The Vale: Behind The Vale

by Brian D. Anderson

  Drake unholstered his P37 and tested the door. It was unlocked. Cautiously, he cracked it open and a foul odor immediately rushed out, striking him as forcibly as any slap to the face. His features contorted. It was like an unholy combination of rotted flesh and the musky smell of livestock. After pausing briefly in an unsuccessful to spit away the stench, he very carefully stepped inside.

  At once he saw what it was that Bane did not want to face. The room was roughly thirty feet square, with a long table set directly in the center. Atop this lay the mangled form of a hellspawn, though this one was not nearly as large or broad as the one they had encountered. Even so, the cracked, pale green flesh was unmistakable. It had been cut open from the chest to the stomach, much like an autopsy, its skin pulled to the side exposing its organs. But it was the face that was most troubling to Drake. Somehow, although it had the horns and fangs, it was still not quite the face of a hellspawn. In fact, there was more than a touch of human about its features.

  Set along the walls of the room were glass tanks containing more of the creatures; all of them had been dissected and some completely stripped of their organs. A smaller table with a variety of surgical implements on top was near to the door.

  “What the hell is this place?” muttered Drake.

  He walked slowly around the room examining each tank. Some of the hellspawn were of typical size, while others were no larger than the one on the table.

  “You need to hurry,” Bane called down the stairs. “Remy’s friends will be here soon. Or worse, the Sheriff.”

  Drake took a long look around before exiting the room. For sure, the magistrate would want to know what was happening here. Though he was not in the habit of being an informant, this was something quite different. This was something that needed to be stopped…whatever it was.

  He was sorely tempted to simply incinerate the foul place and rid the world of an atrocity. But common sense told him it would be better for the proper authorities to sort it all out. Suddenly, he felt unclean and had an overpowering urge to wash away the stench of the room. A terrifying notion occurred to him as he ascended the stairs. What if somehow hellspawn were…?

  He banished the thought from his mind even before completing it.

  “Maybe next time you’ll listen to me,” Bane told him as soon as he arrived back.

  “Do you know anything about this?”

  “No. And I don’t want to.”

  The two men exited the office and headed back to the main part of the club. Though the music still boomed from the speakers, the place was now completely empty. A wave of urgency washed over Drake. He should not have lingered. They needed to leave fast.

  A crowd had gathered across the street, and all eyes fell on them as they crossed the lot toward Cal. Headlights could be seen coming from the north – too bright for most cars. Drake jumped into the driver’s seat and fired the engine.

  “North?” he asked.

  Bane nodded but said nothing.

  Slamming Cal into gear, he peeled out of the lot. Just as he thought, the lights were those of a sheriff’s vehicle. He pulled up the map.

  “Find us a quick way out of here,” he told Bane.

  This was a large enough city to have a sizable sheriff’s department. And though Cal could certainly outrun most other cars, outrunning a communicator was something else. He switched his camouflage mode off, returning Cal to her normal appearance. That should be enough to give them a bit of breathing space.

  As Bane pointed out directions, Drake couldn’t shake a sinking feeling that he had bitten off more than he could chew. The almost human face of the hellspawn continued to haunt his thoughts well into the night.

  It was just before dawn when he was confident they were far enough away to stop for some rest. Still, he wanted to avoid prying eyes, so he pulled behind an abandoned building that looked to have once been a general store. Bane had been noticeably subdued throughout.

  Drake leaned his seat back in an effort to clear his mind and focus on the future. At least, the kind of future that he hoped fate held for him when this was all over.

  The last thing he saw before sleep took him was the smiling face of Lenora.

  Chapter Ten

  The barrier was not a place Drake would have imagined Exodus might choose as a base of operations. Although it was undoubtedly secluded and largely uninhabited, it would be easy enough to detect activity there. They would need supplies, for instance. A single person might be able to stay reasonably well hidden, but not a large group, certainly not for any length of time.

