"Shouldn’t we have caught up to him by now?" Honmour gasped as he leapt over a log.
"Save your breath," Kaltor suggested. "He is a trained Varadour, after all."
"That amulet must have done something to him, too," Jensai grumbled as he led the way, eyes glued to Melshek’s tracks. Honmour glanced toward Kaltor and nodded his head in agreement with their friend’s assessment. The morning sun cut through the wind-punished trees above, as if trying to shroud their quarry’s trail in ever-changing shadows. It was usually a three day journey to Shaylis by wagon. Melshek’s pace threatened to do it in one.
Whatever was done to him has increased his strength and endurance considerably. Even for a nobleman, most Varadours can’t go this long at a full sprint. Conserving breath was not the only reason to avoid speaking. There was much to consider.
What’s he going to do when he reaches Shaylis? Kaltor thought. Will we even be able to beat him at all? He recalled the strength and power of those affected back at the camp. The image of those children leaping six feet into the air for his blood left a particularly deep chill in its wake.
We just have to hold him off for a few days, he assured himself. Gereth, Krin, and Master Taneth will gather everyone they can. The thief I caught may get the help of the Bandit Lords, even! With any luck, we’ll have a small army to help contain Melshek’s Perversions. Despite the encouraging thoughts, his pace lacked the determination it usually held.
I can’t let them know how I feel, he thought as he glanced toward his friends. We can’t turn back. Let them think I chose it out of bravery or duty. He recalled his argument with Gereth, knowing only a Remnant’s power could have opened the vault.
Why did I give in to you? he mourned. We could have found a way to survive without opening it. Nothing we can get from the vault is worth this! Next time I won’t be so blind to my feelings when the warnings are so clear.
The ground thundered beneath their feet as their magically sustained pace held them at a full sprint. Within his trained heart, he felt that immense wellspring of Varadour energy feeding his body. His comrades, however, already showed signs of over-exertion. Though their pace held, their hands trembled as their bodies sacrificed the nurturing of their arms for the endurance of their legs.
We’ll need to stop in a few minutes, Kaltor decided, or they’ll be useless when we reach Shaylis, and they might start suspecting that I’m not a normal Varadour.
With a grunt of surprise Jensai pushed through the brush, stumbling onto a wide dirt road. "This must be the h-highway to Shaylis," Honmour surmised. "He must h-have gone east th-hen," He pointed down the road to their right with a trembling finger. "We’re go-oing to kill him before h-he gets there, right?"
Jensai and Kaltor bit their lips, looking at each other nervously as they sucked air.
"Honmour," Kaltor said. "We don’t even know what he’s capable of. At most we can follow him and keep him from repeating the tavern scene, but—" Jensai nodded emphatically in agreement.
"What?!" Honmour shouted hands on his knees as he gasped for air. "Do you know how many people are in Shaylis? He could tear the entire city apart in days! We can’t give him that chance!"
Abyss’ might, I forgot he has family there! Kaltor recalled, feeling a stab of shame for forgetting something so vital to his friend’s life. Can I even trust him to not do anything stupid if we keep following Melshek? Then again, he glanced at Jensai. I doubt we can take him alone. We need a third man, just in case.
"Well, either way we need to stay close to him," Jensai cut in, raising his hands like Master Taneth did sometimes when mediating disputes between Stunts. "We learn as much as we can from his tracks and decide how to take him when we’re closer."
Honmour sighed and nodded, his breathing growing steadier by the minute. Kaltor smiled at Jensai gratefully. Thank the Gods Jensai is so good with people. We have to focus and stay together to get this done, whatever it is we decide to do.
"Well, he’s definitely heading east," Kaltor said, changing the subject as he knelt down to examine the tracks more closely. Jensai and Honmour joined in behind him, their eyes soaking in the tension in the print’s toes and the ball of the foot.
"He’s hungry and frustrated," Jensai observed, pointing toward the next track’s odd pivot. "And he keeps looking over his shoulder. He’s afraid he’s being pursued."
"Not too surprising," Honmour said. "Not after the attack last night," He knelt down beside Kaltor. They both gulped nervously as Honmour pointed to the right side of the print.
I know, Kaltor thought grimly. These tracks don’t show any sign of fatigue. Whatever this thing is, Melshek’s powers have been greatly enhanced by it.
"The attack last night must have been a decoy," Jensai decided. "He hoped to cripple the only force aware of his existence."
