Night Blades and Morning Blood

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The following morning Barrett awoke at sunrise to the smell of fresh bread. John served it with jam and honey and prattled on about the news of Treadknee. The comings and goings of merchants and the birth of babies mostly, a traveler had come into town, raped a farmer’s wife and lost his manhood for it but for the most part, beside the recent tragedy, life went on as usual.
Barrett trained for the rest of the day only stopping for a hand full of nuts and an apple at noon. In the woods, he shot arrow after arrow into the trees trying to replicate the feats he imagined performed in the woods of Goldpost. But the accuracy with his long bow eluded him. Once his arrows were all broken or lost he ran for almost an hour, before felling a beach tree and chopping it for the fires.
When the moon began to rise and take its brothers place Barrett’s hands were blistered and his muscles in knots. The dogs barked as he returned to the house, his boots dirty and the sweat drying on his face. He could smell the kitchens bursting with flavor as he unlaced by the door (John did not allow dirty boots in the house).
A dinner of duck in a fruit sauce awaited him on the table, steam rising off it like the tendrils of some great kraken. John was not there for company so he asked a young plump serving girl for a large glass of whiskey to wash it down with.
The meat was cooked to perfection, falling apart in his mouth as he devoured it. The fruity sauce was aromatic and well-seasoned and the houses master made sure to drench the cooks with praise as he briefly entered the kitchen. All were overjoyed as usual when Barrett made a special point of complimenting their excellent work.
Barrett left the dining room while the servers still scurried around, straightening and polishing and ascended the staircase, hoping to see John performing one of his duties. But the master bedroom and hall leading to its door proved lonely.
Inside, the room’s furnishings seemed to glow and shimmer in the light of the large hearth fire in opposition to the gruesome shadows that danced in merriment. A large, plain, tin tub sat centered on the embroidered rug, its bleak grey a surprising contrast to the oranges, reds and browns that surrounded it. Wasting no time, he stripped off and began to soak his aching muscles and scrub his dirty skin. As the waters temperature began to drop Barrett took his razor and removed the day’s stubble, finding it considerable easier than the previous evening and leaving his chin and cheeks once again baby soft.
Barrett could see the sun giving its last beams of desperate light across the house’s rear garden as he exited his now tepid bathwater and began to dry with a cotton towel almost as soft as his newly shaven face.
Just as he had the previous night he moved over to the large black chest at the end of his bed. The polished brass catches gave way and he lifted the lid silently. His black robe came out and was led on the bed, still clean and midnight black. After plucking undergarments unceremoniously out of some varnished oak draws, the robe went over his head and was quickly accompanied by the black leather cross belt.
Once again, the swords came to life in the light of the fire, the reflected embers blurring and misting in the polished surface.
“For all the years I’ve known you, Mr. Barrett I have tried to shun the knowledge of the finer details of what your career entails,” John said stepping in the door without a sound. “but alas, my bones are already beginning to ache before winter has even begun and I think I owe banished curiosity a little nibble, don’t you?”
Barrett smiled. It was true, John knew what he was, after all it was he who had given him to the order and he enjoyed stories that Barrett would tell any stranger in a tavern or lord in a hall, but he never asked for details or pressed for information that was not freely given.
“Well what would you like to know, old friend?” Barrett asked.
John reached out his hand, gesturing his wish to hold the silver blade. Barrett was startled by the confidence his friend displayed but after a brief pause decided that no harm could come of it.
“This is a blade the likes of which I have never seen.” He said testing the balance. “I bet it has quite the story?”
Barrett smiled again. “Indeed it does, would you like to hear it?”
“I would, very much.” John replied now slashing slowly at invisible enemies in the direction of the door.
“Many years ago, before the forging of the empire, a group of men hired the service of the ten greatest smiths Atuas had ever known. The smith’s sole task was to create twenty blades, each made of silver alloy and folded with all the magic they could muster.
