The Unworthy and The Damned Read online

"W-what do you mean?"

  "My, my"—sobs and sniffs broke up her speech—"pa got sick. He used to bury the bodies when no one else would, saying somebody should give respects to the dead, but last week he fainted showing signs of the plague. Ma took me and little brother to live with our uncle, saying we would come back home when Pa's better—but once you're sick, nobody gets better! How can she just leave our Pa to die, who raised us with his blood and sweat? I've been visiting him in secret, bringing him food and drink, but he keeps getting worse..." Celia shivered and had an urge to pull away and run, but something stopped her from doing so. "I once heard a story that these herbs together could cure any disease, so I snuck out to gather them. Thank you for telling me they're still good. Now that I have them, I can finally save Pa!"

  Darn that aggravating yet pitiable young ignorance. A combination of herbs being a panacea for any disease was the stuff of tall tales, too good to be true. While the girl had clearly worked hard, there seemed little chance it would do her father any good. Celia didn't have the heart to tell her the truth, but didn't want to outright lie either. "I'm sure God's providence will see your Pa through." Or more like the medicine Celia brought, if God allowed her to return with it in time.

  "If a learned traveler like you believes so, I know it's true!" She scooped the dirty herbs back up and stood. "I should hurry back, but it was nice meeting you. What's your name, by the way?"

  "Celia," she said after a pause, guilty still that she somewhat misled the girl.

  "I'm Shay. Good luck wherever you're going now. I hope we'll see each other again!"

  "Yeah, I hope so too." At least, if Shay's father wasn't dead by then and the girl angry at Celia for withholding the truth from her. "Take care of yourself."

  They parted ways, Shay radiant with hope despite a slight limp from wrenching her ankle, Celia cringing at how things had gone. Well, she'd probably be forgiven if her medicine wound up saving Pa's life. She would use this awkward encounter as further motivation to complete her task with the utmost haste, and save as many townsfolk as she could.

  #

  Her travel over forest roads for the rest of the day proved to be largely uphill, and tired her more than she expected by the time she stopped to rest for the night. She sneezed while setting up her bedroll, likely due to some irritant getting in her nose, but the plague immediately came to mind. Stop it, she told herself, that isn't even one of the major symptoms. The dimming of the light as the sun set made her wonder how many townspeople's lives would fade with it. This work didn't do much good for her mental state. She shouldn't complain, though. Her father was getting older, and if she wasn't here he would be in her stead. He had done enough hard work, now it came time for her to share some of the burden.

  Still, couldn't he have gotten her at least one bodyguard? She didn't feel the most comfortable out here alone, and her heart would be more settled with a traveling companion she could trust. But her dad had tackled many a business trip alone, and still did. He probably wanted her to prove she could be independent and worthy of being his successor, so she should get to bed in order to have the energy to make good headway tomorrow. Having finished her dinner of cooling chicken and dry bread, washed down with water, she lay down and started to tuck herself into the bedroll. She heard a crack sound nearby and stopped. It could just be an animal, but even then, likely a decent sized one. She stood and crept towards the noise, hand rising towards her hilt. Her heart pounded. Damn, it was dark. In this light, even being careful, she could easily fail to notice something before it was too late.

  A scrape sounded to her right. She jumped back just in time, drawing her blade while metal flashed through the air where she had stood a moment ago. Her eyes focused on the attacker, a burly wild-haired man in leathers with an axe. A bandit perhaps. Holding her awkwardly large sword in both hands before her, she asked shakily, "Who are you?" No response, the man with flat, dirty features pulling back his lips in a sneer to put the fear in her. She stepped back, sweat on her brow, and the corners of his mouth rose a bit. She wondered if he entertained thoughts of something more than simple robbery... he charged and she backpedaled. The axe blows that came too close, she parried; but despite her heavy blade, each contact between their weapons made it shift precariously in her grip. She retreated faster as to minimize clashes altogether, and her opponent quickened his steps to match her.

