The old guild hall was once a common destination for weary travelers on the roads of Long Whisper. The White Cloaks often shared their lavish feasts with those in need. From the winter’s moon to the summer solstice, the guild hall was always ready to accommodate anyone with tired feet who had time to hear stories of challenge and triumph.
These days, the banners that once hung from its stone walls had long since fallen. The once welcoming doors were now hidden by a crude wooden palisade wall. The aroma of fine baked goods was now the rancid stench of burning mystery meat.
Wiccer stopped his cart just outside the gates of the crudely constructed walls. A guard inspected the empty cart before prying a few answers from a tired Wiccer.
“What brings you to Outpost Wolfcry?”
Wiccer looked up at the weathered guild hall, remembering the time he had spent safe within its walls. Calling it Outpost Wolfcry salted a still open wound. The wound that he was no longer a White Cloak, and that the building no longer belonged to his White Cloak family.
“Is that what it’s called, these days?” huffed Wiccer.
“Are you from around here?”
Wiccer nodded, “I live a night’s travel north of here. My family has run out of medical supplies, and we are in need of them.”
The guard looked Wiccer up and down. Not only was he no elf, but he was clearly a foreigner, “Are you sure you are from here?”
“I don’t have time for these games. I am in urgent need of medical supplies! General Marcus Newsun sent me!”
The guard snapped to attention, as if Marcus himself were sitting at Wiccer’s side, “General Newsun sent you?”
“I’m his son,” Wiccer said flatly.
The guard called for the wooden gates to open up before hastily turning back to Wiccer, “Sorry for the trouble, sir.”
Wiccer shook his head. Why did this task bother him so much? Perhaps it had less to do with fetching supplies for someone that he wanted to let die and more to do with the lack of notoriety he had with these new soldiers. He was once a sergeant in the Guard of the White Cloaks. His very presence demanded respect. Now… now he commanded nothing.
As he steered the cart next to the quartermaster, he gawked at the amount of travelers and children that crowded the inner outpost. A staggering line of elves in ragged attire waited for a large iron cauldron of boiling beef stew. The quartermaster was busy too. Wiccer stood in the crowd, waiting as soldiers passed out fresh clothes and blankets to the travel-worn elves.
Wiccer caught the attention of a passing guard, “Who are all these people?”
“Refugees from Varis. They are traveling north from Sparrow Port.”
Wiccer mapped out Long Whisper in his head. Sparrow Port was a large coastal city to the south that bordered the Serpent Sea.
“Long Whisper is gearing up to go to war alongside Varis. That is one reason why the refugees are heading north instead of taking up residence in Sparrow Port. If Estinia breaks through Varis, Sparrow Port will be the first to be razed,” the guard said.
“King Koda is going to war?” Wiccer asked. He was wide-eyed in disbelief. The Long Whisper army was in no condition to go to war yet. It was true that recruitment had spiked since the country learned of the Varis-Estinia conflict, but the soldiers were still green.
“You, there, what supplies do you need?” shouted the quartermaster, trying to capture Wiccer’s attention.
Wiccer snapped out of his daze, “Medical supplies. Two weeks’ worth. Sunwart Root and bandages mainly. Dullweed if you can spare some.”
Wiccer found himself drifting back into his thoughts as the quartermaster had a few men load up the cart. Wiccer was so wrapped up with Elucard, that he’d had forgotten that his father was going to war and that he would soon be training Long Whisper’s recruits. Whatever qualms he had with Elucard seemed somewhat petty in comparison now.
***
“Father, I’m back!” Wiccer called as he stepped back inside his house. In his arms he carried a crate of medical supplies.
Marcus emerged from the bedroom where Elucard was still being cared for. His hands were crusted with dried blood. His eyes drooped with dark, heavy bags under them, brushing the sides of his nose. Wiccer could tell he had not slept much in the two days that it had taken him to make the supply run.
Wiccer rested the crate on a nearby table, and led Marcus to his own room, “You need to sleep, father. I’ll watch over the elf. Get some rest.”
Marcus made no attempt to protest, “He needs his bandages changed. I found a small amount of Sunwart by the river, but he could use some more. The elf is fighting a battle in those dreams of his,” muttered Marcus in between a long yawn.
Wiccer laid his father down, removing his leather boots. He pulled a wool quilt over him as he reassured Marcus, “I will take care of him. I promise. Now go to sleep before you keel over and die.”
Wiccer quietly moved across the cabin, making sure to grab the crate before entering the room where Elucard feverishly thrashed and wailed. Slicing into the root with a small knife, Wiccer held Elucard’s mouth open to let the juice drizzle in. Taking out a mortar and pestle, Wiccer ground the Dullweed and remaining Sunwart juice into a fine paste. He gently removed the soaked bandages and applied the salve to the elf’s wounds before replacing the used bandages with fresh ones.
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“I didn’t kill him.”
Wiccer looked up from his task after hearing the hoarse voice. He dismissed it, thinking it was another fever dream of Elucard’s.
“Your brother, I didn’t kill him.”
Wiccer listened quietly this time. He glanced down at Elucard to see if he was addressing him, or not.
“I’m sorry that you lost your brother.”
“How did you know he was my brother?” Wiccer asked, now realizing Elucard was speaking to him.
Elucard gingerly opened his eyes. The morning light intensified his headache, “I heard you speak of him and how I was responsible for his death.”
“You are responsible!” Wiccer snarled.
“I am. But my hand did not slay him. We have the same enemy, you and I,” Elucard coughed. The Sunwart juice had a sharp taste, like a fire blazing in his throat.
