Conqueror

by Isaac Hooke

  When they turned onto the final street before the healer, his small group walked past a dog vendor. Inside the different cages he spotted a sight that broke his heart: the dogs were so malnourished that some had the rungs of their ribs showing, while others had big patches of fur missing from their hides.

  He turned angrily on the merchant: a fat, oily specimen of a man.

  “How much for all the dogs?” Malem said, his voice almost a growl.

  The man was busy whittling a small piece of wood with a pocket-knife and didn’t even bother to look up at him. “A hundred drachmae each. All twenty dogs? Two thousand drachmae.”

  Xaxia whistled. “That’s enough to buy a house in this city.”

  Hearing the woman’s voice, the man finally glanced up. “Monks eh? Tell you what, I can sell you this one for seventy-five. It’s a good little mutt. Give you all the loyal and loving care you monks need.” He was pointing at a particularly ragged Dalmatian in the first cage.

  When the dog growled and snapped at his finger from behind the metal grill, the man slammed the piece of wood into the cage. “Hey! Mind your manners, Mutt!” He struck the cage a few more times for good measure, rattling the dog inside.

  The poor animal retreated, whining softly, cowering in the far corner of the cage.

  The merchant shook his head. “Dirty mongrels.” He turned his attention back to the potential clients. “Look, I’m closing soon, bud. You want to buy a dog or what?”

  But Malem hardly heard for the rage that was boiling in his head.

  He drew Balethorn.

  Strangely, the sword was singing wildly in his grasp. It hungered for this man, though he was nowhere close to being a dragon. Perhaps the sword sensed an evil in this man that was not unlike that of a black dragon, and it triggered the same thirst in the blade. Whatever the case, it was all Malem could do not to cut him down and satisfy the sword.

  The dog vendor raised his hands in alarm.

  “Open the cages,” Malem hissed.

  The merchant quickly complied. The dogs, seeming confused, didn’t know what to do, so they simply stayed in their cages. That was the only home they had ever known.

  “Go then,” the vendor said. “Git!” He kicked the back of the cages. “Go you little bastards!”

  The dogs leaped outside, barking victoriously as they ran away to freedom.

  “They’ll just be recaptured over the next few days,” Xaxia muttered.

  “Maybe,” Malem said, turning away. He glanced over his shoulder at the man. “If I see you selling dogs ever again, I won’t be so lenient. Next time I’ll let my sword have a taste of your blood.” He walked away, and slammed the blade back into its sheath.

  “I’m going to report this to the city guard!” the vendor shouted from behind.

  “Go ahead,” Malem yelled back.

  He quickened his pace; there were too many eyes upon them.

  “So much for not drawing any attention to ourselves, huh?” Abigail said.

  “Everything was going well,” Xaxia said. “Until we had to pass by the merchant who mistreats his dogs. Oh well, you did the right thing, as far as I’m concerned. I wanted to gut him just as much as you did. The only reason I held back is because I don’t want you to have to ravage the city with your monsters so that we can avoid arrest.”

  “I somehow expect we won’t have to call in reinforcements, given our present company,” he said, nodding at the two half dragons, and Gwen.

  He reached the crossroads the robe merchant had described. The healer’s residence was on the corner of the intersection on the opposite side of the street: a quaint little white-walled home topped by a tile roof, and almost indistinguishable from the other houses beside it, the word “Healer” was painted in stark relief atop the door.

  He crossed the street, narrowly avoiding getting run down by a horse-and-rider, and then went inside.

  Seats distributed in the foyer were filled with people. They all looked at him as he walked in.

  “Busy, given the hour,” Xaxia commented.

  “It’s always busy!” an elderly woman said from one of the seats. “Kathor is the best healer in town! We’re just lucky he loves his work enough to stay open late.”

  The old man beside her, who seemed to be her husband, shook his head at that. “No, no, no, he doesn’t love his work. He only stays open late to charge his customers an arm and a leg!”

