Kzine Issue 6

by Graeme Hurry

  “I heard that you were attacked by a mad wyvern. Is this true?”

  “Yes, Peacekeeper,” he said. “It’s just a scratch.”

  Spirit sniffed the air. “I don’t believe it was such a small wound.”

  Verity agreed with her partner. Judging by the bandages she could see on the man’s side and the nasty gash on his cheek, the wyvern had done more than just “scratch” him.

  “Of course,” Verity said. “Can you tell me anything about the creature?”

  “I can’t tell you much, Peacekeeper,” he said. “I didn’t get a good look at him.”

  “Him? You’re sure the wyvern was male?”

  Grosvenor nodded, seeming to be happy he could offer a tidbit she didn’t know. “Yes, ma’am. The folks at Stoneford know their wyverns. He was definitely male. And he was gray. I didn’t get much of a look at him, but he wasn’t small neither. Not huge, but definitely bigger than average.”

  “Do you know why he attacked you? Were you in his territory? Was he protecting hatchlings? Did he feel his partner was in danger?”

  He shook his head. “Wyverns don’t nest in that area. I wouldn’t go into a nesting area, not this time of year.”

  “So… was it his territory, then?”

  “I don’t know, Peacekeeper,” he said, hunching his shoulders. “I didn’t provoke him on purpose.”

  “I smell fear,” Spirit said. “Is he afraid of disappointing you?”

  “Perhaps he’s afraid of whatever Thamina’s afraid of.”

  “And what is that, beloved?”

  “I’m not precisely certain. But she was definitely warning me about something.”

  “It’s all right, Grosvenor. I know you wouldn’t deliberately provoke a wyvern. I was just hoping there was an explanation for his behavior.”

  “I’m sure there was, Peacekeeper. I just don’t know what it was.”

  “I think you’ve answered all my questions,” Verity said. “Thank you. Now I’ll be able to identify the wyvern for sure.”

  “That will be easy, Peacekeeper. He doesn’t give any warning, he just attacks,” he looked back and forth between her and Spirit. “Please be careful, Peacekeeper.”

  “We’ll be on our guard,” she assured him. “My thanks,” she turned to Lykke, “and to you as well.”

  The woman nodded shyly and watched them leave. When they exited the dwelling, Ulrich turned to them.

  “I assume you’re going to go investigate the wyvern now?” he said.

  Verity nodded.

  “Good luck, Peacekeeper.”

  “Thank you, Ulrich.”

  He inclined his head, then walked away. Verity took a deep breath and rubbed her temple. Spirit growled softly. She turned to see the woman she’d seen as she entered the village, Brígh, standing a few feet away.

  “So, the wise woman sent you after the wyvern?” Brígh said.

  Verity looked the woman up and down. Brígh looked like a hunter. She was well muscled, in a man’s tunic and trousers, and kept her hair and nails short. Not that people in this town had the luxury of growing their fingernails long, but many of the woman let their hair grow out.

  “She asked me to look into it,” Verity replied.

  “Are you going to kill the beast?”

  Verity crossed her arms. “Peacekeepers only turn to execution if there is no other option.”

  Brígh nodded. “I see. Well, good luck, Peacekeeper.”

  “Good day.”

  She watched Brígh walk away, wondering what the woman had wanted. Whatever it had been, Verity got the feeling she hadn’t provided it.

  Shaking her head, she set out northward, heading for the forest. Thamina was being secretive, Grosvenor had been scared, and Brígh had questioned her. Verity didn’t like the situation, but knew she’d probably find out what was going on soon enough. She wondered if this was all just a result of the crazed wyvern, or if the wyvern was a just a symptom of something worse.

  She supposed the wyvern could be unrelated to whatever else was going on. Perhaps it had been someone’s familiar, and the death of its partner had driven it mad. That had happened before. Maybe Thamina and the other villagers were too grief-stricken to want to talk about it. That excuse rang hollow, but people had been reluctant to speak of stranger things.

  The underbrush in the forest hadn’t had time to fully recover from winter, making it easier to navigate. Spirit glided between the trees, sniffing the air for any scent of the wyvern. Once the village was out of earshot, Spirit sat on his haunches and looked at Verity. They were in a tiny clearing, and a boulder sat near a tree, moss and vines curling over its surface. The tree beside it had a clean set of claw marks on it, as if a wyvern had been marking its territory. Or had lashed out at something in a fit of anger.

