Private Tales There Are No Kind Knives

[Everleigh Ebersol]

A flare of red-hot pain in her chest and stomach reminded Everleigh that she couldn’t over exert herself. Only hours later from her brief brawl with the letai she had encountered on the Lucky Star, her broken rib (or two, she had little time to assess the damage) was screaming to make itself known. Her body ached, every tight sinew of muscle beneath grubby skin and even dirtier clothing.

In this moment, she didn’t look like a dreadlord. A vagabond at best, a slum dweller at worst. Her violet hair was held back with the damp cloak that carried the dank smell of stale water and mold, a hint of tangy brine adding to the unpleasantness.

She wondered if Erland could smell her. She assumed he could, but if he smelled her than he must assume it came from a sickly rat from the docks. She felt more like a wet rat than a dreadlord. A wet, injured, and irritated rat. Everleigh’s violet eyes narrowed, watching another happy customer leave through the front doors.

Unable to confirm whether or not Erland was inside the building that preferred to have less windows than the average establishment, Everleigh had to wonder if waiting around was worth it. She was months late from when she told him she’d be here to get him out of the servitude he was forced into. Worse yet, sneaking around at night was now an unlikely option. She had to make sure that Miklan, now a stowaway, got to Alliria safely. Causing a scene was needed, she needed to create a fake trail to draw all eyes on her.

None of this could be relayed back to Erland, a last minute plan that was still being loosely formed in her head. She could only hope that Erland trusted her enough to leave with her. Especially after what she had to do.

Like the many times before, Everleigh crossed the street, quick for most but slow for her. She went through the doors and the moment she was greeted, the knife in her hand flashed beneath the candle light to slash a throat. The sight of dark red blood helped to get her mind off of the red heat in her ribcage that begged her to stop moving.

But Everleigh Ebersol was a dreadlord, and if there was one thing that the Academy had taught her was to never stop. If she couldn’t run then she’d walk, if she couldn’t walk then she’d crawl, even if it meant it put her in an early grave.

 

[Erland Karr]

There was a scream. After the short, sharp cry came another voice.

"Everleigh?"

He was sat just to the left of her line of sight. A group of three men clearly waiting to be displayed. One, a particularly large man with a look of the southern coast about him, stood up and grabbed a knife from the table.

Erland stood slowly, but his elbow moved quickly. One blow to the temple dropped Sicarius. It was as much for his protection from Everleigh as to defend her.

He had given up on his chance of escape. It had been months. Erland had spent hours lambasting himself for daring to feel like he could be a real, free person again.

She was here and she look like she had walked across a battlefield on the way.

"Are we going?" he asked. Weeks ago, he would have simply rushed to her side and started their escape.

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

One woman down, finished. One man delayed, he could talk later to the guards, Everleigh decided as her eyes went to the man on the right, clearly torn between flight and fight. She saw the hesitant glance he gave to Erland, how as he stood up he raised his hands and took a step back. Everleigh took a step forward and the man turned to run.

Like the hundreds of thousands times before, with practiced ease as if this was the same as blinking or breathing, she drew her own blood with a throwing knife hidden on the side of her thigh. Her aim was off as it pierced through the man’s lower back.

“Get your shield and axe.” Everleigh said, her complexion sallow. Her bangs were dark with grease, hiding the angry colony of small, red zits on her forehead. The purple bags beneath her upturned eyes were nearly the same dull violet of her eyes, making Everleigh look like the monster she had been nurtured to be. The Academy had chartered her into adulthood before puberty had the chance to.

“We need to go now.” The dagger in her other hand, steel tainted by blood was shaking. Everleigh was too far gone to control it. She heard heavy steps above them, looked to watch a whore and a guest beginning to make their way down the stairs.

“If you don’t want me to kill your friends, hurry up.” She added, ignoring her limits to race up the stairs to silence the screams above them.

Erland Karr

 

[Erland Karr]

For the first time since coming to know Everleigh, he felt a cold hand of fear grasp him as he looked upon her. He had always known that she was deadly, but he had never seen that look in her eyes.

