Chasing Down Glory: The Outrider Legion: Book Two

by Christopher Pepper

  Ryker’s eyes flicked from his men to the members of the City Watch around them. He could make out a few up on the walls manning the gate, and a handful standing around the area, hands on cruel looking cudgels. All of them were apparently looking at the Outriders, but it was hard to tell with their faces covered by their simple helmets. Aside from the Outriders, the Watch were the only other people he saw, and they were giving him a bad vibe. Yeah, Ryker thought, they were being watched.

  “Alright guys,” Johan said, snapping Ryker back to attention, “we’ve had a long day, but we aren’t done yet. Toma says they came in through this gate, so we're still on their trail. Garm, I know you’ve been out of the game for awhile, but do you have any idea where they may be heading?”

  The gruff man shook his head, bitter disappointment on his face. “No. We-they weren’t yet working in Bellkeep when I left. I’ve no idea who or what they own here.”

  “Taverns and inns then,” Johan said. Ryker was about to open his mouth but his friend silenced him with a look. “To look for them, not for us. We may be tired and sore, but they are also tired and sore. Not to mention recovering from a major asskicking courtesy of us.”

  “They do stand out, as a group I mean,” Toma said. “You don’t often see a sifar walking around cities. Especially one with an escort of five pretty ladies traveling with only one knight and an old man.”

  “There’s six of them,” Vegard said. “Don’t forget the silver-haired one.”

  “Regardless,” Johan said, “Toma’s right. They are an odd mix. We can use that to our advantage in looking for them.”

  “It isn’t much of one,” Ryker said. “Especially if our plan is to simply go door to door at all the inns looking for them. They may not even be at an inn, they could be at one of the-” he shot a glance at the nearby Watch and lowered his voice. “One of his boltholes or bunkers or hidden dungeons or whatever.”

  “It’s all we have to work with right now,” Johan said. He looked into the city, at the number of roads and thoroughfares that branched off from the gate area, then he turned his horse and trotted over towards the nearest Watchman. “Good evening sir. We’re new in town, and were hoping for some directions.”

  Ryker watched as the Watchman looked up at Johan silently for a moment before turning his head to look at a figure above them on the wall. The figure, wearing a similar green tabard as that of the Watchmen, but lacking a helmet and armor, climbed down a wooden ladder and joined them. The man, Ryker saw as he walked to meet them, looked like he had suffered though a series of physical cataclysms. The man’s skin was horribly pockmarked, as if he had been ravaged by some disease. His hair was stringy and coming out in patches. One of his eyes was covered by a crude patch while the other, a dull gray orb, looked unfocused. In addition, it appeared as if the man suffered from some kind of gigantism. His hands were much larger than was normal, but he only had four fingers on each. And to top it off, he walked with a halting limp. Not someone that Ryker would tag as the face of the City Watch. And to complete the horror show, when the man spoke, his voice was raspy, quiet, and slow.

  “I am, ah, Watch Sargent Griffon,” the man wheezed as he stood next to the Watchman Johan addressed. Ryker felt almost nauseous when the man spoke. And out of the corner of his eye, he swore he saw Alek flinch also.

  “Good evening, Sargent,” Johan said. “My friends and I haven’t been here before, and were hoping for some directions to a good tavern. Or two,” he added with that honest smile of his.

  “Taverns...hmmm,” Griffon said slowly, and Ryker swore the man’s dull gaze went to the weapons worn by each of the Outriders. “Yes.” He slowly raised a disfigured arm and pointed down one of the more brightly lit thoroughfares, threading its way through the night between buildings and alchemical lanterns. “Some down that way.”

  “Perhaps you’ve seen some friends of ours?” Johan asked. “Eight people, maybe passed through this gate a half hour ago or so? They’d be looking for a tavern too.”

  Griffon slowly shrugged his shoulders, the humped shoulder rising a few noticeable inches more than the other.

  “Well, my thanks to you all the same,” Johan said, gesturing with his head to the rest of the Outriders to follow as he spurred his horse to a quick trot down the road Griffon had gestured to. Ryker rode next to him, feeling the nausea fade as they left Griffon and his silent Watchmen.

