Death's Reckoning

by Will Molinar

  “The understanding is simple,” Cubbins said, slugging ahead and ignoring the pleasantries. “This is our city. It is run by various agencies, but when it relates to crime, I am the law and my power absolute. There will be no more vigilantism on your part. The laws of this province will be respected. I don’t care where you people are from. I’m sure you understand my meaning.”

  Unri looked thoughtful for a moment but then nodded. “Yes, you are right, Captain Cubbins. Please to forgive. Your laws by right.” He nodded in respect to Dillon and Cubbins who in turn nodded back. “But this special circumstance. Hear from local tavern this very building have very bad experience. You have recent trouble. Please to show us, and I explain as we look to rooms here. Is very important.”

  Cubbins saw no reason why not, so he escorted them around the station house. They strolled around the precinct. The five men peered into every nook and corner of the front offices and jail rooms. Some of which were filled with prisoners. Others were empty rooms with dirty, scorched floors and stain covered walls.

  Blood stains marred most of the floors and corners of the walls. Spots they could never clean off. The mess of the corpses had been too much.

  “Quanim was here,” Unri said and took a deep breath. His wrinkled, sun darkened face looked grimmer than normal, and the others stirred. They turned his way, and Unri said a few words to his brother Yuri in their language.

  Cubbins waited with an irritated look on his face, tapping his foot on the stone. Dillon looked bored, and that irritated him further. He should’ve cared more about this. Their lives were at stake.

  “So, must ask more questions,” Unri said.

  Cubbins lifted his chin. “Have at it.”

  “There are other troubles in town?”

  Dillon nodded. “You could say that.”

  “In graveyards, places of burials, bodies found missing, yes?”

  Cubbins and Dillon nodded.

  Unri said something quick to one of the cousins, who answered with a non-committal grunt. Unri nodded and looked to Cubbins. “This town, this place, this what we call ‘well of souls,’ great place of suffering and death. Much death has come in recent days, much more to come. Has become target of great evil. Ancient man has come and caused more death.”

  Dillon scoffed. “One man did this? Ridiculous. You haven’t seen what these rooms looked like.”

  “Let them finish,” Cubbins said. “They’ve seen more than we have.”

  Unri nodded in respect to Cubbins. “This man not real man. Not how you think. Wears body of man. Has many forms, through many generations, across many lands, and taken many lives to feed his eternal hunger.” He indicated the others with him, and a reverent silence fell over them. “We are last members of family, all that remains of entire line. Rest all murdered by this supreme ghoul, the one that walks silent in the night, the ultimate reaver.

  “He is timeless, unassailable. But we have skills, have trained many years and hunted him across the continent. We devote lives to ridding world of this scourge, this plague of plagues. It will devour your homes, your people, until death take you all. Please to give assistance. You must to help or it will be blighted forever by his mark.”

  Cubbins nodded. Wary relief spread throughout his loins, having no choice but to trust the men. He was already a dead man. “Fine. Tell us what you want us to do first.”

  The five men relaxed and Cubbins saw a deep sense of satisfaction in their eyes. Unri gave a grim smile.

  “Good. You are good man Captain Cubbins. Our first task is to find agent of his. We track to this ladies house after fight in tavern, chase through streets. Have means of tracking.”

  “And then we kill this great evil,” Cubbins said. “I and my men would be delighted to assist you.”

  Dillon grinned. “I’ll kill ‘im. Grind his bones up for my soup.”

  “I thought only giants did that,” Cubbins said and couldn’t help but smile. Maybe there was hope. Maybe these men had the answer to their problem.

  A murmur of disagreement rippled through the five men when Yuri translated for the three cousins. Yuri looked back to Cubbins and shook his head. He was shorter than his brother, very stout, and his head was enormous. His careworn face looked sad.

  “I’m afraid you misinterpreted my brother’s words. No killing of this creature is possible. It is more of a removal of his form from this plane. In time he would coalesce back into human form.”

  “But would take great time,” Unri said. “If unchecked, his power and influence over men grows. The world become graveyard. Quanim has plan for city. This is the way of things.”

