Doubled-up on a dapple gray horse, Ryder held the reins while Durge kept an eye on the lumbering beast behind them. Kincaid followed them out of the thickets and back onto the red road. The rays of dusk shimmered off the ocean, its salty air filling their nostrils as a cool breeze blew through the air. The three of them decided to rest the night away near the road.

Kincaid was in poor health. He lurched off his horse and collapsed before the duo picked him up and guided him toward a tree to lean against. “You need a physician,” Ryder said.

“I need some damn rest and something to feast on. Should’ve chewed and swallowed that bastard Fike whole.” Kincaid growled.

Durge laughed, “Would’ve been too rotten for your taste, old dog.” He somberly passed around the last of his rations, although thankful to be free of any more hardtack.

Twinkling stars above and the dim fire surrounding them was reminiscent of the last time they camped together. “There’s no goblins in these woods, right?” Ryder asked.

Kincaid laughed, “No.” He winced with every breath, struggling to maintain his strength. “I just said that so you wouldn’t run into danger. But look where that got you.”

“We’ve dealt with goblins before. We’d be able to defeat them with ease,” Durge said with confidence.

“Is that so?” the beast coughed. As specks of blood covered his paw, he laid his head down and sighed. “I would not mind hearing the tales of Count Lovell and Sir Durge one day.”

Without the fear of goblins, Vultures, or crossbow bolts aimed at their heads, the three of them rested peacefully for once on the moonless night.

Ryder awoke first, as usual, and kept an eye on his former mentor while he broke down camp and organized his supplies. The beast wheezed with every breath and soft whimpers came from his muzzle. His amber eyes shot open in a fury. He grasped his greatsword. And when he saw the duo looming over him with concerned expressions. He let out a puff of air from his snout and sat up.

“Let me drive for you, Caid,” Ryder said. The beast refused at first but reluctantly held on to Ryder and his sword as they trotted north to Maria. Kincaid’s eyes grew heavy with every horizon that passed. Travelers and merchants that went by looked at them all with a raised eyebrow. But soon enough, the banners of forgotten manors could be seen.

Ryder yanked on the horse's reins as Kincaid slumped over on top of him and dropped his greatsword to the earth. “Durge!” Ryder shouted. The oaf picked up the greatsword and rode steadily behind Ryder as they galloped ahead. The beast’s wheezes became heavier, he mumbled incoherently as blood trickled through his canines. They rode straight until the evening sun began to lower.

The duo made the horses rest and regain stamina, they walked slowly with heavy huffs through the crowds entering and exiting the city. Durge recognized one of the figures in the crowd, a gray-striped fluffy tail, and a fanged-smile sticking from his hood.

“Hey Scoundrel!” Durge shouted.

The fur-beast swiftly looked up and neared a paw to his daggers. After seeing it was the two adventurers, he smiled greatly. “Glad to see you alive, plainskins! Who’s your fur-friend?” he asked, seeing the slumped beast grasping onto Ryder’s back.

“Where’s Bell’s temple!? He’s in dire need!” Ryder shouted.

“I’ll lead you!” Durge reluctantly helped Scoundrel onto the horse and gave him the reins. Reckless and foolish would have been the only words Ryder would’ve used to describe Scoundrel’s driving ability, if he wasn’t busy racing to catch him. Through crowds of people, narrow alleys, and market stalls, the ferret grinned as they pulled in front of the temple with such speed.

Ryder followed suit, exhausted and worried about the impact of the harsh traveling for Kincaid. “Tie the horses, Durge! Scoundrel, help me get him inside!” The dog could barely stand on his own two paws when both of them pulled him from the horse and dragged him inside the temple.

The smell of incense and the sound of rushing water filled the establishment. Water fell from the walls and ran through the cracks of stone on the floor. “Isabelle! You have a customer!”