“Enemy? Was he not your ally that night?” Wiccer looked befuddled by Elucard’s comment.
“At the time I would have gladly served at his side, fought along with anyone in my clan. Not anymore. I tell you this because we clearly share a common foe now.”
“My goal is to see you hang!” Wiccer growled as he shook his fist in the face of the half-awake elf.
“I am guilty of my crimes, I know that. But vengeance is a stronger form of justice. Don’t tell me you feel otherwise.”
Wiccer leaned in close. He remembered the night of the battle with Elucard and his squad vividly. He remembered the elf that fought his brother, but he did not recall his name, nor did he know his true face, as it was covered by a clown mask, “Who killed my brother?”
“His name is Inle Ebonpath. Like you, I wish death upon him…and the rest of my clan.”
“Your clan did this to you? What did you do?” Wiccer asked astonished by the ruthlessness of what Elucard’s clan could do. Ghastly wounds covered Elucard’s body. He was bruised from broken ribs and pale from the intense amount of lost blood. He clung to life by his sheer willpower and thirst for revenge alone. Wiccer saw this and wondered what his clan could have done to warrant such an unquenchable hatred.
Elucard felt light headed as he tried to produce images of that night. Flashes of violence screamed through his mind like a diving falcon swooping in for a field mouse. He grit his teeth as his head began to burn up. His body pulsed with great pain, curling his back.
Wiccer placed a firm hand on Elucard’s bare chest. He dabbed a cold wet cloth onto his patient’s face, “Rest up, it seems we still have much to discuss.”
***
The fog roamed from the river to the Newsun cottage. The clouds rolled and churned ever so slightly as the morning sun’s shafts barely penetrated the mist to light the room where Elucard woke.
At first his eyes cracked open slightly to examine the bedroom where he stayed. The grainy wooden walls were a dark tint of red. A silver chain bearing the silver emblem of Jedeo hung from the banister of the headboard. A platter with a glass of water and an untouched sandwich sat atop an old wooden nightstand. On the opposite side of the room, Elucard saw himself in a mirror above an oak dresser.
Elucard reached for the banister to support himself as he slowly attempted to get up. He grunted as he accomplished his goal, but now that he was sitting up, the next feat would be to stand and walk. Feebly, he rose to his feet, but collapsed onto the nightstand, knocking over the platter of food.
Wiccer and Marcus rushed into the room at the sound of the clatter. Elucard leaned onto the bed, breathing heavily through the pain and stiffness in his legs.
“You’ve been out for a week. You’ll need to practice walking to get the blood flowing through your muscles again. Give it time, you have plenty of that,” Marcus said, helping Elucard back into the bed.
“What is your game here? Why haven’t you killed me yet?” Elucard said, grimacing from the numbness in his feet. It was as if a hundred tiny daggers were poking the flat of his feet.
Marcus turned to his son, “Wiccer, fetch Elucard a glass of water, be quick, I’d like you here when I present this proposal.”
Taking the glass from Wiccer, Elucard gulped down the water like a fish that had just been released. He gave his thanks before setting the glass aside.
“Well, I’m interested in your plans. So let’s hear them,” Elucard said. For all the crimes against Long Whisper and the strife he had personally caused Wiccer’s family, finding why they kept him alive was a point of great curiosity for him.
“Elucard, my name is Marcus Newsun. I am a general in the Guard of the White Cloaks, and up until recently I served as a military adviser for the fledgling Long Whisper army. It is true you were once a great enemy of mine and my family. You are certainly still an enemy of Long Whisper for… obvious reasons.”
Elucard lowered his head.
“But, I believe in redemption. I do not believe that even you are so far gone that you cannot atone for your crimes and serve a higher purpose,” finished Marcus.
Elucard looked at Wiccer, who quickly looked away.
“A higher purpose?” Elucard seemed confused still.
“Elucard, my son tells me you are an enemy to your clan now. I understand that it was them who left you in such a mess?” Marcus inquired knowingly.
Elucard nodded, not yet ready to retread on that subject.
“The Black Rabbits are still a great threat to Long Whisper. And despite the hindrance that the ever-present soldiers pose, I believe that they are ill-equipped to actually bring down the assassins. Would you agree?”
Elucard thought back on his training. How he was practically reborn in order to become a Black Rabbit. He had been bred to kill at even the slightest provocation. He was sure that even the strongest soldier in Long Whisper was no match for even the weakest Rabbit.
“No, I don’t believe your soldiers could survive an encounter with the Black Rabbits.”
“I didn’t think so. They would need specialized training. Training tailored specifically to combat a Rabbit.” Marcus looked over at Wiccer.
“An anti-rogue operative? Father, do you really want to go through with this?”
Marcus turned to Elucard, “Would you be able to teach a select group of soldiers to become Rabbit hunters?”
Elucard looked at Wiccer. His scowl now replaced with a look of intense interest. They were serious. They wanted Elucard to teach Black Rabbit secrets to soldiers, to go to war with his clan. This is why they kept him alive and tended to his wounds.
A higher purpose.
This would give his life a whole new meaning. A better use of his skills than having them waste away in a cell, “I am willing to do this.”
Marcus rubbed his hands in excitement, “Good! Redemption is within your reach, Elucard. This is merely the first step.”
Wiccer looked excited as well but then frowned as a large hurdle came up in his mind, “Father, what of the king?”
“Ah, my son. That would be the next step!” Marcus grinned.