The Alterator's Light

by Dan Brigman

  Catching a glimpse of light outside through the window, Einar saw the sun had risen. His stomach tugged at the back of his awareness, and he realized he had not eaten in nearly a day. Einar had grown so accustomed to Ellia serving the meals that he had not given food a second thought since arriving home. Why hadn’t I thanked her more?

  Einar stood and stretched his cramped legs. He lit a few candles before searching for something to eat. He glanced at the fireplace. A large black cook pot with a lid hung from an iron hook. Has she not completely abandoned me? He lifted the thick iron lid and a grin tugged at a corner of his mouth. The pot held enough vegetable stew to fill several bowls. Even a thick film of congealed oil did not dissuade him. They’ve been gone longer than I realized. He thought, while quickly lighting a fire, Cold food is for beggars and unwelcome husbands. The thoughts of the times he missed with his family burned Einar’s mind. The uninvited truth of Ellia’s departure rooted itself into his being, and when the joyous memories of time with his family leapt through his mind, he felt his cheeks dampen. The tears became a welcome release his mind and body needed.

  Enough dwelling on the past. I must find my family, or I will lose myself. Einar reached to put his cloak and boots on. The olive-green hooded cloak had been a gift from his father many decades ago. Now, partially tattered through Einar’s wanderings, the woolen cloak provided relief in the wild as protection from the elements. It would be a reminder for whom he sought.

  Einar stepped through the still-open doorway and stopped. The stew’s fragrance pulled him back into the house. Einar berated his constant absentmindedness while grabbing a palm-sized wooden bowl. After stirring the bubbling stew, he scooped enough to fill the bowl to the rim and ate quickly next to the fireplace. He relished each mouthful with the realization it could be the last of his wife’s meals for him. He finished a third bowl and a tankard of warm brown ale, then stood contentedly. A good meal deserves a good smoke from the pipe. The passing thought tempted him, but Einar knew he had no time for such luxuries. He sighed and set the dishes in the porcelain sink.

  Einar took one last look around the room and muttered, “I wonder if she’s working yet,” before departing to find an old friend.

  2 — Kirian’s Gambit

  Kirian felt the bolts pass entirely too close to his head.

  Taunting laughter filled the glade, unnerving the two assassins attempting to hide after the first volley. Kirian had sensed their presence long before they stalked close to his campsite. He had gambled with the wrong crowd, and he had won one time too many.

  What could I do? he wondered. Those rich fellows didn’t need so much fine gold. His pouches bulged with coin minted in the city of Molston, with a horse on one side and a simple rune of Alteration on the other. Is my life really worth all that? he thought, amusement pulling a smile to his lips.

  “Boys! Do we really need to go through all this?” Kirian cried out.

  He caught a glimpse of the assassins as he had rolled away from the assailants’ next volley. The dark leather armor and bucklers they wore would offer little protection against his curved daggers. Kirian crouched at the wide trunk of an old sycamore and waited for an answer. The early evening breeze blew the men’s cloaks outward, revealing their location to Kirian, who smiled.

  “You know why we are here. You stole from our master, and we have come to collect what rightfully belongs to him. We weren’t told that we had to kill you, but to collect what belongs to him. So, why don’t you just let us get the gold and be on our way?” The deep voice sounded strained to Kirian’s ears. He could see the speaker look over at his companion and shrug. They don’t know where I am, thought Kirian.

  He stalked off to his right into the deeper shadows of the grove. The slight wind allowed the flicker of the shadows from the branches and remaining leaves to hide his movement even more effectively. Kirian hid his unsheathed dagger under his cloak, as a glint of sunlight would ruin any efforts at hiding. He did not take his gaze off the men for even a breath. They stood and peered in the general direction that Kirian had been positioned. His smile grew wider despite their faces shining with determination. Frustration would be more fruitful. Bah, they can’t be more than simple thugs who happened to catch me off my guard. That won’t happen again.

