A villain found in strangest state

A chase to stop a dire fate.

Tander thought something had gone wrong with his vision. He rubbed at his tired eyes, trying to make sense out of what he was seeing.

He stood with Lieutenant-Commander Raemint in the grim interior of a burnt-out ruin. The Centaur had informed him that, up until a few days ago, it had been an infirmary. There was little left now apart from blackened stone walls and burned ceiling beams and ash. Some twisted iron bed frames were the only indication of the building’s original purpose.

Rain had extinguished the fire, and the air smelled strongly of damp ash; the source of the smell that Tander had noticed earlier.

Moonlight and fog spilled in dramatic shafts through the skeletal remains of the roof, illuminating something… strange.

Tander at first thought it was a trick of light, shadows and mist, but the more he looked at it, the more unsettled he felt. He now understood why Raemint had been at a loss to describe it.

There was what appeared to be a woman, kneeling amongst the wreckage. She was clad in something gleaming black and sinister; insect-like, beneath the remnants of a severely scorched beige-coloured garment. There was a glimpse of vivid red hair, also badly singed.

Her face… Tander was unsure, because it kept changing. It flickered constantly between a grotesquely burned skull and a pale, deathly-white visage in a series of horrifying expressions. The whole outline of the woman was vaguely blurry and transparent and uncertain, like she was an image projected onto the air.

There was one thing more.

A long sword, exquisitely bright and beautiful, was impaled in the woman’s back up to the hilt, the blade extending fully four feet out from her chest.

Tander didn’t know what to say.

“Who… what… is she?” he whispered finally.

“Her name is Carmine Vandaris,” Raemint replied softly, her dark eyes roaming the shadows of the ruin, ever watchful. “Four years ago, she went to the Middle Isle to rescue her father, the famous but disgraced hero Captain Sirannor, who was due to be executed by a Dragon. She donned herself in trigonic armour, disguising herself successfully as a soldier, but nevertheless failed to save him. He was slain by General Dreikan.

“Mekk’Ayan brought her back in a crazed and grief-stricken state, and she was placed into the care and watch of the Freeroamers, safely locked away in our Guard House.”

She stared at the woman sadly. “Or so we had thought. Carmine escaped, however, and went on to wreak havoc.” The Centaur closed her eyes. “She has caused many deaths, including that of a powerful sorcerer: Lord Arzath, Ferrian’s master.”

Tander stared at the horrible flickering image, trying to ignore the cold queasiness lodged firmly in his belly. The burnt-out clearing, he thought.

Raemint’s expression turned hard. “The Freeroamers have failed in our duty. I vowed to stay here until I had put an end to her.”

Tander regarded her quizzically. “Why have you not?”

“A simple reason.” Taking up her spear, Raemint trotted forward and thrust it at the woman.

Her spear went straight through, unobstructed. She swept the silver weapon through the space the ruined woman occupied a couple of times, but it was as though neither she or the sword existed.

Tander walked forward as well, slowly circling the gruesome mirage. “That sword,” he gestured. “It looks very like the one Ferrian carries. Is it his?”

Raemint shook her head. “No. The sword you see here is the Sword of Healing. It belongs to a young noblewoman by the name of Lady Araynia. It was she who has put Carmine into this strange state.”

Tander looked up at her in surprise. “There is another sorcerer?”

The Centaur hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. But she has only become aware of her power recently.”

Interesting, Tander thought, raising an eyebrow. Reeves will want to know of this…

“And this noblewoman,” Tander said. “Where is she now?”

Raemint gave him a calculating look before answering. “I sent her away,” she replied finally. “With Sergeant Flint and the rest of the townsfolk. I felt it was too dangerous to remain here. They have returned to Forthwhite.”

“I see,” Tander murmured.

The Centaur was still regarding him. She was an intimidating shadowy figure against the moonlit fog, her eyes sharp and bright in her dark face. “May I ask what need you have of a sorcerer?” she asked quietly.

Tander didn’t reply at once, watching the mist swirl around them, taking a moment to carefully compile an answer. “My Commander… has a book he would like translated,” he told her finally. “It is very important to him, but it is written in a dead language known only to sorcerers, so I am told.”

Raemint inclined her head. “Then you may find no assistance from the Lady. She has not studied magic in the usual fashion. She is unlikely to be familiar with such a language.”

