Queen Killer

by M. H. Johnson

  The mayor spun around, highlighted by the crackling fireplace behind her, sparing John the briefest of glances before turning around to face a scowling Mason once more. Considering that he was the farthest away from the light, covered in shadows and gloom, he was surprised she even recognized him. "Well, your third member has at last returned. I suppose I should be grateful you're all here, but after what Emil told me..."

  John gave a frustrated shake of his head. He’d had no choice but to play the role that would appease Mason, for all that he knew there would be repercussions. "I'm not concerned about what Emil said. All that matters to me is seeing this quest through."

  Brittle laughter met his response. "Really! You mean you're not here to milk every last credit you can from me?"

  "No," John said, squinting as he approached the table by the fireplace where the mayor was glaring at Mason and Sophia, both eating ravenously. Sophia, John was surprised and pleased to see, was looking absolutely fantastic.

  She stood taller, her formerly dull hair now possessing a rich ebony luster. She looked up, magnetic eyes smiling into John's own. John couldn't help but grin in approval. What were once gaunt cheeks were now plump and full, her formerly damaged smile now brilliant in its warmth. Her wan prettiness had been replaced with a striking beauty that dazzled like the first days of spring.

  "Sophia, you look great! It looks like leveling-up seriously agrees with you."

  But Sophia's smile had been replaced by an expression of horror that chilled John to the bone.

  Shit! The spiders! Didn't I lock the back door? Panicked thoughts raced across his mind. John spun around, saber drawn, looking for a threat that wasn't there.

  Frowning, he turned back around. "Guys, is there a threat—what's wrong?"

  He paled and stepped back, meeting Mason's icy glare, the man's cleaving blade was now unsheathed, pointed John's way.

  John felt his heart skip a beat, slowly stepping back as Mason snarled. "You're one of them, aren't you!"

  The mayor gasped, her haunted stare meeting John's own. Then she tore her gaze away.

  "What the hell is going on?" John whispered, guts twisting at the looks of horror, rejection, even condemnation that he saw on everyone's face. "Why's everyone looking at me like that? It's me, John! Look, I can explain why I was gone for however long it was. I just leveled up! My gear barely fits me anymore. I came here to re-kit myself with better fitting armor, and then I was going to head back to the gate and wait for you guys, I swear!"

  Mason sneered. "And we're supposed to buy that. With those eyes and a frame two sizes bigger than when you went to sleep two nights ago? Sure. More like you got infected by those goddamned ghouls, and now you're one of them!"

  John blinked as the mood grew increasingly hostile, Elowin herself beginning to whisper strange words under her breath that sent awful chills down John's spine. He slowly raised his hands. "Look, Mason, you got to chill. All of you! I told you I just finished leveling up. I was asleep just half an hour ago! None of those zombie things were exactly talking, if you recall, and if I was some monster, why would I bother coming back here, chatting with you like nothing had changed, putting myself out in the open?”

  Sophia blinked, slowly nodding. "He's right. If he was really one of them, he could have just ambushed us later when we weren't prepared for him."

  "Right," John said. "And here's the most important part. How could I possibly be a zombie if, as you yourself mentioned, Mason, adventurers are immune to Psionic attacks and diseases? Isn't that what makes us so valuable to the mayor here?"

  The mayor snapped her head up, freezing John with her stare. Then she said words that sent shivers through John's soul.

  "Repudio Attero!" she screamed, stumbling to her knees and holding up a silver pendant of a female figurine that began to glow.

  John blinked, feeling a sudden wave of tingling golden force smash into him. His stomach flipped as he seemed to bob over it like a cork upon a wave, for all that he hadn’t moved a muscle.

  His face lit with awe and wonder. "Is that a spell? Awesome!" He couldn't help grinning despite the seriousness of the situation. "I would absolutely love it if you could teach me the basics of whatever arcane arts you used, assuming I could learn it. Honestly, I'm far more interested in learning magic than I am in accruing credits or gold."

