Etheric Knight

by P. J. Cherubino

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “Gormer’s awake? What’s happened?”

  “Is that cheese?” Gormer asked. “I’m starving.”

  “I would guess so,” Jiri said. “You’ve been asleep for nearly a day.” He set the bundle on the table and unwrapped it to reveal dried apple, rye bread, a large bottle of wine, and a sizeable chunk of aromatic cheese.

  Jiri retrieved cups and a good-sized bowl from the cupboard. He uncorked the wine, poured it into the bowl and dropped in the apple slices.

  “Sweet wild blueberry wine,” he announced with pride. “Second only to Petran cheese. The bread is from the Fortress baker, and it is the perfect accompaniment for a meal like this.”

  “Meal?” a booming voice entered the room before the big man. “Delicious as it is, that is merely a snack.”

  Vinnie lumbered over with a straining sack over his shoulder. He plopped it down on the table and pulled out food.

  “Glad to see you up and about, Gormer,” Vinnie commented. Normally, Vinnie had the patience of a mountain, but Gormer was a talented ball-buster who loved to tease and considered Vinnie a challenge. As far as Astrid had observed Gormer was the only one with the ability to get under Vinnie’s skin.

  To her surprise, Gormer gave Vinnie a genuine smile.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Vinnie. For more reasons than just food,” Gormer acknowledged. “I’m starving. Thank you.”

  Astrid refrained from making a few snarky comments about Gormer’s unusually polite greeting. With a huge smile, Vinnie tore a chicken in half and slapped it down on the table in front of Gormer. The mystic tore into it heartily.

  “It seems you’ve brought all the meat from the larder,” Jiri exclaimed as Vinnie brought out a rack of lamb, cold roast beef, and a cured ham.

  “We have much work to do,” Vinnie announced, as Moxy and Tracker tore off hunks of lamb. “We need fuel to do it.”

  Tracker held the meat to his nose and sniffed. He tilted his head and examined it closely.

  Moxy gave a musical laugh. “We usually don’t eat cooked meat,” she explained as the rest watched Tracker’s reaction.

  The pixie shrugged his shoulders and took a bite. “This is good,” he declared. “It smells of the fire. Thank you.”

  Astrid plucked a soaked apple slice from the wine. She made yum sounds as she chewed. “This is wonderful,” she exclaimed with a full mouth.

  Jiri handed her a hunk of bread and cheese with a smile and a little bow.

  “My pleasure,” he said, fixing her with his shining, steel-gray eyes. “Dip the bread in the wine.”

  Astrid did. “Delicious,” she remarked, using the food as an excuse to break eye contact.

  She couldn’t afford to be distracted by her sudden attraction to a handsome man right now. It had been many years since she’d entertained thoughts of anything but serving the Well. Right now, her current duty to the Protectorate eclipsed everything else.

  They all focused on sustenance, the only sounds were the pleased variations of ‘yum.’ Astrid hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

  When everyone had eaten their fill, and even Vinnie leaned back from the table, Astrid returned to business.

  “Jiri and Vinnie,” she intoned. “Thank you for the much-needed meal. We have a lot to discuss.”

  Vinnie rested his hands on his massive gut as if it were a table. “If I may,” he interjected. Astrid nodded for him to continue. Vinnie cleared his throat and stood. “As you know,” he began.

  Astrid took a deep breath and her eyebrows arched.

  The big man laughed and held up both hands. “OK, OK,” he said. “I know that look. I’ll keep things concise. I’ve given my laboratory the task of figuring out what these creatures are. They appear to be manufactured. And anything that is manufactured must have a source. I propose that we direct our efforts to find that source.”

  “Found it,” Gormer blurted, raising his hand. Vinnie rounded on him in surprise. “No, I’m not messing with you,” Gormer added quickly. “I was connected to the...thing...that created the...what the hell are we calling them?”

  “Beasties?” Tarkon offered with a shrug.

  “Control beasties,” Gormer continued. “It was operating some kind of machine made out of living material.” He shuddered and couldn’t continue.

  “Finding this master beastie is our priority. I’m open to suggestions on how to begin,” Astrid said, surveying the room.

