The Red Rider

by Billy Wong

  "That's illogical. How would you know how much they stole to determine what is adequate compensation? And besides, how much of it did you plan on bringing back to me."

  He couldn't find his voice, but the other soldier said, "All of it, boss. You pay us plenty enough to do our job, we don't need to seek other compensation for it."

  "That's not what they said before," the woman's husband said hesitantly. "They said they were going to keep some for their reward."

  "He! He said that, not 'us!'" the headbutt recipient said.

  "What?! You betray me?" The other man punched him, and in response he jumped on his partner attempting to strangle him.

  Leviatha rolled her eyes. "My men do misbehave sometimes, I'm aware. I'll deal with those two later. I suppose maybe I won't have to punish you, Red Rider."

  She spat out another glob of blood and shook her head to drive back some of the dizziness. "Think you 'punished' me enough already."

  "You got off easy compared to most of my opponents, who are dead."

  Red tried once more to stand, but stopped to steady herself upon feeling the ground tilt. "I feel almost dead. So if you're not going to tie me up, why don't you help me up instead?"

  "I'm afraid you might not be able to stay on your feet."

  "I... can manage."

  Leviatha grasped her shoulder and hauled her upright with one hand. "Your weight is like a child's."

  She became conscious of herself putting a hand against the woman's armored torso for support and quickly pulled it away. Of course, that made standing even harder. "I don't weigh any less than most women," she said, swaying.

  "I know. Most men's weight feels childlike to me."

  "Figures. Leviatha... is that your real name?"

  "No. My real name is very mundane and nowhere near sufficiently impressive. But the street is hardly an ideal place to get acquainted. Why don't you come with me to the tavern and we'll talk there, if you can walk well enough?"

  Without many other options, she staggered after the giant woman.

  #

  Not many minutes later, Red sat at a bar drinking next to Leviatha. The interior walls of the tavern were polished and decorated to contrast sharply with its outer facade, and she wondered if the owner might not be a little vain. The beer dulled her pain, though it didn't help with the dizziness, but she felt better overall. "A bit early in my quest for me to lose a fight already, eh?" she said, voice thick with intoxication and her swollen mouth.

  "That's good. It'll help you remember you're not invincible. Nobody is."

  "Really. Have you ever lost, Leviatha?"

  "I've lost. Back when I was really young and small. Then I grew into myself."

  "You're so arrogant. Perhaps justified. You have gifts. But I almost beat you."

  Leviatha fingered her side and looked at her, eyes serene as a calm ocean. "I've been shot with six arrows in the front and continued fighting. You didn't come close."

  "Of course." You braggart.

  "You're tough, though. I've broken a man's neck with less of a punch than that."

  Red had been massaging her neck, and shivered slightly upon hearing that. Still, she kept her outward cool. "Congratulations, you're a female giant monster. Haven't met too many of those before."

  "Careful now, little girl. I could still resume our fight if you push me enough."

  "But how do you know you'd win?"

  She raised her huge mug to her lips and tilted it forward. Though she drank at a speed befitting her size, Red noticed there was an elegant smoothness to the way she handled her vessel. "Seems like it. Enough small talk though. Why are you here, did you come to find werewolves?"

  "I'm not here to mine."

  "Well, you're about as likely to find a werechicken as a werewolf here. I've fought off werewolves before. I figure since a few escaped, they probably warned the rest of their kind not to come here."

  Red doubted that all werewolves shared knowledge with each other, but another question interested her more. "You've fought them? Your sword didn't look to be silvered."

  "Silvered, no." She grinned. "Wolves' healing has a limit, however. They still die if you cleave them apart."

  Monstrous freak. But she had to admit Leviatha was growing on her. She did have a soft spot for anyone who killed werewolves. "The wolf I'm chasing was said to come from north of the next town down, though."

  "Said by who? Considering I doubt whoever said it knows the werewolf intimately, I daresay that was likely guesswork."