Honmour stood up quickly and started to pace anxiously, letting his power return with quick but controlled breaths. "Strange, isn’t it? Most noblemen I’ve met would’ve just sent a letter claiming they had to leave due to unforeseen circumstances. Too bad he’s not a traditionalist." The anxiety in his eyes hamstrung what little mirth he could conjure up.
"That’s a good question," Kaltor said, returning to his feet. "He could have pretended all was well ‘til Rivatha went to sleep, slipped out in the night, and headed toward Shaylis then," He stood up from the first track, eyeing the rest for any new details. "It would have taken us longer to realize the need for pursuit, especially if he’d left a note excusing his quick departure. So why the blood bath?"
"Speaking of which," Jensai said, pointing further down the road. "Do I smell smoke?"
"Someone tried to burn the camp down," Honmour reminded him. "Add that to your personal odor from running in front of me all day. Of course you smell smoke!" Kaltor chuckled, more at Honmour’s feeble attempt to seem unshaken than at the joke’s actual merit.
Jensai rolled his eyes at his comrade’s sarcasm, pointing further down the road. "Are those wagon tracks?"
They jogged down the road a dozen paces, letting their stores of Varadour power recover. As they rounded the next bend, they saw the smoldering clearing. A wagon lay in pieces beneath a few flames still struggling to live. Trinkets, cooking utensils, furs, and the like were scattered across the field, along with two black-blooded bodies and two regular ones, all incinerated beyond recognition.
"He works fast," Honmour observed bitterly. "Another trait most nobles aren’t familiar with."
"A small merchant venture," Kaltor said, looking over the wreckage. "Probably a family trying to relocate," He crouched down by the remains, flipping over a few of the smoking objects. "A peddler, probably. His wares seem pretty random. Nothing specialized."
"No altar here," Jensai said, leaning heavily on the butt of his spear. "He was in a hurry to leave," He jerked his head toward the back of the clearing. "His tracks go cross country again. He really doesn’t like roads."
"Wait a minute," Kaltor said, following Melshek’s tracks with his eyes. "This took him almost an hour?" He stopped at the forest’s edge and tried to grin triumphantly, despite his sweaty palms and worried voice. "He can’t be more than ten minutes ahead of us!"
Jensai and Honmour locked eyes for a moment in a silent question of each other’s state of fatigue. They both stood straight and Kaltor felt their powers activate. The tracks dove right through the thickest portion of undergrowth. Jensai pushed into it first, keeping his spear before him as he ran, in case their quarry tried a surprise attack.
As they rounded a thick pine, a loud snap echoed through the trees and a severed portion of Jensai’s spear sailed over their heads, trailing a few drops of blood. Kaltor caught a glimpse of a sapling with a knife tied to a now-broken limb. Where did Prince Melshek learn to set traps like that? he thought. We’ll have to travel a lot slower now, much more cautiously. Do we have the time?
With a groan of frustration, Jensai tossed his broken shaft aside, recovered the tip of his weapon, tore a tree bran
ch from the adjacent pine, and quickly fashioned a replacement. "Of course I had to bring my best weapon," he grumbled aloud. "‘Simple guard mission,’ they said."
"Ironic, that we’re hunting one of the men we’re supposed to be escorting," Honmour pointed out, hacking a tree limb free with his short sword. "Make sure to feel your way as you run," He raised his branch overhead, motioning at its usefulness for setting off traps safely, as Jensai’s mishap had demonstrated so effectively.
Turning to the pine, Kaltor caught a glimpse of Melshek’s next track and paused. "He’s slower now," Tearing a limb free, he twisted one of his daggers from his belt and resumed their pace, trimming smaller protruding twigs and sharpening the tip as they ran.
"Looks like he’d rather deal with us here than at Shaylis," Jensai said. "We should be close to the city soon, if I remember the maps right. Mind if I borrow one of your shoulder pads?"
Kaltor groaned. "I don’t understand whatever this thing is or what it wants, for that matter," he admitted, pulling the leather pad of throwing blades from one bicep. "Why not disappear into the city and hide among ten thousand people? That would truly put us to the test."
"I’m not going to ask such questions," Honmour said grimly, eyes combing the foliage for their target, his makeshift spear light in his hand. "Let’s just finish him here."
Guess we don’t have much choice, Kaltor thought with a sigh. I’m not waiting ‘til dark for him to strike when we’re exhausted, and I don’t think Honmour would be willing to wait for reinforcements, anyway.
