HE WHO FIGHTS

by Mike Morris

  They came in at a trot and stopping outside the main building, dismounted and tied their horses to a fence railing.

  The front door was smashed off its hinges. Whoever had done it, had gone in hard and heavy. Rane pulled a pistol out and Myri did likewise. Kibon protested, painfully, promising safety and success if only Rane had his sword in his hand instead but he knew where that desire led.

  They waited outside the door, listening for any sounds from inside but all was silent. Myri pointed at Rane, indicating that he enter first. He nodded, mouth dry, and stepped inside.

  It took a moment or two for Rane's eyes to adjust to the darkness of the interior. The main room was completely ransacked — the table overturned, pots smashed, a small chest of drawers pulled apart. And there was the smell — a mix of blood, piss and shit — somewhere there was a corpse waited to be found.

  He stepped further into the room, Kibon screaming in his head, looking for the dead and the danger.

  The body was the easiest to find. In the far corner of the room, a man was tied to a chair. His head tilted to the ceiling, with a vicious cut that had opened his neck from one side to the other. Every part of his body was stained red with his blood and covered most of the floor in front of him.

  Rane pointed out the body to Myri as she entered the cottage behind him, then to a trail of blood leading to a doorway just pass the corpse. They moved together, silently, towards it. Was the killer on the other side of it, unaware the Legionnaires were there — or was he waiting to attack them the moment they opened the door?

  As Rane passed the dead man, he reached out to feel his skin. It was getting cold. A good chance then that the killer was gone. Even so, Rane's heart raced as he reached for the door handle. He paused, counted to three inside his head, and opened the door. Inside was a small bedroom with a bed and two children's cots to one side. And more dead. The man's wife and children lay slaughtered in their beds.

  "Shit," said Rane, holstering his weapon. "Shit. Shit."

  Myri peered over his shoulder. "Marcus."

  "Marcus," agreed Rane, almost choking on the word. They stepped back into the main room and Rane cast his eyes over the room while Myri checked the man out.

  "Tying him up is new," she said. "The mutilation’s more controlled."

  "Torture."

  "Look at this." Myri walked around to the back of the man, careful not to step in any of the puddles of blood. She tilted the man's head to one side so it caught the sunlight sneaking in through the front door. His ear had been hacked off. She turned the head again to show the same had been to the other ear as well.

  "Not good," said Rane.

  "Hands too." Not all, but most of the man's fingers were missing.

  "Why kill him like this?" Rane moved in closer so he could get a better look at the man's face. It was about as ordinary as it could get. Dark hair, roughly cut, weather-beaten skin, well lined from hard living. "He's just a farmer. He didn't deserve to die like this. Nor his family."

  "No one does."

  Rane bent down to inspect the dead man's wounds. The cuts on the neck and hands were clean and precise. Why had Marcus bothered? There were no tooth marks so Marcus hadn't fed on the body but still, why hack away at the man like this?

  Myri rubbed her face. "You're right. We have to stop him somehow. Otherwise he'll keep doing this."

  "Look in on his wife and children again. Did Marcus cut them in the same way?" asked Rane as he stepped back. There was a lot of blood in front of the man, as there should be from a throat wound like his. Marcus had been standing behind the man when he cut the windpipe open and the blood would’ve shot out, especially as the man must have been petrified. He'd suffered a long time after all. And yet there was almost too much blood.

  "The others aren't as bad as the man here, but Marcus has given them a pretty good going over," said Myri, returning to the room. "All had multiple cuts."

  "The blood trail to the room," said Rane, pointing to it. "I think Marcus made the man watch his family be murdered one by one, before he set to work on the father."

  "Why would he do that?" asked Myri.

  "Back in Rooktown, at Haversham's mansion, I remember thinking that bedroom was an awful place to die. I hoped no one living had been brought there to see the carnage before Marcus did whatever he did to them. But maybe they were. Maybe that was the point. Maybe he needs them scared."

  "Needs?"

