020 – Harvest

***

A pair of domesticated wolves served each of the seven men clad in steel armor. Set free from their chains, the dogs raced forward as pack and, in the manner of their wild predecessors, brought down their prey. They jumped onto Fat Wellez and bit into his arms and legs. Clamped on tight, the dogs dragged him to the ground and shook him by the neck.

The knights had not given their beasts detailed instructions, verbal or otherwise. They simply pointed and said, “There he is.” These animals did not display the same level of intelligence and discernment as Malisent’s familiar, Orma. It just so happened that I stood right next to the madman when this vague order was issued.

Seven dogs bounded towards me. Their snarls exposed rows of pointy teeth. These awful creatures would take me down like a wounded bison. Outrunning them was not an option, so I bolted for the house, only to find it locked shut. There was no way to get inside. In desperation, I grabbed onto the eaves of the porch roof. The dogs nipped at my legs as I pulled myself up to safety.

“Call off your dogs, you maniacs!” I shouted.

The knights took no heed of me. They ran forward on foot to meet their enemy. Fat Wellez thrashed wildly. He flung the dogs off of him. One landed in the river with a splash. The knights formed a semi-circle around the madman and jabbed with their spears. Wellez cleaved the spearheads off their weapons and grabbed hold of one of the knights. He used the man like a shield against the other’s attacks.

Harried by the dogs and deeply wounded from the spears, Fat Wellez could not long resist his enemies. Blood soaked his clothes—and this time it was his own. He fought recklessly to cause as much harm as he could before dying. His cleaver crunched into knight’s armor, leaving deep grooves bent into the steel. Finally he fell face down on the ground and disappeared beneath the growling pack of dogs.

Malisent watched this carnage from a distance without drawing her sword. She shot me a wry look. No doubt she had something to say about my stick battle with the madman and clownish escape to the rooftop.

The knights pulled away their dogs. They chained up the excited animals to keep them from Fat Wellez’s mangled corpse. One of the men had received a serious beating in the short battle, so he crawled to the docks and shed his armor piece by piece to examine himself for wounds.

“He’s slain. The werewolf is dead. Mistress swordsman, can you tell us if the curse is lifted?”

Malisent went to examine the dead body. Now that the dogs were chained up, I jumped down from the porch. Fat Wellez’s face was a mask of blood. The bones on his legs stuck from the flesh. But the state of his corpse did not interest Malisent. She tried to feel for the presence of the daemon. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the spiritual world swirling around me.

“The body is clean,” Malisent announced. “The curse is gone.”

This news relieved the knights.

“Wait,” I said. “I don’t sense a daemon in the corpse. But if a lunar daemon destabilizes, it should break apart into its component essences, or even release a burst of miasma. But I sense nothing like that here.”

“What are you saying, servant?” Malisent scowled at me.

“It’s possible the daemon transferred to another object.”

The knights shuddered. One of them said. “I’ve heard from legends that the bite of a werewolf can spread the curse.”

These words horrified the wounded knight. The madman hadn’t bitten him but had delivered cuts with the meat cleaver. If not for the knight’s armor, Wellez would have carved him like a roast.

“Fine then. Let me examine the wounded knight,” Malisent said.

The knight was almost in a panic. He had seen what a daemonic possession did to the local butcher and did not want to share that experience. It would be his own friends chasing him down if he transformed.

“I sense no curse upon you, sir knight. Take heart. You will not change into a werewolf,” Malisent said.

I agreed with her. The knight did not have the same mote of spiritual power I had sensed in Wellez. He was just a normal person.

“When you bind your injuries, use clean bandages. Boil them in water first, and then let them dry in the sun. And always wash your hands thoroughly with soap before tending the open wounds. Those precautions will help keep out the, um, evil spirits.”

The knight asked. “But what of the curse? Does it linger still, or has it been banished from our land?”

“To be safe, you should burn the corpse immediately,” she told them.

The knights didn’t want to touch the body directly, so they stacked firewood on top of it. They would cremate the corpse where it had fallen. Malisent pulled me aside while they worked.