"Spread out, watch for signs of an ambush," Jensai suggested. They spread out ten yards apart, pushing through the foliage spears-first just in case of any more traps.
"I’ll take the main tracks," Kaltor decided. Jensai and Honmour took flanking positions on his right and left, slowly working their way forward and slightly toward him as they watched for traps. If he’s got anything from before the Crippling up his sleeve, I’m the best chance we have at deflecting it and taking him down.
A new fear started to toy with his consciousness. I may have to go all out to stop him. He glanced at his friends before turning his gaze to the forest floor. Would they still accept me so open-heartedly? Would they help me hide the truth of my existence from the world?
The change in the tracks drove his thoughts aside, demanding his full attention. Every third step left a deep indentation in the toes facing further down the trail. He was looking for something ahead of him, he realized. Kaltor started to imitate his stance, hopping a bit to get a clear view of the terrain ahead of them. Nothing but trees and thick underbrush met his eye.
"Um, Kaltor," Honmour cut in. "Why are you hopping like a rabbit? I know women love a good dancer, but this hardly seems the time to be practicing your jumping."
"He jumped here, too," Kaltor retorted. "He was watching for something further down the trail."
"Shaylis is close by," Jensai confirmed. "The land is starting to flatten out. We should reach the clearing around the outer walls soon."
They continued along Melshek’s path for another dozen paces before Kaltor signaled them to stop. Before them the walls of Shaylis peaked out through the trees. The tracks here were different. "Jensai," he said aloud. "What do you make of this track?"
They huddled around the fresh tracks in the earth. "Four toes. Claw marks. A hooked claw protruding from the back heel, probably for tripping its prey. Safe to say Melshek is—"
Something interrupted the breeze behind them as a dark form charged in from the shadows. Three trained hands launched their spears. One lodged in the creature’s abdomen.
His serrated long sword swept through the other two spears in mid-flight, curving back toward their throats. With trained precision they stepped back, circling their opponent, favorite weapons drawn.
"How dare you three think you can beat the king of the Varadours! Your powers are no match for mine," Melshek grunted in disgust, ripping the third spear from his stomach. His blood coagulated in the wound before the weapon even hit the ground. All that remained of his royal garb were the tattered remains of his linen underwear around his waist, torn away at the knees.
"Need a killing blow," Kaltor said aloud. "Varadour healing."
"Really?" Honmour said bitterly. "I didn’t notice when his gaping stomach wound sealed itself."
All conversation died as Melshek lunged forward. His first blow knocked Kaltor back a pace, attacking so quickly Kaltor could do little but parry each blow with his daggers. Melshek’s second attack threw Honmour off balance, followed by a clawed kick to Honmour’s face.
Even as he finished his kick he spun to swing his blade toward Jensai’s stomach. The assassin managed to beat aside the weapon by swatting the flat of the blade, but had to roll to the side to avoid the next attack.
Varadour skin vision, Kaltor thought as he recognized what was happening. He can’t be surprised from behind.
Kaltor charged in anyways, slashing at Melshek’s side. The attack forced the creature to turn his weapon Kaltor’s way. Honmour tried to rush him from behind, but a quick slap to the flat of his blade sent him tumbling backward to avoid another clawed kick.
A throwing blade sailed through the air, just missing Kaltor’s right shoulder and grazing Melshek’s head. The beast turned away, snarling angrily at Jensai’s smug grin.
Good idea, Kaltor thought, sheathing one dagger and tossing a throwing blade toward Melshek’s face. Beat him down from a distance.
Melshek managed to deflect Kaltor’s spinning blade, but took a hit to the shoulder from a stone flying from Honmour’s direction. With a feral howl he pivoted, trying to focus on a single opponent, but being forced to turn and twist to dodge incoming attacks. The scene reminded Kaltor of town people killing a rabid dog, but here the dog fought much more desperately, and this dog could destroy an entire city.
They managed to force Melshek a few feet further into the forest, allowing Jensai to recover his spear. One of Kaltor’s blades partially sheared off a hairy ear, causing another howl of rage.
Melshek knocked a sword stroke aside, took two rocks to the back with an inconsequential grunt, and sprinted in Kaltor’s direction. His feet and clawed toes ravaged the earth for traction and speed. His eyes were red with blood lust. The image of the viper hound flashed in Kaltor’s memory, and he threw his dagger with a trembling hand.
