SIDE STORY: THE CAPTAIN, THE MERCHANT, AND THE WARG (PART 4)
“Beware, my children, beware! Wander-not at dusk, or wonder at the horn’s call. Beware, my children, beware! Tarry-not beneath oak, ash, or thorn, and never cross ring-o-toad. Beware, my children, beware! Exchange no troth of wood, metal, or flesh on nights of sky-fire. Beware, my children, beware! Count a stranger’s fingers and never offer your name. Beware, my children, beware! For those who walk-between-worlds are on the move, and we are but hare before the fox!” - Old Zentish nursery rhyme.
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Alia Cat-eyes stared at the apple in her hand. Gently tossing it up and down, she watched the shiny red fruit’s movement while debating her next step. After maybe the tenth toss, she shrugged and knelt down on one knee. Feeling the hard cobblestones through her pant leg, Alia stared into the empty alley before her, hoping this was the end of the chase. In one smooth gesture, she rolled the apple into the side-street, sending it bouncing along the dirty ground like a child’s lost ball. Before it could get more than three meters into the alley, half the apple disappeared without a sound.
Looking at the split fruit, Alia smiled just as the rest of the apple vanished. Standing back up, she fished a lump of sugar out of her pockets. Slowly stepping into the alley, making gentle noises, the City-warden prepared to catch an invisible horse.
Captain Ironteeth sent her out looking for signs of the bloody equine, with hopes of mapping out where it had been, but she’d done better than that, she’d found the damn thing. It hadn’t been easy, but with what Ironteeth learned from his goblin and Wilbran, the wagoner's schedule in hand, it was possible. So after three hours of using practically every trick she knew, Alia Cat-eyes had finally cornered the horse in an alley off hardtack street. But as she edged closer to where the apple had vanished, Alia wondered if all that work might have been the easy part.
Hand out, palm flat, Alia offered up the sugar lump, and grimly wondering if she was about to lose fingers. Hot wind played across her hand and the sugar disappeared in an eye blink. Staring down at her now empty palm and slight dampness on it, Alia suppressed a shiver. She hadn’t felt the horse's mouth or tongue; the sugar was just gone with a bit of drool in its place. Judging by what Ironteeth’s source had said, the curse was advancing quickly, with more and more of the horse being forgotten. It could still eat, which was a good sign, but Alia didn’t know how much longer the horse had.
Reaching to her belt, Alia unfastened the bridle she’d brought. Holding it up, the city warden offered a silent prayer to no one in particular and motioned the bit towards where she thought the horse's head might be. Iron hinges squeaked as something latched onto the strip of metal with concerning force. Sucking in a breath as the invisible horse pulled on her, Alia laughed nervously. She’d made her best guess, rolled the dice and now things were coming up sixes.
As a city-warden, it was Alia’s job to find details that others hadn’t. So when Wilbran told his tale, a few elements of it stuck out to her. Key among them was how the horse’s tack fell off it. By Alia’s reckoning, it didn’t make much sense for only parts of it to phase through the horse. Surely it should have just all dropped off, not become piecemeal tangled with the horse until it fought its way free? Those thoughts drove the city-warden to find the overturned cart and discarded harness. Old and much-repaired, the tack was mostly leather straps and bronze buckles. But years of use had mandated the replacement of one-eighth of the clasps with better iron ones. Alone this was unremarkable, but when added to Boris the Goblin’s tale of a repurposed faerie curse… well, it got Alia’s neck hairs standing up. Every child on Vardis knew the fae hated iron, and while Alia was often happy to play accuser’s advocate for Ironteeth she also didn’t like coincidences.
Doing her due diligence, the city warden asked a stable hand about the buckles and what would happen if all the bronze ones were to fail. He described something much akin to Wilbran’s story, how the horse would get briefly tangled up in the now slack harness, until either the animal tripped or got free. With that in mind, she borrowed a high-quality bridle with all iron buckles and a rusted bit.
