“Last I checked, one needed weapons and beasts to be an effective soldier, let alone whatever this Company requires.”
“Velazquez’s Company is a little different than most,” Rodriquez said. “She only takes on keepers.”
“And you’re just going to hand over one of your beasts, are you?”
The conde scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s a Rampant beast bound and waiting for harvest in your barn.”
Sigmund recalled the bundle he’d seen hauled into his barn earlier. That explained where the rest of Rodriquez’s menagerie was. A Rampant beast was dangerous. Even bound, it would need watching.
“You hauled a Rampant beast all the way out here to me to give me another shot,” Sigmund said flatly. “What happened to ‘one shot is all you need?’”
“Sometimes, especially in unsteady circumstances, more than one shot is required.” Rodriquez sounded like he was quoting, though Sigmund had no idea who may have first uttered those words. They were very much out of character for the veteran sniper. So much so that Sigmund had no response.
“This is your second shot, Moreau,” Rodriquez said. “Your third chance. You have until morning to accept or decline, at which point you will either harvest the beast in the barn and depart with me, or I’ll put a bullet in its brain and leave you to rot with the corpse. You’ve already got a graveyard, what’s one more occupant?”
Sigmund glared at Rodriquez.
The man gave a sour laugh. “You always did love beasts more than yourself.”
“You don’t give gifts or do favors,” Sigmund said. “There are always strings attached.”
“Of course there are strings attached,” Rodriquez barked.
“What kind of strings?”
“The kind of strings you don’t ask about. The kind that would embarrass some very powerful people if you were to go poking around trying to untangle them. You’re nosy. It’s why you were a good spotter and scout. Good at whatever it was those wharf rats had you doing before I got hold of you. But you leave these strings the hell alone. And you will keep me updated.”
“Updated, sir?”
“Yes. Of The Company, of your actions, of your beasts…everything. I will expect regular letters.”
Like an old grandmother, Sigmund thought, but bit down the words. One did not make such jests to condes. Especially not this conde. Only, this was almost as out of character as that comment about needing more than one shot. The conde did make it a point to look after that which he considered his, but he did not micromanage, nor did he exchange casual correspondences. Sigmund was under no illusions about how interested the conde was in his day-to-day life.
“You want a spy,” Sigmund said. “There is something about The Company of Golden Swords that has you uneasy.”
Rodriquez nodded. “The vizcondesa’s grown in power too quickly, and her politics are not aligned with her majesty’s, and if they are not aligned with her majesty’s, then they are not good for Freutsche. I will not have harm come to this queendom from within after all the blood we spilled protecting it.”
Sigmund mulled it over. He did not know much about Vizcondesa Augustina Velazquez other than she was diamond souled, and by all accounts, not someone to cross. Which was exactly what Rodriquez was asking him to do. He thought of the Rampant beast in the barn. It must have only just Fallen, and from a position of privilege, it seemed. Maybe it would be kinder to let Rodriquez kill it instead of harvesting it and restoring her sanity. And he was hardly the best choice for a spy. He’d restore her mind and then they’d both be killed by Velazquez when she discovered what he was up to.
Rodriquez had not been lying earlier. He’d kill the beast if Sigmund did not partake of this madness.
“On the bright side, if you do decide to die,” Rodriquez said, leaning back in his chair and gesturing around the barren cabin, “at least you’ve already got a casket.”
~ ~ ~
Insomnia had become an old friend to Sigmund since he’d come to live out in the wilderness. The longer he remained, the more awake he found himself at night, and the more fatigued during the day. It didn’t matter how much or how little he did, sleep never came to him when he needed it. He’d never settled on whether that was a blessing or a curse. Sleep meant dreaming, and he always dreamed of his beasts. Especially her.
Once again, he reached with his anima for the familiar comfort of their roots. Nothing.