The blade sank into Melshek’s right cheek bone, missing his brain but causing him to turn his pace a bit to the right, blinded by his own blood. Kaltor dove past him, plunging a blade into his enemy’s back without even bothering to throw it.
Using his claws for traction, Melshek reversed direction instantly. He spun, sending a thickly muscled arm into Kaltor’s chest as he wrenched both blades free of his flesh. Kaltor hit the ground hard, trying to guide his momentum into a roll as Honmour and Jensai attacked from both sides.
Melshek faced Honmour first, deflecting his sword with Kaltor’s dagger and slicing Honmour’s arm with the throwing blade from his cheek. Even as Jensai lunged forward to spear him, Melshek was already in motion.
His right leg parried the assassin’s spear thrust as he leapt backward onto his left. His right foot’s heel claw hooked into Jensai’s arm and jerked him forward, laying into him with all four extremities and tearing into his throat with his misshapen teeth.
Rolling up onto his feet, Kaltor launched a volley of blades into Melshek’s back, screaming in frustration, his voice tinged with fear. Jensai could only half-scream, gurgling beneath his own blood. The creature glanced toward Kaltor with an irritated expression, then threw back his head in a feral roar of massive exertion.
Black mist burst from the creature’s body, engulfing their surroundings and knocking Kaltor to the ground again. Through the cloud he heard Honmour grunt from a similar blow, and a stomach-wrenching, gurgling sound that could only have been Jensai’s final moments.
The mist rushed into his lungs and a massive wave of dizziness sent him t
o his knees in uncontrollable spasms of vomiting. His world seemed to swirl in circles as he sat in place, his senses writhing.
In the distance he heard the sound of something large tearing its way through the undergrowth to his left. Maker’s Blood! he thought with a hacking cough. Melshek’s escaping. What’s happening? Jensai!
Despite the mist he started crawling forward, feeling the terrain and trying to remember the lay of the land. He tried to use his skin vision to see around him, but with the same results as his natural eyes, total darkness.
After a few moments, the mist seemed to sink into the ground. Its particles didn’t even settle on the plants or the debris—they just sank into the earth and vanished, drawing a few weak coughs from him as they dissipated. As visibility slowly returned, he heard Honmour coughing as well, getting closer.
They met over Jensai’s body. The fatal blow to the neck was obvious, and his empty eyes promised that the suffering he’d endured was indeed over. The wounds were extensive and vicious. Melshek laid into him hard, Kaltor noticed. Even after the killing blow.
Honmour placed a hand on Jensai’s throat and Kaltor felt the familiar, tingling sensation as a Varadour tried to heal another. Wave after wave of healing energy swept through Jensai’s body. Kaltor put his hands on Jensai’s other shoulder wordlessly, sending a blast of his own through his friend’s flesh.
Not only did the energy fail to restart Jensai’s heart, but all the affected wounds did not respond to healing. His claws and teeth were venomous, he realized. No Varadour could heal these wounds without them being cleansed first.
"How did this happen?" Honmour sobbed, clutching Jensai’s head. Kaltor did not move. He could only stare into those dead, open eyes. Those last seconds of his friend’s demise repeated in his head again and again.
Melshek fought off three trained Varadours, outmaneuvering them with levels of strength and agility they were not prepared to face. His deformed face, hands, and feet were covered in Jensai’s blood. Kaltor recalled the scream and look of frustration on Melshek’s face as he threw back his head and blinded them with that strange, pressurized mist.
Honmour managed to stop sobbing. His grip relaxed on Jensai’s hair as his hands moved down his face to close his eyes. They wouldn’t close at first, as if the body refused to let them move on from Jensai’s fate. Gritting his teeth, Honmour forced them closed and used healing energy to connect the eyelids with the skin under his eyes.
With those eyes closed, the rest of the world seemed to snap into place. The last of the mist was still sinking into the ground, outlining the open path toward the walls of Shaylis that the mist had never touched.
We have no idea what we’re facing, Kaltor thought, feeling light-headed, unable to pull his gaze from Jensai’s body. We— we couldn’t have known. That last attack, though— that was meant to blind us during his escape. Was it because he was at his limit? Were we about to beat him? He glanced at Honmour, who still had not raised his head from Jensai’s body.
"Bury him for me," Kaltor said.
