Scars Part 18

A/N: Okay those of you wonderful enough to read this far! Soran's story is nearing its end! This is an especially long chapter, so hope you enjoy : )

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Sid looked out over the sleeping shipyard. The living quarters from which he was patrolling consisted of one long, rectangular building of two stories and a flat roof, belted by several levels of old wooden balconies. The building stretched along the length of the semicircular dockyard, the long docks stretching out like a spider's web into the port. Gray ships bobbed and creaked against the old wooden docks, pushed gently up and down to the rhythm of the tide. The moonlight flickered in smooth sparks along the rippled surface of the night sea. A few low thunks and creaks came from the third dock, where half their men were extracting three large crates from a ship while the rest, like Sid, stood guard at various points in the shipyard. So far, the mission had gone without a hitch. As always, Soran had made sure to research the area thoroughly before plotting their strategy, only this time, he didn't have to spend their earnings; Sid knew this shipyard like the back of his hand. It was here that he'd once worked here for years, building ships from dawn to dusk in the salt-drenched air.

For Sid, the place filled him with a bitter nostalgia. Everything from the dilapidated portside building to the shifting of the splintering docks brought back memories of his years spent here, and the people he spent them with. Many of them were quite possibly still here. The one who could have actually mattered, however, he knew was not. He broke roughly away from her image as it formed in his head, remembering to focus on keeping watch.

Their client had been robbed of some important cargo, the contents of which they were not informed, and the thieves were attempting to ship it out of the area from this port. Soran and his men were to retrieve the stolen cargo and deliver them safely to the client. That was the story they were given, though it was equally possible that the thieves were the clients themselves, or that the cargo at stake had already passed illegally through several claims of ownership before being loaded onto the ship Soran and the others were currently infiltrating.

Everything so far was going according to plan. Their presence had not been noticed by those guarding the port; having taken shifts at guard duty himself in the past, Sid knew how little it paid, and thus how flimsy the security often was in the middle of the night. The only thing that concerned him was just how quiet it was this night. The security wasn't even weak – it was nonexistent. Considering how much they'd been paid to take this mission, whatever they were retrieving was too valuable to be left so thoroughly unguarded. The silence of the boatyard felt like an invisible net slowly surrounding them. He closed and unclosed his fingers speculatively on the handle of the double-bladed staff at his side. The balcony from which he was watching over things attached to the commodore's quarters – a risky vantage point, but a good one.

In a jerk of movement, Sid turned to look behind him. He felt subconsciously that a lethal stare was boring into the skin on the back of his neck, but saw nothing. The ex-soldier narrowed his brown eyes skeptically at the closed sliding door behind him that led into the commodore's personal quarters. He walked over to it in silence and inspected it suspiciously, leaning one ear against the wooden door to listen for sounds of activity. After several seconds of silence, he leaned back again, looking at the door.

A flash of white pounded in his vision as something struck him sharply across the back of the neck. Sid staggered forward and spun to face whatever had attacked him. A black-clad figure stood there, all but his eyes concealed in cloth. The flattened hand that had struck him had been intended to knock him out, but Sid was fairly resilient. No sooner had he registered the smirking angle of his opponent's eyes, however, than another pair of hands swooped in from behind him, one clasping roughly over his mouth and nose and the other drawing a knife to the front of his throat. The hands pulled him backwards, toward the commodore's quarters. Danger…he had to alert Soran… Sid tugged against the pressure on instinct, but a sharp knee to his back reminded him of his situation, sending a sharp gasp aching tensely from his lungs. With fire spreading up his spine, he didn't have much choice at that point anyway. Ambush… He bit fiercely at the hand on his mouth, tasting blood, but it wouldn't release. A muffled grunt was all the sound he could make as he was hauled rearward into the room and the sliding door closed quietly after them.