Sigmund rose from his place on the floor, having given over his thrush bed to Rodriquez, and dressed. The fire owl watched him with orange eyes that glowed like the coals in the hearth beside her. The heat must have felt good to her. He noted that, despite her comfort those glowing eyes never left him. Leave it to Rodriquez to appoint a night watch even inside a friend’s cabin. She made no move to stop him as he walked to the door and he tossed her a playful wink, making her blink in surprise, before ducking out into the night.
The cool air washed over him, the scent of the damp forest air all the more crisp for the contrast it presented with the smoky smell of the cabin. It had been a long time since he’d bothered to take note of the scent. It had become part of the background of living here, just another arbitrary detail of his day-to-day existence. He glanced back at the cabin.
The conde was right, it might as well be a casket. He was not living, simply existing. Waiting to die.
His feet carried him away from the cabin and up the hill to the stacked stones of his beasts’ graves. What would they say if they were here with him? All of them, not just these three? Their voices were the freshest in his memory because they’d been the last to die and the only ones to receive proper burial. His first menagerie had been lost to sea after what he’d thought then was the greatest failure of his life.
He knew better now. It had only been the first.
They’d have been miserable way out here, he decided, close enough to civilization to be relatively safe from Rampant beasts, far enough away to never be a part of anything. They would have made do, but that would be it, making do.
Krake would have wanted to join the mercenaries. She had been too much the fighter for anything else. Briller would have wanted to be anywhere else. She needed activity. The more the better. His thoughts turned to Roux, who had been his first beast and best friend, and Triomphe, who had been the lead of his second team and more than a friend.
They’d be miserable here too. As miserable as he was. They’d have called him on it in a way none of his other beasts would have.
A change had to occur, something to break up this stagnation he had found himself wallowing in. But was Rodriquez’s offer the change he needed? He could not imagine himself a spy. A mercenary was bad enough. A spy…he mulled it over, silently thanking his menagerie for their input as he rose and made his way back down the hill.
The decision wasn’t really his alone, and more than his own life was at stake.
The barn had been there when he’d procured the land and was far better built than his pathetic cabin. The workshop portion of the barn was in a state of organized chaos with dozens of tools hung up on the walls and countless parts scattered across the workbench. He’d been trading his inventions and guns with river merchants who stopped by his dock on their weekly trips down and upriver.
He ran a hand along his workstation as he passed by and into the barn area proper where Rodriquez had stabled his horses. Two of his beasts sat watch over one of the stalls that appeared empty from his vantage. The rainbow haired beast with her arm in the sling and the ruby tiger had a game of cards going by lamplight. Neither seemed surprised to see him.
The tiger had probably heard or smelled him approaching from a ways off, and there was no telling what the other was capable of. His first inclination was to think she possessed some kind of energy or phenomenon seed related to light or refraction based on her hair, but there was no way to tell. He wouldn’t put it past Rodriquez to dye the hair of one of his beasts just to con
fuse his opponents. The man was paranoid and crafty and especially protective of his own.
The Rampant beast inside must be something to warrant two guards, and one of those the conde’s primary melee combatant. A front-line fighter and support, his experience supplied unasked. He stepped past them, feeling their eyes tracking him as their game came to a halt, and peered into the stall they guarded.
The beast within was bound in chains and rope, secure as a caterpillar in a newly knit cocoon. Even had she been possessed of superhuman strength, which she probably was, there was no way for her to build up enough momentum to use it. The beast was clearly Rampant, her human faculties overcome by the twin seeds that had sprouted within her spirit upon her Fall.
Her bestia seed was clearly mammalian in origin, judging from the pale blue fur covering her body. Something predatory, he suspected, though there was something delicate to her shape. She was all straight lines and soft edges, and she lacked any visible scars—definitely not a beast that had seen combat.
As if that weren’t convincing enough, her dark blue hair, which had been tied in a sloppy ponytail, would easily hang down to her waist, maybe even her knees, when she stood up. This was a beast who would belong in a rakish duque’s harem or an upscale pleasure house once her seeds had been harvested and she was no longer Rampant. Not rooted to a mercenary.