He was far away from calling the other workers here his friends, but they were the only company he had. None deserved to die.

"Stay there," he pleaded.

He was torn. He wanted to move closer, to put himself between her and those that did not deserve to die. He always wanted to do as she said and get away from the house. Her appearance shocked him. He didn't know what she had been through, but it had not been kind to her.

Erland turned sharply, shoving his door aside. For a while he had been angry. He had started to tell himself that she had made such promises just to get the best out of him. Then he had started the slow slide towards accepting his fate again.

He might have imagined that having his axe and shield in hand would make him whole again. But they were just wood and metal.

Still, they felt good.

Erland left his small room with his best boots on, shield across his back and axe in hand to see what she hand done in those seconds.

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Everleigh didn’t mind that the woman screamed as she went for the man whore. Her quick eyes caught the moment the bovine man blinked blurry blues towards before turning to the horse-faced teflon beside him. It all moved in slow motion, herself and the whore whose face reminded her of a cow. She was also reminded how killing was easy, how natural it felt, how right it was.

There was the flash of thrill before boredom overcame her. Analyze and assessment was what was needed— watching the movement, assumption of the future movement, looking towards familiar cues, remembering all the fights before.

Killing was easy, she hardly noticed how warm others were. Sometimes it felt like she was the only girl in the world, surrounded by fragile sculptures of shapes and things but lacking in a knowing way, in a pitying way. Sometimes it felt like she was doing them a mercy. Like killing a lame horse or butchering a cow.

The screaming stopped as Everleigh heard his feet pounding down the hall. She wiped her wet hand against the stair railing. The first step downward was dizzying, an explosion of pain in her side, sweeping from her breast and rib, maybe two ribs with how close Everleigh was to retching. She caught herself before she could stumble forward and inevitable fall down the stairs.

She focused on her breathing, on her heart beat, began counting backwards from a hundred, realizing it was doing nothing and instead began to count playing cards. It distracted her little better than thinking of numbers. Everleigh held fast to the railing, stomping down the wooden steps. She gritted her teeth together in dull agony, thinking now of chess and the combinations.

“You’re gonna have to get ready to kill people.” She spat, storming over to Erland as if it was his fault that she split blood. She reached up, grabbing a fistful of Erland’s tunic to lean down towards her. “And you better be ready to run.” Violet eyes, normally playful, were full of cold caution. “I have a little clue on how to begin erasing the rune but we’ll have to lose them if you want to try it.” As if Erland needed more convicting, more reason to run. Her opened her hand, looking at the red stain she left on the tunic.

She touched the blade of the axe with her bleeding hand.

Erland Karr

 

[Erland Karr]

"Fokk," Erland said. The word did not need translating, it had come form his people in the first place.

He looked down at her bleeding hand. When he had pictured this moment, Erland had foreseen a simple escape in the night. A knock on the wall and Everleigh using her rank to march them out of the city.

She looked like she was close to death.

"I will fight," he said simply.

It might have been buried but that core of rage was there at his centre. Erland had adapted to survive, but he would never forget being chased down, bound physically, bound magically and discarded.

He strode with purpose to the door, his gaze on the way forward and not the blood around them. During their raids of the southern shores, he had done far worse.

"Who is coming?"

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

“You will kill,” Everleigh corrected, as cold and faceless as the proctors in her head. She said it nicer than they had said to her. With a wheezing breath, she moved to the back of the brothel, deciding to sneak away through the gardens and then into the sinuous alleys beyond until reaching their first major hurdle: a gate. Vel Luin had many gates, with many guards standing at attention. They were ready with their rondel daggers and misericordes, even if they had armor that was nowhere near the heavy fashion of knights.

Everleigh spat a glob of blood soaked spit, realizing then that turning her head too far to the left was painful. There was a momentary flash of yearning to stop and sit and sleep, but neither of those were an option now. She had made the decision to forgo those simple pleasures when she attacked Salak and broke his cane to then throw down the stairs.

