Despite the pain, Ostrik chuckled at the mass of death around him. The manor lay in ruins. Cracked ribs, major blood loss, shattered arm, broken nose, black eye, and a concussion all ailed him, but he still retained his emboldened spirit.

  “That was good,” he rasped.

  Beside him Kasulta panted for air on her back, slick with blood and scorched by many burns. “I think I could keel over and die.”

  “Do it then.”

  “I don’t think I will.”

  “They did, though.”

  Kasulta laughed, spasmed in pain, and laughed again.

  “We have to find Sigvali,” groaned Rend. He shambled over to them, using his remaining hand to lean on the rubble for support. “He could be anywhere.”

  “What happened?” asked Ostrik, eyeing his bloody stump.

  Rend ignored the question, his face pale and sticky. He almost fell over as he tried to get closer. “Damn bodies. In my way.”

  “We put them there,” said Kasulta. “I told you, Ostrik. Mounds of bodies. Make them regret their choices.”

  “It’s just a number to Shaenik,” said Rend. He sat down on a fallen chunk of rubble.

  “You’re losing a lot of blood,” said Ostrik.

  “We all are. Now hush and listen. This isn’t some glorious victory. We survived, but barely. And not a single tear shed from Shaenik. These men are sellswords. Not all of them even died. Many fled. We should be thankful for it.”

  Ostrik and Kasulta didn’t reply.

  “Are your egos hurt so much that you can’t see how lucky we were. Not bold, not mad, and not even skilled. Just plain, stupid luck. The amount of times a few seconds or even inches would have been an eye lost here, a limb lost there.” His fingers clutched his stump.

  “Just heal it back,” said Kasulta.

  “Fuck you, Kas,” spat Rend. “Do you know the kind of strain healing has? You know how many Triscourge veterans would rather die than have another mage heal them? What’s the point? To lose it again? Feel the pain four-fold for the same bloody mess to happen again down the line?”

  Ostrik and Kasulta again remained quiet.

  “Are you leaving us?” asked Ostrik. It wasn’t a question he asked with any ire in his voice.

  “I haven’t decided.”

  Ostrik squeezed shut his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He winced as he said it.

  “So Half-Heart has humility after all.”

  “Only when about to lose a…friend.”

  Rend sighed. “How can I feel any sort of goodness? We have just killed so many.”

  “They attacked us,” said Kasulta.

  “Really Kas?”

  Kasulta shrugged.

  “So much death,” said Ostrik. “So you say. It’s the life we chose. We know exactly how many lives are lost everyday like this.”

  “It’s the way the world works,” said Kasulta.

  “So it is,” sighed Rend. “Let’s get moving. Sigvali is out there. We still need a ship and a crew.”

  “Let’s hope Grim’s been dealt with,” said Kasulta.

  ***

  Kasar felt numb. A hollowed out shell kneeling like a statue. The sun now bled over the eastern hills and estates. He vaguely heard steps behind him. He knew he should pay attention. What if it was Shaenik? What if it was Ostrik? A sellsword with a vengeance? Did he deserve it?

  He focused out of panic, and turned his head.

  A host of slaves and Cryppe at the lead.

  They looked as hollow as he, but they were free.

  “Cryppe,” gasped Kasar, trying to stand. Pain lanced through his leg. Cryppe caught him.

  “I found them. He’d just moved the ones he didn’t kill down the hall.”

  “How did we miss it?”

  Cryppe smiled sadly at his friend. “You were busy.”

  Kasar gulped. “This isn’t me.”

  “We all slip up.”

  “This is a big mistake. Look at all these…”

  “They attacked us, remember?”

  “They were fleeing.”

  “You saved these people too,” said Cryppe. Around them, the slaves and their ragged faces looked at the two friends with gratitude.

  “Are there any more?” asked Kasar. He was so tired. What if there were? Could he save them? Cryppe could. Yes, Cryppe would.

  The slaves murmured all at each other and then spoke. “Rhea did not betray us,” an elderly woman said. “A man named Dumai came in with clever lies. Shaenik believed them, or perhaps went along with them. To break you. And excuse the slaughter of our friends.”

  “Not that he needed any,” spat a slave in the back. Many agreed. “He was just hoping you’d kill Rhea.”

  “Dumai,” said Kasar. He couldn’t even feel anything. First he liked the woman, then he hated her, now he pitied her. “Where is Rhea?”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Dead most likely,” said the elderly woman. “What use would they have for her?”

  A stab of guilt struck Kasar. When Ostrik and his crew had knocked them out, they must have taken Rhea and planted this story. Regardless of the story itself, which was like salt to an open wound, Shaenik knew they were coming. Dumai could have come alone to Shaenik, and so Shaenik only knew Kasar was coming, but not that Ostrik and crew were raiding his manor.

  Clever, cruel, and worst of all, it had all worked out. Unless the guards they sent to the manor when they rescued Vorza had done their job. Kasar needed rest. This was too much. Plots and counterplots, and as far as he knew, neither of them were talented schemers. Ostrik was a bloody pirate. Kasulta, an arcane pugilist, and Rend, a stranger with magical capabilities.

  “What now?” asked Cryppe. “No more slaves. Not under Shaenik’s command at least.”

  “There’s always more,” said the elderly woman. “We do not have the drive like Rhea and the dead did. They wished to free all.”

  “You have the drive,” said Kasar. “We all do. We all want to shatter the chains that bind us. We’re human.”

  Everyone eyed Kasar the bloody sellsword who slew a hundred men. Or so the legend would say. The slaves all were thinking of it now. Grimblade. Liberator of the sands and the seas.

  The slaves all looked at each other. Some looked uplifted. Some were defeated. Others just wanted to leave. Kasar knew when you placed a haggard bunch in a room and showed them freedom, blood, and some rousing words, the effect it had was addictive.

