A New Pack

A New Pack

Tales of war and the Zunarkian bounty in Sahjax had its dark, draconic forges breathing smog long after the sunset dimmed. After fighting through the crowd and rousing a dreary Lodric with his boots, Zaile drew his short sword. After balancing the quillon on his fingertip, he stabbed the air a few times with the aphotic blade that dimmed the furnace fire. Jaws involuntarily ajar, Zaile brought the dagger to his eyes.

“My best work yet,” boasted Lodric, who continued in a whisper. “It’s a bit – Freakish.”

Zaile acknowledged the admission with a nasal grunt. Perhaps the practice of skeleton smuggling was more than just a rumour. Interesting.

“Two silvers,” said the blacksmith. “If I didn’t pilfer the bone shavings, you’d be paying gold. Mercy blessed you.”

Zaile flicked two coins at Lodric as he fastened the dagger. Lodric bit the tokens before pocketing them.

“I now qualify for my own foundry,” said Lodric with a grin that revealed two rows of crooked teeth. “Why not work for me? Maybe worse pay but you’d live longer.”

Zaile shook his head. Having tasted freedom beyond the barriers, the thought of wasting away inside the Finnardian cage terrified him more than the roaming Freaks. A raindrop struck his forehead, snapping him out of his reverie. The trickle soon grew into a downpour, smearing Sahjax with sludge. Zaile sighed. He’d best pick up Prim from work before the girl caught a cold.

His destination was a tavern a few blocks away from the central square. Brightly lit and filled with a rowdy crowd, the Journeyman was everything Don’s bar was not. Squeezing into the merry alehouse, Zaile beelined for the fire, parting the patrons as he went. Settling into a corner, he removed his cloak and laid it by the furnace, revealing his scaly skin and the newly acquired dagger. The mere display brought the singing to a halt.

In a black dress cut low at the neck and high on the thighs, Prim weaved between the tables, pouring drinks, bantering with the drunken rabble, and collecting the odd tip. Slapping away an extended arm, Prim pointed the inebriate in Zaile’s direction. The man paled and made a hasty exit.

“Zaile, I’ll be done soon,” Prim waved cheerfully. “Could you try not to scare our customers? The boss is going to throw you out the moment he finds somebody brave enough.”

While his attire was dry and warm by the time Prim finished, the rain was unrelenting. He tossed the cloak over her head and made for the door when a tug at his elbow held him back.

“Room for two,” offered Prim, giggling. “I’m not taking care of you if you catch a cold.”

Of all the people in his life, Prim was the last one Zaile wanted to see his scars. Surely, she knew he had never once fallen ill. He avoided her insistent gaze when a stiff gale splattered his face with rain.

“Sure,” Zaile ceded, joining her under the shawl.

“You’re the talk of the town,” said Prim. “People were giving you titles, as if you were a holy warrior. Which would you prefer, Quicksilver or Steelbreaker?”

Nicknames were the last thing on his mind. The regular clanking of the footmen’s boots dampened even Prim’s warmth and scent to an afterthought. He could not remember when he last saw the Guards emerge from their stations except to collect protection levies.

“I never thought the changing of the guards would happen so…quickly,” remarked Prim. “Captain Krugo must be hard at work.”

Zaile shuddered at the name and scratched his tingling scar. He now shared Sahjax with Krugo, the Guardian who wanted him dead. Could he resist the rogue Blade now that he was no longer the helpless toddler? Lost in thought, Zaile nearly collided with a Guard before Prim yanked him back.

“Grace of Mercy,” Prim bowed her head.

“No harm done,” the man replied, before shoving his nose into Zaile’s face. “Wait. Weren’t you the one we arrested last week? Why are you armed?”

Before Zaile could answer, Prim lifted both arms. “Yes, officer. Zaile is a hunter.”

The Guard narrowed his eyes before turning his heels. “See her home safely.”

The two orphans held their breath until they turned the corner. Prim wrapped her arms around Zaile’s shoulder so tightly that her finger left red marks. Her trembling left Zaile with clenched fists. Someone threatened Prim and he just froze. How could he venture outside the barrier with her if he couldn’t protect her inside it?

“I…don’t think I’ll like Krugo,” whispered Prim, her voice shaking. “Anyway, I hear you and Ferric intend to collect the bounty.”

“Yes.”

Prim stared him in the eyes.

“This is madness. You wouldn’t attack a Finnardian, so why a Zunarkian?”

Zaile looked away.

“How many brothers have we lost just hunting Freaks?”

“Four,” Zaile answered before he realised the question was rhetorical.

“And you want to be number five,” she sighed, pressing his arm. “Zaile. You don’t have to work miracles. You’re not a saint. Nobody will blame you for not doing the impossible. You know this, right?”

Zaile pursed his lips. Ruan would know the right thing to say.

“I’ll pray for the Grace of Mercy to keep you safe. Whatever you do, come back to us.”