“Disciple. Why can’t you keep your damned mouth shut? Why are you telling them the daemon is still on the loose?”

“Because it might be.”

“The truth doesn’t matter. We are here to get some horses out of these fools and then open the highway. It makes no difference to us whether the werewolf is banished. Now shut up while I negotiate our horse trade.”

Malisent spoke with the knights as I sat twirling my stick in frustration. Tricking people out of horses didn’t bother me that much, but leaving a murderous daemon floating around certainly did. Nine people had died, not including the family at Stillbend Ferry. It could happen again soon.

My limited knowledge about modern deamonics made it hard for me to guess what exactly unfolded here. The daemon was not in the corpse, so burning it would not do anything but make the knights feel better. The werewolf spirit had fled the body. Perhaps some daemons preferred to inhabit, or could only inhabit, living creatures. That would be the opposite of the undead specters that animated gaunts at the abandoned settlement.

The daemon jumped ship before Fat Wellez went down. The werewolf spirit seemed highly mobile. It liked to mutate a human into a monster and then move on to a fresh host. A bite allowed it to transfer to a new victim, but it had not possessed the wounded knight.

I worried that the spirit became weak after transferring to a new physical anchor, and thus harder to detect. Possession could have a dormant period before a person showed symptoms, like a disease.

Black smoke rose from the funeral pyre. Malisent and the knight had come to some sort of a deal.

“All right, servant. Pack your stick. We’re getting out of here,” she said.

“It’s in the dogs.”

“What?”

“The daemon probably fled into one of the dogs,” I said.

The knight gasped. “Our dogs? Why do you say that?”

“Biting a werewolf may have the same effect as receiving a werewolf’s bite. It would allow the daemon to possess a new host. We know this spirit has an affinity for wolves, because it twists people into wolf-like shapes. So it would be a good bet that it can possess canines as well as humans. It might mutate the animal into some monster, or it might hide undetected until a dog bite transfers it back to a person.”

“But those are our prized hunting hounds. We can’t kill them all. Which one is it?”

“They’re too jumbled together to tell. My advice is to muzzle them and keep them all in separate cages. Watch for any that act strange. When your professional exorcist gets here, have them examine the dogs. An expert probably had better tools for finding the spirit.”

“I see,” the knight said. “Then it seems as if we must wait for the exorcist after all. The gate will have to stay sealed until the curse is officially lifted. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, mistress swordsman. You can meet us at the count’s stables then for your payment. Now if you will excuse us, we have to kennel these hounds.”

The knights mounted their horses and exited the ferry with the dogs well secured in chains and collars. Once they were gone, Malisent grabbed me by the neck.

“You disobeyed my direct order, you bastard. Now we’re stuck in this dump.”

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“I wasn’t going to let another madman go on a killing spree.”

She yanked me down to her face. Her eyes glowed green. “Understand this, Ancient One: I’m a lot more dangerous than any werewolf. If not for this mission, I would have simply cut down those knights and taken their horses. Should you delay us again, you’ll see a slaughter that would make Fat Wellez tremble. Now get this boat ready. We’re going to ferry across the river.”

***

Before leaving Stillbend Ferry, we stole supplies from the house. The knights had left the crime scene unattended, and the dead family no longer needed their clothes and traveling cloaks. I stuffed a satchel full of bread loaves and whey cheese. The madman continued to smolder in the pyre as we rowed our horses to the far shore.

We continued through Butterwood County then passed another two-faced shrine on the highway marking its border with the duchy of Dovestone. I had switched to riding Captain Slezeanor’s Stallion. By the next day, the two riding horses had spent the last of their strength. They could barely stand after such a marathon ride. We left them in a pasture along the highway and continued on foot to the next town. I guided the sweating stallion by the reins. It clomped down the road.

“We’re close to Port Dovestone. We’d be there by now if not for your soft heart.”

“Yeah yeah. I get it. I’m a crummy cultist. Always telling the truth and not murdering people.”