  Bane was still sleeping. He had woken briefly once, still looking thoroughly exhausted, only to promptly shut his eyes and settle down once again. Drake guessed that whatever magic he’d used on Remy had taken a lot out of him. Powerful magic could do that to a mage. Unlike the royal guard, who centered their power in the vex crystal, mages used their entire body to channel spells. This was bound to take its toll. A strong spell might be painful to Drake, but he was otherwise left physically unaffected. And where one could grow accustomed to pain, fatigue could never be ignored indefinitely.

  The image of the hellspawn continued to plague him. With the need to focus on the job at hand, this was a distraction he definitely didn’t need at the moment. He rolled down the window and let the cold air blast against his skin. Normally he despised the cold, but right at that moment it felt refreshing – cleansing.

  “Where are we going?”

  Drake looked over and saw that Bane was raising his seat upright. He looked better. “We won’t make it to the barrier unless we get some fuel,” he replied.

  Bane rubbed the back of his neck. “We must have passed several fueling stations by now.”

  “I don’t put that cheap crap in Cal,” Drake told him firmly.

  There was only one place in the vicinity that he could acquire good mana fuel. Though it meant going a bit out of their way, it couldn’t be helped.

  “Fuel is fuel,” said Bane.

  “Considering who your father is, I would think you’d know better than that. You don’t want to be trying to outrun someone using cheap fuel. I learned that the hard way.”

  “So where are we going?”

  “Grim Lake.”

  Bane groaned. “You can’t be serious.”

  Drake gave him a lopsided smirk. “Of course I’m serious. What’s wrong with Grim Lake?”

  Bane blew out a hard breath. “Oh, nothing. It’s lovely. That is, if you like the stench of fish and urine.”

  “That’s too much for someone as refined as you, I suppose.”

  “It’s too much for someone as refined as a hellspawn,” he complained. “You can’t think you’ll find good mana fuel in a place like that.”

  “Just relax. We won’t be there very long. You can stay in the car if it bothers you so much.”

  Bane frowned. “I don’t like this. We’re wasting time. The prince is in more danger with every minute that passes. You do realize that, don’t you?”

  “I am well aware of that. But unless you want Cal stalling on us in the middle of an escape, you’ll shut your mouth and leave this to me.”

  Grim Lake was about as unsavory a place as ever existed in Vale. Drake had chased many a runner into its depths. Some had almost managed to get away. Almost. It was a place of contradictions. Food was abundant, and you could find many of the luxuries typically reserved for the people of Troi. The problem was staying alive long enough to take advantage of it.

  “I don’t suppose it would make any difference to you that Fisk might be there?” Bane said, still scowling. “In fact, I would almost be willing to bet that he is.”

  “Good. Maybe he can help us find Exodus.”

  “He’ll help you find an early grave. It’s one thing to mess around with him down south, but this is his territory. Especially Grim Lake.”

  “From your reputation, I wouldn’t think you scared so easily.”

  “And from yours, I would have thought you
less foolhardy.”

  Drake reached out and stroked the dash. “Cal has saved my skin more times than I can count. I’ll take the risk to keep her running right.”

  “Well, I’d rather not.”

  “You could get out here if you want.” Drake lifted his foot from the accelerator to punctuate his words.

  “I guess I have no say in the matter,” seethed Bane.

  “An astute observation.” He resumed their speed. “Don’t worry. We won’t be there long enough to attract attention. Just in and out.”

  Of course, that wasn’t strictly true. He would also make time to buy a manga juice. Grim Lake was the only place outside of Troi that made them. They weren’t nearly as tasty, but still a lot better than nothing.

  From a practical standpoint, having Bane with him was good. He hadn’t been wrong about the level of risk involved. Someone as powerful in magic as Bane would be a big asset if they were spotted. Were he alone, Fisk might send men after him. But if they saw Bane as well, that could easily make them think twice.

