by J. F. Halpin
They were all looking at him with a mixture of concern and worry.
“Are you serious right now?” Cortez watched him.
“You killed a lot of people,” Nowak stated. “Like, a lot.”
“All right . . .” That wasn’t news to Summers. He remembered fighting . . . something.
“No, let me be clear.” Nowak reached over to the table in front of them before picking up a small butter knife. He looked Summers dead in the eye. “You were the most terrifying fucking thing I have ever seen in my life.”
“It was awesome,” Cortez agreed.
Summers looked at the others. They all had their eyes glued to him, expressions of worry on their faces.
“Is that why you’re all looking at me like that?”
“You might want to look in a mirror.” Nowak played with the knife for a moment before offering it to Summers.
He took the handle and looked at his own reflection in the blade.
His eyes were black, as was most of his mouth.
“Fuck me.” Summers kept looking at himself from every angle. “This will wear off, right?” He angled the knife toward the side of his head. His ears were as long as an elf’s now. “What the fuck . . . ?”
Summers only just noticed that his clothes were covered in blood. His skin, however, was clean. He looked at his hands; they were spotless. Every instinct he had told him that didn’t add up.
“The good news is you did the job.” Nowak tried to grab Summers’ attention. “Between you, the refugees, and everyone on the wall, we figure they lost around 1500 men.”
Summers stopped panicking long enough for that to set in.
“They still have enough to take us out.”
“Nobody commits to an attack like that in real life,” Nowak explained. “They just had nearly a third of their force wiped out on their first real push. There’s a good chance they’ll just cut their losses.”
“For what it’s worth, I saw Nisha speak to some of the city’s . . . nobility? The fact I could tell an elf was relieved should say everything about what they’re thinking.”
Summers considered that.
“Don’t suppose any of you know what a ‘payrst’ is?” Summers held his head in his hands. “‘Pat’ gave me his title when we started this whole training thing. I didn’t think it was anything important.”
“He gave you a title,” Nowak retorted, “in a world where only important people have titles, and you didn’t think it was important.”
“To be fair, I’ve been a little fucking distracted.” Summers gestured to himself.
“I have no idea, but if his dad’s on the council, I’m going to bet it means ‘heir.’”
“Or ‘prince,’” Logan added.
Summers repressed a groan and took another look at his eyes. He couldn’t even see the iris.
Hell, with how he looked like right now, he could almost understand why Rhodes was after his blood. Not that he didn’t look forward to snapping the bastard’s neck for the trouble.
Then he realized they had another problem.
“You said I killed people, right? Everyone saw that?” Summers looked to the others. They each nodded, if a bit hesitantly. “So why the hell does Rhodes think he can fight me?”
Nowak cleared his throat, looking more than a little worried.
“My guess is, he’ll be using a gun.”
“Oh.”
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Summers lay on the floor as Nowak peeled back the bandage on his side. He winced more out of habit than any actual pain.
“Was it bad?” Summers looked at the wound.
“Didn’t look deep,” Nowak answered.
The wound hadn’t been bleeding, or doing much of anything, really. Summers had assumed that since he wasn’t staining the carpet, it was fine, but Nowak had insisted on taking a look.
“You’re not going to believe this.” Nowak spoke from his side. “But, uh . . . you’re completely fine.”
Summers blinked before looking down at his side. Nothing but smooth skin marred by a thin, pale scar.
“Huh.”
At least this new look had perks.
He heard the door open, and turned just in time to see Nisha, Synel, and Asle in the doorway.
“You have guests . . .”
Nisha bowed, but the other two had frozen in place, shoulders tense.
His friends had watched him fight and had seen him afterward. They’d actively helped save him, so they knew what to expect.
Summers tried not to let the hurt show on his face. Instead, he got to his feet, holding his hands up in mock surrender.
“It’s okay,” he managed to get out, in the most nonthreatening voice he could manage. “I’m still getting used to it myself.”
They said nothing at first. Then Asle took a step forward, moving up to Summers and wrapping her arms around his waist. He looked down to see her normally placid face wearing an expression that was somewhere between anger and worry as she squeezed with what he could only assume was everything she had. Synel and Nisha both suddenly found the décor of the room to be very interesting.
It took Summers a moment before it registered.
He laid a hand on Asle’s head, smiling down at her.
“It’s good to see you, too.”
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“You’ve accepted the trial, so there’s nothing we can do for you.” Synel spoke solemnly, as though she was giving him a death sentence. “I’m sorry.”
Synel sat across from him on the couch. Asle sat between Logan and Cortez. She spoke quietly with the others while Synel got over her initial apprehension. For what it was worth, the woman had done so quicker than Summers would have expected.
“He can use any weapon at his disposal. Any he owns, or any that would be lent to him,” she continued. “If he decides to hold the trial in an area he controls, it’s likely that you would be unarmed.” Synel watched him with a little more emotion in her eyes than he’d normally seen. “Powerful men often use this as a means to kill their subordinates.”
