The Brat's Final Gambit

When the strange episode hit Davin again, he stumbled and barely made it to one of the lampposts lining the sidewalk in the seedy part of town. He made it just in time to reach out and steady himself as terrible buzzing filled his head. Around the periphery of his vision, his sight darkened, forcing him to shut his eyes and rub them vigorously. This usually cleared things up, but this time the wriggling lines framing his sight remained.

After taking a shortcut that had been anything but, Davin wasn’t just sick, he was lost. To make matters worse, walking in this part of Kalavere was not like him at all, yet here he was. “Must be loosing my mind,” he said shakily. Why had he impulsively given in to an overpowering urge to take this road? Well . . . that choice hadn’t been entirely by impulse, had it?

There had been a voice. Lack of sleep played funny tricks on people, and the voice had insisted on taking this street—this dark, dirty, derelict street. With a bag full of money only a fool brought to places like this.

Maybe he had heard someone nearby talking to a companion.

Focusing on the moment, Davin looked around, worried that he might have been seen by any number of the unsavory types frequenting this rundown district. Everything around him lay quiet and still, and all he wanted to do was get back to the inn where his father and brothers were staying. The only problem was that he had an errand to run. By his best guess, the silversmith’s shop lay several streets over. Davin had seen an alley running in the direction he needed to go, but it looked worse than the street he now occupied. He knew he had to get out of there, though. Now.

Just as he pushed away from the post to find a safer route, the spell got worse. Vertigo nearly overwhelmed him. What was happening to him? A strange illness called the nods, as capricious as it was mysterious, seemed to have settled in among the people living in the Lake Valleys Province. Davin wondered if this could be it.

The world began to spin off kilter. He felt as if it was going to upend itself and spill him into the open sky. Davin moaned as a new sensation even more unwelcome than dizziness began to creep into his gut. An upwelling force within him suddenly pushed from somewhere deep down, as if a vast, subterranean sea within his body was now beginning to rise up, ready to break through and explode into the world. He began to tremble. But before he became sick and fell, the feeling lessened. Davin opened his eyes, and the world quickly faded back into solidity; only now he realized he was bent at a right angle, staring at the cobblestone walk. Unsteadily, he righted himself. As sweat began to pour down his brow, Davin took out a cloth and wiped himself dry. As quickly as the spell had came on, it was gone.

GO. There it was again . . . that voice, that urge. GO AND TURN.

Davin shook his head and waited a moment. Nothing. He had to be imagining the voice. One thing was certain, though—he had to get back to the inn. I’ll just be careful in the alley, he reassured himself. If he could take it and do this errand for his father, he could quickly make it back and lay down.

Davin set off slowly and shakily. When the alley opened beside him, he took a look down it and momentarily paused when he saw how the darkness clung to the narrow cobblestones. Deep recesses staggered along the edge of the alley like the warped uneven boards of an old, rundown shack.

Davin wanted nothing more than to get out of there. Only one lone man reclined against the edge of a long row of buildings. He appeared to be a harmless beggar.

Nothing else stirred.

Time slipped by.

GO, a voice within Davin urged, only this time the voice seemed louder. He shook his head. He knew he had to be sick.

Hesitantly, Davin stepped into the alley. The man further down looked up briefly and then back down. He appeared to be absorbed in thoughts of his own. Davin wanted to be through this quickly. Picking up his pace, he walked into the gloom. Shards of broken pottery and glass littered the street. As he approached the spot where the solitary figure reclined, he caught in the corner of his eye the shape of another man standing half concealed behind a stack of empty wine barrels. The hackles rose on the back of Davin’s neck. An aura of menace surrounded the figure, a dark taint that drew the shade around him like a filthy blanket. He nearly stopped and backed away, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had to go on. Before Davin picked up his pace again, the man ahead of him suddenly straightened.

“You’ve got to pay to use this ally, boy,” the man said and stepped forward. His voice was garbled as if there were something wrong with his mouth.

Davin stopped. Without warning, the alien buzzing suddenly jolted through his head again. “I’m sorry?” he asked. This couldn’t be happening right now!

“You’ve got to pay.”

“I’ll just go back,” Davin said quickly.

