by Mark Eller
“I do,” Glace insisted. “These deaths were pointless. Tragic.”
Mathew laughed bitterly. “Tragic! To who? Not to me. I’ve killed more people than ever lived in the village. I’ve ordered the deaths of ten times their numbers. These—,” he waved a hand at the littered snow. “These are nothing but frozen meat. You don’t know what I feel.”
“Then what!” Glace shouted. “Tell me what’s bothering you because I gave up trying to read your mind long ago!”
When Mathew fastened his eyes on Glace, his belly rumbled once more. “I feel hungry.”
“Gods help you,” Glace answered.
“Only two gods are willing to try.” Mathew suddenly raised a hand. “I hear crying. Someone lives. A child.”
Glace shot a quick look around. “Where?”
“There,” Mathew answered just as two figures broke through the snow’s crust. One was a small boy with an impassive face. The other, a girl, fought back tears as she grabbed her brother’s hand and dragged him forward. Glace started to run toward them, but stopped when Mathew suddenly grabbed his wrist with steel fingers. “Send them away.”
“They’ll die!”
“But not in my jaws. Leave them.”
Glace shook his head. “My soul’s already for the fire. I won’t consign it to the deeper flames.”
Mathew shook himself. “I won’t answer for their safety.”
“Only for the day,” Glace promised. “One day. We’ll take them to shelter and leave them there. Look at the smoke. It isn’t far away.”
“Bring them if you wish,” Mathew snapped because he knew better than to expect the boy to show sense. “I’ll have no part of it.” Cursing beneath his breath, he turned back toward the smoke and tramped off, stopped, cursed again, and turned back because he owed the boy something for years of misplaced loyalty. “All right then. One day!”
He strode toward the children, his angry footsteps crunching in the snow, and knelt down to catch the girl when she threw herself into his arms. She buried her face into his shoulder, shaking with cold and fear, crying silently. Her brother, appearing years younger, reached up a tentative hand to grasp Mathew’s wrist. Mathew curled his black lips at the boy’s winsome, hopeful smile.
“I’m so hungry,” the girl whispered near his ear. “I haven’t eaten in days.” Drawing her head back, she studied him with frosted blue eyes. Her face was pinched and narrow; her filthy hair lay in twisted strands. Her body felt tense in his arms; strained muscle and sinew seeming to be stretched almost to the point of breaking.
Hating every moment, Mathew shifted her in his arms while Glace reached for the boy, but the child drew away and clutched even tighter to Mathew’s wrist. Mathew frowned at the child, bemused at how the small boy preferred the almost-wolf to the man. Though he was not a good judge of ages, Mathew guessed these two to be around six and twelve, though they could have been two or three years in either direction. By those ages both should have been well versed in the advisability of fearing the strange.
He nodded to the thin wisp of smoke drifting in the sky and spoke to the girl. “There’s a fire and probably shelter just a couple miles away. Other people, maybe some from your village. They’ll feed you there. You’ll get warm.”
The girl’s body relaxed, molded itself to him as her arms clenched and her face nuzzled his neck‘s fur. “I’m so cold.”
“Me too,” Glace said, sounding worried. “I haven’t felt my feet in an hour, and my face feels like a ceramic plate.”
Mathew held the girl close with one hand, looked down at the boy. The boy stared back, his face stiff in disapproval.
“He’s Trent,” the girl said. “I’m Hallie.”
Mathew nodded once, turned, and continued traveling toward the smoke, trusting Glace to follow. Part of him didn’t care if Glace caught up. If not for him, Mathew would not be fighting the urge to feed with every step.
More than an hour later, his arm aching from the girl’s weight, Mathew approached the cabin. It looked sound, sturdy, with logs solidly formed and chinked. A well-built chimney ran up one side. Smoke drifted from its open top, and the cabin’s door appeared well made, straight, square, and properly hung. Near the cabin was a small stable with signs of habitation around it. The snow had been well trampled by hooves. Piles of frozen scat were scattered about.
Leaning against the side of the cabin, their tied hands stretched above their heads with ropes spiked into the cabin wall, were three dead and well frozen men. The sight made Mathew wonder why he and Glace bothered leaving the village. This area had dead people lying around all over the place.