  After a long pause, Tracker spoke up. “It was after the Arbori.”

  “His name’s Charlie,” Gormer fired back, defensively.

  Tracker smiled politely and countered, “We likely don’t know his real name, but I will call him Charlie.” Gormer looked satisfied with that. “This creature Gormer saw, it is hunting. Anything that hunts can be hunted.”

  “What do you propose?” Astrid asked.

  “I propose we think like hunters,” Tracker advised. “How did it know where Charlie was? How did it know to open the portal in the courtyard?”

  “It’s been watching us?” Tarkon asked.

  “That was no random attack,” Astrid considered, turning her face to the shadowy ceiling. “How did it know?”

  “I doubt it has long-range psychic abilities,” Gormer said. “I saw energy trails leading back through the forest. They all led back to something hiding in the trees. It was close to the other side of that doorway.”

  “Energy trails?” Vinnie repeated.

  “Yes,” Gormer confirmed. “I can see certain forms of magical energy now. It’s very strange…” He trailed off for a moment with his eyes unfocused. With a shake of his head, he continued, “Anyway, I saw all the connections between the control beasties and...it. Believe me, if something like that had existed before, I’d have felt it.”

  “A spy,” Vinnie guessed. “They must have a spy on the grounds somewhere.”

  “That is a disturbing thought,” Tarkon said, then absently rested a hand on the handle of his pistol.

  “How did Charlie get to the Protectorates, anyway?” Gormer asked. “I mean, when we found him, he was being tortured by those douchebag mercenaries.”

  At the reminder, Charlie made a low, sad noise and shook his head. Gormer gave a start. “Sorry, buddy. I didn’t mean to bring that up again.”

  “Charlie was captured?” Tracker asked.

  “Yes, we came upon him while on a raid.” When Tracker cocked his head in inquiry, Astrid added, “Long story. He was their captive.”

  “And where are these mercenaries now?” Tracker inquired. “We can ask them for more information.”

  “Hard to get information from the dead,” Gormer said with a sinister grin. “But we might be able to find the people who hired them. And I know someone who might help us.”

  “I really don’t like it when you get that look in your eye,” Astrid said. “It usually means you’re up to no good.”

  “Sometimes, to do the right thing, you have to do bad things,” Gormer retorted.

  “And that,” Astrid replied, stabbing the air with her index finger, “is why you need adult supervision. I’m coming with you.”

  “Suit yourself,” Gormer replied. “You should probably get out more, anyway.” He cast a side-eye at Jiri.

  Chapter Six

  The Next Morning

  The early spring morning was cool enough for them to wear hooded cloaks without drawing extra attention. By now, everyone knew Astrid on sight—there weren’t many women, if any, who were six feet tall in the protectorate.

  To the casual observer, the five people who traveled down the winding road from Lungu Fortress might seem like two merchants and their three children.

  Astrid took the lead, followed by Moxy and Tarkon on two ponies that could have been twins. Gormer lingered behind on an older mare named Bika who had seen better days. The mystic stroked her neck as they rode along.

  “She really wanted to get out of the stables,” Gormer said. “You miss traveling,
don’t you girl? You’re not a workhorse at all. You’re a rover.”

  The mare lifted her head and gave a delighted whinny. Tracker turned on his pony and appraised Gormer. “I can smell that she is pleased,” he observed. “But how do you understand her?”

  Gormer let his guard down for once and answered honestly. “I’m not sure. It’s really kind of strange. It doesn’t happen with all animals, but sometimes, I can...sense them...what they feel if it’s strong enough. It’s kind of how I communicate with Charlie, only I don’t get images from the animals.”

  “That must be an elevating experience,” Tracker praised. “You would make a good Shaman.”

  “Thank you,” Gormer replied. Astrid waited for some smartass dig, but none came.

  Growth, she thought.

  Surprised, Moxy turned to Tracker. She blurted, “You have changed. Such high praise for an outsider.”

  Tracker looked up at the early morning sky and studied some wispy clouds. “When you left home so many seasons ago, I was forced to think differently. These past few months away from the Homewood range, I have seen much to fill my thoughts and to change them even more.”

