by Plague Jack
“Manure,” said Pendragon. “I’m delivering it to a friend of mine who grows specialty mushrooms. It’s great stuff, a mixture of gilnoid and horse dung.” said Pendragon, whom Shrike pictured smiling. “You won’t find better shit in all of Amernia.”
“Let them pass!” ordered a disgusted guard, and Shrike felt the cart shake as it began to lurch forward. By the time Pendragon gave Shrike permission to climb out of the barrel they were well into the city.
The dwarf stretched and cracked his spine. “No more barrels. I can’t take it anymore,” he said, hopping into the front seat. Pendragon had parked the cart outside of a large tower illuminated by glowworm light. “Evrill’s clinic,” said Shrike, noticing the red caduceus that marked it as a sanctuary. “Is she expecting us?”
“Yes,” said Pendragon. “I came here after Norfield to discuss the state of things with Evrill. I like it here.”
“It does have a certain charm,” said Shrike, gazing into the river below that reflected the light of the glowworms and whose surface was only occasionally broken by stalagmites. I lived here for three years before the Green War, after all. Together they walked across the stone bridge that led to the hospital.
A white-robed human woman greeted them, speaking only after she wheeled a patient infected with dog rot into a room. “Hello, my name is Nurse Joy. Can I help you gentlemen?” she asked, smiling at Pendragon.
“Yes, ma’am,” said the old man with a gentle bow. “We are monks of the church of Cambrian, here to speak with the Duchess Evrill. Our chapter’s mission is to save as many souls as we can through the power of prayer. We came here to offer our aid.”
“Oh? The Duchess is expecting you,” said the nurse, and she led them to the elevator and up to the fifth floor.
“May the Life-Bringer guide you,” said Shrike as the nurse left them. The door to Evrill’s office was at the end of a long hall lined with doors. As they approached, the door swung outward. “Come inside, both of you,” a woman’s voice ordered, and they obeyed. Shrike pulled the heavy door closed behind him as he entered the Duchess’s office. She sat down behind her recently refurbished desk before speaking. “You didn’t say you would be bringing him,” said Evrill, nodding in Shrike’s direction, her eyes avoiding the dwarf.
“Nice to see you again,” said Shrike, ever chipper.
“I didn’t know he’d be coming,” said Pendragon. “A friend notified me that the Queen wanted him dead. I was in the area and figured he was more useful alive.”
“And you trust him not to split our skulls while we sleep?” snapped Evrill.
I’m right here, people, thought Shrike. “I haven’t tried yet. Go on, Pendragon, tell her what a good boy I’ve been.”
The old man smiled. “Shrike is interested in meeting the Wild Hunt.”
“Of course he is. But why?” asked Evrill, turning her eyes to meet Shrike’s in a sharp glare.
“Truthfully?” asked the dwarf. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll work with them. Or maybe I’ll share my secrets and then run off to a distant land with a burly blacksmith half my age. For now, I only want to satiate my curiosity.”
“Curiosity?” said Evrill with disbelief. “You expect me to believe you came all this way because you’re curious?”
“It’s my biggest vice,” said Shrike with a wide grin.
“I worked with this man at Capricorn, Clark. He cannot be trusted under any circumstances.”
Veronica Evrill had been at the siege of Capricorn, with all of Amernia’s nobles. Evrill’s scientific mind was brilliant, second only to Eldred’s. She had developed Nixus personally, as a last resort weapon, but unfortunately for her the other dukes had different plans. They met in private to discuss what to do with Evrill’s new weapon. Stolk, Ashen, and Quintero had all voted to fog Capricorn. Pendragon had voted against it. Shrike had been chosen to lead the special forces teams into Capricorn, a fact Evrill had not forgotten.
“I can be trusted,” said Shrike. “Perhaps not by you.” He continued eying her up and down. “Despite popular belief, I never betrayed our dear Blood Queen. Well, at least not yet.”
“Shrike is a valuable asset,” Pendragon cut in. “His presence will help calm the Wild Hunt… hopefully.”
Evrill shook her head, disgusted by the idea. “Calm them? Hardly. This man has served the Queen loyally for too long. They won’t know the role he played in the Green War, but someone will recognize him as Harper O’Connor, head of Jester House. He may inspire them to make an example out of us.”