After a year and a day of planning a great forge was built surrounded by a wooden palisade. The fortress stood tall on a hill at the center of the dark forest and the smiths lit the fire for the first and only time. ” John stopped disemboweling his imaginary enemy and turned at the mention of the mysterious place.  “The forge was fed on the branches of a very old and very large blood tree for a full moon’s turn until the light was so hot that it blocked the stars from view. No sooner had the first hammer rung its blow a coven of witches charged up the hill under the light of the full moon, or so the story goes.
The ten members of the order fought the witches, dispatching them quickly and easily, before feeding their bodies to the fire. For another moon’s turn the forest rang from sunset to sunrise with the chorus of beating of anvils and every night some denizen of the dark attacked the fort from the darkness, each in turn fueling the fire with the flesh and blood.
Finally, when the labors were finished, the smiths handed over what they had created. The blades were lighter than tin but strong enough to stab through the thickest plate. They were infused with silver and the blood of witches, centaurs, chimeras, trolls and a whole host of other creatures who had made the forging possible, the perfect weapon for any enemy.
The ten members of the order, each one dressed in robes so black they drank the light from wherever they stood, marveled at the weapons that had been created for them and as the sun set for the final time they slew the smiths with their own creations, fed them to the forge and warmedp their blades one last time.
Finally, they set a torch to the fort and everything within it and scattered into the forest. These blades are two twins from that story. They have never drawn blood since and must never do so again.” Barrett concluded.
John’s mouth was slightly open and he barely seemed to be breathing, all was silent but for the insignificant rumble of the burning embers in the grate.
“And these lightning patterns?” John questioned, regaining the power of thought and tracing them with his finger.
“It is said that after the blades feasted on the blood of their fathers, they had absorbed so much power that they began to crack and fracture. Every blade is identical, even down to the exact details of that single fault.”
“They truly are magnificent, Mr. Barrett. I am unworthy to have held it. “He said handing back the weapon in a somewhat ceremonious manner.
“But of course, if the legends are true, one more drop of blood and the blade would burn bright like the flame in which it was formed and unleash all the magic stored within. Or more likely it would smash like cheap glass and be lost forever, or even more likely, it is just a sword; and I believe that to be much more likely.” Barrett finished with an unimpressed smile.
“Hmm.” John mused. “I have some experience with that awful forest myself, don’t you know? You’ve told me one of your stories; would you like to hear one from an old soldier well past his prime?”
In reply Barrett smiled, nodded and took a seat on the black trunk. But before John could begin the fire flared up and again took on an unnatural shade of red. The summons was sounded.

Barrett took his leave of his old friend with many apologies and made his way down the stair to the great iron door. He knocked as was custom and the door’s invisible guardian pulled it open, grinding it’s base across the stone.
As he travelled through the darkness he strained his ears at the disturbed silence. Screams; faint, distant and melding into one another as they echoed up the passage towards him. Long, deep screams full of pain and anguish, too long and loud to have been created by the mouth of any man.
As Barrett entered the meeting chamber the screams became slightly clearer and became interspersed with curses and insults uttered in a long-forgotten tongue. The direction of the screams was now obvious, they emanated from the dungeons.
Once again, the members of the order stood patiently around the table, heads fixed foreword, all as still as statues. But the seat to Cutler’s right was now empty.
“Barrett.” Cutler called across the table. “Senik will only be a moment, he is just attending to our guests... needs.” A twisted smile grew across Cutler’s face like some ugly scar being carved by a disgusting blade as they all watched. “Brother Bores could not be found inside his tent nor anywhere inside your grounds. I assume he was not with you inside your luxurious house otherwise you would have brought him with you. No matter, this will be brief and we will continue in his absence.
The nine stood in silence and slowly the screams grew quieter and less often until they ceased all together. As they stood and waited in the light of the fires Barrett’s mind ticked and his stomach became unsettled; it was not in Bores’ character to miss a council meeting.
