by M. Walsh
He then thought about his curse. How all the tales and rumors made him out to be the great and infamous pirate. How everyone believed he was something he wasn’t. And everywhere he went, Vicar Frost carried a reputation of being a crafty, cunning man of secrets and riddles.
“You just pulled this whole thing out of your ass, didn’t you?” he asked.
Frost didn’t answer.
“You come across like this great manipulator, puppet master guy ... but you’re just a con-man. You didn’t know how any of this would turn out. You just started this shit and waited to see what would happen.”
Frost finished his pipe, sighed, and smiled again. “Mr. Leeroy,” he said, placing the pipe in his coat. “I think I’m as much a ‘puppet master’ as you are a great swashbuckler. I’ll leave that meaning up to you.”
He grinned again, and had the gun not been empty, Krutch would have blown the Vicar’s head off right there.
After Frost left, Krutch lied back down feeling drained and miserable. For all the talk of prophecy, coincidence, and destiny—in the end, everyone was the pawn of a madman out for treasure. He recalled Lily saying Katrina took the whole notion of destiny very personally, and despite never actually meeting the woman, he understood and sympathized.
“You okay, boss?” said Arkady, slipping back into the room. “You know, boss ... I don’t want there to be any hard feelings about the whole mutiny thing. That was all Hobbs’s idea. I don’t know what the hell got into him. I mean, come on, you’re Krutch Leeroy!”
The little man sitting beside him laughed and continued talking. He spoke of their being partners and this being the start of something new and great. Krutch didn’t need to hear it—he’d already heard it plenty of times before. From Hobbs and every other yahoo looking to join the “legendary” Krutch Leeroy with ambitions of adventure and treasure.
He lay there, staring at the wall and just wanted to sleep—hoping he might find Lily in his dreams. Somewhere warm and nice, where he and the pretty girl by his side could live in peace and didn’t have to worry about the problems hounding them at every turn.
“Seriously though,” Arkady said. “I still can’t believe you actually tried to kill that damn dragon. C’mon Leeroy, you should know better than to play hero!”
“Yeah,” said Krutch with a sigh. “I really should know better.”
* * *
Katrina Lamont found Dictum much like how she had left it. She spared little time to rest on her way back north. She stopped only once to wash the blood off, but otherwise pushed her stolen steed as hard as it would allow. When it would bear her no longer, she let it go and continued on foot. Once sobriety returned, she wanted nothing more than to outrun her own thoughts.
Although going back to Dictum was the longer route than Bevy, the last thing she wanted was to chance running into more Sentry Elite. Even if they didn’t know of her involvement with what happened at the Cliffs, she had more than her fill of soldiers and fighters.
When she returned, her legs were aching, and her feet were sore. She ignored it and made straight for the bar. It was the same as when she last left it. She found the same bartender and handful of poor, old drunks sitting in the darkened dive. The irony she should be back where the whole nightmare started wasn’t lost on her. She noted with some disgust it had only been little more than a week since she first met Rasul Kader in the very same bar.
So much had happened since then, and she desperately tried not to dwell on it. Too many bad memories dredged up—and all new ones to join them.
She sat at the bar and took a deep breath. The familiar old bartender stared at her for a moment. “Afternoon ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you?”
“Something strong and leave the bottle.”
As he prepared her drink, Katrina’s hand trembled. She tried not to think of Marcus—dying in the woods trying to protect her. She tried to forget the image of the Enforcer and that unsettling familiarity she felt just before he killed Rasul Kader. As much as it might have satisfied her drunken anger at the time, she tried to forget the slaughter she committed with her own hand.
She felt the black-bladed sabre, still strapped to her belt and shivered. Many times on her way back, she thought of throwing it away, but didn’t.
Most of all, she tried not to think of Lily. She tried not to feel the horrible guilt of knowing that girl—whom she barely knew—had come to her rescue and took responsibility for something caused due to Katrina and her own anger.
