Chapter 2:  The Transfer

Even though Ethan was not a skilled tracker, the trail was easy to follow. Growing up in the mines and quarries of his home village didn't prepare him to track someone through the woods, but the blood was visible on the rocks outside Gerhold's home. The trail of blood led up the slope behind the cabin, between two large outcroppings. The sun was getting ready to dip below the elevated horizon to the west, and Ethan knew he wouldn't be able to follow the visible trail for long, but he didn't think he had to. The amount of blood on the ground implied this would-be assassin wasn't going to be able to move quickly or for long.

Also, the initial trail away from the cabin avoided the large rocks and uneven ground, and as Ethan ascended the slope of the large hill, he chose the most accessible path before him, and he found blood drops every few feet. The injured man would avoid any steep rises or tangled thickets out of necessity, even if it weren't the most direct route to his destination.

Ethan couldn't think of what that destination would be. To the west was his childhood home, deeper in the hills and at the base of the Arrowhead Mountains. To the east, the landscape tapered into a thick forest where the village of Millersport stood, a logging and milling town that took great use of the Gara River that flowed out of these hills and along the eastern edge of Garashire. The assassin would likely want to avoid either of those villages but splitting the difference between them left him in no man's land, a hilly, rocky area filled with bloodhounds, crawners, and worse. There were numerous caves to hide out in, but the hostile creatures of this area already inhabited most of them. Plus, these early spring nights would get pretty cold the higher you got. Beyond the hills were vast plains that spread to the northern shore, where a few farmers lived in relative isolation.

In the end, Ethan figured the man didn't have a plan and was just trying to put some distance between himself and the cabin before he could tend to his wounds. It was even possible that the sounds of Sera and his arrival had sent the man running. The fire the assassin had set was only just started and implied that if it weren't the two youths' arrival that had sent him running, it must have only been moments before.

Ethan paused to recheck the blood trail and found the drops were now moist. He didn't know how long it took for blood to dry, but he figured his long, powerful legs were capable of ascending this hill much faster than the injured man he was chasing. He also realized that the man was an assassin and probably knew he was being followed. Ethan didn't specialize in stealth, and his heavy breathing alone would probably alert anyone within 100 feet. Knowing he should be cautious but still wanting to speed ahead to take full use of his advantage, Ethan continued to climb quickly but warily.

The attack came from his right, and it almost ended him right there. The knife's point was all he really saw, aimed at his upper chest. He raised his right forearm at the last second, his wrist blocking the assassin's hand, but he received a nasty cut on his bare arm. The powerful youth punched out with his injured limb in pain and anger, catching the smaller attacker in the throat and hurling him back into a tree. Ethan staggered backward from the collision and took a moment to collect himself as he saw his assailant rise slowly from the base of the tree.

The man was dressed in all black. The hood of his cloak was thrown back from his collision with the tree, but his short black hair and beard didn't make it easy to pick out his features in the fading light. He was shorter than Ethan by about four inches and significantly lighter. A strip of skin showed through his black pants on his left leg, implying that was where Gerhold had cut him, and as the assassin got to his feet, clearly favoring his left, Ethan knew where his opponent's weakness was.

Some might think attacking the left side was the proper choice, but Sir Gerhold had trained Ethan well, and as the youth pulled his greatsword from his left hip, he kept it on that side and stepped forward with a powerful strike into the thief's right flank. The smaller fighter held two weapons, the dagger and a short sword, and he brought them up expertly to catch the blade, forced to brace himself with his opposite leg. Ethan's muscular arms flexed as his weapon struck, and the assassin's injured left leg buckled under the blow. He fell down the slope, trying to control his roll as it ended jarringly against another large tree.

Ethan pursued eagerly – too eagerly. The assassin knew how the young man should attack him to take full advantage of his weakened left leg and had therefore expected the strike and allowed himself to roll down the slope. His collision with the tree was more violent than he had wanted, but he couldn't waste time lamenting the additional pain. He was up in a flash, his weapons extended forward, his good leg pushing off the tree behind him.

