“D-damn…” Despite Tyrin’s reservations, Norman clung to her shoulder. They’d been played by that absurd mage, and quickly routed as well. An arrow in the back and dagger in the gut didn’t even phase him, how could anyone face a monster like that? Norman looked at Tyrin, wondering if he should just try running away from the Poran. If they faced that monster again, even their benefactor wouldn’t be able to save them. This whole operation was a mistake…
Tuesday
The band of seven stopped a distance from the village where their target would allegedly stop. Timmet, a new recruit to the information gatherer’s group, acted skeptical. He didn’t have the experience to trust knowledge over instincts. Instead, he went on about how mages wouldn’t hide in such a place. Apparently the only mages he’d ever heard of were the prideful type.
“Shut your trap Timmet. We got info he came from Salt Village, and this is the only place that could be called that. Now dress up in the damn robes, and do your job!” Michael commanded, his subordinate dropping the attitude. It wasn’t so much discipline as fear, fighting may be dissuaded within the upper ranks, but the newbies were free game to beat. The only reason Timmet had been spared so far was because bruises would be a bit much on someone trying to pass themselves off as a Disciple.
Norman breathed out heavily at the scene. There opponent may have been a mage, but he was wounded. No matter how much that core was worth, sending two different groups after him was overkill. Harold also went enforcing his no nonsense policy on them all and kept him from getting a peek at Tyrin as she changed as well, so his mood became even more foul. A beauty like that in the Poran, Norman regretted not joining one of the intelligence divisions. At least every once in awhile he had the chance to abduct a girl.
The archer stewed on his resentment, as he and his remaining fellows spread out to wait for the initial survey of the village.
“He’s there.” Under cover of night, Tyrin snuck away from the village. Behind a slight hillocks they congregated, eating their stiff rations and waiting for her report. “There might be a problem.”
“What is it?” Michael awaited what she had to say. In charge of the kidnapping squad Norman was a member of, in Hammond’s absence he took seniority. Norman felt he was too overbearing, and unlike Harold who strictly imposed the rules on them, Michael acted with leeway to punish those under him. If not for the fact that his own liberties were overlooked, Norman would have looked for a way out long ago.
“We found the mage as described, he says his name is Alric. His clothes match what we were told, and they’ve recently been sewn together in the positions he was allegedly wounded. But his motions imply that he no longer suffers from them. I suspect he has healing magic available.”
“Are you absolutely sure that it’s him?”
“Yeah, he has reeter sap on his cheeks and hands.”
“Alright, continue using the Deik Cloth plan. Even if it doesn’t affect him, at the very least it can gain some blood power for it. Is there anything to note about his habits?”
“It's just the first day, of course not. The target does act a bit strange as Harsier warned; it may be difficult to attract his attentions to unearth his secrets.”
“Just do your job, secret-whore.” Michael spat. Abductions and information gathering went hand in hand, so anything that went wrong could usually be blamed on the intelligence squad. Coming back with essential nothing, even if there were reasons Michael wasn't the sort to excuse it.
“Maybe I should practice with you then?” Tyrin responded with an edge in her voice. A seductress, but even a woman could learn to torture, and it was clear which of her two specialties she was referring to. Norman figured the only way he’d get close to her was if her fingers were broken, but just looking at her was a sight the Patriarch would envy. He’d have to satiate himself without drawing her attentions.
“Go, learn his patterns and report back without empty words.” Michael commanded, even though she was about to do just that. Fuming, the female Poran returned to the village.
Even before she reported in the morning, Norman and Taylor were stationed in the middle of the night. Norman found himself within one of the fields of high grass occasionally cut for thatching. Allegedly watching for if the mage started to leave, of tried entering the shack given to the information squad, instead he found himself more concerned with the insects crawling about.
The slums of Glaucen didn't sparkle, but there was still quite the difference between hiding in the city and undeveloped land. Gnats and flies buzzed about, and beetles and ants crawled through the dirt. Norman silently batted them away, fighting off the insects with as little movement as possible. He went hours not seeing hide nor hair of the mage, and even as night fell the village might as well have been dead. There were only about three dozen people total, the lack of activity made the city dwelling rogue restless.