  Kirian’s movements went undetected by the two men who continued to stand at the ready. “Come out dog. We won’t cut you too bad,” the larger of the two men shouted in Kirian’s direction. Complacent laughter filled the grove and brought Kirian’s ire up, loosening his grin. These fools think they can take me, do they? With cold efficiency he moved within ten paces of their position.

  Crack!!!

  Kirian grimaced as he felt a branch beneath his feet snap. The report startled a small flock of ravens roosting in the branches above. As they took flight, he knew he had to move fast. Both men spun and threw their daggers toward where he stood.

  He knocked the first blade out of the air with the swipe of his own dagger. The blade deflected into a nearby tree, nearly to its hilt. Despite Kirian’s quickness, the second dagger pierced into his left shoulder. The arm fell slack to his side. Kirian’s indignation turned quickly into an emotion that he rarely felt: fear. Two assassins against a now wounded one.

  He released his last dagger at the smaller of the two men. With the sun at his back, the men’s vision was hindered, and his target did not dodge the dagger. As it took him in the throat, he fell, spitting blood, and his hands pulling at the dagger.

  “My brother!” Fury masked his companion’s face.

  The still-standing assassin drew two daggers from his hip while charging toward Kirian. His fiery gaze took Kirian back a step. Just before the assailant reached him, Kirian drew his shortsword in a sweep, causing the man to stop short of impaling Kirian.

  The larger man lunged forward more quickly than Kirian expected, slicing through his tunic and into his right shoulder. Pain shot up his side, but as the man jabbed his right-handed dagger, Kirian stepped aside, and thrust his sword a foot into the man’s chest. Kirian’s eyes widened—the man did not seem to feel any pain. His brown-black eyes narrowed in focus. Kirian’s surprise erupted when the remaining assassin swiped his left dagger at Kirian’s face, just missing his jaw and catching his ear. Kirian shouted in outrage as a small chunk of his ear hit the ground; his suddenly-ringing ear brought a startled gasp from his throat. The assassin laughed knowing this fight would soon be over. He glanced down at his brother, his gurgling throat now silent.

  “See, boy, you should have let us just take the gold back. I would’ve let you live. Now, I have to kill you. A life for a life, as I always say. And that life you just took is too dear to me to make any exceptions.” As he spoke, he circled around Kirian while licking his blades clean. What this idiot does not realize is the poison is creeping through his veins as he bores me to oblivion. I can wait, fool. A sudden and unhidden flash of pain crossed the man’s unshaven face. His left cheek twitched uncontrollably; blood dribbled from his lips and down his chin. Recognition of what was happening to him flashed across his face.

  “Arrgg! Blighters take you! I won’t die without spilling your guts.”

  With a grimace he threw his dagger at Kirian. Before Kirian could react, the blade flew into his chest, not far from the dagger still stuck in his shoulder. Kirian fell to the ground in a heap, his face pale and breathing labored. He felt blood slowly oozing under his leather armor, bringing bile to his throat. Sighing in relief, he thought, At least I don’t taste blood.

  The man’s face contorted with pain; he doubled over and fell sideways to the ground. Kirian watched while the man shuddered. Blood and saliva seeped from the man’s mouth in small rivulets, pooling under his head. His hair soaked some of the blood, and a stench hit Kirian as the man lost control of his bowels. Kirian stared at the man until his life finally dissipated. I am good at killing, but that doesn’t mean I like it. He finally looked over at the other figure, and the man had not moved from wher
e he had fallen. Sharp pain in his shoulder reminded Kirian of the two daggers still in him. With two sharp tugs, the daggers came free.

  “You put two holes in my armor!” Kirian shouted before bellowing a curse. It will have to be fixed later. Feeling through the holes, Kirian prodded the wounds gingerly and found the congealing had already begun. Fast, this time, Kirian thought absently.

  Satisfied, he took a deep breath, then examined the daggers closely now that they were his. The blades held a slight, yet distinct curve; their uniqueness was something Kirian had not seen since his childhood. He felt the blades with his thumb and sliced open a small cut. The inside was sharper than he would have imagined.

