by M. Walsh
“As I said, my name is Rasul Kader. We talked last night.” He hesitated before adding, “But I suppose you don’t remember.” He cleared his throat and continued, “Anyway, I’m in need of your help.”
She didn’t answer; her body tense and stiff.
“You see, I have been charged with a most important and sacred task. I am looking for—”
“Why me?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why me?” she repeated, revealing a harsh and scratchy voice, as though she had a permanent sore throat. “Why come to me? What does this have to do with me?”
“Oh, well,” Kader said, adjusting his glasses. “I heard of the assistance you offered to the Malloy family recently. I was led to believe you were a warrior of sorts that would be ...” He paused, trying to find the word. “Sympathetic to my cause.”
“Malloy family..?”
She scoured her addled memory, trying to recall any interaction with anybody named Malloy. “Oh,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “Look, that’s not how it sounds. They were being harassed by some bandits, and I was passing by and needed some money. I was also drunk. I’m not the person to come to with sacred quests.” She hesitated and finished in a whisper, “I don’t do that anymore ...”
“At least hear me out,” Kader said. “I’m looking for an important girl who may be in great danger. I need your help in finding her and protecting her.”
“Who’s the girl..?”
His head dipped, looking distressed. “I’m afraid I’m not entirely sure. I couldn’t even really tell you what she looked like. You see, it is a ... complicated situation.”
Katrina sneered. “That’s it..? Do you even know where this girl might be?”
“I am fairly certain she is somewhere in the area.”
“So let me see if I understand this,” she said. “You’re looking for a girl, and you don’t know where she is, what her name is, or what she looks like? And you, for some reason, thought I was the person to come to about this?”
“I understand how this must all sound, but you must realize secrecy is of some importance to my mission. I cannot tell you more until I am certain you will help me.”
She shook her head, groaning, and took a deep gulp of her ale. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but I’m not the person you need. Despite what I did for the Malloys, I am not some wandering do-gooder for hire. It sounds to me like you should be in the market for a bounty hunter.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he said, sharply. “You have to realize I am not the only one looking for this girl. I fear she may also be the target of ... enemies.”
“Then go to the Sentry Elite. Honestly, what the hell made you think I was the person to come to with this..?”
“Do you believe in destiny, Ms. Rien?”
Upon mention of the word, a swig of beer she was drinking went down the wrong windpipe, and Katrina began choking and gagging.
“The girl I seek,” Kader continued, “is no ordinary young woman. She has been blessed and charged with a grand destiny. Her life—or death—could hold sway over countless lives. I must find her and keep her safe. I’ve sought you out, Ms. Rien, because I believe you are bound to my—”
He didn’t finish, as Katrina lunged across the table and grabbed him by his collar. “Who sent you?!” she snarled. “Who are you? Why did you come to me?!”
Kader stared at her with wide, frightened eyes. “I—I told you..! I have been tasked with—with finding a young woman and—and I believe you can help me..!”
She dropped him back in his chair and snatched her coat. “You stay the hell away from me! I want nothing to do with you!”
She moved to leave, her already sour mood turned to solid black. Kader suddenly grabbed her hand and pleaded, “Please! The girl is in terrible danger! I need your help!”
“And that sounds like it’s not my problem,” she hissed, tearing her hand free. She stormed out of the tavern, muttering under her breath, “I’ve had enough destiny in my life.”
2
Deacon Marcus stretched upon removing his armor that night, hearing a satisfying pop in his lower back. He heard the rain outside turn into a downpour and felt relieved he was already in his rented room above the Pilgrim’s Stop.
It was agreed amongst the unit they would pack up and head for Bevy early tomorrow. Warren seemed pleased with that plan of action. Although Marcus had no intention of blundering into the infected area, the Mage thought the close proximity might allow him to get a sense of what the source was in his meditations.
He relaxed on his bed, his room dimly lit by candlelight, and debated whether he should turn in or if he wanted to indulge a bath first. His thoughts were interrupted by the knocking at his door.
“Captain Marcus,” said Warren. “May we speak?”
He opened the door and gestured the Mage to walk in.
“I hoped we could talk in private,” said Warren, sitting on a small stool beside the nightstand. “I got the sense there’s only so much you want your officers to know.”
“Something like that. Want a drink?”
“Please.”
“Don’t get them wrong,” Marcus said, pouring bourbon into a pair of glasses. “Nelson and Brooks may be rookies, but I’d trust either of them with my life. I’d just feel more comfortable knowing exactly what we might be dealing with before I lead them into battle.”
“Understood, Captain,” Warren said, accepting the glass and taking a sip. “Something dark is brewing in the woods. Has been for some time, from what I gather. My superiors tell me of a ruin not far from the town of Fane—a beacon of evil. Only recently, though, it’s been getting worse. Spreading.”
“You think there might be a breach to the Black?”
Warren removed his glasses and sighed. “If there wasn’t already, there is now.”
“Do you think it’s something natural? Like the barrier just weakened there and..?”
“There’s nothing natural about the Black. But no, we have reason to believe this is the work of someone. Someone feeding it.”