“Your Ancient knowledge best be worth the trouble you put me through.”

“It won’t do you any good for fighting, you crazy woman. But it will help a lot for avoiding food poisoning and infected cleaver wounds, that’s for sure.”

We walked to the nearest village on the highway, a place called North Hometown. Even a small village such as this one had fortifications. It had been a long time since monsters freely roamed this area, and the locals had let the defenses fall into disrepair. Grass grew on the tops of the city walls, and some sections had crumbled into mounds of loose brick. Bats and owls kept watch from the old tower. An open archway led into town, with no gate to block the way.

A collection of stone and timber buildings formed a tight ring around the village green. Normally, the villagers and farmers would hold their markets here, but today a different event took place. Dozens of families had come to the village. Many unsupervised children ran around yelling and swatting each other with switches. The crowd buzzed around a stage in the middle of the green.

“We’ll try to sell this stallion for two cheap hacks that can get us the rest of the way.”

I nodded. She took the horse to find a buyer. It was best not to annoy her too much in the middle of this family festival. She might actually chop people up just to teach me a lesson. I didn’t know the full extent of her sociopathy or how much was just bluster.

We were finally in the presence of normal people who went about their days unarmed. No one had swords, spears, shields, or armor. The Sandgrave locals looked quite rough compared to the citizens of the metropolis. Without automated looms to produce textiles, creating clothes was incredibly labor intensive. Poor farmers wore patched and ragged clothing. They only used a few common colors of dye: red, light blue, yellows, greens, tan, and brown. Only wealthy people could waste their coin on fancy clothes.

High above the crowd on the raised stage sat two men in outrageously colorful garb. Magical swordsmen. One of them had a comically large sword that measured as long as he was tall, about two meters. He had it shoved into the planks of the stage. The other man had a pair of straight bladed swords. Both of them dressed in scarlet coats decorated with brass beads and dangling ornaments. They sported badges of a golden dove on their chests.

I jostled my way through the crowd to get a better look at what they were doing. Families with children gathered near the stage. The children ascended the stage, one at a time, and approached the two swordsmen. After a short interview, the young person would race off to the other end of the stage. Some of children burst into tears; others clapped and skipped in joy.

“What’s going on here?” I asked a farmer in the crowd.

“The Duke’s mage-knights have come to town. They’re checking the young ones for sparks of divinity. See which of them might grow up into proper swordsmen. So all the farmers have brung in their children to be trialed and tested.”

Earlier, Malisent mentioned that Strythe had a spark before I seized control of his body. He had not managed to enkindle it to an inner flame, and thus graduate from novice to disciple in the Void Cult. These children must have been starting a similar—though legal—training program, the first step of which was to test them for the presence of sparks.

“Have your children been tested?”

“Not mine. I had boys to help plow the fields and tend the sheep, not run off and get themselves killed—or worse, get a head full of peculiar notions. Once they’ve been citified, they won’t do a lick of honest work.”

“Yes. That’s probably for the best.”

The other parents here didn’t seem to agree with the farmer’s opinion. They watched anxiously from the crowd as the children, dressed up in their best clothes, crossed the stage. Mothers consoled the little ones who failed the test, and fathers embraced those who succeeded. The whole family’s hopes rested on their youngest members having a spark.

Late in the morning, the crowd began to break up. The event paused before the midday gloam, and villagers lit hanging lamps. Families that had already been tested began to depart, and the rest waited in pavilions set up on the green.

“Greetings, master swordsman,” the mage-knight with two swords said to me. I had not seen him leave the stage or approach me. The crowd parted around us, as if we stood in the middle of an unseen bubble. He gave a slight bow and held his left fist over his chest as a way of greeting.

“Hello, uh, fellow swordsman.”

“I am Sir Turbindo, ducal knight of Dovestone. May I ask what brings a distinguished swordsman such as yourself to this humble village?”

“My name is Strythe. My traveling companion and I are taking the highway to Port Dovestone. We stopped here in North Hometown to obtain fresh horses.”

