The Moonlit Roundtable

Ferric sped through the serpentine alleyways. The murky labyrinth was an old friend, just like the Graystar forms drilled into his bones. Brushing aside a piece of stinking cloth, Ferric slipped into a hidden alleyway and stopped outside what appeared to be an abandoned building, made all the more eerie by the silent darkness. The pugilist clambered up the jagged masonry, vanished into a narrow aperture and emerged through a creaking door.

“Last one in,” said Ferric, “close the door.”

The ceiling, or what remained of it, was a jigsaw of tattered rags clinging to the wooden frame like old skin on bones. Unimpeded by the darkness, Ferric lit a candle while kicking out crates for each of his guests. Gently, he set the feeble flame atop a table alongside a bottle.

“First,” he took a swig and handed the liquor to Zaile. “It’s good to be alive.”

Zaile wrinkled his face. This was the second time his nostrils suffered the sharp assault of alcohol. For want of solidarity rather than sedation, Zaile swallowed a mouthful that left him gagging as he handed it onto Euphon. To their collective surprise, Euphon downed the foul grog and wiped his chin like a hardened veteran.

“Hardly a fitting drink for a lordling,” Tiana said cooly as she snatched the bottle from Euphon. “You’re an odd one.”

“Tastes like the western theatre,” Euphon said, more bitter than the drink. “I was to sortie until High Guardian Lufeir decided to enlist my services for the Peacekeepers in Sahjax. Anyway, what is this place?”

“Our hideout,” Ferric declared proudly. “One of many. You can never be cautious enough in the business of violence.”

Eyes no longer watery, Zaile surveyed the derelict structure. Scattered crates, much like the one he sat on, shared a corner with broken bricks. Sheets of curved metal, bent so out of shape that they could serve no purpose, rested their battered bodies against the walls. Comfort had no seat here.

“You lied, boy,” said Kannu, stomping the ground so hard that he nearly toppled the candle. “We were bait, weren’t we?”

“And who are you exactly?” asked Tiana, her eyes narrowing. “If you weren’t so pretty, I’d have placed an arrow between your ears.”

Ferric lifted a hand. “One at a time. We’re here to learn. Euphon?”

Euphon, smiling sadly, swung into his jacket and rose to his feet. “The Divine Finnardi my witness, I’d never ask men to die for me,” he said, meeting the party’s gaze. “That being said, a Guardian is much more valuable than me and I’d have gladly died to retrieve him.” The reminder of his loss and failure gave Euphon pause. “I am Euphon from the house of Lufeir. High Guardian Vantis Lufeir is my grandfather.”

Zaile screwed up his face as he fought back the grog searing his nose. He didn’t need to be Ruan to know there were only six High Guardians, each the equal to Enthal Isondre. Suddenly, he was very glad he didn’t kill Euphon.

“So you have the pedigree,” said Ferric. “Then you should’ve absolutely known better.”

“I have no problem with a rigorous discussion,” said Euphon. “My peers will not be as tolerant.” He pointed to Ferric. “I sure am glad nobody saw you hit me.”

“Then we best start before they come looking for you,” replied Ferric. “How many enchantments did Solmis have?”

“I don’t know.”

“You said you weren’t aware of any,” said Ferric. “I counted two.” He faced Tiana. “What did you feel shooting at the man?”

“Now that you mention it,” said the huntress. “I felt something was turning my shots away, but…not so when I fired at him head on.”

“That sounds like a common enchantment for melee fighters,” said Euphon. “It turns away projectiles fired outside the line of sight.”

“Would've preferred your foresight over hindsight,” remarked Ferric. “Kannu, what did you feel when fighting him?”

Scowling, Kannu scratched his gut where Solmis had hit him. “Apart from humiliating pain?” the big man growled. “What else you want to know?”

Zaile piped up. “Watched.”

“Yes!” Kannu shouted, jumping to his feet with such animation that Ferric had to steady the candle. “That’s it! That demon had eyes everywhere!”

Ferric pointed up at the tattered ceiling. “And I think Zaile found his blind spot,” he said, peering towards Euphon. “Do the Finnardians have similar protections?”

Euphon shook his head before leaning forward. “Hear my words,” he said, looking around the room, “as you would a confession. Understood?”

The Fallens nodded collectively.

“Ferric probably already knows,” Euphon began, “but many of our spells, even the most basic ones, require multiple soldiers to cast. After all, Finnardians conform and unite.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” said Ferric.

“I’ve said enough for the Lord Peacekeeper to want your heads,” replied Euphon. He paused, like a cat measuring its jump off a ceiling. “Just know that we don’t assign much power to a single sword.”

Zaile pretended to study the flickering flame as he mulled over the message. Did this mean Zunarkians excelled at single combat? What he would give to have Ruan listen in on this. Tiana, arms folded, cast Euphon a sideway glance.

