“It did come to pass, just as Nakere said.”
That was all his grandfather remarked after Ravir told him what happened. The retired warrior was sitting in a chair in the young man’s room, staring outside the window as the tale was told. Not one interruption or the intimation of a rebuke came from the listener. The only signs that the story had an effect were the clenched jaws and steely gaze. Flashes of concern could be seen in the focused eyes, obdurately watching the darkness of the night as he listened in silence.
A horrifying blob came out of my body and killed a noble, and that’s the response I get? thought the incredulous Ravir.
***
It has been a frenzied escape from Lady Latima’s estate. Luckily, the coachman wasn’t around when Ravir dashed through an empty house and straight to the hidden side gate. He was naked, clutching what he could grab of his clothes, and the terror that dominated his dazed mind numbed his body to the coldness of the night.
He only stopped once the highway was in sight. The biting cold and the stinging brambles had finally made themselves felt, forcing the naked man to put on his clothes. Unfortunately, his boots were left behind, leaving him to continue his trek home barefooted. To his consternation, the sight of the wet ground and his muddy feet promised a grimy slog.
Ravir’s horror never left him as he stumbled through the woods beside the highway. Residual fear of the ghastly creature and possible pursuit kept him away from the main road. Only his guardsman training saved him from utter exhaustion and severe injuries. He didn’t mind the minor cuts and bruises inflicted by wayward bushes and branches. Military drills had given him worse injuries. Walking through mud and woodland was nothing compared to being instructed to scale mountainsides without footwear.
His grandfather was still awake when he got home. Ravir was exhausted, but only stopped to drink water before dragging the old man to his room. Surprisingly, the young man didn’t encounter any resistance to his abrupt and uncharacteristic action. Nor did his grandfather comment on his bedraggled appearance. A raised eyebrow and a quizzical stare at his muddy feet were all the guardsman received.
The elderly man patiently waited for Ravir to regain some composure and begin his account. He didn’t ask questions, though a fleeting shocked expression came out when the young man described the dark mass which consumed Lady Latima. When the bizarre account ended, his grandfather said nothing and stared out the window for some time. Then a heavy sigh broke the silence, following which the comment about Nakere was uttered.
“Nakere who?” asked the mystified Ravir, intensely curious, notwithstanding his earlier stupefaction at his grandfather’s reaction.
The muted reaction he received was totally unexpected. Not that the old man would panic. His grandfather was a decorated veteran of the Border Watch. Men like that don’t succumb to such a novice emotion. Yet, some degree of heightened concern would have natural under the circumstances. Its absence greatly puzzled the still unsettled young man. All Ravir could observe was the intense concentration of the mind beneath the graying hair and thin mustache.
“A blasted stranger of a mage who saved my life,” came the slow reply. “Wait here. But clean yourself up first. You look like a mud rat.”
He had washed and changed into clean clothes by the time his grandfather returned. Nerves had calmed a bit due to the soothing effects of adathine, a medical herb they grew around the house. It was good for a lot of things – light wounds, relaxing scent, and an insect repellent. Unfortunately, it thrived only in the wilds or near forests. As Ravir returned the small jar of the dried adathine leaves to its place, he noticed the armor and weapons worn by the elderly warrior.
His grandfather promptly laid a field pack and a full waterskin on the floor. His other hand threw a wrapped bundle to Ravir. As the young man unwrapped the sack wrap, a suit of light leather armor met his eyes. He gave the other a quizzical look.
“Put that on. A sword, shield, bow, and quiver wait outside. Get whatever food you need from the kitchen,” came the gruff instruction.
The stunned Ravir stared at his elder in disbelief. He expected anger or hurried arrangements for hiding, but not for a long and clearly dangerous journey, as evidenced by the preparations laid out before him. His grandfather disapproved of his reaction and bluntly told him to change into the armor. The stern tone sparked quick compliance on Ravir’s part.
“Amar Vestir, where am I going?” he asked, putting on the breastplate. Ravir used the honorific Amar, or respected, in addressing the old warrior. It was usually grandfather or Vestir, but circumstances were obviously dire for reasons he couldn’t understand.
“Far from here. Find Nakere in Maldea, or Keadan, if he moved farther north. He knows more about the situation than I ever would,” replied his grandfather, succinctly. It was a tone that didn’t suffer any hesitation.
“Shouldn’t we alert the guards? Apprehend or kill the creature?” he countered, still confused. To his mind, notifying the authorities was the proper course of action. The royal mages could handle the monster.
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“By the Bloodline! That creature is now Lady Latima! Memories, body, everything! It’s a meat puppet! What would happen if a lowly guardsman reported such an unbelievably and patently libelous tale about a member of the royalty?” bellowed Vestir.
The outburst shocked Ravir. Nothing fazed his grandfather. The man was usually calm and collected with only the eyes showing what was going on inside the veteran’s mind. The fiery flare-up was only the second time he saw the old warrior lose his composure. The destruction wrought by a trio of rampaging giants on his beloved vegetable plots was the first. Yet the reaction told him that his grandfather knew the nature of the monster.
“What was that creature?” asked Ravir, going directly to the subject. Given the urgency exhibited by the elder, there wasn’t time for indirect queries. He now suspected that such knowledge was related to the hidden past of the elderly veteran.