  Finally the leering man spoke. "I thought you might have a surprise or two up your sleeve with that huge sword, but you're no stronger than your skinny self looks. Why bother carrying such a big weapon if you can't use it well? For intimidation purposes I suppose, but even then you'd have been better off with something you can wield properly."

  Celia clenched her jaw. "For one who looks like a man of few words, you have a big mouth." She stopped backing up and swung. He blocked it, shoved her away and ran after her. She dodged a few angry slashes, gasped when she had to deflect one with her blade and staggered. He raised his axe high and sprang.

  She sidestepped the telegraphed downward chop, cutting low as she did. He grunted from her sword ripping into his belly, then looked down with widening eyes as it dawned on him what had happened. He screamed, a high and rather girlish sound for a man of his build, and screamed again, falling to his knees while he tried to catch his guts in his hands. Celia wasn't the biggest fan of executions, but in this case her foe was already doomed and not finishing him would just leave him to a slow, torturous death. She bought her heavy blade down on the back of his neck. A shock ran up her arms as it connected, then went through, and his head rolled a couple feet before bumping up against a sapling trunk. His final wide-eyed expression looked as much accusing as incredulous, but it wasn't a merchant's job to engage in "fair" fights in lieu of taking a more pragmatic route to success. Any friends of his, however, wouldn't similarly underestimate her after finding out what happened to him. Though it annoyed her to give up the night's rest, she should move on before they showed up.

  #

  Her legs ached mightily after several more hours of hiking, and her shoulders and back which supported the weight of her gear didn't feel the best either. She wanted to believe it would be okay to stop and take a breather, but couldn't know at all how close her attacker's allies might have been to him or how far they would track her. She thought it more likely for him to have allies than be working alone, at least. Still, if she didn't rest she would be even weaker and less able to defend herself should they catch up. She decided to risk climbing sluggishly up a large tree and getting some light shut-eye nestled among the limbs, where she hoped any enemies wouldn't spot her before their sounds alerted her to their presence.

  Being so weary, she dozed off easier than expected seated atop a thick limb. But her nerves amid danger kept her from falling too deeply asleep, and the next thing she became aware of was the noise of a group approaching. Her eyes snapped open just as the word "bitch" grew clear in her ears, and she grinned slightly despite herself. So that was how the trio of rough-looking scumbags below thought of her... how flattering. Wait, they knew her to be a woman? She wasn't sure if that made sense. The one she'd killed was, well, dead, so how did they ascertain that? They could have looked at her tracks, but being tall, she had relatively big feet and wore sensible boots indistinguishable in tread from a man's. Unless one of them was a superb tracker able to detect some minute difference between a male and female stride, they shouldn't be able to tell. So maybe they weren't random bandits after all, but a group specifically after her. Either way, their profanity-laden rants about butchering her once they found her raised her ire. What right did they have to be angry when their comrade tried to kill her, a merchant girl minding her own business, first?

  She weighed her options of running again, continuing to hide until they left, or taking the fight to them. If she did the first, she would once again deprive herself of rest and put herself on the path of being run down like a game animal. The second might be safer, if it succeeded, but wouldn't g
ive her any clue as to why she was being hunted. Thus, the third choice strongly tempted her. She could kill or disable the men, keeping at least one alive to question afterward. She'd be at a numbers disadvantage, but there were only three of them—if she took one out by surprise, their advantage would technically be as small as it could get. Heh, she was pretty scared she realized, the blood pounding in her neck while she tried to convince herself. But in the face of fear, she wasn't one to prolong the scary situation and let it drag on when she might have a chance to turn things around.

  She crouched there on the tree limb and waited for the group to pass below. When they did, she hopped off, swinging her sword down in a long arc. It struck the nearest man's shoulder and continued on, burying deep into his ribcage. Killed before he knew he'd been hit by the shock of having his torso near torn in half, he fell bonelessly off the blade to lie like a pile of rags on the ground. His surviving companions gawked at her. "She's strong!" said a chubby man holding a spear. "B-but they only said we'd be dealing with a merchant's teenage daughter..."

