"No, that would be forty tokens, twelve stingers, one bar of cal, or twenty credits." Malfiro saw how trader Somelhaen smiled with white teeth.
The trader was a tall man, and his naturally pale skin was tanned almost to the point of being the color of the night. He was dressed in the loose black trader outfit of Pearl’s trade guilt: long black boots, silken pants, a shirt of soft fabric, and an elegant coat casually thrown over his shoulders. A steel collar was around his neck, crafted by masters from Pearl, it produced a bubble of energy shield around his head, filtering air from dust and all possible taints before allowing it to pass toward his mouth and nostrils. Unlike locals, Somelhaen had smooth skin without a single scar, and the whites of his black eyes were pure, without any red vessels, so common among the locals. He carried a single pistol on his right side, along with a communication device meant to call the new rulers of these lands.
The trader and his caravan were the main sources of fresh supplies for this remote settlement. Once every two months, he arrived to sell goods to the locals, trading for rare parts of insectoids and rare ore from the mine underneath the village. Sometimes locals unearth a long-closed cavern filled with long-lost technological marvels. In this case, the trader bought them as well. In exchange for this, he was offering energy cells for their underground farms and lighting sources, medicine, and mechanical parts to keep the protector and water recycling machines active.
"Please, my son needs it." The woman before the trader fell on her knees, extending her arms pleadingly to the trader. She was dressed in a simple anti-heat suit that barely worked due to a lack of maintenance. Only a few locals knew how to fix or assemble such things, and all of them were already overworked trying to keep the commune alive.
"With the war between Reclamation Army and Resistance, roads become unsafe…" The trader quickly glanced away, pretending to be lost in his thoughts, before smiling at the woman, "But the state offered me a nice cut in prices if I would provide for places like yours. It will be unfair to bleed you dry, right? How about it, half a bar of cal and you have a deal."
"Thank you!" The woman responded with tears in her eyes, exchanging the crude ore for a large medicine box intended for her son. Malfiro knew her, one of the workers in the mines. She should have come to him right away instead of begging. The members of the commune always look out for each other. When one stumbles, everyone helps. Usually, this woman gathered the needed amount of ore easily, but with the problem that fell onto the commune recently, they all fell on hard times…
Cal was a rare metal, and the city-state known as Pearl had almost no natural sources of such a metal. Malfiro had no idea for what they were using it, but he was certain that they could have paid more. This trader was just a leech after all. He was buying all his goods in the lands of the Resistance, and now also in the Reclamation Army’s lands, and then selling them to locals, feeding off their need. Malfiro was willing to tolerate this depravity before, when commune was stable.
But he will endure this no more, for a crisis is at hand. Malfiro nodded to his group, and they moved forward, making their way through people on the bazaar. This building was filled only for one to two days in each of the two months, during the time when the trader was bringing his big caravan with him. Rest of the time, locals barely used this place, exchanging goods among themselves.
The bodyguards saw Malfiro and his group, one of them whispered something to the trader, and the man turned toward the incoming people, his smile still calm.
"And what can I do for you, dear friends? Perhaps some cigarettes? Or something to loosen your mind and heart…"
"Keep your poison to yourself," snapped Malfiro at him, cracking his fists. The trader might be tall for a normal human, but Malfiro was one of the abnormals, humans blessed by the gods. His arms could bend metal, and he could run faster than any normal human. In countless battles with raiders, he honed his skills, his brown body was covered with scars and proud medals, signifying the rewards of his share in protecting the commune. And not only that, the Ancient One bestowed a true blessing on him. When Malfiro spoke, the very air listened to his will, "We are here for the generator." He nodded at the large metal box that was visible in the back of the trader’s truck through the window of the building.
"Not for sale, my friend," The trader bowed respectively, "I understand your plight, and worry not, the venerable abbot and I have already come to an agreement that will benefit us all…"
"A pox on your deals!" Shouted Galaro, one of the newest members of Breathtakers. He and few others joined the commune just few months ago, running away from the war that was raging in Ravaged Lands. One of his eyes was covered with a dusty-looking eyepatch, and his ribs protruded from his skin. Like all Breathtakers, he too had his share of scars, although his were mostly from his previous life, "We need damn water, and if you dare to stand in our way… well, we just walk over you."
Seeing as the bodyguards stepped before the trader, Malfiro clenched his teeth, annoyed at the disobedience of his subordinate. He was hoping to bully the trader into submission, there was no need for any bloodshed. But if this idiot will keep running mouth… No, nothing was lost, they were all just on the edge. Surely, the trader will understand their problems, they needed each other. Stepping forward, he pushed Galaro back with one hand.
