The chambers greeted him with familiar warmth and a wondrous aroma – baked pigeon with herbs and crispy fried potatoes. But today the air was thicker than usual, saturated with silent suspicion.
Mari sat at the table, her fingers worrying the edge of a napkin. From the pallor of her skin and the overly bright flush on her cheeks, Saigo read immediately: she knew. Or guessed. Or guessed very strongly.
"Darling," her voice sounded a pitch higher than usual. He silently bowed in response and sat down, fixing his gaze on his plate. They ate in oppressive silence, broken only by the clatter of cutlery.
It wasn't that he had nothing to say. But any word could lead there – to the Old Man's promise. To the word starting with 'F'. To what he himself feared more than a dragon's maw. Freedom. And it wasn't time for that question yet.
Mari, fighting the tremor in her hands, finally broke the silence. Her voice was thin as a taut string: "You have… a new mission?"
"Yes," he answered firmly, not looking up. A spoonful of potatoes froze halfway to his mouth.
"Is it… difficult?" Her question held a plea: say 'no'.
"I don't have any other kind," he set the spoon aside, met her gaze. The beginnings of tears welled in Mari's grey eyes, which she desperately held back.
"But you know. I will manage." He replied calmly, wanting to defuse the situation.
"I… I don't doubt that," she swallowed a lump, forcing a smile. The sincerity in those words cut him sharper than any blade.
"But why… why did my father visit?" Her lips betrayed her, trembling. "Why did he look at me so strangely? Why did he speak with you alone?"
Saigo took a deep breath. The air felt thick as tar. "To explain what I must do. The mission… is very important. And very, very well paid." Saigo replied, deciding gold was a safe topic.
Mari nodded, lowering her eyes. A drop fell onto the tablecloth, leaving a dark spot. "Please… be careful." Her hand reached awkwardly across the table, her fingers seeking his palm, a tiny island of warmth and assurance in this sea of fear.
He pulled his hand away. Sharply. Involuntarily. As from red-hot iron.
The thought that he might shatter her fragile hopes of deliverance from the Clan struck his chest like a heavy stone. The possibility of lying, of omitting… it suddenly became unbearable. A sip of water burned his throat.
"Mari," his voice cracked, became unfamiliar. "If… no, when… I succeed… your father, besides a mountain of gold, spoke of…"
She froze, utterly, turning into pure hearing. Her eyes widened. "What? What did he say?"
"Umm… I'll tell you later, when the time comes…"
Mari's face clouded for an instant – a shadow of disappointment, a sting of pain from his withdrawn hand and the unfinished thought. But a second later, it was again filled with that tenderness stronger than fear.
She gathered all her will into a fist. "Don't worry, darling," she whispered, and her smile held immeasurable sadness and acceptance. "Just… just come back. In one piece. The rest… can wait."
'And how can you lie to that?' – it stabbed him right in the heart. But the stone mask, honed over years, didn't flinch. He only nodded, unable to utter a word.
The rest of the meal passed in heavy silence. When he rose from the table, his travel pack was already waiting by the door. Bulky, tightly packed, it looked like a modest repository of an arsenal capable of crushing a small fortress.
'Efficient. As always.'
"Time to warm up," he tossed into the emptiness of the room, more for himself than for Mari. Grabbing the pack, whose worth could fund a small kingdom, he left without looking back.
The door slammed shut, leaving Mari alone with her fears and her unspoken prayer. And Saigo headed for the training hall – the only place where the chaos in his soul could be drowned out by fierce, flesh-maiming work.
Saigo sped through the corridors like a ghost, not noticing the troubled glances of the brothers or their respectful bows. The whole world had narrowed to the chaos in his chest.
He, Saigo, a born killer, for whom human life was a fleeting spark before a blade, who had wiped out families root and stem without a shadow of doubt, who had single-handedly broken trolls' spines and mocked ogres in their agony… was afraid. Felt that pathetic, scratching-under-the-ribs unease. Over these six months, he had, unnoticed by himself, grown accustomed to her quiet presence, to the warmth of her gaze, to this island of… humanity.
'Ugh! Enough!' – the thought escaped almost as a shout. He nearly crashed into a stone wall, stopping abruptly.
'First the dragon. Then… the princess.' A spasm tightened his throat. He launched himself forward, accelerating into a run, and leaped through the nearest arched window like a shadow. Landed soundlessly on the straw awning of the stables, dropped into the training yard.