  Strong? Maybe, but the drop added a lot of momentum to her devastating stroke, and the impact still hurt her arms quite a bit. Trying not to show it, she regarded them with a smile and lifted the sword again. "I am teenage, though almost twenty, and I am the daughter of a merchant. But that hardly puts fighting amateurs out of my league."

  "What did you say?" Her other remaining pursuer, a gaunt man with a sword, sprang. A small relief that he attacked first since he wouldn't have as much of a weight advantage on her, though he might still be more dangerous. Hopefully her luck would hold up. She met his charge head on, glad to find she could lock blades with him without being pushed too easily back. As their faces moved close to each other, she unleashed her best approximation of an intimidating shriek. He leaned harder on her, trying to push her back with a scowl. "You won't cow me, you're just a-"

  Celia jumped away, making him stumble a half step as the resistance to his forward pressure disappeared. She slashed low, the tip of her long blade ripping across his knees. He yelped. "Slow. Dumb."

  He turned red with rage and rushed limping forward again, his huskier comrade close behind. Now it got tougher, but she had a plan. She darted sideways, and when the injured man tried to turn quickly to follow, he paused in pain. Her sword swept towards his leg. His weapon dipped down to guard, but just too slow as her edge bit deep into his calf. He screamed, falling to one knee. His ally's spear thrust over him, seeking her chest. Uh oh. She leaned back, but the point grazed her shoulder while passing over it. It stung, not too bad yet, though it made her hiss. But seeing her bleed seemed to invigorate her adversary, who launched into a fast though sloppy flurry of jabs. Just because they lacked aesthetic form didn't mean they weren't dangerous, and the weight behind them increased the difficulty of defending.

  "You're not that tough!" the chubby annoyance said, orbs alight with optimism as she was driven before him. "You're just tricky, but a fair fight reveals you for the fraud you are."

  She was the fraud? Then let's see who had the true mettle. She set her feet and thrust forward, so that both might be impaled in the next exchange if neither gave way. Her foe's eyes bulged, and he attempted to spin away. "Coward!" She drove the sword through his kidney, bursting out his front, and he gurgled dying. Whew. If his self-preservation instincts had been weaker, they might have both died there, but she'd lucked out... or rather predicted correctly. Shoving his body off her blade, she panted for breath. No serious injuries yet, but she knew she'd be sore later. "You give up?" she asked the last ruffian. "Tell me why you're targeting me and I might let you live."

  The thin man did look frightened... yet also angry, and that anger seemed to take priority as his eyes narrowed. "That was my brother you just killed!" Oh. He hobbled towards her, sword coming up. Going out of her way to take him alive would make things harder, and in her condition she didn't dare risk it. He closed the distance and swung at her head. She parried the clumsy strike, wrenched his blade aside. Before he could bring it back around, her short slice opened his throat and ended it.

  #

  Though all her known pursuers for now were dead, Celia still couldn't be sure they hadn't been part of a larger group split up. She relocated miles away from the corpses before sitting against a tree to try once more to rest. So tired, and her joints hurt. Even though she'd defeated four men, she wondered if she was too weak. No real wounds and only a few minutes of action, and she already felt so worn. It seemed like she wasn't built for this. Or maybe she was just being whiny, and shouldn't be so concerned about it. Still, it frightened her that some unknown patron had probably hired those men to take her out. Why? Were they enemies of her father? But most merchants wouldn't go as far as to outright send assassins after their rivals, let alone a rival's daughter. And while her father had his share of influence, she didn't think him so important that those in the political sphere would consider him a dire threat. Besides, she wasn't her dad either. If only those men had just guessed their friend's slayer to be a woman based on the lightness of her tracks, what a relief it would be. But she doubted she'd be that fortunate. In any case, dwelling excessively on it and losing more sleep wouldn't help her. She leaned back against the trunk and closed her eyes.

  The next time she opened them, it was to a crunch of leaves as something neared from behind. What, again? From the sounds, at least it was just one this time. As she'd kept her sword on her lap while she slept, she carefully placed her hand on the hilt. When they got close enough, she would give them a surprise...

  "Pretending to still be asleep?" a young male voice said.

