Of Martyrs and Sages: Ch. 3

Of Martyrs
and Sages

I pity the man tolerant of tyranny. Those content with nothing deserve nothing.

Chapter 3

The Man From Tred'an

Rachel beamed with joy at the vast array of decorative garments that hung before her. She reached out and caressed a delicate lavender dress with cautious fingers. The feeling of soft silk against her skin evoked a nostalgic smile. The quality of the clothes almost made her ashamed to have entered the shop in the first place as she caught a glimpse of herself in a nearby dressing room mirror from the corner of her eye.

“Leather… brown, dirty, grungy, ugly leather. Hard to impress anyone looking like this,” she mumbled with the slightest hint of disgust in her voice. “Then again, who the Hell am I trying to impress, anyway?” she laughed under her breath.

“You can try one on if you’d like,” the elderly shopkeeper chimed in as she carefully descended a step ladder at the front of the store. “Are you looking for something special?”

Rachel shifted her eyes intently around the room, as if looking for a specific outfit that didn’t exist. Her left hand crept behind her lower back in order to conceal the embarrassingly light money pouch from the old woman.

“No… no… just looking.” She again turned her attention to the lavender dress. “I am interested in this one, but I think I’ll come back for it later. I still want to… compare prices around town,” she lied.

The shopkeeper nodded. “Dear, if you can’t afford it, it’s okay. You can still try it on. It’s always free to dream,” she smiled from behind the counter. “You just save up and keep me in mind when you’re ready to take it home, alright sweetie?”

Rachel’s cheeks turned bright red. Despite the many years in exile with Adri and Neni, she hadn’t quite gotten used to people pointing out her misfortune. She bit her tongue to stifle the sudden surge of misdirected resentment towards the elderly woman. It wasn’t the shopkeeper’s fault. Rachel’s tattered leather armor was impossible to deny.

Before her privileged lifestyle was cut short during a Revenant raid on Nu’Jin, no member of the Vauters bloodline would ever be considered less than gifted. Rachel’s was a home of luxury, and her closet showed it; consistently lined with a wide assortment of the finest clothing. Having been born to a famous artist, her family commanded great respect in the culturally diverse city just south of the great lakes.

“I will. Good day, ma’am,” she bowed with respect, trying her hardest to conceal the cringe that wanted so desperately to emerge on her face as she exited the small tailoring shop.

Rachel clenched her eyelids together tightly and, with a series of deep breaths, felt the soothing relief of normality return to her flustered nerves.

“You okay?” a voice caught the young woman’s attention, causing her eyes to burst open; promptly plummeting her back to reality. Rachel could feel her heart sink into her stomach at the sight of the armored Revenant standing before her. She scanned the area with haste, careful to keep her eyes from noticeably wandering. Her jaw nearly dropped onto the sidewalk. The streets were littered with troops. Tred’an swarmed.

The crusader asked again, this time with a raised brow. “Hello in there? Everything alright?”

Rachel nodded as innocently as she could. “Yes!” she blurted with a high pitched squeal.

“So… you’re fine then?” he smiled with a hint of playfulness.

“Yeap!” she squeaked.

“Darren,” he gestured to his chest.

Rachel’s mind raced with potential excuses to escape the awkward conversation with the Revenant soldier, but consistently drew a blank.

“DAR-REN,” he repeated loudly and slowly, as if a vain attempt to teach English to a goldfish. The man waved his hands along his body, and offered a similar gesture to the beautiful chestnut steed tied to the right of him. “ME… DAR-REN… THIS… HORSE… HORSE NAME… NILLY… NIL-LY…” he teased.

Rachel could sense a smile creep onto her face, which caught her completely off guard. With a slight, embarrassed shake of her head, she finally replied. “Rachel… I’m Rachel.”

The crusader laughed. “It can speak!”

The girl brushed a lock of bronze hair behind her left ear with a dainty hand. “Yes, yes it can indeed.”

“Good to know,” Darren patted the side of Nilly, who let out a gleeful snort. “So then, Miss Rachel, may I ask what that was all about then?”

“Pardon?” she stalled.

Darren smirked. “I was standing right here, madam. You looked quite pissed.” He folded his arms. “Unless I just imagined you bursting out of the tailoring shop foaming from the mouth there.”

Rachel blushed. “Oh… that. Yeah, no, it’s nothing I swear.”

“Ah, I see. Yeah, I get it. The sights of pretty dresses get me pretty pissed off too sometimes. No, really,” the crusader nodded with a playful smile.

Rachel sighed. “It just reminded me of… a better time in my life, that’s all.”