  "You said the more people we kill with our swords, the more our souls get corrupted."

  Myri nodded. "That's right."

  "So what if Marcus is killing good people, innocent people with his sword? Would the corruption be quicker? Would the hit of magic that comes with it be more powerful? Maybe if the person is petrified, the effect is intensified."

  "Marcus is hurt," continued Myri. "He needs to get better — just like us — and then he finds this cottage and the family..."

  "Exactly," said Rane. "He tortures them, feeding his sword's magic with their fear and their blood."

  Myri picked up a chair from the ground and sat down. "Shit. So the more scared they are, the stronger he'll get?"

  "Looks that way," agreed Rane. "But unless he found a horse here, Marcus is still on foot. If we leave now, we can still catch him."

  "Shit. It keeps getting worse." Myri sighed, shaking her head as she got up. "Come on, let's find the bastard."

  They stepped out into the cold morning air, grateful to leave the carnage behind. Rane breathed in deeply, trying to get the stink out of his nose. "We head north, see what tracks we can find."

  They rode in silence, leaving the dead behind, Rane full of guilt for not stopping Marcus when they had the chance and for not staying to give the farmer and his family a decent burial.

  The grasslands were a series of small hills, up and down into another small valley, so they could never see more than half a mile or so ahead, forcing them to ride frustratingly slowly as they looked for signs of Marcus's passing.

  "He could be waiting for us on the other side of the next hill," said Myri as she spat into the dust. "Or miles away by now."

  "Rushing isn't going to change that. We'll only miss his tracks if he turns back on us," replied Rane.

  "If he's got any sense, he'll stay on the road. The dirt's too fucking hard to leave a footprint for us anyway. Put as many miles between as he can."

  "Marcus was never stupid," agreed Rane. They reached the peak of the next hill to find a small convoy of wagons stalled halfway along. "Odd place to stop."

  "Too early to camp." Myri leaned forward in her saddle to get a better look. "Missionaries. The big wagon in the middle is a mobile temple. It's got the sign of Odason stuck on its roof."

  They nudged their horses on, moving slowly so not to spook anyone who spotted them. Even so the first scream rang out when they were still a good few hundred yards away.

  People scrambled around, ducking for cover under and behind wagons while two men marched out to meet the Legionnaires. They wore missionary clothes like everyone else but in their hands were flintlock pistols.

  When there was fifty yards between them, both parties stopped. One of the men aimed his pistol at Rane. "Come any closer and I'll blow your brains out."

  16

  The man's gun wavered in his hand, but Rane had no doubt he was going to use if it he had to. His friend next to him took a moment longer to get his pistol raised but his hand was steady. They might’ve been wearing the robes of religious men but they weren't strangers to violence.

  Rane held up his hands. "We're not looking for any trouble. Just wanted to ask you a few questions and then we'll be on our way."

  "How about you just turn around and go back the way you came and keep your questions to yourself?" suggested the second man, a Fascalian judging by his accent.

  Myri nudged her horse forward. "We're not going to do that but you're welcome to try and make us."

  "Hold on! Hold on!" A burly woman, well into middle age, steppe
d out from behind one of the wagons. She strode past the two men, pushing their weapons down towards the ground as she did so. "We've had enough violence for one day." Her hair was tied back into a high ponytail, with the sides shaved off to show she was one of Odason's priestesses. Sunray tattoos disappeared down her neck and into her heavy woollen robes. She wasn’t part of the Inquisition though as far as Rane could see. That was something.

  "They're trouble, Mother," said the first man.

  "Go and load that pistol properly, Douglas, before you hurt yourself," she replied before turning to Rane. "I'm Mother Fia. Who’re you?"

  "My name is Nathaniel Rane and this is Myri," said Rane. Douglas stepped back, eyes blazing with fury at Rane. The other man remained by Fia's side, tense and alert.

  Fia's eyes drifted over them, taking in their injuries but also their weapons. "Would you mind showing me your right hands?"

