Knite

“How are you getting in?” Roche asked. He sat, rubbing a wet cloth over the lean muscles of his upper body. You’d never guess he’d barely slept—a testament to his vitality.

“Getting in will be simple,” I said, sitting in the same chair he left me in, a glass of watered wine in hand. “Guards have always been eager to send people to The Bridge.”

Roche shook his head, lips pressed into a hard line. “Paying them by the number is a vile practice.”

“It has its purpose.”

“It incentivizes corruption,” he scowled, more accusation than statement.

“Paradoxical as it may seem, without criminals, or purported criminals, the Evergreen would fall apart, triggering a collapse that would see The Islands lost to foreign enemies.”

Roche watched me carefully for a long moment, then, coming to some conclusion that set him at ease, shrugged. “I suppose.”

“It is. What would be left of our goals if vengeful armies, finding our defenses weakened, descended upon our unprotected borders, pillaging our homes, killing our citizens—men, women, and children alike—and in doing so, destroying the very bedrock of my father’s empire?”

“But—”

“However,” I smiled, watching the wine tease the rim of my cup as I angled it in circles, “The bad practices of the current system will not always be in place. Not if we have anything to say about it. And we do have something to say about it, don’t we?”

Roche offered me a lopsided grin. “Are you sure you don’t want me with you in The Bridge? I could help.”

I shook my head. “You must keep watch of Aki and Farian.”

“What of Helena?”

“She’s to leave for Partum. No, this task is left to me.”

Roche looked down. “Do you think that…maybe—”

“Yes.” I watched him until he gathered the courage to look up. “She’s the strongest among you.”

Roche nodded, then glanced away as if to hide his emotions. A worthless gesture, he knew. “The academy awaits,” he said, embarrassed. He donned his shabby tunic, stooped into a hunch, and left, his faint, almost invisible sensus whipping and lashing around him like lively, wind-struck vines.

No sooner had the door closed than Helena came in. She was dressed in travel gear: a loose, breathable, cotton tunic in black; a brown belt holding the tunic tight to her midriff; a second belt just above her wide hips that kept hook of her two daggers; form-fitting breeches of near-black green; and brown, knee-high boots with thick soles.

“How do I look?” she asked. I quirked a smile. She looked beautiful in that way only she could.

“You know I never lie,” I said.

“So?”

“So are you sure you want my answer?”

She watched me and I knew she saw more Merkus than Knite. He was always a little more playful, a more likable. I didn’t mind the error as much as I thought I would. I too liked Merkus over Knite.

Helena approached the seat to my left, moving with a fighter’s balance and a dancer’s grace, her footsteps the quiet of emptiness. “Have you decided?”

“Mostly.”

“Today’s plan or the plan?”

I ignored the question. “You know what to do once you have the boy.”

“Get to the pier, charter passage to Partum, then drop the boy off the boat. Easy.”

I sighed. “Make it appear the boy fell and drowned, Helena. Do not weigh his death on my…conscience.”

“You? A conscience? When—”

“Stop.” Now her look was bothering me. Merkus didn’t demand her respect. No, Knite did.

She looked away, just as Roche had, trying to hide her emotions. Where he had failed, she succeeded; a promise made was a promise kept.

“When will you leave?” I could hear the soft sadness in her voice. While I claimed her loyalty, Merkus inspired it.

“As soon as my mask is sufficient enough for the task.”

Even as I sat there drinking wine, conversing, I wove threads of sensus over my soul, knitting an array of matrixes made to hide my identity. Though significantly less complex than my Merkus mask—like a painted tree was to a grown forest—the mask would serve well enough for my more imminent plans.

After a long, quiet pause, she asked, “Is a mask not a lie?”

My lips twitched with equal measures of amusement and irritation. “Are those clothes you wear a lie?”

“They do not deceive.”

“They do, but that is beside the question. Do they lie?”

“No, but…how do they deceive?”

“By leaving the truth to the observer's imagination.” I took a small sip from my cup. “Though all lies are deceptions, not all deceptions are lies. Take you, for example. It would not be a lie to call you my child, but as you know, you are not born from my seed. So, would I be lying if I chose to name you so?”

“No,” Helena said weakly. I thought I saw a hint of anger on her face. I wished I could be sure.

“What we did to Farian was not honorable and I share your…guilt.” She was staring again. I looked up from my glass and stared right back. “Justifying it with lies is not the answer. Carry it. Let it mean something bigger than itself. Let it guide you in our efforts.”

Her face hardened into neutrality. It was times like these I’d regretted that particular promise; I was, more often than not, incapable of reading her emotions by countenance alone.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Good. Now, where exactly is the boy?”

The wind was the only cold The Islands saw. Winter, unable to traverse the borders my father had placed, blew in gusts of chilled wind from our foreign neighbors. Then, residents of Evergreen, acclimated to the warmth, complained as though they suffered Goldonian blizzards, their ingratitude as enduring as the gift their king had left them.

Such a wind blew, and such a resident—a guard of The Roots—complained. I spotted him patrolling the affluent area unofficially designated by the disreputable enterprises controlling The Roots as the merchant sector. I kept pace behind him and his fellow guard, the wind gliding past me and ruffling my cloak but otherwise pleasant.

“…its spring, or soon will be,” the guard said. He tugged at the backstrap that held his longsword. A more experienced guard would’ve secured it more reliably. “Why are we still getting this bleeding winter wind?”