"I understand your problems, I truly do," Somelhaen bowed his head in respect, the bubble of shield around his head hissed, as it came with contact with his clothes, "But this generator is already paid for. If I give it to you, another settlement will…"
"You can’t save everyone," Thinner, usually cheerful man was now speaking in a serious tone. His fat cheeks were red, as he forced himself to say such cruel words, and his green eyes were filled with shame. Yet the round man in brown clothing forced himself to continue, "As you said, the roads are dangerous. What if you leave, get killed, and we end up without water? I admit, I am new here, but we will not last without machinery. It's our lives on the line! And if all of us try to leave in the open, Malformed will…" He went silent.
"I hear you and assure you that everything will be fine," The trader smiled encouragingly. The people around them looked at the scene nervously, most of them were not used to threats of violence in their home. Malfiro understood their feelings. However, this time he had to make a choice that only a hero would make, "I already spoke with the venerable abbot about the damaged generator. He explained to me that you have enough water to last for three months. I will be back in two. We already discussed annual payments with the venerate abbot, everything will be fine…"
"Payments…" Malfiro felt his fist clench. They had to pay for each day, toiling in backbreaking jobs. And then there were sudden attacks by raiders and Malformed. All their lives they were just paying and paying, while those who took lived like kings… "Like a leech, you want to draw as much as you can from us… Profiting from our misery, ensuring that we will not die but neither will we live… Enough!" He shouted in the face of the surprised trader, stepping forward, "My words were not an offer of trade. I merely informed you. We take the generator and fix the machine. Hand over the keys from box."
"Sir, you really better calm down and step back…" One of the trader's bodyguards put his hand, covered with a steel gauntlet, on the shoulder of Malfiro, pushing him back. The man could see no face behind the visor of the bodyguard. The trader stepped back, while his helpers were hiding behind the trade goods. Several locals hurried to leave the place, no doubt intending to call the abbot.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
This will not help them. Malfiro thought. Breathtakers all decided on the course of action. Like Thinner said, you can’t save everyone. Their need is greater. He lifted his hand, grabbing the man by his wrist and easily pushing his arm aside. The trader’s bodyguards could have been in power armor, yet at the end of the day, they were just normal humans. He was not. The Ancient deemed it fit to grant him power for a greater purpose.
"A gun! He is reaching for the gun!" Thinner shouted panickily, pointing at the trader.
Galaro moved faster than Malfiro could restore order, throwing up his own pistol and firing into the man. One of the bodyguards jumped in front of the bullet, causing it to ricochet to the side and slice the trader across the arm instead of hitting his shoulder. The man screamed in pain, falling back, while the bodyguard before Malfiro allowed a portable gun to slide from his wrist, trying to back off and aim at the foe. Malfiro lunged at the person, grabbing him by the shoulder and crumpling the weapon in his fist. It would be easy to snap the shoulder or neck, power armor or not, but Malfiro held himself back, unwilling to stoop so low as to kill other humans. Instead, he threw the man like a ragdoll into another bodyguard, knocking him off his feet.
He stomped forward, creating dents in the concrete, and feeling the pulsation of his veins in his temples. They dare? Another bodyguard aimed a SML at him, and Thinner moved forward.
He pressed his arms to his body and his legs together, almost falling forward, while his body elongated and became thinner by the moment, his clothes followed the change, extending along with his flesh and bones. A rope made of human flesh darted forward, guided by a sentient mind, wrapping around the bodyguard, lifting her in the air, and smashing her down, causing the power armor to give up a creaking sound. Galaro pushed his free hand forward, sending another bodyguard flying from Malfiro’s way with a gust of wind. Malfiro briefly tapped Thinner to make him stop choking the woman before resuming his advance.
"You dare to try and take our lives?!" Malfiro closed in on the trader, raising his boot to put it on the trader’s neck, "Give us the generator, or…"
"ENOUGH!" The shout sliced through the chaos, forcing both sides to halt for a second. The abbot, a balding man in his late sixties, wore a brown robe barely able to hide his still impressive physique. His tanned flesh endured plenty of sunburns, and time scarred him worse still, sending his eyes deep into his head, the tip of his nose was missing.
"Brother, the trader wanted to shoo…" Malfiro’s head jerked backwards upon receiving a punch, which felt more like a sledgehammer hitting against his nose.
"You idiot! He was simply calling for help!" Valsh shouted at the top of his lungs, pointing at the device that fell from the trader’s hand. It was not a pistol, the weapon still remained in the holster. Instead, it was a communication device that lay on the ground. The trader sent a signal to the reclaimers.
****
"Ouch," Svetlana reached for her head, massaging it after she jumped back and crashed into the car’s ceiling, "Virginia, will it kill you to avoid some stones on the road?"
"We can either get there fast, or be careful," Virginia smirked, flooring the gas pedal and making the buggy’s wheels scream even higher, while the car flew from the sand dune, flying for a while and slamming back, causing the medic to jump in her seat. Aranea leaned back, holding Svetlana in place, "With lives on the line, ain’t no one got time to wait."