She thought back to that night, when they were hiding in the woods. She had once sworn to never wield a sword again, and yet there she was, ready to lay her life on the line for this girl. Just what did she think she was going to accomplish protecting her, anyway? Did she really believe she was, in some way, defying destiny? Would it somehow make up for the pain?
None of it mattered anyway. In the end, they were all just pawns. Used and manipulated by fate, bad luck, and the evil people who exploit them.
“The only way off the path is to not move,” she grumbled under her breath.
“You say something, ma’am..?” the bartender asked, returning with the bottle and a glass.
“Nothing,” she said. “Forget it.”
She filled the glass and guzzled it down in a single gulp. She welcomed the familiar sting of alcohol burning down her throat—the inevitable numbness that would follow. She just wanted to push it all away and forget.
She poured again and gulped it down, too. To her left, she heard someone chuckle. A middle-aged man came beside her and said, “I admire a woman that can drink like a man.”
“Piss off,” she hissed.
“Aw, come on now. No need for that. Let me buy you this.”
“I said piss off.”
He chuckled again. “You’re a feisty one, ain’t you?” He started caressing her back, still laughing.
There was a flicker of something shining, a slash of black, and a spurt of blood. The man was no longer laughing—clutching his face, now pouring blood through his fingers. He howled and stumbled away, out the door of the bar.
The bartender stared at her, eyes wide. After a few moments, he said, “You don’t mind me saying, ma’am, but you look like you’ve been through hell.”
She sheathed the sword and poured herself another drink. Her hand wasn’t shaking anymore. There was no fear or panic in her heart. She felt cold.
“Still there.”
Epilogue
I have to say I picked a good time to head south. There was a general unease all around the area before I even got there. Word of something sinister infecting the forests to the west. Demons lurking about. Assassins, pirates, and sorcerers abound. There was energy in the air that made me feel good to be alive and very pleased I chose to come this way.
Somewhere around Canton, I happened to come across a small unit of Sentry Elite out of Coldstone. Ordinarily, I steer clear of the law—although we share a taste for prey, I find our goals rarely match up—but as fate would have it, I found myself enjoined with them fighting some bandits and would-be pirates. They were small-fry losers, but never let it be said I have no appreciation for some casual murder.
The soldiers, I was able to learn, were tracking the theft of some dagger. I couldn’t care less about that sort of thing, but what piqued my interest was the hint/rumor that none other than Krutch Leeroy might be behind it. There’d been pirate sightings all over the place in recent days and tales the man himself might be lurking about.
I’m usually not the type to leap at rumors—especially when pertaining to Krutch Leeroy. Personally, I think the guy is more a spook than actual person. His name gets thrown around, usually as a smoke-screen or recruitment trick, and I’ve found most leads on him are a dead-end.
Nevertheless, I decided to pursue this trail. Leeroy or not, there seemed to be something interesting brewing. You never know.
Lo and behold, fortune wound up favoring me. The two-bit bandits I was generous enough to help th
e Sentries dispatch were in fact seeking recruitment with Krutch Leeroy. I was able to pick up the trail they would’ve taken, and it led me outside Dictum where I met Leeroy’s right-hand man, Lemmy Hobbs. He seemed confident of my vague reputation as a “mercenary” of sorts and welcomed me as part of the gang.
Stupid jerk.
My newfound comrades and I had been hired by this doofy-looking bastard named Rasul Kader. Being as I was low on the totem pole, I wasn’t privy to details of the story, but the long and short of it amounted to we were hired to harass and/or kidnap a woman calling herself Rien.
One thing that caught my ear was the mention Vicar Frost arranged this whole thing. I should make a note to add him to my project list, someday.
I really didn’t care about Kader or his scheme. I smiled and played along until finally meeting the man himself—Krutch Leeroy. Once he entered the picture, I felt the first tingle of the Itch. The legendary and infamous Krutch Leeroy, right there in front of me. But I have to say ... he was not at all what I was expecting. To be frank, he struck me as bit of a mooch.
