Every heartbeat feels like steel

What will moonlight's touch reveal?

The brass number six stared back at Flint like an unblinking eye watching his every move. Standing there, clad in shadows and silence, he felt his nerve begin to falter again. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself. Then he opened them and stepped close to the door, listening.

He could hear nothing except his own pounding heartbeat.

That's a good sign, Flint thought. He's asleep. He must be asleep… He was all too aware of the fact that the entire mission was based on this assumption. If Requar happened to be awake, even at this early hour, the mission was finished and all Flint could do was make a run for it and hope for the best.

Shifting his weight to support the heavy crossbow on his left arm, Flint took his right hand off the Justifier, placed it on the doorknob, and turned it very, very slowly.

It moved smoothly and silently. The door was not locked.

Flint paused and listened again. Still no sound.

He pushed the door inwards with excruciating care, inch by painful inch, until he could make out items of furniture: the dark bulk of a wardrobe and the corner of a desk. The sorcerer's sword lay in its sheath on the desk, its hilt glinting coldly with reflected moonlight.

Flint ignored the chill that raced down his spine and continued pushing the door until it was wide enough for him to enter.

He took in the layout of the room with a single glance. It was small and sparsely furnished, similar to his own. A dressing table and washbasin stood against the right-hand wall, and the bed lay directly in front of him, beneath the room's single window. The casement had been propped open slightly to let in a cool night breeze, and the curtain was wide open, flooding the room with moonlight.

Requar lay on the bed, turned to face the wall, with one arm curled under his head and a blanket pulled up to his waist. His long hair was unbound and spilled down his back like liquid silk. He wore a loose white shirt: his waistcoat, boots, cloak and the rest of his belongings were arranged neatly on a chair by the foot of the bed. Flint felt his heart skip a beat, every muscle tensed for flight, but the sorcerer did not stir. His breathing remained deep and slow.

Flint edged as close to the bed as he dared, leaving the door open behind him so that he could make a quick escape. He wanted to be out of here before anyone discovered what he had done.

Flint stared down at the sorcerer. In sleep, he looked peaceful and unthreatening, but Flint knew better. He possessed an incredibly dangerous power, and Flint doubted he would hesitate to use it if given the chance. Too bad you are what you are, he thought. You might've been a popular one with the womenfolk…

He lifted the Justifier silently, its shadow rearing up on the wall behind him like some enormous, skeletal bird of prey, and settled the groove of the stock on his shoulder. He eased the safety catch off as quietly as possible, adjusting his grip so that his right hand rested lightly against the trigger. He sighted carefully down the bolt and slowly lowered the point until it was aimed directly at Requar's head.

The sorcerer did not wake. Flint's heart boomed in his ears. His hands were sticking to the wood with sweat. He tried not to breathe. The smooth metal of the trigger lever pressed coldly against his fingers. A vivid image of what would happen when he squeezed it flashed before his eyes. He was less than two yards away. There would be blood everywhere…

He swallowed against a wave of nausea and began to tremble. He realised, in that moment, that he had never actually shot anyone with the Justifier before. Animals, yes, but never an actual person. He had never murdered anyone, never purposefully killed a person in cold blood.

Flint's eyes focused on the gleaming, unforgiving tip of the bolt. It was quivering. All he had to do was increase the pressure on that little piece of metal beneath his hand, and Lord Requar would be gone.

And Flint would be a murderer.

The Justifier felt impossibly heavy. His arms were starting to ache with the effort of holding it up. The Justifier. Why had he called it that?

Because, his conscience whispered in his ear, you have to be able to justify any life you take with it.

What was the justification for taking this life? he thought. To fill someone else's pockets with a few extra gold pieces? Or was he killing Requar simply to prove that he could?

What kind of reasons were those?

Every doubt he had ever had came creeping back, and this time he could not shut them out, though he tried. He's a sorcerer! he told himself desperately. By his very nature, he must have done something wrong, done some harm to someone... But still the doubts crept in, like swarms of black spiders, sending all his careful reasoning scattering for cover.

He struggled to control his increasingly rapid breathing. Sweat trickled into his eyes. Press the trigger! A final, frantic thought rang out in his head. You don't have a choice, Flint! Press it!

Flint's fingers tightened around the lever…

Shoot him!

He gritted his teeth.

I can't! The thought rang through his mind as certain and ominous as a death bell. I can't kill an innocent man with the Justifier. I can't do it…

The tip of the crossbow sank, along with Flint's heart, as his grip went slack. His face felt drained of blood; his entire body shook.

"Good choice," a quiet voice said.

Flint jumped so hard he almost dropped his weapon. He stumbled backwards, eyes widening in horrified disbelief as Lord Requar pushed himself up on his elbows and stared directly at him.

For a few seconds, Flint was completely seized with terror. He could not breathe or move. All he could do was stare into those terrible blue eyes, those eyes that knew exactly what he had been about to do…

Then his survival instincts kicked in. He bolted for the door, but it swung closed as though on an unfelt gust of wind before he could reach it. He lunged for the doorknob and tried to wrench it open, but somehow, impossibly, it was locked. Panicking, he spun: but there was no other way out of the room except through the window, which was right over Requar's bed.

