Nature's Servant (50 page)

Assessing his condition, he determined that he wasn’t too drunk to fight. He rested one hand on the pommel of his sword and patted the concealed knife he wore within his clothing with the other. Ready for combat, he pushed the tavern door open and stepped out into the night. There was no immediate sign of the three figures, but there was only one place they could have reached in the time it had taken him to follow them out of the tavern, and that was a small, dingy alleyway to his right. Taking quiet, swift steps, he rounded the corner and peered down the alley. It was dimly lit, with long stretches of darkness between the occasional lanterns. Fetid water gathered in pools between the cobbles, ripe with the stench of filth.

The muted sounds of a scuffle sounded from somewhere up ahead in the impenetrable dark, and Jonn started down the alley, taking care not to slip on the slimy stones beneath his feet. As he approached a sharp turn in the alley, the sounds increased, punctuated by muffled noises of alarm. Light shone dimly from round the bend, and he was aware that if he took another step he’d be fully visible. There were two of them and only one of him, but he didn’t see any alternative. Stealing himself, he drew his sword and stepped out into the light. What he saw filled him with a dreadful anger so intense it seared away all thought, leaving him with nothing but rage.

One of the men was holding the woman up against the wall while the other held a bundle of cloth hard against her mouth while he fumbled with his trews. The woman’s clothing had been torn open, exposing her body to the lustful eyes and hands of her would-be rapists. Her hood had been thrown back in the tussle, and for a moment Jonn froze, convinced he was looking at Rhetta. Blond hair fell across her dirty, bruised face as she screamed into the gag, blue eyes wide with rage and fear. The man holding her fell back as he saw Jonn, drawing his sword with a noise of alarm. The other man stopped fumbling with the string of his trews and turned his head, staring at Jonn in surprise.

“What do you think you’re looking at?” he growled.

Jonn allowed his rage to focus him. “I’m not leaving,” he said quietly, stepping forward and bringing his sword up before him. His mind was suddenly very clear.  He’d have to separate them if he wanted any chance of rescuing her and leaving this alley alive. In that moment, she solved that problem for him. Freed from the restraining grip of the first man, she punched the gag-bearer in the face, causing him to reel back in pain. She kicked out, her foot connecting hard with his crotch, and he collapsed to the floor, rolling around in pain and vomiting noisily. With one swift motion, the other man hit the blond woman across the head with the butt of his short sword, and she fell to the floor in an unconscious heap.

“Looks like it’s just you and me,” the other man said. He was ugly as sin, his heavy-boned face marked by several jagged scars. Stubble grew where it could between the puckered lines of skin, creating a patchwork effect across his wide face.

He took Jonn in with shrewd, dark eyes. “You were in the tavern,” he said, “which means you followed us. Pretty brave to attack two swordsmen when you’ve been drinking.”

“Are you going to talk or fight?” Jonn said, knowing that he was just stalling to give his partner a chance to recover. He wasn’t going to let that happen. Leaping forward, he attacked, slashing across the man’s torso. The man blocked him and counter-attacked, his heavy blade sweeping in a dangerous horizontal arc. Jonn used the momentum of his first attack to carry him forwards, spinning around his enemy to get out of range, but a searing pain across his tricep told him he hadn’t been quick enough. Stepping back, he clamped a hand over the wound. When he lifted it away, it was thick with blood.

He staggered, unsteady on his feet. He was going to have to finish this quickly or he’d be done for. The other man was not a skilled swordsman, but he was very strong and not as drunk as he was. He formulated a desperate plan. It was dangerous but it was the only thing he could think of that might work. Stepping forward, he slashed at his attacker’s torso once again, but this time he deliberately overextended himself. As he’d hoped, the larger man saw his opportunity and swung his sword at Jonn’s exposed chest, but instead of trying to deflect the attack, Jonn stepped inside the man’s guard, exposing himself to injury but placing himself in deadly proximity to his enemy. The other man’s blade cut deeply into his arm, slicing through muscle and hitting bone. The blinding pain almost caused him to black out, but he held onto consciousness through sheer willpower and drew his knife with his free hand. The other man’s eyes widened in panic as he rammed it up through the upper part of his belly and into his heart. Panic changed to surprise and then faded out to nothing as he slipped off the knife and fell to the ground.

