The sun was peeking over the walls when Jonny finally had everything he thought he’d need to make his escape from the capital. He adjusted the coil of rope he’d stolen from the ruins of a hardware store. Assuming he made the jump across to the wall he’d need the rope to climb down without breaking his neck. His first attempt had ended before it began. He’d planned to jump from the roof of the Red Rooster Inn, but when he arrived he found the third floor sunk into the second. The screams of the injured filled the air around the inn. Jonny had made himself scarce in a hurry.

Now he was headed to his second choice, The Iron Path dojo. They had a flat roof where the students liked to train on nice days. Jonny hoped the masters and students were out doing their civic duty and helping with the injured.

Every few steps he glanced up at the sky. The three sorcerers patrolling above the city had their eyes pointed up and out, not down. Jonny was just another speck on the ground. Far beneath the notice of such high and mighty people, or so he fervently hoped.

The dojo was a beautiful red building with decorative tile on each floor’s overhang. Most of the tiles now lay on the ground around the building, smashed into so much rubble. At least the structure itself seemed intact. He looked up. It measured about twelve feet from the edge of the roof over to the wall. That was a hell of a jump, but if he got a good run at it he might just make it. It was his best option at the very least.

He strode up to the big double doors with their bronze dragons and pounded on them with the hilt of his dagger. He waited a full minute before trying again. When another full minute had passed he slipped the thin blade into the narrow gap between the doors. He worked it up until he met resistance. He grunted and wrenched on the blade. A clatter came from behind the doors and they swung in a little. He shoved them open enough that he could squeeze through and closed and barred them again.

He frowned. If the doors were barred from the inside, how did the students plan to get back in?

“Can I help you?” An old man with a wispy white beard and wrinkled bronze skin hobbled into the entryway, leaning on a cane. He had to be at least ninety.

“I’m with the city guard. We’re going from building to building, making sure everything is okay.”

The ancient figure cocked his head. “You broke into our dojo to make sure no one had broken into our dojo?”

Jonny had to admit when he put it that way it did sound pretty stupid. It would sound even worse if he backtracked now. “That’s right. If you’ll excuse me I need to check your roof.”

“Is that what the rope is for?” The old pest made no effort to move aside.

“It’s guard business. Please get out of my way.”

“I think not. I think you’re a liar and a thief who stole that uniform along with the rope. If you truly are here in an official capacity we shall summon a squad of your comrades and ask them. I see no reason for an honest guardsman to object to that.”

“I don’t have time for this.”

Jonny reached out to move the old-timer aside. A moment later he found his arm pinned behind his back. Despite his apparent age the old man had a grip like iron. Jonny was shoved back toward the door. He stumbled and fell to his knees, the carefully coiled rope spilling to the floor.

Jonny snarled, leapt to his feet, and dragged his sword free of its sheath. It had been a long night and he was out of patience. He’d killed one person already tonight. What was one more?

“Just who are you anyway?” Jonny asked.

The old man bowed. “Grandmaster of the Iron Path, Fo Shen.”

Jonny swallowed, a good deal less confident about his chances of getting past now. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to get up on the roof.”

“I have no wish to hurt you either, but you are clearly not who you claim to be. I have no objection to waiting for the actual guards to arrive and settle this peacefully.”

“Unfortunately, that won’t work for me.”

Jonny lunged at Shen. The old master dodged aside and tripped him. Jonny staggered and spun back to find his opponent leaning on his cane, a look of serene disinterest on his face.

Jonny hated being mocked. He wanted to kill the old master now just to show he could.

He eased closer, sword poised to dart in at the slightest opening. He lunged within striking distance and still Shen hadn’t moved. Jonny slashed at his opponent’s ribs.

Far faster than someone that wrinkled should be, Shen stepped inside his swing, caught Jonny’s wrist, and sent him flying toward the door. He landed on his rope, barely hanging on to his sword. Jonny leapt to his feet, growling deep in the back of his throat.

The old master offered a faint smile. “I haven’t had this much fun in years. Do you wish to go again?”

Damn right he wished to go again. Jonny rushed at Shen, hacking and slashing, stabbing and thrusting. It was like trying to stab the air. No matter what he tried Fo Shen seemed to flow around his blade. Jonny couldn’t touch him.

He backed up after his furious assault, gasping for air. His opponent wasn’t even breathing hard. Jonny seriously doubted Shen even needed his cane.

“Your technique is adequate,” the old master said. “But you use too much muscle and your attacks are obvious. I know what you plan to do an instant after you decide to do it. In a year or two I could teach you to be subtle. Then you would be truly dangerous.”

Jonny seethed as Shen offered his critique. He had always thought of himself as an above-average swordsman. He could stand toe to toe with any of the other guards in the training ring. Yet against a man old enough to be his great-grandfather he couldn’t so much as scratch him.

He straightened up and strode forward. He had to get past Shen to escape the city, so he would. Jonny’s sword snapped out in quick, darting thrusts. Sometimes two or three in quick succession and never in the same spot twice.

It didn’t matter. Shen was smoke and Jonny’s sword every bit as effective against him as it was against smoke.

“Master!”

Fo Shen’s concentration broke for a fraction of a second. Jonny’s sword pierced his stomach and punched out his back.

Shen slumped to the floor. Jonny spun and found a teenage boy in a red and gold uniform standing in the doorway, his fists balled and his legs wide in a deep fighting stance.

“You killed the grandmaster!”

The wounded man groaned.

“He’s still alive, boy. If you run for a healer he might be alive when you get back. Fight me and even if you win he’ll still die. Choose.”

Every muscle in the boy’s body tensed then he turned and ran. Jonny sighed. He really hadn’t wanted to fight another Iron Path warrior. Especially a young one that actually wanted to kill him.

He ran over to his rope, coiled it up, and ran for the steps.

As he passed, Fo Shen grabbed his pant leg. Jonny stopped and looked down.

“Thank you for sparing the boy.”

Jonny shook his head and pulled his pant leg free. He looked at his sword then at the old man. Jonny cleaned the blade on his tabard and sheathed it. Whether Shen lived or died Jonny would be long gone. He’d let fate decide.