  As he sucked on his thumb, Kirian tried to remember the weapon’s name. A few moments passed and the word came to him: kukri. Yes, that’s it. He tested the balance and heft. The crafter who made these daggers had to be a master of renown. How exactly did these ruffians get them? Never mind that, they are mine now. He scraped off the blood, then stuffed the blades into his belt.

  Kirian walked to the bodies and thoroughly searched them. In the failing light, he could not see well enough to do a full examination. He felt one pouch on both bodies and one more kukri of the same make. The armor on the bodies held no significance, and they carried no distinguishing marks that would belie their motive or master. I don’t need marks to know their master. He left them where they lay sprawled on the ground. Burying them is not worth the trouble they put me through. Let the animals feast tonight. He moved his campsite a few hundred feet from the previous location. He did not want any stray beasts coming upon him after finding the corpses. Before resting for the night, Kirian hastily bandaged his two wounds and ear after removing the damaged armor.

  The coolness of the late winter’s morning passed with little notice. Kirian had crept up into a mature pin oak and found a branch thick enough to hold his weight with little danger of it breaking or him falling. Despite the coldness and his stiff back, his mood brightened like the rising sun. He jumped down from the branch and landed in a patch of grass still coated with dew, nearly frozen. Drawing in a deep breath of the crisp morning air brought him to convulsions. The two blade wounds and his cut ear burned, which was a good sign; at least the bandages had helped to stop the bleeding. Kirian slowly stripped off his tunic. Sitting upon his armor, he looked at the dagger wounds. The two purplish-blue punctures had clotted, yet the flesh itched terribly. Blood coated most of his right side where it had run freely the day before.

  Kirian pulled the water skin from his side and took a quick drink. He sighed after tasting the cold water; it brought relief to his parched throat. The thought of what he had to do disgusted him, yet no other choice came to mind if he wanted to avoid infection from the wounds. For a few moments Kirian closed his eyes and breathed steadily while recalling his studies to become a medic during the war. He stood slowly and strode to the corpses. He could see them in the early light, and despite the late winter temperature, flies picked at the remnants of the bodies. Animals had strewn pieces here and there. He vaguely remembered hearing several scavengers fighting over the corpses throughout the night. The torso of one already streamed with white maggots where a large bite had been taken.

  Taking a deep breath and holding it, Kirian crouched near the body. He held his nose with one hand. With the other, he reached to the maggots. He grabbed a few of the creatures and placed them on his shoulder while making sure that they stayed in place. Dear gods, this is disgusting. Ensured of their place, he grabbed several more maggots for the other wound which appeared to be much worse. He placed them as carefully as the first batch.

  Kirian watched the writhing mass of insects go to work on each wound and felt his stomach lurch. He immediately stood up and walked back to his horse, which remained hobbled from the night before. The red-gray stallion did not notice him walk up as it grazed from the plentiful grass. I must keep my mind on something else or I am going to vomit. Gods be damned, nature made these unholy creatures so good at cleaning wounds. He grabbed the saddle from the ground next to the pin oak in which he had slept. The stallion snickered gently while he placed the saddle. Kirian never troubled himself with naming his beasts; they usually died in one way or another while in his care. The gods see my life is as difficult as it can be when I travel. Without the gods, life would become mundane. He sighed. I do get a bit tired of handing out good stolen money for another horse.

  The dulling coldness of the previous night persisted; Kirian could see his and the horse’s breath, and gooseflesh rose on his arms while he stood shirtless. He rubbed his hands together and blew into them gently. Without a shirt, he shivered, prompting him to gather wood for a fire. I need to rest for a few hours, or these little buggers can’t do their job. Even then, I may be too late, Kirian thought. After quickly lighting the fire with the few downed branches and smaller kindling, he lay flat on the ground with his tunic as a cover.

  “I’ll just rest for a bit,” he murmured before tiredness quickly consumed him.