  Malem approached the counter with his companions. A receptionist clad in bright white sat behind it.

  “These women have been affected by some sort of magic,” he said. “They need healing immediately.”

  “Name?” the woman said without looking up.

  “Malem,” he said.

  “Can I see your health card?” she said.

  “I don’t have one,” he said.

  She finally looked up. “Do you have coin?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I’ll need a twenty drachmae deposit,” she told him.

  He retrieved a coin pouch from his pack, emptied fifty drachmae onto the counter and shoved it her way.

  He tossed the pouch back into his backpack and started heading toward the back rooms.

  “Wait, take a seat!” the woman said. “I’ll call you when the healer is ready to see you!”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Malem muttered.

  He ignored the woman’s cries and proceeded to barge into the first door he saw. There was a woman inside, seated alone, obviously waiting for the healer to arrive.

  “Sorry,” he told her sheepishly, shutting the door.

  The receptionist pushed herself in front of him. “You can’t just go in back and start disturbing the patients!”

  He shoved past her and went to the next door. He forced it open.

  A white-bearded man in a blue robe sat before a middle-aged woman who was obviously the patient, judging from the bandage wrapped around her arm. Both looked up in surprise when Malem entered.

  “Kathor, I’m sorry—” the receptionist started from behind him.

  “Get out,” Malem told the seated woman in no uncertain terms. “Now.”

  The patient glanced first at the healer, then at him, and apparently decided that she didn’t need healing today. She promptly got up and left the room.

  “You can’t—” the receptionist began.

  This time Xaxia was the one who shoved her out of view. “I’ll handle her,” the bandit said.

  Malem waited for Abigail and Weyanna to enter and then shut the door while Gwen waited outside with Xaxia.

  He turned toward the old man and lowered his hood to reveal his face. But before he could speak, he was interrupted.

  Would it have hurt to wait our turn? Abigail asked in his head. We’ve already spent two days traveling here. What’s another half hour?

  It would have been more than half an hour, he replied.

  I don’t remember you ever being this assertive, Abigail commented. Jumping queues, tossing out patients before they can get healed…

  Yes, well, that’s what happens when you’re being hunted by a rogue queen while trying to stop an alliance from falling apart. The pressure gets to you, after a while.

  Suppose so, she sent. But are you sure you’re not acting this way because of your growing power? You do seem to be becoming… more arrogant. Not to mention distant. Like you’re flying on a plane high above the rest of us mortals.

  He sighed. That could be a contributing factor, yes.

  Well, at least you’re honest enough with yourself to admit it. I just hope the softer, gentler Breaker I used to know is still in there, somewhere.

  He gave her a smile. He’s here.

  “So are you just going to stand there smiling at one another, or are you going to tell me why you barged into my practice to bother me today?” the elderly healer said.

  “She needs healing,” Malem nodded toward Weyanna, who had taken the former patient’s seat across from the healer.

>   “Ha!” Kathor said. “I don’t heal rude mendicants such as yourself. Barging in and expecting to be healed forthwith! Bah! Begone, miscreants, before I call the guards!”

  Malem lowered his pack and from within grabbed one of the coin bags Rashan had given him. He dropped it in the man’s lap with a pronounced jingle of drachmae.

  Malem returned the pack to his back and waited for the healer to look inside the bag.

  Kathor’s eyes widened when he opened the drawstring.

  “But I suppose I can make an exception for her.” The healer quickly vanished the coin bag inside his robes as if to forestall any attempt by Malem to take it back. When he turned his attention to Weyanna, his manner shifted entirely, becoming all pleasant-like. “Thank you for visiting, my lady. So tell me, what ails you today?”

  His voice seemed so unctuous and fake now. Malem preferred the healer’s former surly disposition. At least it was honest.

  “She’s a half dragon,” Abigail interjected. “If that makes a different.”

  “Oh?” The healer gave Weyanna an appraising look. “It certainly does.”

  “A white,” Abigail clarified.

