Rune answered before Tru made up his mind. “Of course the boy is okay. I was teaching him about the sacred nature of all things. And he has learned the lesson true. Isn’t that right, gosse?”
Too scared to argue, Tru nodded. Maybe Rune hadn’t been about to kill him, and it really was just a lesson. It just proved that all adults got bent out of shape when they caught him stealing, even if they acted like it was no big deal. Even when Tru finally became a grown up he’d never understand the crazy way they thought.
“I’m fine,” he told the Ranger, and nodded when she finally looked at him for confirmation.
Returning her stare to the Druids, the Ranger warned, “Don’t cause trouble. Get back to your jungles.”
Rune looked down at Tru. “Farewell, my perpetual friend.” He led his group away from the center of the city.
Tru stood, dusted himself off, and watched each wagon suspiciously.
When the Druids were half a block away, the Ranger said, “Same for you, Tru. Get home and stay out of trouble.” She left in the opposite direction.
Had the Ranger used his name, or had the dizziness made him think that? Maybe Rune had said it and the Ranger overheard.
Scrambled wits meant he was vulnerable. After giving him a substantial coin, Rune tried to squeeze the life out of him, then called him a perpetual friend. It was exactly the kind of mess he always tried to avoid, and the middle of a poorly lit street was no place to try to make sense of it.
“Thanks for the gift,” he said and disappeared into the night.
4
A Massacre
<< Top 3 Reasons for Immigration (based on Hollow Island applications):
#3 Redemption – Who says you can’t run from your mistakes?
#2 Fame – Every Islander a movie star.
#1 Magic – The world is full of magic, and now you know where to find it. >>
Nash wanted to vomit. And he hadn’t even told a lie. The scene on the other side of the barricade was way bigger in scale than the massacre the first night he’d seen the Reaper, and in the morning light, it looked a hundred times worse.
The city of Troy was the only city on the island constructed entirely after the Hour War. King Homer’s capital was all new buildings, roads, the amphitheater, and a palace fronted by a giant plaza. There was no Catholic church at the center of Troy, another thing that set it apart from most of the old towns and cities on Hollow Island.
It could not be coincidence that the Reaper had struck here, right in front of the king’s palace, and taking out an entire con…tin…ubrium of Legionnaires. Or whatever word Livi had come up with last night.
The plaza was cordoned off with ropes and surrounded by dozens of Legionnaires. It had to be every Legionnaire in the city, with the exception of the eight whose blood now painted the bricks of the plaza. It was hard to believe it was only eight, but the news had spread quickly and had come from multiple sources. Nash’s eye would confirm it soon enough.
If only the Legionnaires had accepted Nash’s offer to team up, they would’ve stood a much better chance.
Livi walked past Nash and approached one of the Legionnaires standing guard over the scene. This one stood in front of an opening in the rope cordon for authorized people to pass through. “Want to move out of our way?”
The stoic Legionnaire ignored her. Nash saw the muscles in her jaw tighten, however.
“Let us in,” said Nash. His hangry meter was pegged. The punch in the face ten hours earlier had taken a lot out of him, and even though he’d eaten two meals plus snacks over the long night of Reaper hunting after Troy Fest, his stomach still felt like it was trying to digest itself.
The Legionnaire was older, maybe fifty. Her body and face remained rigid, but her eyes slid over to Nash.
“We’ll be respectful,” explained Nash. “We’re hunting the creature that killed these men.” The Legionnaire could only impede them so long. The Corporation outranked kingdoms, so Rangers outranked Legionnaires, but sometimes they had to push. It went a long way to explaining why Legionnaires held such animosity toward Rangers.
“Seven men, one woman,” growled the Legionnaire.
Nash gave a nod. It gave him hope that maybe the dead Legionnaires weren’t the same ones from the amphitheater the night before; he hadn’t noticed any women in the group. There was no love lost for the ones he’d met at the amphitheater, especially George Alleyne, but if people died, Nash preferred it be strangers.