The strike looked as quick as a black viper to the charging apprentice, coming in low with two fangs extended. He barely had room to swipe his sword down in front of him and tripped as he tried to stop short on the downslope. The assassin rolled to his left with the block, coming up beside the larger fighter, and as Ethan stumbled past, the smaller man managed to lash his sword out at his trailing right leg. The pain momentarily stole strength from the limb, and the apprentice stumbled further, crashing into the same tree that had earlier stopped the assassin's roll.

Ethan turned quickly, the large trunk at his back, and found the spry fighter already on his feet and coming in fast. The smaller man was on the upslope, evening out the height difference, and Ethan frantically waved his sword back and forth before him, trying to ward off the lightning-fast attacks. The dark figure was too close for Ethan to use the full length of his weapon, and the larger man received more hits than he blocked. None were life-threatening, but the pain mounted and sent Ethan into a rage. He neglected his futile defense for a moment to push hard off the tree and punch out with the hilt of his sword. The assassin was ready for such a move and tried to step back, but the upslope behind him caught his foot sooner than he anticipated and prevented him from dodging back as far as he needed. That, combined with Ethan's impressively long arms, meant the smaller fighter received a massive blow to his face.

The uneven, uphill ground didn't give Ethan much chance to push his momentary advantage, and he only managed to stumble away from the tree, giving his opponent the time to gather himself. The two took more careful stock of each other as they tried to find some even footing on the unforgiving terrain. Ethan had never been in a fight to the death before, but any hesitation over killing this man evaporated when he thought of his teacher left for dead back at the cabin. However, he also sensed that this fighter was much more skilled than he was. Ethan had never been able to match Sir Gerhold in combat, and this man had bested him. Even now, with his left leg hobbled and recovering from the blow Ethan had just given him, the assassin would easily slip a blade into his unprotected chest if the youth made even a tiny mistake.

Ethan decided his best choice was to use his only advantage: size. The apprentice charged recklessly into the black figure, coming in slightly from the right, meaning any dodge the smaller opponent would make would have to be to the left. Instead, he was forced to meet the charge, trying to score a decisive hit instantly. Ethan guessed that, and instead of attacking the man, he swung his sword between them, knocking aside any attack and then bowling into the smaller fighter. The two hit the rocky ground hard, the assassin taking the brunt of the blow, but Ethan felt the dagger bite into his side. Adrenaline masked the potential seriousness of the wound as he wrestled with the man, trying to pin his arms to the ground as they rolled about.

It was like trying to grab a fish in the water, and the nimble fighter's wrists darted about, his blades nicking Ethan repeatedly in the arms. When a deep cut bit into his right forearm, he lost his large sword but responded by leveling a devastating elbow to the assassin's head. The blow put a momentary pause in the lightning-quick attacks, and Ethan was able to secure the man's upper arms and then work his way to his wrists.

The pair finally came to rest with Ethan on top and the assassin struggling to free his arms. The apprentice knew not to get too comfortable with his seemingly secure position. He could feel the smaller man squirm beneath him and knew he was a knee-to-the-groin or a kick-to-the-back-of-the-head away from losing his advantage, and he was now unarmed. Feeling an unusual presence on the man's hip, Ethan looked down briefly and saw a sword hilt at his waist. Was he carrying three weapons? But then Ethan remembered that this man had stolen Sir Gerhold's sword.

Feeling that the assassin was about to break free of his hold, Ethan lifted the dagger hand and slammed it against a nearby stone. The small blade fell from the killer's hand, and Ethan released it to reach down and pull the sheathed weapon. The prone fighter saw the move and desperately tried to reclaim his dagger with his free hand, but Ethan had the fabulous blade out in a second and then plunged it down into the assassin's chest.

A shock of energy flowed through the blade and into Ethan's core. He was suddenly driven by an all-consuming rage against the man beneath him and released his hold on his other wrist so both his hands could grip the pommel of his new weapon and twist the blade into the dying man's heart. Fire poured out of the sword, and Ethan leaped off the man as if thrown clear from the eruption.

Stumbling backward, the young man found a tree to support him as he looked at the scorched assassin before him and the bloody sword in his hands. A large red gem pulsed in the center of the hilt, drawing his eyes – his soul – into the weapon with a searing passion. He felt the power of the flames begin to consume him again, but Ethan lost all sense of self as he felt his consciousness drawn into the blade. He took a few stumbling steps away from the tree and then fell to the ground, unconscious.