The TwiceBorn

No Room for Angels

There's no more room for angels to dance or even stand upon this pin entangled—Jeffrey Foucault

Perhaps it was the whisper of steel as the sword slid from his scabbard or the faint crunch of the scattering of dead leaves on the ground, Gre would never know for sure, but Aubery's head whipped around and he stared at Gre, his eyes over-bright as a taunting grin split his face.

He pushed Islinn away from him.

"Time for you to burn, Gray, it's time, it's finally time, why did you keep me waiting for so long?"

Something deep rolled over inside of Gre and he heard a moan inside his head that no ale would ever allow him to forget.

Had he been hoping he could run Aubery through from the back?

Yes. He had. He had wanted easy. Because the high-pitch to Aubery's voice, the expectant grin that was so wide it almost didn't fit on his face, and the jittery-horrible-eagerness with which he grabbed his sword, told Gre that Aubery had been waiting to set him to burn for quite some time now. Yet...the boy had waited for him to choose the when and where. Gre felt all the hair rise on his head and arms as he took in Aubery's hungry stare.

He's been waiting for me. I'm an afterthought. Get up, fuck Islinn, run ol' Gray through, saddle my horse and start on my day

Gre thought back over all the battle he'd seen and took a deep breath. Drunk or sober,he'd fought well and he knew this because he was standing in the here and now, all limbs intact. Aubery though...Gre had seen him weasel himself on the ground rolling and dodging blows, all with a frightened cornered-rat grimace on his face. And while he stood before Gre now...Behrin's words of praise probably spinning about in his empty head about how top-notch he was with a blade...Gre knew better. Aubery was lucky. Shit lucky, as far as Gre was concerned but lucky, nonetheless. But beneath all that bullshit bold...Aubery knew...that he was not as good with a blade as he'd been set up to be. And Gre knew it too.

Yet Aubery didn't look afraid. He bounced back and forth, on the balls of his feet, like a stag getting ready to take flight. Gre felt a feather soft touch of unease.

Why should Aubery be afraid? He had killed The Twiceborn, why should he fear deep-in-his-cups Gray?

(Not overrogued.She shadows the moon)

Gre ran a dry tongue over his dry lips.

(And Gre...she's coming)

Maybe Aubery hadn't been so lucky after all.

(You put him down, Gre. He's nothing but something bad that just needs the right time and place to happen. Put him down like a sick dog)

Hollis' words rolled around in his thoughts and Gre grunted at their prophetic presence. Hollis was nothing but a sot like him and tried to pull himself out of trouble with every ale skin he opened but no words would ever ring truer.

(I'm sorry Hollis; I let the right time and place slide by. But I can make up for it now. I can make it right)

And some secret part of him, a part that always remained sober and remembered everything he never wanted to think about still believed he had the power to make everything right, if only given the chance.

Aubery stepped forward, blade in hand, and Gre recognized the quick, light steps, the slightly hunched over posture the boy always adopted as he prepared to go to ground, twisting and turning like a snake in long grass, as he looked for the chance to slip out and around, always eager to run his blade through from behind.