The feeling of uncertainty whipped and whirled in Barrett’s gut and possibilities ran through his head. Or was he over thinking this? Was his guttural unease simply causes by his dislike for the order’s leader? Certainly, Barrett could remember a time when he had been alone with the venomous man and the stench of his aura and the foul taste of his arrogance had almost driven him to vomit. Then like a lingering infection of the mind the man’s words and tone had replayed in his ears making his stomach uneasy for days afterward. Could this feeling just be a slow reawakening of that disgust?
When Senik emerged from a darkened tunnel his head was bowed and his hood was up. He made his way quickly to Cutler’s side with a flurry of erratic tiny steps. Submissive to his leader as always.
Just as the previous night swords were drawn silently and laid on the table. The meeting had begun.
“As you are all aware, soon the first snow of winter shall fall.” Cutler began. “And so, the trials of our order shall begin. Tiberius?”
The oldest man at the table stood with a cough to clear his throat. “Twenty-five apprentices shall take the trails. All are ready and capable but not all shall pass and not all shall survive. Yet they will all  endeavor none the less and our broth hood shall become stronger for it. Those who are successful shall begin their apprenticeships with one of your charters and will remain under your watchful eye for the following two winters.
I know where these apprentices are needed the most and where their talents would best be suited should they be successful. The students and teachers should arrive within the week. Bores tells me that the snow in the north falls thick and fast this year and is making its way south with alarming pace, we believe the first snowflake will fall not long after the student’s arrival.”
“Thank you, headmaster. Would anyone like to add anything?”
“On a different note, if I may?” Barrett began in Senik’s general direction. “Has our guest yielded anymore information?”
“Sharpeesh holds his tongue well I’m sad to say.” Senik began quietly to the wood of the table. “However, he is still strong and more information may be prized from his mind before he is released. I will need more toys though;garlic, silver, oil and such if the interrogation is to continue.” He chuckled.
“Tech, if you speak with my house’s master he will ensure the necessary provisions are brought down to brother Senik.” Tech only nodded in reply.
“And from the girl’s body?” asked Cutler, seemingly taking over the inquiry.
“Nothing beyond what we already know and I fear her secrets are all but spent.” Said Tiberius. “Have you any knowledge of the other two, brother Barrett?”
“No, but my house master assures me that they were in considerably better shape than the body in our vaults.”
The table mused.
“Our course of action remains clear then.” Began Cutler. “The trials will continue as planned. Once they have concluded brother Barrett will travel west towards the mountains in search of his cave as agreed. Brother Senik will continue his endeavor to infiltrate the legions’ stronghold west of Hunters’ town. I will return to the city of the lion and take my place in the emperor’s shadow and our chapters will continue on as normal. Be wary friends, an unknown enemy has surfaced, any information you gather may make the difference to the empire and the order. Are there any questions?” The council was silent. “Very well, the trials will begin at sunrise on the morning of the first snow. Dismissed.”
Again, chairs creaked and blades slotted back into scabbards and the ten sets of footfalls echoed back off down the dark passage ways.
A shorter meeting than usual, most of those around the table had not even spoken. Barrett wondered to himself if it was even worth getting dressed for.

On the other side of the iron door Barrett yawned as he dragged his tired legs up the stairs. The house was quiet, the housekeepers, servers and John would all be in bed.
As he crossed the top step a clicking door alerted him to the fact that he was not alone. A singular candle against the black, illuminated hair the color of autumn maple leaves, blue eyes and reddening cheeks. Barrett smiled in reply but the maid only giggled as she closed her door softly.
Inside the master bedroom the fire had died down to a small pile of cinders, its light too subdued to even pierce the corners of the hearth.
Barrett moved over to the sash window and slid it up towards the ceiling. The smell of wood smoke drifted in on the wind and he inhaled deeply. Out across the lawn fires began to spark into life like stars bursting into flame in the night’s sky.
The students had arrived.
A soft, cold wind brushed his cheeked as he closed his eyes and took another deep breath. The chill brought thought of winter to his mind and before he had chance to push the air away Bores’ a sense was once again at the forefront of his thoughts.
