Damian FINUCANE's Arc

Chapter 68 of 57

The ride back to the temple took two days. Damian kept the tin box in his saddlebag and the bound master's words in his head. But sleep would not come. He lay awake and thought of the grove, of the ginger swordsman he had beaten and spared. He had let that man live in exchange for a name. Now Damian saw his mistake. That killer still served the true payer above Beyond Juice. He should have ended him. At dawn they reached the Gothic Swordhall Temple. Its high stone arches cut the gray sky. The old master in gray robes met them at the door. Damian told her everything. The chain never ended. The scarred swordsman still lived and still obeyed. "I let him go," Damian said. "I thought I had won. I only freed a blade to strike again." The old master studied him. "You spared him for a name. The name led you here. That is not weakness." "It is if he kills again." Damian's hands shook. He pressed them flat on the cold stone rail. "He knows my face. He knows this place. While he breathes, he can be sent back." Rolo set down her pack. She had ridden hard beside him the whole way, silent, reading his mood. Now she spoke. "Then we don't wait for him to come. We find him first." Damian looked at the raven on the sill. Its black feathers caught the light in blue and purple. He had one clear path left. The scarred swordsman was the loose thread. Kill him, and the payer above the juice shop lost his hand. "Send the bird," Damian said. "To the city. To the shop." The glowing cat wound around his ankle. It had led him to two hidden rooms already. Its green whiskers shimmered in the dim hall. Damian knelt and scratched its ears. "You came from him. You'll help me end him." The old master crossed her arms. "You are not asking me to help you plan. You are telling me your choice is made." "It is." Damian stood. "I let mercy cost me once. Not again. When I find the ginger swordsman, I finish it. Then the man above the shop has no killer to send." Rolo tied a small note to the raven's leg. She whispered to the bird and flung it out the door. It rose over the temple's spires and turned toward the city. Damian watched it go. The regret had hardened into a plan. He would not corner the scarred swordsman and offer a duel. He would not spare him for words. He would strike, and the strike would open the last door. "We ride tonight," Damian said. "To Beyond Juice. This time I go for the killer and the payer both." The old master nodded once. The choice was set. The mercy Damian regretted would not repeat.