  “Interesting,” Kathor said. “And half Metal, I assume?”

  “That’s right,” Abigail said.

  He paused, narrowing his eyes as if trying to peer into her hood—both Abigail and Weyanna had kept theirs raised.

  “Where are your collars?” the healer asked.

  “Haven’t you heard?” Abigail said. “The treaty has been amended. The Metals fight side by side with humanity, in exchange for freedom from the collars.”

  Kathor shook his head. “The world changes faster than this old man can keep up. Then again, news travels slowly in times of war.” He scratched his beard. “I’m not sure what help I can give to a Metal. Ordinarily, I’d say you’d have to find a healer of your own kind.”

  “Well, yes, but she’s the healer in our party,” Abigail said. “And she isn’t strong enough to heal herself. Nor me.”

  “So you’re both infected with something?” Kathor asked.

  Abigail nodded toward Weyanna, who doffed her robe, removed the straps of the dress underneath, and lowered her top so that her entire upper body was bare. At least she was wearing a bra.

  “Oh my,” the healer said. Malem wasn’t sure the comment was an involuntary response to the sight of Weyanna’s ample bosom, or the green wounds that mottled the flesh of her belly below them. He convinced himself it was the latter. That way he wouldn’t strike off the man’s head.

  Like Abigail’s, the wounds glowed a sickening green, and the surrounding skin was torn open, revealing red muscle tissue. That tissue was streaked with glowing green veins, which traveled underneath the skin, and crept toward her heart.

  Malem was shocked by the sight of those veins. He suspected those hadn’t been present earlier. Abigail probably had them, too. The magic was spreading.

  “Dear me, dear me,” the healer said. “I can’t treat this.”

  “You have to try,” Malem said. “What happens if those veins reach her heart?”

  “I don’t know,” Kathor said. “But I suspect… I suspect she would die. What magic caused this, might I ask?”

  “Eldritch,” Weyanna said.

  “I’ve never encountered Eldritch magic before,” the healer said. “I have no idea where to begin.”

  “Use your Delving,” Weyanna said. “Explore the wound. Do what you can.”

  Kathor nodded. “I’ll try.”

  Staying seated, he reached across to a nearby cupboard and retrieved a small amount of endurance herb. He shoved it into his mouth and began chewing.

  Kathor leaned toward Weyanna and rested a hand above the wound nearest Weyanna’s heart. It was a little close to her breasts for Malem’s liking, but there was nothing he could do about that.

  Ghostly white tendrils emanated from the man’s hands and seeped into the surrounding tissue. For long moments nothing happened, and then the white mist began to emerge from the skin, from the tips of the green veins underneath. That mist plumed upward, quickly dissipating.

  For the next three minutes, the man remained hunched over her, with the mist flowing ever outward. And then at the four-minute mark Weyanna straightened.

  The white mist coming from the tips of the veins became tinged green, and the glowing streaks underneath the skin of the immediate area began to retract. The veins faded inward, the plumes of whitish-green mist following them. Malem was reminded of a heated dagger burning a brand into a cow’s hide—played back in reverse.

  And then the tips of Kathor’s fingers began to blacken. “Ah!” He retrieved his hand as if burned. “Well, that was interesting.”

  “What happened?” Malem asked.

  “Some kind of feedback wave,” Kathor said. “The Eldritch magic adapted. It didn’t like what I was doing. I’m afraid that’s all the help I can offer her at the moment.”

  Weyanna looked down at her chest. The veins had only been reduced around the wounds near her heart. “Nicely done. That was more than I could ever do. You’ve reduced the size of the veins by half.”

  “Yes,” Kathor said.

  She glanced at Malem. “I’m still too weak to transform.”

  “That’s probably a good thing, considering the mess transforming here would bring,” Kathor continued. “As I told you, it would be best if you sought a healer from among your own people. I’m certain they could do more. Or even better, seek out whoever did this to you, and get them to reverse it, if possible.”

  “We’re actually on the way to do just that,” Malem said.