“Doubtful,” said Shrike. “They seem smart enough not to make martyrs for their enemy.”
Evrill again refused to meet Shrike’s eyes. “A friend of mine will be traveling with us. His name is Calcifer—you may have heard of him.”
“Of course I have,” said Pendragon. “Who hasn’t? To some he’s a legend, and to others he’s a folk hero. Even the most racist humans have difficulty trashing him. I didn’t know you two knew each other.”
“Years ago the hellion Livius took up residence near Harpy’s Point. He began demanding buckets full of gold, and when we refused he tried to take our virgins instead. Calcifer dealt with the problem. And we’ve been friends ever since.”
“Well, where is he, then?” asked Shrike. Shrike was familiar with Calcifer’s exploits, just as he was with everyone’s.
“A few rooms down. He… he has fallen on hard times,” said Evrill.
Shrike smiled wide. “Fallen on hard times? That’s a bit of an understatement.”
Evrill glared. “He is currently mourning the loss of someone very dear to him.”
“A lover?” asked Pendragon.
“And sister.” Shrike laughed.
“Losing both your partner and a relative at the same time would be a horrible fate to suffer,” said Pendragon.
“They were the same person, actually,” said Shrike, his eyes meeting Pendragon’s.
The old man squinted. “What?”
“Both of Calcifer’s parents died at Capricorn. He and Monica barely made it out alive. An abnormal relationship, for abnormal times,” said Evrill, meeting Pendragon’s gaze of restrained disgust. “Don’t give me that look, Clark, and do not judge the boy by his dysfunction. He means well and he has a good heart.”
A good heart, thought Shrike as Evrill led them down the hall to the room where Calcifer was staying. Good hearts are rarely attached to useful bodies. “Would you ever boink a sibling?” Shrike blurted at Pendragon.
“No, but then again I only had brothers,” Pendragon replied with a wink that sent Shrike cackling.
“Shut up, both of you,” ordered the Duchess as she entered Calcifer’s darkened room. After his argument with Evrill, Calcifer had wandered the city streets aimlessly for days. Eventually he’d passed out crying under a bridge and been brought back to the sanctuary. Calcifer had barred himself in the room which had once entombed his sister and had not left in weeks.
As they entered, the air was thick with purple smoke that wafted from a blue glass hookah. The elf himself sat in a chair, his body sprawled across a desk which was covered in paper soaked in spilled ink.
He glared at them from behind his long black hair. “You’ve brought a menagerie with you today, Evrill,” said Calcifer, his voice sharp and crackling.
This is the great sorcerer Calcifer? thought Shrike as the elf sat up and turned his chair to face them, knocking a stack of papers off his desk which tumbled to the floor. This man’s a wreck.
“Calcifer, this is Clark Pendragon and Harper O’Connor. They have agreed to accompany us to Capricorn,” said Evrill.
Calcifer seemed to ignore her as he picked the hookah from the floor and placed it on the desk. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before blowing violet smoke from his nostrils. “Such illustrious guests you’re bringing me,” said Calcifer, rolling his neck. “Wicked men of action and enormity. How nice to finally meet them face to face. Honors to the pair of you, from one Amernian bastard to an
other,” he said, saluting them before going back to his hookah. After a few puffs he spoke again. “Why call him Harper? I know who you are, Shrike.”
“Do you, now?” said the dwarf. I underestimated you. “How did you figure that one out?”
“You sent a spy to watch me at the Talon,” said Calcifer. “But I caught him and he talked. I recognized you.” The Bottler turned to Evrill. “You seem to have enough company, Duchess. I’m staying right here.”
“Seeking the Wild Hunt was my idea,” said Pendragon. “My informant tells me they’ve been operating out of the sewers under Capricorn, and that’s why they’ve been able to avoid capture for so long. Your presence would be of great assistance.”
“Of course it would,” said Calcifer. “I’m always cleaning up someone else’s mess, defeating someone else’s enemy… No. I will not help you.”
“Why not?” asked Evrill. “Pendragon and I want to help build a world with new laws. Laws that maintain order through careful balance. Clark and I could be the means to achieving that peacefully.”
