Personal choice (Bernard Durand-1)

Boom. Boom. Boom.

There was a huge footstep behind the wall. The footsteps were very close — the night visitor was moving along the side of the house, toward the entrance. Bernard gritted his teeth, nodded. Slowly, silently, he put his cleaver back in its scabbard, picked up his two-handed sword from the floor. He moved the two torches closer together.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The footsteps fell silent in front of the broken door. In their place came heavy breathing, a sort of low bang — and a moan, distinctly human. Bernard swallowed, glanced at the elf, but she kept her eyes on the barricade blocking the passage.

Boom!

Something struck the table that had replaced the door. It held. The next blow was much harder, and the barricade could not withstand it. The support cracked, the table collapsed, and a dark mass, unrecognisable in the faint light of the stove, began to squeeze through the doorway, grunting and whimpering in a human voice at the same time. Bernard did not wait any longer; he jumped up and thrust one of the torches into the furnace. As soon as it was lit, the soldier threw it on the pile of brushwood in front of the door. The oiled branches flared up instantly, and the flames engulfed the skin of the intruder. His angry roar merged with a shrill shriek. The fire lit up the entire room, but Durand had no time to look at the stranger. Earless had already opened the nearest window and deftly slipped out. The soldier threw his sword through the window first, then climbed out, helping himself with his elbows. It would have been easier without the cuirass, but Bernard did not take off his armour for the night, knowing that he would not have time to put it back on in case of emergency. He tumbled over the window sill like a sack of rutabagas and fell to the dusty ground. He got up quickly, grabbed the two-handed sword that had flown not far away. He looked round. The blue disc of the full moon shone above the farm, surrounded by surprisingly bright stars. Earless was already retreating towards the forest, drawing her bow.

They seemed to be in a hurry. The beast did not have time to fully climb into the house. When it saw its prey escaping, it backed away, out of the fire trap. And almost immediately it saw Bernard. It rose up on its hind legs with the familiar two-voiced bellow. Durand cursed. The soldier had never seen such an abomination before.

It had actually been a bear once. And there was quite a bit of bear left in it. But there was a man attached to the beast's chest. It looked as if the beast had pinned the poor man down with its paws, and then something happened that fused them both together. The man's legs dangled in the air, horribly broken, while his torso and arms were embedded in the bear's chest. The head was at the beast's left shoulder. Durand could see the left half of the face, one eye, and an open mouth uttering a familiar groan. The unfortunate man's face was burned, the hair on his head almost gone — as was the hair on the bear's head.

— Merciful Creator, shield your children, your eldest and youngest, your beloved... — Durand mumbled a prayer as he took a step back, raising his sword in a defensive stance.

An arrow whistled above his ear. The elfess aimed for one of the creature's heads, but the beast fell back on its four legs at that very moment, the shot missing it. Growling, the nocturnal visitor lunged at a heavy trot. Bernard waited until the last moment, and leaped out of its way without even trying to strike a blow. The beast swept past him like a speeding gendarme, but the soldier rolled across the grass and stood up hastily. The second arrow struck the bear's head in the temple, just missing the eye socket, and bounced off without penetrating the skull. Durand watched out of the corner of his eye as Earless threw away her bow, threw off her cloak, and drew her sword and dagger. The moonlight turned her into a charcoal-black silhouette, with only her hair appearing silver.

— Come on — the soldier shouted, stepping towards the beast now. — Come on! Over here!

"Could this be it?" — Durand's mind flashed. Was this the moment? He didn't give in, didn't play along. It's honest. He fights to the end, to the best of his ability. He's gonna do everything he can. It's just not enough. And Earless isn't stupid, she'll save herself. It's even better without him. The main thing is to finish it before she gets into a fight.

— Come here! — repeated the soldier, pointing his sword at the monster. He'd never been hunting, and he didn't know how bears behaved — but in any case, he could hardly expect normal behaviour from this creature. — Bastard!

The beast snorted, shaking its head. He stepped from paw to paw and started to rise again.

— H-Ha! — Bernard rushed forward now. He struck a stabbing blow with a sprint, leaning on the hilt of the two-handed sword with his whole body. The blade sank into the back of the man who was fused with the beast, piercing both his body and the bear's chest. The man cried out briefly, but Durand's ears ached from the beast's roar. A moment later, the beast's paws were around the soldier, pressing him against the beast's chest, which reeked of burning wool and decay.

