by Scott Moore
Sammy turned several corners. Had he turned this many before? Was it even that far? Sammy couldn’t remember where he had run from. He couldn’t recall how many times he had stopped to look in windows. All he knew was that he hadn’t found what he looked for. So, he kept turning more corners and running as hard as his legs would allow him.
All the while, he shook with the feeling; something that he didn’t understand came.
Sammy stopped at another window. Food on shelves lined the building walls. The others had all been lined with beds and small tables. This one was different. Sammy wasn’t sure if that helped, but he at least knew he was getting somewhere. He pushed away from the ledge, no one was in this building either. Sammy continued forward and heard the commotion. He also smelled the strong stench of blood on the air. The shaking he had felt seemed to get stronger as the noise and smell grew.
Sammy turned another corner, and the path grew wider. This was the street that Miles had slain the beast. This was where Miles had become the town hero then ushered into the building that promised the amber liquid of joy. Sammy started running again. He ran past several people mourning the dead. Although many had followed Miles into the bar, many others stayed outside to mourn and bury their family. Not everyone would find joy this evening.
Not a single soul bothered to even glance at Sammy as he passed. Not a head nod or a shove greeted him. Like the creatures, no one cared to notice Sammy. It suited him. He needed to find Miles.
The villagers hadn’t been close enough to hear Miles send him away. Even those who had would have avoided Sammy. They had seen the beast move right through him. Even without the words of Miles, they would see him as a coward, unable to stop the threat. Or even worse, maybe many of them had come to the same conclusion as Miles had. Maybe the people here thought Sammy one of the creatures.
Sammy didn’t have much time to stop and ponder on it. He had to find Miles, because the closer he got to the mounds of dead, the stronger the pulsing in him became. Sammy kept himself from running down this street. He wanted to bolt as fast as his legs would carry him, but he didn’t for two reasons. Reason one was to keep peace with the villagers. They would get very little over the next coming days, having to bury their family and friends. Sammy could not feel their sorrow and pain, but he knew it must weigh on them heavily.
The second reason to not run was that Sammy still wasn’t sure where the bar was. He knew he grew close but running too fast he could still pass it. Or so he had thought, it turned out that the bar was the only building still lit by lanterns as the sun waned into the ground. Sammy wanted to stop and watch the glowing orb leave. He wanted to ask someone nearby why it left for so many hours, leaving this world so dark for so long. That would have to be a question for another time, however. At the moment, something more important pulled him forward.
Inside, the music played loudly. The people tried to put on smiles, but even Sammy could tell the difference. Not a single man had a genuine sign of joy about him. Not a single woman looked to be in the mood to dance. Even the music dragged, even though it tried to be upbeat. Sammy moved amongst the many villagers who had piled into the bar. They all drowned in the amber liquid that had brought joy to Miles and the soldiers. It didn’t seem to be working tonight, it seemed to only bring more sorrow.
Sammy moved around the entrance of the bar without seeing Miles. He pushed further past the tables and toward the music, but still didn’t see Miles there. He heard the barkeep yelling for more mugs and turned toward the voice. Miles had always sat nearest the liquid. Sammy moved through the crowd; no one seemed to have the energy to contend with another person.
At the bar, Sammy scanned the stools and saw no one familiar. Miles wasn’t at the entrance, near the music, nor was he at the bar. Sammy looked for stairs. He had remembered Miles making his way into the ceiling before, but this place didn’t seem to have anywhere for him to walk up, which meant Miles wasn’t here.
Sammy felt the pang of power so strongly at that moment he almost fell to his knees. He turned toward the door and started to make his way out of the crowd. He didn’t have Miles and he could do nothing to the beasts, but he would still try.
***
Miles hobbled through the village streets. His body, from head to toe, ached. His head pounded and his eyes blurred in and out of focus. It was a wonder he could still stand on his own accord, but he did, and he kept moving. Stopping only to rub the point of his knuckles into his thigh or lower back, just to keep the blood flowing.
The ale, that he hoped would help, only made things worse. It made him sleepy and did nothing for his blurry vision. Miles stopped a few more times just to brace himself on a home or storefront. He sucked deep breaths before he made the end of the first block, but he kept pushing forward. Sammy couldn’t have made it too far. The man didn’t have a sense of location or direction. Plus, his attention span was worse than that of a five-year-old.
The people around the village proved to be of little help. He didn’t even bother asking them. What was earlier joyous looks of approval at his deeds against the beast, were now slight nods in acknowledgement. Miles couldn’t hold it against them. These people had lost family and friends. Some had lost their homes. Even more had lost their stores and their livelihood. Their lives would never again be the same and all Miles did was save them to wake up every day with that memory.
Miles had been a witness to it all before. None of this shock and grief was new. He had seen war for many years. When soldiers lost their units. When commanders lost their soldiers. Or even watching fathers lose their sons. They would hold them in their arms, the light dying in their eyes, and they would never be the same. This was what happened all around him in this village tonight. They would bury their dead and their hopes together, neither ever surfacing.