Tander’s heart sank. “Is that so.” He couldn’t keep the disappointment from his voice.

Raemint gave him a guarded smile. “We are both in need of Ferrian’s assistance, so it seems,” she said.

Tander forced a smile in return. “So it seems.”

The girl lay on her back in the long silver grass, dreaming. The shimmering stems were topped with white downy seed fluff, swaying in a gentle breeze that felt cool against her skin. Above her curved a clear blue sky, with a beautiful pattern dancing across it, like sunlight reflecting off pure water.

The girl knew she was dreaming, but that didn’t matter. It was a wonderful dream, peaceful and comforting. She was right where she was supposed to be, and would stay here forever.

After a time, tiring of the lovely sky, she got up. She was wearing her best yellow dress, bound with a red sash. Vaguely, she remembered that she wasn’t supposed to get it dirty, but she hadn’t been able to resist running out into the field with it. It was light and airy, and she liked the way it swished around her legs.

She spun in a circle, happily, delighting in the brightness of the sunlight that wasn’t there. The field of silver-white grass continued to the horizon in every direction, for eternity.

But as she spun, she saw that there was something else.

A low hill rose above the plain. On top of the hill stood a single tree: huge and silver-barked and fantastically gnarled. The tree was abloom with gigantic white flowers as big as her head; their sweet perfume drifted towards the girl invitingly.

She took off running towards the tree.

The roots of the tree clutched the hill like old fingers dug into the grass. The girl had to climb over them to reach the trunk. Gleefully she took hold of the lower branches and climbed up, finding a comfortable perch amid the sturdy boughs.

Bright blue butterflies fluttered around her as she sat like a princess in a flower-filled castle. She giggled as the butterflies landed on her hands and hair.

After a time, though, she noticed that there was something down at the base of the tree, just glimpsed between the silver branches.

A carven stone.

The girl frowned slightly. Something about the stone didn’t seem quite right. It wasn’t ancient, like the tree – it was a new, polished slab of white marble, standing upright.

Intrigued, the girl descended from the tree.

She had to climb over more roots to get to the stone, which was cradled in a shadowy hollow, but the white marble stood out vividly. Ivy grew around it, and had begun to climb up the sides of the stone.

There was an inscription on its surface.

An odd feeling passed through the girl as she stared at the stone. She felt suddenly that she didn’t want to look at it any more, that she didn’t want to know what was written there. Somehow, she knew that if she dared to read the words, that she would never be the same again…

Almost, she turned away. But the need to know burned in her mind like fire.

It was, after all, just a stone…

Creeping closer, quietly, as though the stone were something that could be awakened by her presence, she crouched down to read the inscription.

It read:

HERE LIES

CARMINE VANDARIS

DAUGHTER OF

SERETH MYER

AND

SIRANNOR VANDARIS

The world changed, then, in the space between breaths. The wind picked up, becoming stronger and colder. The boughs of the tree creaked in protest, the huge flowers shivering and shedding petals which tumbled against the trunk and roots. The sky above turned pallid grey, like a winter’s dawn.

Something dark seemed to be creeping up on the girl, and she spun in fear, but saw nothing save the silver grass thrashing in the wind.

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Those names.

She knew them…

Against her better judgement, she turned back and looked at the stone again.

The letters of the word CARMINE darkened, welling up with a liquid substance that was red, like blood from an open wound. It spilled out and leaked down the face of the white stone, tracing out the letters below them...

The girl backed away in horror.

Soft things began pattering against her, like rain. The wind tossed them around the bowl of the hollow, tattered scraps of bright blue.

They were dead butterflies.

She screamed.

Hush.

The voice was gentle yet commanding, and the world fell silent.

The girl opened her eyes to find the tree standing peaceful once more, and the sky a splendid blue. The butterflies fluttered around her serenely, and full of life.

The white marble gravestone was gone.

She looked around for the source of the voice, peering up into the branches of the tree, then stepping over one of the protruding roots to see around the trunk.

A beautiful man sat there, leaning with his back against the tree and his arm resting on one knee. His hair was very long and snowy white, tied in a braid that fell below his waist, with lengths of it framing his noble face. His clothing was elegant and his eyes were as sparkling blue as the sky.

Is this your tree? he asked. It is very pretty.

The girl frowned. It’s my tree, she replied. You’re not supposed to be here!