  Cubbins’ head throbbed with too many questions. This was a beginning, not an end. “If there’s nothing further, Master Unri, we can get started. I’ll put every man I have on finding this agent of his. There’s nowhere in this city where he can hide.”

  They made their plans.

  * * * * *

  Around the same time, another search began. One of a different nature but of no less importance for the hunters.

  “I’ve had some boys tracking the beast since the last riot,” Zandor said. “Last I heard, Thruck ran up to Mount Killian, south of town.”

  “I know where the damn mountain is,” Jerrod said, irritated. “That’s why we’re here.”

  They trekked together through the foothills south of Jerrod’s cabin. Zandor was beside himself with self-satisfaction, and it was getting to Jerrod. The jerk-off was so full of himself, Jerrod saw images of ramming his fist down his throat flash through his mind.

  “How do you know the beast is still there? You seen him yourself, Mr. Fancy Pants? Have you?”

  If Zandor was affected by frustration, it didn’t show. Instead, he popped another handful of walnuts in his mouth and chewed for several moments, perhaps weighing his next words with care. “Last I heard he was holed up here like a rat in a cargo hold. Them boys what trained him. You should know them since you and Castellan busted them and threw them in jail when they shut down the arena. Remember?”

  Jerrod frowned. “I remember them. Couple sissies, two fops.”

  “Yep, that’s them. Well, them boys took off for greener pastures when the real fighting started, and I don’t blame ‘em. The rest of the area fighters, prisoners at the time, fought and fought well. ‘Cept ol’ Thruck was smart enough to get out of town when it was possible.”

  Zandor laughed and ate some more nuts. As far as Jerrod knew, the man hadn’t been in town during those events, so how he knew these facts with such certainty was beyond him. The little shit’s got people everywhere. A tremor of sincere concern struck him, but he shook it off. Zandor bled like any other man.

  “So what if he did?” Jerrod said. “We supposed to just stroll on in there, and this stupid beast just comes out with us? That’ll be easy, sure.” He scoffed. “I knew your brain went south a long time ago. This is proof now, pal.”

  Zandor remained unfazed by the insult and kept walking along without a care in the world. “You know, I seen the big fella fight. I got pretty close to him afterwards too. I know a little bit about ogres. Think everyone’s been reading him wrong.”

  Jerrod sniggered. “There you go thinking again. Gonna get you into trouble someday. That ogre kills people good, nothin’ else to it.”

  Zandor chewed. “Yeah, well, we’ll see, won’t we?”

  They met up with several of Zandor’s men, sailors by the looks of them. Half an hour later and Jerrod’s legs began to tire. They were deep into the foothills by then, with plenty of scrub bush and craggy rocks surrounding them.

  More men joined them. They looked like hunters, dark and lean with dirty hair and brown and green clothes with knives strapped to their waists. Trackers, used to find the ogre. They stood at the bottom of a sloping hill, quivers on the backs, and bows in their calloused hands.

  “Whadaya got?” Zandor said and strode towards them.

  A tall, rangy man glanced at Jerrod for a moment, and then
pointed up the slope over his shoulder to their right. “We think up that way.”

  “Oh, you ‘think’, do you?” Jerrod said.

  “There’s a cave,” the other man said, ignoring Jerrod. “A trail leads right to it.”

  He and Zandor looked towards the direction they indicated. Jerrod saw very little of what the two idiots were talking about. Only craggy peaks, broken rocks, and maybe a small cleft in the side, but he couldn’t tell what they meant.

  Zandor squinted then cracked a smile. “Well done. We’ll check it out, boys. Thanks a bunch.”

  Jerrod frowned and put his hands on his hips when Zandor trudged up the slope. The two hunters followed him. Their dirty shirts hung with sweat off their lean, tawny bodies.

  “Boss, you want us to come with you? That ogre’s pretty dangerous.”

  Zandor stopped mid stride. One foot planted down on a rock, and he turned. “Heh. I figured that, him being an ogre and all. If it makes you feel any better, you can come along and… stand guard or something outside. Might make you feel more useful.” With that he headed back up the hill and shouted over his shoulder. “Hey Jerry! You comin’? Wouldn’t be the same without you.”