  Mason frowned, though he seemed just a bit less eager to hack John's head off. "Speak for yourself, kid." He sighed and shook his head. "At least we know you aren't a horror." He glared at the mayor. "Assuming her spell is even working."

  The exhausted mayor glared daggers at Mason. "I just cast Abjuration! All save Greater Undead would have been forced to flee or be burned on the spot!" She frowned quizzically at John. "And I detect no jaded contempt, no predatory hunger. His offer to trade his share of wealth for simple magical instruction was genuine."

  Sophia smiled. "I guess he's still a total innocent, even if he is a little scary-looking."

  Mason snorted. "He can do whatever the hell he wants with his share. I still expect credits, including for the six bastards we brought down. You trust John's word? Good. You can pay up now. 1,200 credits." He glared at John even as the mayor huffed in surprised outrage.

  "Alright!" She gave an angry shake of her head. "I'll pay the damned credits. Now keep your word and do your best to find out where those children are being kept!"

  Mason just held out his hand until Elowin stormed off for some moments, returning with a small bag she slammed into his palm. "Here!" she snapped. "1,200 credits in electrum, since that's all that matters to you!"

  Mason opened it, pouring the contents into his meaty palm. John whistled at the sight of twelve coins that shimmered with silver-gold fire in the light of the crackling flames.

  Mason gave a satisfied nod. "Good. We're square." He turned to John. "But before I agree to adventure another step with this cat, I need to know one thing. What the fuck happened to your eyes?"

  John frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  Mason turned to Sophia. "Give him your mirror."

  Her eyes widened and she blushed. "I was going to put it back in the room," she assured the mayor. "It's just that—"

  "Keep it. We'll take it out of your share," Elowin said. Sophia gave a sheepish smile under the mayor's cynical gaze.

  John took the hand mirror. "Seriously? I know I bulked up but what is it—What the fuck?"

  John stumbled back, dropping the mirror which clanked and clattered in the deathly silent room.

  His heart was pounding. He wanted to claw his eyes out.

  His worst nightmare had just come true.

  "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!" John gazed desperately at Mason. "How the fuck is that even possible?"

  Mason barked a bitter laugh in response. "And just how the hell would I know that, kid?"

  John shook his head, dismayed by the reflection looking back at him when he forced himself to gaze in the mirror once more.

  His features were the same ones he remembered, if a tiny bit harder looking, fitting for a guy who had spent the last four years putting muscle on his frame. But what wasn't fitting, what was, in fact, horrifying, were the eyes of liquid darkness looking back from his own.

  Just like the lithe, incredibly sensual brood queen who had seduced him so utterly in his dreams. He hadn't minded Sade's obsidian gaze then, and was humbled by how much he hungered for her, even now.

  Shit.

  Sophia's gaze was almost sympathetic. "Sometimes it's painful looking in the mirror, seeing what you've lost, isn't it? And hey, it isn't all bad for you. You actually look pretty hot, like you've been seriously hitting the gym. Anyway, with the way your body's looking now, I could introduce you to a lot of girls who would love to spend some time with you." She smirked. "Except for the scary eyes thing. Lizzy's a freak and would totally go for that. Everyone else would be kinda freaked out. But if you wear shades? Shit. You could get any girl you wanted at a discount. And you being a
sweetheart? Some might actually fall for you, even if they should know better."

  Mason was still glaring. "I can tell you were freaked out there. That wasn't bullshit. Neither is the way you're staring at the mirror now, like you want to puke at your own reflection. But how the fuck did you get so strong so fast? There is no way you can do that in one level. I don't care if you’re one of those freaks who gets more than 4 character points per level, or some other crazy shit. No way!"

  John blinked. Mason now seemed angrier about John's level increase than he was scared that John might be a raving zombie. Or perhaps jealous was the better word.

  John shrugged. "Honestly, my whole level-up thing was weird. Like a trippy dream, and I would rather have woken up with my eyes just the way I remembered them, thank you very much." John forced himself to meet the other man's cynical gaze. "Besides, it's no skin off your back, right, Mason? If you can upgrade your companion like you can a car or a gun, and get more out of it without having to pay a single extra credit in the exchange, it only benefits you, right?"