The Legionnaire sentry’s eyes went back to forward. Just when Nash thought he would have to push harder to get past the barricade, the woman took half a step to the side.
Livi stepped past her, and it was a miracle she did so without any smart comments.
“Thanks,” said Nash, following her in.
A few more Legionnaires stood guard nearer the bodies. A half a dozen other people were examining the scene, some taking notes. A couple of them wore servant sashes and followed important-looking people around the scene. Nash didn’t recognize any of them so he couldn’t be sure exactly how important.
Enough bloodshed for a lifetime was spread over half the plaza, as if the former occupants had been fed through an industrial-sized wood chipper. Body parts, many of them still covered by armor, were spread indiscriminately. Nash kept his eyes moving, hoping the carnage would sink in before he had to focus and let his eye do the work of identifying bodies.
When they reached the borders of the bloodbath, Livi lifted the hem of her gown, exposing pale ankles and stiletto heels, to step over a lifeless, bracer-clad arm. The heels were the only part of her vampress garb that she persisted in wearing.
“Do you smell that?” she asked.
“All I can smell is blood,” said Nash. He covered his nose to force the desire to vomit back down. Nash hated violence outside of competition because it was always someone stronger doing the violence to someone weaker. Other than Jed’s place, Nash hadn’t had any violent foster homes, but growing up as a perpetual new kid in poor parts of the inner city, he and his sister had experienced more than their share. It was what prompted him to learn mixed martial arts. If it ever came down to a no-rules street fight, MMA most closely resembled the style of fighting that could diffuse a situation. Or end it.
This scene was different—everyone had chosen to fight, though one side was trying to protect the peace and security of Nash’s new homeland while the other was … Who knew what the Reaper was after. The blood, the massacre infuriated Nash and made him want to stop it more than ever.
Livi acted as if it didn’t bother her, and Nash wasn’t sure if it was fact or façade. As he examined her face, he noticed small movements of her mouth—a tiny breath drawn in, a quick lash of the tongue on the lips, excessive swallowing. That left little doubt that the blood was stirring up some sort of craving.
Even though he knew all about her violent tendencies, and her mask of a complete lack of concern about pretty much anyone in the world but herself, she still seemed out of place in the midst of such a filthy massacre. A queen inspecting a butchering yard.
The distraction from the bloodbath was welcome, but staring at Livi’s ankles and shoulders all day wouldn’t solve anything.
Nash turned his eyes to the massacre, zoning out because he didn’t want the details of the gore, just the names of those involved.
Bradley Plank.
Nash moved on. He didn’t need the story behind each Legionnaire. He was angry enough.
Len Captain flashed in front of his eye when he settled on the plated chest of a body.
And there was the woman the sentry Legionnaire had mentioned. Her head anyway. Narcissa, no last name.
That was three out of eight, and he hadn’t come across either of the two names he would recognize.
The next face he stared at looked slightly familiar. In death it was swollen, cut, and lifeless. It just might be Gurpreet Flower. With nausea growing in his gut, Nash stared at it. The face had a strong Indian appearance. More tha
n three seconds passed and no bio came up. He’d already figured out that the trackers they used to inform his titanium eye were placed in various parts of the body. He moved on.
A muscular leg with dark hair and a boot on the end was the nearest significant body part.
Gurpreet Flower.
So that had been his boatmate. Which meant somewhere else in this mess was George Alleyne. Nash didn’t have any idealistic concept of them being perfect or saintly just because they were dead, but they had given their lives trying to save others from this fate. And make themselves famous in the process. Regardless, they were people he knew, people he’d interacted with, insulted, and punched in the face mere hours ago. And now they were piles of parts.
Nash had seen enough. He looked away, his eyes going to the nearby stone palace. “The Legionnaires were prepared.”
In a relatively bloodless area, Livi bent and picked up a sword by its blade. A gauntleted hand and forearm clung to the hilt in death throes. “Point for you.”