  Since he’d sooner be ripped apart by the arms and legs by a giant monster than be shown up by Zandor, Jerrod marched up after him, shoving one of the stupid hunters with his elbow on the way. Short shit.

  They found a trail, nothing more than a rain rivulet that ran through some rocks and mud. It was dry now but still treacherous.

  This cave was much further up than it looked from the bottom of the hill. Jerrod found his legs aching; his breath labored, but he tried to hide the fact. This had better been worth it, or he would take it out on Zandor’s skull.

  The weather was hot and sticky, and by the time he and Zandor reached the front entrance of the cave, Jerrod was sweating.

  The cleft in the hill was a triangular hole set in the side of rock. Scrubby trees’ roots stuck through the broken crevices and hung over the opening. Jerrod stood and stewed while Zandor spoke a few words to the men.

  Thus far, they hadn’t made a single piece of gold. Zandor had handed over the gold captured from Tanner’s heirs as a sign of good faith to Ignacio and the others, telling them the next shipment would start the contract between them.

  The next shipment from the arena and betting tents was set for a few days hence. Jerrod and Zandor might’ve been dead by then. In all likelihood they’d be a spot of blood on the walls of the cave in a few moments. What a fitting end to a life filled with strife and chaos. Zandor acted as if that were fine. Dumb shit.

  Jerrod could imagine the beast within, chomping away at some slain animal, down on its haunches, blood dripping off its jowls, snarling and dribbling. It would attack the second they entered. Thruck would be a handful for a large group of men, well-armed, and backed up with canon.

  Zandor lit a torch and they slunk down into the depths of the rocky enclosure. A line of water trickled down from each side of the entrance. Its origin a small pond they found by the far wall. An odd natural formation but very usable by anyone that chose to live there for a time. Maybe this Thruck wasn’t so dumb after all.

  A large patch of soft earth, piled with heaps of grass, tiny branches, and leaves filled the area next to the right side of the room. Other than that, there wasn’t much else of notice save a small pile of animal bones picked clean by an ogre’s teeth.

  Zandor glanced around and shrugged. “He’s been here. No doubt about that, bub. Pretty recent by the looks of things here. Maybe he’s off hunting.”

  Jerrod walked to the edge of the pond and peered in. It was clean, drinkable water. He kicked a few rocks into it and knocked some dirt over the edge. The scum didn’t deserve to drink clean water. Animals should stay in the dirt.

  He looked back to Zandor, who stared at him with the torch hanging out in front of his body. His eyes simmered under his hood.

  “You plannin’ on being this thing’s next meal?” Jerrod said.

  “No. I plan on waiting right here until he gets back. Thruck ain’t got a reason to eat me, and you wouldn’t go down very easy. He’d take one whiff of your stank and say forget it.”

  “Shut yer mouth, Zandor.”

  The older assassin sighed, and Jerrod was glad to see the first glimmers of doubt in his stance. He stuffed the torch in a crack in the wall and plopped down cross legged on the floor.

  “This is our play, Jerry. I’m tellin’ ya. All we gotta do is dangle a little tidbit in front of his face, and he’s ours. Ogres aren’t as dumb as people believe. Thruck could not have survived as long as he did in the arena pits if he didn’t have at least half a brain. You wait and see.”

  So they waited. Jerrod grew bored. He could head to his cabin within an hour’s walk. He wouldn’t be able to go there any time soon if Thruck agreed to go back with. They would have far too much to prepare.

  After what seemed an eternity, but was maybe only an hour so, they heard a commotion outside the cave. Zandor and he looked at one another and then raced towards the entrance. Outside, the first thing Jerrod noticed was the hulking form of the ogre in all his bestial glory.

  The beast had a slain deer hung over one shoulder, and it appeared to be the size of a cat in comparison to his massive frame. His skin was grey like a corpse. His tense muscles glistened with sweat, and hair matted over his back, dark and gruesome like his visage.

  The two hunters stood to the side of the cave, bows raised and ready to fire. They shouted at the ogre who growled back. Jerrod started forward, his hand going to his sword, but Zandor held him back.