He wondered what her other seed was. Not a mineral or flora seed. Perhaps an energy seed? No, the conde would not be so generous. Phenomenon then, which covered such a wide array of possibilities as to make speculation irrelevant.
He glanced away to the more human shaped beasts who were no longer playing cards, tilting his head to indicate the sleeping beast within the stall. “Strong?”
“Yes,” Rodriquez’s niece answered as the same time the ruby tiger said, “No.”
The rainbow haired beast blushed and looked down.
Sigmund raised his eyebrows. “Informative.”
The ruby tigress chuckled, the sound throaty and lyrical, half purr, half wind chime. “Strong by human standards, not mine. Fast though. And fierce.” She nodded thoughtfully. “More aggression than sense, even for a Rampant beast.”
It was Sigmund’s turn to nod thoughtfully, looking back into the stall. Krake had been like that at first. Time had tempered her, and she’d learned tactics, strategy, and patience, though she’d never cared for the latter.
“I think Uncle is hoping you’ll get each other killed,” said Rodriquez’s niece.
“You think so?” he asked without looking at her, though he saw her nodding out of the corner of his eye.
“She broke my arm before she Fell. And you got my cousin killed.”
He stiffened but didn’t deny it. Rodriquez had trusted him with his daughter after she’d Fallen. A trust he had failed. Sigmund could easily believe that the conde wanted him dead. Beast or no, she had been his daughter.
“Do you think we deserve to die?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think my opinion counts for much anymore.”
“You Fell recently?”
She shrugged again. “A little over a year ago. At least now I don’t have to go to the Academy. I heard the diamond souled pull all kinds of pranks on the other students. Heard one baronesa’s daughter had all of her clothes burned and had to wear nothing but a rucksack for a week until someone finally got her a new dress. I don’t think I’d have done well there.” She sighed. “I don’t think I’d have done well anywhere.”
“But you’re doing well here?”
“Better than you.”
Sigmund gave her a raised eyebrow. The ruby tiger kicked her.
Her eyes widened as she realized what she’d said. “What I mean is…uh…”
He didn’t say anything, instead letting her sputter along for a good minute or two while he tried not to laugh. It took a lot of effort and finally he couldn’t help but let a small chuckle through. It brought a tear to his eye. Then more. He hadn’t laughed since coming there. How long ago had that been?
She was right. He wasn’t doing well here. He’d thought all hope had left him, that he was beyond it and ready to live out the rest of his life, winding down toward death. If that were true, though, then he couldn’t have felt that flash of hope earlier. He couldn’t be considering Rodrriquez’s offer, foolish as it might seem. It was a third chance. A potentially suicidal chance all things considered. If so, then what did it matter? Die in a month surrounded by mercenaries or years down the road alone in the woods.
He looked back into the stall at the sleeping beast bound inside. If he declined, the conde would kill her. “She really break your arm?”
“Yeah, but like I said, that was before she Fell. Since then, well, there’s a reason we’re the ones guarding her.”
Mineral beasts were notoriously difficult to hurt by conventional physical means. Barring exceptional strength, the ruby tiger was probably the most resistant to whatever damage the Rampant beast could dish out. She probably couldn’t contain the fallen beast in the stall on her own without killing it, hence the support.
“She’s fast,” the ruby tiger said again. “And she’s not going to be happy when she regains her mind.” She gave a pointed look at Sigmund. “If she regains her mind.”
“Guess that’s up to you,” Rodriquez’s niece said. “Uncle doesn’t want anything else to do with her. Says you’re her last chance.”
He would say that, Sigmund thought. Interesting that these two referred to a Rampant beast by the feminine pronoun. While not unusual for beasts and their keepers to use “she” and “her” when not in the polite company of the nobility or the church, no one ever used pronouns for a Rampant beast. Unless they knew her before she Fell.
