“Could you stop twirling that thing around?” said Sara, as the tip of Gilead’s newly-purchased sword came within a handful of centimeters of cutting into her shirt-sleeve.
“I twirl not,” he replied. “It is called practice. If I am to learn the use of this… what did he call it?”
“Pedang,” Sara said. “Which I’m fairly certain is just Malay for ‘sword’, but who’s keeping track.”
“This pedang will be the thing that safekeeps me from death in battle,” Gilead continued. “I must know it as well as I knew Ertanax.”
Sara rolled her eyes. “Then practice it somewhere else, please. There are people everywhere, you’re going to hurt someone.”
Gilead, Sara, and Zahra were now waiting in line at the southern gate out of Carlisle, hoping to leave before the news of what they’d done caught up with them. The odds of that had been greatly increased by Gilead’s need to track down the one import shop that sold sharpened steel swords, then spend ten minutes carefully examining each object individually until he found the one that felt best in the hand.
And now, with bystanders tightly packed both in front of and behind them, Gilead had decided to drop into a low stance and start practicing his flourishes, muttering about his failures in between every movement.
“I am not going to hurt anyone,” Gilead said. He had stopped his routine for a moment at Sara’s complaint, but resumed at that moment, eyes going unfocused and distant.
“Are you insane? You’re swinging that thing around at full force, there are people everywhere!”
Indeed, though Gilead was critical of his own performance to an extreme degree, the short, curved blade completely throwing off his understanding of how to move with a weapon, the sword was a blur around him. The eye could not follow its arcing cuts, its lightning thrusts, and Gilead’s own stance moved instantly from high to low and back.
Without stopping, Gilead replied, “I have cut through a knight’s eye-slit while in a roiling battle. My blade goes where I mean it to, and nowhere else.”
As he said this, Gilead’s focus wavered and his reflexes took over, reflexes which were accustomed to a longer sword with a different center of gravity. As he drew his arm back for a wheeling downward cut, the blade slipped in his hand, slicing along the back of his neck.
“Ow, fuck!”
The sword went back into its sheath.
“Exactly where you meant it to go, I assume?” Sara said with a grin.
Gilead glowered at her, but had no riposte. For the next quarter of an hour, Gilead seethed quietly, while Sara entertained Zahra by telling a story from when she was a teenager, of how she constructed an elaborate prank to humiliate a boy who kept trying to get her to kiss him.
With the exception of Zahra’s presence, this was a pattern which Gilead knew well. He was the protector, the knight, the core of chivalry and morality against which the maiden could find support. Except that the maiden was not only a Pretender, but in possession of that little black hand-gun, a weapon of terror far beyond a blade. It was true what he’d said, that he needed to adapt to the short, curved pedang-blade, but that was only half of it. If he was to prove worthy of protecting Sara, Gilead held little doubt that he would have to fight harder than he ever had before.
If he couldn’t protect her, then what else did he have? Death and time had taken away everything else.
Sara finished her first story and started a second one, this one about her time with a group she just called “The Resistance”; whether it was as comedic in tone as the first, Gilead didn’t get to find out. They’d reached the front of the line.
“Names?”
“Sara Ajami. And this is my sister Zahra, same surname."
“Is this man with you?”
“We are traveling together, but we’ve met only today. And he’s apparently sworn a vow of chastity, if you care about my honor.”
The guard, stiff-backed and in possession of an impressively bushy mustache, did not seem to care much for Sara’s honor. “And the gentleman’s name?”
“Sir Gilead du Carbennic,” Gilead said.
“Sir?” said the guard, raising an eyebrow.
Gilead rolled his eyes. “I am a… backarounder, is I believe the term. But in life I was named knight, and my title recognized by no higher authority than Arthur himself.”
The guard looked slightly buffeted, but looked down at his list. This was the risky part; if the news had already gotten here, this was where they would get arrested for murder. Gilead tensed, putting his hand on his belt of woven gold, a few centimeters in front of his sword.
“Oh, right here, says you arrived yesterday. Move along.”
Gilead, Sara, and Zahra moved as quickly as possible through the gatehouse, and nearly ran to get out of the crowd that naturally formed on the far side of it. Only once they were decently out of earshot on the far side did they slow down and resume their conversation.
