Dusk came swifter than Charlot had anticipated. If not for Korak, he would surely have been caught in the forest after dark. He wondered if he ought to abandon his disguise and simply ride into town on the monster bear. That would be a tale for the ages! But he knew the villagers would be terrified, and the men would be back from the fields. Someone might do something stupid, and his extravagant entrance could quickly turn tragic.
A younger Charlot would have brushed away such concerns, but he was wiser now, and had seen more than enough conflict for one day.
“STAY! I will return,” he ordered the bear. Korak whined unhappily but did not move. Charlot was a little worried the bear might run off, or worse, come into the village looking for him, which would surely be a catastrophe. So, he pulled the last sausage from his pocket and held it out, and the bear’s big tongue slipped out eagerly and slurped up the prize.
“Stay,” Charlot commanded again, and there was no whine this time. He hoped the bear would listen. What else could he do, tie him to a tree? What chain could bind such a monster? Charlot untied the pelt from the bear and rolled it up. He planned to ask Millian to have it cured for him. He worked the glamor over himself, and once more Flaccaro assumed the guise of a lowly stick of wood, much to its chagrin.
“Hail! Hail!” Charlot cried, walking into the town, not wanting to be shot a second time that day. “Hail, it is I, Adon the Wanderer!”
The name was bitter in his mouth. Now that cur Adon would be credited with his good deed! Still, it was better that the townsfolk think of the Crimson Citadel as little as possible. Curiosity would be the death of them. No one answered his cry, and he could hear distant shouts as he approached Fraughten.
There was a commotion in the square. It had grown quite dark, and Charlot struggled to make out what was going on. Many people held torches. He wished he could have waited for daylight to return to the town, but there was a chance the boy would not make it through the night.
Angry voices were raised, and he readied a spell as he walked forward. How dark the shadows were! He could not tell how many people were there, he could only make out the ones around the lights. The torchbearers were armored men with swords at their waists. He considered going back for the bear, or hiding until dawn, but again he thought of the boy. If the situation grew truly desperate, he would call a light with his magic.
“Hail! It is I, Adon the Wanderer! Hail!” he shouted again. He could hear the shouts halt, and the shadows seemed to turn toward him. Drawing closer he could make out a little more. A semicircle of villagers faced off against six armored men with torches.
At the center of the square, a post had been raised. A heavy woman was lashed to it, stripped to the waist, her pendulous breasts drooping and angry red lines of blood crossing her wide back. It was Millian! In the torchlight, Charlot could just make out the one who held the whip, the oaf Thum Clay.
Alas. The boy has died, Charlot thought.
“Am I too late? I bring medicine for the sick boy!” Adon called.
“It’s the Wick! The Wick who cut me!” a voice cried. Charlot could not see the speaker’s face, but he knew it was the fool bowman. “He’s a warlock! Kill him!”
It was too dark, too damned dark to see where the danger was. With three powerful words, Charlot called up an orb of arcane light that bathed the whole square in a silvery glow amid a chorus of gasps. Now he could see!
Nearly the whole town was assembled. Six armed and armored men stood with torches, and eight others were with them, carrying spears, axes, and a few makeshift pieces of equipment. They stood on one side of the square, and on the other side was the mob of villagers, perhaps sixty of them. A few of the village men had pitchforks, hoes, and spades, but no armor. If there was a fight, they would be slain to a man.
“He speaks false!” Charlot thundered when he saw that the armored men were not heeding the order to attack. “I am but a humble priest of the Laughing Star, come to save the life of young Berto! Witness her light!” The silvery orb pulsed brightly as he spoke. Many villagers were looking up at it agog, and even some of the footmen were entranced. They’d never seen magic before.
“Set her free! Stop this farce!” screamed a woman in the crowd.
“That one disrespected me! He cut off Braeburn’s hand! Kill him!” Thum Clay shouted, still holding the whip.
“Let me free! The boy!” Millian howled from the whipping post as she bled onto the cobbles.
The scene had grown chaotic, and the soldiers looked from Charlot to Thum Clay to Braeburn. It was clear no one was in command here, which was both an asset and a liability. Charlot could work with this, he needed only to seem more credible than the others.
“Now, see here! Look at this, look, you people!” he cried.
