by Will Bly
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Quinn spit in Ithial’s direction and ran to where Kay knelt, her hands coming together around her wounded gut. Confusion shook her wide eyes. She fell onto her side as he reached her.
“Oh, gods!” he lamented. He could feel the internal twist of his hope battling the reality of the situation. He pushed back at the heaving of his stomach, subduing the urge to vomit. Setting to task best he could, Quinn tore away what cloth he could around both of the wounds. The bolt in her left shoulder seemed not so bad, as if it had glanced off her shoulder blade and found itself lightly stuck in the muscle of her shoulder. He pulled it out. The black locks of Kay’s hair flew back as she grunted in agony.
“Sorry,” he said.
She clenched her teeth. “Don’t. Don’t mention it.”
Quinn used the fabric he tore away from her stomach to wrap the light wound best he could. The bandage didn’t like the angle of it, however, and kept slipping off. One big elongated drop of blood fell to the ground. Fuck it. Not important. He turned his mind to the second bolt which struck her in the gut. The skin around the shaft still looked fairly clean, but he knew this wound to be serious.
“Is there a town nearby?”
Kay nodded and indicated the direction. Do I move her? Do I run for help? Do I make do with what I have? He thought back to the wagon. Merlane must have supplies for this sort of thing. He always has everything. Quinn frowned. Or had everything… if he’s really gone.
If he picked her up, it would be painful at the least or disrupt something at the most. If he moved her, he might break her somehow. She could bleed out worse. But she’s looking tired!
Her eyes withered. Her head ceased moving. Her body slowed in its fidgeting. Fuck it twice. Quinn knelt down, scooped her in his arms, and lifted. Body and mind screamed against the effort. His muscles tore like parchment. Still not ready for lifting. He countered the weakness of his body with strength of mind.
“Pain,” he said as he took his first steps with her in his arms, “Pain isn’t real.” Eyes tearing and squinting against the darkness of the night, Quinn plodded in the direction he thought and hoped he had left the mule and cart. Being so disoriented from the fight left him hoping he wasn’t marching Kay farther out into the wild and away from the help she needed.
A whisper on the wind kissed his ear. “Help.”
He looked around for the source.
“Help.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
Quinn laid Kay down a moment, worrying about her silence. He walked a few feet to find a young man crumbled face down in the tall grass.
“You know, friend, I’m sorry. I can leave you like this or I can leave you dead. But your choice has to be quick.”
The man’s back heaved as he sobbed heavily. “Death.”
“Very well. But I want to know why you are here.”
“I… She followed me. I didn’t do it, though. Not alone. I did it for her.”
“Didn’t do what, son?”
The young man whimpered.
“I’m sorry.” Quinn knelt and shot the crossbow bolt into the man’s heart. The poor soul’s last breath sounded like a snore. “Can’t afford the time, lad.” Quinn finished.
Chapter 21: Hatchet
Killing someone has a disorienting effect. Quinn knew the mule and cart must be close, but every time he expected to see it, disappointment reared its ugly head. Kay began to stir again signaling to him that discomfort once again pressed in.
“Hold on,” he said as he adjusted his grip on her. “Not long now I’ll lay you down and we’ll get you help. Just be strong like we know you to be. Now where's that damn mule? Where’d I come from? Damn dark. Why’s it have to be so dark? I tell you we aren’t liked by something, and not something like an ideal something or an imp something. Or a demon or what. But something like fortune doesn’t seem to wish us any well. Like we’re swimming against fate or what not. Maybe we’re supposed to just give up and float. Get eaten up by the big brown bear of fate. Who knows? Maybe.”
“You always think out loud when the shit hits the windmill.”
Ire? “Ire?”
“Here.”
Quinn turned.
Irulen stepped from the deep black of night to the not so deep black. “Max showed me where you were.”
“I didn’t see him. Are you real?”
“He’s black and dark—even for a raven. Flies silent, too. Yes, I am real. I just passed a cart back there—”
“Kay!” Quinn raised her toward the wizard.
