A: Ch.12.1

I am officially rewriting this entire story. Consider this a 'first draft' of sorts. The most updated version is on Wattpad, here. I may or may not be updating here. Sorry!

          Chapter XII

“I like him.”

“I still don’t know how you managed this,” Hilt grumbled as he and Kya walked along the busy streets of Parsear.

“You make it sound like I tricked you,” Kya snubbed, but the girl couldn’t contain her enthusiasm. She seemed thrilled to be around people again after weeks sleeping in caves and hardly a glimpse of another human. Her feet were bouncing jubilantly with each step and her wide-set hood wobbled about, threatening to expose her now significantly redder locks.

“You did,” Hilt grumbled, gazing around. He was not pleased, nor was he comfortable. Something was wrong in this city; the fisherman boats were all docked, the people rushed from place to place without stopping to linger, and the streets seemed… quiet.

Kya, oblivious to anything that lay beyond her own nose, was enjoying the prospect of a proper meal and even a bed to sleep in. She jabbered happily as her breath turned to puffs of frost in the cold air. While they were protected from much of the moisture, thanks to the bordering mountains to the east and north, it was still bitterly cold and the sun set early in the day, leaving the shallow waves of the river to crystalize quickly.

 Hilt had been hoping to blend into the crowd—it was the only reason he allowed Kya to join him. He had planned to leave her a few leagues from the city while he came to shop for supplies (mainly furs and grain for the horses as this was the last major city before the crossed the Rachi mountains). Alas, he somehow got wrapped up in Kya’s whining and finally gave in. The General’s stomach rolled angrily and he was rudely reminded that he had to escape from Kya for at least an hour. But leaving her alone was dangerous.

“…those docks reach almost a mile out. The children all run out as the boats herd the fish into the bay. They’re so plentiful you could reach in and grab as many as you wanted with your bare hands. The engineers developed a turbine of sorts which harnesses the energy of the river and fish, which they use for the smiths and artisans. And the mixture of the river with the sea brings a collection of unique fish and coral you can’t find anywhere else.”

What was she gabbering about? Hilt couldn’t tell. Frankly, he didn’t care. His nose was prickling at the annoying scent of the nearby salty seawater and the sickly sweet scent of something familiar, but he couldn’t pinpoint it.

It took a moment to realize that Kya had stopped talking and he looked over to see she had fallen in step very close to him; they were nearly shoulder to shoulder (well, shoulder to waist, really).

“Kya?” he asked quietly. Her face was tilted down and hidden by her hood. He had to strain his ears to hear her.

“Someone is following us.”

“I know,” he said calmly, though Hilt’s senses sharpened. His unique trait of perception allowed him to pinpoint near exact locations of all living objects around him. He could decipher minute differences in sounds and vibrations to identify various threats.

Without losing his long stride, he identified at least two dozen people nearby. All were adults with similar footsteps and hoarse voices which spoke in whispers. His nose was worthless (he expected that in this form, anyway) thanks to the salty breeze, but his other senses worked to perfect precision.

Most of the men (as their footsteps were too harsh to be female) were scuttling away, a few stopped all together, but one was striding along behind them, at least a dozen paces back.

“Stand before me, and keep your cloak closed,” Hilt whispered. “Give me your bow and quiver, quickly. No! Not like that, act as if you’re giving them back. And keep talking as you were before.” He shifted so that Kya was nudged forward. She obeyed grudgingly, her sing-song voice describing the supposedly advanced forging practices of the city.

They followed the linear dock which trailed the length of the river, occasionally stopping to glance at a shop or give a false laugh at an imaginary joke. He noticed sweat starting to bead at her brow despite the cold and a slight quiver in her hands. Without turning, he knew the location of their pursuer. And he knew that it was a soldier.

Kya’s face was blanching and her voice crackled into silence. She knew the outcome of this as well as he did. Her fear was tangible, scratched plainly across her features and petrifying the muscles in her legs.

The streets quickly became deserted as the sun set behind the rolling hills and the temperature rapidly dropped.

Hilt was out of options. He couldn’t risk being hindered, not when he had come so close. Northerner or Southerner, he no longer cared.

“NOW!” Hilt roared, flinging around in a fluid motion. The sword at his left hip was unsheathed and the hardened steel made contact with another blade in a bone jarring clang.

Kya had already ducked away, dancing away from the vast swings of Hilt’s broadsword. The General was able to catch a glance of her crouched low to the ground, her dagger in one hand and her pistol in the other. At least he had properly taught her how to hide. Good girl. He couldn’t wipe the grin from his face as the small girl danced away easily from the onslaught to hide in the shadows.

And an onslaught it was. Two dozen soldiers joined the fray and Hilt finally had the mindset to properly see them. Crimson uniforms with opulent trim of black velvet. He should have known.

Each man carried three or four weapons from blades to axes and spears. The twang of a bow behind Hilt signified larger artillery and he jerked his head away. An ebony arrow with raven feathers embedded in the eye of his attacker, who squealed in agony before crumpling to the earth.

