[Mkguild] Justice in Vengeance Refrain (10) Final

[Ryx]

With a shake of his arm Thurn let his buckler fall loose and cast it aside with 
a negligent flick.  Reaching up to Malger’s hand he closed his fingers over the 
minstrel’s and squeezed firmly.  For his sake Malger tried to withstand the pain 
of his fingers being crushed against the hilt of his sword but it proved to be 
too much for him to bear.  Crying out again in pain his fingers spasmed and the 
sword fell from his grasp.
Having disarmed his foe Thurn grinned at the face held even with his own.  
Malger’s booted feet were almost two feet from the ground and, though he braced 
them against the bruin’s gut and pushed with all of his flagging strength, he 
could not push himself free of the unyielding strength of the man’s grasp.  
Almost playfully the man gave him a cuff across the face, snapping his head to 
one side and causing the world to momentarily fade to gray.  While Malger 
blinked dazedly Thurn grasped the front of his vest, finally releasing his 
captured arm, and hammered a blow to his gut.  “You’ve got no fight in you, 
boy.” He growled tauntingly.  “Where’s the mighty warrior who took on four of 
the Tower’s best, eh?”
“Dead, with them.” Malger spat blood from his mouth and raked at his face with 
one hand.  Illusion masked claws cut through flesh as easily as a sharp blade.  
Thurn let out a pained howl and hurled him to the ground.  He clapped one hand 
over his injured cheek.
“Respite!” Murikeer cried out dimly from the sidelines as Thurn kicked Malger 
solidly in the side.  The sound of breaking ribs filled Malger’s ears and 
blinding pain exploded white hot in his vision as he writhed on the ground.  A 
thunderous voice rent the air, startling Thurn where he stood and causing birds 
roosting on the rooftops to break into panicked flight.  “Respite!” Murikeer 
bellowed again, his voice augmented by magic.
  Thurn cast a glance toward the Earl’s chair on the wagon and, at the man’s 
nod, backed up a few paces rubbing his injured cheek and looking at the blood on 
his fingers.  Murikeer rushed out to Malger’s side with Elvmere and Misanthe 
close on his heels.  Gasping and moaning in pain Malger struggled to his knees.  
Catching his arms Elvmere and Murikeer helped him upright.  “Malger!” the young 
mage admonished plaintively, “You must fight back!  You cannot just give up!”
Weeping at the pain Malger only shook his head, “I’m broken, Muri my boy.” 
Malger gasped at the blossom of pain that the mere act of talking sent burning 
through him.  “I’m broken.  Nocturna has abandoned me, I am nothing.”
“You are us, Malger, and we are you.” Murikeer hissed, his own voice wrenched 
shrill with his own fear and anguish.  “Don’t abandon us!”
“Go.” Malger could barely speak and the world swam dizzily in his vision, “Go 
with you, away.  Take the fox, take Elvmere, and just go.”
“Malger, no.” Elvmere cried softly, clutching at the minstrel’s cheekruffs 
through the illusion.  Sudden fierce heat burned through Malger and his back 
arched, mouth falling open in a moue of agony.  The world sparkled with 
scintilla of bright white motes in his vision and darkness clawed at the edges 
but he did not give up his consciousness.  Elvmere gave a surprised gasp and 
fell back, releasing him and gazing at his hands as if they had betrayed him.
Weakly Malger clutched at Murikeer’s arms and pushed himself away.  “Whatever 
happens, Muri, find your father.” He wheezed breathlessly.  Laboriously pushing 
himself to his feet, with Misanthe under one arm helping him up, he swayed 
against her.  “Misanthe, go with him, help him find his father.”  He tasted 
blood in his muzzle and ignored it.  “Elvmere, go to Yesulam, end this futile 
war.”
Giving his traitorous hands a shake Elvmere reached out to grasp Malger’s 
shoulders firmly, “Not without you, master.” He hissed, his voice rough edged 
with emotion.
“Damnit… I am no one’s master.” Malger coughed and blood spattered the front of 
Elvmere’s shirt.  “Go, let this be done.” Pushing himself away from Misanthe he 
turned to face Thurn who still stood a few paces away irritably stroking the 
rents in his cheek.
“Are you quite done?” the man growled angrily.  His face was smeared with blood 
and tracks of it ran down his jawline and throat.  Grasping at their arms 
Misanthe pulled Elvmere and Murikeer back, leaving a swaying Malger standing 
alone on the field.  “Good.”  Turning his gaze back toward the Earl he waved an 
arm questioningly toward his weakened, injured foe.
With a slow nod of his head Earl Tathim bid him resume the disturbing rite.
Giving his lord a bow, and another toward the Lothanasa, Thurn turned back 
toward the staggering minstrel.  “Swift, just as you asked.” Thurn charged 
forward and Malger could hardly find it in him to dodge.  A blow to his stomach 
from the massive man’s fist drove him off of his feet and sent him crashing to 
the ground half a dozen paces away gagging on his own breath.  Malger writhed in 
the grass, coughing while Thurn stomped toward him.  “Before you ruined my 
face.”  Reaching down the bruin seized the back of his vest and jerked him into 
