by C B Samet
“Protected land? Why does it need protection?” I lamented how ill-prepared we were for a quest on foreign land. What dangers lurked on our cross-country excursion? Then again, on our last quest we’d had preparation, and I’d still nearly been eaten by a swamp snake almost as large as a sea serpent.
Hans shrugged. “Legend says people need protection from the geysers, not the other way around.”
“Why is that?” Above me, Carrot circled once, before landing back on my arm.
“Some superstition about the misting water’s ability to drive people insane.”
I stared at Baird. “As a practical academic, I mocked superstitious beliefs—until I learned of the world of magic.”
Baird gave me a patronizing smile as he rolled the map and stowed it in his saddlebag. “I’m sure we’ll keep our wits about us. A trip around the springs would be a travel delay.”
Phobus snorted, and his ears rotated from front to back. He sensed something—even though nothing stirred as we walked past the first stone wall.
Fury released a low, grumbling growl. He stopped abruptly, turned, and stalked around the edge of one of the walls. I suspected Baird conveyed nonverbal instructions to Fury through the use of his Language Stone. My suspicion was confirmed by the light glow emitted from his ring. To the casual observer, it might appear as if the sun were reflecting off the embedded stone, but I recognized the white flicker as stone magic.
I dropped my arm to let Carrot take flight again. On my arm, she was a target. In the sky, she was a weapon.
As we entered the town, rows of shops rose around us. They were built with wooden walls painted in shades of white and tan, with square windows and flat rooftops. Most of the buildings stretched two stories high, with a balcony above the store on the ground floor. The owner’s living quarters were presumably on the second floor.
The town could have been described as picturesque were it not for the silence that raised the hairs on the back of my neck.
A man stepped out onto the cobblestones. He was dressed in a suit a size too large for his frame, with a button-red vest and flaring white sleeves. With his disheveled brown hair and pitchfork, he had the appearance of a wealthy farmer or, more likely, a farmer wearing stolen clothes.
We brought our horses to a halt.
The pitchfork-wielder spoke in Kovian—a language I knew little of. I’d heard it in different major marketplaces in Meredith, Marrington, and Waterton. An odd bulge under his lip gave his mouth a lopsided appearance.
Baird translated for us: “Welcome to Billington. What brings your party to our humble town?”
The next time Baird spoke, he addressed Pinsky, explaining our origins—and that we didn’t speak the language. “We come from Crithos, under our Queen’s order, in pursuit of a cure for the plague on our lands. My name is Baird Fox. With us are Hans, Abigail, and Coco.”
The farmer spat black tarry phlegm onto the ground. His dark, beady eyes assessed our group, as he squinted up at us. Around us, dozens of people were emerging from the stores and rooftops. Some were dressed in oddly fine clothing of satins and silks, while others wore laborers’ clothes more suitable for a farm or mine.
The men and women hovered around us, as though waiting for instructions.
The hair at the nape of my neck tingled.
Phobus kept his ears back, a sign of distrust toward the gawkers.
“My name’s Preacher Pinsky. It sounds as though you have quite the expedition ahead of you.” He rotated the pitchfork slowly, keeping it pointed upward. As he spoke, Baird continued to translate. Even though I couldn’t understand his exact words, Preacher Pinsky’s speech was slow and deliberate. “How can we be of assistance to such an important group of travelers? We are but humble farmers and miners.”
“We’re simply passing through,” Baird assured him.
“We have food, water, and supplies. Lee, over there?” He pointed to a woman staring at us nearby. “Why, she is a delightful cook. Makes a mean pasta dish. We could all have an amicable dinner together. We’ve never had the honor of dining with a Queen’s fine servants.”
Lee wore a crinkled red dress and her hair was wild and windblown. The hungry way she stared at us had me wondering if we were invited to dinner or for dinner.
I’m thinking they don’t have both oars in the water, I told Baird.
He didn’t answer me, but continued to address Pinsky. “That is a generous offer, but our mission is time sensitive. We can spare no daylight on diversions.”
