Chapter 15 #4
Crimson crept across the ground, wetting his toes. The heat within him died, and his mind returned soon after. Two men lay dead at his feet, and Tobias’s hands were painted red.
The air around Tobias became thick. This was a mistake.
He was a fugitive, and there were coverts in town vying for his head.
None of this was part of his plan. I can shadow walk away.
Except he hadn’t told Leila of his mission, and She hadn’t blessed him.
Swallowing, he wiped his palms on one of the soldier’s sleeves, then did the same with his weapons.
His hands were shaking. What had come over him?
Berating himself, Tobias darted from the alleyway, flinching when the sunlight bled over him. As he hurried across the road, his gaze flitted from shopfront to shopfront, intent to find anything suspicious or damning.
Two cloaked men stood in the distance, one tall, the other stout.
He’d seen them before, and there they were yet again, except now they were staring at him.
No, they’re not. Are they? He recognized the gait of an armed man, and when their hands swept toward their waists, he could’ve sworn they each gripped at a hilt. Tobias turned the corner.
Shit. He fought to still his thoughts, searching for logic amid the chaos of his mind. Perhaps they were traders. Plenty of civilians armed themselves. Tobias stopped short, pretending to adjust his belt while peering behind him.
Dust clouded his vision, but their visages filtered through the haze—the two cloaked men had turned into three, swords on display.
Tobias swerved down the nearest corner. This was all his doing—he had no one but himself and his impulses to blame.
When had he become so volatile, so out of control?
He peered over his shoulder at the densely filled road.
The three hooded men stalked a distance behind him, but a fourth, equally imposing man appeared from an alleyway.
Tobias took a sharp turn down the neighboring road, fists balled at his sides.
One more glance in their direction, and his stomach clenched.
There were six of them.
Tobias hadn’t needed to take the multiple turns to prove they were following him, but the confirmation rattled him all the same. Six trained killers in a fight against Tobias—an impossible task, certainly while he was out in the open, a spectacle for every townsperson to see.
Treetops peeked above nearby shops. The woods weren’t much farther, his singular chance for cover.
An isolated place to die. No, an isolated place to lure them, to lessen their numbers and lead them far from Leila.
He glanced over his shoulder one last time.
The coverts walked in conspicuous formation a fair distance behind him.
He hurried down the road, veering into an alleyway before disappearing into the thick of the woods.
Heart thudding in his ears, he raced through the brush.
Think. He had to lead them astray, to give them a reason to scatter.
He wound among the trees, creating tracks that led to nowhere, camouflaging what he could of his true trail with what little time he had.
Breathless, he ducked behind a gnarled trunk, pressing his back to its surface.
Silence cloaked the woods. Tobias’s lungs screamed for air, but he kept himself still, numb to his deprivation.
He’d aged a century before something caught his ear—the light crackle of a footfall, and then another.
Tobias bit down on his lip, pulling his blade from its sheath with delicate slowness.
A man slipped into view, treading past Tobias’s hiding place. A blade much like his own was nestled in the covert’s hand, and he searched the woods ahead—and nothing behind. His slate hood hung down his back, giving a clear view of his unruly brown hair, and more importantly, his bare neck.
Tobias crept forward, timing his footfalls with those of his mark. Just a few paces closer. He held his breath, his insides howling for bloodshed. Another step, and the man was a whisper away. With one swift movement, Tobias slashed the covert’s throat.
The man flailed, grasping at his opened flesh before crumpling to the ground.
Tobias wiped his blade on his pantleg, madly scanning the surrounding woods.
Five men remained, and he was exposed, an easy target.
Brush fluttered in the distance. There wasn’t time for false tracks.
Sheathing his weapon, Tobias plowed through the woods.
His heartbeat echoed in his mind, but he needed silence.
He’d never had so many adversaries at once, and he was without assistance save for whatever remained of Leila’s light pulsing through his veins.
Hot air burned his throat, but still he dashed between the trees, searching for flashes of steel.
Footsteps broke through the noise, and Tobias braced himself for blood.
A man with a shaved head barreled his way, spittle flying as he let out a war cry.
Tobias swerved past his assault, blocking the covert’s weapon.
Growling, he shoved the man’s weight from his sword, but the covert was nimble, readying himself without delay.
He brandished his weapon, sending Tobias dodging to the left, the right.
Another strong swing, and Tobias ducked low, slamming his sword beneath the man’s rib cage.
The covert sucked in a swift breath. Tobias pulled him close, drawing his seeping chest to the hilt, waiting until his eyelids turned heavy. His body was a boulder sinking to the ground, leaving a trail of hot blood streaking Tobias’s tunic—another kill, but far from victory.
Footsteps thundered in the distance. One man appeared through the brush, and then a second. Tension shot down Tobias’s spine as the remaining coverts from different vantage points barreled through the woods, armed and ravenous.
Four men, and one of him.