  “Stick it to Shaenik,” said Kasar. “If not for freedom or honor, then for spite. Have him come for you tongues with knives, and take his instead. Have him try to shackle you, then break them when he does.”

  Energy rose. Like lightning right before it strikes. Building up and up.

  Cryppe joined. “You are a few hundred men. There’s a few hundred thousand around. Why did they chain you? Labor? Sure. Now show them what you’ve built by tearing it down.”

  “Machines of war,” said a young woman in the back. “Rhea said they would be the new mainstay for the seas. Ironclads inspired off of Vrodian makes.”

  “I heard there was blood magic going into them,” said another man. “They have one in town.”

  “So will you let them have it?” asked Kasar. The sun now shone on all of them.

  “NO!” cried the slaves. The horde rushed back into the compound. Many split off and rushed to other locations. Shaenik was once the richest man in the northern estates of the city. Soon he would find his home burned, made a pyre for fiery hearts emboldened by freedom and spite.

  ****

  They made it back to the rendezvous. Now that they knew Rhea was no traitor, they didn’t need to worry about the location being revealed.

  They saw before them a pleasant sight. Vorza strode with a reedy Vrodian and they sang together in their tongue. A warchant.

  When the two laid their eyes on Kasar and Cryppe, they laughed.

  “I told you,” said Sigvali. “The frost listens. Even when not on the sacred motherland.”

  Kasar had never seen Vorza so happy before.

  “Kasar, my lad,” he said. “You made it.” He embraced him. Kasar grunted. “You look like shit.”

  “I’ve been through a scuffle or two,” laughed Kasar, though it came out dry..

  “Cryppe,” said Vorza. “Thank you for bringing him out.”

  “It was a trap,” said Cryppe. “Many died.”

  Kasar’s face darkened at the memory of those slain slaves.

  “We freed a few hundred slaves under Shaenik’s control.” Cryppe turned to the city that spanned before them. “You’ll be seeing quite the light show soon.”

  Sigvali smiled sadly. “Many will die in their warpath.”

  “Good,” said Vorza.

  Kasar gulped realizing that even the slaves, with the passionate spite, would kill more than he ever had before the day was done. Pillars of smoke already began popping around. Battalions of city guards, thugs, and sellswords had already begun moving. Their fears had proven correct. The city burned.

  Kasar was in no place to complain. Not after what he’d done. He swore to never ramble about morals. How could he ever preach his father’s words after he’d slaughtered so many.

  Sigvali patted Kasar on the shoulder. “I believe you were looking for a way to save lives and free yourselves from this island?”

  Yes, sir.” Kasar felt numb. His body ached from his wounds and his fatigue had seeped deep into his Mind and Body.

  Sigvali looked at Vorza, at Kasar, and then finally at Cryppe. His eyes rested on Cryppe’s for a moment. “We all have a part to play in this. But first, we must rest.”

  ****

  Kasar had fallen straight to sleep. Outside fires burned, shouts bellowed, and smoke billowed about like a wind of righteous violence. Vorza had gone out to scout. Sigvali and Cryppe kept watch.

  “I can’t sleep,” said Sigvali. “For a while that’s all I could do in one cell or the other.”

  “I understand,” said Cryppe. “Why did you look at me like that? You meant those words for me.”

  Sigvali glanced at Kasar. “He will not hear us. Vorza has gone to scout. These next words are also only for you.”

  Cryppe’s brows raised.

  “I am a Vrodian. So I must preserve my countryman.” His eyes flitted to Vorza’s bedroll. “I was once a Devil who walked the Path. So I must preserve a student of the arts.” He jutted his chin to a sleeping Kasar.

  “What does this mean for me?” Cryppe said, suddenly on edge.

  “My plan requires some daring actions.”

  “We’ve been doing nothing else this past week or so.”

  “You will do this action.”

  Cryppe waited for Sigvali to continue.

  Sigvali sighed and licked his lips. “The fact that you do not protest doesn’t make this easier, Cryppe. You are a good man.”

  “We’re all good men. Or try to be.”

  Sigvali raised his pipe to that. He rummaged through his pockets and procured a red stone, dark as blood. “This is something I crafted using my skills. The one they wish me to use for them.”

  “What is it?”

  “Useless. They don’t know that, though.”

  “I see where this is going. You want it to be known that you need that.”

  “Then I want you to steal it. I want you to break me as you do. So it is convincing.”

  Cryppe winced at that.

  “I can take it, lad. Now listen. They will hunt you down. You need to survive on these Isles for a bit longer while I think of something. A way to save my captured countrymen. It will give us time, and I will be seen as doing my work.”

  “I can survive.”

  “I know you can, but it won’t be easy. You’ll have to go into the jungles. The Isles are still large and much of the land has yet to be settled. Monsters, and bandits alike roam those parts.”

  “I understand.”

  “This way, I keep my end of the bargain in their eyes, and Kasar and Vorza get to leave.”

  A silence ensued between them.

  “It is a grave task I give you. And it is not fair,” said Sigvali.

  Cryppe looked at his sword. “It is my duty.”

  “This is one of the Blades of Power?”

  Cryppe nodded.

  “Justice?”

  “Yes.”

  “My condolences”

  Cryppe sighed in agreement.

  “You are a good man.”

  “You are cunning,” said Cryppe with a smile. “Time is what you need.”

  “I can forge something for them, but it won’t be what they expect.”

  Cryppe frowned. “Surely, they have precautions in case you sabotage their plans.”

  “The precautions are the lives of those I wish to save… Hopefully by then, I won’t need to worry.”

  Cryppe nodded. “Kasar wants to travel the mainland with me.”

  “He may never get to.”

  “I will speak to him. No details. Only… Only that I promise to find him after all this is done.”