He laughed softly, but looked sad. I am not supposed to be anywhere, he answered. And yet, here I am.

Her scowl remained. This is MY dream! You’re ruining it!

Am I? Oh. I’m terribly sorry, I thought you were frightened, a moment ago…

I was not!

He paused, then got to his feet and dusted himself off, shaking out his glorious blue cloak. Ah. Well. I suppose it was just me who was, then.

He gave her a bow. Good day, m’lady. Then he set off down the hill, into the tall grass.

The girl chewed at her lip, watching him go. Who are you? she called out, finally.

He stopped, waist deep in the undulating white fronds, and gave her that sad smile again. Oh, no one of any consequence, he replied. You may call me Requar, if you wish.

Then he turned and walked away, his image going pale and transforming into mist, which blew away on the wind.

The girl went and sat down in the place he had occupied. Everything seemed serene once more, but her heart did not feel as light as it had.

The memory of the gravestone remained.

* * *

They found Everine the next morning, discarded like a piece of colourful litter in a patch of ferns, sunshine streaming down upon her. Her red and blue dress stood out vividly amongst the verdant spring foliage, like an exotic flower. A few curious bumblebees investigated, but went away disappointed.

Ben raced forward with a cry, falling to his knees in the wet grass beside her. To his relief, she appeared to be unharmed, save for the ugly, violently dark bruise at her throat where Carmine had half-strangled her.

Swallowing tightly at the sight of it, a shiver passing through him, he took up the blanket which had been tossed away with her, and started bundling her up in it. Lady Araynia hurried over to help.

For an hour afterwards, they searched the small clearing and surrounding forest for any sign of their belongings – or Hawk – but, predictably, found nothing else.

“Why not leave Hawk as well?” Ben said aloud, even though he knew the answer – he just wanted to vent his frustration. “He won’t get far carrying a body around!”

Flint snorted. “An’ who’s gonna’ stop ‘im?” The Freeroamer got up from where he had been inspecting hoofprints in the leaf litter. He shook his head. “The Freeroamers’re spread too thin. Most of us’re out chasin’ after Carmine!” He scowled.

“Someone will notice!” Ben insisted. “And anyway, a body will weigh him down. He must know we’re coming after him!”

Flint nodded. “Aye. But he prob’ly couldn’t figure out how to get that armour off.” He rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully. “He might try an’ get it off another way, though.” He stared off into the sunlit forest, expression darkening. “But he’ll need to stop an’ make a fire...”

Ben looked at him in alarm. “A fire?”

Flint shrugged. “Flesh burns. Silvertine don’t.”

Both Ben and Araynia stared at him in horror.

“But… Hawk’s still alive!” Ben said, aghast.

Flint put his hands on his hips. “That piece of rat don’t know that,” he said. “To him, Hawk’s just a corpse in shinin’ armour.”

Ben paced around the tiny clearing in agitation. He was tired, damp and hungry – as were they all – after spending a miserable night in the pine forest without food or blankets. His eyes and throat still hurt and he felt light-headed. He fought a sudden surge of nausea that threatened to make him retch. Lady Araynia looked up at him from where she sat beside Everine: her face looked as sick and haunted as he felt.

“We have to get after him!” Ben kicked at a newly unfurling fern frond. “Dammit. He’s got a horse and we don’t!”

“We’ll get a horse, kid,” Flint assured him. Moving over to Everine, he hauled her up and slung her over his broad shoulders with little effort.

“You mean ‘requisition’ one?”

Flint touched the brim of his hat, giving Ben a small smile. “Too right.”

They arrived at the edge of the Valewood Forest around midday. The sun was a bright, scorching hole in a pale, hazy sky. Before them, open farmland spread across low hills like a rumpled patchwork quilt, as far as they could see to the east, south and west, disappearing into the shimmering distance. Behind them, the forest continued on both sides along a gently sloping ridgeline, with the grey wall of the Barlakk Mountains rising jagged and mighty at their backs.

Leaning on a tree, Ben took his bandanna off and wiped his face and neck with it, though it was already sodden. The air in the forest was hot and humid, but he wasn’t looking forward to a long trek across exposed countryside without any water. Araynia slumped onto a boulder, her face a sheen of sweat.

