her from her feet. She crumpled and slid the last few feet; her bow falling from her lifeless fingers.
"Lys!" Pya screamed, leaving Olver and running to her fallen friend. She cradled Lys' head in her lap, heedless of the blood soaking into her leathers.
Jak stopped and turned around, nodding at Vash.
"Go!" he said. "Get the others out of here! I'll hold them!"
With a cocky laugh, Jak dashed towards the line of knights as they advanced like a crimson tide. “All right, you bastards, let’s see who can hit—.”
The first spear caught Jak in the throat.
Three precise hits took Jak under the arm, just beneath the ribcage, and in the inner thigh. Jak was very still. Vash had never seen the man stay still for anything. He was always in motion, pacing or fidgeting. Now Jak hung motionless, the spears keeping him up. His blades fell from his hands with a clatter. As one, the three spears pulled back. Blood spattered the floor and the carpets. Jak slumped to the floor, a pool of dark red growing beneath him.
The voice inside his head whispered, casually observing the carnage.
Vash felt a scream building in his throat as he watched his friend fall, but there was no time for grief. He took a step back, then another, turning to run. A faint pull from his Core was his only warning. Vash darted to the side, a short spear cutting through the air he had just occupied. Vash ran, pushing himself harder than he ever had before.
Vash thought, skidding to a halt.
He turned. The young thief was nowhere to be seen. He must have found a hiding place.
The Knights of the Hidden Star spread out, breaking the shield wall. It was no longer necessary; they had their quarry trapped. The front line moved into an arc formation, forcing Vash back towards Pya. He moved in front of his friend, weapons raised against the six knights that surrounded him.
The warriors pressed in, their spears seeking his flesh. Vash fended them off as best he could, but he was tired. His mana was almost gone. The danger-sense from his Core muffled, weak, either barely warning him in time to counter an attack or not at all. He felt the bite of steel on his arm, his leg, his side. Blood ran hot and slick down his skin.
A spear slapped his wrist, sending his short sword spinning from his grip. Another blow, and his second blade clattered to the balcony floor.
Rough hands seized him, forcing him to his knees. Vash stared up at the impassive faces of the Hidden Star, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His team was dead. They had wounded, disarmed, and left him helpless.
One knight, some sort of officer judging by the plume on his helmet, looked down at Vash and then called over his shoulder. “We have them in custody. All is clear, m’lord.”
The knights parted. Vash was amazed to see how few there were. Maybe twelve in all. I could have sworn there were a hundred.
From the dimly lit hallway, a figure in black steel armor strode into the room. It was the one who had forced open the doors. The man was tall, with a fighter’s build beneath his plate and chain. He wore a surcoat of fine material. The Hidden Star’s device worked in satin or silk. The lord had a shaved head and a close-cropped black beard peppered here and there with iron gray. His dark eyes surveyed the carnage with a cold, appraising gaze.
“How many?”
The officer stiffened at the soft voice of his master. “Four, m’lord. Two died in the breach, but we took these two alive.”
“Four.” The black armored man mused, almost to himself. He turned slowly, looking over the room with a studious eye. Suddenly, he turned and walked towards a tapestry, spurs ringing with a metallic jingle as he walked. “I believe there were five.”
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. Vash thought.
The small thief flung the tapestry aside, a throwing knife just behind it. Vash felt a thrum of mana. The man in the black armor moved faster than anyone that Vash had ever seen. One hand plucked the throwing knife from the air, the other reached out and seized Olver’s throat in an iron grip. Olver thrashed and struggled, beating against the black steel gauntlet that held him. The man ignored Olver, instead looking at the throwing knife with apparent interest.
“Yes, five.”
The officer looked abashed. “I apologize, Baron Claedes. He must have hidden when we took the room.”
The Baron looked over at his officer, no emotion on his face. “No apologies necessary, Captain Nazar. These rats are good at hiding when it suits them.” He raised his arm, lifting Olver off his feet, dangling him in the air.
“Let him go!” Vash shouted. The knight holding him cuffed Vash across the face with a mailed fist. Vash tasted blood and saw stars.
The Baron looked back at Vash with a look of idle curiosity. “Why? He’ll hang for his part in this little adventure, as will you all, so why delay the inevitable?”
Olver kicked and struggled. Vash saw the Baron squeeze and twist his hand. A soft crack and Olver went limp, his head lolling unnaturally. The Baron looked at Olver’s body for a moment, then tossed it aside like a plaything he’d grown bored with.
Vash struggled vainly against the hands holding him, but it was no use. Olver lay in a crumpled heap next to the tapestry, mask askew, limbs splayed in awkward positions.