Slipping into the kitchen before first light, Zaile shoved a loaf of bread into his pouch and darted out. He wanted to avoid Prim, especially after the look she gave him yesterday. The brisk morning air and silent streets lightened his mood until an arm pushed him aside. Snarling, Zaile reached for his dagger and spun around. The squad of jogging swordsmen in shimmering armour had him immediately unhand his weapon. Zaile waited for the Guards to fade into the distance before spitting in disgust. Was Krugo forming a personal army?

Outside Don’s tavern, reclined against a wooden pillar, arms folded, and bantering with the doorman, Ferric lifted his chin at Zaile. Replying with a slight nod, Zaile ducked into the dim watering hole, pinching his nose against the combined assault of the foul grog and Sandfire.

With more seats empty than not, Zaile immediately spotted the couple he was looking for. Seated in a secluded corner, the large man inspected an array of small arms while the woman counted the coins. Omitting any greetings, Zaile dragged over a chair, sounding a stinging screech, and sat down on the opposite side, attracting their combined ire.

Growling beneath his breath, the hoary giant caressed his great poleaxe. Nobody knew where Kannu’s legend ended and the man began. While many hunters questioned whether the man had sliced a mountain in two, none dared dispute this in front of Kannu.

Armed folded beneath her ample breasts, the woman studied Zaile. The warm smile on her small lips cooled into a pair of frigid daggers in her large, red eyes. Tiana enjoyed a much less nebulous reputation. The last time she strung her bow inside Sahjax, the Guards found three corpses each with an arrow through the heart. Together, they made the most infamous power couple in the outer ring of the Settlement.

“What does the midget half Freak want with us?” asked Tiana.

Zaile pointed to a bounty poster on the table. “Zunarkian.”

Kannu leaned forward, causing the table to creak in protest. “I carry my axe and she warms my bed. What do you bring?”

Zaile pointed to his side. “Graystar.”

“Ferric Graystar,” said Ferric, extending an arm. “Zaile told me you guys are the best hunters here.”

“Ah, the brotherhood of playfighting,” said Tiana. “Well, it can’t hurt to try.”

“Zunark’s armpits,” swore Kannu, wrinkling his nose as he drained his goblet. “Have it your way.”

Slamming a hand down on the table and beckoning Zaile to do likewise, Tiana drove a long stiletto into the woodwork with a solid thud.

“Know the rules?” she asked.

Zaile gave an affirming grunt. With a crisp clink, Tiana flipped a coin. The two trailed the token with unblinking eyes. Then, metal struck timber. Upon the clang, Zaile and Tiana raced for the dagger with their free hand. Being a fraction quicker than the woman, Zaile got hold of the hilt when Tiana seized his wrist.

Tugging with all his might, Zaile yanked Tiana out of her seat, toppling the table, and throwing the woman to the ground. Roaring, Kannu swept his axe before Zaile could even turn his head. Ferric replied with a battle cry, stopping the decapitating strike with his hands. The sonorous clash forced Ferric to his knees. Yet, save for the sliver of blood dribbling down his wrist, the Graystar was unharmed.

Jaws agape, Kannu shouldered his axe. A sheepish Zaile helped Tiana back on her feet and returned the dagger. Far from outraged, the huntress awarded him a coquettish wink.

“Quit your gawking,” Kannu yelled at the gaggle of spectating drunks. “Never seen a man testing his axe before?”

Drawing out a throaty groan, Kannu lifted the table and slumped into his seat. Tiana hummed an uplifting hymn, retied her ponytail, and bent down to peck Kannu on the cheek before turning to Zaile.

“I liked a spirited boy,” she teased. “But you should save the rough play for your girl.”

Hugging his sides, Ferric doubled over with laughter. “So,” he managed between fits, “good enough for you?”

Kannu scowled. “Can’t say no to a true Graystar, can I?”

“You say the wisest things when you’re drinking,” remarked Tiana, pointing to the door. “Let’s go.”

Stepping outside the barrier after what felt like an eternity, Zaile charged past his private altar without sparing it a glance. The wilderness was feral and free. No human stench. No buildings blocking his view. No ambient noise attacking his ears. No Guards. No Blades. No boundaries. Just Freaks to kill.

The moment the group exited the barrier, Zaile realised how much his improved prospects excited him. He passed his spot in the cliff without so much as a look. Armed and accompanied, he no longer needed to hide in waiting. At last, he would venture into the wilderness, till Sahjax was completely out of sight and hunt Freaks many times his size.

Three fruitless days came and went.

The only thing Zaile’s new dagger had tasted was his hard bread. Ferric, who had an endless well of stories from his mercenary days, went quiet. He and Kannu spent more time poring over a map, their hushed whispers occasionally rising to heated shouting. Tiana prayed during these occasions, her supplications becoming terser each time.

“I know I’m repeating myself,” said Ferric, growing louder with every finger tap on the map, “but scouring the Sahjax outskirts is a waste of time when every hand that knows the stabbing end of a knife is out for the bounty!”