Now, as the invisible horse sucked on the iron bit, Alia fumbled to attach the rest of the halter in place. It wasn’t easy considering the straps phased through the damn thing, but cat-like reflexes and two more sugar lumps carried the day. Looking over her handiwork, Alia felt another nervous chuckle well up inside her. The empty halter looked both eerie and ridiculous, floating mid-air in the alley. Tying a rope to it, Alia gently started leading the horse out onto the street.
While the city-warden didn’t know the exact details for why iron was immune from the curse, the fact it was, was good enough for her. She’d leave all the magical theory and speculation to people actually paid for that shit. Speaking of, Alia’s face split into a smug grin, she’d enjoy showing up the Seventh Temple at their own job.
Now out on Hardtack Street, Alia led the horse to Aunt Huntress’s priests, getting many, many strange looks from all those passing by. Yet in some strange testimony to Vindabon’s character, nobody stopped her or caused a fuss. Wryly, the city-warden wondered how often oddities like this could be found on the city’s streets; probably more than most anywhere else on the continent, that was for sure.
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“What do you mean, she found the horse?” asked Captain Ironteeth as the temple runner calmed his nerves.
Fidgeting, the youth gestured at the note he’d been ordered to deliver. “I’m just the messenger. Priestess Suvi told me to get that to you and nothing else.”
Sighing, Ironteeth thanked the courier and dismissed him with a gesture. Gingerly, the boy ducked through the door frame that had just let out a violent shriek and flash of light upon his entrance. Scurrying away before Ironteeth’s rune could repeat its performance, the youth disappeared leaving the Captain and Boris alone again.
“Magic works.” muttered Boris, rubbing at one of his over-sized ears while looking around the room like a beaten dog.
Grunting, Ironteeth muttered something about getting a proper enchanter to make a better detector. If he was being honest with himself, the little rune work he’d done might be slag against whatever fae madness the Varganiki was using, but it seemed better to have it than not.
Refocusing himself, the dwarf Captain scratched at his beard and looked over the message again. Apparently his subordinate, Cat-eyes had shown up at the Seventh Temple with the invisible horse and now Aunt Huntress’s priests were busy trying to learn from the curse before removing it. By letting him know, Priestess Suvi was extending an invitation in her own taciturn way.
Standing up, Ironteeth stretched his tight back muscles and asked Boris. “How quickly can you get that carriage of yours back here?”
Shrugging slightly, Boris replied. “Not long, considering he should already be back. I sent him to collect some things from my apartments since you are keeping me here for my protection.”
As he walked to the door, Ironteeth asked. “Having a carriage like that must be expensive, is it worth it?”
A half-smile flicked across Boris’s face. “This city is made for people with longer legs than us. The amount of travel time I save more than pays for it.”
That got an amused snort from Ironteeth, he’d worn down probably a hundred pairs of boots while living in Vindabon. Checking over his equipment, the captain gestured for Boris to follow him. “Best not keep your driver waiting then.”
After letting Darvy know, Ironteeth left the guard tower, entered the waiting carriage, and let out a tired sigh. He was loath to keep running this relay race by going back and forth across the city but it needed to be done. As Boris sat across from him, the Captain wondered how close they were to finishing this mess. He didn’t know what the Seventh Temple would scrounge up, but hopefully it was something useful. While Ironteeth understood Boris’s reasons, he still didn’t want the goblin to act as bait. The Captain couldn’t outright dismiss that plan anymore, but it was still at the bottom of his list of options.
A fact helped by Ironteeth managing to wheedle a little more information out of Boris about his fellow goblins and their networks. Despite being one of the more diverse cities in the Holy League, Vindabon lacked the ghettos seen in its few rivals. Vindabon’s population of foreigners, migrants, and other non-humans were scattered fairly evenly over districts (the lower and middle-class ones, that is.) On paper, this was supposed to speed up integration, but the real purpose was to keep outsiders from congregating together and causing problems. The city leaders would gladly take the coin and labor of those born beyond the borders but weren’t keen on them gaining any sort of power, even that found in numbers. Ironteeth’s appointment as guard captain was one of those rare exceptions and hadn’t been without controversy. Still, despite the city’s efforts, people of all cultures and lineages sought fellowship among their kin.
