Sleep evaded me all night. Between the pain driven by the curse living in the back of my mind and plans for the future swirling around in my head, all I could do was sit and stare at the dwindling fire.

Kan’on had reacted with studied indifference, both when I’d told him my guess about the Inculids, and when I’d informed him I would be finding an alternate route to Dormar.

To be fair, he didn’t have an invested interest in anything other than following his master’s instructions, which meant following me around until he had ‘learned’ something. On the other hand, he probably viewed everything as a test, even Inculids; the scholarly swordsman types always did.

Since I hadn’t slept, I didn’t have difficulty waking up. I kicked my gear into a semblance of order and stuffed it into my pack. I nudged Jass and Kan’on awake and left to find a place to relieve myself.

By the time I returned, Kan’on stood ready while Jass didn’t look to have moved from his perch by the smoking remains of the fire.

“Jass, you’re not coming?”

Jass shook his head. “No, I’m on contract, and besides, I’m not a runner.”

There was no look of judgement or accusation, but he judged me, nonetheless. I could accept that. It wouldn’t be the first time nor the last or harshest, and he’d shown his character enough that I wouldn’t argue with him. If anything, I admired his stoic acceptance of the situation.

I bid him farewell and good luck. Kan’on gave his own farewells then followed me as I skirted around the dispersed camps and headed down the main road into town. It was early enough that there wasn’t a lot of foot traffic, but the shops had already opened.

I trudged manfully through the mud, unconcerned as each step caked more of the slop onto my boots and worn pants. Kan’on attempted to tiptoe to various dry spots, but ultimately failed and soiled his pretty little boots and the hemming of his immaculate battle robes. I couldn’t help but smile as the expression on his face soured further with each step he took.

Cold weather gear wasn’t something well stocked this time of year, but I managed to find enough gear and bullied Kan’on into rounding out his outfit. He probably had some ancient technique to resist the cold that his ancestors had passed down for countless generations. Those ancient martial schools always had something like that, something the riff-raff beneath them didn’t have access to.

As I stood there in the middle of the street, trying to think and plan through the pain of the curse, the bustling sounds of town activity wormed their way into my mind. People gossiped on street corners, speed walked through town as they ran errands, and called out to passerby to entice them into their shops. I trudged on

Pain surged again, drowning everything out. It was an old companion though, despite its intensity. The real enemy that had grown over time almost without me realizing it was the bone-deep fatigue that spread its sly tendrils throughout me, worming its way into my mind. Every time the curse forced me to move on, to leave behind any chance for rest and recuperation, the fatigue set in deeper. I was tired.

“We should stay,” Kan’on said.

I stopped and looked at him, incredulous. “To what purpose? There is nothing to gain.”

“We can help them. We should help them.”

“Why should we help? It’s one thing to agree for pay to put your life on the line, like guard duty, but this isn’t that. Why risk it? They’re not going to throw a parade for you or shower you in coin.”

Annoyed, I continued down the street, the squelching mud not doing anything to improve my mood.

“I don’t expect anything in return from them. I want to help them, that is all the reason I need.”

“Well you go ahead and knock yourself out then. Even if I wanted to, my ability to choose is rapidly disappearing. The curse will force me to leave eventually.”

“There is no way to stave it off?”

“There is, but it takes a great deal of effort, and I can’t do it for very long. Maybe a couple of days. Doesn’t matter though, I’m not staying. You can do whatever you want.”

As we approached the edge of town, I tried to soak in as much of the atmosphere as possible. Traveling could be a lonely endeavor at the best of times, due to the various beasts and other threats of the world, people rarely traveled just to travel, especially alone.

A family turned onto the road in front of us, two parents with their child out in the morning air going who knew where. The boy would have been my son’s age when he died. Same build, same hair color.

The family stopped to look at something through a store window as I continued to wrench my boots out of the muck one step at a time. The boy turned to look in my direction as Kan’on and I approached, and I blanched. A lightning bolt of pain shot through my chest as I looked at him, whose face resembled that of my own son before tragedy struck.

I stumbled, overwhelmed by old pain I had thought long buried. Even at the edge of town, people still bustled about, completely unaware of the lurking danger. These people weren’t fighters, they were fodder. Innocent fodder. Everywhere I looked I saw reflections of my home, twenty years lost, and in those reflections saw only my own failures.

Cursing, I kicked the ever-present mud of this depths forsaken town I couldn’t even remember the name of. These people had no idea what was coming. Neither the Baron or the Count had eyes for the common people and if I just left it to them, they’d just get everybody killed while saving their own asses.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

“Shit.” I stopped and looked at the boy again, at his parents. The fatigue, the memories, my own failings… all conspired against me in that moment. I sighed and turned to Kan’on.

“Change of plans. I’m staying. At least for as long as I can hold on.”

Kan’on’s just lifted an eyebrow and nodded. I wanted to punch the man. It must be nice to be so certain of your own purpose in the world, so grounded that you were unshakable. I wanted to grab him by the collar and slap him silly until he at least pretended to be shocked, pleased, or anything other than unflappable.

“That’s not saying a lot though. At some point the curse is going to overwhelm me and I’m going to black out and leave no matter how I feel about it. At that point it’s best just to get out of the way, I’ll be completely out of control.”

“I’ll cope with whatever comes, you needn’t worry about me. What next, then?”

As I turned to continue trekking, I pitched forward into the muck to my hands and knees, eyes wide as the weight of a mountain disappeared from my mind, and along with it the pain. I clutched at the mud, afraid I might float away into the sky, but the illusion broke, and I released a pent-up sob of relief. No pain.

Something changed. The pain had never gone away once it started, not until I’d traveled a fair distance away from where it began, and even then, it never disappeared, only lurked to resurface later. Not a single time in twenty years had anything about the curse changed. Why now? What was different?

