Just then, another figure entered the torch-lit clearing, causing the guards to spin around.
“Am I interrupting something?” said the young man. He looked a couple years older than Jonas, with dark hair and eyes. He wore a dark cloak, the hood back to show his skin was deeply tanned, and he gave an easy smile that showed straight white teeth, as well as his apparent nonchalance at the fact that he’d just casually strolled into the middle of a battle. He scanned the area, starting on one side with Rufus, who was still being held in place, then making his way over to Jonas, who braced himself against the mossy ground with two swords pointed at his throat.
“Get out of here,” a guard growled. “Unless you want trouble.”
“You’re Jonas Agallon,” the boy said, nodding at him as if they were meeting in a tavern instead of the middle of the forest in the dead of night. “This is quite an honor.”
Jonas never asked to be famous. But the wanted posters clearly sketched with his face that had been tacked up throughout all three kingdoms had ensured otherwise. Despite having few victories and more false accusations than actual crimes, his name had quickly become legend.
And the high reward his capture offered sparked the interest of many.
The older guard had been cut free from his ropes and was now gingerly rubbing his wrists. “You’ve been following this rebel scum?” he asked. “Does that make you aspiring rebel scum? We’ll save a spike back at the palace for your head as well. Seize him!”
The guards lunged for him, but he just laughed and dodged their grasp as easily as a slippery fish.
“Need my help?” the boy asked Jonas. “How about this—I help you, you help me. That’s the deal.”
He moved so well there was no way he was only a curious bystander. Jonas had no idea who he was, but right now he really didn’t give a damn.
“Sounds good to me,” Jonas managed.
“Then let’s get started.” The boy reached down and pulled out two thick blades the length of his forearms from beneath his cloak. He spun and sliced, moving faster than any of the guards could counter.
Jonas’s head was still swimming, but he managed to elbow the guard behind him directly in his face. He felt and heard the crack as the guard yelped in pain.
He jumped to his feet and grabbed his sword, thrusting the hilt behind him to catch the guard in his soft gut.
The new boy took down the guard holding Rufus. Now free, the unskilled rebel just stood there in place, staring at the violent scene for a frozen moment; then he turned and ran out of the clearing without looking back.
A part of Jonas was disappointed in Rufus, but another part was glad the kid finally had a chance to escape a fight he hadn’t been ready for since day one.
He might even stay alive if he played it smart and stayed out of trouble.
With the other guards now dead, scattered, or unconscious in the clearing, Jonas grabbed hold of his original prisoner and slammed him back against the tree.
The smugness in the guard’s eyes finally turned to fear.
“Spare me,” he gasped.
Jonas ignored him, turning instead to the boy who’d just saved his life. “What’s your name?”
“Felix,” he offered with a grin. “Felix Gaebras. Happy to meet you.”
“Likewise. Thanks for the help.”
“Any time.”
If Felix hadn’t intervened, Jonas would be dead. No doubt about it. He’d given him a chance at another day, one in which he might make a difference. For that, Jonas was damn grateful.
Still, he’d be stupid not to be wary of any stranger who knew his identity.
“What’s your price?” Jonas asked.
“Price?”
“You said if you help me, I help you.”
“First thing’s first.” Felix approached, nudging Jonas out of the way and taking the guard by the throat. “I’ve been eavesdropping. Rude, I know. But I heard you say you didn’t think Jonas was ruthless enough to kill someone in cold blood. Well, what’s your first impression of me?”
The guard drew in a shaky breath. “What do you want?”
“Answer the question. His friends—are any of them still alive?”
The guard trembled. “Yes. A handful were brought to the palace dungeon to await execution.”
“How many’s a handful?”
“I don’t know exactly . . . three, four? I’m not sure. I wasn’t there!”
Jonas winced. Three or four? There were so few survivors. . . .
“Names?” Felix pressed harder on the guard’s throat.
He sputtered, his face reddening. “I don’t know. I’d tell you if I did.”
“How long till they’re executed?” Jonas asked, trying to keep his voice steady. The thought of people he cared about trapped under the king’s thumb turned his blood ice cold.
“It could be a few days, or maybe a few months. Please, spare my life! I’ve told you all I know. Show mercy to me now, I beg of you.”
Felix regarded him for a long, silent while. “How about I show you the same mercy you would have shown us?”
One swipe of Felix’s blade, and the guard was silenced forever. His body slumped to the ground to join his fellow fallen guards in the flickering firelight, and Jonas found he couldn’t look away.
“You know I had to do that, right?” Felix said, his voice as cold as stone.
“I know.”