“No, I understand,” Darren replied with a tone coated in what appeared to be of a genuine benevolence. “Some memories are better kept sacred. They belong to you, and only you. Cherish them, Miss Rachel. Memories may be the one thing that nobody can take away, y’know?”

The Revenant’s words struck a chord within Rachel. “Such a positive thought,” she muttered. “That something they teach you in vindicator training or something?”

Darren erupted with laughter at the girl’s remark. “Believe it or not, we’re not all what you think. It’s not always, ‘Revenant cause,’ this and, ‘Heru’ be praised,’ that, you know. Last I checked I was just a guy with a job to do -- just a guy like so many others in this crazy, messed up world. We’re all human. Surprise surprise,” he smirked.

Rachel gazed at the Revenant; her dark brown eyes piercing deep into his. She struggled to find comfort in his words, though packaged neatly in an inviting parcel. The man before her, adorned with symbols of everything she loathed, spoke with the wise, chivalrous guise of a genuine spirit. He represented fear, yet emanated joy. Rachel cringed at the thought of how many Verboten fell to vindicator troops over the years, but Darren appeared the first to feel any resemblance of humanity; perhaps even remorse.

“You’re not from Tred’an… are you, Miss Rachel?” Darren muttered, careful not to speak too loudly.

The girl’s hands twitched at her sides, ready to unsheathe her knives at a moment’s notice.

“You’re Verboten… aren’t you, Miss Rachel…?” he mumbled.

Rachel could feel a slight tremble in her fingertips, but did well to conceal it.

Darren closed his eyes and gently ran his fingers along the mane of his horse. With a slight pause, the young vindicator gripped the reigns and glanced towards the Tred’an north exit. “The men arrived from the south. They’re tired and hungry. They’ll probably hang around town for a bit before making their rounds…”

“What are you…?” Rachel whispered.

“The troops probably haven’t gotten to the other end of Tred’an yet. If anyone were to try to escape, I bet that’s where they’d go, eh Nilly?” Darren rubbed the back of his horse’s neck. “Yep, and if anyone were to flee, they should probably get moving. Like, right now; don’t you think, Nilly?”

“… thank you…” she smiled.

Darren shrugged. I’m just talking to Nilly here. It’s not my fault if anyone overheard me. Yep, anything I just said was directed at her. Why? You didn’t eavesdrop on our conversation, did you Miss Rachel?” the crusader grinned with a slight nod towards the northern pathway.

With a final warm smile and a passing intrigued gaze, the blushing beauty began her brisk walk through the market square’s twisted array of shops. She kept her head held down to avoid eye contact, and glided through the crowds of scattered vindicators like an afternoon breeze. As her feet put more and more distance between herself and the merchant circle, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever see Darren again. The visage of his playful smile lingered in her head, causing the slightest hint of a grin to curl on her lip. She could feel a plague of smitten giggles spread throughout her entire body.

“The Hell is wrong with me?” she shook her head. “He kills good people. He’s evil. He’s evil. I hate him. I hate him,” she repeated under her breath, her stride now evolving into that of a hurried jog.

Rachel’s distracting thought nearly clouded the sound of her footsteps, which no longer made the distinct clatter of carefully inlaid cobblestone, but transformed into the gentle shuffle of shoes through soft dirt. She breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of treetops in the distance drawing near. Beads of warm sweat trickled down her hot neck as her legs escalated their momentum a few notches in anticipation.

“Almost home. I’m almost home,” she panted.

With a yelp, she felt a sting from behind that caused waves of intense agony to emanate outward from her upper arm. Her feet, slow to receive the brain’s message, continued to pump vigorously despite the weight of her upper body shifting forward. Before she could fully understand the nature of her pain, Rachel found herself skidding face-first along the dirt gravel of the northern pathway just outside of town.

Small rocks took residence deep within the layers of skin on the side of her cheek, evicting blood and flesh in the process. The lingering effects of her fall paled in comparison to the throbbing wretch that seemed to burn and spew like a fountain of blood with every frantic pulse of her heart. Rachel reached to her deltoid with tightly shut eyes to feel the wound. A pool of crimson confirmed her fears. In the middle of the gaping hole, a single wooden shaft protruded; coated in warm sanguine. Touching it proved excruciating. Shockwaves reverberated from the messy base of the arrow that only worsened as her fingers crept closer to the bloody nuisance.

Rachel’s eyes widened. “Not this way…” she whispered into the dirt, blood dripping from her face. “I’m still breathing,” she mumbled to herself as she struggled to rise from the gravel.

