A figure raced out of the deepening darkness interrupting Budor’s reverie with a shout “He’s got Harold!” skidding to a stop in front of the pot. Shifting from foot to foot, his hands flapping at his sides he looked desperately from Budor to me and back. What he said clicked and I cursed. Budor glanced at me. “I’ve got this” I told him, placing my hand on his shoulder as I walked around the huge pot Budor was stirring. “Where?” I asked. The guy turned and ran. I ran after, furious at Bran for being a bully and frustrated with myself for not intercepting him before he got in to harass people.

Bran had the older guy by his shirt and was pushing him up against the wall. “I warned you!” he growled, drawing back his fist. “Bran!” I shouted. Bran turned his face to me. “Where have you been?” Bran yelled at me. “I’m working, and you’ve been off playin with your bum friends.” He turned back to Harold. “Tell me where the new halfer is!” he growled at him raising his fist again. “Bran! Stop. The man’s mute. He can’t tell you anything. I know where the guy lives anyway.” Bran looked at me suspiciously and looked at Harold. Harold nodded spastically back at him. Bran turned and pushed Harold away, grunting. Harold stumbled away, pausing to glance his thanks to me before heading towards the food line, people and safety. “This one is not right.” Came the thought from my spirit. “Beware this sickened animal” sending me images of animals frothing and tearing mindlessly at each other. “Yea, didn’t really need a warning on this one.” I thought back.

I walked past Bran shaking my head. “Do you assault every mute you see or was this a treat to yourself for some prior good behavior?” I asked sarcastically “How was I supposed to know the man was mute?” He snapped at me. “He made a noise when I grabbed him!” He looked away from me. “Probably fakin it anyway.” Bran grumbled. My mouth opened, retort on the tip of my tongue. My brain spun out how this would go, and my mouth snapped shut with a click. As much as I would enjoy pounding Bran into the ground, we had larger issues right now. This kind of exchange was the reason I didn’t speak with Bran unless I had to. I turned and walked away shaking my head. I heard Bran fall in behind me.

As we approached the shack I pointed at it for Bran. He nodded, his hand going to his sword. I motioned for him to wait and walked around the shack. It was pretty basic. No one went without shelter, Budor and his crew saw to that. The newbies got shacks that were large enough for a bedding and a little moving room. They were encouraged to improve on them as long as any structural improvement was supervised. I understand that wasn’t the rule at one time and some buildings came down around their squatters and people got hurt. As people learned skills and moved on the newbies moved on to bigger and better buildings or stayed and invested time and effort in the shelter they were in.

The building was wood, the protective coating on the wood was cracked and worn in places, but overall, the building looked decently kept. The ground around the building was also undisturbed. I saw no spirits present around the building either.

Completing the walk, I was relieved to see that Bran had stayed where I had left him. He watched me intently as I waved him forward. “Seems normal so far.” I mentioned to Bran. “I’ll knock on the door and request he steps out so we can investigate the interior.” Bran nodded at me. I really didn’t expect to find anything, but Bran was not wrong that we should check out any newcomers under present circumstances. It just rubbed me wrong that the main motivation for Bran to check this one out was because he was a ‘halfer’.