Arms locked at the elbows and leaning slightly outwards Barrett chewed the predicament over. He was just beginning to chide himself for not spending his time pondering the quest that would take him west went a subtle change in the air brought him back to the present.
It was not a change in the darkness of the evening or of the temperature of the late autumn night but something else. Barrett stopped his thinking and concentrated all his senses. It was as though the near silence, peacefulness and tranquility was being disturbed by something undetected.
A loud, angry bang at the houses door startled Barrett and he spun to look at the door of his room. He heard the soft sounds of movement in the house and the unmistakable shuffling of John’s slippers on the creaky stairs. The loud trio of slams on the door was repeated and the faint hum John’s cantankerous reply echoed up to him.
Barrett heard to front door of the house open and he crept across his bedroom, ears sharp, to better hear the conversation at the houses entrance.
“I have no idea what your talking about!” John insisted.
“The people demand justice, John, you will let me in to take him or things may well turn ugly.” A stern voice demanded.
Barrett opened his door deliberately and walked out to the top of the stairs, still dressed in his black robe. In the doorway to his house the sheriff of Treadknee stood, an angry look on his pudgy face and a simple, polished cudgel in his hands. John turned to look up at the houses master, hands gripping both door and frame with white knuckles. The old man’s eyes widened at Barrett’s appearance.
“Sir Barrett, I’m going to have to ask you to come outside please sir.” The sheriff stammered, his obvious surprise making him over polite.
“May I first ask why you are drumming on my door so late at night, sheriff?” Barrett asked in reply, his own tone polite but considerably more confident and edged with just the tiniest flavor of distaste.
He began to descend the stairs deliberately as he spoke and before he was finished could just make out an orange glow behind the intruder that slowly shifted this way and that. It seemed the sheriff had brought friends.
“It’s about the girls sir, this evening their final resting place was broken into and two of my deputies claim to have caught you in the act. One of them was injured in the fight before you fled, sir.”
“Well that is indeed most concerning, sheriff,” Barrett said keeping his voice empty of confusion and surprise. “But obviously, the intruder must have been someone else. I have been here, at the house, all evening.”
“The word of old John won’t be enough to convince the others of that, sir, as I’m sure you can imagine. Two girls dead and another missing, one of my deputies with a broken ankle; the people want blood. My men place you at with the bodies trying to finish whatever it was you started. You’ll have to come down to the town so we can get this sorted.”
Barrett reached the bottom of the stairs and looked out through the doorway. A crowd of people had assembled, both men and women with torches; a mob on his doorstep. John’s eyes were wide and locked on the assassin, his face pale and over lined in the assembled torchlight.
“I think we both know that I will not make it to the village sheriff. Is that how you plan to enforce justice in your town?” Barrett narrowed his eyes as he accused the sheriff and fixed him with a fierce gaze. “Am I to be strung up in the same tree as those girls, sheriff?”
Even in the orange light Barrett could see the lawman blush with embarrassment.
“You said Sir Barrett was caught by a pair of deputies.” John’s voice cracked with the dryness of fear. He turned back to face the mass of people and raised his voice to address them. “Will the sheriffs man who makes these claims come foreword and face the one he accuses?”
There was a shifting and murmuring from the crowd.
“Did you bring Michael with you?” Barrett asked the sheriff who was now nervously scratching his long ginger sideburns with the back of his hand. “I spoke with him this afternoon and assured him I had nothing to do with this.”
“Aye we spoke to the Smith before we came up, he refused to come up with us. He would not say why.”
The crowd parted and a thin lad who was barely a man walked towards the house. A torch held aloft in his hand Barrett could see plainly the plain dark uniform of the sheriffs office.
“Tell John and Sir Barrett what you saw, Osfried.” The sheriff commanded the deputies.
