Fighting Fair

By: Chaoslace

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Chapter 1: Wounded

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"Guy!"

The swordsman grunted and drew his blade out of his most recent victim, a burly bandit that feebly crawled a few inches forward before falling still. The fight had been a lot closer than Guy would have liked, and his ragged breathing left puffs of steam in the chilled morning air. It had been barely dawn when Kent sounded the alarm, and by the time their band had eradicated the unfortunate thieves, the sun had not yet burned the cool night from the air.

"Guy!" The voice again, louder this time. He turned to look and then stumbled back a step. His sword felt remarkably heavy in his hands and he drove the point into the ground, leaning on it for balance.

"Gah," he said under his breath, wincing slightly. He closed his eyes and gripped the hilt of the propped-up sword. A thin trickle of blood dripped from his wrist onto the leather taping, where it ran down to the edge of the guard and fell to the frosted ground. "That was," he said, before dropping to one knee. He panted, trying to put off awareness of the deep gash in his shoulder for as long as he could manage. His vision had become slightly hazy and a familiar face wavered at the edge of it.

"Guy, are you - oh God."

It was Lyn. He struggled to get up, not wanting to appear weak in front of one of the commanders, but she only pushed him back to the ground. "Lie down," she ordered, ripping his sword from the ground in a swift motion. "SAIN!" she yelled, waving the sword over her head. "Guy's down! Get a healer over here! NOW!" She let the blade clatter to the ground and knelt beside him. He tried to read her face as she used a dagger to strip off his sleeve, but her expression was blank and focused.

She worked quickly and bound the wound with what was left of his shirt, taking time to lay his arm out straight and make sure there were no broken bones. "Thank goodness," she said under her breath when a pounding deep in the ground heralded the knight's approach.

He closed his eyes and heard Lucius chanting softly under his breath. Sain and Lyn were talking several feet away, but he could now only barely hear them at the edge of his perception. A slightly golden haze crept up on the edges of his vision and he became hyperaware of everything around him. Two ants tickled the ends of his fingers and a hawk sailed across the sun high above him. The grass and weeds groaned under the weight of his body, and beneath him he was sure that he could feel the very roots of a nearby maple tree creeping through the earth. His breathing slowed and shallowed as awareness bled away from his body.

"How is he?" asked Lyn, peering down at what appeared to be a very peacefully sleeping Guy. Lucius, who had been kneeling over him, stood up to face her.

"The spell is working now," said the fair bishop, smoothing down his robes. "His wound is very deep. It's good that you bound it. Healing magic can do many things, but it can't close a wound like that any more than it can reattach a severed hand." He looked down at Guy. "He will be much better soon, but ah-" the look on Lyndis's face stopped him. "Yes, Milady?"

She crossed her arms and looked away in irritation. "Thank you, Lucius," she said. "Let us hope that we never have to go through this again."

"Ah," he said gently. "Yes, Milady. I'll be returning to the others now." He bowed and started back towards the camp.

Sain, who had been tending to his horse, took the reins and trotted after Lucius. "Hey Luc," he said. The bishop stopped and waited for him to catch up. They walked together and Lucius petted the horse's side as he related the situation to Sain.

"So he's going to be okay?"

Lucius nodded. "Yes, he'll be fine," he said, as they approached the camp. Cleanup from the morning's battle seemed to be over with, and some had drifted to the edge of the field to watch for news of Guy. They read the faces of the bishop and the knight and turned back to their business, some with expressions of relief and others with annoyance. "However, I don't think I'd want to be in his shoes when he wakes up," he added, nodding to Raven and Priscilla as he passed them.

Sain stopped and turned towards him. "Why not? Will he be in a lot of pain?"

Lucius laughed, a soft understated noise surrounded by the buzz of the mercenary camp. "Not really," he said, and looked over the field to the distant figure of Lyndis, who was busy cleaning Guy's sword with a leather rag. "But I don't believe the Lady Commander is terribly pleased with the risks he's been taking lately."