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Reya's legs felt like molten lead as she ran for all she was worth. Tears of panic had left wind-dried trails on her fair skin as she flew down the path. Tromik's words echoed cruelly in her mind; they filled her with terror and rage. She couldn't do it…not that! She absolutely wouldn't do that! Her protests felt like ash in her raw throat. She glanced back behind her, stumbling slightly on the dark, uneven terrain. At least no one had followed her – yet.

She needed to see him. He would know what to do. If it was that man, she honestly believed he could handle anything. Her pounding feet carried her rapidly through the trees toward Skolos, fueled by her longing to be protected within the odd security of that solemn, unshakable gaze.

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"All the crates are extracted onto the dock. We should be ready to move," Groan reported in a gruff whisper, jogging up to where Soran was rigging up the carts they had brought to transport the cargo. He and the horses were waiting some distance off from the leftmost end of the dock. Wheels would have made too much noise and been detected in the rocky terrain, so they brought the carts to assemble on the spot.

"Good. The horses are ready," Soran said with less enthusiasm than one might expect.

Groan noticed the thoughtfulness in his leader's expression. "You're thinkin' it too, ain't ya. This is too easy."

Soran didn't answer, but frowned. "We're moving out. Go send the signal to the lookouts." Groan nodded his understanding and took off at a stealthy jog while Soran headed for the dock. He paused and looked up at the tall, long building that stretched along the length of the dockyard, a place where Sid had informed him the staff were housed. He eyed the rotting balcony closely as a flash of metal caught his eye. In the split second it took for the electric spasm of danger to shock through his consciousness, a steel dart shot out and fell with a sharp clang amidst some tall rows of stacked crates near the third dock, the walls of cargo obscuring its actual destination.

Soran's eyes shot to his men, who were working at the next dock away and had clearly noticed the sound, though not its original source. They stopped their work and grouped together, automatically entering a battle-ready formation with their strongest fighters moving to the fore of the group. Canis made a signal to the others, who spread out to form a flank while he and Vex began warily approaching the right side of the crates, from whence the sound had come. Canis glanced up and saw Soran watching closely from the other side of the shipyard. The elf had darted beside a tall stack of lumber at the edge of the yard, hiding his position. Soran nodded his approval and the men proceeded to the edge of the piled crates. Soran's eyes were scanning the balcony where he'd seen the dart fired, but saw no sign of life. Something wasn't right. He turned his gaze suspiciously back to the walls of crates his men were approaching. Almost imperceptibly, a shadow moved from beside them.

Trap.

Soran's hand shot out. The men stopped in their tracks at his signal. Telltale sounds of bowstrings pulling taut came from the rooftop of the boathouse. It was an ambush, Soran realized. They knew exactly where they were. "Take cover!" he shouted.

Canis and Vex dove between the stacks of crates while the others scattered, staying in pairs. No sooner had they taken shelter than an angry shout sounded from within the walls of cargo, followed by the crashing of fierce battle. Men clad in black rushed out from where they had hidden among the crates and fanned out as arrows hailed down at the rogues.

Soran cursed under his breath as he broke from his safe position and ran alongside the building to join the fight. Canis emerged from among the crates, Axe held firmly in hand. He looked a bit unsteady on his feet, but whatever had intercepted him inside, he had apparently won. After a moment Vex appeared as well, not stepping out into the open, but using the crates as a barrier while he threw small knives from a pouch at his side swiftly up at the archers on the roof. A few tumbled down while the others simply scurried to more secure positions.

Amidst the blur of sudden battle, another arrow, this one bearing an oil-soaked rag that had been lit on fire, flew and struck one of the crates behind Vex. Soran wrestled briefly with an attacker before slicing his neck efficiently open with his armblade and stepping back to look at the flames that were spreading across the crates behind Vex. It didn't make sense...these men were far stronger and more numerous than the lackluster security force Sid had described, and far more organized. But more strangely, they were risking their own cargo by setting fire to it. It was one thing to anticipate Soran's group's arrival by employing their own defense force, but…

A grim realization came to the rogue. He spun back toward the crates where Vex was sniping at the archers with his knives. "Vex, get out of there!" he ordered fiercely, throwing up his left blade to deflect an arrow that flew at him.