“A ragast. Or ragasta, as Nakere called the race,” immediately came the reply. “Damned devious, hellish demons.”
Ravir didn’t say anything and waited for Vestir to continue. The man’s eyes were looking at him, yet it was apparent that the mind was on a memory from long ago. The timbre of his grandfather’s voice changed. It was a soft tone - a recalcitrant mixture of pride, tinged with fear, and a dose of incredulity.,
“It was after your mother died of the sickness which suddenly swept the kingdom. You remember she came here after your father died in the wars. It was... a difficult time for all. The Varian invasion had caught the Alliance by surprise,” narrated the old man in a low voice, his features suddenly showing the weight of long years and cruel memories.
“I was the best tracker in this part of the realm, and the enemy was held to a standstill in the mountains, unlike in the south. The Border Guard in these mountains were focused on stopping small incursions and catching spies. Not that much to do. Then a royal summons came. A fugitive, a spy, needed to be hunted down. It was a peculiar task. Only one novice guardsman of my choice was to accompany me. The Lord Marshall probably didn’t want me to bother about the carrying of provisions and other material. I got Wardis, then a young guttersnipe like you. Wet behind the ears and who fortunately passed the inspection by the Royal Mage,” continued Vestir.
“The Lord Marshall himself and the Royal Mage. Must be a high-value bounty,” remarked Ravir.
A grim smile formed on the face of the veteran. He had thought of the same thing and wondered about the arrangement. All the man got was the excuse that sending a company would just alert the quarry. The spy had some magical abilities, and it was best to keep the task a secret. But Vestir was not to take the man alive. It was an odd directive. Spies were valued for what they know and have learned.
“A task better suited for an assassin,” observed the young Ravir, even as he began stuffing the pack with his things, grabbing the adathine jar and medical liniments.
“That’s what I said. But apparently, they believed that an assassin wouldn’t be effective in the forested, mountainous terrain,” replied Vestir.
***
He tracked the target for a few days, ending at a location near the border. After picking up the trail of his prey, it wasn’t difficult to follow the spy. Vestir saw the man was heedlessly pushing through the undergrowth as if nothing mattered and no obstacle was too great. Still wondering why the ruckus of the quarry’s passage had not attracted predators, he finally saw the man in the distance.
Only the woodman’s familiarity with the area and his ability to choose faster paths enabled him to catch up. It helped that once Vestir determined that the fugitive was proceeding in a roughly straight course toward the border, the scout was able to narrow the gap between them.
Yet that inexplicable route also puzzled him. He had chased escaped prisoners and no human had ever adopted the insane, unswerving course. The Varian border was still some distance away, and given the terrain, it would take a few days to reach its outermost point, and that in a straight line. But considering the wildness of the frontier, Vestir couldn’t tell if the spy was extremely desperate, mad, or had a few unique tricks to support such an unswerving course.
As he drew closer, leaving the novice Wardis behind, Vestir saw the man’s ragged clothes. The opulent, colorful, and expensive attire had been reduced to ragged strips. The tracker tried to make out any injuries to the body, but none were visible. The spy looked healthy enough, despite his near-naked and disheveled appearance. Vestir knew how deathly cold it got in the thick woods at night and again wondered how the man survived the last few days.
He stalked his quarry for the better part of an hour as the spy doggedly clambered up the side of yet another mountainside. From what the hunter observed, the entire passage was effected only by a short sword cutting through the thicker vegetation. This was virgin forest, that he knew. No hunting trails or woodcutter paths were available.
Suddenly, the man disappeared from view. The spy had reached the top of the incline, and Vestir guessed was now in a mountain clearing of a considerable area. If it was a mere ledge, he would have spotted the fugitive continuing in the upper reaches of the timbered massif. Sighing, he moved to the right, toward a ridge connecting his present elevation to the other side. There would be some distance to cover once it was crossed, but preferable to his quarry’s bizarre route.
Nearing the top, Vestir paused and listened. Nothing came to waiting ears. He didn’t expect to hear the usual forest sounds. The loud and turbulent passage of his quarry made sure of the flight of forest creatures along the path. Yet an eerie silence prevailed. This close, the hunter expected to hear the crack of cut branches and the noise raised by disturbed vegetation. He smiled grimly. The prey had noticed his presence and was waiting for him.
After checking his gear, he unslung the bow and removed the leather cords keeping his sword and knife in place. Ordinary soldiers usually joked about the strings. It wasn’t usual. But for a forest scout like Vestir, that tiny piece spelled the difference between having a blade or losing one while in an awkward position high up a cliff or a large tree.
With an arrow readied in his undrawn bow, the crouching scouting carefully went up and found himself looking at a glade framed by tall trees. The spy stood in the middle of the clearing and faced outward, right where Vestir appeared. The man had a disturbing, wide-opened grin on his dirty face, and the weapon he carried was buried point first on the ground.
The tracker immediately let fly the arrow and swiftly followed up with another, taking a few steps to the right as he let loose. As the second one was released, Vestir saw his aim was true. The first projectile was buried in the quarry’s chest. He continued to the side, drawing his sword, and putting away the bow in a series of fluid motions. Then he noticed something that chilled his entire being. The two arrows grotesquely sticking out of the bare chest didn’t draw blood. Both were buried halfway into the body. Yet his quarry was still insanely grinning, and to the hunter’s horror, moving toward him at speed.
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