"Ahhh," Sain nodded, then started to laugh himself. "You're right, of course." They reached the other knights and he handed the reins to Marcus, who was tending to the horses. "I can't imagine a worse fate than to be on Lady Lyndis's bad side." Now it was Marcus's turn to laugh. Sain turned his head sharply and gave him a puzzled look. "What?" Lucius, chuckling under his breath, bowed and started back towards his group. "What's funny? Hey Luc, wait up! Luc!"

The sun rose above them, and it turned out that it was going to be a pretty nice day.

* * *

When Guy awoke, he found that they had moved to a nearby farming village. He appreciated the change, for the bed was quite comfortable, and he hardly noticed the pain in his shoulder until he stretched and started to stand. He whimpered and fell heavily back onto the cot. "Ohh," he murmured under his breath, touching the still-mending wound gingerly with the tips of his fingers. "I forgot about that."

"Yeah?" A voice from across the room startled him. He raised his hand against the light streaming in through a small window and squinted into the shadows beyond. "Well, don't." The visitor grinned and stepped forward. Guy recognized him immediately.

"Matthew," he said, grimacing. He groaned and flopped back to rest against a propped-up pillow. "Great. Just what I need." He crossed his arms and set his jaw sullenly.

"Hey, I consider your life something of an investment," the young thief said, shrugging his shoulders as he crossed the small room. "I'm surprised that you don't seem to think of it in the same way."

"Oh, you're clever! Absolutely hilarious, you know?"

Matthew ignored him and sat on the edge of the bed. "So how are ya feeling? Your sword arm okay?"

Guy frowned and stretched out his right arm slowly. The muscles in his shoulder still felt stiff and knotted, and he opened and closed his fist sluggishly. "Just a scratch. I'll be fine in a few days." Matthew gave him a look. He'd seen it before. He sighed and let his arm drop. "Alright, alright," he said, running a hand through his hair, which was tangled and knotted. "You don't need to make that face. I know I messed up. I thought I could take them!"

"You could have taken them," said Matthew, polishing a petite silver dagger with a handful of fabric from his cloak. "Had they not brought friends." He held up the blade and checked his reflection in the smooth surface. "Why didn't you run away? You had time to get to the others."

Guy watched his friend's eyes reflected on the silver dagger. Bits of dust sailed across the puddle of sunlight that was creeping across the room. "Running away isn't my style," he said after a long moment. "I'm not like you, you know?"

Light flashed on the dagger's edge and one of Matthew's eyebrows arched in amusement. He dropped the knife back down to his lap and stuck in into a concealed wrist holder with a diminuitive shick. "Not like me," he said, his shoulders shaking a little in silent laughter. "No, I guess you're not." He stood and stretched languidly, pacing around the small room. "What was your kill count in the last battle, Guy?"

The swordsman spent a minute counting on his fingers. "I think I got four - no, wait, five. Before I went down." A proud tone edged its way into his voice.

"Oh, really?' Matthew turned, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "That's not too bad."

Guy crossed his arms and gave him a look. "Are you making fun of me?"

Matthew chuckled. "Not at all."

"What was your kill count, then?"

The thief didn't miss a beat. "Seven."

Guy paled. "Sev- seven? You can't be serious! I killed myself out there today, and you were nowhere to be seen! How in the world did you get more kills than me?"

Matthew grinned. "Battles are fought in many ways, Guy. I consider mine to be somewhat more subtle than yours. But," he brought his right arm up sharply, his silver dagger flashing as he caught it in his hand. "No less effective." He saw the look on Guy's face and started to chuckle. "Maybe you are right." He strode towards the door. "You're not like me." He waved over his shoulder, and before Guy could say anything, he was gone.

"Hey-" Guy started to call after him, then sighed and leaned back against the pillows. "Ah, forget it," he said to the empty room. "There's no point."

There was a moment of silence, then a faint high whine that caused him to turn his head. A silver streak whizzed through the air and ended with a thunk as Matthew's silver dagger embedded itself in the wall across from the doorway.

"There is always a point, my friend!" the thief called out, and Guy shook his head, listening to Matthew's laughter disappear down the hallway.