“Come,” he said to the boy who still grasped his wrist. “Don’t be afraid.”
“He’s never afraid,” the girl said, obviously lying, because both of them had showed they feared Glace.
Feeling unreasonably irritable, Mathew walked to the door, pushed it open with a hand possessing more fur than when he had woken that morning. His fingers were shorter, darker, and now had thick nails. Brow furrowing, he stepped inside. Glace followed and shut the door.
The cabin held five men, three of whom Mathew knew. He shifted, let the girl slide to the floor, and pulled his wrist from Trent’s suddenly loose grip. He did not pull any of his knives free, but he did tap several with his fingers to make sure of their location. Catching the girl’s eye, he gestured. “Take your brother over by the fire. Get warm.”
The children moved away. Mathew narrowed his eyes when Glace drew closer. His friend moved like an old arthritic man. He would be no help here, not that he would be needed.
One man Mathew knew better than well, but this was no help because Crabber was a tied-up prisoner. He sat against one of the small cabin’s four walls, only a few feet from the two sagging bunks. Relatively distant and securely bound, he would not be a factor, which suited Mathew well since he could not trust the man. Not when Crabber had apparently deserted him immediately after the Ordig/Fox incident. As best Mathew could determine, he and Glace were nowhere near the direction Fox had traveled.
The other four sat around a table. One of them, a dark-faced, dark-haired young lordling wearing a blue dress jacket and an absurd dueling sword, held several cards in his hand. Few coins remained in front of him. Most of the coins sat before a portly man with several scars on his face and a merchant slaver’s tattoo on his wrist. The other two men were rough, bearded, and obviously dangerous. They wore home-made buckskins, smelled enticingly rank, and had occasionally done wet work for Mathew before they decided to become respectable bounty hunters who gleefully chased down and murdered their old friends.
“Murth,” Mathew said. “Edge. Why don’t you introduce me to the others?”
The thinner hunter with the broader shoulders spat tobacco juice onto the floor. He gestured toward the slaver. “This is Plant. The other one is Lord Huntly.”
The lordling hissed. Edge laughed. “It don’t matter if he knows who you are. This is Mathew Changer, the cursed crime lord. He don’t care if you rape your own mother if he can get profit from it.”
The children huddled close to the fire, warming. Something about them did not smell right to Mathew. It grated on his nerves.
Glace shifted and spoke carefully. “The children’s village has been slaughtered. They are cold and hungry and need help.”
After brushing long tangles of dark hair from his eyes, Murth lowered his hand and calmly studied Glace. A stack of carefully cut papers sat on the table before him. The top paper bore the picture of a man’s face. A brigand named Harlo, Mathew instantly knew. Beneath it was probably one for a popinjay named Ludwig. Mathew had seen those posters many times before.
Finally, Murth gave a slight nod. “So, taking care of these children, any money in it?”
“There’s human kindness!” Glace snapped as Mathew calmly studied the bunks. He would sleep there tonight.
“Not interested in human kindness,” Murth said, “and we got no food. You look familiar.”
He thumbed through the stacked papers, looking carefully at each picture. “Do I have paper on you?”
“He’s with me,” Mathew rumbled.
“Yeah,” Murth instantly said. Edge started and smiled. It was an ugly smile.
“Mathew,” Crabber begged.
“Shut up.”
“I’ve done good work for you.”
Looking out the corner of one eye, Mathew studied the man and nodded. Something in him felt mean and ugly. He felt restless and irritable. “You‘ve made me money. You’ve cost me more, and your being here tells me you never set out on Fox’s trail after taking my pay for all those years.”
His yellow eyes narrowed. “I’m not vindictive, Crabber, or unfair. I’ll give you a fighting chance. You can leave, but your hands stay tied. You’ll appreciate life more if you survive, maybe even enough to honor your contracts.”
“I’ll freeze,” Crabber protested, his features pleading. “Please, Glace, tell him how I helped you out when you were just a wee one.”
“You left me to take the heat while you grabbed the swag and ran.” Glace said heartlessly. “You always were a slimy bastard. Freeze now or hang later. Your choice.”