After much talk and many promises, Boris shared a little of what he knew about the social spider web connecting him and the other goblins. Of the blood Ironteeth managed to squeeze from this particular stone, one thing stuck out as important. Some of the goblins weren’t Orphans, having not escaped and denounced their homeland but left it legally. Naturally, these proper expatriates wanted little to do with their rogue cousins, and vice versa; both carrying on the proud goblin tradition of paranoia and grievance. Surprisingly Boris was hesitant to share more about the expatriates, even though Ironteeth was convinced they were the best option in finding who helped the Varganiki. Still, this gave the Captain a place to start once they’d figured out the horse.
As the carriage rolled down the cobblestone streets, Ironteeth chewed on the facts, wondering how he could poke this particular cave bear without causing a diplomatic incident. Opposite of him Boris seemed tired, but his hands never stopped dancing over his rings. Ironteeth did his best not to notice, something about the extra fingers and speed brought to mind scuttling insects; a part of his youth in a dwarven hold he didn’t miss.
A sharp whistle reached the pair through the carriage’s windows and they came to a stop. Frowning, Ironteeth gestured for Boris to stay where he was. If there was a traffic issue, the guard captain’s badge might save them some time. Opening the carriage door, Ironteeth leaned out, about to ask the driver what the problem was when the young man in question slumped off his bench and hit the ground with a heavy thud. The scent of blood reached Ironteeth’s nose and not only his; the coach’s horse team started to panic, letting out high shrieking cries. A terrible visage swung into view then, leaning down from the carriage seat, was a snarling warg’s head, on a black-cloaked body.
“Arsehair and arsenic!” Spat Ironteeth in dwerick, his mind returning to the old curses as he reached for his weapon. Feline fast, the Varganiki leaped from the coach seat onto the open door, one hand clutching the window, the other a cruel dagger. Before that blade could lick out for Ironteeth’s throat as it had for the poor driver, the Captain reacted, kicking the door with all his considerable strength, sending it flying open and slamming the Varganiki against the wooden carriage frame. An annoyed snarl escaped the assassin as he pushed off the carriage and tried to scrabble through the window, but Ironteeth had bought himself enough time. The hammer head of the Captain’s weapon lashed out at the top hinge of the door smashing it and sending it and the Varganiki plummeting as the door snapped off the carriage.
By now the horses were in full panic, having not just started moving again, but now galloping. Staring down at the slowly blurring street below him, Ironteeth let out an ever-growing string of dwerick curses. Those oaths only grew in volume as he saw the Varganiki disentangle himself from the discarded door and start to run after them. Short as they may be, goblins were fast in the sprint, and this beast-headed killer was a paragon, his honed body strengthened by magic. Even as the horses' hooves thundered over the cobblestones the Varganiki was getting closer.
Finally, looking back at the startled Boris, Ironteeth barked. “Can you drive a carriage?”
Stolen story; please report.
Jerkily, the goblin nodded, and Ironteeth gestured at the driver’s bench. “Stop them from crashing or running someone over.”
Swallowing down his nerves, Boris slowly started to open the other carriage door. “What are you going to do?”
Trying to steady his breathing, Ironteeth watched the quickly approaching Varganiki. “Kill the bastard.”
As Boris scrambled up the carriage’s side and into the driver’s seat, Ironteeth buckled his weapon and hoisted himself up onto the coach’s roof using the luggage rack. Holding onto the iron strip to keep himself steady, Ironteeth groped at his pockets, finding the handful of rune-marked pebbles he kept prepared for times like this. Pulling the first out, Ironteeth whispered the command word and tapped the right spot on his missile. The Varganiki was close now and Ironteeth knew he’d only have one chance at this. Heart beating hard, he chose his moment as the assassin leaped forward like a pouncing warg.
Before the killer’s dagger could even puncture the wooden carriage frame, Ironteeth flicked the pebble with his thumb like he was playing marbles. It shot forward and struck the goblin with a loud bang. Bits of rock dust exploded out as the pebble detonated right against the Varganiki’s face. Ironteeth couldn’t help but grin as the assassin slammed into the ground and rolled for maybe five meters. That smile died as once the Varganiki came to a stop, he slowly got back to his feet and continued the chase even while injured. Despite the growing distance between them, Ironteeth could see the damage done. The goblin assassin’s mask was split open and so was his face. Blood streamed down from torn skin and exposed muscle, staining matted fur an even darker shade.