Honmour finally lifted his eyes, though they were full of sorrow and confusion. "What?" Realization dawned in his eyes and he grabbed Kaltor’s tunic and pulled him close. Honmour’s eyes were flared wide in pain, grief, and outrage. "Jensai is dead and you want to just leave?!"
"I have to track Melshek," Kaltor explained, putting a comforting hand on Honmour’s shoulder. Slowly, he tried to pry his tunic loose from his friend’s angry grasp. "We can’t let him get away. Not after this."
"No!" Honmour cried. He let Kaltor go with a snarl of disdain, setting Jensai’s body down gently before leaping to his feet. "He’s in Shaylis now! Why do you get to go after him? It’s my home, not yours! I’ll kill him before he touches my family!"
Because you’re not a Remnant— you can’t take him on your own. Another chilling thought strangled his feeble hopes. If even I can take him alone.
"I’ll get word to your family first thing," Kaltor promised, thinking quickly for some other reason why he should go on and have Honmour stay. "But right now we need someone Prince Tyran knows. Someone to convince him this is real. A lone, wounded Battleborn won’t be enough. The son of the king’s best advisor will."
Honmour clenched his teeth. "Noble-born!" he spat. "You couldn’t care less about the rest of us, or even Shaylis! Just crawl back to the capital with your parents!" He leaned over Jensai’s body, crossing his arms over his chest in a ritual form of prayer. "Go back to your perfect world."
With a grunt of frustration Kaltor pushed Honmour to the ground. The Battleborn was on his knees in an instant, his hand twitching toward his sword. "You will only think of your family!" Kaltor spat. "Not everyone else! That’s why I’m going!" Honmour sputtered, trying to resume his tirade.
Kaltor beat him too it, screaming all the louder. "This isn’t just about your family, mine, or even Shaylis!" he yelled. "What makes you think he’ll settle for just one city?!"
Honmour’s breath caught as the point hit home.
"I’m going because Prince Tyran will alert the entire town watch within minutes of my arrival," Kaltor growled. "You’re going back because you’re already wounded and would only be met with suspicion when you told the royal guards. They might even imprison you until another messenger arrived to confirm your story!"
Honmour glanced toward his still-bleeding arm and said nothing for a moment, staring first at his friend’s body, then back at the city. Finally he nodded. "Sorry, Kaltor. I can find you after I’ve healed up," he answered. "Stick to the rooftops."
Kaltor shook his head. "I can’t take him alone, much less handle what’s going to happen in the city," He let go of Honmour, struggled to his feet despite the lingering disorientation, and recovered his thrown blades littered on the ground.
"So, what do we do?" Honmour asked. Untying Jensai’s leather blade-holster from his arm and tossing it Kaltor’s way. "We should at least warn them."
Facing the city, Kaltor stood up. He strapped on the second set of throwing weapons to his other bicep. Before him, he noticed Melshek’s tracks shifting back to their human form, recognizing a patch of disturbed earth where he’d stored and retrieved his clothes.
Gereth is already trying to gather the Bandit Lords and Master Taneth with the surviving miners, he recalled silently. I should just alert the town watch and contain him.
However, we pushed him very hard. Kaltor recalled the look on the creature’s face before Melshek had escaped. He may even need to recover from this fight. A trickle of excitement electrified his spine. What if I went all out and killed him while he was weak?
"Bury Jensai," Kaltor said. "Then fill in Gereth and Taneth on what we’re up against. We’ll need every man we can spare to contain what’s about to happen. They need to surround the city."
He kneeled down in front of Melshek’s tracks, soaking in every detail. Honmour caught hold of his shoulder, pulling his attention away. "Find my father, Marnin. Tell him to get my family together," Honmour demanded. "Get them out of the city."
Kaltor nodded. "I will."
With a grunt of effort Honmour lifted Jensai’s body, cradling it in his arms as if his friend were only wounded or sleeping, and hurried deeper into the woods. Varadour power emanated from him as he left, drawing on more energy to fuel his body. Hope he doesn’t push himself too hard, Kaltor thought. Won’t do us much good if his heart-pouches run out of liquid before he makes it back.
He turned his attention back to Melshek’s tracks, feeling a small ray of hope lighten his mind, despite the memory of Jensai’s open, lifeless eyes. The tracks showed that the creature’s legs were shaking and unsteady. His wounds weren’t bleeding anymore, but he was definitely on the verge of collapsing.
There’s still hope, he thought. I can catch him. I just have no idea how to kill him when I do.
Chapter 11