“Wha—didn’t see—she all right?”
“No! She’s not!”
“Bring her to the cart—this way.”
Quinn obeyed quick as he could. A snag caught his foot—he stumbled but regained his footing in time. He plodded a few more feet before more activity in the darkness came to be in front of him. They had found the cart with Farah and Merek waiting near it. Irulen unlatched the back of the cart and the wooden back flipped down. Irulen patted the flat surface it made. Quinn placed Kay on her side so as not to aggravate the wound any further.
Only when relieved of his burden did Quinn realize the pain that ripped through his arms as if his blood throbbed with shards of glass. His body was in no way ready for this kind of exertion. He fell to a knee.
Farah came running. “Quinn!” She hugged his head against her bosom. “Are you okay?”
He cried. This, too, took energy. He reached into his pocket and felt fur and wetness. He pulled out the corpse of Ratsy, crushed to death from the previous melee. Ratsy died under my weight. My… He sobbed louder, the type of cry that threatened to shatter any reality. Dizziness filled his head as he fell to darkness.
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Though much lighter than the Quinn she knew, he was still too heavy for Farah to handle. She tried her best to cushion his fall, but it ended with an inevitable thud. She was happy to see him but sad to see him in such a state. And Kay! She turned her attention to where Irulen examined their friend. “Quinn’s passed out,” she informed him as she walked up.
Merek stood nearby, rocking himself. Max used the side of the cart as his perch and looked on with a type of stoic concern only a raven could muster. Farah knew that Max felt concern in his own way.
She opened her mouth but closed it. She summoned her courage and shook off the reluctance. “How is she?”
Irulen shook his head slowly. “You know, I really don’t know. She’s in a bad place. Has a smaller wound near her shoulder blade, but the one in her stomach… If I pull this bolt out…” He sighed. “The head seems to be poking her back skin. I’m not sure what the head looks like. It could be hooked in somewhat. Could be straight. I’m either going to have to pull it out front or back depending. Either way, this is going to be messy. Who knows what this thing tore up inside of her? If we seal the wound on the outside she might still bleed out in the inside.”
Quinn’s low voice rasped behind them, even and solemn. “Rods of metal… along the right wall.” He was sitting up, scraping a hole in the ground with his free hand.
“What was that?” asked Irulen.
Farah moved to Quinn.
He spoke again. “Rods of metal, along the right wall. Facing mule.”
Farah turned to Irulen. “He said—”
“I heard him that time. What do we need the rods for?”
Quinn scratched a hole in the ground and placed Ratsy in the shallow grave. “Heat one. Use one. Burn her inside.”
“Oh, boy.” Irulen stared at the shaft before his eyes lit with realization. “The wound on her shoulder blade looked round. You pulled out the first bolt—what was the tip like?”
“Plain tip. Circle-like.” Quinn gathered dirt over the small grave and packed the dirt gently.
“Good. I’m sorry—about your friend there.” Irulen walked around the cart and reached over the side. Metal clanked as he fished out one of the rods. He pulled out about five feet of thin metal. “Mu
ch longer than we need… but it will do. Heat the top and sear her guts. I guess that’s our plan?”
Merek whimpered.
Farah shrugged.
Quinn grunted.
“Okay.” He stabbed the bottom of the rod into the ground and grabbed the top with his two hands. His eyes closed and moved beneath his lids. His lips moved from side to side as if he experienced difficulty with something. His eyes opened. “You know, this is going to take a lot of magic. I feel that we are far from any ley line—it may take me a lot to do a little. Do we have any other way of heating this?”
Farah couldn’t believe what she heard. “Are you serious?” She walked over and pushed him. “You heat that rod right now, or I’ll stick it where you shit!”
Kay laughed, then groaned from the pain of it.
Irulen put his hands up in defense. “I will—you know I will.”
“Do I?”
“I just wanted to check. Make sure it’s the best option.”
