The Swordsman's Descent by G.M. White

Author:G.M. White [White, G.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Twin Star Press

The Water King, Nobody, No One, and Borne were making their way along a dark tunnel underneath the palace. They had discarded their servants’ uniforms for nondescript workers’ clothes in muted tones. Their way was lit only by the torches they held, and the damp sounds of the underground echoed eerily about them.

“Lucky for us, we weren’t needed to help out with that big dinner,” said Borne. “Although I am feeling a little peckish.”

“We’ll eat when we get back,” said the Water King. “Making contact with our counterparts in the city below is more important.”

“City below? Is that what they call it?” asked No One.

“What is it about criminals and underground lairs?” asked Nobody.

“Yeah, it’s like everyone’s heard the phrase ‘criminal underworld’ and taken it to heart,” said No One.

“Hush you two,” said the Water King. “I’m trying to pay attention. We need to make the right signal in the right place or…”

“Or what?” asked Borne.

“Or you’ll step into a whole heap of trouble,” said a shadowy figure that appeared in their path. Cloaked, they drew back their hood to reveal sharp features in the light of the torches. A lean young man, his complexion made sallow by much time spent out of the sun. His frame carried tension, like a strung bow waiting to be loosed.

“We’re not after trouble. We have an invitation,” said the Water King.

“Well, you missed your marker and your opportunity to make the signal, so I might just have to gut you where you stand.” The young man pulled back his cloak to reveal a long knife that hung at his belt. He reached for it and drew it slowly, taking a step forward as he spoke. “So make quick with that signal or—”

Borne moved with a speed that belied his size, putting himself between the potential threat and the others. He dropped his torch as he did so and seized both of the young man’s wrists in one large hand, his throat with the other, and before anyone else could act, was holding their would-be attacker suspended in the air.

“I abhor violence,” said Borne in a mournful voice, “but threaten my friends again, and I may have to make an exception.”

The young man was turning red and tried to choke out some words. Borne relaxed his grip slightly.

“Sorry, you were saying?”

Borne’s captive glowered at him. “There’s a half-dozen crossbows trained on you, you fool. Hurt me, and you’ll be bristling with bolts like a pincushion. “

The Water King stepped forward, laying a gentle hand on Borne’s arm. “Now, Borne, we’re all friends here. This is just a small misunderstanding. I’m sure he was only drawing his knife to make the signal. Now, I’m going to draw the knife at my belt, tap out the agreed signal, we’ll exchange the sign and countersign, and then we’ll go see your employer, and no blood need be shed. All right?”

He slowly drew the knife at his belt, knelt on the rocky floor, and tapped out a rhythm with the hilt.

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