“Well we heard a noise in the chamber where them girls were, so we unlocked the door and went in.” The deputy’s voice cracked the way young mens do when placed in the spotlight. “There was a man stood over one of the girls, dressed all in black he was, just like that.”
The boy pointed with a shaking finger passed the sheriff and John to Barrett’s robe.
“Blacky was quicker than me and ‘e rushed ‘im and got a swollen eye and a broken foot for ‘is trouble. Then before Blacky ‘it the ground the guy was up and out of the window.” The sheriff’s deputies had been
Barrett could sense the boys nerves, his uncertainty. The assassin and housemaster both knew he had not been down into the village but the stakes were high and they had to prove to the mob beyond a doubt that that was the case.
“And this man, he looked just like Sir Barrett?” John questioned. “The robes were the same?”
The boy Osfried paused and stammered before answering at the sheriffs behest.
“Well I didn’t see his face, ‘cause it was covered by a hood and mask see. And truth be told, now that I get a good look at ‘im this Sir does look a bit weedier that what was the guy who beat Blacky.”
Barrett had never before been described as weedy and was not sure who this thin lad was to be throwing around such insults. Any other day Barrett might have taught the boy a lesson but now was not the time.
“Anything else?” John prompted.
“Now that you mention it,” The deputy said with embarrassment. “Now seein’ this sir in his gown and all I would say that this other might have had a big black beard instead of a mask. And ‘is gown ‘ad legs, you know, not like that, like a skirt. “
The pimply lad pointed down at Barrett’s feet when the hem of his robes just touched his boots. The sheriff was reddening with every sentence the boy proclaimed.
“So your saying that the man who was with the girls might have been a different man to Sir Barrett?” John asked.
And that was the question. But would the sheriff and his mob back down on the word of a clearly addled deputy? Barrett supposed they had come all this was to hang him on the boys word so why not back down on the same thing?
“Maybe, maybe not.”
The sheriff shook his head in disbelief.
“One thing will settle this.” The sheriff proclaimed. “Sir Barrett, will you come outside and hold out your hands?”
The request was an unexpected one but Barrett saw no harm and so did as the lawman asked, moving passed John who unbarred the door with his arms.
The sheriff and the assassin stood before the assembled crowd, eyes hard and mouths sneering.
“What are we waiting for? Hang him! Murderer!” Someone towards the back of the mob called. Barrett could not see who it had been in the torchlight but was sure they would not have dared if he could. The sheriff held his hand up for quite before others could join in the call.
“Before we took black over to Mary’s House he told me one thing that will tell the truth of this.” The lawman said to the crowd. “Sir Barrett, will you hold out your hands?”
The assassin complied and for a brief moment the world held its breath.
The sheriff had soft hands. They were the hands of a man who didn’t work a field or swing a sword but those of a man more accustomed to keeping them in the pockets of his britches (which Barrett had so often seen him doing while walking around Treadknee). He grasped Barrett’s slightly bonier hands with his own and used the opposing set of digits to pull up first Barrett’s right sleeve and then his left.
Barrett watch the tension drain out of the sheriff.
“Deputy Blacky told me that the man he fought beside the body of those murdered girls wore a white bandage around his forearm. Blacky said he touched the wet silk while the two tussled. Sir Barrett clearly wears no bandages and therefore cannot have been the man we seek.”
“And who says he didn’t kill those girls?” another anonymous voice called, this one belonging to an aging woman.
“I have no reason to suspect Sir Barrett of that horrible crime and to my knowledge he returned from the town of Goldpost the very morning after the killings, after nearly a month away.”
The crowd murmured but seemed undecided.
“Go back to your homes.” John called from the safety of the house. “And don’t come back unless you need someone to piss on you should you all catch afire.”
With those final words and some gentle sheparding the torch wielding mob retreated back down away from the house and off into the night. Barrett breathed a sigh of relief. He decided there and then that he would be going down into town at sunrise to take this up further with the pudgy lawman and set him straight on just who he was dealing with.
But before then there was someone else he would be talking to.