  “Definitely the night shift,” Ryker commented as they rode.

  “Poor guy is just doing what he’s able to, Rye,” Johan said. “Better doing this than begging.”

  “I suppose,” Ryker said. He looked across Johan’s horse at Aleksander, who had taken to riding with the two of them during the day. Alek definitely looked as if he had felt sick around Griffon. He turned in the saddle to look at the others. Even in the darkness between lamps and torches, Ryker’s enhanced vision showed him that Garm, Vegard, and Toma looked fine. Ryker also didn’t notice Johan suffering anything around him either, and he turned to watch the road ahead of him. He was silent for a moment, considering. His mind made up, he sought the answer he already knew.

  “Fay?” Ryker asked into his own mind. “Is this your doing?”

  “Yes,” came the Voice from within. The voice was faint, almost muffled. As if they were speaking to each other through a thick wooden wall. “Our senses are heightened when we are in conjunction.”

  “I see,” Ryker said, not exactly seeing. “So what is that gold light I see around Aleksander?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure what exactly it is,” the Voice replied. “But he has the Power within him. He burns from within like the sun itself.”

  Ryker was quiet, both internally and externally. But around him, the Outriders were their usual jovial, almost oblivious selves. Toma and Vegard were discussing some new contraption they could use in combat, with occasional input from Garm. Johan and Alek were again discussing the merits of Sir Aldir as a role model in the modern age, each with strongly differing opinions. Even after months of time with them, Ryker was still amazed at how well they had come together, how well they complimented them all. At how successfully Johan had forged them into one unit. Something that, Ryker knew, he could never have done. He looked at his best friend as he spoke to Alek, and he knew, again, that he couldn’t let him fail. Johan deserved the best Ryker could offer. Perhaps it was time to up the quality of what he could bring to the table for his friend. Ryker just hoped he could cover the cost.

  “Okay Fay,” Ryker spoke within his own mind. “I’ll open the Door for you a little more. Not all the way, but I need you again.”

  “What more can I do?” the Voice replied, a hint of eagerness underlying it.

  “I need to find the Underking,” Ryker said. “I need to track him down, and I need you to...I don’t know, empower me to do so. Like how you did with Kian back in Coula.”

  The Voice was silent for a moment, as if considering. “I can't simply pluck the location of someone out of the ether you know,” it said.

  “What about tracking him? I mean, he has to be the only sifar in this city. I know you can sense differences in people, you obviously knew something was wrong with that freakshow back there at the gate. I need that, but for a sifar. One who isn’t a few feet from me.”

  “I may be able to do it.” The Voice was silent for a moment, as if considering. “Yes, I think I can. It will, however, require more...trust on your behalf.”

  “I’m giving you a fair amount of trust already,” Ryker said. “I’ve never allowed a woman in my head nearly as much as I’ve done for you.”

  Ryker swore he heard the voice sniff in disdain. “I am as much a woman as you are a turnip,” the Voice said. “How you choose to interpret my voice and gender is your business. Regardless, I need access to your memories. One memory, to be precise. The clearest one you have of the sifar you wish to track. If he is truly as singular as you claim, together we may be able to find him in this city.”

  Ryker hesitated
. This was the price he had been afraid of. It was one thing to have this...spirit whispering into his mind. It had an alluring voice, and had helped him in the past. But it was another thing to let the Voice actually into his mind, rooting around in places no one was welcome. Would he be able to resist the Voice if it tried to dive deeper?

  “We are not merged,” the Voice said, as if to allay his fears. “Nor will this merge us. At least not yet. I can only see what you allow me to see.”

  “And that would change if we...merged?”

  “Among other things.”

  Ryker grimaced. “That is a delightful non-answer. But we can cross that bridge later. For now, we need the Underking.”

  “Then show me who we're looking for.”

  Ryker closed his eyes and reached back into his memory. It had been such a long, monotonous day of riding that the intense, stressful morning at the Underking’s manor seemed like it happened weeks ago. He conjured up what few images of the Underking he had seen. A sifar sitting behind an ornate desk. Confident and cruel, with dark gray skin. He could pull little more meaning out of his memory. He felt a tinge of frustration at this exercise. What could he remember that would help track a criminal mastermind through a city?