  The sun was touching the horizon when Drake caught the scent of moldy air. Grim Lake was more of a bog than an actual lake. The narrow channels and weed-covered marsh stretched out for miles. Flat boats crisscrossed it both day and night, most of them fishing for cruxfish and pinchbugs, the main staples of the locals. Quite tasty, actually. So much so that Drake had often considered that, should the people of upper Troi ever discover them, the residents of Grim Lake would very soon be without. Grim Lake was also a fine place to dispose of bodies, which was one of the reasons it had attracted Fisk and so many others like him. If ever there was a place created specifically for the criminal underworld, this was it.

  Drake turned off the main road onto a narrow trail that split the marsh in two. The town was almost dead center, which was the only stretch of solid ground to be found in the area. Vehicles going the other way frequently forced him to the edge of the road, while a line of others following Cal could be seen in his rear view mirror. Dangerous or not, the pleasures found in Grim Lake attracted quite a few people after the sun went down.

  The long wooden bridge spanning the marsh was guarded by what passed for the law hereabouts. Though they didn’t work directly for the underworld, these men were nearly as corrupt. Not that Drake was worried about them. So long as there was no trouble, they wouldn’t be stopped. Still, he was glad he’d remembered to return Cal to camouflage mode. There were people in Grim Lake who would definitely recognize her in her natural state; that was the price you paid for driving a one-of-a-kind vehicle.

  Ahead, set beneath a delta of mana streams, the town lights twinkled like stars. Only a few areas were well lit; the remainder was kept in a dim twilight state with strings of tiny mana bulbs hanging from posts. This made it simple to pass unnoticed. Most visitors would rather remain anonymous anyway, and most of the residents were just as guarded. This was to be expected in a town where ninety percent of the wealth was acquired illegally.

  At the end of the bridge, Drake turned right and entered the large lot where all non-commercial vehicles were required to park. A scraggly youth ran up the moment they stopped.

  “That will be ten,” he said.

  Drake cocked his head. “Ten? Are you kidding me?”

  The boy spread his hands. “What can I tell you? Price has gone up. Don’t blame me. I just work the lot.”

  Drake grumbled and pulled a twenty from his wallet. “See that no one comes near her, got it?”

  The boy’s eyes lit up at the sight of the money. “You got it, mister. No problem at all.” With a sharp nod, he shoved the money into his pocket and raced off to his next customer.

  Bane was still looking displeased. “A soft spot for street urchins?”

  “I bet that boy makes more money than half the people living here,” Drake told him.

  That was probably true. The lot attendants did quite well, and it was a highly coveted job. In the early days, when Drake had spent most of his time in this region, he’d had two lot attendants on his payroll. They knew better than anyone who came and went, and Grim Lake was a hot spot for runners. A good lot attendant could be raking in a thousand a week if they played their cards right and kept their eyes open.

  Bane’s frowned deepened. “Yeah. And if anyone is looking for us, you can bet that’s where he’s off to.”

  It was a possibility, but Drake doubted it. Even if Fisk were looking for them, he wouldn’t have had the chance yet to put the word out. They had made good time. Anyway, who would ever think they might come to Grim Lake? Like Bane had relentlessly pointed out to him, it was too risky.

  Drake retrieved his shoulder holster from the trunk and slipped it on. His P37 would be sure to attract unwanted attention. It was uncomfortable, but until he could buy himself another long coat, he would have to put up with it. For a moment he even considered looking for such a coat here, but dismissed the idea. This would soon be over, and he could get whatever he needed when back in Troi.

  They passed through the lot and walked down a nearby street. The buildings were dilapidated wooden structures, covered in the slime and mold of the marsh and in constant need of repairs. Even the sturdier buildings looked worn and decaying. Only one or two were higher than two floors, mostly apartments for the merchants and crime bosses. The broad walkway was already filling with people ready for a night of debauchery, and the music was seeping into the street from the taverns.

  One or two smaller vehicles passed through, transport for well-to-do visitors and the richer residents. Aside from these, the avenues were mostly occupied by people zig-zagging their way from tavern to tavern or shop to shop.

  They threaded their way to the west end of town. Here, the crowds were thinner and the scent of fresh bread and spices partly overcame the moldy smell of the marsh. As Drake spotted the building where his first stop was to be, he frowned.

