JEROME SAT ON A PILE OF MOSSY BLOCKS AND WEARILY SET HIS HALBERD BY HIS SIDE.
It was too late for this. Jerome was too tired for this. How
could they possibly expect to find a single woman sneaking through a city three
miles across when they didn’t even know what direction she was approaching
from?
And yet, Captain Kalorn insisted that they not rest until
they find her. Jerome needed this job, and he couldn’t return to Lothrame
without gaining at least one rank for his House. He sighed, watching one of his
fellow Knights tromp up to him, and got to his feet.
“Anything?” he asked Belore. The wiry man shook his head and
adjusted the loose helmet.
“She’s a wraith, I swear. Some sort of shadow—do they have
shadow Veins? They’ve got to, if she exists.” Belore took Jerome’s spot and
sat, discarding his onto one knee.
Jerome let out a sigh from deep in his chest. “Maybe.” He
cast a glance over the shoreline, the last traces of the sun dancing in little
spots on the waves. At least this wasn’t one of the jobs his friends in the
corp had been assigned. When they were just Gallants, fresh into the Knights,
the position had been so glamorous.
A full suit of steel armor, Foundried to fit your
measurements perfectly. The beautiful red feather inscribed on the hilt of
their swords, pay, and good pay, not
dock work pay like Jerome was used to. A place to call your own, a way into the
Houses for your future descendants.
It was perfect. Why hadn’t it stayed that way?
The longer he’d been in the Knights, the more of a blind eye
he’d turned. He hadn’t seen his friends for years. It had been…what, seven
years since they had joined?
He hadn’t stomached a position in Lothrame. He had seen too
many people trampled upon in the name of freedom. This was better. Here, he
wouldn’t make a fuss. Here, he could do his job, take his rounds, and retire to
the ringside tiny shack he had at nights and slowly, meticulously, make his way
through that wonderful bottle of Axis whiskey.
Belore slapped hands on his knees and stood, shocking Jerome
from his stupor. “You ready, pard? We’ve got us a girl to catch.”
Jerome muttered something, and he wasn’t even sure what it
was. He and Belore were quickly intercepted by one of the captain’s runner
boys, who told both of them to search the coastline on the western side of
Gansmead. They followed the young boy, slowly, but surely.
The sun was fully down now, and six of the moons shone
bright enough to light the whole ocean. Clumps of Knights stood on the docks,
staring with naked eyes out at the dark waves, seeing nothing. One of them, a
few docks down, lit a torch to see by, but it was quickly and furiously snuffed
out.
There was a tense silence as they watched the water. Then
the captain stormed up, voice rough and breath reeking with the stench of
alcohol. The nasty stuff, Jerome reckoned.
He shoved a bow first into Jerome’s hands, then into
Belore’s.
“You see the signal, you fire. Got it?”
Belore glanced at Jerome and asked the question both of them
were thinking. “Shoot…the girl?”
The captain stared at them with a dull expression, eyelids
drooped and mouth tilted down in disdain. “Yes, shoot the damned girl! What do
you think you’ve got bows for, rotting idiots?”
The captain stumbled off, slurring more orders to other
Knights down the line. Jerome looked at the bow in his hands. He knew how to
fire one, of course. All Knights did. But…he had never shot something…someone…alive.
He strung it nonetheless—more out of habit than anything—and
watched those around him do the same. Then a torch, unlit, was shoved into his
hand. “Light this,” said one of the Knights, “once there’s a candle on the
water. Light your arrows, then fire.”
Jerome’s hand shook holding it. It didn’t take long to dawn
on him what they were to do. It wouldn’t be a person, but a ship that they’d hit. A ship…with the
girl on it?
He squinted out at the waves and wondered what a position in
Lothrame would have been like. Maybe he could have worked in the offices, away
from combat. Maybe even pursue the Savant road, and make a living in his
quarters.
Would that be such a poor life?
Belore nudged him. “What’s that?” Jerome looked where he
pointed and saw nothing. Then some of the starlight on the water vanished,
replaced by…something moving over the water.
Belore shook his head; he didn’t see it. “Never mind.”
But now that Jerome had caught it, he could not let it go.
He tracked the thing as it rocked across the waves, silent, unseen. His hands
jostled, making a racket with his bow and torch.
This wasn’t what he had signed up for. This…he didn’t kill people. Not women, not men. He didn’t
kill anyone! Who else was on that ship? Children? How many lives did he hold in
his hands right now?
“You alright, mate?” one of the Knights asked. “You’re
shaking like the reeds.”
Jerome tried to shove some confidence into his voice, but it
came out crackled and shaky. “I’m fine. I’m…fine.”
There was an arrow nocked in his bow. He could make a
diversion. Maybe…
A candle flickered, bright, out on the water. “There!”
someone yelled.
All around him, bow strings drew taught. Fire was touched to
his torch, already lit. Wrapped, oiled arrows set alight, then nocked. Jerome’s
was too, pointed high into the night sky. He didn’t even have time to think
about it. He didn’t…he didn’t do this! He had never wanted to do this!
“Fire!” came the command.
Jerome obeyed. There were a hundred twangs as arrows
whistled into the night. Arching high, flying true. Jerome watched in horror as
his own shot rained down upon the little boat.
And…and then the arrows stopped, held as if by a hundred
hands, in a bubble around the boat. Not touching it. The pinpricks of shivering
light that should have sunken it paused for a moment that stretched beyond
seconds, beyond heartbeats. A miracle of power, something which no Solid Vein
was capable of.
The arrows were cast asunder, plopping into the water
harmlessly. The candle went out. The boat disappeared.
The Knights were silent. Captain too. And they all watched
nothing as their mark escaped into the night, unharmed, alive.
Jerome dropped to his knees and put his head into his hands.
And that was Good Pay! This one actually takes place during Book 1 of Namemaker, during the midway point. I wrote it in my writing group, with a prompt I came up with to give the perspective of an unimportant character witnessing a big point in your plot.
I'm decently happy with it. While not perfect, it captures the tension I wanted to add to the Knights, and how some of them felt. A strangled complicity from those involved.