Here, the usual chaos reigned, fitting for novices. Six acolytes clumsily practiced strikes under the deafening cacophony of the old instructor – Brother Gorn, nicknamed "The Shrieker":
"Where are you hitting, idiot?! I could've banged your mother twice in the time it takes you to wind up!"
"And you, fool! That's not a man's… twig, it's a SPEAR! How are you holding it?! In your a...!"
The stream of abuse didn't cease. Saigo hoped to slip through to the far targets, but The Shrieker spotted him. The old wolf's eagle eyes locked onto him.
"Saigo! YOU, just in time! Come on, show these sacks of bones how to break faces!"
"Old man, I'm in a hurry…" the thought was clear, but Gorn turned a completely deaf ear to him: "WHAT?! SPEAK UP!"
Damn, forgot he's almost deaf. "I said, I'm busy!" Saigo barked, but Gorn just grinned, pointing at the acolytes:
"Lesson topic – basic weapon mastery. They need a visual example and a good thrashing!"
Saigo froze. Time flowed like molten glass. Faster to agree than argue with a deaf ram. He shrugged the pack off his shoulders – a heavy, deadly load – with a dull thud.
He snatched the first training blade he found from the rack – heavy, blunt, like a piece of rough iron. He gathered the seven acolytes with a look – cold as a winter wind.
"You have one minute. If even one of you touches me – gets a personal recommendation to the Clan Head from me." His voice, quiet and level, cut through Gorn's cursing. The acolytes' eyes, previously bored or frightened, ignited. A recommendation from Saigo? That was a ticket to better contracts and a chance to escape the drudgery of training.
He stepped into the center of the improvised arena. His scalpel-like gaze swept over the opponents in a fraction of a second:
'Left: Mountain of muscle with a training maul. Strength for sure, but speed – none. So we'll catch him on the wind-up.'
'Right: Twins. Paired short swords. If they pin me, it'll be tough, but separated they're no threat.'
'Center: Girl with a spear. Standing too straight, spear trembling. Afraid? Means she's already lost, before even starting. Or… Gorn was partly right.' – her eyes were wandering playfully over his body, her face flushed with bliss.
'Left, further back: Guy with a knife. Stance low, mobile. No visible mistakes yet. Potentially dangerous. Must keep an eye on him.'
'Right, behind: The wounded guy with a halberd, oh so it's Shen? Holds the weapon uncertainly, favoring his ribs. How naive to display your weakness.'
"As soon as the cloth hits the ground – begin!" Gorn roared, but his voice was drowned out by the adrenaline of the seven.
Vzzzzzhh!
Saigo didn't wait. He threw the cloth at the ground so it didn't just hit, but printed itself into the packed earth like a bullet. The echo of the impact still hung in the air as he was already moving.
The fight began.
First ten seconds…
The mauler charged first, relying on brute force. Saigo didn't dodge. He met the swing, driving his blade into the base of the maul.
CRACK! The wooden handle splintered, the maul torn from the stunned giant's grasp. A trip – and he crashed onto his back, breath whooshing out. 'First.'
The twin pair lunged synchronously, trying to pin him from both sides. Saigo surged forward – right between them. His elbows, like hammers, struck their solar plexuses. Air left them with a groan. As they bent over, a flat blow from the blade to the back of their heads sent them into the embrace of the dirt. 'Second and third.'
The spear girl froze, frightened by the opponent's speed, and thrust her spear forward. Saigo jumped along the shaft like a lizard running up a wall. His foot shot out towards her chin. The girl flew back, dropping her weapon. 'Fourth.'
Thirty seconds…
Shen tried to keep his distance, swinging the long shaft. Saigo ducked, letting the shaft whistle over his head, and surged forward inside its effective radius. And without holding back, drove his knee – into the already broken ribs.
'Crunch.' Shen cried out, releasing the halberd. A flat blow with the flat of the blade to the temple – five.
The knifeman hadn't rushed into the fight all this time. Patiently waiting, he used his falling comrades as living shields, moving in zigzags along the edge of the circle. Eyes – slits full of cold calculation – gleamed in anticipation of victory. He was waiting.
Saigo found himself face to face with the last one standing. The courtyard fell silent. Even Gorn quieted, covering his mouth with his hand.