The young girl pulled herself to her knees with a grunt and reached for the two knives sheathed at her hips. With a series of gasps and quiet moans, she slowly rose to her feet one agonizing weight shift at a time. Her legs wobbled under the weight of her injury. Droplets of sweat crept to the surface of her hot skin, colliding and inevitably merging with the river of blood that trailed from the gash at the top of her arm.

Horse hooves trotted in the distance towards her from Tred’an. They stepped lightly, and with great pride. Rachel almost felt insulted at the pompousness of her attackers. She turned to face the steeds, six in all. Each horse, excessively decorated -- each rider, similarly so. They rode tall, bows and arrows at the ready.

Rachel’s hands trembled. Her grip tensed around the handles of her slightly worn blades. The riders approached haphazardly. The stallions formed a loose circle around the frightened Verboten like vultures awaiting a meal. The paladins stared with professional intensity, never once allowing their humanity to bubble to the surface. Rachel did her best not to shiver, despite the wooziness that loomed and grew from within. After a pause that, to Rachel, seemed eternal, one of the paladin riders spoke up.

“You’re tough, still standing after taking one of our arrows like that,” he grunted. “I don’t envy your pain, however. It must be tremendous.”

Rachel could feel her eyelids beginning to grow heavy, but she kept them firmly pried. “It’s not that bad,” she winced. With a rush of adrenaline she tugged carelessly at the arrow in a facade of bravery; nearly shattered by the gritting of her teeth. The shaft jerked slightly before bursting from its bloody purgatory, carrying chunks of dripping meat and skin along with it. Rachel shrieked with agony and dropped the crimson arrow at her feet. “See…?” she sobbed. “I’m still breathing. I’m not dead. I’m not afraid.” She felt herself trembling uncontrollably from the swirling cocktail of pain and fear that, despite the best efforts of her brain, she opted to ignore.

The paladin resisted the urge to avert his eyes at the spectacle. “So you’ve managed to cause yourself harm. What exactly were you hoping to prove? Insanity? We have full quivers, Verboten. Will you rip these out as well?” he smirked. “No, I wouldn’t do you like that. You look like you still have plenty of fight left in you, girl,” he lowered his bow. With a nod, the others did the same. “I wonder if you can even swing those toothpicks of yours,” he scoffed; his horse impatiently tapping at the dirt with its hooves.

“Find out for yourself,” Rachel snapped before charging recklessly at the paladin, knives poised firmly in clenched fists. She lunged with animalistic ferocity at the arrogant rider, which caused his horse to rear back and throw him to the dirt. Rachel seized the opportunity with a redirected flurry of slashes at the grounded Revenant; each more painful than the last. The paladin shuffled to his feet, unfazed. His concealed armor deflected Rachel’s series of swipes with ease. The fatigued Rachel collapsed onto her left knee. Her dirty blonde hair, damp with sweat, dangled in front of her face. It hid her turmoil well.

A single drop of sweat crept from the paladin’s left temple and eased down the chiseled edge of his jaw. The speed of the young Verboten girl’s attack bore the characteristics of a rabid mongoose masterfully infused with the precision of an experienced surgeon. The Revenant let out a relieved sigh upon realization that his armor remained intact; his flesh not pierced; the unwelcome liquid warmth of a fresh wound thankfully absent. Not that he needed to worry. Paladins, widely regarded as representing a level of superiority far surpassing that of their Vindicator kin, rode into battle adorned with armor of fine tempered steel; not unlike that of the High Inquisitors above them.

With a slight gulp, he straightened his broad shoulders and puffed up his chest. He attempted to wear the best smirk he could muster and unsheathed a cruel scimitar that had fallen a few short feet from his side into the dirt. The paladin waved off his comrades with a flick of his wrist; their arrows again drawn and pointed directly at Rachel’s heart.

“What, I can’t take her? Look at her! She can’t even rise,” the Revenant snapped at his fellow riders. “She cannot hold her ground. You have my permission to fire when I cease to breathe, and not a moment sooner!”

“I can arrange that,” Rachel panted. Again she rose to her feet -- again she held her ground.

The paladin’s fingers clamped around the handle of the blade as he bent his knees slightly and angled his body into a picturesque battle stance. He shuffled his feet along the gravel, carefully sizing up his opponent. He moved slowly, proudly, and refused to let a lazy eye wander.

Rachel mimicked his movements. She followed his every step, blades drawn and raised like aggressive serpents. She could see the Revenant scanning her for weakness; a missed step; perhaps a wince from the wound that would leave her distracted long enough for him to capitalize and strike. The paladin may as well have been practicing before a mirror. Rachel’s flawless movements kept her guard nigh impenetrable.