  "But we were attacked by more wolves on the way here, and my traveling companions—men seeking work here—killed. So it seems probable there are werewolves residing nearby, even if they don't typically attack this town. The beasts have an irresistible taste for manflesh"—her fist clenched automatically, nails digging in her palm, just at the thought—"so is there maybe another settlement where..?"

  "There is another town at the north end of the valley, and a smaller one in its east around my castle. But all those are under my jurisdiction, and the same things apply. Try leaving the valley and going west around the mountains. There's a town not too far along where your wolves might get their food."

  "Thanks. By the way, since you admit your real name's not Leviatha, where did it and the whale imagery come from?"

  She looked down at the painting over her chest and smiled, eyes lighting up with pride. "It's actually my family crest. We did use to be minor nobility, House Leviathan, although that was all but forgotten by my generation. What I have here, I made using the fame and fortune I earned from being a mercenary when I saw a chance after the Upheaval. Those were some wild times, I'll tell you that much. I put five other would-be lords of the valley in the ground before things settled down. And before you ask why people living in the mountains are associated with sea creatures, we trace our ancestry to a city by the ocean."

  "You lucked out to have a heraldic animal suited to your size."

  Leviatha shrugged, then looked curiously at her. "Since I answered your name question, I have one for you. Why do people call you the Red Rider? I don't see any horse."

  "Uh, I can ride..."

  "Lots of people can. You'd expect somebody called the Red Rider to actually do so."

  Red tried to make her voice scary. "I ride on waves of werewolf blood, which stain me red." She couldn't hold back a laugh. "Seriously, I thought I might have to traverse mountainous territory where a horse wouldn't fare so well. Besides, horses often aren't practical to bring along when trying to sniff out a werewolf lair." She gulped down what was left in her mug and stood.

  "I suppose you have a point there. Good luck finding your prey."

  "Good luck keeping your men in line. Sorry about stabbing you."

  The big woman waved dismissively. "Barely a scratch."

  "Because you have lots of meat with which to take it."

  "Hmph. Be seeing you around, Red Non-Rider."

  She rolled her eyes on the way to the door. "You too, Mountain Whale."

  #

  Red left the mining town and headed west on a narrow road, sandwiched between the mountainside and resilient forest which had not suffered greatly yet from the scarcity of rain. She often had to slow down or stop briefly with bouts of dizziness, a humbling reminder of the duel with Leviatha. She'd thought herself a fighter skilled beyond most, with the reflexes and efficiency of movement to take on werewolves up close and come out ahead, yet the noblewoman had run right over her. She might have overestimated herself and not exercised enough caution, but still, she wasn't sure what she could have done differently even if she'd been more careful. Red wondered how many other people like Leviatha there were in the world, and figured she should be warier when she faced hulking giants in any case.

  The wealth Leviatha had mentioned gaining as a mercenary made her consider something else. Maybe she should start demanding more compensation for her aid, at least when the recipients seemed like they could afford it.

  She continue
d to follow the road west and north, taking shelter under an overhang when it unexpectedly rained. She continued on with a lightened heart, indulging her nose with the scents of the moistened forest. A couple days later, she came into view of a town nestled against the foot of the mountains where the road bent away from them. It looked maybe a bit larger than the mining town, consisting mostly of log cabins instead of the glorified shacks of the valley. The snugly dressed folks she saw outside moved in a livelier manner than those in the last town had, though that might be attributed to the recent rain.

  Not knowing who to ask first nor wanting to scare random strangers with her appearance, she walked up behind the tanner she saw hanging hides. Being a tradesman, he was probably accustomed to meeting his share of characters. "Good morning."

  He looked back, a middle-aged man with a wide, weathered stubbly face. His eyes widened a tad at her face, but he didn't miss a beat with his reply. "Morning. I would ask if you want to buy some leathers, but you appear to be dressed rather above our standards."

