Chương 360: A Ray of Hope

Ch. 360 - A Ray of Hope Before they left, they freed the slaves the men had, and burned the wagons that had held them to the ground. That wouldn't stop all of them from returning to their trade, but it would make it that much harder. Some of the newly freed slaves fled immediately, fearful that they were only switching to a new and more violent master. Simon couldn't blame them for that. The rest that lingered, uncertain of what to do, he shepherded back to the outskirts of Abresse.

That took a few days that were largely spent foraging for herbs and food for twenty hungry mouths, and took them off their current search for days, but Aranna didn't complain. Helping the freed slaves did her far more good than killing the slaver had. Simon still saw blue whispers of regret drift through her soul, but it was hard to pay too much attention to those when they were dealing with people who were so clearly traumatized; he didn't need the sight for that.

When they reached an inn, Simon took a few days more to make sure everyone was fed and had a place to sleep, even if more of those places were in the barn. The Lost Horse Shoe was a run down place, and more than a few people were sick, but then he had just brought a bunch of people here who were in terrible shape, so that was probably his fault. He paid out nearly a third of his silver to pay for even that much, and then helped everyone try to figure out where it was they were going next.

Most decided quickly that they were going back to the city; some saw safety there, and others wanted to earn enough to cross the sea and return home. Others planned to go north and follow the trade roads back to their home, wherever that home was. Simon respected both choices and bought some weapons for the latter group so they wouldn't be defenseless. For the small group that remained, he gave them a letter of introduction and sent them on to the Wayfarer.

He couldn't solve all the world's problems, but he could take in a few strays, and Bessa could use the help. Once that detour was done, they started northeast again, toward the most powerful thread that still tugged at Aranna's soul. She didn't ask about it, though. She was more comfortable talking about the men and women they'd left behind.

"Will they be okay?" she asked, "Eventually, I mean?"

"You were," Simon answered.

"Eventually, I mean." He didn't smile when he said it, but she did. That got them into a half-day conversation about whether or not she would have been okay without his intervention. The answer to that was almost certainly no, but he spent half a day dancing around that issue because it made for a great distraction from what they'd find on the road ahead.

"You're beautiful and hardworking," Simon insisted, "You would have landed on your feet somewhere else, even if you'd never met me." That might have been true, if not for the white cloaks, but he ignored that inconvenient fact as he followed the thread that led from Aranna's soul to someone else's. At this point, he was certain it led to a person. He was fairly certain it led to her mother. While Simon couldn't be sure she was alive, he prayed that she was.

Aranna can't take too many more blows, he thought, regretting his decision to help her find closure. He'd thought that the trip would have been a happier thing, but so far, she'd gotten the most joy from salving the open wounds of strangers. She needed a win. A few days later, she finally got it.

When they reached a small village, they found that the viscount who ran the small community and the surrounding valley was wealthy enough to afford a few slaves, and after they walked into the large house, and led the guard they encountered to believe that they had business with the noble, they found the older woman in the kitchen preparing dinner.

The reunion was awkward but joyous, and though neither of them knew who the other was for sure, there was a hope in their eyes as they asked a few probing questions, followed by hugging and a lot of crying. Simon stepped away and left them to their joyous, impossible reunion. He made quiet conversation with the guard in the dining room, who was slowly putting the pieces together.

"You're not really here to see the Viscount, are you?" he asked, putting his hand on his hilt.

"I mean, I'll have to see him eventually before we take Aranna's mother with us, I suppose," Simon admitted, not bothering to reach for his weapons. The guard seemed like a good kid, and Simon had no intention of hurting him. There was a tense moment then, but it was interrupted by the man himself entering the room. It was almost like he'd heard his name and come running.

"Don't worry, I won't make this your problem," Simon said, enjoying the look of confusion that crossed his face.

"And who might this be?" the noble asked his man, ignoring Simon entirely, and making him smile. He'd been through this drill enough times to find these perfunctory slights amusing. The guard sputtered and seemed like he was about to explain everything, but before he could throw himself under the bus with his employer, Simon stepped in.

"I'm the man that's here to rescue the free woman that you've wrongly imprisoned as a slave," Simon answered.

"I'm afraid that I had to lie to your guard to gain entrance to your fine home, but you see, I plan to marry my fiancée soon, and it was quite important to her that her mother attend the ceremony."

"Fiancée? Mother? You mean Lorinda? You aren't going anywhere with my cook," the young man scowled.

"If you do not leave immediately, I will be forced to call my guards."

"I would hope that we can settle things with words, or perhaps coin," Simon answered, trying to be reasonable. He hadn't expected his attempt to play on the man's emotions to work, but it was as good a story as any to start with.

"I'm sure that I could provide some service that would—" The man responded by shouting for more of his men. This brought the women from the kitchen, as well as two more guards who were dressed in the same livery as the first. All three of them might have worn red, but it was clear they were as green as they came, and he was more annoyed that the viscount was interrupting Aranna's reunion than he was afraid of what would happen next. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent.

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"If you don't leave now, then my men shall be forced to—" the noble yelled, confident in his authority.

"Can we do this outside?" Simon asked, interrupting.

"These are some lovely chairs, and I don't wish to break them when the fighting starts." As he spoke, he nodded toward the dining table. The man might be an ass, but he had decorated the room very tastefully, and once the swords came out, well… it would take a craftsman dozens of hours to replace everything that would get broken, and given all the wood working he'd done this life, he had no wish to be the cause of such destruction.