“There’s powder,” Quinn said, working his way back to his feet. “Some kind of explosive, fiery powder that Merlane used to hold off Ithial’s minions and help my escape. He used some and left more.” He plodded over to the cart and rummaged. “Ah!” He pulled out a ram’s horn capped with a neatly-tied patch of leather. “Here it is.” He tossed it to Irulen who fumbled it. “Careful, there,” Quinn warned. “Now lay some out beneath the rod and spark it with this flint. He tossed a rock followed by another rock. Irulen struggled to keep up but managed.
“Is this it or do you have anything else dangerous to throw at me?”
“That’s it. For now.”
Irulen spread out some of the powder on a dry patch of road. Farah wondered if he was about to be blown to smithereens or lose an eye. Was he actually hoping for it? He didn’t seem to care much for his safety.
He placed the tip of the rod over the powder pile and placed the ram’s horn to the side. Picking up the two flint rocks, he brought them together in a phantom click. Lined up and ready to go, he smashed them together near the powder. Nothing. He tried again and again moving closer to the powder each time.
He growled, then smashed the two rocks together in the pile. The powder ignited, swallowing his hands in a white flash. “Shit! Shit!” he yelled as his hands singed, leaving faint wisps of smoke. The tip of the rod glowed red. “Damn.” His hands looked limp and useless—faint wisps of smoke arose from them. “Farah you do it.”
She took a slow cautious step forward before Quinn warned her off. “Stop. I have it.” He grabbed the rod and flipped it hot side down. He held it aloft like some kind of god, kneeling beside Kay. He ripped out the bolt without warning and stabbed the wound with the hot iron.
Kay growled like a struck mountain lion.
Farah rushed to help Quinn hold her down. She grabbed at flailing legs. A foot struck the side of her head, forcing her to the ground. She shook off the ringing of her ears, regained her footing, and took control of the flailing legs.
“Demons, woman!” Quinn exclaimed. “This is a treatment not an exorcism!”
“You always wanted to get inside me—got your wish!” Kay hissed.
“That’s just—oh, that’s just wrong—plain wrong.” He removed the rod and tossed it down. “I think we’re good.”
The legs ceased resisting Farah’s grasp. Kay lost consciousness. Farah let go.
Irulen leaned in, his hands held up in a pained manner. “Looks like you cooked it pretty good.” He leaned in close over her mouth and waited. Panic pulled open his eyes as he pulled back. “Oh shit.” He leaned in again and looked back. “She’s not breathing. By gods, she’s not breathing!”
Kay’s dead? “Do something, Irulen!”
“What should I do? Something like that draws from the dark arts… pulling souls from beyond—that’s screwing with the state of things.”
“She can’t be gone yet. Don’t resurrect her. Save her! Think.”
Irulen brought his hand to the stubble of his face. “Maybe. Yes! Let me try.” He ripped open the fabric on Kay’s chest. Quinn looked away. Merek leaned in a bit.
Farah bit her lip. What’s he doing?
Irulen put his two hands out over her chest and for a moment it seemed he would place them on her breasts. But that wasn’t to be. His eyes closed as his hands hovered. Something was happening around his fingertips. It seemed a clicking sound at first. Then another clicking sound layered with another until the sound was constant and overlapping. Sparks arced from his already-burnt fingertips. Another flash happened that made Farah think of lightning. Then silence. Farah’s eyes took time adjusting from the flash.
Irulen was again leaning over Kay’s mouth. “She’s breathing,” he said before he crumbled to the floor. He rested his elbows on his knees, his hands still held upward.
Curiosity demanded an answer. “What did you do?”
“I focused on the element of lightning. Something I researched once. The energy of lightning is capable of restarting the human heart.” He grimaced. “That took a lot.”
“I’m sure it did,” Farah responded, “but any price you paid is worth it. She lives. We saved her.”
“S’pose we did,” he agreed.
“Can’t you ice your hands?”
“Not worth the magic. They’ll be adequate—a bit scarred perhaps. I wonder if we can catch that little twerp that did this to her. The apprentice, Oliver.”
“Was he the one Kay was chasing?”
“Yes.”
“He’s dead.” Quinn pointed. “Finished him back that way.”