Grinding his teeth, the Captain muttered. “Paragon bones, hard as bedrock to break.”
Selecting his next pebble, Ironteeth debated his options. Thunder-stone pebbles were tricky to make, packing all the energy of a dozen hammer swings into a rune barely strong enough to hold it all. He only had five of the little magic stones and didn’t trust his aim now that the paragon knew his trick. Even missing an eye, as the Varganiki now was, his reflexes would be unnatural. Ironteeth didn’t know if catching the bastard off guard was an option anymore, but as he looked at the axe-hammer at his waist, he thought it might not be needed. Ironteeth had the high ground and wasn’t maimed, that would hopefully be enough to tip the scales in his favor.
“IRONTEETH! LOOK UP!” came Boris’s voice from somewhere behind the Captain. Head spinning about, Ironteeth barely saw the warning’s reason. A black-cloaked shadow was soaring through the air right towards him. There was a second Varganiki, and this mad goatfucker had jumped off a building right towards the speeding coach. Landing hard with an ominous crack, the killer lunged towards Ironteeth with another dagger. Missing his shield more than he’d ever before, Ironteeth pushed himself backward, barely dodging the lunging blade. Teetering on the coach roof’s rear, the Captain hucked a thunder-stone pebble at his attacker but the Varganiki dodged with liquid grace. The stone struck the nearby street with a loud bang that made Ironteeth wince, he really hoped that hadn’t hurt anyone.
Axe-hammer in hand, having used the time his pebble bought to unbuckle it, Ironteeth swung out with a wild side strike, hoping to knock the Varganiki off balance. Again the killer dodged and he lunged with his dagger, but a sudden turn of the carriage fouled the blow and set the assassin reeling. Panting heavily, every breath flavored by curses, Ironteeth held on as the coach briefly went onto two wheels. Sparks sprayed as the carriage settled onto all four and skidded around another corner. Boris was trying to knock the assassin off, and Ironteeth just hoped he wouldn’t topple the carriage.
Risking a glance around him, Ironteeth realized they weren’t far from the Seventh Temple and the attack had been noticed. Pedestrians were shouting and pointing, while other vehicles desperately tried to clear the road. Thankfully, the first Varganiki had fallen behind, his injuries and lost momentum proving too much even for a paragon. That just left the second, and all Ironteeth had to do was buy time until they reached the temple or other help arrived. Grinding his jaw and sending sparks flying, Ironteeth held his axe-hammer ready. Here he was fighting a delaying action against mad goblins, just like old slagging times.
Shouting to be heard, Ironteeth spat out some of the only gobish he knew. “Your father was forced into a monastery after they found him in your mother’s pig pen!”
The Varganiki hesitated as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard, which was exactly the point. Even if the insult didn’t make the enemy angry and therefore stupid, it usually made them pause. Using that momentary delay, Ironteeth launched himself at the killer, axe-head of his weapon swinging for the goblin’s torso. Ducking under the blow, the Varganiki lashed out with his dagger and this time Ironteeth didn’t have room to dodge, so instead he twisted with the strike, hoping against hope his armor was strong enough. As the dagger tore through his surcoat but skidded against the dwarven steel beneath; Ironteeth, thoughts of all the times he’d been mocked for always wearing his breastplate and grinned.
Reaching out with his free arm, Ironteeth wrapped his hand and forearm around his foe’s dagger arm. Offbalanced by his lunge the Varganiki couldn’t pull away and found his arm caught in the vice grip of an angry dwarf. With his own weapon arm, Ironteeth tried to smash his foe’s face, but the Varganiki copied him and caught the Captain’s arm. This had turned into a proper grapple, exactly what Ironteeth had hoped for. Strong as the paragon was, the Captain had better leverage and probably more experience.
