The Blade

Harsh light shot over the horizon, marking the end of the vibrant night and the beginning of a cruel day. The slow and unconcerned made their way inside lazily. Most had already retreated to their beds to sleep away the light.

Not Rataun. Rataun strode out into the sunlight, his tall, muscled form causing people to move on their way more quickly or look up their noses at him in disdain. He did not meet their gazes. They were his betters, with their soft bodies and gentle demeanors. These were cooks, crafters, artists, parents, doctors, etc. Not lowly warriors.

Rataun couldn’t escape what he was. Even if his height and natural athleticism didn’t give him away, his Master had given him the Mark, a black tattoo like a serpent wrapping his wrist. The black stood out starkly against his pale skin, branding him a slave. But then, all warriors were slaves. And rightly so. Master Marcol was a soft-spoken, pleasant man. What better person to control something so dangerous and turbulent as Rataun?

Today, Rataun had been sent to recover a fugitive. If the fugitive resisted, he was to kill the man.

His name was Jylanus. He had faithfully served his Master for five years before turning suddenly violent and murdering him. Jylanus had fled only twenty hours ago, and Rataun was one of many that had been sent out to hunt him. Jylanus had committed one of the most heinous crimes, betraying the trust of his Master and the community in an act of bloodshed. For that, Rataun was to capture him. If possible, Master Marcol had called for mercy. Bring him in for questioning and imprisonment. But if it were necessary, Rataun would be the hand of justice. ForoOnly a slave could be asked to stoop so low.

Rataun caught Jylanus’s trail at around midday. He had noticed very little signs of life. The occasional guard stood drooping at his post outside the door of a high ranked citizen, or a naughty child would peak out a window. Most people slept, avoiding the garish light of the sun. The day was the time for crime and hidden plots, not honest dealings and friendly company.

Rataun had to leave the city limits to track his quarry. A scattering of still hot ashes indicated that Jylanus had tried to cook some food and done a very poor job of covering it up. Jylanus didn’t seem to have gotten very far, as if he were in no hurry to escape his fate.

The ashes were a foolish mistake. Rataun strode forward, frowning. Surely Jylanus would know not to be so careless?

At the last second, Rataun sensed the trap. He spun around just in time to see an enormous man driving a dagger towards his torso. He moved instinctively, barely sidestepping the blow as he drew his blade. It was made of fine steel, and would be a far better weapon than Jylanus’s pathetic little knife.

Jylanus tried to get in a backswing but was forced to retreat as Rataun swiped out defensively with his longer weapon. Jylanus eyed him warily, pale face dirty and coated in sweat.

“I have been ordered not to kill you unless provoked,” Rataun said, keeping his voice even. “Come back peacefully and you will not be harmed.”

Jylanus’s eyes flickered to Rataun’s clothing. It was pure black, covering him from neck to ankle, except for the tattoo on his wrist.

“You are Marcol’s slave?” Jylanus asked, voice raspy.

Rataun bristled at the casual use of his Master’s name. “I am,” he said stiffly.

Jylanus nodded. “The infamous Blade. Nearly one hundred kills under his belt, so the stories say. Tell me, have they ever hunted you down for killing someone who committed a crime?”

Rataun didn’t rise to the bait. “Will you come peacefully, or must I add another kill to my ‘belt’?”

Jylanus snorted. “I know I am no match for you, but I would rather die here than face trial before a pack of liars and thieves.”

Rataun felt his eyes widen. “How dare you-”He stopped himself, pulling his temper under control. He pictured Master Marcol in his mind, a short, round, kindly man with smooth dark skin and a soft voice. Master would not want him to act in anger.

“I do not wish to kill you,” Rataun said softly. “Do not force my hand.”

Jylanus, in response, fell into a crouch, knife at the ready.

“So be it,” Rataun whispered. He struck first, lunging forward with blinding speed. Jylanus managed to dodge, but he had no hope of getting in a strike of his own. He was forced to dodge and retreat, occasionally parrying with his dagger. He was clearly talented, but he would not last long. Rataun was The Blade.

Rataun was in no hurry. He felt no urgency or concern. This man couldn’t win. Rataun just needed to wait for him to make a mistake. Soon enough, he did. He stumbled over the uneven ground just half a step, and Rataun took advantage of the moment with vigor. He lunged forward, feinting with the blade and forcing Jylanus to parry. Rataun twisted and drove his other fist into the man’s gut, then followed it swiftly with a kick to his knee cap. Jylanus cried out, and Rataun knocked him to the ground, landing on top with a sword to his throat.