The man stepped into a narrow shaft of light. He was filthy. “You’ve got to pay to go back,” he slurred.

The buzzing in Davin’s head intensified. He grew nauseous. Down in the sub-cellars of his soul, something alarming began to stir. I’ve got to get out of here, Davin thought. He backed away, but the figure before him followed. Half the teeth in the thief’s mouth were missing. His nose looked like a squad of the Crown’s guards had conducted formation practice on his face.

Davin spun and started walking toward the street. I’ll just pretend the other man’s not there, give him no reason to bother me any further. But as Davin finished this thought, he barely made it ten steps before the other man stepped out of the shadows and barred his way.

“He’s going to get away, Grav,” the other thief growled.

Davin stopped. His heart lurched nearly into his throat. The new thief slowly pulled a rusty short sword from the scabbard hanging at his side. Its blade looked sharp. From behind him, the dirty, toothless thief named Grav said, “He’s no merchant’s errand boy! Look at him. He’s lucky if he’s got anything more than a copper or two.”

Davin’s world began to tilt. He fought the urge to reach a hand out to steady himself. The last thing he needed was to show these men weakness. Instead, Davin struggled with all of his might to stave off the spinning and tilting sensation.

“You mean our coppers?”

Grav stared dumbly at Davin. “Borl, I didn’t think he was worth it,” he stammered.

“Look, like he said, I’m not worth the trouble,” Davin agreed quickly. Desperately, he looked around for help. No pedestrians passed by the sidewalk beyond the alley entrance. Davin would have traded a year of his life for a patrol of the Crown guard to pass by at that moment. He felt more alone than he had ever been in his entire life. Slowly, Borl moved forward. There was menace in his approach, and something told Davin that the thief was experienced in this sort of work.

Davin backed up. But how far could he honestly move before they struck?

“No one’s going to help you here, boy,” the attacker jeered. “Let’s see how much money you have and you won’t be hurt.”

Behind him, he heard the gritty tread of Grav’s dirty boots start toward him.

Davin knew he was about to die if he didn’t get out of this quickly. He had heard their names and seen their faces—enough to start a search by the Crown guard. Quickly, Davin pushed himself to the edge of the alleyway hoping to buy himself enough space to dart past Borl, but the thug was in front of him before he could safely move past.

If they had been unarmed and if he had been well, he could have taken them, but blades changed things. His head felt as if it was going to fly apart. Davin suddenly stumbled. He knees buckled.

Borl laughed and gave a sardonic smile that revealed an uneven row of yellow teeth. “Go ahead, yell. Nobody’s coming.”

A cold shiver ran down Davin’s back. He tensed and tried to lift himself off of the cobblestones to fight, but his legs felt useless. He could yell, but no one would hear. .

Davin sucked in a breath. If he was going to die, he would do it with dignity. “No,” Davin said through clenched teeth. “I’m not. Like you said, nobody will hear.”

Borl lifted the sword tip casually. “You’ve got fight. It’s been too long since I’ve had to work at sticking this in someone.”

“Look,” Davin said, “I might have a little money.” Quickly, he cast a furtive glance down the alley. The buzzing in his head grew into a steady thrumming. Sweat began to trickle down from his brows and threatened to send stinging runnels into his eyes. Davin wiped it away. He knew he couldn’t afford to fight in this shape. The toothless man pulled out a small dagger, and Davin noted a small glint reflected briefly off of the edge. It was sharp.

Razor sharp.

“I’ll have a look in that cloak for myself,” Grav slurred. Spatters of mud clung to his pant legs, and his shirt looked as if he hadn’t changed it in weeks.

Davin’s heart pounded. Silently, he cursed his stupid decision to try to find a shortcut to the silversmith. “I need you to stop so I can get it, okay?” As Davin said this, he held his hands out in a pacifying gesture. “Okay?”

The thief waved his dagger with an evil grin. Davin knew he didn’t stand much of a chance in a fight with these thieves, not in the shape he was in. Not with a blade involved. And in his head the thrumming became more insistent. Oh Lord, not now! Please not now! he prayed. If this episode hit him as hard as the last one, he was finished.