Jonn gasped in pain, resting against the slimy wall of the alley as he fought off unconsciousness. If he gave in to it now, he’d not leave this alley alive. The other rapist groaned and tried to rise to all fours. Gathering himself, Jonn staggered over, trying to see through the black spots that threatened to swamp his vision. He hit the man hard behind the ear with the butt of his knife, and he collapsed face first into his own vomit and stayed still. Jonn knew it was time to get out of there before any of the rapists’ friends turned up and finished him off. He tugged at the woman’s arm, hoping to rouse her from unconsciousness, but she didn’t respond.

He would never remember afterwards how he did it, but somehow he lifted her off the floor and swung her over his shoulder. He staggered back down the alley in a state of near oblivion, every step sending shocks of unbearable agony spiking through his body. His breathing was a hard rasp in his throat, the pumping of his blood a deafening thud in his ears. He made it to the end of the alleyway and swung left. He wasn’t safe in this neighbourhood, but if he could stay on his feet and walk along this one long road, he’d emerge onto one of the main streets and be picked up by the guards.

The next few minutes were an eternity to Jonn, a blurred, boundless torment of steps that shouted of his desperate condition. Later he’d recognise that walk as the longest of his life, and the one that took the most courage, but in that moment all he had was the dogged refusal to give up, and when he finally emerged into the brightly lit main street and fell to the paving stones, spilling his precious cargo onto the ground, he stubbornly held onto consciousness until he saw the lamplight gleaming off shining helmets. The arrival of the guardsmen told him she was safe, and it was only then that he gave up and let blackness take him.

When he came around his left side felt like it was on fire. As he blinked gritty eyes, he saw that he was in a small white-painted room, empty except for the bed he was lying on. Bars covered the single window, and the door was open. It looked like the infirmary, though not any part of it he’d seen before. Memories of the fight came back to him in a flood. The girl! He tried to sit up and almost blacked out, his cry of pain bringing two white-robed infirmary staff rushing in through the door. They went to either side of his bed, one pushing him back down and the other pouring some acrid-tasting liquid into his mouth. He was too weak to resist, the jagged edge of his pain receding as a hot wave of numbness swept through him.

“Where’s the girl?” he asked, struggling feebly to rise once more.

“Lie still,” one of the men said sternly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait till the sergeant gets here before your questions are answered.” Jonn was confused by the man’s grim expression and unfriendly tone. What was going on? Suddenly it became painfully clear, and fury rose in him like a crimson tide.

“You think I attacked her?” he spat, boiling with rage.

“It’s not up to me to think anything,” the man replied, keeping a firm hand on his shoulder, holding him down against the bed. “Now lie still or we’ll have to restrain you.” Such was his pain that he gave in, gasping as he waited for a fresh wave of agony to pass.

“Why haven’t you asked her what happened? Why haven’t you healed me?” he asked when the pain had receded.

“No more questions,” the man in white said, his tone brooking no argument.

He didn’t have long to wait before the sergeant arrived, loud footsteps in the doorway heralding his entrance.

“Leave us,” a familiar voice said, and as the healers departed, Brill walked into the room. He was accompanied by two other guards, who stationed themselves at the door. Jonn’s heart sank as all the pieces fell into place. He and Brill used to get on well enough, but that had all changed when he’d befriended Sabu. Brill despised foreigners, especially when they took what he considered to be local peoples’ jobs. His behaviour towards Talmo and Sabu was disgusting, and that hatred carried over to anyone who was associated with them.

“Well well, look what we have here,” Brill said, his tone insufferably smug.

“Brill you idiot!” Jonn said. “You know I had nothing to do with what happened to that girl.”

“I know no such thing,” Brill shot back angrily. “For all I know you raped that girl, and you’ll sit trial for it like anyone else.”

