Broken Soul (The Scholar's Legacy Book 1)

by Joshua Buller

  On the other side, large misshapen lumps lay beneath the coverings. A couple families hesitantly peeked underneath, looking for something they recognized amongst the innumerable bodies. More than once their findings resulted in a rush of tears and consoling embraces.

  “We stumbled into a damn warzone,” Hawke muttered under his breath as our path took us right towards the ramshackle hospital. A couple young men bustled forward with cooking pots on their heads and kitchen knives in hand.

  “Can't you see the road's closed here!? Turn around and get out of here if you have half a brain!” one of the boys barked, brandishing his cutlery towards Hawke. Even from where I sat, I could see how badly his hand shook.

  “What was it?” Hawke asked, ignoring the warning.

  “What does it look like? Demons, you moron,” the second boy answered flippantly, though he seemed keen on keeping his friend between us and himself.

  “This just happened?”

  “What do you care? Get lost already!” The first boy waved his knife around again.

  “Let them do what they want, Boris, they don't have the look of bandits.” The second one took his friend by the shoulder and yanked him towards the pavilion where the injured lay. “We got more important things to worry about.” He spared us one last glance. “My friend is right. If you want to live, go back the way you came as fast as you can.” With his piece said, both young men rushed off to find some way to help.

  Everywhere we went the reception was similar. Hawke would try to get more information from the people on the street, but no matter where we searched we were met with little more than suspicious eyes and cold shoulders. The bustling little town I was promised had been reduced to a ruined husk filled with paranoia and death.

  “Hey, haven't we seen that before?” I said, pointing at a landmark in the middle of what was once a town square. A fountain of cloudy water sat amidst scorchmarks and burnt piles of rubble. With no better leads to go on, Hawke steered Sir Brown Horse in its direction. The crumbling stonework had been smashed up at the top, leaving behind two pairs of expertly carved legs that looked terribly familiar.

  “Seems like other towns took a page from Blanc's book,” Hawke said dejectedly.

  “I think it's a marked improvement from the genuine article,” came a familiar voice from the other side of the fountain. Hawke urged our horse forward to find the speaker.

  Anonce was lounging against the cracked lips of the fountain, his cane propped against a shoulder. His smile was cloaked behind condescending eyes. By Hawke's expression, they hadn't gone unnoticed.

  “While you were running around getting snubbed by the populace, I've been chatting up the town about what happened,” said the traveller. “One of the few perks of being a no name vagrant: people are a lot more willing to share their grief with someone who looks as bad off as they do.”

  “I already know they've been attacked by a demon,” Hawke shot back at him.

  “Merely a symptom,” Anonce dismissed immediately. “The question is if you understand the problem?” When Hawke had nothing to retort with, Anonce huffed and pulled himself to his feet with the aid of his cane. “Can't blame you entirely I suppose. Kings can't know everything going on in their kingdom all the time.”

  “You knew from the start,” said Hawke.

  “You're not a face that's easy to forget.” The fiery-headed vagrant nodded towards the broken replica of my friend. “The people look up to you more than you might realize. Makes it all the harder for them when they need your help and you aren't there.”

  His words struck similar to what Luke said before and, likewise, elicited a similar response from Hawke. Silence blanketed the small square, aside from the occasional sob or holler in the distance. Anonce took the quiet as allowance to speak some more.

  “A lot of demon attacks have been happening around this part of the country recently, but Nostromos has been suffering through a string of attacks, they tell me.” His eyes swept across the town, filled with sadness. “Specifically, one demon has joined with a gang of bandits and sweeps through every couple days or so. They take little, but they destroy anything the townsfolk try to rebuild. If this continues for much longer, supplies will run out and doom everyone to a slow, painful death.”

  “What about the guards?” I asked. “Changirah had a bunch of them! I thought this place was the same?”