Tobias slid his sword free of the corpse, wet fingers tight around the hilt as he prepared for a battle he was doomed to lose.
The first man came in with power devoid of control, wielding his sword like a rabid beast. Tobias dipped and dodged, one eye trained on the thrashing steel while the other traced the remaining coverts.
He kicked out the soldier’s knee, sending him faceplanting.
Footfalls sounded behind Tobias, and he spun on his heel, trusting intuition over sight as he thrust his sword forward.
Something heavy landed on his blade—a cloaked man stuck on Tobias’s sword.
Tobias kicked him free from his weapon, readying himself for the next offense.
A fist plowed into Tobias’s temple. He stumbled, nearly toppling until a flash of silver bolted toward him. He jerked away in time for the sword to slash his stomach, leaving behind a sizzling sting.
He resisted the urge to cringe, pacing in a circle as he eyed his opposition. Three untouched men stood readied, swords drawn and lips twisted into self-assured smirks. If it wasn’t his life at stake, Tobias would’ve laughed at the odds—three coverts against a bleeding artist.
He launched his sword.
A clank reverberated through the woods. The covert deflected, his stance hard, assured, and lacking the wear weighing down Tobias.
Another blow sent him skittering through the dirt, but he used the distance to his advantage, throwing himself into his swing and sending the man tumbling to the ground.
There wasn’t time for Tobias to right himself, as a second covert was already on top of him.
Tobias lunged, relying on power and might only to be met by an arm more powerful, mightier.
Pain spiked through his torn flesh, every move he made torturous.
Forcing back an agonized cry, he fought against each strike, but the blows came in harder and heavier, bringing him to his knees.
The covert hovered over Tobias, grinning victoriously.
Bellowing a war cry, he thrust his sword down, only to slam it into the dirt as Tobias rolled out of its way.
The covert was hunched and befuddled, and Tobias took the opportunity to slam his heel into his eye, collapsing him.
Another covert ran toward him, and Tobias ripped one of his blades from its sheath, launching it at his latest foe.
The blade stuck in the man’s gut, and he crumpled into a pile as Tobias hobbled to his feet.
Sharpened steel ripped through Tobias’s ribs—another hit.
Tobias gripped at the wound, only for another slice to tear through his arm, forcing a tormented howl from his throat.
He dodged the next assault and readied his sword, but two rough hands grabbed him from behind and held him firm.
Growling, Tobias twisted and lurched, but the covert tightened his grip, digging deep into the fresh wound cutting through Tobias’s biceps.
Profanities spewed from Tobias’s lips, and his heart lurched when he dropped his sword.
Throwing his head back, Tobias bashed the covert in the face.
His skull throbbed, but he was free in time to dodge the next man headed his way.
He ducked beneath the covert’s sword again and again, then dove forward, shoving him against a tree.
Grappling with his opponent, Tobias fought to pin him in place, galvanized once the man’s sword slipped from his grasp.
He jabbed the covert in the mouth and the gut, taking full advantage as his enemy went loose in his arms. There wasn’t time to waste.
Tobias pulled his second blade free and stabbed at the covert’s throat, tearing the wound wide.
A heel jabbed at the back of Tobias’s knees, dropping him to the ground.
He tumbled over his fresh kill, barely on his hands and knees before a foot pounded his ribs.
Tobias collapsed with a hard smack. Just one last kill.
That’s all that remained, but as he patted his thighs, his hope died.
His blades were lodged in his victims spread through the dirt.
His sword was paces away, strewn amid the leaves.
He lunged for it only to stop short, deadly still.
The tip of a sword was pointed at his throat.
The final covert stood over him, unmarked save for his rapidly swelling eye. Tobias’s lungs heaved. He had no move, no counter.
No option but death.
Another man appeared through the trees, and Tobias’s stomach sank.
There were seven men. He’d miscounted. The man was shorter and wide, a brown cloak covering his head and shoulders—a familiar figure from town, one Tobias had assessed and forgotten.
He came in behind the armed covert, nearly concealed by the man’s imposing frame.
Two men were here to kill Tobias. God, he wasn’t even close.
The second man wrenched the covert’s neck with both hands, snapping it with a sharp crack.
The covert and his sword toppled to the ground, a lifeless pile at Tobias’s knees. He stared for a moment at his fallen adversary, his mind at a standstill. The man in the brown cloak waited in silence, and Tobias could see him clearly—a face he knew well, plucked from his memories.
“Friend.” Enzo broke the silence, his thick accent an unexpected comfort. He gestured at the dead bodies surrounding them. “Like old times, eh?”
Fallen coverts surrounded him, limp and mangled. So much carnage. As Tobias’s breathing began to slow and shoulders loosened, he looked to Enzo. “It’s good to see you.”
A gap-toothed grin split Enzo’s face, and he spread his arms wide. “Eh?”
Chuckling, Tobias slowly, painfully stood, wincing as Enzo wrapped him in a too-firm hug.