  Myri waved her stump at the priestess with a smile while Rane held up his still burnt hand.

  "Fucking convenient injuries you got there," snapped the Fascalian.

  Myri started forward. “As if I’d cut my own…”

  “Please, everyone! Calm down,” said Fia. "William, please mind your language. I know we've had an ordeal but there is no need for such profanity."

  The man bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Mother. I wasn't thinking."

  "We've just been attacked," said Fia to Rane and Myri. "By a man, or what seemed like a man, carrying a sword like yours. A Legion sword. Two of my flock are dead and he’s driven off in one of our carriages with three children on board."

  "How long ago?" asked Rane.

  "Maybe two hours," replied Fia. She looked away for a moment. "The men wanted to go after them, but William and Douglas are our only guards left alive. I don't want to leave everyone else unprotected. They'll only get themselves killed if they catch up with him anyway. The man was a demon."

  Rane dismounted. "You did the right thing in not pursuing — he's a dangerous man. We barely survived our last encounter."

  "Are you bounty hunters?" asked Fia. "Douglas said the man was a Legionnaire and I hear they're offering a lot of gold for them these days."

  "Something like that," said Rane. "We mean to stop him."

  "We haven't got much money," said Fia, "but we'll pay you to return our family to us."

  "Mother, you can't trust them," roared William. "We'll get the kids back. I promise you. We don't need these two."

  Fia placed a hand on his arm. "You're lucky you're not dead, my dear, and I don't want that changing. If Odason has brought Nathaniel and Myri to us in our hour of need, I’d be foolish not to ask for their help."

  "We're not for hire anyway," spat Myri. "We've got enough to deal with."

  "We do but we can still help if we can," said Rane as he gave her a look to calm down. Myri shook her head at him, but said no more. He turned his attention back to Fia. "Did the wagon have any weapons? Provisions? Anything we should know about?"

  "Some food, some water. No weapons. We keep them on the back wagon," replied the priestess. “The one he took is as ordinary as the rest of them.”

  "And the children... how old are they?" asked Rane.

  Tears came to the corners of Fia's eyes. "Eight, five and four. Hardly grown at all."

  "Right." Rane didn't want to think of children that young in Marcus's hands, of how afraid he could make them. "We'll go after him. You follow on as soon as you can. Hopefully by the time you catch up, we'll have good news for you."

  Fia drew the sign of Odason in the air. "Bless you, Nathaniel. I'll pray for your success."

  "Thank you," said Rane. "We'll need all the help we can get."

  “We’ll follow on behind you as best we can,” said Fia.

  Rane nodded. “You do that, and the Gods willing, we’ll get the children back for you.”

  Fia looked at him. “There is only the one God. Odason, God of Life.”

  “Of course,” replied Rane.

  Mounted once more, the Legionnaires left the convoy of wagons behind and continued on their way. This time at least they knew what they were looking for. There was no need to look for scuffed earth or broken twigs. Marcus had three kids in a wagon with a two-hour head start.

  They kept a good pace without pushing the horses hard, not wanting to tire them out too soon, just hoping they were going faster than Marcus.

  Trees appeared along the road and dotted across the fields but still there was no sign of the wagon.

  Overhead, the sun passed the midday point and began its long, slow descent once more. The trees grew denser, and in the distance, Rane could see a forest waiting for them. He knew they'd find Marcus there, amongst the trees and the shadows. It looked the place for dark deeds. He prayed the children were still safe.

  They picked up the pace and the horses pounded along the road as it twisted down a small hill. It curved off to the right, turning once more when it met a small river and ran parallel to it through to the woods. Trees curled over the path, forming a tunnel of leaves and flickering light. Rane's unease grew — so many places for Marcus to hide. So many places to torture the children, to kill them.

  "We're going to have to slow down soon," shouted Myri. "We going to kill the horses if we don't."

  Rane ignored her, eager to find Marcus and only too aware of the lives at risk. He could tell his horse was struggling but he needed it to go on a little longer. Marcus was close — he could feel it.