"There's just three more! I've got 'em," Vex called over the noise of the battle. An arrow whizzed past his shoulder.

The flames behind Vex grew higher as they ate through the crates. "NOW, Vex!" Soran roared as two more men flew at him. Where were they all coming from? He jumped up into a high spinning kick that cracked across the head of the opponent behind him before lunging straight from his landing into a lethal swipe at his second opponent's neck, then threw the point of his other blade back with his elbow into the chest of the man he'd kicked before he could even finish falling to the ground – perfect, rapid, precise. He turned immediately back toward his strong-willed subordinate. An odd smell was beginning to permeate the smoke-scented air. "MOVE!"

As if finally realizing the seriousness in his general's voice, Vex threw one more knife and burst into a sprint away from the crates. A second later, a wall of heat tore into him full-force from behind and sent him flying forward, skin and face tearing as he raked across the ground. Bright light and scalding heat burst across the shipyard as the crates exploded, leaving everyone momentarily blinded and throwing several off their feet.

Feeling the intense heat on his skin, Soran retreated blindly several steps backwards, trying to readjust his eyes. A startled female scream broke through the roar of flames off to his right. Time seemed to slow down as he turned in confusion toward the familiar voice, the spiritlike embers darting around him making the rest of the frenzied scene appear stuck. Without a word, he broke into a sprint toward her voice, and found her hiding in shock behind a large ship anchor that had been left near the edge of the shipyard. Soran heard and felt more explosions go off behind him as he reached her side.

"Soran, I…" she stammered breathlessly, her usual easy manner frayed by the unexpectedly dangerous scene she had suddenly found herself in when the explosion went off.

"What in the world are you doing here?" he asked her sharply.

"The old man at the Boar's Head told me where you were…I'm sorry, I had to see you," she pleaded, her wet eyes sparkling in the firelight.

"It's not safe, you need to get out," Soran ordered quickly, confusion showing in his eyes.

"I…I can't go back and leave you in this—ah!" She cried out as she saw a man clad in black run up behind Soran and swing a sword down at his neck.

Soran sensed what was happening from the expression on her face. His eyes widened and he flew up and around, meeting the strike with his own blade. The sword had more power behind it and drove Soran a full foot to the side, his boots dragging deep scars in the earth. When he recovered he shot back at his attacker, throwing the sword off wide and coming in to strike only to sense the blade coming at him again, this time at his legs. The elf jumped over the attack and threw a swift kick into the man's chest, propelling himself backwards and flipping off his hands back to his feet. He leapt back in immediately with a spinning crescent kick that broke hard over the man's wrist and threw his weapon spinning across the dirt.

Reya stared in awe as the moves she'd watched him practice so many times were brought to life. But now, the dance of his blades was set to the symphony of clashing weapons, cries of pain and anger, and roaring flames smoldering in the darkness. This was the world he lived in. His voice finally broke her free of her entrancement as he called out to her, his opponent already dead on the ground in front of her. "It's not safe," he reiterated.

Composing herself, Reya just crossed her arms and rose to her feet. "I can help."

The two stared each other down for a long moment before Soran turned away in frustration. "Stay close," he ordered coldly, and ran back into the fray. She grinned a little and followed him, proud of his unexpected protectiveness. As always, those panther-eyes drained the fear from her body, even in this dangerous situation. It was an odd effect he had on her.

Bodies could be seen scattered all over the boatyard – luckily, none that Soran recognized. He had trained his men well to be prepared even for this sort of fiasco; they would be gathering at the emergency waypoint he'd specified, back by the horses. He ran with Reya across the fiery battlefield, double-checking for any who might have fallen. Soran had yet to lose any of his men, primarily because he maintained a strict and unusual standard to leave no one behind.

The rogue's body froze as a chorus of thwips foretold that the archers had spotted them. He backpedaled, skidding as he lunged sideways and shoved Reya to the ground beneath him. Reya yelped, his sudden contact startling her as much as the sharp impact with the ground. She eased open her clenched eyes to find him hovering over her propped on one elbow, his dark hair obscuring his face. More arrows struck the ground around them.