“Who’s Arthur?” said Zahra.
“My king,” Gilead replied instantly. “Or he was, at least. High King of all the Britons, son of Uther Pendragon. I blame thee not for knowing nothing of him, not after fourteen centuries.”
“About King fucking Arthur?” Sara said. “Is this some kind of joke?”
Gilead looked between the two of them, deeply befuddled. “No?”
Sara’s expression fell. “Oh. Oh no. You mentioned being a Knight of the Round Table when you were fighting Rutter, didn’t you? Jesus Christ, you’re being serious!”
Gilead winced reflexively at the Lord’s name being taken in vain. “Entirely serious! But I see not how my allegiance to my monarch could be taken as a joke!”
“King Arthur is a story for children!” Sara said, voice fraying with emotion. “He’s a Disney cartoon, Merlin and Morgan and a magic sword! And you, who looks like an American movie star and can turn fifteen armed men into mincemeat, are telling me that not only do you also know about that, but it was also real?”
Gilead took several seconds to collect himself. “So,” said he, trembling from a mix of awe and pride, “Arthur is still remembered after all?”
“You could say that, yes,” said Sara.
Zahra’s eyes narrowed. “Are you a crusader, then?”
“What’s a crusader?” Gilead replied.
Sara’s face went very tight. “Zahra, this man just saved my life. He’s clearly not that kind of knight.”
“Indeed. Whatever a crusader is, if it means someone who wishes any harm towards the helpless, or who uses his strength for unjust causes, then he is the opposite of what I am.”
Zahra’s eyes did not un-narrow, and she folded her arms over her chest. “If you’re so helpful, then carry me. My feet hurt.”
“Zahra, please don’t act so—”
Before Sara could finish chastising her sister, Gilead dropped low and swept Zahra off her feet, hefting the girl onto his shoulder with ease. She clapped and squealed with the kind of unbroken vigor that only an eight-year-old can provide.
“Now then. We should get going. It’s quite a long way to Carbennic.”
As it so happened, though, they didn’t make it very far at all before their first interruption. Sara, with her keen eyes, was the first to notice. Surreptitiously, she crossed the width of the path until she was close enough to whisper into Gilead’s ear without looking like anything unusual was happening.
“Put Zahra down. There’s something in the branches of the tree with the split-open trunk.”
Gilead heaved Zahra off of his shoulder, and once he could move more freely, searched for the tree in question. It took him several seconds to identify the one Sara was referring to, and several more seconds to realize that there was anything unusual about its branches. But indeed, there was. Something small and pale and entirely unnatural crouched, hidden behind the boughs. Gilead put his hands on his belt, one ready to draw his sword and the other reaching for an octagonal shield he’d purchased from the same importer.
Suddenly, movement. The pale object launched itself out of the tree at a careening downward angle, landing in a branch of another tree closer to the ground. It bounced back and forth, barely disturbing the sticks in spite of the incredible speed of its movement, a barely-visible pale blur that zigzagged through the air before landing in a puff of dry dirt but a handful of meters in front of Gilead and Sara.
They were a person, but not one like any of them had ever seen. Their whole body seemed to be made out of porcelain or plastic, smooth and ranging in color from chalk to the pale brown of sand, with the joints and stomach being composed of heavily articulated plates. The most detailed part of their entire body was the face, with eyes that could turn and focus and mobile eyebrows, but even that more closely resembled the exaggerated proportions of a puppet than anything trying to be truly human.
“My name is Qi Zhen of the Sublime Titanium Sect,” they said, speaking with a faint and unplaceable accent. “I am searching for a sect asset with pertinent information about an unusual perturbation sighted in this region. You,”–they pointed at Sara–“match the description.”
Gilead moved instantly to place himself between Qi Zhen and Sara, drawing his sword and shield.
“Gilead, no! She’s Sublime Titanium, their field agents are master fighters!”
“I am not a ‘she’,” Qi Zhen said. “But yes. I am not to be underestimated, and I do not take well to brutes attempting to dissuade me from my path.”