  As the road turned back, almost onto itself, Astrid had an ever-closer view of Lake Bicaz below. The rising sun drew back the mist like the covers from a sound sleeper. The streets were no longer choked with fog, and she saw the wagons delivering milk and picking up linen. The commerce of the Protectorate ran like clockwork.

  Each time a wagon stopped at a building down there, some family prepared to start its day. Astrid thought back to simpler times when she was a child, and her parents worked together in the morning to feed her and her two brothers. She recalled how she’d glance up over a bowl of porridge to catch a glimpse of the secret, loving smile her father cast at her mother.

  And she thought of Jiri.

  What the hell is this? Astrid thought. She shook her head vigorously to banish the thought. But still, the afterimage of tender smiles shared with Jiri brought warmth to her chest. No time for this now. Discipline, Astrid. Focus.

  “Why not make time for that?” Gormer asked.

  Astrid whirled on him, pointing her finger at him like the tip of a sword. Her face was flushed, and her eyes blazed.

  “Oh shit.” Gormer pulled back on the reins of his horse and prepared to turn her around, even though Astrid could probably catch him on foot if it came to that. “Sorry!” Gormer stammered.

  “What?” Moxy asked, looking around. Her hood fell off, and her ski-slope nose suddenly rose. “Oh…” she giggled. “I smell that. Astrid is probably thinking about Jiri again.”

  “I smell it too,” Tracker said. “I thought it was lingam mushrooms or moss spores, but we’re not in the forest. I like it. Gets the blood pumping.”

  Astrid’s instant rage turned to embarrassment, and she urged her horse faster.

  “I’m sorry,” Gormer called. “I just had a moment…”

  “Well, so did I,” Astrid barked. “A private moment.”

  “Well, I think it’s nice,” Moxy declared, slipping her hood back over her head.

  “I don’t really trust Jiri,” Gormer said, “But if you like him—"

  “Why are we talking about this!” Astrid lamented. “Besides, Gormer, you don’t trust anyone.”

  “I trust you,” Gormer volleyed.

  “Damn it,” Astrid muttered. “Not fair. You disarmed me.”

  “We are talking about this,” Moxy said, putting her hands on her hips. “We are friends, aren’t we? No. We’re more like family. There is more to life than duty and fighting and defending honor and justice. If you’re attracted—”

  “Not for me,” Astrid broke in. “I’m the leader, remember? I am a Wellspring Knight.”

  “Oh, bullshit,” Gormer blurted. “You can’t have it both ways. You refuse to accept titles, and people follow you because you’re a personal example to them. Well, this comes with the territory. You’re allowed to live. You have feelings just like the rest of us. Trust me. If you deny that, you’ll regret it.”

  “You invaded my head, Gormer,” Astrid accused, turning in the saddle to stab her finger at him again. But her tone was softer this time. Gormer caught up to her.

  “And I’m sorry. I really am. I’m not going to lie to you. I let that happen. I was feeling good about us all being together on this mission, and I lost discipline. I’m sorry, but honestly…” he cleared his throat, “I sensed something beautiful from you and needed to share it. That was selfish, I know.”

  “Damn it, Gormer.” Astrid finally smiled. “You are a manipulative bastard.”

  “For once, I’m not trying to be,” Gormer contended with a sheepish grin.

  The road finally reached the base of the peak. It held the Fortress over the wards like a sword. The town proper was less than a mile away. A few smaller houses stood close to the road, surrounded by small truck gardens.

  “I know you’re not,” she admitted, deflating. “I guess…” she paused, unsure of her words. “I never was much good at this kind of thing. Also, it’s been… years since I even entertained…” She shifted in her saddle uncomfortably. “Romance.” She handled the word like a soiled cloth held between thumb and forefinger.

  They rode in silence for a minute or two before Astrid chuckled and said, “But damn, he is soft on the eyes.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Moxy exclaimed.

  “Past tense,” Astrid corrected. “I’m done talking about this today.” She felt a pang at the disappointment on the faces of Gormer and Moxy. “But I promise you, when the time is right, I’ll come to you both for advice. I feel like I’m going to need it.”