the air.  “Now I’ll make it sl-“
A flare of pain exploded in Thurn’s skull as a diminutive fist darted at his 
face to plant a single crooked knuckle deeply into one of his eyes.  With an 
agonized bellow Thurn lurched back, blinking in pain, and another fist slammed 
into his nose.  While Malger may have been considerably smaller than his foe, he 
was highly trained.  Even his small fist, with the weight of his suspended body 
behind it, was sufficient to break the man’s nose with a single strike.  Thurn 
staggered back again and released his hold on Malger’s vest.
Dizzy from his own pain, with the world swimming gray at the edges of his 
vision, Malger did not give up his one small advantage.  Landing shakily on his 
feet he lurched forward, mounting Thurn’s knee as the man clutched at his broken 
nose.  Rushing upward Malger jerked one arm up and connected against the man’s 
injured cheek with his elbow.  The blow sent a fresh flare of agony racing up 
his arm but, against the throbbing ache of his bruised ribs it was a pittance.  
Reversing his arm he drove the back of his elbow against Thurn’s opposite cheek, 
dragging his forearm across the man’s broken nose when he moved his hand away to 
bat at his attacker.
A desperate back-arm swing crashed into Malger and hurled him away.  He landed 
hard and collapsed in a heap, rolling and struggling to find his balance before 
the bruin discovered where he had fallen.  Blinded by the pain of his broken 
nose and one severely bruised eye Thurn reeled and spun, casting about for his 
opponent and bellowing wrathful epithets.  Struggling to his feet Malger circled 
before charged in from behind and threw all of his weight against the back of 
the human’s knees.  With a surprised bellow Thurn staggered backward, 
unbalanced, and toppled heavily on his back.  Malger felt the shift in balance 
and swiftly writhed around the man’s beefy legs, like a squirrel circling a 
tree; all claws.  Malger’s swift rush up his legs and flank left fresh streaks 
of blood on the big man’s bronzed flesh.
Thurn crashed to earth with a force that could be felt even through leather clad 
feet and Malger landed on his chest.  Hissing in fury and agony the minstrel 
rained rapid fire blows upon Thurn’s face.  Each strike splashed blood from his 
broken nose and torn cheek.  The man grunted in pain with each strike as he 
thrashed and swatted at his attacker.  Finally he managed to dislodge the 
dervish with another mighty blow that sent Malger several feet through the air 
to land heavily and tumble across the grass.  Rolling over the big man struggled 
to his knees and shook his head, his hands casting about in the grass for 
anything he could use against his opponent.
His fingers closed on his discarded buckler.
Struggling to his feet Malger swayed and almost fell again before regaining a 
small measure of his balance.  His breaths coming with waves of almost blinding 
pain he spied the warrior, on hands and knees, dragging his buckler to himself.  
Sprinting toward him Malger leaped into the air as high as his fatigued body 
could manage and, extending himself to bring the entirety of his weight down, 
drove an elbow against the man’s neck just beneath his skull.
Thurn dropped forward like a sack of wheat, his hips held aloft by his knees, 
and did not move.  Slowly his knees slid out from under him on the grass and the 
big man slumped, unconscious.
Rising from Thurn’s back Malger pushed himself back onto his feet.  Swaying in 
place he cast about and finally spied what he sought; the man’s longsword.  
Staggering to it he picked up the gleaming length of steel and dragged it weakly 
back to the fallen man.  Resting the tip on the ground beside the champion he 
turned and looked over his shoulder toward the Earl’s wagon.
Tathim was on his feet, jaw unslung, aghast.  After a moment he closed his mouth 
and sighed wearily.  The Lothanasa was also on her feet, her trio of guards 
clustered close about her looking astounded and mute.  Looking to her for a 
moment he brought his eyes back to Malger and, with a grieved wave of one hand, 
motioned for Malger to fulfill the rite.
Malger released the sword and let it fall into the grass with a thud.  That was 
the only sound in the courtyard until the minstrel spoke.  “No.” he wheezed 
breathlessly, struggling to force the words out past the throbbing agony of his 
freshly abused body.  “No.  He has – has done me, no one, any – evil.”  Each 
word was a struggle that he had to force out.  Only a touch of magic lent by his 
student made his voice audible at all.  “I will – not slay him for the Gods’ – 
delight.”  Slowly turning about he staggered a few paces toward his companions 
but the world was too unsteady under his feet.
His eyes rolling toward the sky he collapsed forward onto the grass.  A flash of 
pain burned through his abused body but unconsciousness did not swim up to claim 
him.  He lay there, panting into the greenery, until Elvmere reached his side.  
Murikeer and Misanthe were only a pace slower and the three clustered around 
