reached inside her pocket, drew out her dragonfly and threw it into the air. Its paper wings unfolded and it fluttered, hovering above her. She waved her hand and it flew back to the bridge, landing in a tree close to the river. Its eyes glowed as it positioned itself to observe.
Removing his cloak, Aldrich threw it behind him where it would not get in the way. Drawing his sword, he sat cross-legged in the middle of the bridge, facing back the way they had come, preparing for the approaching encounter. Pommel and guard worn and chipped but blade still strong, the sword had seen him through many a confrontation and not a few battles. Etched along the first third of the blade from the guard were crafted runes of potency. Without these the blade was merely exceptional; with the runes it was worth a small fortune. Closing his eyes, he opened himself to the night, calming himself and clearing his mind.
Time passed. The moon broke through the clouds. Back along the dirt road a shadow moved, then another.
Aldrich opened his eyes. Forty yards away stood a strongly built man dressed in dark gray, cloak and hair rippling in the wind. To the blade master he looked solid, denser than normal, as if in another dimension or out of phase with this one.
“Greetings,” called the stranger. “I see the two ladies have gone ahead without you. Never mind. I’m sure they have not gone far. We can catch up with them later.”
A shadow detached itself from a tree on one side of the road, solidifying into another denser man, moving in behind the first.
I guess there to be at most five, Aldrich thought. Please let that be the case or I may fail in my obligation.
A woman joined the two men before the bridge. More shapes left the concealment of the trees. In front of him, the group grew until he counted there to be thirteen, spreading themselves in a half circle around their leader.
Taking a deep breath, Aldrich achieved a state of calmness within himself, and the nightscape became clearer, its details sharper. For all his life he had followed the Way of the Sword, and the one thing he dreaded was to die having failed. His masters always said if you were resolute and your spirit strong you could not fail. Correct in theory, but reality has a way of turning you on your head and making a fool of you sometimes.
You will not fail if you accept death. I do not fear death, only failure.
Adjusting his stance, he moved into an upper attitude guard. Taking another deep breath he released it through his nose, becoming one with his spirit. Bearing unmoving, he radiated purposefulness…and death.
“There is no need to fight,” called the leader. “You are but one man against all of us. You will lose. The light from the moon is hardly enough to see by — at most you may kill one or two of us, and for what? Why throw your life away for nothing?”
As he spoke, his followers shifted, drawing their own swords, ready to cross the bridge at his signal.
He does not know, Aldrich crowed inwardly. Too little light. They should have guessed by now from the chase we led them. For this mistake, they’ll pay dearly.
“Sorry, but I cannot let you pass. I am sworn to guard them with my life, and if I die here then so be it. A bunch of ruffians like you should not be a problem. Perhaps it is you who should turn tail and flee.”
Aldrich hoped to deceive them further. If he could create a loss of balance and throw them into confusion when he attacked, all the better.
Their leader smiled, baring his teeth. “Kill him,” he said to the darkness, and his followers flowed around him onto the stone bridge.
Knowing there would not be much time, Iselle tried to hurry Nerissa, but after many long days of pursuit her daughter no longer had much strength. The forest path hindered their steps with its roughness. Roots snaking from nearby trees seemed to spring up in the dim light to tangle their feet. Lifting the child, Iselle cradled Nerissa in her arms, moving further into the trees. She knew, as a blade master, Aldrich was without peer and prayed he would survive to join them soon.
Aldrich leaped across the intervening space between him and his attackers in a heartbeat, faster than any normal man could move. His