“You have a name?”
“I’m afraid not.” Warren paused, taking a sip. “Tell me about this dagger of yours.”
“Just some old relic. Stolen from a temple outside Coldstone. We figure the pirates who took it are just looking to sell it.”
“How do you know it was pirates?”
“You familiar with black powder?”
Warren nodded.
“It’s a favorite of certain pirates. We found traces of it near the hole that was blasted into the temple.” He paused to gulp down the last of the bourbon. “That was our first lead. Since then, everything’s been backing that up.”
“And Krutch Leeroy..?”
“The bandits outside Canton mentioned him, but I always take that sort of thing with a grain of salt.” Warren nodded again, and Marcus recognized the contemplative look in the Mage’s eyes he saw earlier. “So, what..?” he asked. “You think the dagger and whatever’s going on in the woods are connected?”
“To be honest, Captain—and I’ll grant, I have little to base this on—but I would find it a mighty large coincidence if it didn’t.”
“What do you know about the dagger?”
“Not much. As I understand, it’s tied to some ancient prophecy—something involving a sacrifice. I’m afraid I know very little beyond that.”
Marcus groaned. “I think I’m going to need another drink.” He refilled his and the Mage’s glasses, rubbing the back of his neck. “And here I thought I was just hunting pirates.”
“Have you ever encountered Krutch Leeroy?”
“Personally..? No,” he said. “I know Garrison has. Said he’s a real slippery son of a bitch.”
“I don’t believe we should rule him out entirely. It wouldn’t be too much a stretch to assume Leeroy could be connected to whoever might be responsible for the woods.”
“You really think that..?”
“Ev
il attracts evil. And to be frank, I don’t believe in coincidence.”
“Shit.” Marcus gulped down some bourbon, shaking his head. “Krutch Leeroy, infected forests, magic daggers ... this is all way over my head.”
Warren’s eyes narrowed, as if studying him. “Major Garrison told me about your involvement in that fiasco with the Custer brothers.”
Marcus took another sip and let it sit in his mouth for a moment. “‘Fiasco,’ huh? Is that how they’re describing it?” he said after swallowing.
“The Major mentioned you probably wouldn’t be thrilled with your new orders.”
He forced a weak grin, rubbing the back of his neck.
“How did you get caught up in that?”
“Tessa Highguard. Did you know her?”
“No. I met her, once, but I did not know her.”
“Well, you know how it is. We met by chance, she needed help, and I figured ...”
“Understood,” said Warren. “The Custers were fools. It should never have gotten that far.”
“Yeah, well,” Marcus said, “that’s all over with. Mage business is no place for soldiers. Swords aren’t much use against that shit.” He downed the rest of the glass in a single gulp. “I think the sooner we get to Bevy and reinforcements, the better.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Warren, gulping down the last of his drink. “Good night, Captain. Rest well.”
He nodded and locked the door after the Mage left. He sat on the bed, listening to the pouring rain outside, and scratched the stubble on his chin. He remembered Tessa’s blonde hair and blue eyes. He remembered her eager smile and assurance everything would turn out all right. He remembered promising himself he wasn’t going to let himself get dragged into magic nonsense again.
With a sigh, Captain Marcus indulged a cigarette and turned in for the night.
* * *
When it rains, it pours.
The thought crossed Katrina Lamont’s mind as she heard the rain outside. The raindrops were hitting the ground so hard she heard it over the crowd. She figured it just as well—she had no intention of leaving any time soon.
Rasul Kader didn’t follow after she stormed out of the bar. That was good for his sake, because if he had, she was certain she would’ve wound up punching him in the throat. The fresh air did her good, and after smoking two more cigarettes, she calmed down and got something to eat at the Pilgrim’s Stop.
However, any appetite she might have had dwindled upon seeing the three Sentries and their Mage. They were talking among themselves and paid no mind to her, but seeing a group of soldiers and magic-user—mostly likely on some mission or quest of their own—so soon after listening to Kader’s pitch made Katrina feel uneasy and tense.
Barely touching her food, she eventually returned to the bar, hoping Kader would be gone. He was thankfully nowhere to be found, so she decided to forego any sense of pacing herself and started hitting the ale as soon as she arrived. The first two pints stung her throat and made her stomach tumble, but she developed a pleasant buzz that made it fade away.
Unfortunately, drinking did little to ease the growing paranoia nagging her mind. She sat in the back corner, by herself, scanning the bar for anyone who might be staring at her. Most of the other patrons were regulars she recognized from previous nights, and she noted more than a few guys leering at her—all seemed as it should be.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t shake an increasing dread someone was watching her and Kader was only the beginning. The beginning of what, she didn’t know ... nor did she want to.
That word—destiny—rang in her mind, and every time it did, she would shudder and feel something prickle in her gut. First Kader—with his talk of quests and sacred tasks. Finding some girl and preparing her for some grand purpose …
There was a young girl, once. Five years old, sitting in an orphanage, being approached by a woman with long, white hair. The girl was asked if she believed in destiny ...
Katrina convulsed upon thinking it, feeling lightheaded and faint. She shook her head and took a deep swig from her ale. She forced the thought aside and buried it deep down.