  Gormer opened his mouth to say something, but arched eyebrows from Astrid made him swallow his words. “Where do we go next?” she asked.

  Gormer turned Bika away from the group and moved toward the lake. The rest followed.

  They wound closer to the lake. The buildings along the road became more congested. Some of the structures had walls that leaned at precarious angles, and their levels looked more like an afterthought than design elements.

  This was the industrial area. There were taverns interspersed between blacksmith shops, tanneries, butchers, and various other workshops that Astrid couldn’t readily identify. The Quarter housed many businesses, including those less than reputable.

  This was where Gormer had his contacts. His demeanor changed as they neared their destination. His face hardened, and his eyes darted around, scanning the alleys and the faces of the people on the street for signs of danger or opportunity.

  The streets here made less sense and became more labyrinthine with every turn.

  Finally, Gormer announced, “This is it.”

  They’d stopped by a three-story monstrosity that looked as if it had been assembled from castaway building materials over several generations. The skewed and leaning stone masonry of its foundation defied the upper floors to stay upright more than it supported them.

  They dismounted warily, as an inebriated stable hand lumbered over. He displayed a smile short numerous teeth and scratched his crotch furtively. “Three half-coins for the stay,” he said, then spat black phlegm into the mud.

  “If they’re not here when we come back,” Gormer warned, flicking back his cloak to reveal a dagger on his hip, “you won’t have balls to scratch.”

  “Oh, a tough one!” the old man cackled, feigning fright. “Well yes sir, I’ll take care of the animals. That’s my damn job, right?”

  The horses, unsure of him at first, were easily bribed with lumps of beet sugar. He spoke gently to them and led them to their boarding.

  When Gormer pushed open the door to the building, and they stepped inside, it took a few seconds for Astrid’s eyes to adjust. The atmosphere was the opposite of the clear morning outside.

  The place smelled of stale ale, vomit, and blood. Moxy and Tracker pulled their cloaks to cover their noses, and their eyes squinted and watered.

  For b
eing so soon after dawn, the tavern was well-peopled. All activity stopped, and every eye turned to the new arrivals.

  This is why I wanted to come alone, Gormer thought-projected to Astrid. He turned his head to avoid having his glowing white eyes spotted.

  Let’s get this over with, Astrid thought in return. She pulled the hood from her head and slowly turned her head, noting all the grimy faces. One couldn’t be too careful in a place like this. She needed to know where everyone was.

  Astrid guided them toward a long table where two rough-looking women and a rougher-looking man picked up their mugs and relocated. That got the bar in motion again.

  The bartender finished rearranging the grime on the bar top with a filthy rag and came over to them.

  “Are you sure you’re in the right place?” the man asked. He folded thick, tattooed arms across his barrel chest.

  “Do you serve ale?” Astrid asked, locking hard eyes with him.

  “Yeah,” the man grumbled.

  “Then bring us four,” Astrid said.

  “Sure thing, Protector,” the man sneered.

  You can’t hide, Gormer mind-projected, his eyes turned down. This is a bad idea, he continued. Everyone knows who you are.

  Aren’t most of your ideas bad? Astrid thought back.

  I mean bad for you. And this wasn’t my idea. There are still a lot of people who want you dead or gone or worse.

  They’re welcome to try, Astrid returned.

  “And tell Mortsen that Gormer wants to see him,” Gormer ordered after breaking the mental link.

  The bartender paused and cast a quick glance over his rounded shoulder. He grunted his assent and took his time pouring ale.

  “I do not like this place,” Tracker grumbled. “It smells of sickness.”

  “We won’t be here long,” Gormer asserted.

  Astrid was certain of that as more predatory eyes stalked them.

  “Five full-coins,” the bartender rumbled as he carelessly set the sloshing mugs on the table.

  “Five!” Gormer balked. “For this goat piss? You can’t be serious.”

  “Surcharges apply,” the bartender said, turning his full sneer at Astrid. “Gotta recoup my losses of late. Besides, royalty can afford it.”