The Baron’s eyes settled on Pya, who was still cradling Lys' lifeless body. He crossed the room in a few long strides, his armored boots crunching on the debris. He stood over Pya and Lys, considering the tableau like a connoisseur studying a work of art. The Baron reached out, grasping Pya’s mask, lifting it off her face in an almost gentle motion. Pya was beyond caring. She and Lys had been the great loves of each other’s lives. Vash had envied that.
Holding the mask up to the moonlight, the Baron considered it for a moment. “Eth Mitaan. That’s what you call yourselves, correct?”
Tears streamed down Pya’s cheeks. She trembled underneath the Baron’s gaze, but remained silent.
“It means ‘masked ones’ in elvish. Well, in the Vanan dialect of elvish.” The Baron said, his soft voice taking on a conversational tone. “Strange that you would adopt a name from the very people who ostracize you for your mixed blood.”
With her hood pulled back, Pya’s ears were clearly visible. She had longer points than either Lys or Jak, similar to Vash’s own. Since they both had one elvish parent, the defining features were more stark than on those who had an elf further back in their ancestry.
Pya looked up at the Baron, her eyes wide with fear and grief. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Baron Claedes quirked a half smile. “The race of man is not kind to those of mixed heritage, but the elves are downright brutal. Mal’sodla, literally ‘evil blood’, isn’t that right?”
Pya did not respond. She simply stared at the Baron.
“Perhaps they’re right. After tonight, I dare say that you aren’t innocent victims, are you?” Claedes' face hardened, the bemused air evaporated. “You stole something tonight. Something important. I want it back.”
Vash thought. They were here for vengeance, for blood, not a robbery.
The Baron reached down and grabbed Pya by the throat, hauling her to her feet. She choked and struggled in his grip, but he held her effortlessly, as if she weighed no more than Olver.
Claedes dragged Pya to the balcony's edge, pressing her against the stone railing. Inching her back towards the long drop. "I’m going to give you a chance. Tell me where your friends took the items you stole and I will let you throw yourself on the Duke’s mercy. He may decide that he’s spilled enough elvish blood for now and merely make you a prisoner."
Pya clawed at the Baron's hand, gasping for breath. "We stole nothing," she choked out. "We were here for vengeance. For the Hollow."
"That’s what they told you?" Claedes asked, cocking his head in curiosity. “And you believed them.”
“They…” Pya gasped. “They…were our friends…it was…justice…”
“Then you are a trusting fool.” The Baron said with casual contempt. He flung her over the edge of the balcony.
Vash lurched forward, but the other knights gripped him firmly. Pya screamed as she fell, her cry fading as she disappeared from view. The Baron watched until the sound abruptly cut off, then turned to face Vash.
"And then there was one," he said. "The last of the Eth Mitaan's little thieves. Tell me, boy, do you want to beg for your life? Or would you prefer to die with some shred of dignity?"
Vash met the Baron’s gaze, cold rage boiling in his veins. He thought of Jak, of Lys, of Olver and Pya. He thought of Iona and Byar, likely dead or captured. His breath felt hot and ragged beneath his own mask. The mask that was still in place.
Vash decided in a heartbeat. He dug deep into his Core, summoning up his Talent. He knew he would suffer mana burn for this, but he didn’t care. Mana surged into his limbs, augmenting his strength and speed. Time seemed to slow. Vash burst out of the grip of the knights, throwing his arms back, his increased strength sending them sprawling to the floor. He took advantage of his sudden freedom, running as fast as he could to the open balcony in front of him.
A flicker of anger passed over the Baron’s face and Vash felt an echoing thrum of mana from the armored warrior. The Baron moved with lightning speed to intercept Vash, hand outstretched to catch him.
But it was too late.
Vash leaped towards the railing with all his strength, vaulting the low stone barrier and launching himself out into the open air.
For a moment, he seemed to hang suspended, the Baron’s fingers barely grazing his boot as Vash flew past. The wind rushed past his face. The greater moon hung pale in the sky, bathing the vast lake in a soft light. He could see the marshes beyond the docks, the little islands that dotted the Obrun river delta. I never noticed how beautiful this place can be.
Then gravity took hold, and he fell.
The sensation of weightlessness only lasted a moment. Fingers of steel closed around his ankle. Vash fell awkwardly, slamming face-first into the banister that ran along the outside of the balcony. His head swam, and he went limp.
The next few moments were a blur. Claedes hauled him over the rail, depositing him on the marble floor like a sack of old potatoes. The knights then laid into him. Fists and boots pounded his body. Dimly, he knew the knights weren’t trying to kill him. He was to be an example, a warning.
After several blows to the head, Vash finally gave up and let himself succumb to unconsciousness. As the darkness closed in, Vash's last thought was of Iona. Her dark hair cut short, proudly showing her pointed ears. No shame in what she was. Her eyes full of fire and life as she pulled him close.