  Mason frowned before giving the slightest dip of his head.

  Persuasion skill check: success!

  The tattooed merc sighed, rubbing his eyes, meeting the enigmatic gaze of the mayor.

  "First light, we're off. We'll find your kiddos if we can, Mayor. But you better have those credits ready." He then met John's gaze. "Since you now got the muscle for it, it's time we made sure you know how to use a real sword,” he said, tossing John a sheathed blade much like his own from the pile of arms and armaments Emil had left for their use during the mission.

  John grinned, effortlessly catching the blade, appreciating the gesture of trust. "Happy to." He then positioned himself in a proper stance for the beefier Carolingian style straight blade. The balance, of course, was drastically different than what English sabermen had favored centuries later. Though it lacked the ability to attack and defend in the same beat, it was capable of delivering devastating chops that could cleave almost completely through a pig carcass, or dismember lightly armored foes with ease.

  Without a shield, a saberman would tear a migration era swordsman apart. But with a shield held in front of him for defense, like he was now, he was suddenly an opponent to be feared.

  He nodded his head at Mason, holding his sword in a relaxed grip well balanced for a casting blow where he would throw the blade forward before his hand snapped around the almost triangular pommel in a pistol grip, giving him surprising reach, the tip of his blade accelerating downward with such force it could crack skulls, even poorly made helms, and catch an unwary opponent off-guard.

  He could also close with cleaving forehand blows or backhand cuts with the false edge of the blade. The latter, if performed correctly, were even able to snap around shields and cleave into skulls, necks, and backs to devastating effect, or deliver draw cuts that could rip open one’s foe from behind. Just a few of the reasons why, in the era of shields, most swords were double-edged.

  Mason's eyes widened when he sensed John's basic competence, turning into a hard-eyed grin when they switched live steel for practice blades and he proceeded to trounce John, reminding the younger adventurer that it was as much about shieldwork, perfect balance, and controlling the center-line between him and his opponent as it was how adroitly one could swing a sword.

  Once you forced an opponent's shield off-line or pivoted sufficiently to press an opponent's shield tightly to his body with your own shield, a final mock blow to head and body became almost an afterthought.

  John chuckled ruefully when Mason beat him for the fourth time in a row, head still dizzy with a blow harder than necessary after his companion had dodged his strike before whipping around, slamming John's shield against his body, then ringing his helm like a bell.

  "Let's call it a night,” John said. “Maybe I'll be a more worthy opponent tomorrow."

  "Sure kid," Mason smirked. "You got some nice muscle and quick reflexes now, but I still outclass you. And Rank 3 verging on Rank 4 will kick your beginner's ass. That last fight though? Yeah. You got potential. To the victor go the spoils, kid. I'll thrash you some more in the morning,” he said before shutting the central room door in John's face.

  John chuckled softly, hearing excited squeals and throaty laughter beyond the door. He certainly didn’t begrudge Sophia and Mason celebrating her level-up and survival without him being a third wheel.

  He yawned, retiring to the next room and crashing on the cloak Elowin had seen fit to give him, missing the comfort of a warm soft mattress more than ever. But considering the mess he had made at the Inn, not to mention the desiccated body covered in sticky strands within the room he had commandeered — had that really been a spider? He thought it best not to mention inns at all.

  He crossed his arms behind his head, feeling strangely content, for all that he was lying on hard wooden boards within a nearly abandoned building in the middle of a strange world as far from home as it was possible to be.

  Maybe he had just gotten his ass handed to him by a more experienced swordsman, but he couldn't think of a time he had felt so alive or fenced so well as he had that night. The vibrant strength he could feel coursing through his limbs even now, the speed with which he could pivot, his tireless energy, all of it was an invigorating rush he didn't think he'd ever get tired of.

  He then grimaced.

  As long as he could forget the inky obsidian pools that his eyes had become.

