A Hero’s Lament

The moment I saw him, I knew I would regret my assignment.

A drink raised high in the air with one hand, and a woman pulled to his waist in the other. The other men and women in the tavern cheered him as he chugged his drink before slamming it down on the countertop, foam spattering out from underneath it. “Another, Sammy!” he called out to the barkeep, who beamed.

No wonder, I thought. That man alone probably keeps this place in business. I tutted, strongly considering giving in to my feet, urging me to turn away. To make an excuse and never return. But, I am a knight. One of the few women who had made it into the elites. It would wound my pride and my reputation to give up on this without good reason.

I’m sure my superiors thought this would be a worthy assignment: take on a local job and ascertain the ability of the city’s strongest mercenary. They probably figured he would be worth hiring. Sure, most of the knights would go drinking on a regular basis, but this was something else. This was the city’s strongest mercenary? What a disappointment.

As if hearing my thoughts, the mercenary looked over at me and grinned. My face flushed for a split second as blood rushed to my head. There was even less chance of backing out now. Great. The man stood up, stool creaking underneath him, and walked over to me. I stood firm, which was more than could be said for him, swaying all over the place like a toddler.

“And what’s a fine thing like yerself doing in this rathole, eh?” he slurred. “Come to tell me off, Miss Knight? I’ve been a very naughty boy,” he laughed. The raucous cackling of the other drunkards got on my nerves, but not as much as the mercenary. If the smell on his breath didn’t put me off enough, his obvious thoughts on women certainly did.

“I have come to hire you.” I could scarcely force the words out of my mouth.

“Hire me? Ha!” He held one hand over his eyes as he laughed again. “Lady, I haven’t worked in months. What makes you wanna hire me?”

That explains it. My information must have been out of date.

“Actually, I think I have the wrong person. I’ll be on my way.” I turned to leave, finally having a decent justification for doing so.

“’Ang on. What’s that in yer pocket?” he asked.

I stopped in my tracks, sighing. “A job, but I need the strongest mercenary to accompany me.”

“Aah, that mighta been me a while back, but not anymore. I quit that line o’ work.”

“Figures.” My eyes flitted over him, top to bottom, before I headed for the exit once more. I thanked the gods for having removed him from my path and prayed that they would lead me to a more respectable human being who fit the bill.

With the midday sun glinting off my armour, I ambled through the eastern side of the city, my boots becoming increasingly caked in the grime that seemed ever-present this distance from the castle. I dared not think what it was, else I may have abandoned the whole assignment altogether. I asked locals and barkeeps about who the strongest mercenary was, but all I kept hearing was that same damned name.

Damian.

Damn Damian, I thought to myself, trying not to laugh at the similarity in the words. Surely there must have been someone else considered the strongest, especially given the fact that he’d been out of the job for some time. But alas, the word of the day remained the same. I was about to leave for the western part of the city when a hand on my pauldron stopped me. I turned to face the person, and the sound that escaped my mouth is one I didn’t know I was capable of making.

Damian.

He stood before me, his eyes cast in shadow as his head was dipped down to look at the parchment in his hand. That was my parchment. My job. I must have dropped it somewhere, but when did he pick it up, and how did he find me?

“I’ll take the job,” he said, still not looking up from the parchment.

“No, I don’t think–”

“I said I’m taking the job,” he affirmed, finally looking up at me. The carefree look in his eyes was gone, replaced by an icy stare. I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off again. “You’re looking for the strongest merc, right? That’s me, so you don’t have to keep lookin’ anymore.”

I couldn’t think of what to say, couldn’t come up with some reason to turn him down, aside from the obvious. “You’re drunk,” I stated.

“It’ll wear off in a couple hours. I know myself enough for that.”

“Fine,” I sighed. “Go get your gear and meet me at the clock tower in 20.”

He dashed off without another word, bumping into a few townsfolk as he went. I held my forehead as I stared at the parchment, now firmly back in my hands. The headline, ‘Rescue my daughter!’ seeming bolder than ever.

***

As Damian came into view – ten minutes late – I noticed he carried a large sword but was largely unchanged. No armour, no shield, not even clean clothes. Gross.

“Sorry. Mother nature called!” He grinned.

I knew how this was going to go down. He was going to swing his sword around in a drunken daze, thinking he’s the best thing since sliced bread, while I would do all the real work. Then I would have to make a lengthy report on how, despite succeeding in our mission, he had been of little to no help. I would not let him mess up this job. Drunkard in tow or not, I would save that little girl.

“Let’s get moving,” I replied. “She was last seen being carried away at the border of the eastern woods.”

The cold look entered his eyes once more. “Lead the way.”

***

Our journey to the woods was mostly silent. There wasn’t much to be said, and neither of us seemed interested in making conversation, thankfully. I hoped to get the job done with as little fuss as possible.

As we traipsed through the woodland, small twigs crunching under my plated boots, we searched for any signs of the little girl. Anything she may have left behind. To my surprise, Damian was actually taking this seriously. If his head had been any closer to the ground, I might have thought him a dog. A smelly, bumbling kind of dog with rotting teeth.