She shoved open the back door, momentarily greeted by the scent of wet dirt and new green leaves. She hadn’t come up with a good answer for Erland’s only question, and it was only a struggle because it was a warrior’s question. He didn’t ask about what she knew like some hopeful youth, he didn’t ask about the plan like a neurotic citizen.

“Everyone will be after us.” Everleigh said finally, deciding to tell him what she had told Miklan. “It’s going to be only you and me. And sometimes, you might not even be able to trust me. Sometimes you shouldn’t. But you’ll have to if we’re to make it to a portal stone alive.” She couldn’t crouch, folding her body onto itself was a recipe for pain. She bent her knees, moving through the trimmed hedges and spotting empty verandas. Good. She had no more poison left, no more magic.

It was time to sink to the level of her training.

Erland Karr

 

[Erland Karr]

"I do trust you Everleigh," he said firmly. "Not that Erland has a choice now."

Without his raiding band, in enemy lands he did not know, he had small hope on his own.

The outside air caused a chill to ripple across his exposed skin. Another sign that he had been here too long. He watcher Evie closely. He'd seen large nord raiders fight through deep wounds, only to drop dead when the fighting was done.

He opened his mouth to quietly ask questions. He had several. Would Dreadlords come after them? How had she been wounded? How far was the stone?

He fell silent as he heard people running. Heavy boots. Armour.

Erland slowed, grunting softly at Everleigh. Better to be slow and quiet and be the ones on the attack. He let his axe hang at his side. Muscle memory had been embedded from a young age. His stamina would be poor, but his body would remember how to swing to kill.

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

The shouting of civilians didn’t quicken her pace, nor did the discordant staccato thunder of boots and metal armor. Only a fool would run aimlessly and let their anxiety take over. Fighting wasn’t an option, but neither was running more than they needed to. At least, that’s what Everleigh had to remind herself as her heartbeat quickened, hairs on the back of her neck and arms raised in alarm.

The hedges provided good cover, although Everleigh found herself wishing that they were a foot higher. But what would a brothel need a maze for? She continued trudging on, quiet concentration washing over her face. She saw them then, an unexpected gift from Lady Luck that might give them the edge they needed. The yellow pendulous flowers hanging from a leafy bush that looked more like a stunted tree could have had Everleigh cheer if she were stupid enough to make noise.

Everleigh looked back at Erland, momentarily pausing to point at the golden blooms.

“Angel’s Trumpet, don’t touch them,” she whispered, not needing an answer to why on Arethil a brothel would have the plant in a secluded corner of their garden. She made her way to it, wondering if without her magic if she’d still be immune to its effects. She wasn’t sure and wished it had been tested at the Academy. There was no time to lament it as she took hold of many flowers, rubbing it all over one of her knives, making sure to incorporate as much pollen as she could.

She left nothing untouched by the flowers, soon mangled and stained. When they were no longer useful, she hide them underneath a stone bench near a white bird bath that hadn’t been filled with water in a long time. She heard the door open, the heavy boots coming out into the garden, the clang of armor and whisper of chainmail.

Now Everleigh was quick, deciding with this knife, she’d lead the guards astray, to look elsewhere, maybe to spend more time in the garden. She wiped her bleeding hand on the bird bath, dropped the knife as if she had ran left, and took Erland to the right.

When they came to the end of the fence, she turned to look at his expectantly.

“Throw me over.” She wasn’t in any condition to climb.

Erland Karr

 

[Erland Karr]

Erland would have questioned what she was doing, but it sounded as if the guards would be on top of them at any moment. He spoke slowly, but he was also unhurried of thought. He knew he would have the chance to ask before he could work it out on his own.

What would the guards possibly think? She had been in a fight and had been wounded. Then they had tracked her to a known brothel, finding more victims before chasing her through the gardens.

“Throw me over.” She wasn’t in any condition to climb.

