The moon was gazing lazily on the village of Qaiel when Stiel reached it, hand on the sword hilt and ready for anything. It would get ugly, he knew it, the tension held the air.
Tomorrow’s sun will rise in a shroud of blood, Stiel mused, but felt no joy in it. This was what had to be done, for honor, for justice, and for himself. What he had trained for, been born for.
This was his first Ceremonial Stand.
The scattered houses were dark, all of them. A thin strain of smoke could be seen from some of them, but they were obviously covering their fires. He was expected, and fear clung to the quiet crisp night wind.
Stiel kept to the side of the street, trailing the houses’ walls, feeling lucky that this wasn’t happening in the city, where glass windows were common. Here, in the wilderness, windows were small holes in the wall, barred at night, and most of the days as well.
“He will come”, said a muted voice that Stiel recognized at once. It came from a house the green-haired knight just passed.
“How do you know? We scared him off, so we did!” said another voice that Stiel didn’t know. He sidled up to a barred window and tried to peak in through the cracks, but something was shrouding it from the inside, a cloth most likely.
“Because he’s a noble dumbass, you moron!” sneered the thug.
“Did he really kill Falt in cold blood?” asked a third voice, the voice of a woman.
“Yes!” sneered the thug again.
“Aye, he did”, said a fourth voice that Stiel thought belonged to the last of the thugs from the ambush at the Windy Bridge. The knight-in-waiting didn’t think it sounded very believable.
“We’ve been over this, woman”, said the first thug.
“It’s unlikely, that’s all I’m saying”, said the woman. “If you have a quarrel with him, take it out of our village, that’s all I’m…”
“Shut up!” roared the thug.
Right. Two thugs from the ambush, thought Stiel, and then there’s two unknowns, the woman and the first man.
I’ll take my chances.
Stiel went up to the door, and studied it. No light sipping out here either, which should mean that it’s covered. He pushed it lightly, but it didn’t budge. Probably barred, but the cracks between door and wall were wide enough for his blade, so he drew the sword, carefully slid it in, and found the bar at once. Gently, he tried it, and found that he could lift it.
The knight-in-waiting entered the simple house with force, and slammed the door shut behind him, barring it again in the same fluent motion.
He took in the one big room at a glance, seeing a horrified older man slump back towards the fireplace at the far end, and a stunned woman of forty or so years, grasping her plain woolen dress in surprise. The two thugs from the ambush stood by a table in the middle of the road. It was a simple home, with a packed earthen floor, beds made of hay and wool close by the fireplace. Cloth were covering the windows, and the door.
“You!” roared the big thug, and rushed for his club, leaning against the fireplace.
“You’re a liar and a thief”, said Stiel in a stern voice, pointing his sword at the thug, “and your life is now forfeit!”
The other thug snatched his long knife from the table, but backed towards the fireplace and his companion, not leaving Stiel with his eyes.
“Where is Falt, you scum?” asked Stiel, and advanced on the two thugs, while the man and woman backed against the opposite wall. “Where have you hidden him? Tell me!” he roared, making the knfie-thug startle. “And don’t tell me you’ve killed him, you little devils, or so help me by the Gods, I’ll make you pay!”
“We’ll tell you nothing!” roared the thug with the club, advancing. “You killed him!”
“I did no such thing and you know it!”
The knife-wielding thug cast a sideways glance at his companion, and then at the man and the woman by the wall.
“Falt’s not dead?” asked the woman suddenly.
“I don’t know, answered Stiel.” He had stopped his advance on the thugs. “They have him, I believe.”
“Is this true, Sombar?” the woman asked.
The thug with the club called Sombar spat on the floor.
“Oalp, is he speaking the truth?” she asked.
“No he’s not!” screamed the knife-thug shrilly, but the cry was as hollow as the truth in his words.
“You idiot”, muttered Sombar, and raised his club. “Now we’ll have to kill this moron knight, and then take care of those two!” He cast one evil glance at the man and woman. “Don’t move, and you might live.”
“That’s a good idea”, said Stiel in a cold voice.
Sombar took two steps forward, and then swung at the knight-in-waiting. Stiel easily sidestepped, bringing his sword up in time to deflect a low slash from Oalp’s long knife.
“I’ll smash your skull!” roared Sombar, and swung again and again and again. And with every swing came that low knife-slash from Oalp.
Stiel was forced back, not wanting to do a straight-on parry against the big wooden club Sombar was working so fiercely. The green-haired warrior remembered all too well how powerful this man’s swings were, and he couldn’t risk being dazed with the knife coming at him all the time.
He was so preoccupied with staying out of harms way, tiring Sombar’s arms so that he could retaliate, that he didn’t see the woman sneak up behind them.
“You bastards!” she screamed, and hit Sombar hard in the back with a chair.
The thug stumbled, and turned. At the same time, Oalp’s knife came at Stiel.
“No!” the knight-in-waiting screamed, as he deflected the knife, and took a quick step forward.
“Lord!” screamed Oalp, as he realized that Sombar’s club wouldn’t follow his slash this time, but Stiel was faster, turning the parry into an upward slash, tearing clothes, skin and flesh from Oalp’s chest and chin. The man fell back, screaming, but Stiel was already past him.
Sombar swung his club at the woman, who tried to get out of the way. The spikes and wood hit her in the side, twirling her through the air and crashing into the table, where she lay very still.
The thug swung around just in time to meet Stiel’s sword with his club, but this time it was the green-haired man who’s strokes were deadly powerful. Sombar staggered back, making desperate parry after parry, stumbling for his life.
He stepped into the fireplace with his left foot, recoiled out of instinct, and found himself impaled on the knight-in-waiting’s sword.
The club clattered to the floor, as Sombar gripped the blade protruding from just under his chest.
Stiel drove it in, to the hilt, and the thug screamed in agony.
“Where is Falt?” the knight-in-waiting asked. “Tell me, and it’ll be over quick.”
“Go fuck a goat!” gurgled Sombar.
He died hanging on Stiel’s sword.