He said little and spent the majority of his time sulking in the corner—letting Hobbs do most of the talking. At first I figured Leeroy was the type that kept to himself and left the grunt work to his minions. But the more I watched him, the more he struck me as having zero interest in anything going on. I got the impression many times he was actively trying to convince everyone to just ditch the job. Very curious.
It wasn’t until I caught wind he was suspicious of me that I realized his game. The gang’s first attempt on attacking Rien was a botch, and she wound up turning to the Sentry Elite. Ironically, the very same Sentries I’d helped outside Canton. Funny world we live in.
We started tailing them through the western woods, and that was when I started noticing Leeroy giving me shifty glances. He started making a point of bringing me into conversations and addressing me—almost as though he was singling me out. I don’t think he knew who I was, but he definitely sniffed something off about my presence.
In a way, I had to give him credit on that one. I’m well aware of his reputation and didn’t think he would go down as easily as the usual pieces of meat I target, but Leeroy proved a more crafty prey than even I expected. In fact, since he wasn’t outright challenging me, he seemed to be engaging me in a game of cat and mouse.
I was beginning to like this guy.
In the meantime, I passed the time picking off his merry men one at a time in the night. Nothing fancy—just lure them out in the woods and slice them up real good. No one seemed to notice our decreasing numbers—and even then, most chalked it up to desertion. The only one who seemed even somewhat aware something wasn’t right was Leeroy himself. And yet, he still continued our little game. I have to be honest: I almost didn’t want to kill him. He was too much fun.
I was still debating how I would proceed, when the stakes changed. Hobbs and the rest of the crew decided to pull a mutiny and continued the Rien job without Leeroy. I happened to be away from the camp at the time—picking off another of the merry men—so I missed out on the mutiny and subsequent weirdness that followed.
As such, I missed the gargoyle attack and the Sentry Elite that followed. The gang’s numbers were cut in half as a result, and I found myself at something of a crossroad. Leeroy had made his escape, but the Itch was still there.
I needed a new project.
* * *
After the disaster with the gargoyles, Hobbs thought he’d been betrayed by Kader and whoever he was working for. He decided we would cut through the woods, ambush them in the ruins we were supposed to deliver Rien, and ... I really don’t know. Hobbs struck me as a complete imbecile.
But I decided I would stick with them, anyway. With Leeroy gone, I needed a new project and although neither Hobbs nor anyone in his crew struck me as worthy, I amused myself picking them off one by one as I had been. The disappearances were blamed on roaming demons, desertion, and the Enforcer. No one suspected me. If anything, the dwindling numbers made Hobbs even more reliant on me.
Stupid jerk.
I could only hope sooner or later something worth my while would present itself. Casual slaughter is an amusing diversion, but it’s never enough to stifle the Itch. It’s just an appetizer. Fortunately, I am a patient man, and something told me it would be worth it not to tread far.
And lo, my patience would eventually pay off.
I wasn’t stupid enough to go walking through that swamp. The route I took to the ruins was a bit longer, and I wound up missing much of the action that took place there, but all the same, my labor started to bear some fruit.
It was in the ruins I finally got a name: Jacob Daredin. Apparently a sorcerer, leader of a small cult, and the guy who hired Rasul Kader in the first place. I had no time or means for research, but from what I was able to gather, he was some loon convinced sacrificing the Rien woman was his destiny or something. I don’t usually do sorcerers, but this guy sounded like he would suit my wheelhouse.
All signs pointed southwest to a tower on the Blind Cliffs. Along the way, I came across a dismal little shack. There was a small cellar underneath, which I thought might serve my purposes. The shack was abandoned and in the middle of nowhere, and I thought it would be an ideal place to do my merry work with Mr. Daredin.
I made some preliminary preparations and was about to head out when, as fate would have it, I discovered none other than little Lily Blackthorn. Like me, she seems to be a hunter of sorts. We first crossed paths back east, when we happened to be tracking the same prey. I don’t think she knows exactly what I am, but she definitely can tell something is ... off about me. In turn, I don’t know what exactly she is, but I know she isn’t all she appears to be.
