Jason

  He thought about trying to find a guard, someone to help him. But half the guards in the city were corrupt, and he didn't know which ones he could trust. A guard could make things worse just as quickly as making things better.

  He thought about turning around to help somehow. But he was useless. He had never really learned to fight. His father and brother had tried to teach him, but deemed him useless, which suited a small boy who preferred books and dressing neatly just fine.

  Only after they were no longer there to protect him did he wish it were otherwise.

  He kept stopping and looking around, torn with the urge to go back. The streets were quiet, as it was still relatively early. Had these men been waiting for them or just seen an opportunity? Would Alensar get lost trying to get back? Would he even be able to get away? Would he die?

  In the end, he went in the direction of his house. He didn't know what else to do.

  Jason took slow breaths as he focused on finding the peace of Helion within him.

  The image of the man's throat leaking blood kept going through his mind.

  Alensar had killed someone. Jason knew he had killed people. His father and brother were also killed in their line of work. His father and brother protected people. Alensar was protecting him.

  Jason had never seen someone die before.

  Everything was tangled. A Val shouldn't defend his servants. He owed Alensar his life.

  What if Alensar had died? Why hadn't Jason stayed to see if he died? What if he was hurt? What if he needed help? Jason paused. He should turn around.

  But what if Alensar was hurt and made it to their meeting spot?

  About three-quarters of the way home, he heard his name shouted, the voice laced with pain.

  He spun around to see Alensar with an unfamiliar coat draped over his shoulders and a sword sheathed at his hip. His posture was crooked.

  Jason ran to him. "Are you okay?"

  Alensar grimaced, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just got a scratch is all."

  Jason saw that he was holding his side. There was red liquid squeezed between his fingers, spreading over the pale blue shirt. Alensar staggered closer and put his other arm around Jason's shoulder. He was breathing hard.

  "A scratch? We need to get you to a healer." Jason's voice rose slightly with panic.

  "Look, I know what's a scratch and what's serious. I need to just clean it and wrap it up. Nothing I haven't done before."

  Jason said nothing for a long moment. "Did anyone see you?"

  Alensar shook his head. "I got out of there as fast as I could."

  "What are we going to do? We can't go to the noble quarters like this," Jason fretted, though they were walking in the direction of his mother's house.

  "Don't worry, I got some money. Not enough to get another jacket and shirt as nice as these, but enough to be cleaned up and decent."

  "What do you mean, you have money?"

  "What do you think I mean?"

  And then Jason understood.

  They continued to walk in silence for a few minutes, Alensar breathing hard and leaning more and more on Jason. It wasn't too much further. "Jason."

  "Yeah."

  "I might faint soon."

  "I thought you said–"

  "I was wrong."

  "What should we do?" Jason looked around for someone to help them.

  "I need to rest a moment," Alensar whispered.

  This was not good. Alensar was gritting his teeth, and his breathing was staggered. His face was slick with sweat, though the morning was still cool. Jason was having more and more trouble with his weight. Would they be able to keep standing?

  As Jason was looking around, he saw a figure walking toward them.

  The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with an armored jacket. His hair was in long, ropy braids, with beads strung throughout, and a scar ran down the side of his face, just barely missing his eye.

  He was staring straight at them, and his pace increased to a jog. There was no way to outrun him. Jason just stood there, frozen, staring back.

  "Need some help?" the man asked in a thick Karangasz accent.

  Jason opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

  Alensar answered instead, his words slurring. "Didn't think you would be the first to greet me at the gates of hell…Though I thought death would hurt less."

  It was then that Jason registered the tears streaming down the man's cheeks, which he wasn't bothering to wipe away. But he was smiling.

  "Who else would greet you, braterko? You insult me. But you aren't dead yet." He pulled Alensar away from Jason, taking his place. He was closer to Alensar's height, so it took a few moments of rearranging. Alensar hissed in pain.

  "Do you have a plan?" he asked Jason.

  "My mom's house is nearby," Jason said, realizing how little of a plan that was.

  "Is it clean and quiet? I can treat this wound there."

  Alensar then said something in Karangasz, and the man answered him. Some of the panic in Jason eased.

  "This way," Jason said as his feet led him automatically to the house. When he looked back, it looked like Alensar was drunk rather than wounded, which would bring less attention to them. And with the Karangasz man, it was unlikely anyone would bother them. The sword at his hip would dissuade most.

  "Keep pressure on the wound." Jason heard the man say behind him.

  "Yeah, yeah, I'm not an idiot." Alensar's accent was now just as thick.