Flexing his back muscles, Ironteeth pushed on his foe’s trapped arm, trying to either pop the socket or force him off balance. By contrast, the Varganiki just squeezed on the dwarf’s wrist, steel fingers pressing into unarmored flesh. The pain was growing worse and worse with every second, even the thick bones and double-layered muscle of a dwarf couldn’t last forever against a paragon. But, it wouldn’t take forever for help to arrive, so Ironteeth just needed to hold on. Straining against each other, the two combatants entered a vicious deadlock. Ironteeth could feel the Varganiki’s shoulder starting to bulge out, but his own forearm bones were creaking ominously.
Before either of the two wrestlers could claim victory, the carriage swerved, and someone somewhere screamed. Even with his wide stance, Ironteeth’s balance wasn’t enough, and he felt his legs slipping out from beneath him as the coach wobbled precariously. Toppling backward, the dwarf broke the grapple and landed badly, his head sliding off the carriage roof. Frantically, Ironteeth kicked out with one leg and managed to hook the luggage rack with his boot. He tried to get a better grip with his now free hand, but the muscles weren’t responding right, having just escaped a paragon’s grip.
The paragon in question wasted no time and fell upon Ironteeth, ready to put the wicked tip of his dagger into the guard captain’s throat. Letting go of his axe-hammer, Ironteeth caught the Varganiki’s wrist, bringing both arms up to desperately keep the knife away. Now practically laying on top of Ironteeth, the goblin killer pressed down with all his might, masked face a hand span from the captain’s own.
As death crept closer and closer, Ironteeth stared into that wretched mask. It really was a warg’s head, the pelt and skull cleaned and preserved to act like some disgusting helmet. Black beady eyes more akin to sharks than any lupine stared out at Ironteeth from the empty sockets, while a fanged jaw snapped at him. In those terrible moments, Ironteeth genuinely couldn’t tell if the mask was alive and really coming for his throat or if the movement of the wagon was making the jaw flap up and down. Words rattled from the Varganiki, a rasping string of gobish beyond the captain’s understanding. With every second, the dagger came closer and closer, driven on by unnatural strength. Screaming his defiance, Ironteeth felt the knife-edge press through his beard and start tracing his throat, the edge not yet sinking into his flesh.
The Varganiki’s words grew higher, pitched, and ecstatic, filled with sickening bloodlust that transcended language and species. Staring at the gnashing teeth before him as the faint needle-prick of the knife grew into hot pain, Ironteeth roared curses and insults with every labored breath. Struggling to buy himself a little more time, the captain’s eyes widened as a sharp tongue shot out of the beast’s jaws and with it a spray of bloody slobber. Staring at the barbed tip of that bladed tongue, now barely a centimeter from his face, Ironteeth felt the struggle change, he was winning now, pushing the knife away.
With a furious bellow, he threw the Varganiki back, and only then did he see the truth. There was no tongue, just an arrow, one that had punched right through the back of the assassin’s neck and come out his mouth, its tip almost hitting him. Wiping the mix of spit and blood from his face, Ironteeth felt the coach slowing down beneath him. Watching as red flowed out from the Varganiki, the captain let out an exhausted breath and slumped to his knees.
With the wind and thunder of wheels over cobblestones gone, Ironteeth now could hear the telltale clip-clop of horse hooves. Looking up from his near-murderer, he saw a trio of riders approaching, all but one wore exquisite hunting leathers and antlered helms. The one exception was dressed in slightly rumpled clerks' clothes and held another arrow at the ready.
Panting heavily, Ironteeth bowed his head slightly to the lead rider. “Good timing, Suvi.”
Limbs shaky, Ironteeth knocked the fresh corpse off the coach’s top and clambered down. Boris stood nearby, leaning against the carriage front, staring at the body, eyes wide, expression haunted. Gesturing vaguely at the body, Ironteeth muttered. “There was another one, I injured him, somewhere… somewhere back there.”
Suvi dismounted and quickly knelt down next to the body. With practiced hands, she pulled the arrow free with a wet sound and ripped off the warg mask. Tossing it to one of the other two riders, Suvi gestured down the road and made a series of hand signs. The pair of priests set off a slow gallop, the one with the mask holding it out before him, green light flickering around the black fur. Elsewhere, guards were arriving, some on horseback, others by foot, having finally caught up with the monumental civic disturbance. Thinking of all the slagging paperwork this would cause and, more importantly, the poor driver killed by these bastards, Ironteeth spat on the goblin’s corpse.