“Why now?” she asked, flaring her nostrils. “Are we to trust another Finnardian who think us livestock?”

The fire seemed to shudder at the frigid accusation. Zaile, knowing what he did about Tiana now, finally understood why Kannu wanted to ignore Euphon. He saw it in her eyes, a quiet enmity for everything Finnardian. Was she holding it back when she confronted Quinton?

“Depending on my reply,” said Euphon, “would you have abandoned the bounty?”

“No, but our continued cooperation will.” said Ferric, still smarting from the drink, “Had I acted your decoy instead of Zaile, I’d have charged you at least twice the price. You, milord, are a massive liability and if that doesn’t change,” he pointed to the door, “Zunark can take you for all I care.”

Zaile inhaled at the ultimatum. Tiana, who looked ready to spring another accusation, gave Ferric a bewildered look before whispering something to Kannu. The older hunter chuckled softly.

“The Lufeir aegis,” said Euphon after a prolonged silence. “The Finnardian arsenal is out of the question, but I can procure you a steady supply of arrows and charms. Know that I will spare no expenses to avenge my –”

“Quantities, man,” interrupted Ferric. “A patron who spares no expense is just a fool who failed to count his coins. How much can you provide us?”

Euphon began whispering to himself as he craned his neck towards the night sky. “Six...” he trailed off to conduct more mental arithmetic. “Two...right. Six piercing arrows and two snare charms a week.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” said Tiana, though her tone softened.

“Indeed,” Kannu grunted in rueful agreement. “Pass the swine urine.”

And with that, the bottle of caustic grog circled the room once more. Zaile baulked but gave in. Somehow, the second swig tasted worse.

“An attractive advancement,” said Ferric, drumming his fingers together. “But if you offer mere consumables, then we’re going to need at least triple.”

“No more,” Euphon refused with surprising resolution. “I risk much to supply you with enchanted weapons not even the Guards possess.”

“Instead of celebrating the meagre inventory not yet added to our arsenal,” said Ferric, “we should take stock of what we already have. My Curse grants night vision.”

“You don’t say,” replied Tiana, blowing out the candle with a flick of her wrist, leaving but the moonlight to flutter about. “Prove it.”

Before anyone could adjust to the darkness, there was a crisp clink, followed by Kannu’s indignant growl. Ferric lit the candle and retrieved the copper coin he flicked into Kannu’s nose.

“That’s for cutting my hand,” said Ferric. “Zaile?”

Zaile shook his head and pretended not to see the dubious looks. Given the misshapen spider sprawled over his chest, he could hardly blame them. Mumbling, Kannu brushed Tiana aside and reached for his axe, its burly edge screeching against the floor.

“Everyone,” called Tiana as she paced towards the far corner. “Stay clear.”

Sparks, the hue of an old bruise, sizzled and popped, sending Zaile scrambling after Tiana. The bloodthirsty scream that followed beset his ears with razors. Still, after Solmis, Zaile doubted anything could frighten him anymore. If anything, his heart hastened with excitement. He was about to witness the mountain-splitting feat that elevated Kannu to a legend among the hunters.

Kannu had shredded mass. His good arm swelled, more and more, until it reached Freakish proportions. Then, the juggernaut swung down with the malice of a headsman, stopping short of the ground. Exploding like a thunderclap, the arcing slash left a deep and extended cleft in the earth. A thin veil of black mist lingered over the divide. With a loud clang, the axe cratered into the aperture. The limb that unleashed the devastating strike was now shrunken and dry. Kannu moaned before retrieving his weapon.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” shouted Kannu, waving the mummified arm at a horrified Tiana. “Give it a few days.”

“Hardly persuasive,” said Tiana. “You’re not twenty anymore.”

While the two bickered, Zaile reached into the crevasse. The fissure, extending more than three paces from the axe, was deeper than he had expected, swallowing his arm whole before his fingertips brushed dirt.

“You have the power,” said Ferric. “Perhaps we can beg Solmis to stand still while you ready yourself.”

Kannu shot Ferric a dirty look. “Since when did Graystars prattle?”

“That’s a dangerous Curse,” said Euphon. The air chilled. “How have you escaped our purges?”

“Purges?” said Tiana. “Does Finnardian tyranny know no bounds?”

“You say that because you know nothing of Zunarkian depravity.”

“At this I’d prefer to take my chances –” Tiana caught herself. “Anyways, you can’t just murder folks for afflictions you can’t cure.”

“We can and we do.”

Zaile shuddered as a chilling dread crawled down his spine. Was this why Marcus, a man who fled his duties like shadow from the sunlight, tested the children with such dogged diligence? Pursuing this thought made him sick. 

“On that grim note,” said Tiana, tugging at Kannu, “we really should go.”

“Next week, same day, same place,” concluded Ferric. “We’re going to need a war chest.”

