Catching Fire

I had seen them before—the trolls—in Aur, where they had been a delicacy. Here, they weren't—there were no hallowed who feasted on them.

I ran, knowing that I couldn't really see this thing, only what it wanted me to see. I felt myself slam into something with great force—a wall. It hurt, but some of the brightness had retreated, leaving only the flames from the fallen lantern to illuminate the room.

The room had caught fire. There were footsteps and shouts growing closer. I leaned against the wall and looked back.

It was still there—still juggling.

“Gaze upon my voice, listen to my sight,” the troll cackled.

Voices and footsteps drew closer—the flames blazed all around.

“Tread upon their dreams, and burn thy self, tonight,” it spoke, teeth grinding, vanishing just as suddenly as it had appeared.

Fight! I had to fight—to shed blood.

My steps led me, staggering, toward the window, sword drawn, as smoke tried to engulf me.

A man had already tumbled up the stairs into the storage room.

“Halt, pretty boy!”

With little grace, I delivered a wide, brutal blow that almost hurled the man toward the door.

Despite my trembling fingers, the window gave way quickly, while two more fighters staggered over their slain comrade.

“Fire! Nim, intruder!”

I could no longer tell the voices apart. Stars danced before my eyes, and I feigned another wide swing, but then switched to a thrust that sliced cleanly through the next man’s unarmored torso.

The remaining enemy struck me in the stomach with a club. I felt my flesh and bones give way, the air being forced out of my lungs, and nausea rising from my stomach.

I let myself fall backward. The man lunged at me—creating the opening I had been hoping for. Another thrust caused his attempted killing blow to be his own demise.

The blood coursing through my veins was as palpable as the throat-choking smoke. I managed to pull myself up onto the window frame, throw myself out and tumbled down the roof to the edge, while the shingles offered little grip.

I was just barely able to stop myself from falling down, but what now? The other house? Damn it! What if the fire spread? What about the ugly girl?

Pull yourself together! Snot and blood ran down my nose.

I had reached the other window, hearing more shouting behind me.

“Nim, he's on the roof! The whorehouse! The whorehouse!”

Back in the bedroom, the girl was writhing on the floor in a panic, trying to loosen her bonds, but froze the moment she realized I had returned and tried to roll away when I pulled out my dagger.

I grabbed her—perhaps a little too roughly—cut the ropes, and stepped over her.

Back in the stairwell, another unlucky fellow was already waiting for me.

“He is here!”

My strength had waned considerably; I practically tumbled down the stairs, knocked my completely overwhelmed opponent to the ground, and stabbed him several times with my dagger.

Onward! Keep going!

There they were—supposedly the last ones—three men on the ground floor of the brothel, which was otherwise deserted by then.

But something was strange. The air around them shimmered, just as it had with the Blacks' fleetmaster in that godforsaken warehouse. In that moment, I didn't even know how many days had passed since then.

“There's no way out of here, young man. Look at yourself. It's time to put a stop to this madness. Let us talk.” said the eldest among them in a gentle, almost fatherly voice.

No! Keep going!

The other two men began to flank me, drawing my attention away from their apparent leader for a moment, and before I knew it, his knife was flying toward me.

Once again, I fell backward, though this time it was less intentional than before.

The three attackers charged forward together, brandishing their blades and clubs.

I drew my sword and unleashed the first rune, blinding my opponents and slashing one of them deep in the thigh.

But the other two had quickly recovered, and I couldn't go on. My blade slipped from my hand, and just then another man unexpectedly went down.

The remaining man spun around. It was him—it was Carver—and he was holding another knife in each hand.

The last opponent lunged at him; the boy hurled another blade at the guard, but it didn't stop him.

I mustered all my strength, and threw my dagger.

It pierced the Golden’s back, causing him to stumble, and Carver stabbed him again and again with his last blade.

"Hey, Inomar! Ino! How bad is it?! Say something?!”

Carver had rushed over to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the whore; she must have been waiting for the fight to end and was now making her escape.

“Gather up the knives, the dagger, and my sword!”

“What about…”

“Do as I say, Carver!”

The boy did as he was told and gathered up our weapons.

“All right, all right, now see if any of these guys' clothes are still clean, tear off a piece, and wipe as much of the blood and dirt off my face as you can.”

I sheathed my sword and dagger while Carver cleaned me up. The smell of fire and smoke was growing stronger.

My young savior had to help me up. At least I could still walk, even though every step sent a searing pain through my upper body.

Outside, there were several women and a few men. Probably more whores and their clients. The bawd and my ugly companion were no longer around.

Some turned their gaze away from the flames to look us over, but no one seemed to follow our trail.

“Where do we go, Ino?! Stookes, the inn, somewhere to hide?”

“I don't know how badly I've been hit. You know a healer?”

“No, no… But I'm sure the others know someone!”

“The Churls? I don’t trust them.”

“Why?”

“What do you think?!”

“I don’t know!”

“To the inn… I can't go on like this anymore. Support me—my strength is…”

The memory began to fade even as it was happening, but somehow, we managed to make it back. There it was, that familiar door. I plunged inside, deep into the darkness of my unconsciousness.