  “Sweet child,” Anonce said, looking at me with sadder eyes than before, “this town has two major cities for neighbors: Damkarei, where the Two Kings rule from–” his eyes flickered to Hawke for the briefest moment, “–and Val'Hala, a place also called the Lonely Kingdom. The man who rules there, who calls himself King Othenidus, does not get along well with Uraj or your friend there. Nostromos is supposed to be a neutral ground between the two; neither can claim it part of their territory, and any conflict that comes between the two cannot involve the citizens. Normally, this means that the town is at peace, but it makes problems when other dangers arise.”

  I looked to Hawke to confirm what the wanderer said, only to be met with a grimace.

  “Nobody can get out of town to ask for aid from either city,” Anonce further explained, “and even if they could, neither would come. Their laws forbid it. The town is doomed by the same rules that keep civil war from spilling over.”

  I waited for Hawke to respond, to come up with some retort that would dispel the horrible truth Anonce had laid bare. Once again, only silence met my expectations. Anonce, too, seemed to assume my guardian would say something, watching him closely. Hawke didn't stir a muscle but must have realized he had to break the stillness and took a deep breath.

  “Thanks for the heads up. If that's the situation, there's nothing more that can be done here. I hope things go well for you on your travels, Anonce.” With another kick of his heels, he spurred Sir Brown Horse forward, towards the other end of town.

  I was floored.

  “We – we're going to get help for them, right, Hawke?” I managed to stammer out. Surely that was why he would be rushing off so soon.

  “Our journey isn't over yet, Micasa. We need to keep moving forward.”

  This was beyond my comprehension. After everything I had seen Hawke do for others, it was impossible for me to believe he would just leave these people to the fate that had befallen them.

  “I have to say, I really expected better, even from you, King Morau,” Anonce said without looking at us, his voice dripping with disdain.

  Hawke didn't slow as he responded. “You expect too much of a broken man.”

  My protests froze in my throat, even as we passed out of town and back onto the road, leaving the broken remains of Nostromos behind us to a dark future.

  Chapter 15: The Raging Demon

  It was beginning to seem like a rift was growing between Hawke and myself. I thought we had grown closer since our short stay with the Medicine Man and the brigands who called themselves the Mad Riders, yet aside from our stay with Char, the Old Kingdom appeared to hold nothing but dark tidings for the man that had freed me. Now I was forced to watch him turn his back on people who had been counting on his assistance. It left a bitter taste in my mouth to have to go along with his decision. It was the angriest I had ever been with Hawke.

  He tried to strike up small talk with me as the distance between us and Nostromos grew greater, but my rage held my tongue. Any time I thought to tell him off, the words turned to acid in my mouth, and my lips stayed sealed. It didn't take long for him to get the hint that I had nothing to say, and once more we lapsed into an uncomfortable tolerance of each other's company.

  We had apparently been pushing Sir Brown Horse quite hard, since by the time we stopped to make camp we were already out of sight of town. The path had been rising upward, growing steadily rockier until we found ourselves in the middle of a dried out ravine. We managed to find a small cave nestled between two thick shelves of rock that managed to fit both of us and the horse. We quickly set to unloading necess
ities for the night, anything for an excuse not to talk.

  Our steed was well lathered from the hard ride. Hawke went to brushing him down and feeding him once we had unpacked. I was left to my own devices, which boiled down to hunkering inside a small crevice between two boulders and watching the remains of twilight creep away outside the mouth of the cave. I barely registered when Hawke handed me my portions of dried meat and fruit for dinner.

  “We'll have to be careful tonight,” Hawke said to me while he served. “Those bandits are likely still nearby. We can't risk a fire until we're closer to one of the cities, unfortunately. Hopefully, they won't wander by here tonight, and we can head out early tomorrow before any of them awake.”

  I barely heard what he was saying, focusing determinedly on the unappealing meal instead. I ate only a bite of each portion before the roiling in my stomach forced me to shove away the rest and roll over to try and get some rest. Hawke draped some blankets over me and patted my shoulder, but I pretended to already be fast asleep, and he made no further attempt to get a response.