Jonn’s fury was momentarily pushed aside by amazement. Was it possible that Brill’s prejudice against Sabu
went so far that he’d let a fellow guard be wrongfully accused of something so serious?

“Brill,” Jonn started again, moderating his tone. “If we just wait for the girl to wake there’ll be no need for this.”

“The girl is unconscious and has been since we picked her up. She took a serious blow to the head - who knows if she’ll ever come round?” Jonn’s anger resurfaced as he realised he wasn’t going to get anything like fair treatment. “Time to go to jail,” Brill said. “Pick him up.” The other two men stepped forward, their faces closed, reaching out to take hold of him.

“My wounds will open!” Jonn said, desperate to avoid the agony of being manhandled, but it made no difference. Heavy hands grabbed hold of him and hauled him upwards, and a blinding bolt of pain shot down his left side.

“Put him down!” a deep voice spoke from the doorway, and Drillmaster Trask stepped into the room. Jonn fell back in relief. Trask would give him a fair hearing. The drillmaster looked around with narrowed eyes. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked Brill, his voice hard and dangerous.

“Arresting a rapist,” Brill said, his lips compressed into a tight, angry line.

“What witnesses do you have for this crime?” Trask asked.

“We found him lying in the street with a woman who’d clearly been accosted,” Brill answered. “What more evidence do we need?”

“A lot bloody more,” Trask growled, and smacked him hard across the face with the back of his hand. When Brill looked back at him, a trickle of blood trailed from his mouth, and Jonn thought he could see murder in his eyes. “Sergeant you are demoted to private,” Trask said. “You will report to me first thing tomorrow for punishment. Now leave!”

Brill froze, and for a moment Jonn thought he was going to attack Trask, but then he straightened his shoulders. “Yes Sir,” he said, and marched out of the room.

“You two as well,” Trask said, flicking an angry hand towards the door, and the other two guardsmen left, leaving him alone with Jonn. He sat down on the end of the bed, running a hand through his hair. “I should never have promoted him,” he murmured, fixing Jonn with a weary stare. “He was a good soldier once you know,” he said. “A strong fighter, able to lead, but somewhere along the way he turned bad.” Jonn didn’t say anything, too drained to make conversation.

“Look at me rambling on while you’re in pain,” Trask said. “Wait here, I’ll get a healer, and then you can tell me what really happened.” The drillmaster left the room and returned within minutes with one of the healers, a tall, broad-shouldered magician with thick blond hair and blue eyes. He stepped past Trask and sat down on the bed. Jonn thought he could detect barely restrained distaste in the set of the man’s face.

“The woman I rescued? How is she?” Jonn asked. The healer looked at him with blue eyes as clear as the summer sky.

“You rescued her?” he asked. “That other guard said you attacked her.”

“That other guard was wrong,” Trask rumbled from behind him. The healer’s expression lost all of its hardness.

“Then you have my thanks. She is Beranan - of my race,” he said sincerely. “She is going to be alright,” he said. “We healed her injuries but she also appears to be wounded in the mind so we’ve left her in a restorative sleep. What she has been through has damaged her deeply, and there is nothing that magic can do to help with that.”

Trask coughed noisily.

“Sorry, you are in pain,” the healer said, reaching out and gently placing his hands on Jonn’s mangled arm. Even the lightest touch caused him to gasp, but then something cool flowed into his arm and the pain receded before disappearing altogether.

“Thank you,” he said, breathing a huge sigh of relief. Healing was an amazing thing. It almost seemed like cheating, but he wasn’t about to complain. 

“You’re welcome,” the healer said. “My name is Petr, and if you ever have need of anything else, just come and find me.”

“Thanks Petr,” Trask said, and the healer left the room. Trask sat back down on the bed. “Are you up to telling me what happened?” he asked. “I’ll have to make a report.”

“Of course,” Jonn answered. The healing had left him weak and tired, but sleep could wait a bit longer. He told Trask that he’d spotted two men taking the girl out of the tavern by force, and that he’d followed and fought them, rescuing the girl and carrying her back to a more frequently patrolled area of the city.