Miles grew tired of wars. He had fought the rebels for the King. He had fought knights and citizens with the rebels. Now he fought some beasts that popped up from the ground whenever and wherever it damn well pleased.
It was a stretch to believe months ago he had been named a lord. Had his own damn castle. His own servants and mistresses. Would have married soon, having children to carry on his name. Then he refused the King. Refused to kill a little shit he didn’t even know. From, being a lord to a damned poor rebel fuck. A traitor to the crown and a no-good commoner. Now he wasn’t even as high as a commoner, he was lower than dirt. He fought creatures that no one even knew existed. Or if they knew of them, they had never once spoken of them anywhere near him.
Doubt crept into Miles’ thoughts. Being that he had never felt doubt before, it alarmed him. Miles had won duels, fencing competitions, the king’s games all with an air of confidence. He had never run into combat with an ounce of doubt in his skills to survive. Matter of fact, Miles considered himself to be the best at everything he did. There was no room for doubt in his mind. Yet, here it crept over him like a worm crawling over the dead. It bore into his mind and settled there, warming his thoughts.
The doubt whispered to Miles that he could be wrong. Wrong about everything. Had he rebelled against the King? Had he joined the rebels? Fighting the beast, popping from the ground, seemed very unlikely. Why would he have not heard of these creatures before? Where could they have hidden for so long? Were they just in his brain? Was this all just his imagination running wild? Not a dream, he had tried that thought. Maybe it was worse, maybe Miles was lying unconscious in an infirmary somewhere. Ladies crowding him and dabbing his face with water, but his mind so far gone he thought of creatures chasing him.
Or maybe it was some strange afterlife. Had Miles died? Would he have been able to tell if he had? This could be a personal hell, where he could never wake up and never outrun all of his problems. It was suffering. There was no doubt about that. He had suffered for so long he couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t suffer.
Miles rounded another corner. He had lost his sense of direction. Better to think like Sammy if he was to find that
deranged man. This street had no lighting, the sun had gone down low on the horizon. The buildings here blocked what little light still crept into the town. Miles noticed that even here away from the town square the people were still working hard. Still no sign of Sammy. Where would he have gone to? He had no place in the world to go and no one to help him get there.
Miles doubted anyone would sleep tonight. It would make it harder to find Sammy. Miles turned down a small alley way nearest the closest building. His legs were shaking too bad to continue walking. He felt like at any moment he would fall over. Sammy would have to wait a little longer. If Miles continued, the villagers would think him dead and bury him too. Miles leaned up against the wall and took a few breaths. His head still swam, and his eyes drooped; he didn’t fight them.
Depleted, Miles let his body go limp against the wall behind him. How far could Sammy make it in a night? He had nowhere to go. He could survive at least one night on his own, the creatures didn’t even want him. Miles felt the fatigue and drink swarming over him. It would just be a few hours of sleep and then he would be better. He would go look for Sammy in the daylight. The town would be exhausted by then and the streets much clearer than they were at present.
Miles heard the rustle of something near him, but he didn’t open his eyes. It was most likely just the villagers moving about, collecting their dead. Miles tried relaxing again, but his muscles tensed. A reaction to being in constant war, he told himself. He heard the noise again, closer this time. Miles kept his eyes closed, but his hand reached for his sword. The footsteps repeated, Miles noticed there were more than one set.
They were getting closer and moving much faster than Miles would have expected. He tried not to panic. Maybe a group of kids came to play with a drunken man. Still his hand clasped his sword. Pain shot up his arm. His body yelled.
The footsteps came to a halt. He could feel people looking down upon him. The blood in his veins pumped double. Miles forced his eyes open. There before him stood not one or even two people, but four of them. All draped in long black robes. Each face shrouded in a black cowl. Miles couldn’t tell who they were. He nodded his greeting. They didn’t give him the pleasure of nodding back.
Miles figured this was not a chance meeting or to exchange pats on the back for his noble deeds. These men had to be royal assassins from the King. Was he important enough for all that? Would the king waste assassins on him? Miles didn’t bother trying to spring toward them. He wouldn’t win this fight and he wasn’t sure he cared about losing anymore. It was all going to be easier if he died. No more struggle no more pain, no more anything.
The closest hooded figure raised his hands. In between them appeared a light. It fascinated Miles and drew his eyes. The light was pure white and resembled lightning on a stormy night. Miles knew in his mind that this bolt of light would kill him, but his will to move faded. His body did not respond no matter how much he encouraged it to move. His hand had died on the hilt of his sword and his will to live had died somewhere along the last few hours.
It seemed like it was an eternity of sitting there watching that orb glow. Knowing death loomed only seconds away. His life didn’t flash before him. He had thought of his mistakes far too many times for them to hold any semblance at the end. Instead, Miles just sat there waiting, wondering how it would feel to die.