  “Verity,” Spirit said, “tell me again why it is humans tell not-truths?”

  Verity snapped her gaze back to him. “Did someone lie to us, Spirit?”

  He cocked his head. “Ulrich had not been with his familiar recently. All I smelled on him was a male warg. So, beloved, why did he speak what was not true?”

  Verity frowned. “It is possible his familiar is male.”

  “He said ‘her’, not ‘him’.”

  “You’re right,” Verity crossed her arms and leaned against a tree. “What are they hiding?”

  “Beloved?”

  “They didn’t tell us everything, Spirit. This whole setup doesn’t make sense to me. Why would there be an insane wyvern? Why wouldn’t they want to tell us why it had gone mad? And why did Thamina issue such a cryptic warning?”

  “Sometimes these things just happen, yes? You always think so hard about things that just are. Are you certain that you aren’t questioning the existence of this wyvern too much? As for the rest, perhaps it is time that a new master was chosen, and Thamina is resisting the change. Humans don’t fight to determine who is the strongest, after all. Shifts of power take much longer.”

  “I suppose that’s possible, but Ulrich is in line to be Thamina’s successor. I think it’s more than that. Besides, have you ever heard of a rogue wyvern? Or warg, for that matter? Losing their partner can sometimes drive them mad, but then why didn’t Thamina just tell me that was the cause?”

  “Humans are so strange. I don’t see what would be gained from keeping this from us. Do you?”

  “It’s true, love; humans are strange,” she sighed. “I may understand if I knew why they were hiding it.”

  “But why hide at all? It just doesn’t—” he jumped to his feet. “Verity!”

  There was a rustle of leaves. Verity didn’t think, she just spun around behind the tree she’d been leaning on. There was a screech as a wyvern gouged the trunk where she’d been. Spirit roared a challenge as the wyvern shot past him, landing on the boulder. Verity could tell at a glance the wyvern was a large male. His gray scales seemed somehow dull as he hissed at Spirit.

  Verity felt a deep cold settle over her like a cloak. She stared at the wyvern in horror—he exuded an aura of dark sorcery, the cold spreading out from around him like he was made of ice.

  “Oh no,” she breathed.

  The wyvern screamed in rage, then threw himself at Spirit. The warg leapt aside. The wyvern landed on the ground, skidding into a tree. Acting as if the impact hadn’t even occurred, he spun around and flung himself at Spirit again.

  “He’s mad!” the warg yelled.

  Verity concentrated, reaching into her power, and called her blade to herself. There was a faint flash of light and a tingling sensation as her sword appeared in her hand. She dashed toward the fray. The wyvern flung himself at Spirit once more, and the warg danced aside. The wyvern skidded into a tree right next to Verity, and she slashed at him with her sword. He pulled away, but the tip of her blade nicked his shoulder. He screamed in rage again, but instead of trying to take Verity’s head off like she expected, he leapt into the tree. He sat in the branches, gazing at her with a level of interest tha
t was unnerving—like he was a cat that had caught a mouse he planned to torment.

  “So,” a feminine voice said, “it turns out Thamina didn’t follow my advice like she said she would. I told her we don’t need a Peacekeeper to solve our problems. But she didn’t listen, did she?”

  Spirit unleashed a murderous growl as Brígh stepped into view, cold radiating off her like it did the wyvern.

  “You,” Verity said. “And to think I’d thought the warg was your partner!”

  She laughed. “The warg? That was Ulrich’s partner. He’s too embarrassed to admit that his partner’s the same gender he is. You didn’t seriously suspect Ulrich, did you?” she looked amused. “He’s far too timid and upstanding to do something forbidden.” She sighed. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but I can’t let you hurt Storm. Don’t think I believed that ‘I only kill if I have no other choice’ line you fed me.”

  No wonder the villagers had all been so frightened. They’d had a dark sorceress in their midst. Brígh had probably used her power to keep everyone in line, and they all were terrified that if they said too much, Brígh would punish them or their family.