“I’m not your fucking asset, either,” Sara continued. “There’s more than one brown woman in Carlisle, you know.”
Qi Zhen’s pupils adjusted, somehow looking past Gilead at Sara while still focusing on the imminent threat. “Correct. But it remains the case that I cannot allow any lead to go un-examined. We are going to have a talk, you and I. Without this man.”
“If you wish to speak to my lady, you will do so in my presence, and under an oath of fair intentions.”
“Your lady?” said Qi Zhen.
“Your lady?” said Sara.
“My words matter not!” announced Gilead. “The only question at hand is whether we shall resolve this peacefully or with violence.”
“I don’t think you realize the nature of the power balance between us, human,” Qi Zhen said, their voice growing suddenly tinny and harsh. “Allow me to educate you.”
They lunged forward, body-lightening arts allowing them to close the space between themself and Sir Gilead in a fraction of an instant. Qi Zhen’s target was Gilead’s sword arm. Any normal person would have been caught off-guard by the sudden movement, but not Gilead; without even knowing what was happening, he acted instinctually, pivoting around to put his shield in front. It was just enough movement that Qi Zhen’s grapple missed its mark, followed immediately by the pointy end of Gilead’s shield crashing into their porcelain flank.
Qi Zhen slowed down, returning to something approaching human speed, doing a leaping evade out of Gilead’s reach.
“Hmph. Even a master of Northern Mantis Style such as myself must exercise great care when fighting against an armed opponent. But my skill will prevail.”
“Why do you Sect freaks always talk like you’re on pay-per-view,” said Sara, pointing her gun at Qi Zhen’s head.
“A proper xia always fights with bombast and straightforwardness, the better to—”
Sara fired a three-round burst, then another. Qi Zhen again leapt out of the way, spiraling artistically through the air, their speed a demonstration of skill and balance that only coincidentally carried them entirely out of the path of all six bullets.
As soon as they stopped moving, their speed and mass returning once more to baseline, Gilead was there, unleashing a complex series of carefully-aimed feints and strikes. Again Qi Zhen moved with impeccable, mechanical accuracy, deflecting each strike and a substantial portion of the feints with careful parries. Their arms, reinforced with steel, blocked every cut and thrust, sending sparks flying through the air at some of the harder clashes.
Then, in the middle of the exchange, Qi Zhen lashed out, a single blow timed precisely for the most vulnerable part of Gilead’s combat rhythm. Two fingers, mechanical joints locked into place, empowered to incredible strength by the unbeatable qi-refining techniques of the Sublime Titanium Sect, pierced Gilead’s side. Instantly, the knight went limp and fell onto his knees.
Qi Zhen wasted no time. “I just want you to know that I despise violence. To harm another is to harm oneself. And perhaps were I even more skilled than I am I could have resolved this peacefully. But it must be said that the fault lies partly with you for not being able to properly corral your bodyguard.”
Sara still had her gun out, for all the good that it would do. With no time to make new bombs since fighting Rutter, it was her only effective weapon, at least until she took up her First Pretension.
“Killing him isn’t going to win any points with me, you know,” Sara said. “And I told you already, I’m not your fucking asset.”
Qi Zhen stopped. “Are you certain? Did you not call in a report about an anomalous transbarrier entity sighting?”
“No! I don’t know what that is! And what did you do to Gilead?”
“I reacted with proportional force,” Qi Zhen said. “A qi-empowered surgical strike to a vulnerable point will instantly disable any human through severe internal bleeding. He may yet live if provided with immediate medical attention.”
At that very moment, Gilead lurched to his feet and raised the sword once more. “Face me, tailor’s mannequin.”
Qi Zhen spun around. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be coming to terms with having fifty percent the usual allotment of kidneys!”
“I have faced foes as diverse as giants with iron fists, dragons that set whole woods aflame, men who wear the skins of lions, and worse things yet. You shall have to do better if you wish to wound me.”
Qi Zhen promptly decided to do better, bolting across the space with a vicious lunging kick that used all of their strength and speed. But this time, Gilead was ready, and placed his shield directly in the path of the kick. The impact rang out like a gunshot, and Gilead skidded back three-quarters of a meter, but the kick failed to land home.