I knocked on the worn, door. After a moment of shuffling the door swung open. Bran yelped and drew his sword. I stepped back. Not only from the visage of the half-elf greeting us, but the smell as well. He was thin. Wild, black, greasy hair framed a pale face, with sunken, red eyes. A sharp, curved beak of a nose hung over a red lined gash in his face that served as his mouth. He looked like he was clothed in a rumpled, stained sack. A sickly smell rolled out of the place when he had opened the door. I did not want to consider what different items made up that odor. He blinked, peering at us. I held my arm out to bar Bran in case he decided to try to end this guy, though honestly it looked like it might be a mercy. “Are you ok?” I asked. He shook his head, his soft, breathy voice reaching me “Sorry, I must look a fright. I haven’t been well. Budor has been bringing my meals around this time. I was wondering why he would knock.” He blinked slowly. “O. Uh. What can I do for you?” I looked at Bran who looked at me, sword still in hand. “Well, why don’t you go ahead and lay back down? We need to step in and take a look around.” “Uh. Ok.” He responded, turning to slowly and painfully shuffle back to his bed. As I stepped in, I turned again to Bran. He stepped to the doorway and recoiled. He stepped back and sheathed his sword. It was obvious he would not come in any further which was probably for the best. The place was pretty small. He had a small bookcase which was a bit unusual. I glanced at the books, some hunting and fishing guides, one of the beginner cookbooks Budor loans out and a book on taxidermy. The small table held a candle which was not lit, a two tined fork, a thin bladed skinning knife and a small, thin nosed set of pliers. There were hooks on the walls, a couple buckets and a dresser that contained a few ratty sets of clothes. This guy was definitely down on his luck. “You learning a trade?” I queried, glancing down at Penton who huddled, shaking on a mattress, probably supplied by Budor, on his cot. “Trying.” Came the breathy response. After a couple cringingly juicy, rattling coughs he added “Looking at hunting, fishing or taxidermy. Hoped I could do a combination.” I could half see movement above his bed. Focusing my senses I could see a couple spirits that circled like vultures. I’d seen this before. It didn’t necessarily mean he was on his way out, but it wasn’t a good sign.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

I didn’t really see anything of interest here. The sound of someone approaching from outside got my attention. I turned to look at the door, still blocked by Bran who glanced at me as he noted the approaching sound. He turned, then stepped out of the doorway as Budor came into view carrying a bowl. He nodded, glaring at Bran as he passed. A wasted gesture as it was getting dark enough that Bran probably couldn’t see him very well, and honestly Bran wouldn’t care even if he could see his expression. Budor looked to me and nodded. “Evenin Baz. Wuz jus bringing Penton ‘ere ‘is dinner. ‘e’s had a rough time o’ it recently.” I nodded. “I see.” Turning to Penton I added “Thank you for your time and patience. We’ll get out of your hair and let you enjoy your dinner.”

We weren’t four steps away when Bran started in. “Why aren’t we taking him in?” He demanded, stepping forward to block me and turning to face me. “What grounds do we have to take him in?” I asked looking at him curiously. Bran glared at me “The man had a book on taxidermy. Besides he looks like a necromancer!” Bran said. I felt my eyebrow shoot up on its own, incredulous. “Really? A book on taxidermy? Taxidermists are necromancers?” I demanded. Bran glanced off to the side a little uncomfortably. I lowered my voice, knowing how words travel through walls here “And how do you know what a Necromancer looks like? The man looks like death warmed over because he’s really ill. He can barely move. He may very well be dying. Do you plan on carrying him so he can die in a prison cell on suspicion of trying to learn taxidermy?” A small shudder ran through Bran as he contemplated having to touch Penton. “No. You should carry him, halfer!” he spat venomously “I know it’s him. He’s using taxidermy to get body supplies brought to him. You go get him.” He demanded and added “Now!”.

My eyes narrowed as anger surged through me. “This one is not right.” The thought came to me. The spirit hovered near Bran like some small green cloud. “Ya think?” I thought back incredulously. “Let me get this straight.” I angrily whispered to Bran. “YOU want a sick, possibly dying man thrown in prison because YOU hate the poor and YOU equate taxidermy with necromancy, YOU think this will make you some kind of hero, but YOU don’t even have the guts to do it yourself?” While I said that the spirits voice cut across my mind again contemplatively “It is sick. It is a threat, but we should not end it yet.” The spirit was obviously talking about Bran in its own way and in this moment, I really hoped he would give me an excuse to do just that. Bran’s face went hard as he stepped back into a defensive position, his hand heading to the pommel of his sword when a horn rang out nearby, followed by a fainter horn call in the distance, the opposite direction.