  Kirian awoke to see half the day had passed. He noticed only smoking embers and the hobbled horse nibbling at bits of grass. He swore at the laziness brought about by his soreness. He glanced at the wounds, realizing they had been cleaned well enough and swiped the maggots onto the ground. He stood and quickly packed the large saddlebags on his mount, grabbed the reins, and mounted. I am running late thanks to those murderous cretins. Kirian could see the river in the distance, still many miles away, but at least today he could see it. He had gone three days with no sight of the river. Nervousness had set into his stomach, and the two who had followed him did not help his mindset.

  Four days ago, Kirian and his friend, Quint, had moved south from Kirian’s temporary home in Molston. He had a feeling they would be followed due to the hasty and necessary departure. Yet there was no helping that, considering the reason. Two other would-be assassins had tried to trap Quint and Kirian once before on the second day in a narrow passage of the Molston Hills. They eventually paid for that mistake with their lives. Quint had little respect for mercenaries.

  “There will be more coming for you, Kirian. You know that, don’t you,” Quint had suggested. While giving Kirian a sidelong glance, Quint had thrown the second body into a shallow hole. He crouched over the hole, covering both bodies with thick branches and rocks Kirian had collected.

  “Yes, Quint,” Kirian replied. “I’ll deal with them. You need to get to Einar. Warn him of what’s coming—that Gorgian Amant and his men will be looking for him. Originators help those children if the Guardians interfere,” Kirian muttered, staring downward at the grave before spitting on the new bare spot on the hillside. “Those bastards have no mercy.”

  Quint nodded then stood, patting his hands together. Dust emanated with each pat. “I’ll do my best, Kirian, but nothing is guaranteed considering what we learned in Molston.”

  “Yes, and we’ll not talk about that anymore. Words take time and you need to go north. Now. You remember where Durik’s Pass is?”

  Quint nodded again before a grin split his hardened, wrinkled face. “Still the same little village, I imagine. Doubt he’ll even remember me, Kirian.” When Kirian’s eyes narrowed, Quint forestalled him with a raised hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll make him remember me one way or another.”

  Kirian paused, his reply dry. “See that you do. I’ll finish this.” He motioned at the grave as he continued, “You still have a few hours of daylight.”

  The older man glanced up. “Sol, at least, favors this day.” Quint grasped Kirian’s arm then asked, “Do you need one of my swords?”

  Kirian shook his head nearly imperceptibly. “Not yet. By the way, you can catch me up on our studies when we meet next.”

  “Good. I’ll see you in Tolsont,” Quint promised and squeezed Kirian’s arm forcefully. A breath later he turned, his loping stride taking him out of Kirian’s view within moments. Once he found a new mount to replace the slain one, Quint would reach Einar in n
o time.

  Kirian blinked away the memories from just a few days ago and felt his own disrespect for hired killers. More like total disgust, especially ones of this caliber who had tried to stop me again the previous day. Two sets of assassins seemed incredible, but Kirian supposed the knowledge he carried earned his sentence.

  His path now led him directly to the river skirting the edge of the hill. He could make out his destination in the distance. The streamers of smoke trailing upward gave an indication of the small mining community nestled between the river and the hills. The morning’s slight chill became a nearly unbearable cold, forcing Kirian to take a woolen cloak from the saddlebags. Wrapping his upper body with it, he glanced upward at the sky. Great steel gray storm clouds lined the horizon to the northwest. Kirian closed his eyes and gently tasted the air with his tongue. The storm will be overhead within a day. Maybe two. He looked around the hills and saw little cover which would provide protection from the wind and lightning.

  Years ago, when he had scoured the hills searching for gold and silver rumored to be thick in there, he had gained a good understanding of the many locations offering protection during such a storm. After months of searching for ore, knowledge of those places was the only thing that he brought home. As the years passed, he kept the most important places fresh in his mind by scouting the myriad caves and rare glades during the warm months. This knowledge could keep a man alive, Kirian had thought every day during his trips south. Now that thought rang true over and over in his mind like a mantra, bringing him to a state of relaxed peace. The nervousness slowly seeped out of his body and his mind focused completely on the task at hand.