  This was the first time I seriously wondered if I had made the right choice in coming so far with him. Not that I thought for one second that being a slave would be better than the way things were now, but I started considering if perhaps I should have given more thought to staying behind in Changirah or one of the other towns we had passed through in the Fertile Lands. The Old Kingdom was so unfamiliar and filled with more ghosts of Hawke's past than I had ever dreamed. Memories of the faces of the Nostromans, filled with pain and grief, mingled with images of Hawke walking away as they pleaded toward him with palms outstretched. The thoughts swirled in my head until they were screaming, threatening to drive me mad–

  I awoke with a start, disoriented and unsure where I was for a second. A quick shuffle of my body reminded me of the rocky floor I lay on, and after a few seconds, my eyes properly adjusted to the darkness. Hawke sat near the edge of our little shelter, his sword leaning against his shoulder and his gaze fixed on the lone path leading through the ravine. I was too rattled from my nightmare to return to sleep, so I lay still and watched Hawke as he kept his vigil without so much as a twitch for hours.

  The dead of night was still on us when he looked back at me, as if to ensure I was still out. I hastily closed my eyes at his first shuffling movement, feigning sleep, which seemed to convince him well enough. From my cracked eyes, I saw him remove a folded piece of paper from his cloak and laid it near my head. He favored me with a lingering glance for a moment before exiting the cave.

  He spent some time rolling a couple large rocks in front of the entrance, the blue-black wound of an opening in the cave going even darker. I almost cried out in protest, but my intrigue kept me still enough to see how it played out. Once the mouth was mostly obscured by the boulders, the blur of color that was Hawke disappeared from sight up the mountain path.

  After waiting a few seconds to see if he came back, I rose quickly and snatched up the paper he had left, which turned out to be a note. His handwriting was bumpy and coarse, as if scribbled out as quickly as possible. It simply read:

  Micasa

  Have something to do

  If you're up before I'm back, eat something and wait for me to return

  -Hawke

  Of course, I immediately rose and headed for the cave's exit. The rocks he had placed there so hastily helped hide the cave adequately enough, but there was more than ample room for me to squeeze over them and outside. Once free on the path, I wasted no time plodding up the same direction I had seen him head, my bare feet slapping hard against dusty stone as I struggled to catch up.

  It took only a couple minutes at my pace before I caught a glimpse of Hawke's cloak fluttering up ahead. In a sudden burst of realization, I threw myself behind a nearby boulder right as he started to wheel around. My hands were clasped to my mouth, and I silently chided myself for not being sneakier on my ascent. If he caught me tailing him, he'd undoubtedly take me back to the cave, and I might never figure out what he was up to.

  Expecting him to round the corner and discover me any second, I risked a peek from my hiding place. Luck held on my side, though, and he already had resumed his trek. Giving him another few moments to get ahead of me, I resumed my tailing, this time keeping my footsteps as inaudible as possible.

  This lasted for over a quarter of an hour as he continued marching along, sometimes forsaking the path altogether and scrambling over piles of rocks instead. This made following twice as hard as I struggled to keep to the same route and simultaneously keep myself from making even the slightest noise. One misplaced step or jumbled rock would have easily spelled the end of my investigation, and I knew Hawke wouldn't have left me behind for some trifling business. Whatever the reason, something out here was deadly serious, and I wouldn't know what unless I continued.

  Eventually, a faint glow came into view atop a rocky outcropping, and my guardian picked up his pace considerably as he headed towards it. This, thankfully, gave me the chance to speed up with less chance of discovery as he crested over a ledge and out of sight. I was able to sidle right to where he vanished and peek over, gaining a perfect view to his destination.

  A roaring fire had been erected in the middle of a large clearing, surrounded by no fewer than a dozen hardy looking men and women. Their dirty leather armor and chipped, rusty weapons immediately made it clear that these were no ordinary travelers and certainly not strangers to trouble. Closest to the fire sat a hooded figure bulkier and taller than the rest, wearing a chainmail vest over their cloak and crude cotton breeches with leather cuisses. The figure was polishing a worn-looking longsword with a scrap of cloth, its edge gleaming in the firelight.