Flint stood surveying the land ahead, with Everine still draped over his shoulders. “There’s a farmhouse down there,” he announced, pointing, “ ‘bout a mile. C’mon.” Without waiting for anyone, he tromped off down the hill.

Ben sighed. Araynia gave him a look of dismay, but neither of them complained. It had been their choice to come along, after all. Wearily, they followed.

The trail led them along a disused farm track, overgrown with wildflowers. Bees, dragonflies and other insects swarmed amongst them in profusion. To either side were untilled fields burgeoning with gorse and daisies. The wooden fencing was ancient, rotting and painted with lichen. The soil here was dry and prints hard to make out, but the road ran straight and it seemed unlikely that the thief had veered off across the scrubby paddocks.

Sergeant Flint kept a brutal pace, and Ben managed to keep up – just – but Lady Araynia lagged behind. Worried that she was having doubts again, Ben dropped back, but discovered that she was merely tired.

“We’re nearly at the farmhouse,” he assured her. “We’ll get some food and water there, and rest a bit, whether Flint wants to or not.”

The Lady simply nodded, saying nothing.

A few minutes later, they arrived in the welcome shade of a wide, white-painted verandah. Flint set Everine down on the wooden boards with great care, making sure she was tightly swaddled in her blanket, with no trace of the trigonic infection visible. Araynia took a moment to rest on the steps.

Ben looked around. The farmhouse was a little shabby, with paint peeling from the walls and various pieces of rusted farming equipment lying haphazardly around, but definitely occupied: there was smoke rising from the chimney. Several barns and outbuildings surrounded a central dirt yard, and – he was excited to see – a stable.

Ben caught Flint’s gaze, and the Freeroamer gave him a meaningful look. Then he went to the door of the house, which stood open, so he rapped on the wooden cladding. “Yo!” he called, peering inside. “Anyone home?”

There was movement inside and a middle-aged woman with a scarf over her hair came to the door, wiping her hands on an apron. “Hello!” she greeted cheerfully. “What can I do for you?”

Flint removed his hat and held out his hand. “Sergeant Flint of the Freeroamers. Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we was hopin’ you’d have a mount or two to spare. We’ve a seriously ill young lady ‘ere, in urgent need of a healer.”

The woman gasped, her face falling at the sight of Everine lying on the porch. “Oh, my, of course!” Turning back through the doorway, she gestured at someone inside.

A tall man with greying hair came forward. He took them all in briefly, then, without a word, walked past them, down the steps and set off across the yard toward the stables.

Ben felt relief flood through him. He gave Araynia an encouraging smile.

“The Freeroamers’ll compensate you,” Flint was telling the woman gratefully. “Tell ‘em Sergeant Flint was here…”

The woman waved a hand as though shooing away a fly. “Nonsense.” She stepped out onto the verandah, wringing her hands as she looked down at Everine. “Is there something I can do…?”

“No!” Both Flint and Ben said together. Ben moved hurriedly to block the woman’s way. “No, that’s my sister. She’s um, she’s… badly injured. Fragile. You shouldn’t touch her.”

“Goodness me!” The woman looked shocked. “Whatever happened?”

Flint leaned against the wall, scowling. “We were robbed,” he replied gruffly, and truthfully.

Ben nodded. “He stole everything we own. And kidnapped our companion,” he added. “Some bloke in fancy clothing; a green cloak and a big hat with feathers in it, riding a grey horse. We’re pretty sure he came this way. Did you see anyone like that go past?”

The woman’s eyes were wide. “Oh, yes, in fact! Jerrick saw someone like that just this morning!”

Ben, Flint and Araynia all looked at her hopefully.

“But do come inside!” she said. “Come inside and sit down, while I go and fetch my son!”

Flint hesitated. “Eh… we’re in a hurry…”

But the woman wouldn’t take no for an answer. Grabbing hold of Flint’s arm, she dragged him physically into the kitchen, surprising them all with her strength, then did the same for Ben, almost yanking him off his feet.

She ushered Araynia inside with a little more refinement.

She made them all sit down at the kitchen table, and bustled around pouring cups of tea for each of them. That was quickly followed by three plates of steaming hot, freshly-baked apple pie.

Ben just stared at the pie sitting there in front of him, its aroma too good to be true, wondering if he had fallen asleep somewhere and was, in fact, dreaming.

Flint had no such illusions. Ignoring all eating utensils, he grabbed the piece of pie with both of his big hands and shovelled the entire thing into his face in one go.