This time, Gilead let himself fall onto the defensive, using Qi Zhen’s own technique against them by waiting for the perfect time to strike. When Qi Zhen over-extended, he was ready, angling the saber in a perfect downward thrust at the joint of Qi Zhen’s neck.
There were two problems. Firstly was that Gilead was slow, the heavy wound in his side draining his stamina and making his movements sloppy. The second was the sword itself: with its curved point, making a thrust required Gilead to put himself at an unexpected angle that interfered with his stability.
Qi Zhen caught Gilead’s extended arm, and acting on complete reflex, took hold of it. Had Gilead been at peak form, he might have recognized the move and been able to counter it with his own body-weight, being as he was an experienced grappler himself. But Gilead was off-balance, and so it was an act of relative ease for Qi Zhen to drop low and, levering Gilead over their shoulder, throw him perfectly to the floor. A streak of agony went through Gilead’s sword arm, and he released the blade to fall to the floor.
Qi Zhen dropped low, one knee pressed into Gilead’s chest, one hand keeping Gilead’s arm in a joint lock. The other arm was poised to strike, two stiffened fingers aimed for a lethal pressure-point attack on Gilead’s throat. For a split second, nobody moved, and nobody dared to make a sound.
That silence was interrupted by a shrill beeping, sounding in time with a dull red light that flashed on and off behind Qi Zhen’s chest. A second later, a pleasant female voice emanated from their speakers, saying, “电池电量过低了百分之二十。请尽快充电。”
Qi Zhen’s eyes promptly went wide. They glanced around before, without any warning, leaping away from Gilead, then zig-zagging back into the trees. A few seconds later, they were entirely out of sight.
Sara kept her gun out, slowly approaching Gilead as he lay on the floor.
“Are you alright?”
“No,” said Gilead. “I am wounded passing sore, especially about the arm. I cannot move it.”
“Shit,” said Sara. She gave one final scan, making absolutely sure Qi Zhen wasn’t going to come back, then dropped to a knee. “Let me see it, I know a thing or two about first aid.”
Gilead shook his head. “Take me to a leech.”
Sara stared at him, probably trying to figure out what in the world he meant. “I’ll take you if it’s bad enough to need it. I just need to see what we’re dealing with first.”
She reached out for him. Gilead’s instinctive response was to shy away, to refuse to let Sara touch him, but the movement only exacerbated his injuries, and he screamed in pain. After a second, Sara tried again. Gilead realized that he had no choice in this matter: Sara was the only one around who could treat him, no matter how uncomfortable it might make him to have a woman touching his bare skin or, indeed, removing his shirt, as happened soon after.
“You’re full of bruises,” Sara said, “but as far as I can tell there’s no internal bleeding, not the kind that’ll kill you anyhow. The arm is a little messed up, but I think it’s just a sprain. Shouldn’t take more than a day or two to clear up. Hopefully.”
Despite how frivolously Sara phrased it, this was essentially a minor miracle; with Qi Zhen’s strength, Gilead really should have been dying on the ground, and with a ruptured tendon in his shoulder to boot. The only theory that she could come up with for why that wasn’t the case was that he was simply too tough, his musculature so dense and so developed that it acted to shield the joints and organs, like a boxer’s neck absorbing head blows. No wonder he was so reckless.
“Where did it go?” Gilead said. “That animated statue, what happened to it? It was about to kill me and then it retreated.”
Sara sighed. “I’m not entirely sure. But I think you may have… depleted its batteries?”
“What’s a battery?”
“I’ll explain it when we make camp. Now let’s see if we can get you back upright.”
Getting Gilead upright with only one functioning arm and Sara’s strength was not easy. It was especially challenging for Gilead, though, who not only had to coordinate his own movements, but also hold back the instinct to shiver every time Sara’s hand touched his back. His heart belonged to Dindrane, and Dindrane alone; but that didn’t make the sensation of skin contact any easier. It was like Sara could reach right through the flesh to touch the muscle beneath.
He let that thought fall by the wayside. The three of them continued down the path to Carbennic, pondering how many days their journey would take.