“You’ve already trespassed. The least you can do is accept our hospitality.” Pinksy drew out each syllable of the word. His eyes flashed with hostility, despite his crooked smile.
Tension blanketed the air—thick enough to stick a fork in it. Or a pitchfork.
“Then we’ll go around your town, and we apologize for our intrusion.” Baird had Butterfly take several accommodating steps backward.
“Problem is,” Pinsky began, as the other villager’s expressions turned to greedy anticipation, “you’re not ill. There are two types of people surviving this curse on our land—those chosen by Borlov to start a new, pure civilization; and those who possess magic and caused this chain of events in the first place.”
“Magic didn’t—” Hans began, but Baird silenced him with raised hand.
Borlov? My mind raced. He’d been an ancient god of man, back when we believed in many deities. I thought the Unideit had replaced false gods several thousand years ago. Were the old religions resurfacing?
“I assure you we only want to pass. We won’t trespass again.”
Pinsky gave us a pitying grin, revealing yellow-stained teeth. “Now, that’s not how this works. You’ve the option of joining our accommodating group—,” he looked around at his followers, “—and serving Borlov. Or you can be cleansed by us.”
14
I wondered briefly if offering these lunatics money would placate them, but I suspected they stole whatever they wanted—including their garb—so a bribe was unlikely to work
The sooner we leave, the less likely we’ll be to injure these religious zealots, I told Baird.
“We serve the Unideit, not false gods,” Hans declared, his voice laced with fear and false bravado.
Although Baird didn’t translate his words, the defiance in them rang clear.
Had Hans ever been in a fight? What he didn’t understand was that these farmers, with their pitchforks and bravado, didn’t stand a chance against Baird, Coco, and myself. We needed to negotiate out of this for their sake, not ours.
The horses sensed the escalating danger and shifted their weight restlessly from side to side.
Preacher Pinsky’s expression filled with anger, before he gave us a full, feral smile. “Then, by the power bestowed on me by the great Borlov, I declare you heathens. Your lives are forfeited to us.”
His followers cheered.
“You will show respect to the Avant Champion!” Hans bellowed.
Mother Moon, I swore silently.
Does he know the difference between escalating violence and curbing it? I asked Baird.
I remember a young woman who used to pick fights when negotiation might have been a better option.
Since he’d made his point, I didn’t reply.
Pinsky pointed his pitchfork at me. “Seize the witch first.”
Thanks to Hans, I’d been singled out.
Pinsky’s ruffians descended upon us, battle cries filling the air.
As I pulled my blowdart case from my saddlebag, I told Baird, I don’t have enough paralyzing venom for this many attackers.
We’ll spare the lives we can. Unfortunately, we can’t spare them all.
As hastily as I could, I loaded the dart and blew.
One, then another, then another. A few seconds after being struck by my darts, each target faltered and fell to the ground—paralyzed. The effects would last an hour or so, while the individual could still breath—and still feel pain.
&
nbsp; While I blew darts, Coco drew her sword and dismounted Prince. She fought with grace and practiced precision. The two men and woman attacking her were clumsy, but rabid enough to be dangerous. Baird and Hans fought on foot with their batons.
Raven climbed out of hiding and onto my saddle. As she clung to my tunic with one small hand, she began handing me small bags with the other—filled with the sleeping dust brownies used on intruders.
I flung them at the onslaught of zealots, until the supply was depleted. Beneath me, Phobus spun and kicked his hind legs, knocking an attacker backward and onto his back. Carrot, meanwhile, dove down from the sky and dug her sharp talons into the backs and scalps of an onslaught of attackers.
“You take Phobus. I’ll fight on the ground.”
Raven nodded and scampered to the front of the saddle, where she straddled the saddle horn and took the reins. In her small hands, it looked as though she clasped giant straps of leather. As long as she kept the reins off the ground, I knew Phobus would protect both himself and her. I saw her moving her lips as she held the reins—as though speaking with my horse.