Ben almost spit out the tea he was drinking. Araynia, fork poised delicately in one hand, stared at Flint in mingled disgust and horror.

Taking his cue from the older man, seizing his own pie, he attempted to imitate Flint, but succeed mostly in making a mess, and almost choking himself.

Araynia made a sort of small strangled noise in her throat, and flushed. “Barbarians!” she blurted out suddenly. It was the first thing she had said all day.

Thankfully, their host had left the kitchen in search of Jerrick.

The noblewoman proceeded to eat her pie with the most petite bites imaginable, just to spite them.

Ben and Flint exchanged amused glances and shrugged.

The woman returned a few minutes later, with a teenage boy in tow.

The boy was only a couple of years older than Ben, thin and blond. He looked awkward, and his cheeks flushed at the sight of Lady Araynia.

“Go on, Jerrick,” the woman urged. “Tell the people what you saw!”

Jerrick couldn’t meet their gazes, and stared at the floor instead. “I was herdin’ cows t’the milkin’ shed at dawn,” he mumbled. “Then some bloke comes thunderin’ outta nowhere down the old road, ridin’ his horse half t’death. No one uses that road! He scared me cows and they damn near trampled me! Took me half an hour to get ‘em movin’ again!” He scowled. “He was as ye say: all fancy, like them merchants up in the big town.” He hesitated, glancing at his mother, looking uncomfortable. “I… I saw ‘im once before, too,” he went on. “Talkin’ to me mate’s dad, a horse dealer. Me mate says this fancy bloke tried to swindle ‘is dad out of ‘is best mare, but ‘is dad wouldn’ sell. He was scared this bloke was gonna come an’ steal ‘er in the night.”

The three at the table looked at each other.

Explains how he knew the horse’s name, Ben thought angrily. And why he was carrying stun powder around. He was heading out to steal her already!

“An’ me mate came round yesterday,” Jerrick went on quickly, as though desperate to relate everything he could think of, now that he had been forced to speak. “He said there was Freeroamers up in the town an’ they made everyone leave ‘cause of some assassin or sommink. He said this Centaur lady bought this mare off’f his dad and then ordered them t’get outta there!” His eyes were wide. “An’, an’ the town was burnin’ and everyfing!”

Flint regarded the boy. “We’ve good reason for lockin’ Meadrun up,” he said. “An’ it was one buildin’ that burnt down, not the whole damned town. But don’t you folks go near there. It weren’t no assassin: the place is infested with demon-wraiths.”

Both the boy and the woman went pale as ghosts.

“D-demon-wraiths!” Jerrick stammered. “Wha’… like them black fings on the coast? Like them fings what ate the Queen?!”

Ben frowned. “Ate the Queen?”

Flint snorted. “The Queen ain’t dead.” He sighed. “She just…” he waved a hand uncertainly.

“Abandoned us?” Araynia said quietly.

“Yeah, that! Anyway,” Flint sat back, folding his arms. “Don’t go near the town. Lieutenant-Commander Raemint’s takin’ care of it. The Freeroamers’ll come an’ tell you when it’s safe to go back. Alright?”

The woman and the boy nodded mutely.

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of hoofbeats and gravel crunching in the yard outside. Getting to his feet, Flint went out onto the verandah. Ben followed quickly, with Araynia close behind.

The tall man had returned, with not just a horse but an entire cart hitched up as well. Before they could do anything, he had scooped Everine up in his arms and deposited her gently in the back tray, on some sacks of straw.

Ben held his breath, but the blanket stayed in place, and the man didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

Flint ran down the steps and shook the man’s hand, thanking him profusely, then shoved his hat back on his head and leapt up onto the front seat. Ben gestured for Araynia to take the seat beside him, and the Freeroamer helped her to climb up. Ben hurried around to the back and vaulted over the side next to his sister.

The woman pootled out of the house with her arms full of bundles and blankets, and practically threw them at Ben. “Wait a moment!” she said, then rushed back inside.

“Let’s get out of here, Flint!” Ben hissed, “Before these people give us everything they own!”

Nodding, Flint took up the reins and urged the horse forward, just as the woman emerged from the kitchen with her arms full again.

Jerrick and his father waved at the departing cart. Grinning, Ben waved back until the family and farmyard were lost in a cloud of dust.