Among the Dead and Dying

by A.R. Wise

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jeth could hear Payter moaning in pain in the back of the wagon. The two ousted members of the Northland Marauders were headed to Sailor’s Rock, but it was still a long journey and daylight was giving way to dusk. The northern road was barely visible in the field, with only two slight paths carved in the grass from the occasional wagon that trudged along this way. Most of the merchants went east or west at the crossroads, and only outcasts made their way past the ruins to the smuggler’s den on the Tennerblane.

  “We’ll have to camp here,” said Jeth as he guided the steed off the path and to a clearing where the grass wasn’t as thick. The wagon jolted and bounced on the uneven terrain, and then finally settled before Jeth got down to prepare for the night. He continued to tell Payter what he was doing, although his fellow Marauder didn’t seem to hear him.

  Payter was shivering in the wagon, and had awoken a few times to say that he felt cold despite the three hides Jeth had placed over him. His skin had turned white as bone for a while, but had since taken on a yellow hue. He was feverish and delusional, whispering of devils and chariots of golden fire streaking through the night sky, sprinkling flames upon the fields in their wake. It was the incoherent rambling of a man near death.

  Jeth unfurled his bedroll and then started to clear a space for a fire. He didn’t expect the night to get too cold, but it was impossible to predict what fronts the wind in this part of the kingdom could bring. He was creating a ring of stones to build the fire within when he saw men on horses approaching from the south. At first he saw only a few, but then more began to appear on the horizon and he wondered if this was a different bandit party headed back to the smuggler’s town. He counted at least twenty of the horseback men, each keeping their distance as they surrounded the southern side of his camp.

  Not many people traveled between the crossroads and Sailor’s Rock, and the few who did were usually of ill repute. Jeth straightened his overcoat, put his goggles on, and then rested his hand over the hilt of the sword at his side. He raised his other hand in greeting, and the man leading the newcomers raised his as well.

  Jeth watched as the group hung back, far from the campsite, and spoke among themselves. Eventually the leader rode over, a big man on a black horse, wearing leather armor without a helm. He wore a long, dark scarf that had a frayed end, and his face was viciously scarred. He carried two axes, one on each side of his waist, and his attempt at a jovial smile was thwarted by crooked yellow teeth.

  “Hello there,” said Jeth. “What brings you out this way?”

  “I’m looking for someone,” said the imposing figure as he stopped his steed, but didn’t dismount.

  Jeth thought to himself that he wouldn’t want to be the person this beast of a man was after. “Not many people out this way. You’re the first I’ve seen since I passed the crossroads.”

  “I’m looking for a girl and possibly two men traveling out this way.”

  Jeth shook his head, and kept his hand on the pommel of his sword. Something about this stranger and his hoarse voice unsettled the former Northland Marauder. “I haven’t seen any groups like that.”

  “You’d know if you saw one of the men,” said the stranger. His steed brayed, and then stomped a heavy hoof on the earth. The animal’s eyes were wide, as if terrified.

  Jeth was determined not to capitulate with the stranger anyhow, adhering to the unspoken rules of the bandits riding the plains, but he asked anyhow, “What’s he look like?”

  “Tall and thin, black eyes and grey hair, with armor like mine except he’s got rings on his chest…”

  Jeth didn’t mean to admit anything, but his fear gave him away.

  “You’ve seen him,” said the horseback stranger, pleased with the reveal. “Where.”

  Jeth Regard stuttered as he tried to reply.

  “You met Ebon,” said the stranger. “Tell me where he went.” He gently tapped the horse with his heel, spurring the animal to take a step close to Jeth. The hulking man grew more imposing as he neared, and his thick hand drifted to one of the axes at his side.

  “The half-dead.” Jeth’s mouth had grown dry and each word came with great effort.

  Payter groaned from the wagon, earning the stranger’s attention and giving Jeth a short reprieve. The man guided his horse over to the wagon, and he peered in at the dying marauder. “Ebon stabbed this one?”

  Jeth tried to say something, but just nodded instead. He looked out at the men on the path, the fading day’s light making it look like they were shades seated upon black horses with red eyes. These weren’t just bounty hunters from New Carrington or bandits of the plains – they were something else. These men were chasing a lost devil, and were anything but angels themselves.

  “He’s poisoned,” said the stranger, and decided it was time to get down from his horse. His boots thudded on the earth, and his leather armor creaked and groaned as he straightened it. Wherever he’d come from, he’d been riding hard and long, evidenced by the way he stretched his arms and back.

  “Poisoned?” asked Jeth.

  The stranger nodded and said, “Ebon’s a nasty one. You’re right about him being a half-dead.” He took out a short, thin knife from a sheath under his vest and pointed the weapon at Jeth as if using it merely for gesticulation instead of as a threat. “Which means the things that’ll kill you won’t do anything to him. A few years ago he had the bright idea to start drinking poison. That way, whenever he wants to stick someone or shoot an arrow at them,” he stabbed the knife out like the strike of a threatening snake, stopping far from Jeth’s face but scaring him none-the-less, “he gets poison into them.” The stranger laughed in appreciation and shook his head. “I told you, he’s a nasty one. His blood’s already got the chance of passing on the plague, but when you add poison to the mix you get a real ugly effect. That’s what’s happening to your friend there.”

