By
Eric Sandler
I turned my head toward the entrance of the bar as my buddy’s eyes swiveled in that direction. All conversation stopped. The girl dancing on stage froze. The musicians looked like they were about to piss themselves. The barkeep, Robby, kept cleaning that same damn glass he’d been wiping since I got in an hour ago.
It was the woman that did it. Long snow-white hair. Blue eyes. Body that could’ve been chiseled out of marble. Face of a goddess. Perfect, round lips. No makeup, but she didn’t need a thing. Shame she wasn’t in a dress. Shame she was in the armor of the Officials. White as her hair, lined with royal purple, with the sigil painted onto the breastplate that’d been especially shaped to her bust. An executioner’s red double-headed axe. The sigil of the Officials. The sword hung at her hip on the left side, but there were probably more blades stashed elsewhere on her person. I didn’t think to ask.
I didn’t stare long, not my buddy neither. If we were marked, she’d have gone to us first. Instead, she walked right for the bar, her eyes straight ahead. I kept my eyes on my drink. If Robby was marked, I didn’t want to see him go.
I heard a thump and finally looked up. It was too soft to be a body hitting the floor. If Robby was marked for death, he’d just be dead, not still wiping that same damn glass, looking like nothing was wrong. Like no one would die today.
I craned my neck. The lady had slapped something on the bar. Probably a picture of her target. Robby didn’t say a word, and that was stupid. Officials don’t follow the same rules about interrogation. You either talked, or they got nasty. The lady dropped her left hand to her sword. Robby set the glass down and raised his right. He pointed toward the ceiling and said, “Upstairs, second door to the right. You make a mess, I’m gonna want a voucher for the cleaning.”
The lady didn’t respond. They never do. Just doing their jobs, as natural as breathing. She picked up the picture from the bar and headed for the stairs. I just hoped the poor bastard didn’t struggle too much. I didn’t want my drinking spoiled.
I watched her go, then turned back to my buddy. “Nice piece of ass,” he said to me. Idiot. If she’d heard that, his head would be floating in his drink.
“Just shut up and grab another pitcher,” I muttered. Our first two were already empty. It’d been a good night so far. A bad day, but a good night.
Life returned to the bar. The band started up again, and the girl on stage resumed her dancing. She was a pretty thing, but odds put her at least twenty-five years younger than me. I like the young ones, but I don’t go in for kids. My buddy was eyeing her a little harder than he should’ve, though. I don’t know why I like the guy.
Then it all went to hell. It started with a creaking I heard from upstairs. Someone in full plate armor will do that to a place with floorboards as old as this dump’s. Weird thing was, I heard the door opening, and Robby keeps this place from going to rust, at least. The band stopped suddenly, the dancer girl looking like she wanted to run and hide. Nobody wanted to think about what was going on upstairs, but nobody could stop thinking about it, either.
Some mumbling from above. They were probably talking, the lady giving the Officials’ Notice of Execution, the other guy begging for his life. I tried to focus on my drink, but suddenly the beer tasted like slop, and I wanted to toss up what I drank earlier besides.
Another thump, this one loud. So, that was that, another poor bastard gone—another thump. What the hell? A crash. Something broke, sounded like a window. Geez, this guy wasn’t that stupid, was he? You didn’t run from the Officials. They don’t get tired like me and you. They don’t stop to eat, drink, whatever. They just chase you down and carry out their orders. And if the guy had jumped out the second story of the inn, that would kill him anyway, no need for the Official.
My buddy suddenly got to his feet and ran for the door. A few others followed, wanting to see a show, I suppose. I tagged along, though I really didn’t want to see anyone die tonight. My buddy still needed to pay for the drinks
Outside, the snow was coming down steady. The street was coated with a few inches of the white stuff, enough to cushion the fall of the idiot who’d jumped out the window. I tried to push my way past the gawkers, but there were too many. Footsteps behind us created a path instantly, the sound of steel boots on wood floorboards. Soon after came the lady herself, looking not a bit perturbed by the temporary escape of her mark. As the yokels parted to let her through, I got a glimpse of the poor bastard.