"Foot," he said, dropping to one knee and clasping his hands together.

She was light. As Erland straightened up he launched her over the fence. If she wasn't ready for climbing, she might not land well either.

Erland turned and looked over his shoulder. Having spent so much of his time in this place, he knew even the specific sound of the hinges of the door to the gardens.

He placed one hand on the fence, braced one foot against it and scaled it in one smooth motion. Erland was not in fighting shape, but he had scaled rocks at heights where the air was so thin it could barely sustain life.

He landed and placed one finger over his lips. Erland offered her a hand as he moved to slip into Dreddle Street. If she hadn't arrived bloodied and battered they could have walked for half of this escape.

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Over the fence she went, barely managing to keep herself from falling down. She landed with a thud and a whimper. Her ankles and wrists hurt, shaking from the impact. All grace had been taken from her, now all she had was grit. By the time it took her to begin getting up from all fours, Erland had already scaled the wall, quietly shushing her.

She ground her molars into one another. She knew she shouldn’t make noise, even a heavy breath could be enough to do them in as the skulked about. Slowly, she rose. Tentatively, she took a step. She was glad that she hadn’t sprained an ankle after her precarious landing. She hoped Erland didn’t think her to be some amateur, and yet at the same time, the thought of him pitying her while she was immense pain also enraged her. She had never thought herself to be fickle until her friendship with the Nordenfiir.

It was because of her bruised pride that she didn’t cling to him, even if doing so would have granted her some reprieve in holding up her own weight.

“We follow the back roads,” she whispered, “towards the residential area.” It meant going the long way around Vel Luin, in reaching one of the main entrances and exits towards the northern wall. “I’ll have to change.” Another pause. “We’ll have to find coin.” She had given all she had to Strietz and his cat-woman lover, to carry Miklan long the sea to Alliria. “When we get to the main road, we’ll cross ways with a horse merchant who should arrive here by noon tomorrow.” Everleigh looked up to the sky, the color beginning to turn and match the shade of dusk in her eyes.

The plan was simple, but there were gaps— and worst of all, the reliance on a factor that neither of them could control. The horse merchant could arrive tonight, or worse, he had already arrived. Everleigh hadn’t heard of news of the titled merchant who boasted about his connections with House Luana. She also wasn’t sure if these were the elite horses from the family, but she hoped they were. Even if they would only have a few hours head start, if they had horses used for the Anirian Calvary then their chances of getting away would be high.

They passed a fence, a dog barked at them, jumping up to view them and then snarl viciously. She turned her head, the front door opening, an older woman scolding the dog with a nasally cry of “shut up!” Everleigh pulled her hood tighter over her head. She didn’t need to worry about the future, she needed to worry about now.

Erland Karr

 

[Erland Karr]

“I’ll have to change.”

That was a problem.

“We’ll have to find coin.”

That would have been an even bigger problem.

“When we get to the main road, we’ll cross ways with a horse merchant who should arrive here by noon tomorrow.”

A dog barked and his hand went to the handle of his axe. It wasn't a hunting dog that had been unleashed by the guards, but a common mutt. He'd seen these houses a hundred times from the front, but never picked along the old cobbled path that had been half-reclaimed by nature.

"Does the merchant need to be paid?" Erland asked. His hand went to the pouch at his belt.

He had a small amount of coin on him. It could buy a reasonable amount of food, or lodgings for several nights but it was not going to pay for a horse. Horses were expensive.

Erland tried to mentally place where they were. If they needed clothes they needed a house without any occupants. One with hedges that obscured the view would do, he decided. At least it reduced the odds of being seen.

He pushed the gate open and walked towards the back door of the house. Erland leaned against the shutters and listened for movement inside. There was nothing.

People did not own many clothes. They might own a pair of shifts that needed to be washed, but clothes over the top would be repaired for as long as possible. As he pushed open the back door he realised they could be risking discovery for nothing.

Suddenly his raiding days did not feel like they were so long ago.