Pulling my sword, I leaped down, landing on top of an attacker who wielded blunt iron pincers used for metalworking. I struck him in the head with the hilt of my sword, powered by the strength of my stone. He stumbled back.
Baird moved with ease, vanishing and reappearing in the throng of attackers as he struck their knees, debilitating them. The dizzying spin of his blue cape and blur of his magical movements disoriented the crowd.
Hans fought with both red-faced anger and fear, tackling a tall, thin man with a receding hairline who brandished a poker stick.
After sheathing my sword, I picked up the blunt, metal pincers and swung them like a club, trying to inflict temporarily crippling injuries but nothing fatal or permanent.
“Abigail!”
At Baird’s warning, I disappeared and reappeared several feet from where I’d just been standing. A pitchfork sailed through the air where I’d been and into a woman in a pink dress who’d been attacking me.
I followed the trajectory to see that Preacher Pinsky had thrown it at me. In a cowardly move, he’d tried to impale me in the back. Instead, he had skewered one of his own villagers.
Coco also had an attacker at her back—a burly man wielding an axe. As he lofted it high above his head, ready to swing, Fury launched himself from between two buildings. The large, black wolf sunk his teeth into the man’s throat. Gurgling and an eruption of blood followed. There’d be no more calling him Fluffy after witnessing that.
I transported and appeared in front of Pinsky. I used the pincers to clasp his neck. With the strength of my Warrior Stone, I held him up and away from me, as he writhed and twisted with his feet dangling beneath him.
Pinsky tried to swing and kick at me, but he couldn’t reach. Wrapping his hands around the iron, he tried to tug the pincers from around his neck but to no avail. I held them tight enough to prevent escape, but so he could still breathe. Barely.
“Order your people to stop their attack,” I commanded.
Baird translated.
Pinsky spat in response, but without being able to move his neck, the dense brown phlegm dribbled down his chin instead of launching at me.
Around me, Coco, Baird, and Hans had closed in to defend my flanks. They’d disarmed the last of the zealots, and the remaining villagers began to scurry away from us. I surveyed the scene—three dead, six paralyzed by my darts, three sleeping from the brownie dust, and six more wounded and unable to flee.
Considering we’d been just four against forty, I thought we’d well to minimize damage.
Pinsky writhed again. “Borlov will strike you down! You are the magic users responsible for this calamity! You will be punished!”
As I held him, I felt my sword pulled from my sheath.
“Hans, no!” Baird cried.
Hans thrust my sword into Pinsky’s chest. Crimson red stained his shirt. As Hans withdrew his sword, blood poured out of Pinsky’s wound and down his clothes. The preacher went limp in my grasp.
Lowering him to the ground, I turned to Hans in horrid astonishment. “He was unarmed!”
Hans’ face was still red from the exertion of fighting and sweat matted his hair. Fierce eyes burned with green flame. “He called you a witch, and he tried to dishonorably kill you from behind.”
“I—” I stammered, still shocked and trying to control my dismay at the situation.
Leave it be, Abigail. I will speak with him privately, Baird said.
Dumbfounded, I turned to Coco, “Are you okay?”
She raised her eyebrows as her mouth quirked. “Farmers with pitchforks? This is another first for me, Abigail.” Naturally, the only time she wasn’t grumpy was when she got to fight.
Raven approached on Phobus.
“Well done, warriors.” I gave the two of them a bow.
Phobus mimicked my movements, and Raven laughed.
“Show off,” I murmured to my horse.
I patted Fury’s head as he padded up beside me. Carrot flew down, and landed on Phobus. I stroked her breast feathers. “You did good, too, girl.”
Hans knelt over Pinsky’s body. After working his hands along the dead man’s belt, he removed a sheathed dagger. I was about to tell him we didn’t steal from the dead when he turned to me and presented it as a gift. “His apology in death, since he was incapable of doing so in life.”
