Daggers

Cyre’s eyes opened blearily as she looked around. Iottas stood over her, his face clouded in concern. There was a small man in a red cape bustling around a table, fussing with the contents in his black bag. He had a black moustache and a bit of a belly; he wore eyeglasses. A doctor. What happened? But even though the thought passed through her mind, it did not leave her mouth. Her hand felt warm, and she realized Iottas was holding it.

“Iottas?” The word left her lips smoothly, not sounding at all like it came from a sick or dying person.

“Cyre? How do you feel?”

“It was the drink. It was on the table beside my bed. I just wanted to see what it tasted like.”

“I know. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

“But I am fine! I feel great!” She sat up.

“Careful! You don’t want to hurt yourself more than you already are!”

“But I feel fine! Now leave me alone. I can take care of myself.”

“Oh really? And what would you have done if I hadn’t come in to check on you?”

“That was an exception.”

“Of course it was. Now, since you feel better, can I send away the doctor?” Iottas winked at her and tapped the doctor on the shoulder. “Excuse me.” Iottas said very slowly and loudly. “You can leave now. Cyre is feeling much better.”

“What’s that? You want to send a letter? Well, the post office is down the street, son.”

“No. She-“ Iottas pointed to Cyre, “is feeling much better.”

“Cyre? What about her? She wants to send a letter? Well, I’m sorry, but she is in no condition to be sending a letter.”

Iottas picked up a pad of paper and scribbled the message he had been trying to communicate in vain. The doctor squinted at the paper and looked at Iottas.

“Well, why didn’t you say so before?” He put all his medical tools into his little black bag and promptly walked out the door.

“I knew you were better, Cyre. I was just waiting for him to leave, in case he is a spy or something.”

“But he’s deaf.”

“That could be his cover.”

“True. So why were you waiting?”

“To tell you our plan. Tonight, we’re leaving. It’s dangerous here. Did you see the men in the bar? The one who kept looking at you? He’s Kraken, one of Fixico's most powerful henchmen.”

“How do you know?”

Iottas hesitated before answering. “There are signs all over the place advertising a reward for his capture. Haven’t you seen them?”

“No. But good plan, anyways. Go to your room and start packing. I’m absolutely fine. By the way, how long until we leave?”

“We have about three hours. We won’t leave through the door downstairs because there is always someone in the bar, no matter what time it is. So we leave through your window.”

“Why not yours?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Good reason. Ok, it’s a plan. Meet me tonight here, then.”

“That was what I was thinking all along genius.”

“Whatever. Now let me pack in peace.”

“Alright.” Iottas got up and left.


A few hours later, Iottas knocked softly on the door. Cyre let him in, careful not to let the door creak. She had prepared her sheets, ripping them in pieces and tying them together again to make a longer rope.

“Perfect. You ready?”

“Of course. The question is, are you ready?” Cyre teased Iottas, who took the bait on purpose.

“Obviously, fool. So typical. All right, enough. Lets go. Here, give me the sheets.” Cyre handed them to him, and he tied the securely to the bedpost. “You go first. You’re lighter, so the rope will break with me coming after you.” Cyre stifled a laugh and swung one foot out the window. At that precise moment, the door swung open to reveal Kraken. Their plan went out the window, literally. Iottas pushed Cyre out and jumped after her.
They hit the ground running, but Kraken had jumped out the window, too. Cyre could swear she felt the ground vibrate. She grabbed Iottas’ hand and dragged him, tripping, into an alleyway that led to a bigger street. They veered left; fortunately, almost everyone was in bed at this time. There were a few drunkards lolling against the building, but they didn’t worry Cyre. They wouldn’t be able to remember anything the coming day. Kraken was right behind them, and he was catching up.

Cyre turned into an alleyway, but this time Iottas didn’t follow her. He stumbled and looked at her, bewildered. Quickly gathering his wits, however, he turned to Kraken and pulled out his knife. What Cyre had not seen before, and neither had Iottas, was that Kraken had a sheath for a sword, and it blended perfectly with his pants. Cyre thought she saw Kraken hesitate, and Iottas made a hand signal before Kraken curved his sword and sliced open Iottas’ shoulder. He screamed in pain and fell to ground, clutching his shoulder and steadily turning white.
Kraken advanced on Cyre. He bared his teeth in an evil grin and held up his sword, dripping in Iottas’ fresh blood. The brightness of the red held Cyre attention, and she stared in horror at the gory sword.
“I’m not going to let you get away this time,” Kraken said. This time? When was the last time? Cyre wondered, but said nothing. Kraken suddenly brought up his sword, but this was to put it into the sheath. The metal edges of the sheath scraped the blood from the blade of the sword and it ran down the sides of the sheath. Why? was the only thought that crossed her mind before she was slammed against the wall and held there. Kraken had a grip of iron, and was squeezing her arms tightly. Cyre felt her blood circulation cut off and lost the feeling in her arms and hands.
Kraken breathed in her face, and Cyre lost the will to inhale. Instead, she waited a couple seconds before she was sure the air had cleared.
I know I’m about to die if I don’t think of something fast. Cyre’s head throbbed from being bashed against the brick wall behind her, and she was feeling weak and disoriented. She vaguely took note of how Kraken was standing.
Kraken doubled over, almost falling. Cyre stumbled and gasped, her head hurting more than ever. Great, she thought, now my stupid knee hurts, too. I brought it up too hard.
Kraken recovered quickly and stood up. Without pausing to think, Cyre pulled her small silver dagger from the inside her boot. She flung it with all her might at Kraken, who had turned his head to draw his sword. The spinning knife lodged itself into his left temple, and he froze. With his sword halfway drawn, Kraken toppled over. Blood spilled everywhere, staining the cobblestones red. The dagger had lodged in his head all the way to the handle, and Cyre looked away when she pulled it out. This, too, dripped in blood; Cyre felt she was scarred for life at the sight of so much blood.
When she looked back a Kraken, what she saw disgusted her to the point of revulsion. Kraken’s brain had somewhat spilled out of the small, clean hole made by the dagger. Blood had also oozed his face and neck. Cyre quickly turned back to Iottas, who lay on the floor. He had lost consciousness. For the second time that day, Cyre fainted.