Damian FINUCANE's Arc

Chapter 50 of 57

Damian slept two days at the temple. When he woke, his hands no longer shook. But the old ache stayed. The masked killer who scarred his mother had never answered for it in open steel. He found Rolo in the yard and told her he had learned where the man was hiding. A trader from the smoothie route had spoken of a scarred swordsman living above a juice shop in the city. Now Damian needed a plan. Rolo listened, then shook her head. "You'll charge in tired and angry," she said. "That's how he wants you. Think first." A cat wound around Damian's ankle. Its coat was dark and soft, its eyes a strange green glow. It slept in the temple kitchen and feared no one. Damian watched it slip through a gap in the wall, silent, unseen. "We don't charge," he said. "We come in like that cat. Quiet. Through a way he won't watch." They rode to the city and found the juice shop at dusk. Bright signs hung over the counter. Smoothies and wraps sat in the window. Above it, one shuttered window showed a faint light. Damian sent his raven to circle the roof. It returned and settled on his wrist. A back stair, narrow, unguarded. "He's alone," Rolo said. "No hired men this time. Just him." Damian gripped his gemmed sword. The blue stone caught the last light. This was the only blade that could wound the man. "I want him to know why," he said. "Not a dart in the dark. Steel." They climbed the back stair. Damian pushed the door. The room held little—a bed, a table, and a gold chest against the far wall, its lid open and empty. Beside it stood the scarred swordsman. He had his blade drawn already. He was waiting. "You found me faster than I hoped," the man said. He touched the empty chest. "I was packing to leave." Damian did not answer with rage. He remembered his training. He set his feet and cleared his mind, the way his master taught. "You cut my mother," he said. "Now face me." The man smiled and came at him. Damian met the high cut, then the low. He knew this pattern. He had trained against it in the grove. He held his ground and did not let anger break his stance. Steel rang three times. On the fourth, Damian turned the man's blade wide and drove his shoulder forward. The killer stumbled against the empty chest and fell. Damian stood over him, sword raised. His arm shook to strike. But the man was down, sword lost, hand open in surrender. "Kill me," the man said. "You've earned it." Damian pressed the blade to his throat. Then he stopped. He would not kill a beaten, unarmed man. He kicked the sword away. "You answer in the open," he said. "At dawn. In the grove. No walls. No poison. Just us." The man nodded slowly. The duel Damian had waited for was set at last.