The thief stopped. “Alright, then. Let’s see what you’ve got, there.”

Davin held his trembling hands out, open, and fought to keep his words even and calm. He didn’t want to antagonize things any more than they already were. “My money pouch is right here in my cloak.” Slowly he took his hand and reached down to where the pouch was securely looped over his belt. Fumbling, he found the silversmith’s money.

“I’ve got it,” he said once he unwound the leather cord. “I’m pulling it out nice and slowly . . . there, see?” Davin held it up so the thief could see the fat bag, and then shook it so that the coins within jingled, “See. Hear that? That’s yours. I’m going to toss it to you.”

With a light motion, Davin threw the bag. It landed at Grav’s filthy boots. The toothless man regarded it greedily, and with an avaricious lurch, he bent to retrieve the pouch. To Davin’s horror, Borl said in a hard voice, “This one’s seen too much.”

Grav gave a silent nod, and then both men drew up to him. Their eyes were cold and unsympathetic. Davin wanted to bolt and run, but his legs were like mud. Hot terror burned within him.

Somewhere deep within Davin, the thing that had been stirring now came to the surface like a raging flood. As it burst forth within him, he only had time to think, Oh God! The Sea! As the two attackers narrowed the distance between them, Borl raised his sword. Davin flinched, preparing to take the blow, but suddenly the world seemed to slow . . . to slow . . . and to stop.

That was when something amazing happened, something Davin was completely unprepared for. The sea Davin had felt within the depths of his soul rose and engulfed him. Pressure exerted a million pounds upon every inch of him, squeezing away the dizziness, squeezing away the terror, squeezing away every thought until all the pressure left was the feeling that he floated, suspended in the middle of an abyss, placid, and motionless—utterly still.

There was no fear, no anxiety, no desire to run. Time had no meaning. A blankness lay across his perception of everything like a painter’s template. And then something within Davin succumbed to the pressure of the sea around him, and he felt it beginning to pour back into him. And in an instant Davin knew what to do.

He took in the scene, and a new knowledge poured into him with the sea. As he regarded the men, he knew, he just knew things about them. He didn’t know where the knowing came from, only that it came. He sized them up, and in a hairsbreadth of a second, found them wanting as adversaries. Their capabilities and weaknesses were his to deal with the way a potter shaped his wares on the spinning wheel.

Grav was inconsequential. Davin knew he could easily knock Grav’s knife out of his hands with a clean swipe and deliver a crushing blow to his throat. But did he want to take it that far?

Borl was worse. He was killer who preyed on people foolish enough to stray into his little circle the way a beetle inadvertently fell into a funnel weaver’s trap. And that was when the anger began to build. Davin saw in an instant how many lives had Borl ruined. He saw all of the innocent men, women, and children had failed to come home because of him. The worst of all Borl’s crimes? Somewhere on the western outskirts of Kalavere lay a twelve-year-old girl permanently scarred by what he had done to her one night. It had happened as she had been walking home with her brother about a week ago. The sun had only just set, and there was enough dim light to walk along the trail leading them home, and they almost made it there, didn’t they? Almost. Images flowed into his mind. He felt like he was going to vomit as they did. He saw what Borl did to them. The beast had been in the woods that evening too, lurking in the shadows, always lurking in the shadows, always waiting like a spider to pounce. When he surprised them, he drove his sword into the boy’s chest. Then he had his way with the girl and left her to die alone.

But she had lived, and now she lay in bed, barely alive, with a family traumatized and in pain. And as Davin stood there in that momentary slice of eternity, he felt his anger grow white hot. Time gradually began to move. He heard the laborious intake of Grav’s breath, and the plodding lud-lub of Borl’s wretched heart. He saw a bead of sweat drop from his own eyebrow and hang in suspension for what felt like hours. And still, something within him grew soft and malleable with the heating of his anger, the very essence of the moment.

And Davin knew.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw that Borl had overextended his arms in preparation for the blow. He should have delivered the force of the killing blow from the hips rather than relying on the arc of the swing to build up momentum. It was a mistake. Borl’s very life was a mistake, and Davin stood to do something about that.