The obvious game provided entertaining banter at times, but Livi had no qualms about casualness even in the most inappropriate circumstances. The two Legionnaires standing guard within hearing distance wouldn’t appreciate her flippancy.
Like the dead bodies, they wore segmented armor on their chest with a layered leather skirt. Their rounded metal helmets matched the chest plates in shininess. They stood guard without moving.
As if reading Nash’s thoughts, Livi walked up to the solid man nearest them. “It’s no secret that Legionnaires have quick reflexes.” She paced slowly in front of the Legionnaire, looking him up and down. From his controlled demeanor he seemed about as quick as a tree. Only his eyes moved as he watched every step.
She went on. “I also suspect you don’t need more than an hour of sleep per day.”
The man was as stoic as a poker player.
Switching to the sultry tone of voice and exotic accent she used when she wanted to influence Nash, she said, “We need to know what else you can do, so we know what we’re up against.”
A tree was more mobile than the Legionnaire. He was a pillar of stone.
“I know you can talk,” she said.
“I can talk,” said the soldier. “When I ‘ave sum-in’ worth sayin’.” The Scottish accent reminded Nash of Instructor Goodchild, but the Legionnaire had none of his cheer.
“What kind of mods did your fellows have?” Livi asked.
The Legionnaire clenched his jaw. She was crazy for expecting someone to give away Caste secrets just because she asked.
Livi opened her mouth to speak, but Nash stepped up and said, “We’re just trying to figure out how to stop this thing. Is there anything you can tell us about these specific Legionnaires?”
Still no response.
“I don’t know about sleep habits, Livi,” said Nash, still looking at the Legionnaire, “but I saw quite a few Legionnaires on the hollows. They work side by side with Rangers sometimes.” He didn’t mention that sometimes they went head-to-head. “I saw one jump straight up onto a building about twelve feet high, that’s what they made it look like, anyway. I don’t know if they can all do that, or if they all have individual endowments like Rangers.” He suspected the iron jaw and steel fist of George Alleyne were individual endowments, but maybe all Legionnaires had them.
Livi turned to Nash, completely losing interest in the Legionnaire. “So what’s your endowment, Boy Ranger?”
Nash froze, going as statue still as the Legionnaire. Had he already leaked that intel about individual Ranger endowments or had she just picked it up? Even when he talked about other people he gave away Ranger secrets.
Speculation about modifications and endowments was common, but it was rarely discussed with people outside of each Caste and until she was forthcoming with her secrets, he was going to hold his tight. Soon they could be enemies again, instead of partners, so he had to guard how deep he took the relationship.
As infuriating as usual, Livi persisted. “How can you expect them to tell us their secrets if you won’t tell any of yours?”
One corner of the Legionnaire’s mouth flinched as the man tried to swallow his smile.
“That’s not helping, Livi. Any way you look at it, these Legionnaires are significantly modified.” For once he’d found a way to give her information without letting her know it came from his eye. According to the stats at the end of the bios, every Legionnaire he’d seen was the highest mod level. Three, same as Livi, same as Nash. He’d trade all the info in the bios for details about specific endowments.
Bored with the Legionnaire, she turned back to the plaza.
Nash continued to avoid looking too closely. The urge to vomit lingered so close to the surface, if he even thought a lie in his head, it might make him lose the vast of amounts of food he’d eaten overnight. “I don’t think even you could take on eight Legionnaires, Livi.”
Livi glanced side to side and with less fire than he expected, she said, “Let’s discuss this later.”
“So your secrets are off limits. I see how it is.”
“You don’t have the faintest idea what’s off limits.” The raised-eyebrow look she gave him was hard to interpret.
What am I thinking? Every look she gives me is hard to interpret.
“We’ve seen enough here, Livi.” As he walked past the Legionnaire, he said, “Condolences on the loss of your brothers- and sister-in-arms.”
The stoic Legionnaire gave a slight nod in acknowledgement. The sun rose over the horizon and Nash squinted against it.