The fact that he seemed more concerned about the furniture than the men arrayed against him obviously unnerved the guards. He could see the yellow of fear and the muddy brown of uncertainty drifting through their otherwise clear auras. Simon might not look like a warrior, but he certainly acted like one, and it was putting everyone who could see it on edge, which was a shame, because none of these were bad people. Even the viscount wasn't awful. He had slaves, of course, but in the South, that wasn't uncommon.

A few households in Ionia even had them. That didn't automatically make him a villain, but he was clearly used to being obeyed, and this time he wasn't going to get his way. Everyone tried to speak at once then. The noble yelled in outrage, one of the guards tried to diffuse things, and Aranna's mother insisted she didn't want to be the cause of any trouble. Only Simon and Aranna were silent. He'd already said what he needed to say, and she trusted him enough not to interfere. When they were all done.

Simon said, "She's coming with me. I'll pay for her if you'll let me, but I'll draw blood if I have to. But in the yard, not here." Aranna escorted her mother out, despite the viscount's protests, and Simon followed her. His hand was on his hilt now, so all three guards stayed at least one sword length away. In the time it took them to leave the building, that number increased to five guards, but there was nothing he could do about that.

I'd probably have to kill a few to stop them with this many, he thought with resignation. Arranna's mother certainly wouldn't like to be the object of bloodshed. He could see that; her aura was as bright as her daughter's was dark. Fortunately, that changed when they got outside and found a sixth guard. This one was wearing the same boiled leather and red tabard as the rest, but even without studying his aura, Simon could see that he was actually experienced enough to be trouble.

The mere presence of the guard captain changed everything in an instant. Suddenly, it wasn't a question of how the other guards were going to stop him; they became observers, waiting to see how their leader was going to handle this, which made everything much cleaner.

"This brigand is attempting to steal our cook!" the noble insisted. It spoke well of the newcomer that he didn't immediately draw his weapon and instead sought to figure out what was going on. For a moment, the scene reminded Simon of interactions he'd had with Gregor once upon a time. Gregor had never been this petulant, of course, and Simon had never been as handsome as this new guard, but the relationship was certainly similar.

"I can't let you take my lord's property, no matter who she is," he said finally, drawing his own blade for the first time.

"I—""What about a bet?" Aranna asked, cutting off the guard captain.

"If Simon wins, then she goes free." The guard captain paused and looked to the viscount, who responded, "Why should I agree to that? What's in it for me?" Simon suppressed a smile. Everyone knew what she was proposing, with the possible exception of her mother. He just wanted her to say it.

"If he wins, I take her with us, and if he loses, then I'll stay here with her," Aranna answered stoically, even as her mother protested.

"What, it's fine, mother, either way we'll be together." Simon certainly appreciated her faith in him.

"You okay with this?" Simon's opponent asked, "Gambling away a pretty young fiancée for an old woman? Not a bet I'd make."

"Gambling requires that you have a chance of losing," Simon answered, as he stepped back from the group, shed his pack, and unlimbered his shield before doing some deep knee bends and stretching his arms.

"And while you seem very accomplished, I don't think your odds are good enough to call this gambling." The guard laughed out loud at that, but gave Simon the time he needed to get ready. He didn't bother to get his armor from their mule. In a war, it was helpful, and when fighting monsters, it was a necessity, but against a single man in a duel, it would only slow him down. Instead of worrying about getting stabbed, Simon studied the man while he pretended to stare off into space.

He looked at not just the way he held his blade, and the shape and style of the weapon, but the wear of his boots, and even his aura, for hints about what he was going to face. The Viscounts' guard captain was more than a match for Simon. He'd worked out very little in the last year, and it had been even longer since he'd fought with his sword in a serious way, but he was as clear and focused as he'd ever been, and he felt like he could see right through the other man.

It didn't matter how well someone fought when you knew what they were going to do next. The battle that followed was brief and decisive. Quite a crowd gathered by the time the two of them squared off twenty feet apart from each other, but Simon barely saw any of them. He was too busy studying the wispy possibilities of what would come next as the man's phantom preceded his physical form by half a second. Simon didn't try to embarrass the man, nor did he fight dirty, but he gave him no quarter either.

He couldn't with Aranna's future on the line. The guard captain started with a couple of probing thrusts that were no doubt meant to give him an idea of Simon's fighting style, but quickly became heavy two-handed swings. This fight wasn't meant to be to the death, but neither of them held back. At the start, Simon lulled the man into a series of false moves meant to hide his real strength. He stepped back when he should have parried, and when he swung, it was not at his full reach.

Steadily, he let the younger man press his advantage, even cutting Simon twice on the hip and thigh. That was as much as he was prepared to give him, though, because when the guard captain tried to move forward and end it, Simon did the same. They hammered each other with blows then, but as long as Simon stayed close, his two-handed style gave him the advantage. After a short exchange, his opponent was on his back, and Simon's blade was at his neck.

Some people cheered, earning a scowl from the viscount, who went back into his house without a word. His opponent lingered longer after Simon helped him to his feet.

"You're not bad, for an old man," he commented.

"Will you be staying the night? I'd love to buy you a drink and find out how you learned to do that." Simon nodded and chatted with him for a bit, but that was a lie. He had no intention of staying. Once Simon's wounds were bandaged, they left the village. While he wasn't worried that the noble would renege on his agreement, he didn't want to give him the chance to, either. So, rather than recuperating there, he decided that it would be best if he did his resting in Abresse.