"Soran," she urged him gently. His lower body was pinning hers to the ground.

His face turned up toward hers, green eyes blazing. "Were you hit?" his voice sounded thin, as if he were out of breath.

"No," she answered as the arrows flew around them, barely understanding the realness of their danger.

Apparently satisfied, he stretched the arm he'd been leaning on around to the back of his other tricep, shifting more of his weight onto her. His eyes clenched shut as he jerked at something and forced out a shuddering breath. Teeth gritted, he brought his arm back and pushed himself up on his elbow again. Reya looked down at his arm in confusion, and felt a chill run through her as she saw his fist clutching the thin shaft of a bloodied arrow.

Why was he struggling so hard not to show pain? "Soran," she said softly, reaching up toward him. Her hand gently wove through the hair that hung in his face and cupped his angled cheek, her soft thumb tracing his cheekbone.

Soran's eyes opened again cautiously and looked down into hers, her touch stirring something in him he didn't understand. Though he had never been conscious of wanting it before, he felt strangely that he needed the feeling that washed over him at that instant. An incomprehensible self-loathing filled him as he pushed back to his feet, breaking the first gentle touch he'd felt in more than ten years.

Soran threw up the blade on his wounded arm to deflect an arrow that would have struck his head. It ricocheted into the dirt beside them. Without a word, he grabbed Reya's arm and tugged her firmly to her feet, half-dragging her to keep up as he ran safely behind the bonfire that was once the stack of crates. There he saw Canis coming toward him, dragging a half-conscious and badly scorched Vex over his shoulder.

"How is he?" Soran asked firmly.

"A bit loopy from the blast. He'll make it," Canis grunted, casting a curious eye on the girl standing beside Soran.

"Let's get him to the waypoint," he said, taking Vex's other arm and pulling it securely over his bad shoulder. They moved to the edge of the bonfire, preparing to rush across the line of fire. Soran cast Reya a look that said to keep up. "Go."

They rushed across the shipyard, Vex barely managing to keep his legs moving beneath him as Canis and Soran carried most of his weight. Reya ran with them, finally grasping the full situation. She closed her eyes and struggled to find concentration amidst her panic. Blue magic fused around her hands, and then her entire body. She opened her eyes and thrust her arms firmly overhead, bringing them down in a wide arc. A dome of blue energy crackled into place around them, deflecting the arrows as they came. Soran looked back at her in surprise, not breaking pace. Reya couldn't respond to him, needing all of her focus to maintain the spell, but they were soon back at the waypoint, where the others had gathered.

"How many wounded?" Soran asked as he strode quickly toward them, the dome fading away.

"Six," Artib answered swiftly, "Nothing fatal."

"Is everyone here?"

"Soran," Groan said, pushing forward, "I was a'le to find all the sentinels cept Sid. Th'boy's still missing."

"Get ready to move out. I'll look for him."

"The job, Soran?" Artib asked, more surprised than opposed to the idea of retreating.

"The job never existed. We were set up," Soran said sourly. "Stay here," he ordered Reya, running back toward the shipyard.

Soran didn't have to run far before he found Sid already limping back toward the waypoint at a jog. A rush of unexpected relief coursed through the elf as he spotted him, though it was checked by the dark stain across the man's tunic. He studied Sid's face carefully as he came up alongside him. Something darkened his normally cheerful features in a way much more troubling than Soran could attribute to mere pain.

"We're moving out," Soran said, matching his weakened pace.

"Yeah," Sid answered solemnly, his voice different from any Soran had heard from him before.

Soran made no mention of Sid's wounds for the moment. He knew Sid knew he had noticed them; he would address them later.

When they returned to the others, Everyone was mounted on the horses and ready to go. Groan rode behind Vex, supporting him upright, and Reya had been paired with Canis. "Can you ride?" Soran said lowly to Sid, who nodded irately and swung onto his own horse. Soran eyed him suspiciously and mounted as well, kicking his horse into a full gallop while the others followed suit.