  Shit, she had been counting on the element of surprise to make up for her weakened state. "How did you know I wasn't?"

  "Your shoulder tensed a little as I made that unfortunate misstep. So I figure you heard."

  She tensed again. It was almost morning by now, but still rather dark. If he noticed such a minute movement in this light, she must face a formidable foe. She looked back. A stocky youth with tangled dark hair perhaps a year or two her junior moved towards her, twin axes in hand. So young? But if he dared to approach alone after what happened to the other assassins, she better not underestimate him. She stood and faced him with sword drawn. "After four of your buddies met their end by my hand, you think you can do any better?"

  "Those amateurs? They weren't friends of mine. What happens to them is of no concern." He cocked his head towards her blade. "That's a big sword you have. If I'm not mistaken, such a weapon is meant to make up for your lack of weight and strength. Am I wrong?"

  Celia growled, not liking the insight he showed into her fighting style one bit. "You think I lack strength? Come and see for yourself."

  As he drew nearer she noted the keenness of his eyes, like a predator, and the lightness of his steps. Despite the roots that snaked across the earth, he didn't have to look down to maintain a consistently graceful stride. "And what will you do if I do attack? Instead of showing your strength you'll probably fall back, playing at being even weaker than you are, and strike with that heavy thing when I become overzealous and give you an opening. One perfect shot is the goal, isn't it?"

  She had finished the gaunt assassin before after wounding him multiple times, and luring opponents into a powerful counter wasn't the only thing she could do, but it did often make up part of her strategy. "You discerned all that from the aftermath of my battle and seeing me now? That's quite impressive. Don't think it'll save you, though. Even knowing some of my tricks, my swordplay is hardly that one-dimensional."

  She charged, swinging her greatsword in a wide arc from far out. He ducked under it easily, but her kick to the chest caught him on the way in and drove him back. She whipped her blade up and back down before he could regain his balance, forcing him to catch it on both axes. His knees bent under it, and he grinned. "You are pretty strong. For a girl." He shoved up, throwing the sword aside, and lunged. She dodged an axe, spun close to him but ate an elbow i
n the mouth. A salty taste washed over her tongue. As she reeled, he lifted her on her toes with a knee to the stomach. Coughing, she desperately dragged her blade across his forearm. He yelled and dropped one axe. She kicked him in the gut to make room for her sword, but at the same time he cracked her jaw with a hard punch.

  They stumbled back from one another, and Celia shook her head. "You're pretty strong too, for a little boy."

  "What do you mean, little boy? I'm almost eighteen!"

  A little more than a year younger than her, then. She'd thought her skill level good for her age, but he might outdo her as far as youthful prodigies went by just a tad. "I guess that means you'll never grow to be taller than me."

  "Doesn't matter if you're dead!" He ran at her swinging his axe. Even with one weapon he was fast, keeping her on her toes as she defended. He grunted savagely while he fought, almost like a berserker but more measured. Her arms grew heavy, and her breaths came short and quick. She wondered if he suspected her of feigning weakness, only she didn't this time. She felt so tired, and her strength rapidly faded.

  He stepped in following a missed thrust from her, snapped her head back with a vicious uppercut. A flash filled her vision and her legs buckled. She collapsed, but kicked up as she hit the ground to drive him back. How much more could she take, though... Everything had grown louder—his grunts, the breeze, the sound of her breath itself—after that punch. She needed to end this soon. She scrambled up, saw him going for his dropped axe and leaped chopping down. He just dove aside, taking a glancing slice to the back nonetheless. While he retreated with a pained grimace, she pursued and sent him staggering with a blocked cut. "Sturdy for a girl, too," he said, wincing.

  "Whatever you say, little boy."

  He hefted his axe—then threw it, straight at her head. She raised her sword to deflect it and his shoulder plowed into her middle. As his tackle lifted her into the air, she brought her pommel down hard on his spine. He groaned, but retaliated by slamming her down hard against the dirt. Stunned, she beat at him weakly with her fists. Then she felt something hard poke her ribs. Through blurry vision, she saw that he had drawn a dagger, and held it poised to pierce her heart.