Kader was followed up by seeing Sentries and their Mage. What next? Treasure seekers..? Demon hunting..? Dragons..? She feared it was only the start. The first rocks before an avalanche. She couldn’t shake the horrible feeling the world was spinning out from under her—that she was being caught into something she had no control over and couldn’t stop.
Just like before ...
She snapped out of it and realized she’d been tugging at her own hair. She shook her head and finished the last of her pint. She wasn’t as drunk as she ordinarily liked to be, but the rain outside had slowed to a drizzle, and she decided it might be best to call it a night.
Once outside in the fresh air, feeling the gentle spray of precipitation, she felt better. Navigating her way through the deserted and dark streets, with a kind of walking on air feeling, she found she didn’t mind being only “pretty drunk” instead of “black-out.”
She’d get to her apartment, wash up, and ease into bed—as opposed to the floor—and (hopefully) have a nice, comfortable, dreamless sleep. She could always pack up and ditch Dictum the next morning, leaving any problems behind.
She took a shortcut through a narrow alley on her way back to the inn. Walking through the close quarters, the breeze died down to dead silence, and the misty rain reduced to thick drops falling from the roofs. The quiet heightened, Katrina found—despite her intoxication—her instincts and senses, honed and sharpened since childhood, were as clear as ever.
She was being followed. At least three.
Without realizing it, her hand drew to her side where a sword would have been if she was armed. The familiarity washed over her, and she felt a strain on her heart knowing that in spite of the years wallowing in bars—slowly destroying herself, cutting years from her life with every new drink—she was still as skilled and deadly as ever.
There was a profound feeling of helplessness with that realization. A sense she—even now, after everything she’d endured—still had no real control over her own life. She was still the weapon she was bred to be. It made her feel sick.
Her hand shaking, she closed her fist and took a deep breath. She hoped she was wrong and the people following her weren’t a threat. Maybe it was just some drunks from the bar, following her like puppy-dogs, hoping she’d invite them back to her room? Maybe it was just a misunderstanding? Maybe ...
The first one lunged from the shadows, his arms stretched out, either looking to wrap her in a headlock, or strangle her with a rope. In an instant, she was stone sober again, and in the blink of an eye, she sidestepped her attacker without even looking at him. He stumbled forward—a large, lumbering shadow in the dark, lightless alley—and let out a confused grunt.
Before he could react, or his partners assist, Katrina threw her knee into his gut while slamming her elbow into the back of his neck. Her attacker let out a guttural gagging sound, slumping forward over her knee.
Behind her, the second attacker charged—this one armed with a sword. She caught him by the wrist and broke his arm at the elbow. He screamed and dropped his sword, clutching his arm that was bent at an unnatural forty-five degree angle.
He was so consumed with his howling, he offered no resistance as she drove his face into the stone building in front of him—punctuating the assault by pounding her foot into the back of his head.
There was an ugly smatter sound, and he sank to the ground. Dead, maybe—she wasn’t sure and tried not to be troubled by her own indifference.
The last of her attackers stood at the end of the alley. There was enough light to see he was a young man, in his twenties, with shaggy, black hair and wearing a dark coat. He stared at Katrina with wide eyes—not necessarily frightened, but certainly shocked.
She stood waiting for him to make a move, and he looked like he was about to reach into his coat for something, but paused and said, “Yeah
... no,” before turning and running away.
Katrina considered giving chase—demanding who they were and who sent them (Kill him too, maybe)—but she decided against it. The adrenaline was already dying down, and all she wanted was to find a dark place to hide and be left alone.
She approached the first attacker, who was making sickening groaning noises on the ground, and planted her foot on his throat. “Who sent you?”
In between coughing and gagging, he snarled, “I ain’t telling you nothing!”
She pressed more weight down on his neck and repeated, “Who sent you?”
“Go to hell, bitch!”
Katrina suddenly had a flash of times before. Years ago, when she was younger and had to deal with assassins and enemies at every turn. Demands for information, threats, hundreds of variations of the word “bitch” and other insults. It came in a sudden burst of stinging red, and with it, came an intense mixture of fury and panic.
Without thinking, she stomped her foot down and shattered his neck. There was a disgusting crunch, and he let out a quick croak before going limp beneath her foot.
The flash passed, and Katrina felt her heart pounding. Sweat poured from her forehead, and a wave of horror washed over her. Without realizing it, she started tugging at her hair, muttering to herself, “Not this again ... I can’t do this again ...”
Despite being shocked into sobriety, she didn’t remember much of the rest of the night. She woke up the next morning, huddled in a corner of her rented apartment, with a clump of her hair in her fist.
3
“What is your progress?”
North of Dictum is a long stretch of fields with sporadic trees spread out until Haley’s Gorge. Unlike the woods to the west, the area is an open landscape of rolling hills. The sun emerged that morning, highlighting the fine mist leftover from last night’s rain. The air was cool and crisp, and it already felt like it would be a warmer day than usual. Despite the nice weather and picturesque scene, Lemmy Hobbs did not feel cheerful.