An irritated groan came from beyond the lattice walls. Bell came around the corner, confounded at the view of Ryder carrying a towering fur-beast. “He’s been chained and tortured for who knows how long. He needs your aid badly,” Ryder said.

Bell nodded and guided them toward the healing rooms. Separated by thin walls, they could hear the soft groans and snores of other patients. Scoundrel and Ryder laid Kincaid gently on a cushioned cot and allowed Bell to do her work.

An orange glow fell from her hands and entered the beast's major wounds that adorned his head and chest. He growled and clenched his mangled claws until the healer gave him a health potion. When the beast unclenched his fist, he fell to a numbed-rest.

“He’ll live, but more work needs to be done on him,” Bell said with exhaustive breaths.

Ryder nodded, “Thank you, Bell. We’ll check up on him in the morning.”

“You never cease to amaze, Isabelle,” Scoundrel said with a smirk.

She huffed and shooed them away.

They met Durge on their way out when he came in, greatsword in hand. “He’d be wanting this,” he said.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Was wondering where you were. And what’s that for? The temple of Faehar prohibits any type of slaying,” Bell said.

Durge chuckled, “It’s for the old mutt when he wakes up, he’d be worried about it.” Durge leaned the sword against the beast’s bed and headed for the door.

“Don’t get into any more trouble!” Bell exclaimed as he walked out.

“Thanks again, Scoundrel,” Ryder said.

“A pleasure,” he smirked with a bow. “What’s the Potion-Giver’s plans now?”

“We just rode from Rofaun and now we have to turn-in at the Guild Hall.”

“R-Rofaun? What were you doing there?”

Durge hopped on the dapple-gray horse. “Killing the recruiter of the Vulture’s, fur-beast.”

Scoundrel’s eyes grew wide, “Really?”

Ryder nodded and then shrugged as he hopped on the back of the horse. “I wouldn’t travel there anytime soon. I know you were a Vulture at one point, but no longer.”

“Yeah! Now you’re just a ferret!” Durge shouted, laughing as he kicked the horse to gallop down the street. Scoundrel stood furious in the cloud of dust with gritted teeth.

The warm glow of the Guild Hall’s interior leaked out into the surrounding fields and streets. Durge tied the horse to a hitching post.

“What should his name be? Every steed has a good name.” Ryder asked.

“I was thinking of Cauliflower.”

“Are you thinking of dinner or is that his actual name now?”

Durge gave him a familiar punch, one he’d done for decades now every time Ryder annoyed him. “Let’s get paid already.”

As they pushed through the heavy oak doors, the sounds of cheering and laughter turned quiet in an instant. The duo anxiously walked the thin white carpet up to the clerk and manager that stood behind her.

“Here to turn-in a slaying,” Durge said cockily, hoping it’d spark enthusiasm from the crowds that stared at them.

“Names?” The brunette clerk said sternly.

The adventurers pulled the talc dog tags from underneath their shirts and said their name.

“Come with me,” the manager said, lifting open the service gate.

Sweat began to pool on Ryder’s neck while Durge turned stone faced and steely. They gazed upon the masses that peered back at them before entering behind the clerk’s desk again. Once out of view, they could hear the whispers and murmurs of the crowds.

Scrolls, books, inks, and parchment passed them by as they followed the manager to his office. Ryder thought of Rose and hoped to see her as a form of comfort, but the fear of her being ashamed of him made him glad she was not present.

An open ledger lay on the manager’s desk. He sat in his chair and sighed. He gestured for them to sit down and they did so. “You both signed off on an iron-ranked slaying quest to ‘defeat the cursed, and seemingly undead people, that roam and attack the surrounding areas of Locria. Slay all until none are left.’ Correct?”

They nodded.

“Durge Wulfum, who offered this quest to you?”

The oaf nodded his head toward his companion, “He did.”

“Ryder Lovell, who offered this quest to you?”

“Fike did, sir.”

The manager hummed as he gazed over the ledger and twisted his mustache. “The party-leader, Fike Burbary?”