  “The wyvern is her familiar,” Spirit said. “What madness is this? Who would select a dark sorceress?”

  “I’m not sure he was in his right mind at the time,” Verity replied, then she addressed Brígh. “So what now? You kill the Peacekeeper? And it’s terribly sad she couldn’t stop the wyvern? Then you continue terrorizing the townsfolk with forbidden magic?”

  Brígh shook her head slightly, then opened her hand. A burst of cold power shot at Verity. At the same moment, the wyvern, Storm, leapt out of the tree at Spirit. He landed on Spirit’s back, but the warg’s spines were fully extended, and Verity heard the wyvern’s cry of pain. Verity deflected the cold magic with her sword, then charged at Brígh. The dark sorceress put up a magical ward, but Verity drew on her own power. The power of spring flowed up through her boots as she ran at the sorceress, and she channeled it into her sword.

  She swung the blade at Brígh’s ward. It hit the magic barrier with a metallic ring and stopped. The shock traveled up Verity’s arms and she grunted in pain, but the ward developed a crack. Brígh stumbled from the force. Verity swung her blade again, and the ward shattered. Brígh snarled in pain, then lashed out with her sorcery. Verity tried to throw herself out of the way, but the bolt of magic sliced her cheek like a razor. As she hit the ground, she felt warm blood trickle down to her chin.

  Rolling back to her feet, she saw Storm slash at Spirit, who ducked the blow, then ripped the wyvern’s wing membrane with his teeth.

  Brígh threw more power at her, but Verity drew up her own ward. The dark magic cracked Verity’s hasty construction, but she discarded the ward and dashed to the side, her weapon at the ready.

  “Get down!” Spirit yelled.

  Verity dropped to the ground. Storm sailed over her, landing heavily beside Brígh. The wyvern turned around, his eyes blazing. Verity sprang to her feet as Spirit dashed passed her, letting out a roar. She saw Brígh readying another spell and threw herself at the other woman, knocking them both to the ground. Spirit rammed Storm, using his superior weight to knock the wyvern off his feet.

  Verity grappled with Brígh for a moment, trying to keep the other woman too distracted to call her sorcery to herself, but Brígh was stronger than Verity and managed to throw her off. Verity rolled to her feet, calling her sword back to her hand.

  Verity risked at glance at her familiar, and saw the warg knock Storm down again. He grabbed the wyvern’s neck in his powerful jaws and bit down. A sickening snap rang out. Brígh made a choking sound, turning clumsily to look at Storm. The life had left the wyvern’s eyes, and Spirit stood over the now lifeless creature, his eyes locked on Brígh.

  “Storm,” Brígh rasped.

  Verity knocked the sorceress’s feet out from under her, then placed the tip of her blade against her neck.

  “What did you do to him?” she demanded.

  “Wh-what?” she stammered. “What did I do to him?”

  “Do not test my patience,” Verity snarled. “All I have to do is shift my weight to end your life. What did you do that wyvern?”

  Tears slid down her face. “I made him mine. I made him my familiar.”

  “With dark sorcery?”

  Spirit made a huffing sound. He moved up beside her, his gaze still locked on Brígh.

  “She forced him to select her with dark sorcery? Did you know this could happen?”

  “I was going to ask you the same question,” Verity mindspoke back.

  “You admit to forcing him?”

  “No. None of them would have me. None of the wyverns or wargs,” a feverish look came into Brígh’s eye. Verity couldn’t tell whether it came from madness or grief over losing Storm. “You don’t understand, you have a master warg as your partner. They called me cursed. They called me an embarrassment. I showed them. I got a familiar.”

  “You don’t force a familiar to pick you, you twisted fool,” Verity snarled. “You drove him insane.”

  “He loved me,” she whispered. “He loved me.”

  “They were right. You are cursed,” she glanced at Spirit. “I declare the Judgment of the Peacekeeper!”

  Brígh’s eyes widened. “What?”

  Verity struck the sorceress in the side of the head with the flat of her sword, stunning her. Then Spirit ripped her throat out.

  REQUIEM FOR A RODENT

  by Gef Fox

  When Bret Duncan realized he’d killed his son’s pet hamster, he knew their weekend together was shot.