  “Hold it, bub. Let me handle this.” Zandor took a step in front of him, but when he sized up the towering awesome sight of the ogre, he slowed. “Maybe stay close by me, Jerry. Just in case.”

  “Whatever you say. It’s your ass. I’m sure he’ll tire himself out trying to chew up your old meat.”

  “Shut up and come on.”

  Jerrod smiled. That last comment cracked Zandor open a bit, and no matter how he tried to act, it was obvious the man was nervous. What they were doing was dangerous beyond anything they had done before. Zandor skulked around the side of Thruck’s position, and Jerrod followed.

  Thruck continued to growl at them all. The beast stood with a very large knife in his hands, a two handed sword to a man. The hunters stared back and forth between the ogres and Zandor. He held his hands up and indicated the men should lower their weapons, and with hesitation they relaxed. Zandor worked his way around the edge of the rock formation behind them and into a straight ahead view of the monster, keeping his hands up.

  “Take it easy there, Thruck. We mean you no harm, just wanna talk is all. Easy there, big fella.”

  Thruck barred his teeth, shook his head around and snarled. It was nerve-rattling. He stepped forward, but Zandor, the raving lunatic, stood his ground, putting his hands on his hips. The small man made eye contact with Thruck, and Jerrod saw the intensity in the fool’s eyes, the set of his jaw, his forward stance as he squared off against a killing monster.

  “I know you, Thruck. You came from the city, came from the arena. I’ve seen you fight there.”

  Thruck growled deep in his throat, guttural like rocks grinding together in the dust. He didn’t seem to like to hear anything associated with the arena or Sea Haven.

  “I know you can understand me,” Zandor said. “Can you speak? Will you have words with me?” Zandor tapped his mouth with two fingers and said “speak” again.

  Thruck grunted and barred his teeth again, his thick incisors like a hippo’s, his canines overhanging and standing up when he closed his mouth a certain way.

  “Speak with me, Thruck, let’s have words together. We aren’t here to fight you.”

  Thruck stood still, grimacing. After a moment he shrugged his massive shoulders, and the deer carcass fell to the ground. It tumbled and laid slack. Its limp neck lolled to the side. Thruck growled, and his chest heaved.


  This was it. He got his sword half way out of its scabbard, and the hunters drew back their bows, but Zandor shouted at both of them.

  “Wait! Wait! Back away, Jerrod! Do it! You two, get away,” he said to the bowman. “Damn it, everyone relax!”

  The last command was said with such icy calmness and intensity even Jerrod was affected by it. Zandor was a force, and his presence was palpable. Jerrod’s grip loosened then tightened. The feral bloodlust in the ogre’s eyes was proof this was not the right move.

  He let go of his sword and stepped back. “Fine. You two have yourselves a nice little chat. See what I care.”

  Zandor relaxed. “Good, Thruck. Nice and easy now. People get nervous sometimes is all. You are noble creature, smart enough to realize that. I wonder if I might discuss some things with you. Let’s talk for a bit.”

  Jerrod sniggered and shook his head. “I don’t think he wants to talk. Maybe play a little jig on your ribcage with your arm bone.”

  Zandor glared at him while Thruck growled again. All his anger directed Jerrod’s way. Jerrod crossed his arms. Let the dumb animal stare. Then Thruck did something that surprised everyone watching. He signed in the thieves’ and assassins’ sign language, something quick and urgent to Zandor.

  Zandor nodded. “Yes, of course.” He turned to face Jerrod and frowned. “Says he’ll talk to me, but not if you’re here.”

  “I know what he said, you little smart ass.”

  “Okay. If you wanna go ahead and get, that’d be great.”

  But Jerrod was already walking back down the hill with the two hunters. To hell with Zandor and his pet monkey. The two men had their attention fixed on the conversation between man and beast. Jerrod felt tired and angry, finding a rock to plop down on.

  The language possible in such a conversation was limited and simplified; however, both Zandor and the ogre were adept at it. Thruck argued that he wanted to be left alone while Zandor kept telling him he was needed. There was great glory to be had at the arena, that he could live like a king.