About to witness a second dawn from the brush, Norman gladly sped off to return to the southern hillocks. Someone would replace him soon, finally it was time to head back to the main group. Happy to be out from the plants, he itched to his heart’s content, red pumps rising all over. Seeing Michael stab at a piece of deadwood, he grimaced; the boss of the abduction squad didn't have a great attitude even when he was in a good mood.
“Norman, you fucker, don't keep me waiting! That shit Harold’s fucked the Deik Cloth, and the secret-whore can’t fuck the mage! If we can't get him by the end of this, you'll be leaving with broken arms!” Seeing Norman approach, Michael burst out into a stream of swearing.
“Did I actually do anything wrong, you prick?”
“Damn Taylor let the mage get away in the forest yesterday, you ended up just sitting on your ass the whole time.”
“How’s that my fault? Rip into him then, I followed your orders.” Norman sneered right back at Michael. “Shouldn't be bothering with him in the first place, there's no way he's worth this much effort. Just slit his throat and say we couldn't find anything.”
“You want to skimp out on this job? You'll wish Tyrin flayed you if that gets back to Harsier. These orders are from the top, and I'll have you buried alive with Taylor's corpse before cutting corners here. Now get to the damn forest and make sure the mage doesn't get away this time!”
“Shithead bastard…” Norman muttered under his breath, not daring to say it loud enough for Michael to hear. He’d already been up for a whole day, and his stomach roiled discontentedly from sparse meals. The Poran left no room for disobedience though, and with his leader in such a foul mood Norman could only curse to himself.
Rushing towards the forest, Norman halted at the edge. He gazed up into the canopy, at least three times his own height. The forest had approached the road over the last few days, and none of the Poran members were used to it, opting to sleep on the far side of the road. Norman was not excluded and felt a tangible unease from within.
The woods were so far removed from the slums of Glaucen. They were irregular, and no matter what direction you looked, your vision would be blocked. Memorizing such a vast expanse would be useless, yet roots and slippery leaves were just waiting to catch at your heels. The leaves blotted out light overhead, meaning even daytime lost some of its luster. This sort of place was where monsters would thrive.
“O Patriarch of man,
This one beseeches you,
To tread where beasts dwell,
Yet remain unharmed,
Sing Tian Meng.”
Norman recited a quick prayer chant, pricking his finger so a bead of blood formed. Letting it drop to the ground, he adjusted his bow in his hands and stepped into the trees.
He needed to find either Taylor or the mage. Unfortunately since he couldn't draw the attention of one, he couldn't just call out for the other. Instead, Norman tried using his sense of direction to find the way. The plan did not go as well as hoped.
In his entire life, Norman had not needed to travel more than a day outside of Glaucen. Like many of the rogues, Glaucen and its surroundings were intimately familiar to him, but it was not due to skilled navigation. Only repeated practice and years of living brought the ability to foot through the city like a shadow. In the forest there were no odd shops, no broken flagstones, no unique characters, only endlessly repeating trees and shrubs. For Norman to suddenly adapt to such conditions was beyond his abilities.
Nervously fumbling throughout the dimly lit woods, the chittering and screeching kept him from finding a measure of peace. Norman knocked an arrow on his bow, to at least be prepared. Yes, if anything, he was an excellent shot. Whatever monsters roamed the forest, he might at least be able to dissuade them and keep his own life if using the bow. The bow found itself drawn on several occasions, but ended up relaxing after several tense minutes each time.
“Idiot, get over here and get down!” A hissing came from the direction of a particularly dense thicket. Norman followed the instructions, more out of the relief of finding another human than deference.
“Damn Taylor, Michael is all riled up because of you. Aren't you supposed to be a hunter?”
“Just get down!” As Norman approached, Taylor leaped up and dragged him back within the brush. “This guy isn't a normal mage. I lost him the other day because I couldn't keep up, he doesn't get tired even after 30 minutes of running, it’s ridiculous! Keep your bow up, and ready to sprint.”
“Whatever.” Norman listened, but still was acting far more relaxed. Letting out a yawn, he leaned his back against a tree. Damn, he was being run ragged. Leaning against a tree, his eyelids felt heavy. Just too much work...he's better try resting up before...anything happens.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
He awoke to the sound of running, and barely caught sight of Taylor in the area. Had he spotted the mage? There wasn't another explanation for it, but Norman couldn't believe they actually crossed paths at this juncture, the forest was huge after all. Deciding to give chase as well, Taylor led by a good distance, but eventually he caught up. The mage was nowhere in sight.