  Hawke was standing some ten feet away, his own tarnished sword already drawn from its scabbard and hanging loosely from one hand. The entirety of the camp had frozen, their eyes glued to their unexpected guest.

  “Got ourselves a 'ero it would seem,” one of the scruffy bandits growled as he dropped the hardtack he had been eating and stood, dragging a club off the ground. He smacked it against his hands a couple times as he approached my companion, a sickening grin cutting across his face. “Wager yous a lawman 'ere for our 'eads?”

  Hawke's back was to me, so I couldn't see whether or not he met eyes with the ruffian, but he didn't so much as twitch a muscle as the man stepped with his reach. Without another word, the marauder swung his weapon two-handed square at Hawke's chest with enough force to break ribs.

  The club cracked in two as it made contact as if Hawke were made of stone. The bandit's eyes went wide in shock, before widening even further as his own chest was cleaved open from a single stroke of the sword. Droplets of his blood glittered through the air like burning jewels, and the bandit screams broke the night air for but a moment before he crumpled to the ground and stirred no more. For all his efforts, Hawke stood as if nothing had happened.

  Immediately, two more bandits stood, notching arrows and letting them loose at him. The shafts struck dead on and splintered like twigs on contact. Hawke stepped forward, completely unfazed by their attacks, with his sword leveled towards the hooded figure who had yet to stir.

  “Looks like a live one here,” came a rasping voice from beneath the hood. The stuttering tone and high pitch brought back terrible memories and sent a shiver down my spine. All the remaining bandits had already jumped to their feet, weapons at the ready, but the figure took its time standing. The bandits looked hesitantly between the swordsman who had already cut down one of their own and their apparent leader, as if waiting for some sort of instruction. Unperturbed by its companions' discomforts, the figure lowered its hood and laughed.

  I had been somewhat expecting what hid beneath the cowl, but it didn't lessen the fear that welled up inside me at the sight of the grinel's twisted face. There were similarities between its own grizzled sneer and Scab Kahlot's: the lipless maw, the leathery skin that looked more like a grotesque mask, the almost lifeless stare in its
unblinking eyes made it clear this was something far beyond human. However, it was equally distanced from its counterpart we met in the Madness, from the lime coloring of its flesh to the carpet of stubby horns that covered its bulbous scalp. Two catlike pupils fixed on Hawke, the slits narrowing further as they focused.

  “Been wondering when one would show up,” it hissed between pointed teeth so thin they were practically needles. “Almost expected to have to destroy another town before one would.”

  All the bandits looked as if they had been holding their breath when the grinel removed its hood, but they let out a collective gasp when the creature's gaze flickered over them.

  “Maim it, but don't kill. That pleasure is for Killer Mapta.”

  Every member of the gang was covered in a visible layer of sweat and looked as if they wanted nothing more than to put some miles between themselves and the two monsters in their midst. It only took another glance from the horrific figure to send the message: do as I say or you're dead anyway. Weapons raised, all the bandits roared a battle cry and charged Hawke all at once.

  There was a whirlwind of movement from the center of the bandit horde, accompanied by shrieks of pain and a shower of crimson as limbs and viscera were sent flying in all directions. My mind went numb at the sight, trying to process what I was seeing, while bodies rapidly collapsed in wet heaps. It took Hawke less than half a minute to disassemble the entirety of the gang, leaving only the armored grinel standing there, laughing.

  “Humans call grinel monsters, and look at this one!” It let out a shrieking cackle. Hawke spat in the dirt at its feet and raised his sword, still miraculously clean.

  “I hate killing people,” my companion muttered just loud enough for me to hear, “but I have no problems cutting down you filth. Just tell me one thing before I rip you apart: why torture that town? What did you gain from ruining their lives over and over again?”