His partner, a taller, older, wider man with a short-ax hanging from his waist, put his hand on his shoulder. “Soon we’ll complain about the pouring rain. And then, when summer rolls through, the blistering heat. I tell you, Merkon, autumn is the only season the weather gives us days of calm warmth, and even then I reckon we’ll be complaining about the coming winter at the slightest hint of a breeze. I say forget—"

My toes dug into the back of the man’s knee. I heard the joint pop and dislocate as clear as the scream that followed. The man fell forward. Merkon spun, sliding sword from scabbard. I was already out of his range.

The street, while not empty, only held a spattering of people. Many of them ran as soon as they saw the guard on the floor, his scream alerting them to danger. They scattered, disappearing into alleyways and sideroads. A man on a horse-drawn cart scrambled for a whip and put it to his mare's hind with panicked haste, afraid he’d be dispossessed of his goods. An old shopkeeper and his customer broke off their haggling and ran into his store. Servants pulling small, hand-held carts full of produce frantically hauled their goods, running despite the weight.

Merkon and I faced each other, letting the commotion of their escape fade into silence. Soon, the screams of the downed guard were the only sounds to be heard, and Meron and I stood six paces apart, watching for the other to make the first move.

I did.

I dashed in close. He swung at my neck. My palm slapped the blade away and the force flung him to the side, my strength too great. I clung to his blind side, keeping to his back as I rounded him and came upon his downed partner. The man had pushed himself up with his hands. My foot caught the underside of his chin, jerking his head back. His eyes rolled back and he slumped to the ground, the metal of his ax clanging against the cobbled street.

Merkon turned to the sound. “Stop!”

“Sure,” I said, crossing my hands behind my back.

The boy, surprised by my lapse in violence, halted in confusion. He shifted his gaze between me and his downed partner.

“Are you going to detain me, or am I to wait for your reinforcements?” I asked.

The boy’s emotions were a twisting murk of anger and fear. Despite his mounting apprehension, he tightened his grip, widened his posture, and held his sword low, level, and to the side, ready to attack. Human souls are such inexplicable things, I thought, smiling.

“My sword or The Bridge,” he said, “the choice is yours.”

“I agree, the choice is mine.” I placed a foot on his partner's back. “As are the options.”

He lunged at me, his two-handed thrust aimed at my chest. I twisted sideways, letting his sword pierce nothing but air. He pulled back and came in low, swiping at my thighs. I danced away. One such strike was a feint, a twist of his wrist turning it into an upward slash. I leaned back, easily evading.

I expected more. Better. A godling. Finding the whelp who’d crawled out from between my sister’s legs was a surprisingly difficult task. His lineage was clear, barely hidden behind a weak mask. But not mine. It was, perhaps, partially mine. Someone had found him during my days as Merkus, broken the mask, peered inside, then erected their own from the remanents. Too…delicate to be Lorail. Delicacy was never her forte. Subtle? Sure. Delicate? Never. Not Bainan. He was too proud to resort to using any art but his own. Not Grono or Silas. They would’ve ignored the boy. Manar? Maybe. Probably.

The boy was a decent swordsman, always aware of his range, his attacks contrasting in speed, technique, and placement. His control over sensus, however, was dreadful. Modest power slugged along his longsword, the sensus clumsily covering the armorer matrix etched on his blade, despite my certainty, I began to doubt he was who he was.

Faint sounds of pounding footsteps closed in. I decided it was time to end things.

My leg rose over his weapon as he swiped at my shins. I stamped down and caught the flat of his blade. The tip of the sword bit into cobbled stone. The length bent before it snapped. The boy stumbled back, coming away with only half his sword. He looked at it, judged it unfit for battle, and threw it to the side. Then, unarmed, he raised his hands and shuffled towards me. He reeked of fear, more so than when he began his attacks, and yet here he was, in the face of superior strength and unavoidable defeat, ready to continue.

Such inexplicable things, I thought.

I held up my hands, palms open and facing him. “I think I’ve had enough of your sword.”

Merkon smiled. “I guess it’s my fists or The Bridge now, isn't it?”

I smiled back and meant it; the boy was rather likable. It was a wonder how he’d spawned from such a vile creature. I guess there were parts from our father we both shared. One I admired. It must’ve evaded his mother.

“We need to continue this exchange,” I said.

Merkon watched me warily. “I’m afraid without surrendering, we will have to.”

I took my swords from my back, sheaths and all, and threw them high and fast over his head. “They’re closing in, Helena. Be quick about it.”

Merkon was quick of mind if not in body. Even as my lips uttered her name, he made to lunge forward, trying to escape what he so swiftly knew was coming. Still, if you were reacting to Helena, you’d already failed.

Moon slashed him just above his heels. He folded, unable to leverage the strength of his legs. Helena sheathed her dagger and caught my swords with time to spare.

“With all the ways and methods you’ve trained and mastered,” I said, “did you have to injure the boy?”

Helena pressed a hand to Merkons back, keeping him from rolling over. A finger to his temple, a burst of sensus, and the boy lost consciousness, his spirited resistance falling limp.

“‘The surest path is always the better path,’” she quoted. “I believe that was the second lesson you taught me.”

I sighed, leaned down, and turned off the mask the boy was wearing.

Helena hefted Merkon over her shoulder and turned to me. “If you aren’t back before one cycle of the moon is done, I’ll come for you.”

“You’ll do no such thing. If I am not back by then, it is because I chose not to be.” I turned my back to her, looking towards the earliest of the guards as they came upon their downed colleague.

Such as it were, even with the added weight she carried, I did not hear her leave.