Hilt turned, daring the next attacker to challenge him. Nearly thirty men now, but they were all keeping their distance. Perhaps they could clearly see their enemy, the emerald eyes set deep into tanned skin, or perhaps their orders were to keep him alive.

Four men lay at Hilt’s feet (when had he killed the other three?) and the tantalizing scent of death swirled about him, intoxicating him. His stomach clenched in deprived agony and his control began to slip. He couldn’t stop it. He didn’t want to.

Hilt’s erratic movements were no match for such soldiers, regardless of what rank they were. His blade was too fast, his blows too strong, and his ignorance to pain almost sickening. It had been long, too long, since he felt the desire within him, the unending agony which could only be squelched with the blood of a thousand men on his hands.

He was no longer seeing or even hearing the battle around him. His muscles worked without direction, blocking, stabbing, plunging, strangling anything within grasp. Pain radiated from his whole body; he had been hit, but he could no longer pinpoint where. His blade, his only companion in battle, was no longer a tool to aid in his chaos but an extension of his persona, completing him.

His trusted sword clanged against something solid and the shock reverberated to Hilt’s core, causing his bones to clench and vibrate. The jarring pause on his assault snapped his eyes back to normal function, as if a veil had been lifted, but the scene before him took longer to comprehend.

The long expanse of Hilt’s blade was resting almost innocently against a gauntlet of steel and gold filigree. The arm beneath the opposing weapon was enormous, nearly thicker than Hilt’s own waist. Recognition slowly dawned on him.

“Been months since we talked and this is how you greet me?” boomed the familiar voice.

Hilt relaxed the strain of his blade, noticing only then that his arms were still trying to slice through his opponent.

Small, beady black eyes were boring into the General, forcing him to reclaim his body and meld it back with his mind. Pain seared at Hilt’s left shoulder, but it was nothing serious. Hilt blinked away the sleepy haze which had always plagued him after such a loss of control.

“Drop the blade now, son,” the grumbly voice told him. “I need at least some of my squad alive.”

A piercing, echoing shot thundered along the cobbled street. Hilt and the gauntleted man reacted together in a unified motion, years of training embedded in both of their movements.

The bullet grazed Hilt’s cheek, leaving an annoying burn, but completely missing the intended target.

“Fuck!” came a muffled cry. This, more than anything, snapped Hilt completely from his trance-like state. He turned to see a curtain of red hair shielding the crumpled form of his companion. Her firearm discarded nearby, her hands desperately gripped at her face. Half a dozen Nibhein soldiers surrounded her, dumbfounded.

Panic struck at Hilt’s core and he couldn’t quite explain why. Perhaps an aftereffect of his release, as he often called it? Hilt sheathed his blade as he ran, the soldiers around him stumbling back, mumbling words he did not hear.

“Kya?” Hilt asked, crouching next to her, gently tugging at her fingers. Crimson blood was dripping through them and she flinched at his touch. “Kya,” he pleaded, again.

She was still upright, so it wasn’t life threatening, but the amount of blood was alarming. Her body trembled under Hilt’s grasp and she desperately tried to pull away.

“What happened?” Hilt demanded, looking up at the still flabbergasted soldiers surrounding them. Many blanched or turned their eyes to their boots. A few offered meager explanations, but Hilt’s piercing gaze quickly silenced them.

“Obvious, isn’t it?” asked the large gauntleted man, striding towards Hilt.

“If it was obvious, I wouldn’t be asking, Fae,” Hilt growled, turning his attention back to Kya. She still refused to show her face.

“She was trying to help you, lad, and used that gun there. I doubt she’s e’er used one before and the recoil hit her righ’ in the face. Likely a broken nose, but she may have knocked out a few teeth.” Fae was standing over the two, his massive arms crossed over his naked chest, obviously immune to the cold.

Hilt blinked. Kya was still firmly set against exposing her face. She cowered away from him, shaking her head. Tiny red droplets splattered from her fingers and splashed against his blank face.

 And then he was laughing. Hilt was laughing harder than he ever thought capable. His chest heaved with each bellowing chuckle and tears of mirth sprouted from his eyes. He crumbled next to Kya, his hands desperately gripped in a vain attempt to control the hilarity.

“Stop!” Kya squealed, pulling one hand from her face to reach out and smack at the General. The brief expose revealed a swollen and she had the workings of a bright shiner, but at least all of her teeth were intact.

That thought sent Hilt back into a spiral of completely maniacal laughter. All this time and she had never actually fired the bloody gun?

 “L-Let me guess?” Hilt finally managed to say, his face flushed with humor. “You held it close to your eye to aim better? Or was it too heavy?” He didn’t even need an answer. Embarrassed and horrified, Kya continued to bury her face in her hands, hiding her crimson cheeks from view.

Hilt hadn’t noticed he was the only one laughing, nor did he realize how demented his echoing laughter truly was. Blood stained his clothes, his own blade was still crimson with life, and yet his merriment was all he appeared to notice.

Fae, who apparently cared little for the mass of fallen soldiers or the horror of Hilt’s amusement, finally stepped in.

“Righ’, lad. Let’s get you all somewhere warm, preferably with a nice stiff drink.”