one Jack had hit was on his feet now. His uniform was stained with the dirt of the farmyard, while a purple and yellow bruise was already starting to form on his jaw. He drew his sword, taking his time about it.
“I’m going to kill you,” he promised.
Jack shook his head and took his own sword from its scabbard. He kept the scabbard in his left hand. “No, you’re not.”
It was hard to say where the certainty in those words came from, but it was there. Jack stood there calmly, his weapon not even raised. He knew he didn’t need to yet.
“You should turn around,” Jack said. “Get on your horse and leave. This doesn’t have to end badly for you.”
“For me?” the too-thin soldier said with a laugh. “What’s wrong? Can’t you count? I’ve got two other trained men. You’ve got an old man and a woman. I’m going to gut you, then we’re going to take everything there is worth taking from the farm and burn it until there’s nothing left but ashes.”
Jack shook his head. “You should go. There’s nothing here for you but death.”
The soldier charged at him then. That was stupid. If he’d told his two friends to attack, they would probably have done it, but as it was they didn’t seem certain whether to intervene or leave Jack to their friend. Jack needed to take advantage of that. He needed to end this quickly. A long fight would only draw them in.
So instead of backing away as his opponent came for him, Jack moved in. His sword met his opponent’s locking against it and pushing it aside long enough for Jack’s shoulder to slam into the other man’s sternum. That knocked him back, but the soldier was quick enough to avoid the follow up slash Jack sent his way.
He wasn’t quick enough to dodge when Jack threw the hand-tooled leather of the scabbard into his face though. It wasn’t heavy enough to cause real damage, but the move clearly wasn’t one the soldier had been expecting. He flinched, his hands coming up as though they could bat away the thing that slapped into his head.
Jack thrust in that moment, and his sword slid under the other man’s ribs, up into his heart. Jack’s other arm came down to grip the soldier’s sword arm, because even mortally wounded he might still be able to attack. For a moment or two the two stared at one another from just inches away, closer than dancers would have been, closer than lovers, closer than brothers. Then Jack shoved the soldier away and he fell, his eyes already glazing over with death.
“Thank you for your service,” Jack said ironically.
The other two spread out, circling Jack. It seemed obvious that they were going to try to attack him from two sides at once. He couldn’t let them. Instead, he waited until they were almost separate, then made to charge at one, choosing the soldier with the beard who had looked at Jack too closely before. At the last moment, Jack stopped and kicked out behind him. The second soldier, who had taken that as his cue to try to attack Jack’s back, ran right onto the blow. It sent him sprawling.
He backed away now, trying to draw the two soldiers in. Trying to force them into a narrower space towards the house where he could force them to come at him one at a time. It was a dangerous strategy though. Even if he succeeded, he would still have to kill each quickly, and these men were cautious now, moving forward carefully, a pace at a time.
Dahlia’s voice came from the door to the house. “Come another step and I’ll put a bolt in you.”
The two soldiers paused where they were, and Jack risked a glance back. Dahlia had obviously run for the house the moment the fight started, because now she stood in the doorway with her crossbow. Jack could see the faint trembling as she held it aimed at the others. He hoped that the soldiers couldn’t.
“You’ve only got one shot,” the tax inspector called out. He was over by the horses, as far away from the fighting as possible.
“You’re right,” Jack said. He backed over to where Dahlia stood and took the crossbow. Very deliberately, he pointed it at the tax inspector. “There’s only one shot. But I think one should be enough.”
“You… you wouldn’t,” the tax inspector said, but he didn’t sound convinced.
“Take your dead friend and go,” Jack replied.
The two soldiers looked to the tax inspector for instructions. One of them took a step towards Jack. Jack kept the crossbow aimed at the older man.
“No, no! Stop,” the tax inspector ordered. “This… this is not the time for more violence. We… we should do as this man says.”
The soldiers didn’t look happy about it, but they did it anyway. They backed away from Jack, making their way to their fallen comrade.
“His name was Nicholas,” the one with the beard said, staring at Jack. “No one in our unit liked him, but he was still one of us.”
The threat there was obvious. The two soldiers lifted the body, tying it over the man’s horse. They made their way to their own horses and mounted. The tax inspector mounted too, then held out a hand until one of the soldiers handed over his sword. He rode up next to the farm’s horse and slashed downwards before Jack could realize what he was doing. Blood sprayed, the horse whinnied, and it fell.
“We’ll be back,” the tax inspector promised. He kicked his horse into a run before Jack could get a proper shot at him with the crossbow. The soldiers sped away with him. Jack put Dahlia’s crossbow down and moved to the spot where the farm’s horse lay dying.
“Damn it,” he said. He put his hand on the animal’s flank. There was no hope to save it. Not with its throat cut like that. “A month’s work! You were meant to be a month’s work!”
“And that’s all you care about, isn’t it?” Dahlia said. She walked up beside Jack and even though she was visibly shaking, there was no trace of it in her voice. Her voice had too much anger in it to hold fear as well. “You killed a man, we were attacked, and all you care about is a dead horse. What kind of man are you?”
Jack didn’t have an answer for that. Not one that Dahlia would listen to. She was scared and using anger to mask that fear. Jack could see that, but he had more than enough anger of his own.
“What do you want from me, Dahlia?” he demanded. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I just saved your life.”
“And I’m supposed to fall to my knees in gratitude?” Dahlia shook her head. “We could have dealt with this. We could have given them what we had and they would have gone away.”
“You don’t believe that,” Jack said.
“Don’t tell me what I believe,” Dahlia snapped back. “We’d have been better off if you’d never come here.”
“You really think that?”
“What I really think is that you should go. You were only staying long enough to get your horse and run, after all.”
Jack shook his head. He retrieved his sword, cleaned it, and put it back into its scabbard. He headed for the barn, went up to the hayloft in silence, and retrieved his few possessions. He went back down to Henry and Dahlia.
“Henry, I’d appreciate whatever provisions you can spare.”
“You’re leaving then?”
Jack looked over to Dahlia, then to the dead horse. A month’s work, gone just like that. He looked back to Dahlia, tried to ignore whatever glimmers of feelings came up when he did. Some things were too dangerous to pay attention to.
“I’m leaving,” he said. “I don’t stay where I’m not wanted.”
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