Chasing the Sun

VII

|| - Debts of Duty - ||

"I'd learned that somethings are best kept secret..."

- Nicholas Sparks
_________

Ten feet - he had started with ten feet. Those days were clouded with a haze of determination that dulled the pain he endured in his joints as he rolled off the hard ground. The height he had to survive increased with each day, fifteen feet, seventeen feet, twenty, twenty five. He had never questioned what the purpose of learning this particular skill was. Sure enough, his father would have given him one of the riddles he usually came up with. No, David could do better than losing his sleep mulling over an answer he would not die without.

Just like it was with the blind folded knife throwing, or the countless maps they pondered over, the dusty books in the vast library that he was demanded to finish before his father returned home from one of his consignments, David continued to scrape walls and fall down without hurting himself gravely. Falling - as his master used to say, was an art just like climbing. You should simply learn to preserve your fragile points from the collusion and meet the ground with your strong points. There would be a dull pain; yes - nothing in life was painless. But you could simply bounce back to your feet and pursue whatever it your target was.

Nothing James McLane deemed his son should learn proved to be unrewarding. The thought crossed his mind as Dave assessed their chances of getting back on to the roof. His analysis was cut short by the thundering footsteps up the stairs that he imaged led to the watch post over which they were dangling at the moment. There was no more time to calculate as he let go of the ledge he had been holding on to.

In time he turned around to see her eyes widening. In shock - he told himself, for he could not somehow string together those fiery eyes with fear. The scream died in her throat, as they fell through the whipping wind, warm and smoky with the fire below. He had not let her go yet, for he was sure, no matter how great an archer she was, she had no training of taking a fall from such a height with grace. On air they turned following the gravitational pull but him keeping her away from the impact of collusion.

He hit the ground first, a dull thud masked in the chaos around them. She followed a second later, secure in his arms. Their dark grabs kept both of them disguised as a part of the shadows from anyone who looked down from the watch post. David had assumed enough not to expect a 'thank you!' but he had not been smart enough to avoid the blade at his throat.

To her credit, she could have killed him had it been her target. She did not; he took it as a plus point.

"Would you kill the man who saved your life twice over?" He asked her, in her own tongue, watching the fire that burned in her eyes with a steady gaze of his own. Warriors were easily dealt with - he was taught - their blades are restrained with their honour which in turn could be used as his own shield. With effort she pressed the blade closer to his throat, wanting to frighten him into a submission which he refused to give in to.

"Identify yourself, or I swear you will die here now!" She spoke in refined language, not the village drawl. A noble if not a royal, he made a mental note.

"Not all strangers are enemies, lady." He shot an arrow in the dark and watched her blink in confusion. A fear of recognition flashed across her face that almost had her recoiling back to run away. He snatched hold of her wrist, in the process actually pressing the cutting edge against his throat. He could not afford to let her leave just yet.

David could have cared less for the drop of blood that trickled down his throat, their gazes locked again.

"There!" Somebody shouted. The yell was followed by an arrow and it was too late before any of them moved.