  "Nathaniel!" Myri rode in close and grabbed Rane's reins. "Stop."

  Rane gave in then, pushed down on his stirrups and pulled the reins to slow the horse from a gallop to a cantor and then a walk. Myri matched him, all the while looking at him as if to question his sanity.

  "What are you doing?" asked Myri finally.

  "I'm sorry," replied Rane. He scrunched his face up as he swallowed the reality of the situation. "I'm sorry... I don't want to find three dead children. Marcus has killed enough."

  "We'll find him, but killing the horses isn't going to help us. We have enough problems as it is."

  Rane scanned the woodland around them, looking into the shadows and through the trees, desperate for a sign. "He's close. I can feel it."

  "Me too." said Myri, her jaw tight. "It's the sword. I've been fighting the urge to draw it ever since we rode into the forest but it keeps niggling away at me, whispering in the back of my head."

  "It's worse than any hunger I've known."

  Shadows fell across Myri's face, hiding her eyes. "Believe me, you don’t know the half of it yet."

  "So where is he?"

  They let the horses walk and catch their breath, with nothing but the trees and the occasional squirrel for company. Time passed, each minute a heavy weight pressing down on Rane, another minute the children got closer to meeting Heras, another minute Rane drew closer to letting someone else down.

  The woods grew darker around them as the sun crossed the sky. Rane was starting to question his instincts when he noticed the birds had stopped singing, and he cursed himself for a fool.

  Another corner and the wagon waited for them in the middle of the road. It lay upside down, broken, shreds of awning littering the road. There was no sign of its horses, the children or Marcus.

  They stopped a few yards away and Myri and Rane approached on foot. Claw marks were everywhere, gouged into the wood, chunks bitten away. The wagon's contents were scattered across the road and in amongst the trees. They found one horse nearby, ripped in half, blood and guts everywhere. Another trail of blood suggested the other horse had been dragged deeper into the woods.

  "This doesn't look like Marcus's work," said Myri.

  Rane stared at the gouges in the wood and knew full well what had caused them. "Bracke." There was no need to say any more.

  Kibon was in his hand a heartbeat later. Glistening, full of power, telling him not to take any chances. There was a sigh as Myri unsheathed her sword — the blade so dark, so frightening.

  T
hey both stood waiting, watching, listening. Every sense straining. Their horses skittered about, unnerved by the blood and the scent of death in the air.

  "Grab the horses before they bolt," said Rane.

  "Remember I've only got one fucking hand," snapped Myri but did as he ordered anyway. They both knew he was going to be more useful in a fight.

  The slaughter of the horses made the tracks hard to read. From what Rane could tell, there'd been at least two, if not three, Bracke in the attack. Three too many for Rane's liking, even with Kibon.

  "You see anything?" called Myri.

  "Nothing," replied Rane. "Maybe they went after Marcus and the children."

  "Do we go after them?"

  "What choice do we have?"

  Rane was about to head back to his horse when he heard it. So faint, it could have been a whisper on the wind. The second time he was sure. A child's sob came from under the wagon.

  He squatted down beside it, knocked on the wood. "Is someone in there?"

  "You found something?" asked Myri as she brought the horses closer but Rane put up a hand to silence her.

  "I'm here to help," called out Rane, trying to make his voice sound as calm as possible. "Mother Fia sent me to get you."

  The sob was louder this time, full of tears and snot.

  "I'm going to lift the wagon off you, okay? Stay calm and we'll have you out of there in a minute." Rane waited for a response but got none. He looked up at Myri. "I think its one of the children."

  "Thank the Gods."

  Rane stood and sheathed Kibon. "Tell me if anything's coming," he asked Myri.

  "That's going to be a bastard to shift," said Myri. "Must be at least a thousand pounds."

  "Thanks for telling me," said Rane. "It's still got to be lifted." He squatted down once more, hooking his fingers under the wooden side. "Grab the kid as soon as you can."