“Oh? Did he say anything?”
“Said he didn’t act alone. That poor retch said something about a lady, too. But you should know… It wasn’t him that did all this.” Quinn spit on the ground. “It was Ithial. And I got a good piece of him, I did. ”
“Ithial? I suspected as much—we found one of his calling cards on a victim in town.”
“Yeah, Kay put down two of his imp-goons in the field before being taken down. But I’ll tell you—I cut his hand clear off. Ha!”
Irulen winced at the mention.
Quinn raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter? I thought you’d be glad to hear it.”
“I am. Very. Just made me think of another arm that I saw cut off not too long ago.”
“You’ll have to share that story.”
“Maybe.”
“And Kay hit him direct—looked like it to me anyway. He’s got a wound just like hers, and he’s missing a hand. He’s a goner. Dead—that rotten son of a bitch.”
“I hope so. We should look around in the morning. In the meantime, we should get Kay somewhere warm to rest and figure out who else might have had a hand in the killing back in town. Collect some much-needed income.”
“I don’t know,” Quinn said.
“You don’t know what?”
“I don’t know if I’m staying. We can use the cart to bring her back. I don’t know if I’ll stay.”
Understanding filled Irulen’s face. “I see.”
Farah hated to think of a future without Quinn after searching for him all this time. “I hope you consider staying. We’ve been looking for you, you know. Irulen never stopped searching,” she lied. Irulen looked at her strange. She hated lying, but she hated the thought of Quinn leaving even more. She scowled at Irulen and nodded for him to say something.
He obliged. “It might not help much, and I don’t expect forgiveness, but I—I am sorry, Quinn. You have always been the best of friends to me. You deserve better than what I’ve given.”
“Hmmph. I have to say I’ve run through many scenarios as to how I’d respond to something like that. Spent a lot of time in darkness and thought. Now that it’s happened, I don’t have a response ready.”
“When the time is right,” Farah said. “In due time. I hope you consider staying with us. I really do.”
Quinn smiled. “I forgot how hard you are to say no to. I’m sticking to maybe, though.”
“I’ll bury the hatchet all right. But I’m marking the spot. So that I know where to find it if I need to.”
Chapter 22: An Empty Keg
What’s there to say when you’ve betrayed the best friend you’ve ever had? Irulen frowned as the wagon creaked, banged, and waggled back and forth. Quinn rode up front with Farah squeezed between him and Merek. Irulen got the lesser company—a maimed mountain lion of a woman and the corpse of Oliver wrapped in cloth. The faint fragrance of Oliver’s loosened bowels danced around the rims of his nostrils. Kay grunted and groaned from each bump in the road, a melody that Irulen tried to drown with booze—a full drinking horn he had found among Merlane’s things. Kay accepted swigs of the hard stuff as quickly as Irulen could offer it. He couldn’t even be sure of what the liquor was, but there were enough fumes present to blow the cart sky high.
Maybe she just fought against the silence but Farah chattered constantly, filling Quinn in about the going ons of Luthbrook. From time to time she signaled to Irulen, relating important points that he should know. Things such as Helga and Mirtha, the sisters who had been in love with the same man, Gerald, who ultimately chose to marry Helga, who had died by the river under circumstances that eerily mirrored Bertrand’s demise. Although, Gerald’s death seemed much less grandiose and eloquent than the amount of effort that went into Bertrand’s murder. She told Irulen that Oliver was the man she’d seen in the woods earlier.
With their prime suspect dead, this case would take a lot of unraveling.
Maybe we should just turn in Oliver and be done with it. They’ll have their justice. We’ll have our money. We don’t even know for sure if another accomplice exists. Could be that only Oliver worked with Ithial. Could be that everything else Farah talked about is a coincidence. Maybe it’s case closed and time to move us on. Ithial is probably dead so maybe work will be slow for a while. Maybe we can travel just for the sake of traveling. Visit a warm climate for once. Not snowy or soggy but sunny with fine sand. They sing about such places in the frosted taverns of Northforge.