Damian FINUCANE's Arc

Chapter 5 of 57

Damian slept badly for two nights after the fight on the path. He knew the masked man was coming. He knew nothing of how the man fought. He had never seen the killer swing a blade, never watched his feet or his hands. A blind clash could end him. He needed eyes that had seen the enemy, and he had none. On the third day the road opened into a warm grove. Tall palms with curved trunks threw broad shade over the grass. Damian sat there to rest, the wrapped sword across his knees. His raven stiffened on his shoulder and clicked once. A voice dropped from above. "You sit like a man who thinks nobody's watching." A girl swung down from the fronds and landed light on the grass. She wore a patched red-and-gold jacket, and she balanced on one foot as if the ground were a rope. This was Rolo Nash, the runaway acrobat who had trailed him since the temple road, always three steps ahead, always laughing. She had helped him once and mocked him twice. He never knew which she would do. "You," Damian said. "Me." Rolo hopped onto a curved trunk and walked it like a beam. "Word's out. Everyone wants your shiny sword." She pointed down at him. "Including the one in the mask. I've seen him, you know. Watched him cut a man in a market square last winter." Damian stood. "You saw him fight." "Twice." She dropped back to the grass, suddenly still. "He's fast on the right. Always cuts high, then low. He waits for you to swing, then steps inside and finishes it." Damian's heart beat hard. Here was what he needed. "Show me. Move the way he moves." Rolo grinned and snatched a fallen palm branch. She came at him. She cut high, then low, exactly as she said. Damian raised his blade to block. She stepped inside, past his guard, and tapped the branch against his ribs. "Dead," she said. They did it again. And again. Each time she showed the pattern, Damian learned the gap in it. High, low, step in. He began to catch the third beat before it came. On the tenth pass, when she stepped inside, he turned his blade down and caught the branch. He pressed it to the grass. She could not move it. Rolo whistled. "Now you've got a chance." Damian breathed slow, mind cold and clear. He was no longer blind. He knew the shape of the masked man's attack. He could plan for it. Then Rolo's smile faded. She looked past him, down the grove. "Damian," she said. Her voice had lost all its play. "That raven of yours clicked for a reason. Somebody's on the road behind you. Coming slow. Coming alone." Damian turned toward the trees. His hand closed on the wrapped hilt. The waiting was over.