Ordinary time came back to Davin with a snap, but something still remained within him of the moment he had just experienced. Davin leapt lightly to the left, his arm shot up and grabbed Borl’s at the apogee of its swing. Their eyes locked, and the smug expression suddenly disappeared from the thief’s face. Borl’s eyes widened in shock, and before he could get more than a confused, “Wha—” out of his mouth, with a palm open and extended, Davin rammed the thief’s face, breaking his nose with a loud crunch. He stepped around with his right leg and brought the thug’s sword arm around in an arc, spilling the weapon with a loud, metallic clang, and Davin brought it up sharply behind his attacker, adding a savage twist as he did so. An audible pop followed as his arm fractured at the elbow, and Davin flipped Borl, now screaming, flat onto his back.

Davin then turned to Grav, and used a two-handed slap that sent his dagger tumbling through the air. Davin used the moment of surprise to drive his fist into the thief’s face. What teeth he had left collapsed from their sockets. Blood spurted in fat, streaming dollops from his busted lips and he fell back waving his arms vainly to stop his fall. Grav hit the hard stones with a loud grunt and flopped over like a freshly caught fish. He remained where he fell, writhing in pain and clutching his mouth with his hands.

Davin walked over to him, took a fistful of his hair, and began dragging him to where Borl thrashed on the ground in agony. Grav screamed, but Davin ignored it. Then he lifted Grav up onto his knees. Bending, Davin put his face right next to Grav’s ear. The smell coming from the man made him feel sick. When Davin spoke, his voice surprised him. There was a feral quality to it, like a wildcat’s growl, only lower, more gravelly. “I want you to take a look at this man, Grav . . . do you see him?”

Grav shook his head rapidly.

“Good. This is what you almost ended up like, Grav. Is that how you want the rest of your life to go?”

Grav shook his head.

Davin jerked it back so that his gaze could burn into the thief’s eyes. “Look at me!” he demanded. “Look into the face of the person you were about to rob and kill!”

Grav’s eyes still remained fixed on the ground. Davin reached his hand back and delivered a slap, hard, flat, and fast across the upper half of the man’s face. Fleetingly, Grav’s eyes rolled back, and Davin administered a vicious twist to the thief’s hair. His eyes shot open.

“That’s good, Grav. Keep both of those eyes here on mine, alright? Can you do that?”

Grav nodded his head. His face began to tremble. Between bloody fingers he began to cry, and his body shook as his crying turned into heavy sobs. “Great Lord, I’m sorry!” he wailed. “Don’t hurt me! Please don’t hurt me!”

“If I did, it’s no less than you deserve, Grav.”

“I’m sorry,” he moaned pitifully. As his body was wracked with hitching breaths, he cried out, “Great Lord, your eyes! Please . . . I swear. I’ll do anything!”

“Good, Grav. Because that’s what I needed to hear. I needed to know that you would do whatever it took to save your sorry hide.” Davin let him go, stepped back, and crossed his arms.

“Your eyes!” Grav continued to whimper.

“Never mind those,” Davin said levelly. “Eyes are the least of your concerns.”

“Please!” Grav begged.

Davin ignored him. He walked around to the other side of Borl, who was trying to lift himself with his one good arm. Davin delivered a sharp, swift kick to the murderer. The thug’s head snapped back and he collapsed to the cobblestones, where his body immediately went limp. Davin bent and reached beneath Ravel’s long tunic and retrieved his money pouch. Then, he turned to Grav. “Run,” he told the filthy thief. “Now.”

The thief got up on his unsteady legs with his head hung down and drops of blood raining down from his fingers. Tears poured down his face, lacing watery red tracks with the dried blood. “Th-thank you for not turning me in. It would have been a d-death sss-sentence,” he slurred.

Davin waved a dismissive hand. He was done with Grav. The thief turned and began running, trailing the flapping ends of his shirt like a wounded bat’s wings behind him. A hot furnace of rage still seethed within Davin. This man—and he hardly deserved to be called a man at all—was a different matter entirely. He had done too many terrible things to be allowed to go free. Looking around, Davin tried to locate some rope or chain long enough to tie him up. Borl had to be dealt with. Oh yes indeed, he had to be dealt with right away.