The gesture was unnecessary, dramatic, and some form of misguided chivalry, but I didn’t want to shame Hans in front of his mentor and Coco. I took the dagger. As I stared at it, I noticed the gold-colored handle and inlaid ruby. Pinsky may have been last to possess this finely-wrought blade, but he couldn’t have been the rightful owner.
“I vote we pass through this creepy town quickly,” Raven said.
“I concur.” Coco wiped blood from her sword, sheathed it, and whistled for Prince.
After we cleaned our weapons, we mounted our horses and progressed through the town. I’d used all of my paralytic venom and all of Raven’s sleeping dust. If we encountered another skirmish, I wouldn’t be able to avoid inflicting serious injury.
We moved through the town cautiously, wary of another attack or retribution for the death of their leader. Carrot took her perch back on my arm. Shops and restaurants sat eerily abandoned. Unlike the last city, this one remained unmarred by fire—but where had all of the people vanished to?
“Did you hear that?” Hans asked.
We halted and listened. Banging and cries of help were barely audible. We turned in the direction of the noise. Behind a butcher shop stood a large wooden shed. A plank bridged the doors and kept them from being opened from the inside. Whoever was locked behind the doors had been intentionally imprisoned there.
Baird and Hans dismounted and worked to remove the plank. Baird glanced back at me, receiving my nod before they lifted it away from the doors.
We didn’t know if we would unleash friend or foe by opening these doors, so we needed to be ready to fight.
Fury, too, stood poised to attack.
Baird and Hans set the plank aside and pulled open the storage doors. From the depths of the dark recesses emerged a half-dozen people, blinking at the light as they staggered out of captivity. They appeared stunned and timid in their tattered clothing and haggard uncleanliness. Exposed skin surfaces—arms, legs, and faces—didn’t appear to have any signs of a rash.
Two of the six people sprinted away from us immediately, as if fleeing for their lives. I supposed four well-armed horseback riders, fresh from a fight, would be an intimidating sight for anybody to behold.
“You’re free,” I called after them, “but be careful. Preacher Pinsky’s men are still out there even though he’s dead.”
Baird spoke as his language stone glowed. He translated my words into one of the Kovian dialects; but I’m not sure if those fleeing heard or listened to them.
The events of the last few minutes s
tarted to sink in. The combination of devastating disease, mass death, ignorance, and religious fanaticism had brought the people of this village together with the idea they could lord over and kill others. I worried what other surprises we might find on our journey.
Not all of those we’d freed fled. A tall, bronzed man turned toward me. “You killed Pinsky?” His accent was the melodic flow of a wealthy Bellosian. I could identify it from the transient court members I’d had met at the Queen’s castle.
“We did.”
Technically, a young, foolish boy killed his first human in a fit of irrationality—but I decided to omit that part.
“Thank you! We’ve been prisoners for several days. Have you any food or water?”
“The town still has an abundance, but you’ll need to be careful to avoid capture again.”
“If it’s no burden to you, I’d feel safer if I traveled with you out of town.”
I looked at Coco and Baird, who gave wordless ascent with their eyes.
“Very well,” I began, my voice loud enough for the remaining onlookers to hear, “everyone take thirty minutes to gather supplies. We’re heading east if anyone wants to join us to travel in that direction. The pace will be swift. Anyone who doesn’t want to come is free to go their own way; but I hope you will remember what it’s like to be prey, and treat your fellow man better than you’ve been treated.”
There I went, sounding like Baird again.
As the captives scattered, the four of us gathered together on our horses.
Baird said, “If we acquire travelers, we need to take precautions that they don’t see an abundant use of magic unless absolutely necessary.”
“I agree. We don’t know who we can trust, or who else has superstitious beliefs.”
When a half-hour had passed, all of the captives we’d freed had scattered. Only the man who’d originally asked to join us returned.
He carried a sack, presumably of food and supplies, and had changed out of his tattered clothes into a red, shimmering tunic with gold embroidery. His dark brown hair was neatly combed. I wanted to remind him we were traveling on horseback, not dining with dignitaries.