It was a tense, two hour ride before they came to an abandoned building that they used as an unofficial stopover when they needed one. The building was two stories tall and nestled in a craterlike alcove amidst the rocky landscape, bordered by cliffs on three sides. As soon as they were there, Sid dismounted and walked calmly away from the others into the house. Soran watched him, getting the distinct impression Sid didn't want the others to be aware of his injuries.

"Escort the girl back to the village," he said to Canis. "The rest of you, see to the others." He dismounted quickly and went inside after Sid. He walked up to the second story, where he found the door to the room Sid normally used closed. Soran knocked on it twice, then opened it and walked in. Sid was sitting on a threadbare couch in the back of the room, bent forward with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped one over the other. He didn't look up at Soran.

"I'd rather you leave," Sid said. That voice again.

"What happened back there?" Soran asked flatly, moving into the room to stand across from Sid.

"I said I want you to get out," he returned more harshly, raising his head with an irritated look that seemed wholly alien on his face.

"You're wounded."

"I'll take care of it myself."

"As your general, I require you to explain what the hell's going on," Soran asserted.

Sid's eyes narrowed with anger. "Don't you dare talk like that to me, you elf bastard," he growled, something wild and barely controlled lurking in his voice.

Soran felt a pang of guilt mixed with hurt. "At least get your wounds treated," he said even more sternly to mask his reaction.

"So now the friendless prince of seclusion is going to get on my case for keeping to myself? Get out!" Sid barked dangerously, rising to his feet and staring a cold challenge straight down into the rogue's face.

"If it affects the squad, then yes," Soran scowled with forced pragmatism.

Sid reached his limit. His hand shot up in a fist and slammed across Soran's jaw, sending the unsuspecting elf stumbling a step sideways before glaring back up at Sid in shock. Sid had never hit him that way before. It hurt more than he would have expected.

"A bastard like you who's never let anyone close to him in his life won't understand," Sid growled accusingly.

Indignance flared in the elf's eyes. Soran's fist returned the punch, aiming automatically for Sid's solar plexus, but the elf redirected it to the side, hitting his pectoral hard to mask his choice to divert the strike. "Don't speak as if you know me," he spat, low and cold.

Sid's hand shot out and grabbed Soran's upper arm forcefully, tugging the elf forward to glare straight into his face. Soran's eyes winced half-closed. "How the hell would I know you, asshole?" Sid countered fiercely, tightening his fingers, then hesitated as a strained bark of pain escaped the elf's throat.

Part of the anger in Sid's expression was replaced by confusion, and he let go of the elf's arm as if it were heated iron. Soran pulled back immediately, favoring his arm and looking away with a bitter frown.

Sid looked down at the slick blood on his fingers and squeezed them into a pensive fist. "Jeez. Acting so pushy when you're wounded yourself," he sighed critically, voice heavy with guilt and more of the raw emotion that had dragged it down earlier. A tense silence passed between them.

"What happened to you?" Soran said quietly, no longer demanding; simply asking.

Sid sank back into the sofa; standing up was clearly taking its toll on him. He took a deep breath, crossed his arms, found they irritated the gash on his side and uncrossed them again, laying them tensely across his knees as he had before. "We weren't the only ones set up. I was ambushed during my watch. They brought me into the commodore's cabin – I got the upper hand after playing dead for a while. The commodore was there, killed in his bed. I never liked the old bastard much anyway…"

Soran looked at him quietly. The man's voice had begun shaking. He waited for Sid to regain his composure.

"Not just him," Sid went on stiffly, "There was a woman with him, all curled up on his arm, and just as bloody as him. It was…there's no doubt, it was Chelsea."

Soran's brows furrowed in confusion. "What?" he said, trying to sort out this last piece of information, "Your fiancé…you said she died a long time ago."