Crabber barely paused. “I’ll go.”
Glace nodded toward Edge. “Let him out.”
“He’s our catch,” Edge protested. “You going to pay for him? What you got in the bag?”
“I got salt. I’ll pay you with half.”
Chuckling, Murth waved a hand toward the outside. “You carried salt through that? You’re crazier than I ever thought.”
Glace slid the pack from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a solid thunk. “The salt comes from Greenswale. Know the story?”
Plant snorted. “Know that myth, though it’s so obscure I doubt many others do. The Unnamed God walked the earth and saw misery. He saw crime and hunger. He saw children die of disease. He did not like what he saw. One day he stopped his wandering and stood, crying tears of anguish because the world he helped make was flawed. He cried for years, shedding himself of water, drinking nothing. Finally, he cried away all his moisture. His body became dust. The dust fell into the ground until it merged with the salt lying beneath. The end.”
“So you’re offering me magical salt,” Murth demanded of Glace, not amused.
“I’m offering you a part of history,” Glace corrected.
“Keep your salt. I’ll collect Crabber’s body after he freezes. Edge.”
Edge went to Crabber, freed his feet, and then opened the door. After Crabber stumbled out the door, Edge slammed it behind him.
“That cost us,” Edge complained.
“Not as much as making Mathew mad would,” Murth replied, returning to the table. “Though I’d just as soon kill you all right now. Whose deal?”
“Mine,” the slaver said. He picked up a stack of cards near his hand and studied Glace. “Do you care to sit in?”
“I’ve only the salt.” Glace said, lying. Moving to a bunk, he sat down, pulled off a boot, and studied his foot. “Gods I’m cold.”
Mathew pointed. “I get that bunk. Glace gets the other; the one he’s sitting on. The rest of you can sleep where you want.”
“I’ll be hanged if I’ll—” the lordling started. He rose, half-drawing his thin sword.
“Not hanged. Gutted.,” Mathew grinned, all his canines showing. “Haven’t eaten anybody all day. Getting hungry.”
Huntley shoved his sword back in place and quickly sat down. Outside, a sudden gust blew, rattling shutters and the door. Mathew bared his teeth toward Huntley, aching to taste the man’s flesh. Outside, the promised storm had arrived. By the sounds of it, nobody would leave the cabin for days.
* * * *
Mathew awoke in the night to the sound of a groan. Eyes snapping open, he reached for a weapon, rolled out of the bunk, and stood, ready to kill. He stilled, smelling shit and blood, hearing heavy breathing, seeing poorly. The fire had burned low, its coals barely glowing. The cabin’s air was biting cold, cold enough to burn in his throat. Glace’s dim form lay before the coals, half-erect, far away from the bunk Mathew had claimed for him. Sniffing toward the bunk, Mathew silently cursed a man who would give up his comfort for two worthless children.
Glace groaned again.
“What is it?” Mathew demanded irritably, striding toward the fire glow, shifting his path slightly to miss the table. He reached Glace, grabbed several logs, and tossed them on the coals. Moments later, new flames flickered to life.
Glace drew in a shallow breath and released it with a shudder. He gestured toward his feet. Mathew’s nose wrinkled as he drew in a long breath, scenting sour, and then his face twisted with internal pain. “Fool! It’s gangrene. Why didn’t you say anything? ”
Glace shivered. Sweat dripped off his forehead. “Told you I couldn’t feel my feet.” He swallowed. “Somebody died. I heard it.”
Mathew panted, feeling twitchy. Though freezing, the cabin seemed hot, sweltering.
Cloth stirred. The lordling sat up from his blankets and vomited. Illuminated by the new flames, Mathew saw the two bounty hunters standing near the door, knives in their hands. At their feet lay the slaver, eyes open, belly gaping. Blood pooled across the floor.
His eyes hooded, drool fell from Mathew’s lips as he studied the body. Jerking his gaze away, he focused on Glace.
Glace drew in a breath. “I heard them kill him.”
Mathew chose to ignore the murder. “Out there. In the snow. I thought you were joking about your feet. I could have carried you.” He ran a hand through the fur along his cheek. “Gods truth, Glace, this will kill you. I never thought you this stupid.”