Not knowing what else to do, he backed away hurriedly until he hit the desk in the corner and could go no further. He brought the Justifier up defensively, trying to keep his arms steady enough to aim. "Try anything, sorcerer," he snarled, "and I'll have all the justification I need!"

Requar had risen into a sitting position, with his arms resting across his knees. He stared at Flint calmly, and started to make a gesture with his hand…

Flint's nerves were so highly strung that he pressed the trigger in a purely reflexive action. He realised what he'd done a split second too late.

But instead of an explosion of blood, there was an explosion of brilliant white light, so intense that Flint gasped and turned his head aside. It vanished a moment later, and the room was once again filled with ordinary moonlight, which seemed dull and grey in comparison.

It took Flint several seconds to realise that he was still alive.

He looked up tentatively, blinking the floating coloured shapes from his vision, and his breath caught in his throat.

He wasn't the only one who was still alive. The Justifier bolt was nowhere to be seen, but there were black twisted pieces of debris scattered all across the bed and floor.

Requar picked a lump of melted steel off the bedclothes and looked at it, turning it over in his hand. He sighed, a weary, slightly disappointed sound, like a parent who had just found out their child was misbehaving for the hundredth time. "That really wasn't necessary. I wasn't going to attack you."

Flint simply stared at him, speechless.

Requar repeated the motion with his hand, and a chair slid out from under the desk. "Sit down, Flint," he said quietly.

Flint did so, mostly because his legs were so weak he couldn't have remained standing much longer even if he'd wanted to.

Requar tossed the blanket aside and got up. Flint watched him breathlessly, but Requar didn't move towards him. Instead, he walked unhurriedly across the room to the wall opposite Flint and rested his back against it, folding his arms across his chest.

"I take it this means your sister isn't sick," he said.

Flint was silent for a long moment. "No," he said at last. His throat tightened as old memories surfaced, the emotions they induced almost powerful enough to flood out even his fear. "She's dead."

He looked away, lowering his head so that his face was hidden beneath his hat. He did not want Requar to see the tears in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Requar said. There was genuine sympathy in his voice.

Flint forced his tears away angrily and clenched his jaw. "It was the reason I had this made," he went on, nodding at the crossbow in his hands. He was not quite sure why he was telling Requar this.

"She was murdered?" Requar said in a low voice.

Flint nodded, not looking up. "I would've had a bolt engraved 'specially for him, 'cept I don't know the bastard's name."

A long silence fell. Eventually, Flint lifted his head and risked a glance at the sorcerer.

He was gazing at the moonlight streaming through the window with an unreadable expression on his face.

"You're… uh… not… angry that I… that… I tried to…"

"Tried to kill me?" Requar finished. He considered Flint for a moment, then shook his head. "Disappointed, yes. Somewhat annoyed, yes. But no, I'm not angry."

Flint was beginning to wonder if all this was real, or if he had fallen asleep back in his room and was dreaming. A minute ago, he'd been convinced he was going to die, and now he was talking with the sorcerer as though all of this had just been an unfortunate misunderstanding. He swallowed. "How… how did you know?" he asked hoarsely.

Requar sighed and closed his eyes. "I've lived for a long time, Flint. Sometimes I think too long. You're certainly not the first person who has attempted to assassinate me, and you probably won't be the last. You would not believe the highly inventive things my brother has tried over the years to get rid of me. You could say I've learnt to recognise the signs."

"Signs?"

"I suspected you were up to something from the first moment you asked me for help in Meadrun, although I admit I didn't know exactly what. Nor did I know that you were lying about your sister. But there were… certain things that caught my attention. For instance, throughout the entire time we were travelling, you would not walk in front of me. And last night, you kept your crossbow loaded.

“Were it anyone else, I would not have found these actions to be particularly unusual; I am a sorcerer, after all, I wouldn't expect a stranger to trust me. I found it odd, though, that you seemed to be quite willing to trust me with your sister's life, and yet, not your own."

He paused for a moment, while Flint stared at him with a mixture of amazement and horror. "Y-you worked out I was goin' to kill you just from that?"

Requar gave him a thin smile. "Not exactly. In fact, I did not realise your full intentions until just this night, about an hour ago." He gestured at the band of moonlight streaming through the window. "The moonlight in the corridor. Did you notice anything unusual about it?"

Flint blinked, trying to sift through his mess of thoughts. "Uh… not, not really… it was pretty bright…"

"And?"

"Uh…" Flint frowned. "It was… shining straight down the middle of the corridor…" He stopped. It had been shining directly down the corridor. Both when he had left his room and when he had come back upstairs. Now that he thought about it, he realised with an unpleasant chill that it had not changed position at all, despite the fact that he must have been downstairs for at least half an hour.

He looked up at Requar, his eyes wide.

Requar nodded at his unspoken question. "Indeed. It was not moonlight. It was a spell. I set it up as a precaution, in case word of the unfortunate scene I caused in Meadrun reached this village, and somebody happened to recognise me. As soon as you stepped into it, I was alerted to your presence. And when you returned with that monstrosity–" he gestured at the Justifier, "I no longer had any doubts about your motives."