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  "Yes, you are, getting a wound like that. What in Nekthor's name were you doing?"

  Jason kept ahead, glad they couldn't see his face. To hear the name of the dark god used so casually made him feel uneasy.

  "There were three of them," Alensar murmured.

  "Still sloppy."

  "Fuck you," Alensar said, but there was no energy in the words.

  They reached the alleyway near his house. Should he really be leading them here?

  "Just up the stairs." He was about to climb up them when the man called out.

  "I need some help," the man said. "What's your name, anyway?"

  "Jason."

  "Darion."

  He then crouched down, trying to maneuver Alensar into his arms, since walking side by side would be impossible on the narrow staircase. With Jason's help, he managed to stand, one arm under Alensar's knees, the other under his back. Alensar had one arm around the man's neck and the other clutching his side.

  "Nekthor's balls, how are you so light?" Darion said, though he was straining with the weight.

  Alensar just grunted.

  Jason ran up the stairs and knocked, but the door didn't immediately open. He searched his pockets for a key, and as he got it out, the door opened.

  "Jason, you're back! What's going on?" She came out and cupped his face. Then she looked down at the Karangasz man struggling up the stairs with Alensar.

  "Who is that?" A look Jason didn't recognize crossed her face.

  "Alensar's hurt. He's helping," Jason said as Darion climbed the last few stairs. He just used the wrong name, but it didn't seem like his mother had noticed. She was just staring at the two men.

  Darion set Alensar on his feet, half dropping him, breathing hard. Alensar kept his arm around Darion's shoulders, not letting go of the connection between them. Alensar needed support, but there was a sort of desperation in the way they held each other.

  "I'm not letting a Karangasz into my house," she said, her voice strong, speaking to Jason. "Go run and get a healer."

  Jason stared at her, not quite understanding what was happening.

  Darion pulled something out of the pocket of his coat and tossed it to the ground. It clinked with coins. "I can pay for your hospitality."

  "What makes you think I want your money?" His mother asked.

  "What makes you think I want yours?" Darion countered.

  She stood unmoving in front of the door with her arms crossed.

  Darion could have probably pushed her aside, but he didn't.

  Instead, he sighed heavily and looked down at the alleyway. "Well, time for a new plan."

  "Ma'am, please, I trust him," Alensar said, his voice once again accented with nobility. Then he winced. "And I don't think I can wait for a healer."

  Jason put his hands on each of her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "Mother, please."

  "You are going to need to explain a lot, Jason." She stepped aside.

  They went to work, Jason's mother bringing clean towels and soap, but otherwise staying in the other room. Jason pumped the water into several bowls, and then they exchanged turns in washing their hands.

  Darion cut away Alensar's clothes with a knife, so he was lying bare-chested on the floor. He started washing the wound.

  Jason stared at Alensar. He hadn't actually seen his torso without the bandages. Long purple welts covered his upper arms and torso, remnants of fencing "practice." There were scars tracing across his chest, cutting through the smattering of tattoos. The only one that was untouched was a semicircle of moons and stars around his navel. The symbol of Nekthor.

  "Oh braterko, what have they done to you?" Darion said, his voice rough and quiet. Alensar didn't respond. For a moment, he stared at Alensar's face.

  Alensar's eyes fluttered open.

  "Stop wasting time," he snarled.

  "Roll up some cloth so he can bite it while I work," Darion said.

  He had taken out a needle and thread and soaked them in some strong-smelling alcohol from a flask.

  Jason held Alensar's head with the cloth in his mouth while Darion worked. His hands were huge and calloused, and yet they managed the delicate work of stitching the wound with deft precision. As he worked, he sang a song in Karangasz in a sweet, rough voice. Alensar seemed to be humming it with him, barely audible. After a moment, Jason realized it was to time the stitches with Alensar's breathing.

  Darion pulled out a small cloth bag, and inside was a rolled-up bandage.

  "Help him sit up, and we'll wrap him," he said and started washing his hands again.

  Jason started to do so, but Alensar pulled himself up. "I don't need help."

  He sat up, using his arms to keep himself up, and gave Jason a full view of his back. It was crisscrossed with long, painful-looking scars. If there had been tattoos, they were rendered entirely illegible, except for the crude black skull on his neck.

  He waited as Darion wrapped him. Darion's eyes narrowed at the sight of Alensar's back, but this time, he didn't say anything.

  "Do you have anything clean he can wear?" Darion asked.

  And Jason left the room, so overwhelmed that his mind couldn't seem to land on a thought. He saw his mother with her face in her hands, sitting in the next room.