him.  Murikeer raised his head to cock his good eye toward the Earl.  “What say 
you, your grace?” he called out over the sudden tumult that arose from Malger’s 
unexpected victory.
Smiling strangely Tathim gave another, more swift, cut of his hand.  “Justice is 
satisfied.  The minstrel Malger stands victorious before the Gods.  I account 
him free of guilt for the deaths of the menagerie keeper and his men.”  Raising 
his chin and squaring his shoulders he turned his gaze toward the bear, Sho 
Rosewain.  She strode toward Malger upon two feet with her retinue around her.  
“As for the men you have spoken for, they are yours.  Deliver what justice you 
see fit.”
“Your grace!” Mortense blustered, affronted, but Tathim only offered him a 
withering glare.
“Earl, you are free to leave my lands as best suits your convenience.”
“But, he –“
The Baron seated beside him touched his upper arm lightly, “Justice is served, 
Earl.  Tathim has invited you to depart his lands.  I also believe that would be 
wise.”  Crossing his arms over his chest he gave the irritated Earl a hard 
stare, “I will not be returning with you, as I have issues that need to be 
discussed with Earl Tathim.  Good day, Motense.”  Standing from his chair he 
walked leisurely away toward the cluster of half-animals milling about the 
center of the commons, the golden dog padding along at his side.  With the 
support of his students, and new servant, Malger had been led to the guest wing.
“Mistress Rosewain?” Baron Vareshad addressed her as he neared.  With a last 
furious glare Earl Motense lurched from his chair and toward his wagon which had 
been drawn over nearer the livery.  His staff were working on securing the cart 
horses into their traces.  Sho looked down at him with a curious tilt of her 
huge ursine head.  “May we talk, sister?”
~~
            Maneuvering awkwardly through the door with Murikeer under one arm 
and Misanthe under the other Malger staggered weakly to the first chair he 
spied.  His bearers gingerly lowered him to sit while Elvmere carefully worried 
off his vest.  “I-“ Malger wheezed breathlessly and winced under the priest’s 
gentle but urgent ministrations, “I owe you my life, Elvmere.”
            “I did no such thing, Malger.”  Elvmere replied with a frown at the 
huge bruises already beginning to darken the minstrel’s illusory flesh.  “You 
bade me not, and I did not seek to.”
            “Yet –“ Malger winced and gasped, then coughed, but that only 
heightened the agony of his sorely injured ribs.  “Yet it – it happened.  My 
ribs were – broken.”  Each breath was a searing fire of nearly blinding pain and 
words only made it worse.
            “They were, yes, Malger.”  Finding no new cuts Elvmere sat back on 
his heels and shook his head.  Whatever injuries Malger sustained were all 
internal, caused by the punishing blunt force of the Lightbearer’s fists.  “I 
cannot determine if they still are without causing you far too much pain.”
            Malger coughed again and whined piteously at the pain.  Misanthe, 
standing at his side with a look of fearful worry on her narrow vulpine muzzle, 
grasped his hand.  “Your touch healed them.”
            Elvmere looked down with a shake of his head, “Not my touch, 
Malger.”
            Reaching out with his free hand Malger rested it weakly upon 
Elvmere’s shoulder, “Your t- touch was its con- conduit, Elvmere.  His will may 
have – may have come through your – your touch, but what – whatever the means, I 
own you – Him – my life.”  Pulling against Misanthe’s hand and shifting his 
weight forward he tried to push upon Elvmere’s shoulder.  The two helped him 
rise and led him gingerly toward the bed.  He groaned loudly and cried out in 
pain as they helped him lie down.  “I – repudiated the House of Eli, Elvmere, 
the Ch- church.” He sighed with weary pain.  “I nev- never repudiated Him.”
“He well knows, Malger, he well knows.”  Elvmere said gently while Misanthe 
attempted to make her stricken master comfortable.  “Now rest.”
“I th- think I shall r- re- rest now.” Malger’s voice trailed off with a slow 
whisper into silence.  Reassuring themselves that he had only passed into 
slumber Elvmere and Murikeer looked to each other.
“At least one god was witnessing his tribulation.” Murikeer commented ruefully.  
“I saw what happened, and I know you did not expect it any more than he did.  
Your Eli truly does work in mysterious and miraculous ways, Vinsah.”
Gazing once again at his hands Elvmere nodded slowly.  Raising his gaze he 
glanced toward the unconscious minstrel and vixen hovering at his side before 
looking to Murikeer and their eyes met.  “Even to me, Muri, lad.  Never before 
has He worked through me without my prayers, Muri.”  He clenched his fingers, 
half smiling in quiet awe, “I did not pray for that touch, Muri.  I did not ask; 
He gave.”


Fin.

---<<<>>>---

A long labor of love it was, languishing in dire need of a few minor edits and 
tweaks for almost a year.
And here it is, quite the block of text for your reading enjoyment.

Ryx.



      

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