Oh, God damn it. It was a kid. Just a kid, and a girl besides. Some poor rugrat with cuts from the window and bruises on her face. She looked scared to death, and I didn’t blame her. What the hell was a kid like her doing marked by the Officials? Then I saw her eyes, yellow and shining like gold. An Espira. One of the Outsiders. Rare as all hell to see one here, what with the higher-ups’ attitudes toward their kind. Stories all said they were treacherous, with magic powers that could steal a child from his bed in the dead of night, but that was superstition. I’d known one of the Espira, way back when. Decent guy, could drink me under the table. They were nothing like the stories.
The Official walked up to the girl, calm as could be. The Espira was crying, trying to crawl away in the snow. I grimaced, tried to shut out her sobs. My buddy had an angry look on his face, and so did all the other idiots who’d left the bar for this, but they were rooting for the Official now. None of them had any love for the Espira. Neither did I, really. Their kind never did me any great favors. But I didn’t buy into the crap that they were all evil bastards, either.
The Espira crawled up against the building across the street and sat with her back pressed against the bricks. She was still sobbing, but not pleading. She knew it’d be no use. Our eyes met, maybe for a second, and I felt like I wanted to die right there.
“Please,” she said, so soft I almost didn’t believe I’d heard.
I didn’t move. The Official stopped just in front of the Espira, sword drawn. That glittering, silvery sword that’d been stained with the blood of God knows how many men and women. She raised it, poised over the Espira’s heart. Then I moved.
I thought I heard my buddy yell, but the blood in my ears was pounding too hard for me to hear anything but those tiny, helpless sobs. The next few seconds were sorta fuzzy, but before I knew it, I had my hand on the Official’s, holding that sword back.
The Official looked at me, those deep blue eyes staring into my soul. Shame she wasn’t in a dress. “Do you challenge?” she asked, no emotion whatsoever. Cold as the snow falling around her already white hair. She didn’t care. One life paid the mark as well as another.
In that moment, I remembered every story I’d ever heard as a kid, about knights and heroes and do-gooders, and I realized something. They were all idiots. “I challenge,” I said, my voice steady as a stone. The higher-ups wouldn’t like that. I should’ve been quivering in my boots. I should’ve been pissing my pants. But I didn’t have time for that.
Something hit me in the chest. Maybe it was a building. I went flying, the wind knocked out of me so bad I didn’t even grunt when my body went through the wall of Robby’s inn. I went through a couple tables and a few chairs on my way down, but I barely noticed them. I was already coughing up blood like I was drowning in it. I skidded to a halt a few feet from the bar, my vision fuzzy and pain all over my body. Robby finally had enough sense to put the damn glass down, but at least the fool didn’t try to help. Wouldn’t have done any good for either of us.
The Official strode through the hole she’d made in the wall, some of my blood on her gauntlet. I tried to get to my feet, but for some reason my legs decided to go in different directions, and I just flopped against the bar, breathing hard. It hurt to breathe, but I kept sucking up great big gulps. She stood over me and stared down with those beautiful blue eyes.
“You’d look great in a dress,” I said, coughing blood after every other word. The Official didn’t say thanks, didn’t smile, didn’t blink, didn’t care. She raised her sword, and then a white-hot lance of pain went through my midsection. Another one flared up when she extracted the blade from my gut.
So that’s it. That’s the end of it. My vision goes hazy. I try to move, but I barely wiggle my toes. The Official takes out a cloth and wipes my blood off her sword, then replaces it in the scabbard.
“The debt is paid,” she says, that same voice of ice. The snow queen. She turns, spares one look for the Espira that runs toward me, and walks away. The higher-ups command them, but the Officials have their own code. One life spares another. That’s the rule. She won’t be back, her or any others. Robby won’t get his cleaning voucher. Too bad. I’m probably bleeding like crazy.
I don’t really see the Official go. I only have eyes for the kid. She’s still crying, more miserable than ever. But she’s alive. She can go home, wherever that is. Outside. The Espira I knew from way back had told me about it once. It sounded nice. Better than Robby’s dump, anyway. Tiny arms wrap around my neck, and I feel her tears on my cheek. I want to tell her not to cry, that everything will be okay, but I can’t really open my mouth. I don’t have to say anything.
Everything goes dark. The pain finally stops. She’ll be fine now. Just fine.