Charlot unrolled the shadowcat pelt on the cobbled stones before him.
“Look at this pelt! Slain without cut or arrow! Smote by the star, for my quest is true! I dared to venture far into the north to heal Berto! Truly, a miracle! When did you ever see a hide so pristine? Look to my holy light! It is a sign of Her favor! Unbind the woman and let us heal the boy!”
It felt like a lame ploy, but some men from the village came forward and picked up the hide. There was no rent or pierce. As he’d said, the pelt was perfect.
“It’s killed fresh! Slain without a mark!” exclaimed a deeply tanned man with sunken cheeks and pale blue eyes.
“Sorcery!” hissed Braeburn Clay.
“If I were a sorcerer, would I not work my dark art this very moment? I am no magician, only a priest of the Wanderstar! Behold, only the faithful can call her silver light!” An obvious lie, but he heard murmurs of agreement from the townsfolk.
“Damn Wick cut off my hand! KILL HIM!” Braeburn Clay howled. His face was blotchy and had a bloodless, drained look. Likely, he had a fever.
It was clear to Charlot that the armored men were not going to follow commands from either Clay brother. The fighters had a sheepish look, like they’d been roped into this, and more than one glared at Thum Clay. Surely the whole thing was his idea.
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“This man is delirious! Surely all can see that I am no Wick! Unbind that poor woman! Let us tend to the boy. Afterward, we can discuss this foolishness in the light of day! We have a child to heal!”
Charlot had the crowd with him, and he could feel their support. They had already been angry, but now they were unified around him as a supposed man of the Star. The armored men were dispirited and confused. He’d swayed them to his side!
“Enough foolin’! I’ll settle this one myself!” Thum Clay drew his shining sword. Now was the moment. Charlot whispered a strengthening cant, watching everything around him grow dim. Augmenting the power of Nemonullus, he could easily take a blow. That would be the end of credibility for Thum Clay. The oaf swung at him with all his might.
The sword struck him and shattered against the fortified barrier. Shards of the blade spun away, and a piece struck one of the footmen and stuck in his arm. He cried out with pain as the crowd gasped.
“You see? The Laughing Star protects…” Charlot halted midway through his pronouncement. He felt a sudden tremor through his boots and gripped Flaccaro for balance. This was no earthquake. Korak had followed him into town!
The charging bear plowed through the line of fighters as if they were armored in wicker instead of iron, barreling toward the man who dared to strike his friend. Thum Clay bleated in surprise and dropped his broken sword, throwing his hands up in a terrified scream. The sound ended abruptly as Korak’s giant jaws closed on him.
There was a terrible crunch of ribs as the bite took a huge chunk out of Thum Clay. His cry became a horrible wet sputter, and he fell to the ground, almost in two pieces.
A few of the armored men were swinging swords at the silverpaw, but it was utter folly. Korak raged through the disorganized fighters and smashed the men with shining swipes of its silvery claws, illuminated by the light of Charlot’s orb. His great paws clanged against breastplates, crumpling them like tin and sending men flying. His huge feet flattened fallen fighters into the cobbles, and he advanced with a deafening roar. The fighters broke to a man and ran screaming into the night.
“KORAK! STOP!” Charlot commanded, and the bear paused and looked at Charlot. A broken man was kicking and wailing between his jaws.
“DROP!” Charlot shouted, and the bear dropped the man at once. The footman was far past saving.
“I told you to stay! Look what you’ve done!” Charlot roared. Amazingly, the bear cringed away from his rebuke. Korak lay on the ground and covered his face with his huge paws.
Many of the townsfolk had fled, but there were always a few in a crowd who froze up when it came time to flee or die. More people were looking on, peeking from doorways and around corners. Stars, he would have to answer for this. Three men were dead, many more were wounded and limping away. Some of them would not survive. Had he not set foot out of his tower this morning, they would all be alive. How many times had he stood over a hill of dead men and felt the blame?
Such was the sordid handiwork of Adon the Wanderer!
“You! Stay!” Charlot commanded Korak, and he sat, a mournful look on his bloody face.
Charlot stood over the three dead men, wondering if he ought to say something more. But words would not come, and a black urge to finish what he’d begun intruded. His blood was up.