“So, you’re saying I’d be put against Rhodes bare-handed, while he has his pick of weapons?” Summers asked.
“Most likely.”
He blinked, only now fully understanding the kind of danger he was in.
Summers looked to the others, only just realizing that they had no idea what he was saying. In their time on the road, Summers had tried to teach some of the local language with Asle’s help, but it had been spotty at best.
“She says I’m fucked.”
Synel tilted her head at that.
“Sorry. I mean I don’t have a good chance.” Summers rubbed the back of his head. “Don’t suppose you’ve had any luck getting out of here?”
“Yes, actually.” Synel stood, pulling a small piece of paper from her pocket. “I’ve found a ship willing to take us south.”
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Asle walked alongside Logan and Nisha. While Synel was allowed free reign of the castle, she needed to return to her duties. Logan had insisted on escorting her back to “her” section of the castle. In truth, she was grateful. Once word of the trial had reached the servants, she’d begged Synel to pull some strings.
She’d lived long enough to see more than one trial like this—a chief or governor who chose to deal with an uppity soldier, or his daughter’s admirer. She knew what was coming, and what her place in all of this would be. Depending on how things went, it could well be the last time they’d see each other.
She had wanted to say goodbye, just in case.
“Is this still about honor?” Logan questioned, looking at Nisha. “Because I don’t see it.”
“I owe my life to him twice over,” Nisha replied.
“And that makes it okay to kill that man?” Logan glanced down to the girl at his side. “Asle, I’ve saved your life. Do you think I would ask you to do something like this?”
&nbs
p; “No,” Asle answered truthfully.
“Do you think Summers would?”
“No,” she repeated.
“You know, I used to have a daughter.” Logan watched Nisha carefully. “I lost her about five years ago, and I’d do anything to get her back. I’d have given anything to the man who could do that for me, even give my life, because if that was the price, then so be it.” He looked down to Asle for just a moment.
“Then you understand that this is the price I’m paying.”
“No, there’s a difference. Rhodes didn’t save your life. He’s taken it from you. And I don’t think you realize that yet.”
They came to the door that would lead to Asle’s “residence.”
“Return to your room, please.” Nisha’s tone was polite, but Asle could hear the emotion underneath it.
Logan hesitated a moment, hugging Asle goodbye, and then turned to leave.
“You talk a lot about honor, but you’re using it as an excuse not to think.”
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Summers tossed the knife with everything he had. It flew through the air, embedding itself in the wall with a crack.
“Okay, that was badass, but no. Not even a chance it’ll land before a bullet.” Cortez studied the knife. It had buried itself a few inches into the stone. “Assuming you can get a spear, though, you’d definitely take him out.”
“All right, then I’m out of ideas.” Summers sat on the ground, rolling his shoulder.
“Pat could come through. Maybe he can get someone in there with a gun . . .” Nowak considered.
“Or we could just let him fork the guards outside.” Cortez gestured to the cutlery still on the table.
“We could. And it might even work, but we’re still unarmed, and even if Summers”—Nowak motioned to him vaguely—“does his thing, archers could still take him. He had us covering him during that fight, remember?”
Summers sighed. Thinking back on when they’d met Rhodes, they had options, but nothing he particularly liked the odds on. And they’d probably need Synel’s help.
“We’ll think of something.”
Nowak sat there, thumb pressed between his eyebrows.
"Assuming we don’t . . .”
“Then I’ll kill him, or he’ll kill me. And you two can stay with the caravan.” Summers spoke as casually as he could manage.
“Not what I meant,” Nowak pressed. “Look, I didn’t say anything on the wall, because I never expected we’d get into this shit. If something happens . . . do you want us to do anything?”
“Sarge—” Cortez chided him.
“I’m only bringing it up now so he can think it over.” Nowak held a hand up to Cortez. “Worst case scenario, it’s more than most people would get. Maybe write your mom a letter?”
Summers froze. The other two must have noticed, because they immediately stood.
“You all right? What’s wrong?” Nowak moved closer.
“My mom . . .” Summers looked up at him. He hadn’t noticed it until just now. “I can’t remember anything about her . . .”
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It was late at night when Asle found Rhodes watching the beast she’d come to know as the hamr. He was just sitting there, staring at it, muttering something incomprehensible. She’d made the trip down to the far end of the castle a few times, hoping to find him in his usual spot.
“What do you want?” Rhodes didn’t bother with more than glance in Asle’s direction.
“To talk.” She moved down the stairs to the courtyard. It was empty. It usually was. Nobody but Rhodes liked to spend time here.
Her skin crawled just knowing that thing was watching her.
“If you’re trying to convince me to leave your friend alone, I’m sorry to say that that’s not happening.” Rhodes turned to look at her. “I’m doing this for your own good. I’m not sure what he is, but he’s not your friend anymore.”
“I don’t think you have friends,” Asle answered. “Not really.”