  The next morning John made sure to focus on his shieldwork, like Mitch would always demand when they switched from English sabers to the Carolingian style blades John would always think of as Viking swords. John didn’t even worry about launching any strikes until feigning weakness Mason all too quickly fell for. His opponent grinned in dark triumph, pressing his advantage before being thrown off balance, lurching forward when John abruptly pivoted with his shield, flowing around a surprised Mason’s defenses before ringing the larger man’s helm just as thoroughly as Mason had his own the night before.

  His companion looked more than slightly pissed. "Alright, enough of this bullshit. Let's get going while the going's good."

  Congratulations! Sword and Shield is now fully quantized at Rank 2!

  Within the hour they were off, hiking along the trail past the town and into the woods proper once more, John still amazed by the quality of the meal that had been prepared for them that morning. The grilled ham and tangy cheese sandwiches on fresh loaves of bread had been wonderful, and the puff pastries had been so light, flaky, and buttery, they would have done any French bakery proud. He couldn’t recall ever drinking anything quite so refreshing as the pitcher of fresh milk that had been brought to their table, and perhaps he had taken a bit too much pleasure in Mason's grumbling at the lack of any wine. All in all, it had been one of the best meals he’d ever eaten. And how their hosts had managed such exquisite fare while holed up in a primitive keep, he wasn't sure. Sophia was certain that magic was involved, and John figured she was probably right.

  Summon Pastry. What a tasty spell that would be to learn!

  John took a deep breath of the fresh spring air before wincing when his armor straps bit into him yet again.

  "What's keeping you, Johnny-boy? You finally got a bod you don't have to be ashamed of, and you're still slow as hell."

  John smirked at Mason's ribbing, but knew it was merited, having had to stop twice already to adjust straps and gear since he had hurriedly donned his new kit, knowing he should have just taken the time to get it all right the first time back at the Town Hall. But newly claimed gear secure enough for sparring had not been entirely ready for the strenuous hike since then.

  There. That bloody strap that had been rubbing his flesh raw was finally adjusted, and even his odd recuperation powers hadn't kept it from irritating his skin.

  "I'm coming, hold your horses!" he said.

  Then he heard the screams.

  His legs pistoned forward as he dashed through the forest, realizing
the screams were not ones he recognized a split second before Mason signaled him frantically from behind a thick trunk, just before the clearing ahead.

  John saw the flash of a laser between the rustling branches.

  "Keep it together, kid! Some shitstorm's brewing just feet away, and we don't want to get caught in the crossfire!"

  John froze, pausing for just a second, knowing Mason was right.

  Jumping into a battle he knew nothing about was a good way to get blitzed or butchered, and he had no way to parachute out.

  Then he heard the high-pitched screams of a woman in peril and he hesitated no longer, heart lurching with a combination of terror and fierce resolve as he unsheathed his heavier blade and charged forward, bursting through the undergrowth, shield at the ready.

  His eyes widened with horror at the scene before him.

  He saw a regiment of Dominion soldiers on horseback wielding shields and straight sabers, with only a pair of soldiers holding working blasters. He had never heard of the Dominion using cavalry in any Readit post, but any army worthy of the title adapted to a changing environment, and light cavalry reminiscent of Napoleon's forces made a lot of sense in a land where high tech was increasingly going on the fritz. All the more so, since gunpowder was a nonfactor here.

  Yet, the maneuverability cavalry could bring in flat open countryside was near nonexistent when winding through a forest, even in the small clearing they had entered, ambushed as they had been by a flood of revenants howling and hissing as they leaped upon the troopers from the trees just above.

  Men were yanked off their horses, the ambushers biting off vicious chunks from screaming soldiers with powerful wolf-like maws as blackened talons tore through the weaker fabric between the polymer plates making up the soldier's armor.

  Bright, frothy blood sprayed from the abdomen of the nearest soldier and she crumpled to ground with a cry, dappled sunlight flashing through the soldier's locks of auburn hair as she fell.

  The desperate cries of men and women in dire peril had burned away all hesitation, leaving only furious, primal rage in its place.