The Song of the Bard, the Blade of the Healer
an excerpt

He finished the performance several hours later, ending with a comical ditty about a bumbling lieutenant who ended up commanding an army. As the laughter rang through the rafters, he packed his gear, checking his blade at his side. He slipped out of the inn amidst cheers and entreaties to stay. He didn’t, though, instead, he headed to the quay to meet Covey to go over the next stage of the revolution.
When he reached the quay, it was deserted except for a single, solitary lantern set on the farthest dock. As Xaden approached it, a shadowy figure clad in a hooded cloak materialized out of the gloom. It seemed to be carrying a large bundle, and its presence unnerved the usually collected bard.
“Covey? Covey, is that you?”
The figure came closer, not speaking, and it dumped its bundle at Xaden’s feet. The bundle rolled over, and Covey’s empty gaze stared into the sky, not seeing the stars that twinkled in the darkening sky, and destined never to see them again.
Shock and anguish were written on Xaden’s face, and he took an involuntary step backwards, his eyes locked on the dead, sightless orbs of his closest friend and confidant. His hand clutched the hilt of his sword and he drew the deadly blade out of its sheath in one smooth movement. He stepped forward, lifting the blade level with the cloaked figure’s throat.
Three more figures stepped out of the shadows, the flickering lantern light gleaming off the silver breastplates of the governor’s personal guard. He altered his stance slightly, preparing for a frontal assault. A sound from behind caused him to step to the side, glancing over his shoulder and seeing with dread the four other guards standing behind him. He backed up, positioning himself so that a stack of shipping crates were behind him. A sinking sensation settled in his gut, and he knew the game was up. His only hope was to take as many of them with him as possible.
They stalked closer, broadswords held at the ready, forming a deadly semi circle around him. He shook off his fear, determined that if he should die, at least it would be without fear, and in a fight. He grinned. This would be a fight for the bards to sing of. One thought went through his mind as he waited: at least he had dropped his instruments off at the Unicorn’s Head on his way to the docks, and was thus unencumbered by the bulky pack.
Then the guards charged him, a silent assault made even more unnerving by the flickering lantern light, which cast weird, undulating shadows on everything it reached. Xaden’s blade whipped up, catching the first guard by surprise. He slapped the broadsword aside, delivering a wicked slash to the guard’s unprotected face. Whirling around, he caught the flat of another sword on the back of his arm as he blocked a third guard. He ducked, rolling between two more guards, slashing up at their legs.
In seconds, he was on his feet again, his blade driving through another guard’s side, right between the two halves of his cuirass. He yanked the weapon out as the guard fell to the ground and blocked another swipe.
The fight continued, an expert dance of death. Two more guards fell under Xaden’s lithe action, but still the bard was outnumbered five to one. He was also wounded, a large gash in his left arm dripping blood onto the quay, pooling with that of the dead guards. Another gash opened in his leg; he gritted his teeth, trying not to let it slow him down.
Suddenly, his foot slipped in the blood, causing him to stumble slightly. As soon as it happened, one of the guards kicked him viciously in the legs, his booted foot connecting firmly with the fresh wound. Xaden lost his footing, landing on the ground with a sickening thud. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was the guards standing over him, and a steel tipped boot aimed at his skull.