Once more, Sigmund turned his attention to the sleeping beast. One ear twitched, as if listening to their conversation. Just who had she been before her Fall that these two, who clearly did not care for her, would continue to use feminine pronouns? Rodriquez had warned him that if he did harvest this beast, he would have to keep out of her past.
He’d be a spy with a timebomb. Not just expendable, expected to be disposed of. He did not want to die.
That thought hit Sigmund hard and fast and out of nowhere. He did not actually want to die.
“So…” pressed Rodriquez’s niece. “You thinking about harvesting her?”
Sigmund turned and strode back toward his workshop. “No.”
No, he was not going to harvest that beast. He could not put that noose around his neck. That said, he was no longer going to stay here and simply wait to die.
He gathered his tools and materials for a project he’d been working on sporadically since he’d first arrived. One he hadn’t been able to bring himself to finish until now.
Conde Valentin Rodriquez had been correct in his criticism of Sigmund’s howda. It was an awkward weapon, and one whose purpose was ruined by its own design. The recoil would prevent another shot from being aimed quickly. Even when using buckshot, one needed to at least be able to point the barrel at the target. Sometimes, he thought, thinking back to Rodriquez’s peculiar comment, especially in unsteady circumstances, more than one shot is required.
Chapter Three
Fallen
She didn’t remember falling asleep or waking up. Neither of which bothered her nearly so much as the weight of cold chains and course rope binding her arms and legs together, biting into her flesh as her own weight pressed her bindings into the ground. She smelled horses and tasted blood, tangy through her morning breath. The taste was welcome. She wanted more. Blood would be good. Flesh would be better. Her mouth watered, drool seeping through her razor teeth and dribbling down her muzzle.
A pair of faces appeared in her field of vision, their brightly colored hair triggering an indistinct memory that told her the creatures were dangerous and not especially tasty. Simultaneously some other, baser instinct warned her of the same thing. She bared her fangs at them and the sma
ller of the two, its rainbow hair in braids and one arm in a sling, flinched back. That was the weak one. She’d kill it first.
She could feel her own blood rushing through her veins, living rivers of energy and rage. She had to move. Had to feed. She was hungry. So hungry—her stomach felt full of knives and her blood itself cut her, demanding the fuel that flesh would provide.
The pair made noises to each other, noises that were somehow familiar. There was something about those noises that was missing, and that knowledge frustrated her. She did not miss things, she was…something. Someone? A thick, hungry fog had settled in her skull, replacing things that should have been there.
The absence of that knowledge only fueled her rage, and she lurched into a sitting position without the aid of her arms or legs. She was hungry. Ravenous. Her injured observer stumbled back, and even the other one, this one red and shiny, flinched, though she held her ground. More noises were exchanged and she snarled at them again. The injured one raced away.
She made to give chase, only to be brought up short. She was trapped. Not just by her bindings but by her surroundings, boxed in on every side by wooden walls, save for the chest-high gate her watchers had been looking over. The close confines themselves did not bother her. The act of confinement did. She would not be trapped! Her rage billowed like an inferno within her, and her hunger swelled with it. How dare they? She would feast upon their hearts and brains and gorge herself on their blood.
Rocking back on her rump and kicking her bound feet up in the air, she threw herself upright and landed on the balls of her feet, eyes flashing. They could not hold her. She could not remember why exactly, but she knew this one thing. Knew it so deeply that it was less knowledge and more instinct. She was dangerous.
She leapt, bouncing off the wooden walls, testing each for a weakness. Building up momentum. Faster and faster.
The red and striped beast reached for something, but she leapt again, using her momentum to spring over the gate. She took pleasure in the flash of panic in her victim’s eyes before they collided in a heap and fell to the hay-strewn dirt floor in a tumble. She bit down, going for the beast’s throat, only to be thwarted as her teeth met the hard, red substance that was this beast’s flesh. It was like biting a rock.
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