Kannu narrowed his eyes. “You questioning me, merc?”

Ferric met his stare. “Can’t I?”

“You’re bickering like housewives crammed into one kitchen,” interjected Tiana, rolling her eyes. “In any case, we’re now ready to venture out further, right?”

Zaile traced a finger over the crosses on the map fraying along its edges. Kannu had patrolled almost every known hunting ground within one day of Sahjax. If the Zunarkian was here, they’d have found him already. His hand travelled further up the atlas and pointed to a landmark.

“Trees?” asked Zaile.

“See?” said Ferric. “Zaile agrees. I’ve been wanting to go there day one.”

Kannu shook his head. “Deadwoods. Not going there.”

“Why not?” Ferric pressed. “Abundant hiding spots, food, and water.”

Sighing, Kannu rolled up his mail, revealing a ghastly scar that split his torso in two. Zaile winced while Ferric inhaled. Whatever had inflicted this wound went armour thicker than half a thumb.

“Damn trees,” spat Kannu. “Lost good men –”

“No choice, old man,” Tiana joined in. “I’d rather die fighting than starving.”

“I’m not questioning your courage, fool girl,” Kannu retorted. “But this is certain death!”

Ferric chortled. “And yet you’re here.”

Kannu fumed when Zaile lifted a finger to his lips and searched the horizon with shifty eyes.

“Blood.”

Zaile sprinted towards the sanguine scent that thickened with each stride. Someone was dying, if not already dead. Sure enough, he descried a teetering silhouette moments before the figure tumbled down the ashen dunes. Smelling loot, Zaile pumped his legs harder.

Even as he lay bleeding, the man’s uniform remained Finnardian white. His limp hands yet clutched a sword glittering with impeccable craftsmanship, too fine a weapon for a black collar. Suppressing a shudder, Zaile looked back, saw his companions trailing, and reached for his dagger. At last, Lodric’s work would taste blood.

Taking a deep breath, Zaile turned his dagger down and wrapped both hands around the hilt. As he shuffled closer, Zaile slipped on the dust. Swallowing a dismayed cry, Zaile scrambled to recover his fumbled knife and lifted it again. Heart drumming, palms sweating, and limbs shaking, he found, much to his disgust, that he had not the faculties for even a second try. Was the Divine Finnardi protecting the warrior priest from him?

“What have we here?”

Zaile jumped, sheathing his dagger so fast that he almost cut his own hand. Tiana peered over his shoulders at the fallen Blade, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

“Don’t even try. Strange accidents befall Fallens who try to harm Finnardians.”

Grunting, Tiana flipped the Blade over, revealing a boy around Zaile’s age. Pale from all the bleeding, his chest still heaved with each laboured breath. The long gash that tore apart his shirt should have fed the ashes his innards and yet, his torso bore no signs of injury.

“An Apprentice,” Tiana remarked, dusting his collar. “Not cursed, so he wasn’t attacked by a Freak, which means –”

“Zunarkian!” Zaile cried out in alarm.

“Help me!”

The elated woman rummaged through her bag, produced a water pouch and pressed it to the mouth of the Blade.

“Oh, Father of Mercy, thy blessed Grace! First time I’ve been glad to see these bastards alive.”

Kannu and Ferric joined them soon after. While the Graystar celebrated with a fist pump to the air, the big hunter scrunched up his nose in disgust and poked at the Blade with the pole of his axe.

“Zunark take him,” Kannu growled. “We didn’t see nothing.”

Ferric bent down to examine the swordsman. “What if the Zunarkian did –”

“What about it?” snapped Kannu. “I need no charity from bastards who see us as maggots.”

Tiana gave Zaile a nod before she drove her heel against Kannu’s greaves. At the same time, Zaile shuffled in front of Ferric and shot out an arm, barring the advancing Graystar. With tempers frayed, they could not risk their bulwark trading blows.

“You may have forgotten more about hunting than I’ll learn,” said Ferric, “but you know nothing of divine warfare. You have no idea how full-fledged Finnardians and Zunarkians wage wars.

“I was there. Three months outside the walls of Zohrenburg. Your armour means nothing to them. I saw things. Mutilated men who grew limbs anew before my eyes. Searing light that undid everything it touched. Water that skewered my brothers as if they were paper.

“But they’re not immortal! They can die! No magic or devilry is perfect. Perfection resents mortality, as Warmaster Graystar always said. Back then, we threw bodies at the problem. We can try that, or we can ask this guy. Well?”

While Kannu struggled to form a retort, Zaile nudged the Finnardian, followed with a kick to the ribs. His victim groaned. Encouraged, Zaile lifted his boot again.

“You’re hurting him,” chided Tiana as she pushed him aside. “Give me a go.”

Tiana never got her turn. The bewildered Apprentice sat up, took one stare at Zaile, screamed, and reached for his sword.