  Just as his concentration wavered under the weight of his frustration, and the mental image of the Underking began to slip away, a guiding sensation formed in his mind, like two soft hands cupping his head. A warmth was in that sensation, and it put Ryker at ease as it gently held the memory in place. The two soft hands guided Ryker within his own memory, showing him where to look, what to hear, what to smell. He remembered, with startling clarity, the sifar’s smell. Cloves, mixed with some wooded scent he wasn’t familiar with. Some sort of oil, he suspected. Odd, Ryker thought distractedly. He didn’t notice it when he was actually in the Underking’s study.

  Ryker’s ears (or was it the memory of his ears?) picked up a faint beat, three heavy taps and then one lighter one, repeating. The sifar’s heartbeat? Could the Phaedra within him hear something as faint as that? He could feel the Phaedra focusing now on the memory as a whole, and he could see a very faint blue aura coalesce around the Underking, similar to the way he saw the golden light around Alek. Ryker felt the slightest bit of emotion from the Phaedra, satisfaction perhaps? And then the sensation of the Phaedra holding his senses faded. Despite himself, Ryker found he almost missed the feeling.

  “There,” the Voice said. “We have what we need. I-we can track him now by sight, sound, and smell. And he won’t need to be simply ‘a few feet away’ from us. With the proper mind behind them, your senses can be powerful tools. You need only learn how to fully use them. Scent especially is a powerful sense that your kind has let stagnate.”

  “Well, I’m sorry that, wait…” Ryker stopped mid-thought. The now-familiar scent of cloves and that strange wood wafted past his nostrils.

  “There, you see?” the Voice said, and Ryker swore he again heard satisfaction in it. “Together we can do great things.”

  Ryker turned his head this way and that as he rode, sniffing the air. The Underking’s scent was never the same, even though it was...always the same. This dissonance perplexed Ryker at first until he realized that the Underking’s scent would subtly change as he did different things. Images accompanied each scent, and they flashed through Ryker’s mind, imparting meaning and fading away. Riding, walking, even speaking all shifted the scent one way or another. If he had the time to develop this, and the time to slowly go through the Underking’s tracks, he could not only track the sifar down, but he could probably piece together his actions and emotive states. A large grin spread over Ryker’ face, and Johan and Alek paused their discussion next to him.

  “What is it, Rye?” Johan asked.

  “Oh, not much chief. I just think I know where the Underking went.”

  “What?” Alek asked. “How would you know that?”

  “Well,” Ryker stammered. Just saying ‘Oh I can just smell the bastard’ probably wouldn’t engender a whole lot of confidence from his friends. ”I’ve actually been here in Bellkeep before,” he lied. “Took some leave time here a few years back. There was a place where, ah, some seedy individuals would gather, some of whom worked for the Underking. Just follow me, Joh.”

  Without waiting for a response, Ryker spurred his horse ahead, letting the gift that the Phaedra imparted lead him and his friends into the city as they all hurried to keep up.

  Johan followed Ryker, with the rest of the unit behind them. Ryker hadn’t given Johan much time to ask just what was going on, and that worried him. Lately Ryker had been acting a little...off, and while Johan had been meaning to sit down and talk to him about it, the events that had unfolded these past few days hadn’t given them an opportune moment. Johan looked over at Alek, and then he thought about Garm. He had thought he had a good handle on his men, their pasts and their quirks. But it suddenly seemed like he didn’t know anything about them at all.

  Despite these misgivings, Johan followed his friend without question through the darkened streets of Bellkeep. With only the light of torches and alchemical lamps, it was hard for Johan to judge the city as they rode through it. The light didn’t travel more than above street level, giving him an ominous feeling of giants looming over him in the night sky as they traveled through some unknown district. A large blocky silhouette rose above all others, framed in the weak starlight. The Keep of the Bells stood silent and dark, a few lit windows and torches glittering like jewels in the crown of some king of the night.

  “This place is really giving me some bad vibes,” Alek said as they rode.

