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> “Duvall Lafayette…Duvall Lafayette…” Vincent kept at it, holding onto the hilt of his blade as we rode through the desert. The horses mounting huge gallops across the deserts. The sun was against us and my head was low, facing the neck of the steeds. All of us kept ourselves narrowed on the horses to avoid the draft of wind. Though my cape still caught it. We we’re going to catch up to them. Who knows how long it’d take. Days? Weeks? But we’d find them. Tracking after all, wasn’t so hard. We picked up little clues along our ride east. There was an oasis not far from the city where a stream of water came out from a mountain of rocks, there we’d seen the still wet finger prints on the shaded stones. The stomped floor and spiny plants with teeth marks at the stems where the horses had tried taking a bite.
> More clues later that day too, the remains of small game. The shin bones split in half with dripping marrow cooled down like a wax waterfall along the bone shaft. Vultures were picking on them when we caught them.
> On the fourth day we found our biggest clue; a dead body. A man left on the desert, neck stabbed. There was a caravan in pieces not far off where he’d been left in the sand.
> Kal found him and we all surrounded him and scratched our heads.
> “They thought to rob him, is my guess.” I ran my hand down the corpse, his sword was missing from its sheath off the side of his waist.
> “Didn’t put up much a fight.” Sylas said. “Should have just let Duvall get what he wanted.”
> “He was a merchant.” I looked to Sylas.
> “Aye. He was.” Sylas said. “Now he’s dead.”
> “There’s more out there.” Kal pointed. Vincent already took a head start, charging at the decomposition caravan. Animals with their guts split out, muscle carved from the belly and the legs. Amongst the rotting flesh and guts were strewn bits of the caravan. Wood mostly. Scented candles, some rugs pieced and shredded.
> “Shit man. They didn’t have to destroy it all.” I said.
> “I suppose they’re sending a message. These men were headed towards the outpost. Then the capitol.” Vincent picked up a letter from a satchel tattered on the floor. He lipped the words.
> “What kind of message is this?” I asked.
> “That they’re desperate.”
> I grabbed a piece of plank off the floor and threw it to the side, sands soaked in blood and clumped into little balls. The vultures picking on corpses looked at us with sidelong glare, their beady eyes blinking once before they expanded their wingspan. A man groaned. I stood. The vultures flew off the bodies and drove high into the sky.
> “Someone’s alive.” I said.
> They looked around, I dug into the wreckage some more, throwing plank after plank to the side. A piece of spoke. A piece of interior wooding. And inside the giant mound of trash I saw the crushed face of a man. His nose dislodged, his eye bulging and poking out of its socket. Black colored half his face. I put my canteen to his burst lips and he took a small sip.
> He did not turn his head. The water slipped from a crack in his face. There’s no way to describe the wound. A chunk? A cut? A laceration? The gums were blown out from his right side, the teeth stuck to him like sand on whatever was left of his lip. He had been bleeding, now he was scabbing. At least on his face. A metal connector was stuck in his ribs, blown up from between the carts (when they were there). And every breath, the metal moved deeper and deeper into the bleeding socket.
> “What’s your name?” I asked.
> He did not respond.
> “Can you hear me? What’s your name?”
> “Milo.” He said.
> “Did they pass through here?” I asked. “Did men in armor come and kill your people?”
> He nodded.
> “We’re going to help you? Okay?” I said.
>
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>
> No one really believed it, least of all the man.
> “It’s in my chest. Isn’t it?” He said. “Can’t feel much of it. I can tell though. Something’s moving.”
> “It is.”
> Milo looked up. The sun blared down at us. My neck was frying. Sweat evaporated so fast.
> “Terrible way to die. Isn’t it?” Milo said.
> “It is.”
> “Who are you?”
> “We’re with the king. We’re the Flock.” I said.
> “The monster hunters?” He laughed. “What are you doing over here? Nothing but sand.”
> “We’re hunting monsters. That’s what.” I said.
> Milo nodded. He licked his exposed gums with his tongue, winced, and retracted it.
> “Ah. The spices.” He sighed. “Dropped them all, huh. Father will be pissed.”
> “We’re going to kill them. You hear?”
> “Never paid off that horse. Gods damn it.”
> “You listening?” I asked.
> Vincent put his hand on my shoulder. I nodded, took out my blade and kept it unsheathed beneath my cape.
> “I need you to tell me where they were going. If you even know.” I said.
> “Wish I had my dog.” Milo looked around, patting the sand. “Huh?”
> “Milo. Can you tell me where they went?”
> “What are you? Stupid?” He said. “They’ve only got one way to go. Up into Heaven’s Break.”
> I looked to the side, squinted my eyes. I couldn’t make up the shape. But I’d heard about it. Read about it. And it seemed like it would be an inevitability, something beyond the horizon and waiting for me. Something beyond the flat of the land. A monolith hidden in the landscape, waiting for me.
> “Give me some wine.” He said.
> I gave him water. We had no wine.
> “Delicious.” He said. His eyes drifted. He breathed and wheezed and the blood pooled on the pouch of his belly.
> “You ready?” I asked.
> “Yes sir.” He said.
> I put the blade on the nape. Knew the spot well enough. One thrust. He whined. He clenched his teeth and tightened his neck. Then he fell back against the wreckage and convulsed before going stiff. Strange how merciful death still is so terrible.
> I wiped my blade against his pants and dropped the knife in my shaking. I grabbed one hand with the other. Pissed, more than anything.
> “There wasn’t even food to get.” I said. “They were spice traders. Few of them, they had no storage for food.”
> “They took what few meals these men had.” Vincent said. “Annihilated the little guards they had.”
> “If you can sell spice, you can sure as hell pay for more.” I said.
> “These people? No. They really can’t.” Vincent said. “The King has embargod most of the east. You either get tyrant merchants or smugglers. It seems to me like the man was a smuggler.”
> “Shit, man.” I kicked the sand. “How close are these cliffs?”
> Vincent looked at me, to my hands. I kept them hidden behind my cape. But I could see he was staring. He looked up to me. A face of surprise, concern?
> “What?”
> “It should take us three days. We’ll be there in two.” He said. “We’ll meet them between the cliffs and kill them.”
> “We better.” Obrick walked up behind us. Breathing hard. He was carrying wood.
> “Let’s set up camp here. It’s almost late.” Vincent said.
> I looked to the floor. A little stick, what seemed like bark, stuck out from the desert floor. I plucked it. A long line of spice, Ceylon. I took whiffs. Pungent, freshly dried. Off one end, blood chips clung. I snapped them off and blew out the dust and put it in my pockets. Then I held my right hand, held it right still. It was too early for this.