Role

Chapter 13

The bandits virtually ignored him, focused as they were on Wrukesht. That cost the first
one his life as Jaragh parried a lazy strike and riposted with a thrust through the man's
heart. Hearing his companion's final bloody gurgle, the other bandit turned from Wrukesht
and begin a flurry of blows with his two swords. Jaragh took a slice to his chest, but
nothing lethal. Pulling his second sword he caught the bandit's blades as he recovered
from the flurry, crossing his own swords and unleashing a solid kick.

This cross down parry was almost Jaragh's death. Skilled though he was, the body was not
as strong as the will. With a gasp, his knee gave out. Jaragh fell. Saved only by the
bandit's nose's fountaining blood, which blinded the bandit, Jaragh rolled over and stood
on his one good leg. Gambling his own life, he lunged with all his strength, a double
thrust with both swords that would either kill or leave him open. Praying to the gods
of light, his arms reached out, supported only by his one good leg, and...

Success. His blades skewered the bandit, who fell almost instantly, taking Jaragh's
swords with him. Jaragh's falling whoomph! came only a second later, as his good leg no
longer balanced under him. Turning his head, he saw Wrukesht, staring wide-eyed at him
and then the two dead bandits. If nothing else, today marked the end of Wruksht's youth.
Moving to him, she helped him sit up, watching him wince as he knee moved. "I'm sorry,
Old Man. I shouldn't have tried to use the dagger." "You're right, you shouldn't have. But
I understand why you did, and I am not mad at you. In a day or two we can talk more about
it and your feelings and how to face things in the future. This was the first time you have
been part of violence, but much as I pray otherwise, it likely won't be the last, my girl."

Events transpired as might be expected. Two patrolling guards came soon and took charge.
Jaragh was bandaged and they rode the second horse back to Balator, stopping only to
return the horse to the royal stable and purchase a donkey to carry Jaragh home. Upon
arrival, the kids flocked to Jaragh, who limped haeavily and grimaced with each step.
Nobody paid Wrukesht mind, and all the children devoted themselves to Jaragh, another
unique result of the annual winter holiday. Dinner was laid out and eaten, presents were
distributed, and kids tried to stay up late but fell asleep, carried to bed by older kids

None of which mattered to Wrukesht. THe Old Man's knee was broken now, and it was all her
fault. He would never have been there but for her. And if she weren't so useless with her
dagger, and hadn't been so foolish as to try to fight, everything would be fine. She would
never forgive herself. This is why, to this day, whenever she visits Jaragh, she invariably
asks him about his knee.

And, this is why she holds daggers dear to her heart, and will always work to be the best

Happy Holidays, All!!!