“Is that your vision?” Calcifer laughed. “And you’re going to trust your dream to the dragon over there? Isn’t he the one they call Elf Butcher?”
“His crimes are no worse than my own,” said Evrill, raising her voice.
“Please allow me,” interrupted Pendragon. “Yes, they call me Elf Butcher, and half a hundred other names, I’m sure. I deserve every curse thrown at me, all of them. I have allowed and enabled atrocity, and for that I am sorry. But the Queen has grown content with her power. She won’t change. The Wild Hunt is our best bet at achieving equality, and I believe that humans and elfkin can work together. All it’s going to take is a little bit of faith from both sides.”
“I have no faith,” said Calcifer. “Faith is for the naive and the slow.”
He’s wiser than I thought. The boy’s never taken a side, thought Shrike. He’s notoriously independent, and proud. I can appeal to that. “How much did the Queen offer you to capture the last hellion?” asked Shrike. “I believe it was twenty thousand gold pieces. That’s quite a pretty penny. If you come with us you may get a chance to find your monster.”
The elf shook his head. “I’ve been in this room for weeks, thinking. And I realized, I don’t care about coin,” said Calcifer. “It doesn’t matter, really; all that matters to me has been taken and I don’t think I can get her back.”
“Revenge, then?” asked Shrike. No organization would be more supportive of a vengeful heartbroken elf than the Hunt.”
Calcifer pushed his hair back behind his pointed ears and blew a smoke ring. “Revenge? I don’t need the Wild Hunt’s help to get revenge. I’ll burn Norfield to the ground myself.”
Something about Calcifer’s vow of revenge made Pendragon uncomfortable, and he seemed to squirm in his robe. The Dragon Knight knows more than he’s telling, thought Shrike before taking a seat on the bed, looking Calcifer dead in the eyes, and laughing. “You might be powerful, but no sorcerer I’ve heard of has ever taken a city by himself.”
“I defeated the hellions,” said Calcifer. “They were stronger and tougher than any army.”
“But those were duels, boy,” said Shrike. “Your magic is greater than theirs, and you won through a combination of clever sorcery and wit, but those will only carry you so far. If you assault Norfield you’re going to be fighting armies of men, angry men, and every one of them is going to try to stick you with something sharp. Let’s say you start your siege by lighting the first two tiers of the city on fire. This causes anarchy and panic amongst the people, who scramble to save their livelihood, which you just ruined. Meanwhile, Arterius Blake orders his soldiers to the Ribcage, since stone is hard to burn, and together they wait for an attack. You won’t stand a chance. A hellion might, but you aren’t desperate enough to turn yourself into one of those, are you?”
“The dwarf makes a better argument than the pair of you,” said Calcifer, pointing to Evrill and Pendragon. “Death is better than mutation.”
“Few would agree,” said Pendragon, seemingly impressed. “Not very many can resist the temptation of power. Those who can have my respect.”
Calcifer shook his head. “I’ve seen the piles of bodies hellions leave in their wake. Never.”
“So you’ll go with us?” asked Evrill.
“I will, gods help me,” said Calcifer. “For the sake of my sister, I guarantee nothing.”
They planned to leave that same night. Evrill made the arrangements, weaving a web of lies to her guards so they all believed she was departing to visit her sister in Sinstolke. Only her most trusted knew the truth. Shrike snuck off deep into the sanctuary’s basement while the others prepared. He nodded to the gilnoids working the elevator as he passed, though they paid him little attention. Do those simple souls know what’s behind that wheel they turn? thought Shrike, creeping into the back of an old broom closet. The false wall was tucked behind a pile of mops, and it creaked as Shrike pushed it aside with ease. “Hello, Agent Kaulder,” said Shrike to Nurse Joy. The woman scrambled for her crossbow, but a hatchet found her forehead before she could reach it. Shrike pulled his weapon out of the woman’s head and wiped her brains off his axe before tucking it back into his coat. Upon a desk lay a half-finished note.
Pendragon returned. This time with Shrike. I don’t know what they are planning, but it looks like they are preparing to leave. I will follow them and report back to you through Sprite. -K.