  The healer gave him a worried look. “There is an Eldritch here, in this city?”

  “No,” Malem said. “But outside the Midweald.”

  “Oh,” Kathor said, seeming relieved.

  Weyanna slid up her dress, giving Malem a coy look as she did so, and then donned the flowing robe overtop.

  Abigail removed her robe in turn and took the empty seat. She, too, lowered her straps and bared her upper body. She wasn’t actually wearing a bra—she’d never retrieved the undergarments Malem carried in his pack. Kathor seemed unconcerned with her nakedness, making no comment this time when she revealed herself.

  Malem hardly noticed himself. How could he, with those four green wounds marring her beautiful torso? The veins underneath the skin had expanded outward, just like Weyanna’s, with the topmost trending dangerously close to her heart.

  Kathor lifted his opposite hand toward her, the one that hadn’t been burned in the previous healing. As his shaking fingers approached her torso, he seemed to notice how much he was trembling. He paused to reach into the cupboard and grab another handful of endurance herbs. He shoved them into his mouth and the trembling subsided. He reached out once more and rested his hand on the wound closest to Abigail’s heart.

  This time, when the ghostly tendrils hooked inside of her, and looped out from the tips of the veins, it didn’t take as long for the mist to assume a greenish-white quality. Kathor didn’t need to “Delve” as long to ascertain what he was up against.

  The veins receded, but when they were about half the length they had started out as, once again Kathor’s fingertips blackened. He removed his hand with a hiss.

  Abigail looked down to examine the wound. Like Weyanna, the glowing veins had only receded around the one wound Kathor had touched with his healing magic. “Thank you. I feel better already.”

  She lifted the straps of her dress and hid her nakedness, then stood to don the robe overtop. “We should go.”

  Malem turned toward Kathor. “Can you tell me how long she has?”

  The healer shook his head. “Depends on how fast those veins are growing. I don’t think I’ve changed the expansion rate. How long has it been since this Eldritch magic touched them?”

  “About two days,” he said.

  Kathor nodded. “Then they have perhaps a day before it reaches their hearts. This one”—he i
ndicated Abigail—“a little less.”

  Malem opened the door. Gwen and Xaxia were waiting next to the receptionist, who seemed relieved to see the healer. But then she gasped.

  “Your hands!” the woman exclaimed.

  “Everything’s all right, Mary,” Kathor said. “They’ve paid me handsomely for this damage to my hands. Now get back to the front and man the reception desk.”

  She scurried to obey.

  “Get these women attended to, you hear?” the healer told Malem.

  “I’ll do what I can,” he said. “Thanks for your help.”

  With that, they made their way to the foyer. He paused at the exit to raise his hood, hiding his face. The other women with him did the same.

  “The rich always get to skip the line,” the same old woman from before muttered.

  “They’re just monks,” her husband told her. “How could they be rich?”

  “Monks with pretty faces like that?” the old woman said. “I don’t think so.”

  “And here I was thinking I should become a monk,” her husband said. “If that was the kind of company I could expect.”

  The woman thunked her husband in the head with a thick purse.

  With that, Malem exited.

  Just in time to see Robert and a bunch of other soldiers on horseback riding up. Malem recognized most of the men from the forest. Behind Robert, the despicable dog merchant sat in the saddle.

  “That’s them,” the merchant said, pointing an accusing finger his way.

  Malem sighed.

  19

  “We just want to be on our way,” Malem said. “We’ve done what we came here to do. Well, almost. We just want to buy some horses, and maybe some provisions, and then we’ll leave this town forever.”

  Robert stared at him with obvious contempt. “Did you threaten this merchant, and release all of the dogs he had for sale?”

  “I might have,” Malem admitted.

  “See!” the merchant said. “I spent years collecting and training those animals, and all that hard work was lost in a matter of seconds thanks to a few mongrels pretending to be monks!”

  Malem lowered his hood, revealing his face.

  “You again,” Robert said. He seemed unsurprised.