He was certain he could call down the skyflame, annihilate the whole town and everyone in it. He could end the threat to his power and eradicate all trace of his crimes. A cold part of him knew it was the safest decision. The fools had built far too close to his citadel!
But they’d fed him venison stew and given him honeybread. And he wanted to know if the needles would work. More than anything else, he yearned to know, and the curiosity pulled him from his dark thoughts.
Charlot untied Millian from the whipping post. He struggled with the knots, but he dared not reveal Vitserpadag in her presence. At last, he freed her, and she made no move to cover herself. Instead, she walked to the ravaged corpse of Thum Clay and spat on his remains.
“Have me whipped, you shant bastard! I’d have killed you if he hadn’t!” She kicked the dead man’s head as hard as she could, so angry that she’d forgotten about the giant bear just five paces away. Korak looked up at her, turning his head, and she stared back at the bear, her whole body going rigid. It took a moment for her to snap out of it.
“How? Is it sorcery?”
“That’s a bear,” Charlot said, a little uncomfortable with her state of undress. He shook his head. Three men lay dead and ravaged, there was blood soaking everything, and the air stank of blood and exposed bowel. But the carnage did not move him, for he’d seen far worse. Despite all that, a pair of unmoored teats made him uneasy. “Are you well?” he asked, wishing he had a blanket to offer her.
“I’ve been whipped before,” Millian said. She had the scars to prove it, though the bloody rents on her back must have hurt terribly. People were starting to approach the square, keeping a wary distance from the bear.
“Why doesn’t it attack?” asked the man with pale eyes who’d proclaimed the pelt perfect. He had to shout because he was hiding behind the corner of a house and ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.
“The bear is tame. Somewhat. I didn’t mean for him to follow me into town!” Charlot explained.
“Is that what you call tame? Swallow the stars, look at the size of ‘im. Not even full grown neither. Nothin’ left of the shants,” the man said. Swallowing, he dared to creep forward to the corner of the house for a closer look at the silverpaw.
“He doesn’t like it when people attack me,” Charlot said gravely, his voice loud enough to carry. There was every chance the townsfolk would turn on him. “That idiot, Thum Clay did this! Swung a sword at an unarmed man and brought down the wrath of the Laughing Star on them all! I did not want this! I only want to heal the boy!”
Charlot hoped he didn’t sound too theatrical. It was critical that blame for the mess be established, and if he could get it to stick to a man who was already dead, so much the better.
“Berto,” Millian said. “We have to save Berto.” A young woman brought her a shirt, but she shook her head. “I’ll only bleed on it. I need to get a poultice on these.”
“Will the people on top of the hill send more fighters?” Charlot asked.
“That’s the better part of them, lying there dead or running into the night. The ones that got away won’t rally. If they’re smart, the shants will leave town tonight. If not, then there will be a revolt in the morning,” Millian said with a wild light in her eyes. Already, she’d worked this all into her plan. “You have the needles? Or must we take them from the bear?”
He held out the bundle of needles he’d wrapped in leaves to keep from poking a hole in his pocket. “Is this enough?”
“Far more than I’d hoped for. I pray there’s still time. Will the bear cause any more trouble?”
Charlot looked around the ruins of what had once been men. The bear sat patiently, his eyes dropping to the bodies. He was hungry again. Gods what a struggle it would be to feed the beast!
“I hope not. Korak! You can eat them,” Charlot said to the bear, indicating what was left of Thum Clay. Korak stood up and snuffled Thum, again licking the body and looking up at Charlot for approval.
“Eat him, if you can stand the taste,” Charlot said, and the bear devoured the dead man. Carefully, he listened for a reaction, but there were no protests, no demands for a funeral skiff, or even a pauper’s cremation. The villagers had truly despised these men.
“That should keep him occupied. Stay far from this bear! He will not harm you if you keep your distance! I will return to take him away after we treat Berto,” Charlot announced, shouting over the sound of cracking bones.
Charlot released his hold on the light’s energy, and it drifted away in a whorl of silvery fog. The square was at once cast into darkness.
“Let’s see to the boy,” Charlot said, though he could barely see his own feet in front of him. Carefully navigating the ground before him with Flaccaro, he walked with Millian back to her cottage.