“Last chance to surrender,” Rataun said coolly, panting slightly with exertion.

Jylanus met his eyes, jaw clenched. He did not look afraid. He looked…furious.

“Tell me, Blade,” he hissed, breathing coming in heavy gasps. “What did you do to The Daylight Marauder?”

Rataun frowned, set off balance by the question.

“How about The Courtier? The Bruiser? Or the man who always blinded his victims with a green light before attacking, what was he called again?”

Rataun clenched his teeth, remembering. He had slaughter those crimals slowly, listening to their screams and savoring them. “That was a long time ago,” he growled. “I have more control now.”

Jylanus let out a barking choke of a laugh. “So if you found out that I was like them, you would give me a quick death?”

Rataun tensed, blade pressing down farther almost unconsciously. Those men had all been serial rapists and killers, people who took children and women from their beds and left their bodies in mangled ruins. No, if he found out that Jylanus was one of them, he wouldn’t give him a quick death. He would cut him in a hundred different places and let him bleed out. He would break every bone in his body, and then feed him to the wolves.

“I can see the truth in your face,” Jylanus croaked out, barely able to speak with the pressure against his throat. Rataun let up slightly.

“Would you believe if I told you that by killing my Master, I was only putting down a violent criminal?”

“No,” Rataun said flatly.

Jylanus laughed, a sound without mirth. “I would expect nothing more. But I suppose if I am to die, I should at least make sure someone else knows the truth, even if they don’t believe it.” His face hardened suddenly to a mask of pure agony and rage.

“My Master was a creature of the light, wearing a cloak of darkness. He does all the right things, says and the right things, and then sneaks out in the day to do his dastardly deeds.” Jylanus hissed between his teeth. “I had my suspicions. I saw him out in the day several times, but it was not my place," he practically spat this word, "to question.

“But one day, I returned early, and found my sister missing from her sleeping chambers. So I used my skills to track her down. Would you like to know where I found her?”

Rataun thought he knew the answer already.

“I found her bleeding and crying in an alleyway, stripped of her clothing, with a man looming over her. I almost rushed in and killed him immediately, but then I heard his voice.”

Now, Jylanus’s eyes practically glowed with the intensity of his fury. “It was my Master. He was telling her that everything was fine, that she didn’t need to worry. She would be safe as long as she told no one what had happened that day.

“I can still hear her sobs, see his smile of satisfaction as he redressed, watching her lay there broken on the ground.” Jylanus’s eyes narrowed. “I killed him then, strode up and pressed my knife against his back. I waited for him to turn around, waited until I saw the fear in his eyes. And then I stabbed my knife through his chest.”

Jylanus’s whole body was trembling. Rataun’s sword arm had gone slack. He found himself slipping to the side, off of Jylanus’s prone form. Lights, he was shaking too.

Slowly, Jylanus sat up, eying Rataun warily.

“Why did you stay so near?” Rataun finally asked. “You should have fled.”

“My sister. I will not leave her in the hands of those dogs.”

Rataun stiffened. “Your master was a monster, but that does not mean they all are.”

Jylanus laughed humorlessly. “Of course. The slave should not question his betters.”

“The Mastress called for mercy, for capture instead of death,” Rataun snapped defensively. The chain of command was simple. In each household, the slave answered to the Master, and the Master answered to the Mastress.

Jylanus sneered. “We must all play our part.”

Rataun felt dazed and sick. But inside, a tiny flame of anger that he could not quench was burning. “Where is your sister?” he asked softly.

Jylanus spoke immediately. “She is at the infirmary.”

“On the south side?”

Jylanus nodded.

Rataun took a deep breath. “Go to her. Take her far away from here.”

Jylanus looked stunned. Rataun held up a finger, his voice growing harsh. “But don’t you ever return. You have taken your revenge. You are done with this place and these people. If I ever see you again, I will kill you.”

Jylanus met his gaze steadily and nodded once. Wincing, he climbed to his feet. He immediately began to walk away.

He paused only once, speaking without glancing back. “Try not to listen to their lies, Blade. The light may be garish and leave my skin burned, but it does allow me to see more clearly.” Then he left, slowly becoming only a speck of darkness against a bright landscape.