Chapter 16

The man stood on a hill to the town’s north, just beyond the domen; a small hill jutting up from a slightly larger hill. From his vantage, he could see the men and women of the town scurrying around like ants. He shook his head in disgust. Such a waste and all over a simple little girl of barely fourteen years.

He wondered, briefly, what his master wanted with the girl. Taking the princess was a bold move and it would certainly move Wenland along the path to war with the Empire – but it was almost too brazen. There were probably a thousand far less difficult ways to manipulate Wenland into war; taking the princess seemed overly complicated. After all, one cunt was much the same as any other.

His was not to question, however. His was to listen and obey. If his master wanted the girl, then he’d have the girl. Even if it meant destroying the whole town to get her.

The man wasn’t a stranger to killing; death was a necessary part of life. It was, after all, the only thing guaranteed at birth. At least, that was how he justified taking so many lives.

He wondered how it felt to die. He wondered if it would feel at all or if the end was just a miasma of pain and then nothing. As a boy he’d tortured and killed bugs and animals, trying to feel something. Anything. Trying to watch as the bugs and animals died, hoping he’d uncover some secret.

He never did. He watched the dogs and cats and rabbits squirm and squeal. Watched them burn and bleed. Death fascinated him. He always hoped something would click with him – but it only seemed to whet his curiosity further.

When he reached his majority, he moved on to people. He wasn’t sure why he waited, honestly, but he had. Women. Children. Men. Humans. Dwarves. Orcs. Halflings. Elves. He’d killed them all, looking for someone or something to show him what it was like to feel, to somehow unlock his own feelings. Nothing worked.

His mother and father had said they loved him, even as they beat him when they caught him torturing some of the animals. He hadn’t meant to kill his mother. She’d been nice to him. She’d even laid with him – laid with him more than she’d even laid with his father. Of course, he couldn’t let the whore keep his baby. It wouldn’t do; it would invite the whole town to look into his business.

He’d only meant to knock her unconscious; he figured he could knock her unconscious and then just pound her in the stomach a bit and she’d lose the baby. It wasn’t his fault she’d fallen and hit her head on the stones of the hearth. He’d rushed to her – but it was too late. He’d watched as her gray eyes turned cold and dead. It was his first human kill but it taught him nothing new.

His father he’d meant to kill. When the old man had come home and found his wife dead, he’d started beating on him with a switch; he should have chosen a different place to do the beating. The knife was right there, right on the table, after all. He was good with a blade. He’d always been good with a blade. His father knew he was good with a blade – maybe he’d planned the whole thing. The old man wasn’t much good without his whore of a wife, anyway.

He turned his head briefly as he heard a twig snap behind him. “You should be resting, Qualan.”

“I’ve been resting,” the tall thin woman huffed. She had her brown hair pulled back into a tight pony tail, making her long, thin face with its dark brown eyes, hawkish nose and thin lips seem even more severe than usual. She was dressed in long, flowing green robes – traditional dress for a mage. Arlade had made sure to bring a Red Guard uniform – a kino – for her to wear; attire was perception and perception was very important in the current endeavor. It was imperative Wenland know the Red Guard had kidnapped the princess – and mages were part of the troops. So far, she’d refused to wear the kino except when she was working. “I thought I’d see what the townsfolk are doing.”

“Preparing for us, I’d imagine,” Arlade said drily, turning back to the view. “It looks like they’re barricading the town hall – that tall building with a bell tower in the center of the town.”

“It’s wooden,” Qualan murmured incredulously. “Has the Knight not told them of my fire?”

“They’re all wooden,” the man responded. “The whole town is wooden.” He waved his hands around, taking in the surrounding forest. “It’s what happens when your town is in the middle of this large expanse of forest.”

“That domen isn’t wooden,” she sniffed. “Not all of it, anyway. It provides better defensive capabilities than any of these buildings.”

“What would you know of defensive capabilities, Mystery?” He asked, using the woman’s formal title.

“I know better than to barricade myself in a fucking wooden building if my enemy has control of fire,” the woman rolled her eyes.

“You have a point,” Arlade chuckled drily, his eyebrows rising in amusement. “However, the domen may have better walls but too many points of ingress. Also, they know we can’t use our fire for fear of bringing harm to the Princess; it may have been a mistake to tell them we wanted her alive. No, they’ve chosen most carefully and, given what they had to work with, rather well.”

He paused a moment, looking over the town before chuckling anew. “At least my time with the Red Guard wasn’t wasted. If nothing else, I’ve learned of tactics and threat assessment.”

“The bell tower will give them a tactical advantage if they have anyone even remotely proficient with a bow,” he continued. “We’ll need to neutralize their advantage there. The Town Hall sits alone and has clear sight lines in every direction.” He nodded. “They’ve chosen well.” He turned to look at the tall woman. “They’ve even managed to happen upon another Knight – a big fucker in some kind of deep, blue armor.”

“Blue armor?” Mystery Qualan said in disbelief. “Why would anyone wear blue armor? Did he paint it, do you think?”

“No idea,” Arlade intoned wryly. “I haven’t managed to get a close look at him. It’s probably paint or some kind of strange stain. An affectation, no doubt; a way to acquire some renown. ‘I’m Stupid Pigfucker, the Blue Knight’ or some such nonsense.”

“Well, it won’t save him,” Qualan cackled. “I’m sure his armor will melt as well as any other Knight’s.”

“Master,” a woman’s voice called from the base of the small hill. Arlade took a few steps and looked down.

His eyes narrowed as he stared down at Tarif Hedleddy. She was not a buxom wench; the best you could call her was ‘flat’. She was supremely flexible, however; she was capable of bending near in half, her ankles tucked behind her neck. It was an impressive feat and it made her quite good at Ko’Natu, a martial art where flexibility was valued.

The dusky brunette woman was also impressively loyal. He had saved her once, years ago. He wondered offhand whether it was the source of her loyalty – but he immediately doubted it. Uneducated cunts like her could barely remember their names, much less a meeting lasting but a few minutes years ago.

Tarif was holding a thin, wiry man of about five seven to five nine. The man’s brown hair was matted in places and had a few sprigs of leaves or grass mixed in with it. His arms were trussed up behind him and his face looked dazed and only partially aware of his surroundings.

“What’s this?” Arlade asked, brows arched.

“A gift, master,” Hedleddy called, pushing the bound man forward. “He was hiding in a small cave underneath a felled tree. Evidently, a mound of fire ants took umbrage to his invading their space. They’ve bitten him quite ferociously. It was almost comical the way he was wriggling, trying to stem their advance.”

“Did you run across anyone else?” Arlade asked, his eyes narrowed.

“Some archers were harassing us,” Tarif shrugged. “Now they’re not. I was going to kill this one, too, but I remembered you mentioning keeping one of them alive. I thought this one might serve.”

Arlade’s eyes narrowed speculatively. “Yes. Bring him up.”

Qualan moved backward, pressing her body into the shadow of a tree. She knew the other men and women didn’t care for her and subsequently didn’t trust her. She was used to it; her abilities in the mystic arts often made others uncomfortable. It was why mages tended to stick together; a mage could truly only be known by another mage. Everything else could never be a meeting of equals.