It’s addressed to Blue X, thought Shrike as he pored over the letter. Blue X was Margot Braddock’s code name. So that’s who betrayed me… Not that it matters anymore. Shrike glanced at the sprites fluttering about in a jar. Those could come in handy, he thought as he ignited the letter on a candle and it scorched to ash.
Chapter 5
I saw the hellion at a distance as it stalked through Softbelly. It was a revolting thing, hobbling along on mismatched legs and standing in a nine-foot-tall hunch. Bones poked from its skin and dripped blood onto the stone as it passed. The hellion’s head had expanded during the mutation so that it enveloped its shoulders and chest… there was no neck. Lidless yellow eyes protruded five inches above a frog’s mouth of bloated and cracked lips. It was some time before I found the courage to leave my hiding spot, but the encounter scarred my faith. How am I supposed to worship the Life-Bringer when he lets such terrors wander his lands? What terrors have the gods wrought?
—Excerpt from a Survivor’s Tale by Julius Farchester
The party rode north along the Copper Road, a long-abandoned and forgotten route that wrapped along the middle and ring knuckles of the Frost Fist. They spent their first night in a near-abandoned harpy burrow. Its sole inhabitant had been a ragged old harpy crone, who had squawked and hissed before fleeing into the night sky. Their campfire flirted with death as Calcifer stared into it. He lay propped against Sheila, the feathered crest on her head rising and falling with every breath. Evrill slept opposite him, wrapped in violet wool. A bundle of furs covered Shrike, although Calcifer couldn’t tell if his slumber was just another deception. With Pendragon guarding the entrance to the cave, Calcifer finally felt it safe to reach into his coat. The Bottler’s tankard was reserved exclusively for hellions, but he wore many vials, bottles, and jars, all with something dark and nasty inside. He reached into his coat, pulling forth the vial that contained his sister’s soul. It still glowed, albeit faintly, as he held it to his lips and kissed it softly.
Calcifer ran up the steps of the Bleeding Hearts brothel so fast that whores had to jump out of his way to avoid being trampled. Monica awaited him on the building’s fifth floor, and it had been so long since Calcifer had seen his sister that he tore her bodice off with hardly a word. He took her with such force that she came quickly, and he followed soon after. Monica lay, snow white and slender, upon a bed of red satin. Her shiny black hair tumbled behind her and Calcifer couldn’t help hungrily staring at her small perky breasts as he lay naked beside her. “I ha
ve a present for you, my dear,” he said as his fingers teased the wet between her legs.
“Oh?” asked Monica, biting her lip as she stared into his eyes. “You don’t owe me anything. I fuck you for fun, not for business, remember?”
Calcifer smiled and chuckled as he slipped the sheets from his skin and walked naked to the chair where his things were piled. “How sweet,” he said, dumping his tankard and katana onto the floor and rummaging through his bag. He produced a huge sack that jingled as he tossed it onto the bed and gold spilt onto satin.
Monica’s eyes went wide. “How much is that?” she asked. “How did you get it? Calcifer, did you rob a duke?”
“Of course not.” Calcifer laughed as he tossed himself back onto the bed. “I finally caught Livius, up in the Frost Fist. He had been raping girls in a cavern by Harpy’s Point, but I dueled him and beat him bad. This,” said Calcifer, letting the gold run through his fingers, “was my reward.”
“There must be fifteen hundred gold here,” said Monica, throwing her arms around her brother. “I’m so happy for you,” she whispered into his pointed ear. “Let’s celebrate,” she licked.
“Not yet,” he replied, pushing her off.
“Is my man still tired from traveling?” she asked, grabbing under the sheets for his cock, finding it rigid. “Oh, my, what have we here?” Monica continued before wrapping her lips around his member’s head, drenching it with saliva.
“No,” he said, mustering all his conviction as he pushed her off. “We need to talk.”
“Do we?” she asked, wiping spit from her chin. “But I’ve missed you so much, my love,” Monica said as she slipped a finger inside her flower and pulled at her nipple. This proved more than Calcifer could stand, and they sent coins flying everywhere as the lovers became thick with sweat. When finished, they lay in each other’s embrace, kissing each other over and over again.