“You might be right.” Rhodes shrugged on one side. “But this is bigger than you, or me. I will be deep in the ground before I let those fucking things gain an inch.”
Asle just stared at him, impassive.
“What the hell am I saying? You’re just a kid.” Rhodes turned away. “Get the fuck out of here before I call someone.”
Rhodes was clearly done talking.
He’d done nothing but use her friends since they’d come to this city—for weapons, to save face.
Slowly, she reached into a slit at the hem of her dress, feeling for the holster still at her thigh. He’d taken everything from her friends, but they’d never even looked at her.
He’d never considered that she’d be a threat.
“What—?”
Bang!
Rhodes surged upward out of his seat. The shot tore through his side, spraying blood in a mist behind him.
She fired twice more, the shots going wide as Rhodes tore the gun from her hands. Asle stumbled back away from Rhodes as he fell to one knee, gripping his side in pain.
“You little b—” He was cut off as the ground suddenly shook.
She watched in horror as the beast bound to the wall began to writhe. Its skin was bubbling, just where the spray from her bullet had hit.
Rhodes hesitated only a moment before he tried to run.
This time, he was too late. The thing crashed into him, convulsing, the sound of bones snapping resounding in the courtyard.
Then all at once, it stopped, and a single arm burst out from the monster’s back.
Asle ran, a chorus of wet flesh tearing following behind her. She didn’t dare stop, even as servants spilled into the hallway. By the time she’d reached the doorway to her friends’ wing, all she could hear was an ear-splitting, inhuman scream.
Chapter 27: Powder Keg
Summers lay in his bed, trying to sleep. It wasn’t going well. His mind continued to dwell on the revelation that it might not be wholly “his” anymore.
He’d been trying to remember anything he could about his mother: what she looked like, sounded like, what her name was. He had nothing.
Trying to remember his life back home, he could grasp every other detail. The dozens of part-time jobs he’d held to pay their rent, the old woman who lived across from them, but he could recall nothing about the woman herself. The fact that he could remember his stint in McDonald’s over his own family was a revelation he wasn’t prepared for.
There were other holes in his memory, of course: his father—though he recognized enough about the man to not mourn that loss—a few of his friends, his first girlfriend. Every time he tried to quiet his mind, something new and disturbing would crop up.
And through it all, he had to deal with the gnawing hunger nibbling at the back of his mind.
A single, distant pop pulled him from his thoughts, too close to be someone on the wall. The shrill, savage scream that followed confirmed that something was off.
Summers stepped out of his room to find Nowak, Cortez, and Logan already in the common room.
“That was a gun, right?” Logan moved to the dorm’s entrance. There was muffled shouting outside.
Bells sounded alongside more gunfire, automatic this time.
“Move,” Cortez ordered, cracking open the door to look outside. After a moment, she looked back to the others. “Guys. I think our guards forgot about us.”
Summers moved up to look. Sure enough, there was no one in the hallway.
And the gunfire only intensified.
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Asle pounded against the door as the screaming behind her grew louder. She turned to see a creature of pure, greasy black with a mouth too large for its body. It opened as it fed on a woman at its feet.
The servants were panicking, screaming. At some point, it had killed nearly half a dozen of them, the bodies scattered in a circle around it.
And the
door in front of her was locked from the inside.
Two guards with more courage than sense charged the creature with spears.
She didn’t even see it move. The first man’s head simply disappeared, while the second was thrown to the ground in an instant. The creature was on top of him then, its black, almost liquid-like skin seeping over the corpse. Asle watched in horrified fascination as the man seemed to disassemble, his arms moving to the creature’s back, its mass more than doubling.
In the distance, Asle recognized Nisha’s voice. The woman was shouting orders.
The creature lifted its head just as a spray of bullets slammed into its side. It screamed, sprinting off to its unseen attacker at a speed Asle was sure was impossible.
The door beside Asle exploded outward, and two more guards with assault rifles ran in. A servant was shouting, pointing down the hall. They hesitated only a moment before moving forward.
She wanted to shout out, to warn them, but she knew they wouldn’t listen. She needed to find help.
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Summers and the others stalked through the halls of the castle. Between the shouting and the panic, no one was paying them much mind—in fact, most were trying to get out, same as they were. Something told Summers that the bells that had been sounding in the distance were a warning.
“Do you know if they have some kind of armory?” Cortez looked to Logan.
The man had spent the better part of their time in the city with Nisha, so he was the most likely candidate out of any of them to know how it worked.
“Are you kidding?” Logan looked at Cortez incredulously. “If they had weapons stored somewhere, the higher-ups would be trying to take them. If it’s not in someone’s hand, it’s probably long gone.”
“Then what do we—” Summers stumbled as he spotted Asle running in their direction, coming from the same direction as the gunfire.
She was panting, with tears in her eyes.
“Help . . .”
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Asle told them what happened: Rhodes’s death, the weird, alien creature he’d been keeping, what it had done.
The more she talked, the more certain Summers became that he’d seen this creature she was talking about.