  “Will he die?” asked Jeth about Payter.

  “Probably. Not many people get on the wrong side of Ebon’s blade and live to talk about it. But there’s always a chance he’ll wake up a half-dead.”

  “Then should I just kill him now?” asked Jeth, certain that these men were hunting Ebon because he was a half-dead devil as well.

  The stranger didn’t answer right away, but instead stared at Jeth with what might be considered disgust. “You fancy yourself a Drake?” He spoke of the name given the Swords who traveled out into the plains to hunt down half-deads in years past.

  “The only good corpse is one that stays dead,” said Jeth, comfortable enough with the stranger’s allegiances to assume he agreed. Why else would he be hunting the devilish half-dead named Ebon?

  “Is that right?” The man sneered and then said, “Well then, let’s not dawdle. Tell me where Ebon went.”

  “I met him out south of the Robber’s Spine, in the grasslands. He paid us to ignore a caravan that was traveling north.”

  “Why’d he have to stab your friend?”

  “We argued with him, and he dropped a sort of powder on the ground, like some warlock, and then bled himself. After that, I’m not sure what happened, but Payter ended up like that.” Jeth motioned towards the wagon.

  “And what about the caravan?”

  “I’m not sure what happened to it,” said Jeth honestly. “I split off from my group to take Payter out to Sailor’s Rock.”

  Payter DeMalo was muttering curses in the wagon, sometimes even shouting out and reaching up at the darkening eve.

  “And the rest of your bandits? Did they attack the wagon?”

  “Probably. They might’ve just taken the tax, but I doubt it. They wanted to know why this Ebon fellow was so intent on paying for safe passage. Do you know why?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said the stranger. “I didn’t see anyone else on this road. If your bandit friends did attack the wagon, where would they take the plunder if not north to the Rock?”

  “Out to the plains,” said Jeth as he nodded east
ward. “They’ll hide there for a few days. Again, that’s if they didn’t just take the tax, but if that’d been the case then I think you would’ve seen the prisoner wagons.”

  “Prisoner wagons?”

  “That’s what the half-dead said was coming from New Carrington. If he was right, then they would’ve headed north along this road and then out to the ruins and the marshes. That’s where they usually dump the exiles.”

  “So then it seems a fair bet your friends attacked the caravan. Would they kill everyone?”

  “Not everyone, no,” said Jeth. “Some of them, and probably most of the guards, but not everyone.”

  “And I’ll find your friends out east of here?”

  Jeth nodded and said, “Out that way somewhere. Shouldn’t be hard to find. Just keep going and watch for their fires.”

  The stranger eyed Jeth suspiciously and said, “You’ve been awful helpful, friend. Why would a thief tell a stranger where to find his fellow thieves? You’re not lying to me, are you?”

  “No,” said Jeth. “If you’re hunting the devil I met, then I’ll help you any way I can. The world’s better off without him.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Of course,” said Jeth, growing confused by the stranger’s odd response. “Aren’t you hunting him down to bury him for good?”

  “I sure hope not,” said the stranger. “He’s my dearest friend.”

  Jeth leapt backward, ready for a fight. He’d spent the majority of his life battling to survive in the Steel Plains, and was confident in his ability to defend himself. His blade was sharp and true, tested in battle but new enough to still be strong. “You’re a half-dead too?”

  “I am,” said the stranger, unprovoked by Jeth’s defensive stance. “Name’s Dessidus, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He bowed deeply, as if mocking Jeth, and then he called out loud while still knelt, “Kill him.”

  Crossbows twanged in the distance. Jeth was suddenly propelled backward over the fire pit he’d started to build before Dessidus arrived. He was confounded as he flew back, but then understood he’d been shot with at least a couple of bolts. Jeth reached for the wounds on his chest, and felt the ends of the bolts protruding from his light armor. Even plate couldn’t have stopped the crossbows from sending their bolts into Jeth’s flesh, and his thin leather had done little to impede them.

  Jeth never had the chance to issue any mad ramblings like Payter, and knew he would die swiftly.

  Dessidus approached, and smiled down at the dying man. “I bet you wish you were only half-dead now, don’t you, meat?”

  Jeth couldn’t answer as his body was paralyzed by pain.

  Dessidus walked over to his horse, but paused at the wagon. He glanced in at the dying marauder that Ebon had poisoned and said, “Maybe we’ll have you on our side soon, Payter. Come and find us if you live.”

  Payter answered, “Fire. Just fire and blood in the steel. The rain’s embers.” He screamed it out again, “The rain’s embers.”

  Jeth coughed, and felt liquid rise up into his throat. He wasn’t able to swallow it back down again, and started to choke, but he laid his head back and stared up at the twinkling stars, eager for death to grant reprieve from his pain. Like so many merchants and Swords who died at the end of Jeth’s sword, he was just another victim in the Steel Plains.