“No stranger to the blade, I see,” the Revenant rider grinned. “Time, however, is not on your side. Sooner or later your body will give in. You’re as good as done,” he scoffed.

Blood dripped down the back of Rachel’s leather tunic and fell to the ground, creating tiny beads of red mud in the dirt. Like grains of sand in an hourglass, each droplet signified another step closer to the grave. Only a matter of time; and the Revenant could afford to bide.

“H-he’s right… now or n-never…” the girl muttered to herself under her breath. “Pay for your crimes, murderer!” she shrieked with a sudden wild dash at the rider. She sprinted as fast as her wound would allow; body hunched forward, slightly off balance, and low to the ground. The paladin prepared his sword and braced himself, expecting to parry a vertical strike; judging from the girl’s crouched position and angle.

Rachel smirked and extended her right leg at the last possible second; twisting her body with an elegant leap to the left. Her thigh ached from the strain, but she successfully vaulted over the paladin’s swinging scimitar and landed perfectly in a blind spot just behind the right half of his body. The Verboten girl stood back to back with the Revenant. With a frantic grunt and a twisting leap, she swung the knife in her tightly clenched left fist with all the force she could muster. This time the blade stuck.

Eyes shut tight, partly from the agonizing pain as a result of her assault, Rachel could hear the sound of horrid gurgles and bloody spurts coming from the mouth of the paladin. She opened her eyes to examine her work. The dagger was lodged deep within the side of the man’s neck, just above the flap of armor that would have otherwise changed his fate. His sword fell from his hand. With an astonished look of disbelief and terror, he dropped to his knees. Rachel could vaguely make out a final sputtered insult from the back of the paladin’s throat before he let out a bloody gasp and collapsed into the gravel motionless.

The girl reached down and retrieved her blade from the messy flesh of the Revenant’s neck. She peered over her shoulder to the riders, who seemed to ignore the death of their fellow man. There were no tears; only stern gazes behind wicked arrows. Rachel stumbled as she turned to face them. Her eyes struggled to stay open. Her legs wobbled. The daggers in her hands appeared as cumbersome as battle axes as her muscles transformed into putty.

“I’m s-sorry Adri… I’m sorry Neni…” she sighed, “…I…I am afraid.”

The paladins pulled their bowstrings tight and again aimed for the Verboten girl’s most vital of organs. Rachel fell to her knees. Her blades released themselves from her grip, and landed at her sides in the gravel.

“I’m still afraid,” she whimpered while bending forward; sweat and blood streamed from her cheek, causing her eyes to sting.
The first rider glanced at the others around him, and slightly nodded. The rest of the paladins gave a nod of acknowledgement in return. They each steadied their bows with a slow, deep inhalation. Missing was not a possibility. One target. One shot each. One shared kill.

“Neni, now!”

The archers’ attention immediately shifted to the woods. From the mists of the surrounding trees came a sudden barrage of whizzing gray orbs at the riders, which, upon impact, burst in an eruption of smoke, flames, and hot shrapnel. The Revenant steeds cried out in pain, and made hectic attempts to flee. The burning smoke caused the riders to gasp for air, and forced them to divert their full attention to controlling their mounts lest they lose their prized stallions to the Tred’an thickets.

“I found her!” Adri screamed from the trees. “Keep up the bombardment, Neni!”

Neni nodded and lit two more of the incredibly effective explosives. She proceeded to lob the bombs towards the riders from her perch, which landed and exploded not five feet from the hooves of the panicked mounts.

The Revenant soldiers turned towards town and retreated; galloping at full speed to escape the young girl’s onslaught. Adri seized the opportunity and sprinted to Rachel’s side. With a grunt, she propped her friend up and draped Rachel’s arms over her shoulders.

“Forgive me…” Rachel faintly mumbled.

“Oh, shut it,” Adri sighed as she trudged towards the entrance of the Tred’an forest. “You were in the wrong place at the wrong time…”

Rachel nodded, her breaths growing steadily heavier as blood oozed from her shoulder.

Adri glanced back at the dead, festering Revenant who was laying face-first in a thick, crimson pool. “I guess it could’ve been worse, eh?” she muttered.

Rachel smiled. She could just make out the blurry image of trees from behind her glazed eyes while the soothing, gentle ambience of the woods lulled her into a false sense of serenity. “I don’t want to die…” she whispered. Consciousness slipped away; her eyes closed; her limbs became limp.

“You’re not dead… I can feel you breathing…” Adri grumbled, “… hang on, you dumbass, we’re almost home. We’re almost home.”