Taylor, surprising Norman by making out tacks on the ground in poor lighting stopped and knelt. Tearing off a small branch, he threw it into the forest in a rage.
“He did it again! That bastard, is he playing me for a fool? And you were sleeping over there? I might as well try to do it all myself.”
“You think I care? Well I don't. Quit your grumbling, did you notice anything we can tell the chief?”
“Nothing I want to—the bastard managed to escape just by walking. I'm starting to think there’s some sort of magic involved.”
“Let's move back towards the village and watch him as he returns. That'll be something at least.” Norman suggested, not too broken up about it all. He was just waiting for Michael to lose patience so they could straight up fight and drag the mage back to Harsier.
Norman, like all the Poran, attended worship regularly; he knew that magic was the domain of demons and devils, and that mages were subject to their influence. Mages could upset the balance of the Flow of Life with their magic, but Norman felt it would be better to kill them outright, even if they were humans. This mage’s powers may be strong, but that only meant that they should take advantage of their numbers to kill him as soon as possible.
He didn't dare go against Michael’s commands though, and waited with Taylor for the rest of the day. Not that his luck was so good that merely following orders would keep him out of trouble.
“Assholes! Don't you have anything to report? I've been stuck with Michael and he’s started throwing daggers he’s getting so antsy. Not to mention the mage is so crazy Tyrin doesn't know how to talk to him.” Silently appearing from the forest, a head of pale blue hair surprised them. Looking slightly irritated, the usually aloof Erwin came in like the wind. “Just sitting around out here...well, we should be out of here by tomorrow evening.”
“I knew that shithead couldn't hold out much longer.” Norman smirked, having been proved right. Three days was a new record though, the Mage must really have run circles around Harold’s group. He hated Michael, naturally he understood the limits of his temper to avoid repercussions.
“Ugh, it's going to be such a pain to catch the bastard. Why do we have to bother keeping this under wraps? What's a village like this going to do?”
“Ignorant ass, maybe if you paid more damn attention you'd know!” Erwin grumbled at Taylor. “This guy makes connections like a spider weaves webs, apparently he knows at least two Disciples, the big alchemist Theodore, and Castor’s the one who brought him to town.”
“Not fucking Castor again…” Norman heaved out a sigh. The chipper merchant was incredibly irritating whenever his name popped up. Practically a member of every guild, while not actually belonging to any, whatever charity case he started working on would be regularly checked up on. If they went missing, he'd mention it to everyone, unintentionally mobilizing practically all of Glaucen. Damn chatterbox couldn't be bribed and despite moving like clockwork, never could be caught by any assassins. The Guardian of Man must have taken a liking to the merchant for whatever reason, so if ever one of their targets had a relation to Castor, they needed to make sure they disappeared ‘naturally’.
“Yeah, apparently Castor recommended him to be an apprentice to Theodore.”
“So he vanishes while collecting herbs in the forest. Right. I think I got the bastard’s course guessed; he's gone the same way yesterday and today. It's not always the path he uses, but it's pretty common. If not tomorrow, then the day after.”
“Right, here's the plan so far…” Erwin began to explain what had been worked out. The mage had strong healing capabilities, so Norman should aim for the lungs. Patting his bow, he felt a smile coming on.
Thursday Morning
Norman grit his teeth to the point his jaw protested in pain. Back in the damn grass! Shithead decided to put him along the road to watch for if the mage tried making a break for it instead, even if he headed for the wilderness towards Medean, the empty land meant Norman would be able to spot it. Except for Tyrin the rest got to go on a manhunt, while he had to wallow in the grass again!
Frustrated, he spent hours just stabbing at the ground with an unfinished arrow. Butchering ants on a small rock, time passed slower than it had before. At least in the city, there was always something happening, the desolate air of the village frayed his patience.