  She smiled. "I might buy some anyway. My clothes under the cloak aren't so fancy, and are getting a bit too patched up."

  "Hopefully I have in your size. Most of my customers are men. But what brings you out here? Even if you're not as wealthy as your garment suggests, we don't get many visitors besides the familiar faces here to trade."

  "I was told you might have a werewolf problem."

  He blinked. "I'm a little surprised anyone would be interested in that news outside of here. But yes, it seems like we might. A few trappers have gone missing in the past months, and just now, a trader reported being stalked by a beast before driving it off with firebangs. And what is your interest in this?"

  Red felt encouraged to know she was probably on the right track. It would have been disappointing to come all the way here only to learn there were no werewolves to hunt. "I'm here to solve your problem."

  "Wait a minute, that red cloak, are you... whatever that girl is called? Oh right, the Red Rider!"

  "Heh, yeah, that's me."

  "You look like you've been through a hell of a fight recently. Did you get those bruises fighting werewolves?"

  "Not exactly." And on that note, she should probably let whoever was in charge know her intentions to avoid another misunderstanding. "Who should I talk to offer my help?"

  "The Magistrate takes care of matters that concern the whole town. You can find him in the house closest to the mountain." He pointed the way. "So are you going to buy anything?"

  She looked over what he to offer and found most of the items too large for her. "I guess I'll take that belt. Could come in handy if I need a spare."

  Red headed for the Magistrate's house, keeping her hood up to minimize stares at her face. It was a real sacrifice she'd made, as it would significantly reduce her romantic prospects whenever she felt the need to look for them, but if it helped her survive long enough to get her fill of vengeance... She didn't even know what would satisfy her at this point. After all these years pursuing revenge, what would there be for her if she stopped?

  She reached the house at the very foot of the mountain, not much bigger than the town average, and felt unsure it was the right one. She knocked anyway. A young woman, a little on the plump side, answered the door. "Hello... a stranger, I see. Are you looking for the Magistrate?"

  "Yes. Are you his daughter?"

  "I'm his wife."

  Oh. She hoped he wasn't one of those lecherous old men who tried to make themselves feel young with the company of barely grown girls. The Magistrate's wife led her through the house and to an office, where a man of average build with neatly combed straight hair and squinty eyes sat a desk looking over documents. He was younger than she expected, only a few years older than her, which made the pairing more acceptable. She wondered how he'd come into his lofty position with his relative youth, though.

  "You have a visitor," his wife said.

  He glanced up, then before even speaking looked back down at his papers. "And you are?"

  She suddenly felt unsure if she should introduce herself as "the Red Rider," for she had a feeling he might laugh at her. "I'm a werewolf hunter. I came to offer my help."

  "For free? That's commendable. I'm grateful to know there are still selfless heroes in the world."

  "Maybe not for free. If you-"

  "Of course not," he interrupted her, and she realized he had been sarcastic. "I didn't manage to keep my father's office when he died by being a fool."

  Red felt irritated, and had to work to keep her voice pleasant. "I need money as we all do to support myself. But my prices aren't steep. If you want, we could negotiate until we agree on reasonable terms."

  "Perhaps you would be reasonable, perhaps not. But we have no need of your services. I have already contacted others for help."

  "Are they well versed in hunting werewolves, though? I specialize in it—that's all I do." Aside from the odd fight with humans she couldn't avoid, of course.

  "I have not asked the person they are sending personally, but I'm sure they will be adequate. The ones who have agreed to help are the most respected independent fighting force on the continent, the Knights of the Fold."

  The Knights of the Fold, who had purported to be peacekeepers only to step back and let the country fall into chaos after the king's nephew killed him and left every lord to fend for himself? Red wasn't particularly inclined to view them in the most trustworthy light. Still... "Even so, I could still help. You say they're only sending one person? They might be overmatched if there's more than one werewolf."

  "Well, maybe they could use your help. But since I'll already be paying them a fair chunk, I'm not also paying you. You can discuss the matter with them when they get here."