"That's what I was told," Sid said, his voice getting tight. "Quite a convenient way to get rid of me, I have to admit." He took a deep, unsteady breath. "I didn't care much for my existence at the time; maybe they expected me to kill myself. Or she could have been forced…the commodore controlled everything in that yard. Or she-…" He broke off, shuddering, his head lowered to hide the tears that were cruelly bleeding through his controlled mask. "Damnit, this is why I wanted you to get out," he choked.

Soran stared at Sid, worried and unsure what to do. It seemed so impossible for Sid to lose his composure that he was left without any idea of how to comfort him. Part of him was jealous of his emotional friend for feeling so easily the grief that he had never expressed for his own losses. Marx, Rone, his parents, the hundreds that had died by his hands whose faces were burned like bloodstains on his memory. He hadn't cried for them, even once. Was he broken? He tore away from those thoughts, focusing on Sid.

Sid reached into his coat and pulled out his dagger, a drop of warm liquid falling onto it as he turned the blade thoughtfully in his fingers. Soran tensed, remembering Marx. He took a step toward Sid, plans racing through his head. "Sid," he said tensely.

Sid looked up at him and saw the fear flashing in the elf's eyes. Always acting so tough, he thought to himself with a weak smirk at his cold friend, You probably glare at people cause you know full well you get hopelessly attached to all of them. He turned his face away again, and tried to laugh. It came out closer to a subdued sob. "Yeah, relax. Shit, if you weren't here, it would be so easy," he complained, throwing the dagger halfheartedly across the room. Despite the fact that the elf's behavior toward him had remained cold and stoic for all these months, nonetheless Sid felt somehow that Soran needed him. At least, it was what he wanted to believe. It was a kind of relief to see the elf stirred up the way he was for his sake, though he was in no state to really appreciate it.

Soran frowned as Sid seemed to lose his breath and fall forward for an instant before catching himself and pulling upright again. The elf placed a steadying hand on his shoulder and felt his sweating forehead. "That's some fever." He looked to the wide, wet stain on Sid's brown shirt. "What did that?"

"Knife," Sid said, still struggling to regain control of the tears that seemed to have taken over his being. "Don't!" he ordered as the elf moved to inspect it. "Damn it, just leave it be for a while."

"You're going into shock, Sid. You're upset, you're not being rational," Soran asserted uncomfortably, trying as civilly as possible to move away the hand that was guarding the wound.

"I said leave it! Damnit Rhen!" Sid warned brokenly, but didn't stop Soran from moving his shirt aside and looking at the gash.

A knock came at the door. Soran and Sid exchanged a testy glance.

"Whoever it is, not a word about this," Sid ordered.

"I'll go," Soran said, and stood up to go to the door.

He opened it enough to see Reya standing outside with an anxious expression. Canis stood behind her, looking frustrated. "I healed the others," she said. "How's your arm?"

"It's fine," Soran said, seeming distracted. "You were supposed to go back."

"Soran, there's something I have to talk to you about."

"The ones we fought with will come after us here. They could be here any time."

"It's really important," she tried to continue.

"Listen to me, Reya," Soran interrupted sternly, the tension pent up from the situation with Sid taking the form of anger in his voice. "Go back right now. It's not safe. You shouldn't have been here in the first place. Let Canis escort you."

"You don't understand, I absolutely have to-"

"It'll be okay. Meet me at the ruins tomorrow. Tell me about it then," he asserted less harshly, actually not wanting to send her away, but this was no place for her and he needed to get back to Sid immediately.

"They're here! Everyone at arms!" shouted one of the men downstairs.

Reya's eyes shot back to him in desperation.

"Get out, I mean it," Soran ordered, making the girl's blue eyes swim with tears. "Canis," he said sternly and the man stepped forward. Soran gestured toward the girl, and Canis nodded his understanding, taking her by the arm and pulling her toward the stairs.

"Soran!" she screamed in protest.

"It'll be okay," he reiterated firmly as her tear-filled eyes disappeared down the stairs.

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To be Concluded…