"If we crash and die, we won’t help anyone! Besides, they already contacted us, the situation seems stable!" The medic argued.
Aranea rolled her eyes, leaving the duo to bicker, and reached beneath her seat and took out the thing wrapped in fur. She ignored the violent thrashing of the armored buggy, holding herself steady while she removed the richly colored furs. Inside was the sword in the ornate sheath of the Wintersong household. Her father’s sword.
Keyl gave this weapon to her, begging Aranea to rethink her decision to stay in the Third Army. She wasn’t sure what impulse made her take the sword on today’s mission, Aranea almost forgot all about how to actually wield this noble weapon. The twin pistols on her chest would serve her far better in combat now. She moved the sword out of the sheath slightly, noticing her reflection and coloring the steel of the blade with crimson and amber lights coming from her eyes.
"We are here!" Virginia announced, stopping the buggy before the wide patch of pale-looking sand, and making Aranea quickly put the blade back in its sheath.
She came outside of the car, using a rope to mount the blade on her back. Aranea was dressed much like the other wolf hag, in a simple leather jacket and brown pants, leaving both paws and feet bare. Virginia fell to all fours, walking around the car like a dog and pressing her snout against the overheated metal.
"What are you doing?" Svetlana demanded to know, coming out and closing the door behind herself. The medic was the only one of the group unarmed. She was dressed in a gray field coat and carried a portable medical kit on her back. Black boots were on her legs, gloves covered her paws, and a simple cap hid her hair.
"Markings," Virginia replied, leaving her saliva across the car, shaking with all her body and jumping up, "Okay, listen up, people!" She pointed at the pale sand, her index finger pointed at the barely visible black stones in it, "See these stones? We are to move across them. Make a step left, make a step right, make a misstep, and whoosh! The sand will suck you right in. The locals use this route when they need to make an emergency trip to the city and grab some medical supply."
"Why not use a safer road up north?" Svetlana asked with a hint of fear in her voice, steadying herself.
Aranea and Virginia both noticed her fear. According to the new rules, a medic must accompany all combat parties of the wolfkins, no matter how small. When the call for help came, Svetlana volunteered on her own. She was a trained professional who had saved countless lives by this point, all true. However, at the end of the day, she wasn’t of the Tribe. She wasn’t born or raised in the Ravaged Lands or Wastes.
Aranea moved first, jumping on the stones and landing on her toes, allowing her fingers to fully envelop the stone and checking to see if it was safe to stand on before moving on. Behind her, Virginia grabbed Svetlana in her paws, lifting the medic like a cub and jumping after another wolf hag. The locals had to take the entire day to travel from the commune to the safe patch of land across this road. The wolfkins intended to cross the distance in under an hour, quicksand, even polluted like the dead sand here, was nothing out of the ordinary for them.
"Because if we go through the north route, we are bound to run into Malformed!" Virginia started explaining things to Svetlana, ignoring the embraced look of the medic, "See, the locals told us that there is a pretty big group living in the mountains north of the commune. The trader is accompanied by a group of sixty bodyguards and a few armored vehicles, and they still often come attacking, despite the help of locals. Mommy Alpha told us to stay clear from them, the locals are refusing to join the state for now, and neither are part of the Resistance, so legally we have no right to stage any military operations here. Yet. We are to go in, make sure that trader is indeed safe, capture whoever attacked him, and come back."
Aranea noticed a movement in the sand above and raised her arm, halting Virginia in her track. The rust-colored wolfkin released a claw on the thumb of her foot, tapping the stone impatiently. Aranea ignored the wolf hag, looking at the sand, allowing her crimson eye to work in full power. The pale sand to her left moved unnaturally, something was rising from beneath. With the speed of an arrow, a pale-colored tail with a cruel-looking stinger at the end was shot from the sand, aiming for Aranea’s thigh. To her crimson eye, this thing moved in slow motion, allowing the wolf hag to grab the tail right behind the stinger, pulling out a sizeable sand scorpion, an insect with a body length of one meter and a tail of nearly two and a half meters, armed with pincers strong enough to snap bones and with nimble legs that allowed it to swim even in this pale sand, waiting for a prey to come by. Aranea’s claws pierced the pincer and then the small head behind it, spearing through the entire body of the creature all the way to the tail.
Another tail moved behind them, aiming for Svetlana’s arm. Aranea’s paw darted for a pistol when Virginia kicked with her leg, catching the tail between her big toe and index toe and dragging the panicked insect out of the sand and throwing it above the medic. Svetlana gulped, seeing the pincers snapping angrily an inch from her snout. Virginia’s jaw snapped, catching the scorpion. The wolf hag turned her head to the right, away from the medic, before biting through the chitin plates, killing the insect, and devouring a sizeable chunk of its insides.
"See, Svet?" Virginia licked her lips happily, "If the locals have trouble with these pals, this mission will be like a road trip for us. Easy peasy."