  She supposed he was at least not being too overtly hostile. "All right, I'll talk to them about it." She might have to settle for low pay, but she'd worked on a living wage for the sake of her mission before. As long as she wasn't starving, she wouldn't shirk a fight against wolves over stingy employers.

  Red stayed a night at the inn. She asked around the next day, but couldn't get much of a solid clue as to whether there were one or multiple werewolves troubling the populace. Late that afternoon, a commotion started outside. "Look," a man was saying, "it's the Knight of the Fold! Damn, my wife wasn't joking when she called them heavies!"

  When she went outside, what she saw made her stare. The Knight of the Fold was huge. He wasn't as tall as Leviatha, though over six feet, but what he lacked in height he made up for twofold in girth. I hope I won't have to fight him, she thought stupidly for a moment, then amended, But so what if I do? He probably can hardly move.

  "He's the Knight of the Folds!" someone said, a bit too loudly so that Red wondered if the man could hear. Seeing him clumsily dismount his gigantic horse and waddle towards the Magistrate's house, she felt some pity for him. Maybe she shouldn't. He probably lived in luxury, and enjoyed many times his fill of fine dining and drink. But right now, having traveled what must be hundreds of miles in heavy armor on top of all that excess flesh, his condition made her hard pressed not to sympathize.

  He took off his squarish helm, revealing a puffed up, red face with multiple chins down which sweat ran. He might have been in his thirties, or slightly older; it was harder to tell with so much fat smoothing out his skin. Figuring she should let him get everything straight with the Magistrate before bothering him, she watched him disappear into the house. Most of the crowd that had gathered went back to what they were doing, but she continued to observe the door from beside a nearby store. She needed to see when the knight left, after all.

  An old man walked up to her. "You're waiting for him?"

  "Yeah."

  "You're looking to help."

  "Yes."

  He nodded appreciatively. "Good, very charitable of you. I expect he'll need all the help he can get."

  That was what she thought too, but she began to wonder if maybe she shouldn't be so dismi
ssive of him. She'd underestimated another massive person before to her detriment. Being a member of a supposed elite fighting organization, maybe the "Knight of the Folds" had more to him than one could tell from appearance alone.

  He exited the house, looking weary and glum. At least he didn't look scared. Red caught him on his way towards the gate. "Hi, I'm Red. I was wondering if-"

  "If I need aid? The Magistrate mentioned you." He sighed. "I guess you must think I'm unfit to handle it."

  "No, that's not it! I didn't even know you when I talked to the Magistrate... and I still don't. I just want to help you against the werewolves because, well, they're werewolves. Their kind are my sworn enemy, who killed my grandmother and cost my mother her life, and I'll battle them wherever they're found."

  "A small girl like you, fight them?" He frowned at her silver-veined face. "But I see you might wield some magic suited for it."

  She shook her head. "No, I don't cast spells. That is a result of magic, but it just helps me keep myself from being turned in case I get bitten. Or when I get bitten, more like."

  "So I gather you've done this before. Very well then, it seems I'd be wise to accept your aid. I'm not so experienced in hunting werewolves, anyway."

  It relieved her that he agreed to let her help so easily, but she warned, "I'll need a share of the payment when we're done."

  "That's fine. I wouldn't expect you to work for free." He extended his hand for a shake.

  Red took it with a smile. She liked him already, although she still questioned his ability to keep up in physically taxing circumstances. How long could he keep up his shield, or swing that bastard sword he wore on his back? That the Knights of the Fold had chosen to send him instead of another spoke to the priority or lack thereof they gave this task.

  Putting aside her misgivings, she said, "You have a firm grip. Admirable in a man." Or a woman, for that matter. "So what's your name? A little late to ask, I know."

  "Herbert, Knight of the Fold."

  "Well, I already knew the latter part."

  He grinned nervously. "Yeah, sorry."