Another pair of footsteps came from alley’s opening. The light that the hooded figure had been holding dropped. The hooded figures turned toward the intruder. Whatever poor village fool had stumbled upon them would soon regret it. He would join the rest of the corpses in the village. Then Miles would join him, and nothing would matter ever again.
Miles turned. There stood Sammy. Aloof and staring down the alley. Miles had found him. Miles let out a soft chuckle. Now they could die together. Miles turned back to where the hooded figures were, but they were no longer there. They had made no noise; they had not run from the alley; it was as if they had just disappeared into thin air.
Miles laughed. Sammy scared away the king’s assassins? Sammy walked to Miles and leaned over him.
“Where did they go?” he asked Sammy. Was he so delusional he had just dreamed them?
“There is no one here,” Sammy replied.
Miles chuckled again. He had fallen over the edge. His head lolled, and he felt Sammy’s hands grab his cheeks. He was grateful that Sammy hadn’t let his head bounce off the alley floor, not grateful enough to stay awake, but grateful.
Men are not always what they seem.
Epilogue
The week following the attack on the village was a blur to Miles. He had slept most of the time. Any time he awoke, the villagers shoved food and drink into his mouth. Then he would pass out again. His body hurt so much that he cried out in pain no matter how much crushed leaves the healers gave him. His mind was numb, but thoughts still rushed him at every waking moment.
Through it all, Sammy sat next to his bed. The man never slept, ate, or drank; as far as Miles could tell. He said very few words when Miles opened his eyes. Miles wasn’t sure what he was doing to pass the time.
After the first week, Miles could move from the bed to the chair. His body felt better, but not great. Several of his larger wounds still seeped blood, but most of his small cuts and scrapes had healed.
Miles drank a lot of ale that first night he could keep his eyes open more than an hour or two. The next day he lay around with the comfort of a hangover. It was at least something he knew and could understand.
“Do you think they will find us again?” Sammy asked.
Miles groaned. Talking hadn’t been on his agenda. Lying around and forgetting was his only hope.
“I don’t know,” Miles answered.
Without much hope, Miles wished for that to be the end of the conversation. He could go back to nursing his throbbing head.
“I can feel them,” Sammy said.
Miles lifted his head up, ready for a fight.
“Not right now, but before they appear, I can sense them.” Sammy looked up from his hands. “It is a tingle throughout my body and then they appear. It isn’t a long time before they come, not usually, but the bigger one made me feel weird for miles.
“What are you talking about?”
Sammy fumbled with his fingers. He wasn’t making much sense to Miles’ addled brain.
“The creatures,” Sammy said. “I can tell you when they are coming.”
Miles laughed. Because why wouldn’t that be a thing? Of course this simple-minded fool had a power no one else would have.
“Can you help me fight them?”
Miles was being sarcastic, but a thought occurred to him. The blood running over his skin and the power that it had brought. Could Sammy help him fight them?
Miles pushed himself up from the bed. “I think I know how to survive this.”
Miles rushed to the corner and pulled pants from a hook on the wall. They weren’t his pants, but his pants had been so soiled they would never be worn again. On the table, the villagers had put his last few coins. He was surprised, the value was enough to rebuild the entire town. He pocketed them.
“I think we can beat the creatures, or at least make them think twice about fighting us again.” Miles grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head. “First though, I have business I need to take care of. I can’t be fighting a battle from two sides.”
Miles grabbed Sammy’s arm.
“Where are we going?” Sammy asked.
Miles laughed. It was a wonder that now of all times Sammy cared where they were heading.
“I have to see a king,” Miles said, then paused. “Better yet I think I have a rusted sword to drive through a king’s heart.”
Miles pulled Sammy from the room and out into the streets. He used a rather large sum of money to purchase two horses. His body felt better, but he didn’t feel like riding tandem.
Miles made it about three hundred yards from the town and could already feel his hopes rising. There was
a plan. He could kill the king. If the king were dead, then no one would care to look for him. He didn’t need the Disappearers—the poor bastards—to succeed at making himself disappear. He just needed one man to forget about him and what better way to secure that than to make sure he remembered nothing?
A hope settled over Miles. If those bastard beasts came back, Sammy would let him know. They would be ready. No more surprises. No more shocks.
Miles lifted his head and two figures shot out of the air in front of him. One, a male with tight, muddy leather, and a sword draping his back. The other, a petite female with a hood over her face.
Miles’ horse reared.
The woman stood up and dusted off the front of her robe. Miles grabbed for his rusted sword, ready to drive it through the both of them.
The woman reached up, not for her weapons but for her cowl and pulled it back. Her eyes looked past Miles right toward Sammy.
“Hello brother.”
The End of Book One
Thank you for reading
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A former Warden, Caid finds himself on the outside of the assassin group looking in. With the help of 12-year-old escaped slave Alis, Caid has to find out why the Wardens have abandoned their ways and started killing their own. Along the way, he finds himself in tandem with many strange allies, but as the plans of the Wardens unravel Caid finds that assassinations are the least of the cities worries. What can a former Warden do to stop the calling of a god?
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