  “What’s wrong?” Bane immediately asked.

  “It’s gone,” he replied. He stared at the empty storefront with no small measure of disappointment. “The one place outside of Troi that sold manga juice. How in the hell can it be gone?”

  Anger sprang up on Bane’s face. “Manga juice? Are you kidding me?” Spinning on his heels, he began striding rapidly back the way they had come.

  “Where are you going?” Drake called out.

  “Back to the car.”

  He was about to shout for him to stop, but could tell from the determined way Bane was walking that it would be a waste of breath. Maybe he was being too reckless, he admitted. The prospect of going home had certainly changed his behavior. He was no longer resigned to a life of filth and struggle. He now had hope, and hope could be a dangerous emotion if you allowed it to blind you to the present. After all, he wasn’t home yet. And if he failed in his task, he never would be.

  He wasn’t about to apologize – not to Bane. But he would be more conscious of the man’s warnings in the future. Up until now he’d been allowing his dislike to color his judgment. The fact was, Bane was an experienced hawker. More than that, he hadn’t gained such a reputation by being stupid.

  Forgetting his desire for manga juice, Drake continued on until reaching a small building with an open front. The large doors were swung wide to reveal three small blue vehicles – the taxis that he had seen earlier. An older man in red coveralls was working on the one nearest the entrance. Drake knew him well. Aside from Dorn, Vic was the only man he trusted to look at Cal.

  “You busy?” he called. “I need some fuel.”

  Vic gave him a sideways look and heaved a breath. “Oh, it’s you. Haven’t seen you around in a while. You after a runner?”

  “Not this time. Just passing through.”

  The old mechanic stretched his back and groaned as his joints cracked and popped in protest. “Just as well. Rumor is the magistrate is about to run all your kind out of here. Setting up their own office right in the middle of town, they are.”

  “You know better than to listen
to rumors. They’ve been saying that for years.”

  “Yeah, but this time it’s true. They’ve already bought a building right next to the sheriff’s office.”

  Drake could see the concern on Vic’s weathered face. He made his living serving the crime bosses and the hawkers. If the magistrate’s office ran them out, he would lose his livelihood.

  “Maybe you could get a contract to repair their vehicles,” Drake suggested. But he knew it was a ridiculous idea. The magistrate sent their own people for maintenance. Men like Vic would be forced to service legitimate customers. This meant permits and fees, almost certainly more than he would be able to pay. If the magistrate moved in, he would be forced out.

  Vic waved a dismissive hand. “It doesn’t matter. I’m too old to let it bother me. When it happens, it happens. No use worrying about it until then. Where are you parked?”

  Drake told him the lot number. “How long?”

  “Give me an hour. I have to finish this up first.”

  Drake took out three hundred from his wallet and handed it over. It was a bit more than the fuel was worth, but Vic had been fair with him over the years. And he hated to think about what was likely to become of him. Not that anything could be done about it.

  “I want you to go see Dorn if they kick you out of here,” Drake told him. “I’m sure he could use someone as good as you.”

  Vic chuckled as he thumbed through the notes. “That old goat’s still alive?”

  “And still working. Just tell him I sent you.”

  “I appreciate that. You always had a kind heart...for a hawker, that is. All the same, I think I’ve worked long enough. It’s time for me to retire.” Turning back to the taxi, he snatched up a rag and wiped the back of his neck. “Now get going. If you want your fuel any time soon, you better stop pestering me.”

  Drake took a quick look around at the garage that had taken Vic a lifetime to build. So many people were cast aside once they were too old to work. The outer provinces were filled with those waiting to die because they could no longer provide for themselves. The few who were fortunate enough to have families willing to care for them only bought themselves a little time. Eventually, the strain of another mouth to feed would become too much; that, or they would suffer an illness. The elderly were not given priority when it came to medical treatment. Resources were spent on those who could be productive. If you could no longer work, you rarely received care. Unless, of course, you lived in Troi. Then it was a different story.