Ryder nodded. They sat in silence for some time while the manager combed over the quest log. No windows decorated the office, only maps and the bright glow of lanterns.

“I will list the names of the 18 other adventurers who were signed to this quest. You will tell me the fate of each of them.”

“We don’t know their na—”

“Fike Burbary.”

“Dead,” Durge said.

Ryder shook his head, “Deceased.”

“Willis Ofaun.”

“The orc? Deceased,” Durge said.

“Murdered,” Ryder said.

Durge rolled his eyes. The duo expected the manager to follow through with questions of “how” or “why” but none ever came. He proceeded to list 16 more names, not knowing which name belonged to which torn apart or murdered corpse that lay on the cobbled streets of Locria, they said “deceased” to all of them. Except for a certain starora named “Kalvin Tamrin.”

The Guild manager closed the book and gazed upon the duo as he rested his back against the chair. “Three out of twenty survived. And it’s the same duo that returned without their guides on the first quest they ever accepted. Now they return again without their party leader. Isn’t that suspicious?”

“Isn’t it ‘suspicious’ that you allow Vultures to be a part of your business?” Durge said with a furrowed brow.

The edge of the manager’s lip curled. “I do not entertain myself with the rivalries between the adventuring guilds and parties. All I care for is quests to be completed.”

Ryder pulled on his tunic collar, “Well, the quest is comple—”

“And my registered members return alive, to finish said quests. You both are put under arrest during this investigation until scouts have returned with the proof of the completion and the bodies of the fallen members have been collected. Do you have any words that could assist us in this matter?”

“Yeah, suck me,” Durge spat.

“Fike’s body is in Rofaun. He imprisoned and tortured our companion,” Ryder said solemnly.

The manager scribbled notes onto parchment and gestured for them to leave. “Guards will escort you off the premises. We will collect you when we have finished.”

Durge’s nails dug into his palm as he clenched his fist, ready to pull the mace from his belt and crack it upon the gentleman’s skull.

Ryder exhaled deeply and pushed open the door. He instantly came face to face with four adventurers gazing at him, Catwood and his crew. They offered smiles and pats on their shoulders that washed the stress away from Ryder and Durge. The crowds in the main area of the hall turned quiet again when the Verdure Guild walked out from behind the counter, but more confused than cautious as the group left with smiles and laughs.

They walked out into the warm night, surrounded by flickering torches and lanterns as the sliver of moon rose high.

“Does everyone know we killed Fike?” Ryder asked.

“We knew not that you killed him! It is safe to assume that if Fike was still alive, he would have returned already to collect his reward.”

“I had bets placed that you gave those party-killers what they deserved and how they turned tail whenever facing danger!” a human companion said.

As they escorted Ryder and Durge to their cell, it surprised them both when the party stopped at a lavish house and told them that this is where they would be staying.

Catwood halted them before the duo opened the ornate front door, “You’ve destroyed the claws of the vulture, but we must clip their wings. For if we don’t, they’ll only create more nests. We have little intel of where the Vultures have been receiving their funding; merely looting corpses and backstabbing parties is not enough for the type of equipment and correspondence they have now. But that is what we’re working to achieve and would appreciate your assistance.”

“Thank you, Catwood.”

“We’ll do what we can to put an end to those bastards!” Durge yelled. Catwood and the others cheered before letting the duo rest in their palatial prison. As they entered, they saw a recognizable cosmic standing in the foyer.

“Durge!” Kalv exclaimed, wrapping his arms around him.

The shield-bearer hesitantly reciprocated the hug and grinned. “I see we’re all forced to stay here for a while.

Ryder scoffed, “How long have you been under lock, Kalv?”

“Ever since I’ve come back. They pulled me into the manager’s office when they realized I was the only one to show and I tried explaining to them everything. Is Fike and everyone else gone?”

Durge nodded, “He won’t come back.”

“And neither will the necromancer,” Ryder muttered.