Standing up, Priestess Suvi said. “My fellows will track down the other one. I doubt many in this city will stink of blood and warg fur.”
Letting the priestess heal the nick on his throat, Ironteeth muttered. “You made good time.”
Something almost like a smile flicked across Suvi’s face. “A lucky coincidence, aided by our breakthrough.”
Gingerly touching the new skin, and then pulling away the beard hair severed by the knife with a wince, Ironteeth asked. “Breakthrough?”
Suvi nodded. “Yes, we were actually heading towards your guard tower, hoping to collect you for the hunt when the chaos reached our ears.”
A whistle caught Ironteeth’s ears then, and he looked up to see perhaps the strangest sight of the day yet. City-Warden Alia Cat-eyes sat atop a saddle that was slowly floating down the street. Grinning madly, Cat-eyes waved as she bobbed closer. “Good to see you’re alive, boss. I knew in my gut all the screaming had to do with you.”
Ironteeth barely heard this, he was too busy staring at the reins in his subordinate's hands, and how they stretched out to a few strips of leather hanging midair before her. While it wasn’t the strangest bit of magic he’d ever seen, something about it was comically surreal. Letting the invisible horse she rode canter towards them, Cat-eyes dismounted her steed and gently patted the empty air before offering a sugar lump that quickly vanished.
Gesturing at the floating bridle, Cat-eyes said. “Well, I found the horse, and the Seventh Temple learned some things from the curse.”
Returning to the corpse, Suvi put a hand on its face, shutting the eyes and sending a pulse of magic through the body, freeing the soul trapped within. Looking up from her grim work, the Priestess nodded. “The curse is fragile from too many transfers, breaking it wouldn’t be too difficult.”
Gesturing at the still-invisible horse, Ironteeth asked an unspoken question. Again, Suvi almost smiled. “Breaking it wouldn’t be difficult, taking advantage of it was a little harder. My temple has some expertise in such fae-born evil and have learned many ways to counter it.”
That made sense to Ironteeth, it was in fact one of the reasons he’d gone to the Seventh Temple. It had been humanity's divine huntress who first taught them to hide from magical predators, and eventually turn the knife around, making prey out of monsters; faeries chief among them.
Cleaning the arrow she’d pulled from the dead goblin, Suvi explained. “This curse is weak, a pale imitation of sidhe cruelty. While the results themselves are strong, the actual magic is… impermanent, being of mortal make and shoddy design. So instead of breaking the curse, we punctured it, letting the magic that should perpetuate the curse leak out and seek what is familiar to it. This alone weakens the curse, but it also lets us track who once carried it”
Still smiling, Cat-eyes rubbed the phantom horse and said. “Yeah, the priests can see the leakage in the Aether, and use it like a compass.”
As if on cue, Suvi’s eyes glowed like sun-dappled leaves and she nodded slowly. “I think the curse was transferred between five people before the horse, and one of them is close. I’m assuming that’s the Varganiki you injured? The one I killed was never cursed.”
Ironteeth just shrugged, and Suvi started to frown. “Strange…”
Beyond the quickly growing cordon being set up by the guard, the two other priests appeared one with a black burden slung over her saddle. As the watch parted for them, the pair got closer and the burden was revealed to be the other Varganiki. Seeing the body lying like a dead deer brought some measure of grim satisfaction to Ironteeth, the coach driver was avenged. A twinge of sadness went through the guard captain as he realized he’d never learned the young man’s name.
Suvi pulled Ironteeth from his morose thoughts. “We have a problem.”
The Priestess had approached her colleague and was examining the second corpse, a frown growing as her eyes shone green. “Neither of them ever held the curse.”
Before confusion could set in, Boris spoke up, breaking his long silence. “Three, three is a sacred number. If they sent more than one, they’d send three.”
As this sunk in, Ironteeth growled. “Then we still have a goblin assassin loose in the city.”
Hosting herself up into the invisible horse's saddle, Cat-eyes shrugged. “For now.”