Boot squashed down near my head, and I craned my neck around to see Kan’on bending down next to me, a faint look of concern peeking through is normal mask of indifference.

“Are you alright Dash? Did the mud suck your boots in?” Kan’on asked, reaching out his hand to help me up.

I clapped my muddy hand around his and let him lever off the ground. Kan’on’s face transformed into a rictus of disgust and dismay at the mud clinging to him, and I laughed.

“Time to go back. But if I’m staying, it’s not going to be as it was. No more messing around.”

###

Before returning Orleander’s camp, I drew a couple of runes for quick cleaning and shoved Kan’on through one as I stepped through the other. While it wouldn’t do much for the everyday grime of being alive, the mud dried and crumbled away, leaving only minor signs that it had ever been there at all.

I marched back into Orleander’s camp as if I had never marched out to begin with. Kan’on trailed me with his practiced air of aloofness and disinterest, his damn pastel colored battle robes calling attention from every damned direction. He made it impossible to make a dignified re-entrance, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’d retraced my steps through my own shit.

Swishing aside the flaps to the pavilion, I spotted Count Orleander sitting at a table with Clyde, surrounded by his senior guards, holding a serious discussion. I sauntered up, planted my feet, and crossed my arms.

“I’ve decided to stay,” I declared, heedlessly interrupting their discussion.

Orleander examined me with tired eyes. The look on his face told me all I needed to know about what he thought about the prospect of me sticking around: another chore to add to his task list. The short span between my departure and return had already worn the man down, and his practiced mask was slipping.

Ms. Black chose that moment to return from wherever she’d run off to, approaching the table and stationing herself behind the count.

“For how long?” Orleander asked.

“For as long as I’m able.” I didn’t bother explaining the change I’d felt while in town.

“Listen here ‘Dash’, we don’t need you, it’s not like you’d stay sober long enough to make a difference anyway. Just go ahead and run away with your tail between your legs like you planned. We’ll handle this.” Clyde, cloddish as ever, decided that today he was a big boy and could join the big boy discussion. Maybe he worked up even more courage since Orleander’s presence effectively protected him, or so he thought.

I kept my eyes on the Count, completely ignoring the oaf. I reached into the Flow, using my little trick to find the space where my cubby existed. It took me a second to find what I searched for, it had been ages since I’d even thought about it after all, and I pulled out a sleek, burnished deepsteel plate armor chest piece and dropped it to the floor. Someone whistled at the sight of the blackened steel, with deep blue undertones that I’d just dumped like rubbish.

“Since I’m staying, things are going to change. You’re no warrior Orleander, neither is the Baron, but I won’t hold it against you. As long as I’m here, I’m calling the shots. We’re going to have to organize a defense, and I don’t trust either of you to do it, so I’ll do it.” I reached into my cubby and pulled out another piece of disused armor and dropped it, and another, the pile of armor growing at my feet. Eyes widened. I could feel questions bubbling up between them, but everyone held their tongue.

Count Orleander didn’t say a word, not to refute my claim of authority nor to protest my opinion of his warrior capability. The tired look in his eyes had faded away though, replaced by an alertness, and perhaps small measure of resolve.

I may have misjudged him more than I thought. He threw around his wealth in gross displays, lacked a warrior’s spirit and training, and kept questionable retainers, but for all that he didn’t lack a spine. I could appreciate that in a man.

“First, we need to organize a cohesive defense of the town, starting with gathering the towns folk away from the outskirts until we’ve put up the physical defenses that a town near a Labyrinth entrance needs. That won’t stop Carvers, but we’ll figure something out for them. Clyde, send a runner to the Baron letting him know that we’ll be bringing the caravan and its guards into town.”

“No, you don’t give me orders.”

Without hesitation, I brought to bear my full willpower onto the currents connected to Clyde and smashed them like a crumbling brick under a sledgehammer. Clyde immediately collapsed to his knees like someone had punched him in the chin. He struggled to breath, planting his hands on the floor to keep from collapsing further. To him it would feel like I’d reached out and snatched away his self-determination, the power to make decisions for himself. His mind would be aimless and thoughtless.

“Make no mistake, Clyde. You will obey. There is no, ‘or else.’ You. Will. Obey.”

Behind the Count, Ms. Black readied her sword, preparing to draw it.

“It’s one thing to waltz around handing out orders,” she said in a raspy, yet still somehow feminine voice, “but another thing entirely to make me obey.”

It was the first time I’d heard her speak, that I could remember anyway. She seemed very confident in her ability to defy me, but it was unwarranted. Perhaps she misjudged who between me and Kan’on was the stronger fighter.

“You couldn’t even beat Kan’on in a spar with the element of surprise, when you had all the advantages you could ask for. You don’t pose even a smidge of a threat to me.”

Beside me, Kan’on let out a short laugh. Horrible timing. Maybe he was still miffed at the whole provocation over dinner incident and wanted another round to spank the poor puppy.

She drew her sword and made to move in my direction but was interrupted.

“Enough! We will do as Duke Altandran instructs us to do, as is his right.” Orleander emphasized ‘Duke’.

I grimaced at the title, but if that’s what it took to get past this little incident, fine.

Clyde struggled to his feet, legs shaking, overcoming the residual effects of the bludgeon that was my willpower. He stood up straight and gave me a hateful glare, but kept his mouth shut.

“Go,” I said. “Send word to the Baron to prepare for our arrival.”

Clyde looked to the Count, who didn’t react, then back at me. He glared once again but gave me a cursory bow and left the tent. I thought I heard Ms. Black hiss under her breath, but she made no more moves other than to re-sheath her sword at her side and post herself back in position.

“Good, let’s talk logistics and defense. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”