Seeing as we’re both hunters with secrets, we try not to step on each other’s toes as a professional courtesy.
In another of life’s amusing little coincidences, it turned out Lily and I shared similar goals. She was intent on saving the Rien woman and hoped for my help. I was hoping my operation would be methodical and carefully constructed—and I knew whatever she was going to do would only create a huge mess—but I decided to help anyway. I guess even I am not totally immune to little Lily’s charms.
It was through Lily I got a more detailed picture of Daredin. He sounded like the typical would-be dark lord with delusions of grandeur. Oh, how I love these loons who think they’re walking embodiments of evil with their insane ambitions for world conquest. There are fewer pleasures in life than taking a man that thinks he’s a god and educating him in the ways of reality.
When we reached the tower, she was able to find a way in, but I was left to my own devices. In all honesty, I had no idea how I was going to get in, when in another of life’s little ironies, it was Krutch Leeroy and none other than the Enforcer himself that came to my aid. I cut Leeroy loose, who promptly led the Enforcer into the tower.
From that point on, I had to do little more than wait and watch while the place was consumed in chaos and confusion. I kind of wish I had made it inside the tower, because it looked like it would’ve been fun. There were explosions and fire and screaming and even a dragon. More Sentry Elite showed up, and they started fighting the fleeing cultists. It was just a grand old time.
I picked off a few of Daredin’s followers here and there. My eye was for the man himself. And sure enough, I eventually found him abandoning ship, as it were. I caught him escaping the burning tower, wounded and sullen. He seemed more concerned with getting away and evading the Sentry Elite than anything else.
Dumb bastard didn’t even see me coming.
* * *
The night was pleasantly cool and crisp. Although we wouldn’t be able to see the dark sky from the shack’s cellar, I felt content to know a nice, bright moon hovered over us, looking like a shining coin floating in black ink.
Daredin was tied down, good and tight, and I had my tools all lined up and ready to go. The thing with sorcerers is accounting for
their magic trickery. I always like my projects awake when I go to work, but I can’t have a mage coherent enough to utilize a spell to escape. The solution is to use just the right amount of sedative. Enough to keep him dazed and unable to concentrate, but not so much he’d pass out or not realize what I was doing.
While Daredin was unconscious, out of curiosity, I removed his facial mask. Considering his resemblance to a corpse, the lower half of his face looked pretty much how one would expect it. I could find no evidence the mask was necessary to breath—he seemed to wear it just to wear a mask.
I don’t know why, but that really bothered me.
Just as my guest was beginning to stir, I gave a little prick on the neck with a measured sample of sedative. He wouldn’t be able to use his magic against me, but he’d still know what was happening to him. Knowing that brought a smile to my face as I put on my work gloves and smock.
“Where..?” he mumbled. “Where I am I..?”
“Hi, guy.”
“Who..?” he asked, his eyes glazed and dizzy. “What is this..?”
“Just wrapping up loose ends.”
He started to squirm, but he was too dazed to mount any strength. His head swayed drunkenly, and despite the sedative, a look of indignation formed on his decrepit face. He hissed and snarled like an important and powerful man being inconvenienced. There was something about his demeanor I found very satisfying.
“Release me!” he said. “I said release me, you worm!”
“No.”
“How dare you?! Who do you think you are to do this to me?!”
“I’m curious who you think you are.”
“I’m Jacob Daredin!” he snarled. “I am a master of the Black! I am the future Dark Emperor! The power of a god was at my fingertips!”
I started laughing. “You do know that whole thing was a complete wash, right..?” He stared at me, and I continued, “I don’t what the whole deal with the prophecy crap was, but the only thing that rose up was a big freaking dragon.”
“A dragon..?” Daredin repeated. “But ... that doesn’t make sense. The ceremony was supposed to make me a god.”