“Selnac would have approved.” Glace explained. “I don‘t want to make it to Grace. I don’t want to be owned by Hell.”
Mathew flung his head to the side so hard that spittle flew free. “Salnac’s dead! Most of my friends are dead! Now you went and killed yourself!”
“Are you going to murder him, wolf?” Murth asked. He raised his knife, a glistening shadow in the dim light. “Has the hunger gotten to you yet? Just how many people have you eaten?”
Spinning, Mathew fixed his yellow stare on the bounty hunters. “I thought you had more sense than to challenge me.”
“Me and Edge challenge who we please,” Murth said, “and kill ‘em too, just like we killed our buddy Plant after finding out he‘s been shorting us on our rewards.”
The lordling straightened, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “Plant? But he was here to see me. He was to loan me money. Clear the waters with my father and—”
“And it’s easier bringin’ someone in if they comes willingly,” Murth sneered. “Especially when we get paid more if they’s alive. Debtor’s prison waited for you, Lord Huntley, and only ‘cause yer father’s money war keeping yer head on yer shoulders.”
Reaching out a shaking hand, Glace touched Mathew’s calf. “The children.”
Huntley stood. Vomit dripped from his chin and stained his clothes. He held a sword in his hand. “I’m going to no prison?”
“No,” Murth sighed. “Not now.”
He gestured to his partner. Edge quickly flipped his knife around. Threw. Lord Huntley released a gasp, sagged, straightened, and looked with disbelief at the blade sticking out of his belly.
Edge shook his head. “I’m getting old.” He drew a second knife, and then a third. His arm flowed quickly. Again steel flew, and Huntley fell, a blade protruding from his left eye. Grinning, Edge shifted aim with his second knife. His arm jerked one more time.
Mathew howled when the blade entered his side.
“I’m out of knives,” Edge said to Murth.
“That’s good.” Murth grinned, and he shoved his own blade into Edge’s body, just beneath his partner’s sternum. Edge fell without a sound. “More money for me.”
Mathew gently eased the knife from between his ribs. It felt awkward in his hand. His fingers did not want to fold pr
operly around the hilt. His wound bled slowly and then healed.
“That should have killed you,” Murth said, sounding faintly concerned as he drew his sword.
“I’m not that weak,” Mathew answered gently while murderous rage shivered through his body. He wanted to rip Murth’s flesh from his bones. He ached to taste blood. “Stay out of my way.”
“The children,” Glace whispered again, his voice barely audible. “The children.”
“I know,” Mathew answered, and he moved. He quickly shifted toward the bunks, struck with a his single goddess blessed knife, grabbed, and two small pieces flew through the air, hit the floor near Glace, and bounced into the fire.
“Trent!” the girl screamed.
His body separated, disrupting his magical flow, the boy’s head and torso and clothes burst into flames. The body’s arms flailed about, reaching, grabbing for the head, but Trent’s hands only grabbed a log. Lifting the log, they shoved its flaming end into Trent’s bleeding neck. His fingers clenched tighter. The log cracked beneath the tremendous pressure, splintered while the boy’s clothes caught fire. Flesh bubbled, melted, turned into flame and smoke while the head tried to twist and roll closer to Trent’s body. A thin voice rose from the head, pushed by air trapped within the severed neck. “Hhhhaaaallie.”
Screaming, the girl leaped from the bunk to land on Mathew’s head and shoulders. She reached down and dug her hands into Mathew’s fur. Mathew went still when something seeped from her fingers to enter him. He could not move, did not want to move. Hallie’s face, once angelic, smooth and innocent, twisted into hate and hurt, but her gaze ruled him. Blood dripping feathers rose from behind her ears and the top of her head.
“You burned him!” she shouted. “You tried to murder my brother! All we wanted was fresh food. You were supposed to kill each other. You weren‘t supposed to know I‘d hexed you. Now all the food will spoil or freeze solid and we‘ll be hungry before somebody else comes along.”
Bleeding, Mathew reached up to grip the most exquisitely wonderful child he had ever seen. He brought her down to his chest and gently cradled her in his arms. “Glace still lives.”