— R-ra-r-r-r-r! — Bernard growled back, twitching, trying to reach for the cleaver, but in vain, his hands were pinned to his sides. The grip grew tighter, bones crunching, cuirass creaking. The soldier threw his head back, wanting to meet the beast's gaze. He saw a slender black figure leap onto the monster's neck. She drove the dagger into the creature's back. Holding it with one hand, Earless drew her other hand back and swung the thin sword under the bear's skull. The beast silently jerked away, unclasping its arms. Shoving Durand away from it, the beast threw the elven woman off its back. The soldier fell to the ground. From his position, he could see the beast stagger like a drunk — with two swords sticking out of its body. Earless glided around the creature, clutching her last weapon in her hand, a fencing dagger. Suddenly she stopped, raised the dagger above her head. Bernard's eyes blurred, dark spots dancing in them. It seemed to him that the moonlight enveloped the blade, making it longer, wider. The girl clasped the hilt in her two hands and strode toward the monster, quickening her stride.

— Stop! I... — Durand wheezed. He tried to raise himself on his elbows, and the flash of pain was his punishment. Without even a groan, the soldier lost consciousness....

* * *

One of ten. One of ten can be spared. A small consolation. They said he had the courage to obey the order. In fact, he didn't have the courage to refuse it. He knew the price of his courage. Anyone can repent later. It's pointless when you had a choice and your cowardice chose for you.

Durand opened his eyes, snapping out of his nightmare visions. Immediately, he groaned with pain throughout his body. It was not the first time the soldier had felt this way. He took a few convulsive breaths and slowly turned his head. Bernard was lying on the ground, in the middle of a clearing, on an elf cloak. The dwelling house was nearly burned out, only sporadic flames dancing on the collapsed timbers. Between the fire and Bernard was a shapeless mass — only by its size did the soldier realise that it was the farm's nocturnal guest. Silent and immovable. Sitting beside the body was Earless. With one leg bent at the knee and her palms folded on it, the elf looked upwards. Durand involuntarily looked up at the sky.

There was no moon or stars, the sky was a grey membrane of clouds. But... Bernard was struck by lightning with the thought: Where had the moon come from? The clouds had formed soon after the night of fire and covered the sky from horizon to horizon. Even the autumn winds of thunderstorms did not dispel them. For weeks Durand had not seen a patch of blue sky, the sun a blurred disc behind the veil. But... during the battle with the monster, he had definitely seen the moon and the constellations, brighter than ever! Was he dreaming about the battle? But the pain convinced him it was not a dream. The battle had been fought. Even if Earless had kicked him in his sleep, he would have felt better. The soldier moved cautiously. His limbs obeyed, so his back was intact. The cuirass seemed to have saved him from the worst of it. Though his ribs must have cracked, and the pain in his shoulders was sharp. He wouldn't be able to swing a two-handed sword for a while.

Holding back a groan, Bernard sat up very carefully. Earless looked at him for a second with her yellow cat eyes and then back up at the sky. No compassion here.

— Well... — Durand said, fumbling for a flask of water on his belt. — Not this time, then. There will be another. It's my personal choice not to play along.

After a couple of sips, the soldier felt a little better. He corked the flask and said, raising his voice:

— Hey, you pagan spawn. A farm this big is hardly far from the villages, eh? Isn't there a trail around here? Can you lead us to the people?

The elfess didn't turn to Durand — but nodded.

* * *

Smoke was wafting over the village. Cosy smokes from cookers and stoves. Dogs barked, cows mooed. There, behind the strong palisades and the dry moat, lived a piece of the old world — not perfect, but much cosier and safer. Bernard went to the gate first, relieved to have his two-handed weapon off his aching shoulder and pressed its point into the ground. The guards, of course, had spotted them from afar, and were already waiting, pointing their roughly forged spears. A boy armed with a primitive crossbow looked out from the platform above the gate.

— A red beard and an ears without ears, — grumbled the senior guard, glaring at the guests. — You're a suspicious-looking lot. Are you a mercenary, redhead?

— Sort of. — Bernard immediately adopted the familiar tone. He even spat to the side to make it more convincing.

— We don't have any gold here, and we don't need soldiers.

— We don't need gold. And as for not needing soldiers... — Durand grinned wryly. — Let me say a few words to your headman. Maybe you'll ask us to stay with you longer.

End of the first story.

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