“They went this way,” he declared.

I couldn’t see anything that would have led him to this assumption. Perhaps the alcohol was causing him to chase imaginary trails. “I think we should keep looking this way.”

“No. They passed through ‘ere. The grass is disturbed.”

“That could have been anyone, or anything for that matter. All creatures disturb the grass,” I educated him.

“You know any creatures that leave city slick behind?” He pointed.

I walked over and leant down to see what he was indicating at. There were the faintest lines of dirt tracking through the grass, about the size of a boot between each line. “How in the world did you see that?” I asked.

“Not see. Smell.” He now pointed at his nose. “City slick has a very particular smell.”

The word 'dog' came to my mind again. I had no other lead, so I decided to just go with it. Worst-case scenario, we would realise we went the wrong way and double back again.

But, to my surprise, more clues revealed themselves the further we went. Broken branches, disturbed plants, and finally, the remains of a campfire.

The dog – Damien – touched the ashes of the fire and rubbed them between his thumb and fingers. “They shouldn’t be too far. Probably left only a few hours ago.”

I didn’t doubt him this time. His tracking skills had proven to be very good, if nothing else. I nodded and followed him, and the silence followed us once more also.

As we walked, my head began to fill with questions. Before long, I couldn't help but ask, “Why did you join me? I thought you'd quit. You didn’t even ask about your pay.”

For a moment, I thought the silence had returned, but he eventually replied, “Personal reasons.”

“You know the kid?”

“No.”

“The client?”

“No.”

“What then? Someone in this gang pinch your booze or take your fling for the night?” A bit far, I knew, but, aside from his tracking, I was still sure he would be dead weight in the coming fight.

He didn’t retaliate. Didn’t even blink. He stared out in front of us and simply pointed. I looked out in that direction and could just about spy a group of people in the distance, carrying a young girl on one of their shoulders. She was still. Dead? I feared. But no. They wouldn’t be carrying her if she were dead. She must have been sleeping.

I reached for the sword at my hip, formulating a plan in my mind. Desperately trying to think of a plan to save the little girl and keep Damian out of my way. But before I had even grabbed the hilt, a rush of air swept past me, pulling my few loose strands of blonde hair with it.

Damian was gone.

Shit.

I rushed after him, drawing my sword. “Damian!” I whispered to no avail. I couldn’t shout for risk of ruining our advantage. A surprise attack was far better than not. I just had to chase him down and recover whatever disaster awaited me.

Winded from my armoured sprint, I arrived to hear the clashing of swords. I expected to see Damian swinging his sword around aimlessly, using brute force to keep himself in the fight. But what my eyes witnessed changed everything.

Damian was… beautiful. His feet barely seemed to touch the ground, as if he flew through the air with each of his deft strikes. His balance was perfect, every move was calculated, and every slash, thrust, and pommel-strike made its mark. The band of criminals was larger than I had anticipated, yet there were already three men on the ground, several more wounded, and only a few unscathed. My feet wouldn’t move this time, no matter how much I coaxed them. How could I? I would only get in his way. I finally understood Damian’s reputation, but not his reasoning. Perhaps I should have asked sooner. Asked more questions.

I shook myself out of my stupor and focused on the job – the girl. Where was she? I looked around and saw her half-sitting on the ground, half held firm by a burly brute. Her hands, feet and mouth were bound, and tears carved clean paths over her grimy cheeks. My years of experience kicked in in an instant, and within moments, I had my blade thrust between the man's ribs. He wheezed and looked me in the eyes. I knew that look all too well, but it would not save him now. I withdrew my sword, allowing the blood to pour from him, and he collapsed to the crimson ground. I heard one more man yell as he rushed at me from behind, so I swung my blood-stained sword round to meet his neck. My estimation of his height was off, as I made my mark in his face instead. He screamed and staggered back before I put him out of his misery. Checking around, I saw the remaining men were either engaging Damian or fleeing.

I hurried over to the girl and embraced her. “Everything is okay now. We’re here to help you,” I said in a soft tone.

“Thank you,” she cried. “Thank you.”

I covered her eyes, even though she had already witnessed so much, as I watched Damian finish his fight. I soaked up every second, desperately trying to learn from his skill. I was suddenly struck by guilt over the way I had thought of him up until now.

As the last of the men fell to the ground, I also realised how the situation I had predicted had switched. In the end, I didn't do most of the work.

He did.

Damian walked over to us, bloodied but unharmed, and knelt down in front of the girl. I uncovered her eyes. “You’re safe now.” He smiled, almost choking on the words. He opened his arms, and the girl rushed into them, embracing him in a fierce hug.

“So you do know her,” I said.

“No… Someone like her.”

Suddenly, it all made sense. The drinking. Quitting mercenary work. His cold stare and serious attitude towards this job. If what he said was true, that this job was personal, then I was a monster for my assumptions of him. And I would happily spend the rest of my days him, filled with respect.