  He didn’t even realize he’d killed the thing when he pulled out of his driveway, not until he and Danny got back to the house after breakfast at McDonald’s. He pulled into the driveway, saw the furry lump on the pavement, and thought it was a mitten or something. He skirted the truck’s tires around it and got out to look at it. Then the boy got out, saw the mess, and started bawling.

  Little Tom Brady was dead.

  Danny had named it after his favorite quarterback, which irked Bret since he was a lifelong Dolphins fan. His ex-wife, Tammy, told everyone Danny was named after her great-grandfather, but Bret only went along with naming his son that in honor of Dan Marino.

  “You killed Tom Brady, Dad!”

  “Why the hell did you leave the thing outside to get run over?” Bret winced as soon as he said it. The defensive bark was an old habit he picked up from his own father.

  Danny cried in his bedroom for a good two hours before he came out again. Bret was in the kitchen when he heard the toilet flush. He met his son in the hallway to try and smooth things over. Always on the defensive thanks to Tammy slowly turning the boy against him.

  “I’m sorry it’s dead,” he said, not even able to say out loud that he’d killed the thing, let alone refer to it by name.

  Danny tried to say something between sniffles and hitching sobs. The display made Bret feel even more uncomfortable.

  “Come on. We’ll bury him in the backyard. It’ll be like a funeral so you can say goodbye to him.”

  Danny looked at him with a wounded expression, but didn’t argue. Bret peeled the hamster’s carcass from the pavement with a spatula, nearly gagging in the process as it made a squelchy noise, like peeling off a blood-soaked Band-Aid. Danny picked out a shoebox to put it in. He kept the boy from looking at what was left of Tom Brady. He’d run over the bottom half of the critter and its guts had blown out of its mouth - he’d have to take care of the stain on the driveway later. Bret plopped it into the shoebox, then threw his spatula in the garbage.

  Danny picked out a spot at the edge of the backyard, under a willow tree. Bret placed the box in the hole - closed casket as it were - and shoveled the dirt back over it. Neither of them said anything.

  Dinner was equally quiet. Danny hardly ate, asked to be excused, then went back to his bedroom to cry himself to sleep. Bret looked in on him after sundown. The night light s
howed the pained expression painted on the boy’s face. He hoped Sunday morning could be salvaged, but he’d resigned himself to the fact that he’d really pooched things up with the boy for the weekend. He had to get him back to Tammy’s by noon tomorrow, and when she found out about the hamster - well, hell. Bret poured himself a couple of Jack and Cokes and then went to bed himself, cursing Tom Brady before finally going to sleep.

  Come morning, Bret made Danny’s favorite breakfast, waffles and whipped cream. Tammy never let Danny eat junk food - one of those organic health nuts now - so it was an easy way to score points with him. Bret wore a few extra pounds around his waist - one of the many reasons the bitch gave him when she left - but he figured the occasional treat wouldn’t hurt the boy.

  Danny didn’t come when called though, and when Bret went to check on him the bedroom door was locked.

  “Danny, open the door.”

  Still no answer, but Bret could hear him moving around in there.

  “Daniel Everett Duncan, you open this door right now.” The old tone of his father returned.

  After a few seconds, the door opened and Danny stood in his pajamas with an unconvincing look of innocence. “What’s for breakfast?”

  “Why did you have this door locked?”

  The boy tried to look him in the eyes, but only wound up looking down at his feet. “I dunno.”

  Then, Bret noticed the kid’s feet were dirty.

  Bret side-stepped him and looked around the room. Danny stayed at the door, trying not to give anything away, but when Bret looked at him the boy’s eyes darted towards the closet. At the far corner, behind Danny’s winter boots, Bret saw the shoebox. He let out a groan.

  “Come over here,” he said.

  Danny took a few timid steps and stood next to him.

  “Why did you dig it up?”

  “I don’t want him to go away,” the boy mumbled.

  “It’s dead, Danny. You can’t keep it.” He bent down and picked up the shoebox. A faint stench wafted from the box that made the back of his throat itch. He started towards the door, set to go out and rebury the thing, but Danny snatched the shoebox away from him and clutched it to his chest like it was his teddy bear.