A dark, sick feeling settled in the pit of Flint's stomach. This mission had been doomed to fail from the start. Requar was much too clever and perceptive to be caught off guard so easily.

All of a sudden, the idea of attempting to kill a sorcerer with a crossbow, even a massive one, seemed ridiculous. He couldn't believe he'd been naïve enough to think he could pull this off.

Flint shook his head, appalled at his own foolishness. "Wouldn't it have been easier to just..." he shrugged, "read my mind, or something?"

Requar regarded him. “I do not read minds.” He shook his head. "At least, not in the way you think. I can use a Mind Sweep to detect the presence of nearby life forces and see their emotional states as a coloured aura, but in order to delve deeper, into individual thoughts and memories, I would need to make physical contact. Such a spell is extremely intrusive, akin to spying on someone getting undressed, and I would never use it without permission from the person involved, except as a last resort.”

"R-right," Flint said, not sure he was entirely convinced.

They were both silent for awhile. Flint's eyes flicked towards the door. He wondered nervously if it was still locked. After a few moments, he pushed himself slowly and tentatively to his feet, trying not to make any sudden movements. "I… er, should be going," he said carefully. Requar looked at him, but to Flint's relief, he simply nodded slowly.

Flint hesitated. For some reason, he felt that an apology was called for. "Sorry," he said. Then he added: "For… y'know…" he gestured vaguely, "everything." He couldn't bring himself to say: Sorry for trying to murder you.

Requar shook his head. "There's no need to apologise. No harm was done."

Flint shrugged uncomfortably. "Yeah, but… I wasted your time when you could've been out lookin' for that Winter kid."

Requar was silent for a moment. "Yes," he said finally. "That's true…"

Flint chewed his lip. "So, uh… no… hard feelings, then?" It seemed a highly inadequate thing to say to someone he'd just shot a thousand-pound crossbow at.

Requar smiled slightly. "None at all." He straightened and came towards Flint. Flint tensed instinctively, but the sorcerer merely extended his hand. "In spite everything that happened," he said quietly, "it was nice to have company for a while."

Flint stared at the hand uneasily for a long moment. Finally, and with great reluctance, he shifted the Justifier onto his left arm and took the hand, saying nothing. Requar turned and walked back towards the bed. He snapped his fingers and waved his hand over the floor, and the charred pieces leapt into a neat pile on the bed. Despite himself, Flint couldn't help watching in fascination.

"You're going back to the Bladeshifters now, I take it?" Requar asked as he reached over the bed to open the window.

"Nope," Flint replied. "Won't be goin' back to them any time soon. Probably not ever."

"Why is that?" Requar asked, scooping the burnt debris into his hands and tossing it out the window.

Flint snorted bitterly. "Cause it was Nightwalker who gave me this mission, and he ain't gonna be too pleased that I screwed it up."

Requar closed the shutters quietly and glanced over at him. "What will you do?"

Flint shrugged despondently. He stared down at the now empty Justifier in his hands, and then turned to the door.

"Flint," Requar said suddenly. Flint paused. The sorcerer took a long moment to speak, as though he was struggling to find the appropriate words. "You're welcome to come with me," he finished finally.

Flint stared at his slanted shadow on the door in front of him, a jagged mosaic of thoughts and emotions running through his head. Saying nothing, he turned the doorknob – it was unlocked – and quietly left the room.

Travel with a sorcerer? Flint thought as he entered his own room. Yeah, right. He didn't need a target on his back as well. Though Requar's offer had some distinct advantages, especially if Nightwalker came looking for him, it also had some pretty major disadvantages: ones he didn't think he was prepared to live with. If it became known that he was in league with a sorcerer, he'd have not only the Bladeshifters, but also every assassin, mercenary and law enforcement officer in the country after him.

Screw it, he thought. Nightwalker could do what he liked. The sorcerer could do what he liked. From now on, Flint was on his own.

He set the Justifier down – more roughly than he intended – snatched up his jacket and pulled it on. I don't need a damned sorcerer as a bodyguard, he thought angrily as he slotted all his weapons back into their places. I can look after meself! If Nightwalker comes after me, I'll deal with him.

He secured the Justifier in place on his back, gathered up the rest of his belongings, and strode from the room. He was halfway down the corridor before he realised that he'd walked through the moonlight-spell again.

"Screw it," he muttered. "I don't need anyone!"

No longer caring about the creaks, he descended the stairs and was gone.

Requar lay on his bed with his hands clasped behind his head, staring up at a water stain on the ceiling. A tingle ran through his head and an image of Flint walking down the corridor with all of his possessions appeared in his mind. He felt his heart sink, but only a little: it was what he had expected. He closed his eyes and banished the image.

He lay with his eyes closed for a long time, listening to the silence. Eventually he opened them again and sat up slowly. He gazed across at his Sword, lying on the desk in the far corner. After staring at it for awhile, he got up off the bed, walked over to it and pulled it out of its sheath, watching the moonlight slide off it like water.

Requar turned and leaned back against the desk, holding the Sword before him and staring at his sad reflection in the perfect silver metal.

“Just you and me, now,” he whispered. “Just you and me.”