With the scarlet moon as his only guide, Zaile completed the homeward journey hopping over rooftops, encountering only the occasional drunkards. Quiet as the shifting ashes, he landed in the orphanage courtyard and halted. From the dining hall, light spilt through the doors. Gingerly, he pushed aside the coarse wood, hoping in vain that the panel would refrain from squeaking.

Needle in one hand and a tattered skirt in another, Prim hummed a Finnardian hymn as she sewed. Her untied hair, still wet, clung to her frayed nightgown. Seeing Zaile, she dropped her work and let out an involuntary gasp.

“Zaile, where were –” she caught herself. “You hungry?”

Zaile nodded and sprawled across the dining table. His aching back agreed with the cool and damp surface. Closing his eyes, he heaved a sigh that stretched on, becoming a groan. Too much happened too quickly. It was as if he had lived a month since he ventured outside the barrier this morning.

He lay motionless, listening to the clattering of utensils and pots. Any other day, Prim would chastise such brazen disregard for table manners with a firm ladle to the head. Tonight, however, the matriarch had suspended this unwritten decree. Zaile let slip a smug grin, imagining the outrage of his siblings if they were to witness such blatant favouritism.

The smell of grease roused Zaile from his musing. He sat up and peered into a steaming pot. The usual stew, a tasteless goo mixed with vegetable scraps that would not fetch a copper in the markets, came with a foreign addition tonight.

The pot squelched as Prim stirred the content. “Marcus had a patient short of coins,” she said. “It just so happened that she was the butcher’s wife so we ended up with an entire rump. Of what exactly they didn’t say. Now you going to sit down and eat or do I have to feed you?”

Zaile tickled his chin, feigning indecision, before slipping into a seat next to Prim. Any reservations he had of the unknown animal melted upon the first mouthful. The tough and gamy meat probably came from some oversized rodent but Zaile was beyond caring.

“Ruan was waiting for you too,” Prim sang, propped her chin atop her hand. “I had to send him to bed because he was dozing off.”

Zaile nodded to signal he was listening as he continued to inhale his late dinner. He set the container down with a satisfied clang and met Prim’s inquisitive stare. This continued long enough for Zaile to feel uncomfortable.

“Ruan thought you claimed the bounty,” said Prim. “I thought you dead. Are you hurt?”

Zaile shook his head just as a weeping child descended the creaking stairs, rubbing her swollen eyes awkwardly with her only hand. It was Lan. Zaile remembered the timid girl for her constant night terrors and bedwetting. While her siblings quickly outgrew these habits, Lan had yet to manage.

“Lan,” Prim beckoned the little girl. “Come here.”

With her Freakishly red eyes locked on Zaile, Lan clung to the railing until her knuckles turned white. Prim, however, was not prepared to indulge these childish fears. She got to her feet, placed both hands on hips, and frowned.

“Seems like you don’t need me,” said Prim, pointing a finger upstairs. “Go back to bed and don’t wake the others.”

With leaden soles, Lan crossed the dining hall, clutching her dress as if to afford some protection. As she shuffled onwards with reluctant steps, the girl looked at Prim with large, begging eyes.

Shaking her head, Prim opened her arms in resignation. The promised hug spurred Lan into a stumbling sprint, burying her face into Prim’s skirt. Prim patted her head and brushed away the silver locks stuck on her tearstained cheeks.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” Lan managed between sobs.

“Nightmares again?” asked Prim.

“Why does mummy hate me?” Lan asked with quivering whispers. “Why did she take my hand?”

Zaile scratched the scar on his chest. Lan was one of the few children who witnessed the final moments of their parents before they turned into bloodthirsty Freaks. Perhaps there was mercy in oblivion.

“Your mother loves you very much,” Prim continued to stroke her head. “Zunark took her from you.”

“Why would he do that?”

Zaile saw the difficult look on her face and grimaced. This was a question for Ruan.

“Sweetheart,” Prim murmured. “It is not for us small folks to know the whims of gods and demons. Is your hand hurting again?”

Lan shook her head.

“Lan,” Prim sighed. “I can’t always be here for you. Who will you turn to once I move out?”

Her question only caused Lan to cling harder. Zaile fell into pensive silence. Prim had turned away many hopeful parents offering to adopt her, preferring to stay with the kids. But now a beautiful woman just shy of adulthood, that was coming to an end. Had it really been that long?

“Where?” asked Zaile.

“I’ll be staying with a couple of the barmaids,” Prim replied. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good.”

He wanted to know her departure date but for reasons unclear to himself, did not ask. Instead, he gave Lan a pat on the head, which made the little girl flinch.

Zaile gave her his warmest smile. “Night.”

Lan stared at him in frozen terror.

“Lan,” Prim warned. “Manners.”

“Good…” Lan was barely audible. “Good night, Zaile.”