  He opened a chest to get one of his shirts. The sleeves would be too short, but it would probably fit.

  "Where did I go wrong with you, Jason?" She said, tears in her eyes.

  He didn't know what to say. He left the room.

  Jason helped Alensar into the shirt, and his wrist bandages, now splattered with crimson, stuck out from the sleeves. There was blood soaked into Alensar's pants, but less visible because of their dark gray color. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.

  Darion was cleaning things up, dumping the dirty water down the drain, and cleaning blood off of what he could. He had taken off his armored jacket, but the shirt underneath was black, so it was hard to say if any blood had gotten on it. Perhaps that's why he wore that color.

  He folded up Alensar's ruined clothes, along with the dead man's jacket.

  Jason helped him, and they worked in silence, his mother's anger a dark cloud in the other room.

  "What do we do now?" Darion asked, sounding weary. Alensar was lying on his good side with his eyes closed.

  "Thank you for your help. I'm sure I can find a way to compensate you," Jason said with all the cold politeness he could muster.

  Darion raised a brow, but before he could speak, Alensar made a gesture.

  "No need," Darion said. "I'm happy to help someone in need."

  He looked down at Alensar again, and there was another gesture. He responded with one, and Alensar nodded. It seemed like a language, but Jason had no idea what they were saying.

  Jason's mother came into the room. She took the bag of coins Darion had given her earlier and threw it at him. He caught it with ease, his eyes wary.

  "People like you are the reason my husband and son are dead." Her voice was fierce with anger. Jason had never heard her sound like this.

  Jason watched Darion's reaction. He seemed calm, as if this sort of thing happened all the time. Maybe it did.

  He put his hand to his chest, then held it out. "Your sorrow speaks to mine."

  The phrase seemed to have some greater meaning to him, but Jason hadn't heard it before.

  He waited for a reply, and when he didn't get one, he went back to Alensar, who was still lying on the floor.

  They seemed to communicate something to each other, but there was no word or gesture.

  Alensar pushed himself up, his voice just above a whisper. "I do not wish to burden you further, Ma'am. Thank you for your hospitality."

  Darion helped him stand, and Alensar seemed to be doing better, though he still leaned on Darion. Maybe treating the wound helped, or maybe he was putting on a brave face. Darion let him go and helped him into the armored jacket. He carried the other man's jacket and Alensar's bloody clothes in a bundle under his arm.

  As they left, he gave a half-bow to Jason's mother, as much as he could manage with Alensar still leaning on him, though he didn't say anything more.

  Jason opened the door for them and was about to follow them out when his mother grabbed his shoulder.

  "I know you said Laude Granthor knows him, but she must not know what's really going on. You shouldn't follow them." She said rapidly, as if she had been rehearsing her words.

  Jason thought for a moment. He didn't need to follow them. He could go back to Laude Granthor and say Alensar ran away. He would lose his job, but he wouldn't be tangled up in whatever was going on. But that was assuming Alensar did run away. If Alensar came back without him, he would also lose his job.

  But if he went with them, maybe it would work out, and he could keep his job. His mother would forgive him then.

  "Don't worry, Mom," he said, and tried to think of something reassuring, but nothing more came to mind. He gave her a quick hug and then followed Alensar and Darion.

  They were waiting for him in the alleyway. Alensar looked better. The structure of the brown armored coat made his shoulders wider, and he didn't look quite so thin. That and the stolen sword slung across his hips no longer made him look like a target.

  Darion didn't need the coat to look intimidating.

  Jason paused for a moment, second-guessing himself again, when Alensar spotted him and waved.

  "Told you he was coming," Alensar said.

  Something about Alensar's trust compelled Jason down the stairs before he realized it.

  "I need some food," Darion complained, then reached over and touched Alensar's head. He flinched and swatted at Darion's hand.

  Darion laughed, "I save your life, and you won't let me touch your hair. But it's short now, like a little animal, and I want to touch it."

  Alensar gave a long-suffering sigh and leaned over. "Fine."

  Jason watched them, feeling like an intruder.

  Alensar still flinched at Darion's touch. Darion turned to Jason, his tone all jokes. "Can you believe the ingratitude?"

  Jason forced a smile, not wanting to get involved.

  "I'm not walking across half the city in this condition. You need food, I need rest. Any ideas?" Alensar's annoyance seemed incongruous to Jason. Darion had just saved his life, and yet Alensar showed more gratitude to Jason every time he brought some tea.

  "Yeah, I know a place."

  ? The Noble Reincanarted Demon King ?

  by BookRusher98