12 An Evening

Jacob kept an eye out for the little boy and his family on his daily runs. He'd never seen the boy out in the alleys again, nor did he notice anything out of the ordinary. His time improved consistently, though it was beginning to reach a plateau. It was proof enough of his stamina for Will to begin taking their training seriously. It was already past the halfway point of winter, and Jacob had just begun learning the mercenary's bladework.

The tree in the backyard would have protested loudly against repeated abuse, but fortunately for Jacob, it lacked a mouth to speak with. Taking the silence as agreement, Jacob had pounded away at the tree to the satisfaction of Will. The blows hit hard, the wooden stick Jacob wielded creating a tremor through the dormant tree.

Gradually, Jacob became accustomed to the feeling of his imaginary sword striking an object. No longer was he so shocked at the force of the impact. He sensed this was the main lesson Will was trying to impart.

"You've done well, Jacob. Starting tomorrow, I'll lend you my sword to practice with. You're progressing much faster than I would've thought," the mercenary said with a customary grin on his face. Jacob, still sweaty and exhausted from the training, returned the gesture. The joy suppressed the innate need to groan when he remembered that he still had a lap to run around town.

Sounds of fighting reached him when he rounded a very familiar corner. Jacob peeked his head over the edge, much as he had all those weeks ago. A mountain of a man, wielding a lumberjack's ax, was surrounded by four smaller men gripping an assortment of swords and daggers. The lumberjack stood with his back to the door of his home; this was the little boy's father. And he was injured.

Blood leaked from various wounds, and the man was wheezing. Still, he intimidated the loan shark's men. Like a pack of hyenas they circled, waiting for a lapse in concentration on their enemy's part. Jacob wouldn't let that opportunity come. Sneaking up as close as he could given his relatively terrible skill at it, he imagined a thick clump of air molecules assembling in his open palm before catapulting it towards the nearest bandit's head.

The impact caused the man to lose his balance, cracking his head on the cobbled street. His sword fell, fortunately, in Jacob's direction. The brigand didn't stir. Jacob bent over and picked up the weapon, noticing that it was far lighter than Will's. He hoped it wouldn't make much of an impact on what the mercenary had taught him.

The lumberjack glanced in Jacob's direction, nodding his gratitude. Jacob nodded back, advancing to assist the man. With their shock worn off, another of the black-cloaked men lunged at Jacob. The other two still buzzed around the lumberjack like mosquitoes.

Jacob side-stepped the blow, grateful for all the running he had been doing. Will's religious belief in the power of a good sprint around town was paying dividends. He barely had to raise his stolen sword to impale his over-zealous assailant in the chest. Removing the blade quickly, Jacob spun to meet another attack. The remaining men had determined that he was a greater threat than the weakening lumberjack.

He parried the blow, his blade quivering as he missed the optimal angle. The second man appeared from beside the brigand in front of him, dagger poised to pierce Jacob's heart. Jacob let his guard slip, the enemy's sword's momentum carrying it downwards. A quick kicked pushed the confused man way in time for Jacob to execute one of Will's favorite techniques. He spun his sword immediately towards the knife-wielder, the centripetal force carving a way through the man.

With one enemy left to deal with, Jacob felt much more confident despite his flagging strength. Fortunately, he wouldn't have to do anything at all; the lumberjack took the man down from behind, an ax embedded into the dead man.

"Whoever you are, stranger, I owe you my life," the lumberjack said, bowing at Jacob. Cheeks reddened in embarrassment, Jacob desperately asked the man to stand back up.

"It was nothing. I met your son a few weeks ago, and I expected something like this eventually," Jacob explained.

"Then it's also you we have to thank for the soup?" the lumberjack paused before adding more. "By the way, I'm called Ron."

Now that had to be some sort of cosmic joke. Jacob didn't know many people at all, but apparently he knew enough to have both a Rod and a Ron on his acquaintance list. "My name's Jacob. You'll have to thank Rod at the Golden Gizzard for the soup; it was made with his ingredients, after all."

"I'll make sure to stop by one of these days before we leave."

"Leave?"

"Yes. More men will come, especially after they hear of these four's deaths. My family and I need to be halfway to Trellia by the time they realize we're gone," Ron sad, sadness lacing his words. "We spent our entire lives in Leafburrow. I never thought that they'd be such scum when I went to them for help," he spat.

"You aim to leave in the dead of winter?" Jacob asked, surprised at the boldness of the lumberjack. Everyone knew that it was more than a risky journey.

"It's either an uncertain fate on the road or sure death by blade if we stay. I'll take my chances, even if I haven't always been all that lucky," Ron replied decisively, moving to enter his house. No doubt, he needed to see to his family and get packing.

"Come to the Golden Gizzard when you leave. I'll see if I can get you guys some extra rations for your trip. Rod's always got a surplus," Jacob said to the man's back.

"Aye, we will."

Jacob left the man to his urgent task, ruminating on the fact that he'd killed at least two, maybe three men that evening.