“I understand. There is little else in a farming village such as this to attract visitors. I only come here when the duke sends out his knights for the child harvest.”

“Child harvest? You don’t eat them, do you?” I asked. These locals didn’t seem like cannibals, but there was no way to be sure in this crazy world.

“No.” He laughed, thinking it was a joke. “We take them to Dovestone. Out here in the distant colonies, we don’t have academies or military schools for training our young sparks, so we assign them to noble families as foster children. Should they enkindle an inner fire, the family will formally adopt them.”

“Ah. I get it. Except what’s a noble?”

“Ha ha. That’s a question we’ve all pondered from time to time.” He smiled. “You are quite a jovial fellow, Master Strythe. But I should caution you that the southern tip of the peninsula is not perfectly safe. The monsters are gone, but highway men sometimes take their place. A wooden sword might be not be adequate.”

“Oh yeah. My other sword fell in a river. I’ve been making due with an oar handle until I get to Dovestone.”

“You said that you needed fresh horses to reach the city? If you need transportation, you could ride with us in one of our drawn carriages. We have more than we need for taking the harvested children back to the city.”

Sir Turbindo had a friendly attitude, but my experience with Slezeanor left me wary of strangers. Knights and swordsmen tended to be very polite on the surface, but that didn’t mean they had good intentions. And of course, after traveling with Malisent, I learned how psychotic people could be.

“I will have to check with my companion before making a decision. But thank you for the offer. It’s very kind of you.”

“Think nothing of it. There are so few of us swordsmen in Sandgrave that it’s always a joy to make the acquaintance of newcomers to our little colony.”

Malisent saw me speaking with the mage-knight and rushed over to us. I sighed. She was probably going to strangle me again.

“So this is where you’ve run off to, Strythe.”

“Ah. This must be your traveling companion. Greetings, Mistress Swordsman. I am Sir Turbindo, ducal knight of Dovestone.” He bowed and saluted with his fist.

“And I’m Malisent, the Vigilant Eye. Please pay no attention to my disciple here. He’s deaf and mute. And also a halfwit.”

“He spoke fine earlier…” Turbindo said.

“Pure chance. Sometimes his throat noises approximate human speech, but the similarity is entirely coincidental. Don’t mind him.”

“Then am I mistaken to understand that the pair of you need conveyance to Port Dovestone? If not, then we can offer you a ride with our young sparks. This is of no inconvenience to us, for our train of coaches must travel back to the city after this village. We leave at sunset and will reach the gates of Dovestone by morning light.”

“That’s a very generous offer, sir knight. If it’s no trouble to you, My disciple and I must accept your hospitality.”

“Your disciple?”

“Yes. Just enkindled. Observe.” Malisent jabbed me in the ribs with her thumb.

“Ow. What was that for?” I throat noised.

“As you can see, his guard is nonexistent and his fire is burning out of control. Without proper training, he’ll soon die. I hope to forge him into a more useful tool for mercenary work.”

“The two of you are mercenaries. How interesting. Do you belong to a company?” Turbindo smiled. He seemed pleased to meet mercenaries, the opposite reaction of the knight in Blandwick.

“We’re free-lancers and sell-swords. We hope to find employment in Dovestone,” Malisent said.

“Then you should speak to the Duke before you sign any contracts. I’m sure he would be interested in swordsmen such as yourselves. I can provide an introduction if you’d like.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“After such a pleasant encounter on the road, it would be a shame to spoil it by meeting on the battlefield under different banners. Perhaps the gods will bless us to one day fight side by side.”

The duke’s knight had to return to his friend before the gloam fell. Afterwards the pair had to finish their trials for the child harvest. They had collected nine children so far. The young people sat on the stage, squirming in their seats, too excited to sit still.

“See? I got us a ride. I can do things,” I said.

“Luck. In the future you must be more wary of others. There are some out there—‘sword-hunters’—who live to collect as trophies the blades of their slain foes.”

“It’s a good thing I’ve only got a stick then.”

“Luck and foolery can only save you so many times. When we return to the cult, your true training begins.”