  “Seems like just another city to me,” Johan replied.

  Ryker turned his horse sharply in front of them, darting down an alleyway. The other Outriders had to check their pace or overshoot the turn, but they managed to keep up.

  “What the hells is he following?” Toma called out from behind. Johan had no answer for the young scout, although he desperately wanted one himself.

  They emerged from the alleyway onto another cobblestoned street, this one unlit. Either the district was truly abandoned after dark, or the lamplighters were avoiding this place. Toma and Alek produced their alchemical lanterns, casting light about the streets. The windows and doors of the nearby buildings were all broken, with the contents of each seemingly dragged into the streets and smashed. A chill went up Johan’s spine, and he loosened his sword in its scabbard. Alek’s idea of bad vibes suddenly didn’t seem so strange.

  “Ryker, just where the hells are you taking us?” he asked.

  His second-in-command didn’t answer immediately, but he kept his horse at a swift trot for a few seconds before stopping abruptly. Ryker turned in his saddle to face his comrades, squinting in the light cast on his face by Alek and Toma.

  “Ahh, get that piking light out of my face you dicks!” Johan heard some chuckling and the two beams of light were directed away from Ryker’s eyes. “Thank you. Okay listen, I need you clowns to bear with me for a moment. Tie your horses up here. Our friend is nearby. He’s got to be.” He lightly dismounted from his horse and tied its harness to a jutting piece of lumber from the wreckage of what looked to be an old wagon. Johan and the others followed suit, with Johan hearing the sound of a sword being drawn. Garm’s, judging by tone the blade made as it left its sheath.

  Moving with an eager speed, Ryker led them through another alleyway, strewn with rubble and detritus that Johan couldn’t make out in the provided light. More than once a piece of debris tripped him or one of the others up. But not Ryker, Johan saw. His friend, the city boy-turned soldier who had become a master of goldbricking and slacking was suddenly moving with the speed and stealth of Toma at his best.

  Ryker eased against one of the alley walls, a large brick building covered in masonry dust, and peered around the corner. Johan slid up next to him, with Garm next. Johan could almost feel the anticipation radiating from the larger man. Garm wanted the Underking brought down bad. To
the point where he’d unquestioningly follow Ryker of all people if it meant seeing it done.

  “Alright,” Ryker whispered, turning to the Outriders. “He’s really close. I think he’s hiding in an alleyway across the way there. Alek? Toma? Keep your lights low until we find him. Who knows what surprises that sifar bastard has up his sleeve.”

  “He’ll have at least a knife,” Garm whispered, his harsh voice an abrasive on Johan’s ears. “Possibly some sort of smoke bomb or flash also. He’ll try and run, but he won’t fight. Not unless he’s cornered.”

  Johan nodded and put a hand on Ryker’s shoulder. “Lead the way, Rye.”

  Taking a deep breath, Ryker tensed, drew his blade, and rounded the corner. As Johan followed, from behind him in the alley Alek cried out. “Wait! Don’t!” But it was too late for Johan to stop himself. In front of him he heard Ryker curse and in the faint light saw him freeze. Alek charged ahead, sword in one hand, light in the other held aloft.

  The Underking, a long jagged knife in one hand, his other hanging limp at his side, was running towards them. His large eyes widened when he saw the Outriders in front of him, but he didn’t stop running. Johan saw that he did, however, drop his knife. It glittered in the light of Alek’s lamp on the cobblestones, slick with blood.

  “Help me, you fools!” the Underking shouted.

  Looking past the Underking, Johan saw three large men chasing after him. In the light afforded by Alek’s lamp, Johan could make out their features. One of the men, a brute larger than Alek, had overlarge eyes, like a fish, and a seam of stitches where his mouth was. The one to his right looked normal but for a tremendous, jutting underbite showing a row of jagged teeth that hung lower than a jaw should extend. The third man’s face was concealed under a tattered cloth, loosely tied with what looked like bandages. One of his arms simply dragged behind him, an overlong cord of flesh. With a shudder, Johan saw that they all possessed the same uneven gigantism that they saw in Griffon back at Bellkeep’s gate.