Noon came, and Norman shifted uneasily on the dirt. Had those idiots fucked up again? How hard could it be? Despite inwardly doubting their competence, even deeper the archer knew that shouldn't be the case. Lacking discipline didn't mean anything, they still always caught their targets. Perhaps the morons got lost on the way back; thinking that, Norman ate more dried food from his bag.
A rustling noise, and a voice to soft to make out, raised his attentions as the sun was getting lower in the sky.
“Norman, show yourself you filthy lecher.” Tyrin frantically beat around the bush. “Get out here, this is fucking important!”
“Yeah, what is it whore?” Rising from the grass, he wore the usual scowl. He hated being talked down to by someone he could kill. In theory at least, if he actually killed her, there would be such a shitstorm afterwards.
“The group's been wiped out, the mage led them into a goblin warzone. He knew who we were the whole time.”
“What the fuck?” Norman gaped, “Goblins? You don't mean all of them got killed by fucking goblins, who told you?”
“They used the damn transmission slip, there were at least a hundred there. They're...definitely dead.” Tyrin practically had frost forming around her. “Hide outside where I'm staying, I'll lead Alric to the door. You shoot him, I'll stab him, we’ll get out quick. Fuck Castor, we need to get this over with now.”
“Damn it...fine.” Reluctantly Norman agreed. He had trouble believing they were in such dire straits, but transmission slips were rare, and expensive. They only had one, and the only thing that commanded a higher price was the Deik cloth; that included their lives.
Taylor and Erwin were okay blokes, but he didn't really give a damn about either of them. Now he just wanted to make the mage suffer and drag him back to Glaucen; he’d enough of the hinterlands.
Keeping his arrow knocked but not drawn, at least he knew the moment of truth was arriving. Spotting Tyrin running around, quickly slamming the door behind her, the time was soon. Norman glanced around looking for their target.
In a blue haramaki and simple clothes, reeter sap splashed across his cheeks, and with a black ponytail, their target casually strolled through the village. He spotted Tyrin, but from between the blades of grass, Norman watched him casually converse with the villagers. Had this guy really tricked five people into getting themselves killed? His clothes were sewn together in a few places, but other than that, he looked clean and unhurried. Casually knocking on the door, he politely asked for Tyrin to come out.
What an idiot.
Slowly, Norman drew the bow back. 14 people had been killed as a result of his arrows, and countless more crippled. This was his real job among the abductors, ranged suppression of dangerous targets. Steadily lining up the target, he took a deep breath and released. Landing right on the mark, the arrow penetrated several inches into the mage’s chest. Ha! Serves the bastard right, dragging the Poran out to the middle of nowhere.
Successful, Norman dove back into cover on reflex. Out of habit he got ready to knock another arrow, but then he heard a shout and a thud. It wasn't Tyrin’s shrill voice though.
Peeking through the stalks of grass, all the blood drained from Norman’s face. Stomping on Tyrin’s beautifully filled chest, the mage mercilessly crushed the breath out of her, the arrow waving up and down as he bent his back to put more force into it. Taking a dagger out of nowhere, he started leisurely cutting at her arms.
“I-impossible…” What sort of brutal monstrosity was this? That arrow passed right into his lungs!
Hands trembling, Norman fumbled with his bow to knock another arrow; then a hail of disturbed air tore through his hiding place. The impacts scattered dirt, and one hit his left calf.
“Hrgh!” Trying to suppress the scream, he was hit in the legs and arm several more times. Dropping his precious bow, he scrabbled along the ground in fear. The wounds weren't deep, but each nevertheless represented a missing chunk of flesh, and between them all he bled heavily.
An onslaught continued around him, Norman futilely tried to evade, crawling around like a rat. Unlike the mages the Poran encountered before though, he didn't seem to be getting tired from using his devilish powers, and they quickly brought him to heel.
Bleeding, he passed in and out of consciousness, wondering why it all happened to him.
Now, that monster released them, sending them back to Glaucen. The whore told him a bit of what he wanted to hear, but mostly they were being sent back as messengers. What a fucking joke. Norman would be fine if the Poran just poked the hornet’s nest again and were all killed; it would serve them right for the trouble they put him through.
He couldn't let Tyrin go back if he were to run off though. Well, she wasn't that unattractive. Norman just needed to wait a day or two, his injuries would definitely heal faster than hers.
A/N:AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!