Though he always expected her to laugh and tease him when he made decisions without consulting her, Livi usually went along. It still surprised him to hear her following when she paused to tell the soldier, “If there are more victims, I hope it’s people you love. Then we’ll see how much your secrets are worth.” Nash heard her parasol snap open.
The Legionnaire didn’t take the bait, just remained in his unmoving stance.
They walked toward the palace, approaching the twenty-foot walls. There had been rumors that the Reaper had gotten inside the gates.
Nash said, “You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar, Livi.”
“Does honey work on homicidal maniacs?” she asked. “Because if not, I’ll stick with vinegar.” With a puzzled look on her face she added, “Who in hell would want to catch flies, anyway, filho?”
He ignored her attempt to frustrate him. “There’s a reason the Reaper attacked them right here in the plaza. It couldn’t have been coincidence.”
“Yep. Right in front of the king’s palace. He’s trying to make a point.”
Every night, the Reaper committed murder and left the victims in very public places. In small towns he only stayed one night but this was already his third night in Troy. Yesterday it had been a group of Bards on their way home from a tavern only a few blocks from here. A shop nearby had been torched that night, but they still didn’t know if that was connected or not.
Two days ago, he killed an innocent woman on the outskirts of Troy who was walking home not long after sundown from her job at a mill of some sort. Today they had arrived at the plaza about two hours after the attacks, and it still wasn’t quick enough to find out anything useful.
In his silence, Livi went on. “This should shut up the people who think King Homer is pulling the strings. And if people were afraid to go out at night before, just think what they’ll do when they hear about this.”
Expectant uncertainty was a fact of life on Hollow Island—the thrill of the unknown was one of the major draws. But random, large scale monster attacks had always been short-lived as citizens, bounty hunters, and Rangers were incentivized by bounties to hunt them down, sometimes in large scale efforts. The few brave enough to go after the Reaper, however, still had no idea where to begin.
Nash looked up at the high walls. An expert could probably scale them, but it would have to be a world-class climber. That didn’t even take into account the sentries po
sted at all gates and on top of the walls. “If he did get inside, does that mean he went right over those walls? Maybe that crazy lady who said she saw him fly wasn’t that crazy.”
“Oh, she was crazy. And I doubt she saw him fly. He probably bribed or threatened his way in. Unless you believe in invisibility, too. Or maybe he grew fins and swam around like a mermaid.”
“I know it’s crazy, Livi. I never saw anyone fly in the hollows, but I’m starting to wonder if there’s anything the Reaper can’t do. Hey, what do you call the leader of a conti— of a squad of Legionnaires?”
“A decanus leads a contubernium,” she answered. “Why?”
They reached the guard shack, where four Legionnaires stood abreast. Huge wooden doors, like something straight out of a medieval castle, could be closed if they really wanted to keep anyone out. Otherwise, there was enough room to drive a wagon through.
Nash approached the guard who seemed to be the ranking officer. She had the tallest feathers in the row that ran along her helmet like a mohawk, and instead of red, they were yellow.
“Sorry for your loss, Decanus,” said Nash. “Mind if we take a look?”
For a good half minute, the woman didn’t respond. Just when Nash was starting to wonder if he was being ignored, she stepped aside without speaking. Nash and Livi walked through the gate.
“See?” said Nash. “Honey.”
Livi just rolled her eyes, which Nash found supremely pleasing.
The courtyard on this side of the gate was flat, leading up to a series of stairs. About two dozen stairs led up to the palace itself. Nash got the feeling the only reason the palace was raised was so that you could see the whole impressive structure from just about anywhere in the city, even over the tall walls.
To Nash’s left, some people were standing and staring at something on the inside wall. As he approached, he heard a woman wearing a servant’s sash say, “… came down from the night like a shadow. Marked the wall with that weapon of his. He looked at me, pointed, and laughed this evil, grinding laugh, then jumped straight up. Disappeared into the night.”
A Mutiny of Marauders Page 5
