CHAPTER FOURTEEN: The Witch Arm

The guardsmen arrived several minutes after Carter had killed Ugly. They quickly secured the scene and managed to commandeer a wagon which they used to rush both Carter and Rann to the jail infirmary. Carter was glad to hear that they had managed to get young Rann to the healer in time. The teenager would be fine, though he had to be bedridden for a few days. The wound he suffered had been deep and would take several healing sessions with Curate Poxis to completely fix.

Carter's wound was a bit more peculiar. Although Poxis had tried several times to heal it, he found that his magic could not affect Carter's body whatsoever. The Curate had tried many different spells, but they all proved useless. Carter's body, for whatever reason, seemed immune to healing magic. This would have been grave news if it weren't for the fact that Carter's body seemed to be healing itself. Upon discovering this, the Curate had wanted to perform all sorts of experiments on him right then and there, but thankfully the Reeve shot down that idea.

"Please excuse Master Poxis," Reeve Lannok remarked after they had returned from the clinic visit. He and Carter settled themselves in his office. "As I've said before, he can get quite overexcited when it comes to magical matters. Please don't hold it against him."

"It's fine," Carter said as he tried to arrange himself comfortably in the chair he was sitting in. He was currently shirtless, his entire torso covered in white bandages.

"How is the wound?" The Reeve asked, looking over at the cloth wrapped around his midsection.

"Much better, actually." It was the truth, too. Although it still pained him a bit, the wound in his belly had completely closed up, the gash scabbing over and sealing in the damage. Even the blood that spilled on his clothing had vanished, which was completely remarkable. From what Poxis had said, no one had ever seen anything quite like it. All of this had just happened within four hours, too. Whatever was healing him was really miraculous.

"Do you think 'it' is responsible?" The Reeve asked. Both the men's attention became drawn to the midnight-black object that sat on top of the Reeve's desk.

It was the weapon that the black knight had been wielding. It had originally been a long, black sword but after the knight had died it transformed into the shape of a gun. Not just any gun, but one that resembled the revolver Carter had owned back on Earth.

What was it? The thing was obviously magic, but why had the knight given it to him? And why had he killed himself beforehand?

"It might be," Carter said in response to Lannok's question as he eyed the gun. Part of that was a bit of a lie since the wounds on his hands from the previous day had healed overnight. That was before he received the weapon. But after he had gotten it, his healing became a hell of a lot quicker. There was definitely a connection.

"What is it?" He asked, referring to the gun itself.

That seemed to be the question of the day, and from the look on the Reeve's face, he knew the answer. Or had a suspicion, at least. Lannok, instead of answering, moved over to the gun and set a hand on it. He felt the smooth, matte finish of the metal before wrapping his fingers around the weapon. Then, he began to lift.

Try as he might, he could not get the object off of his desk.

This had happened earlier, too. Several guardsmen had tried to confiscate the weapon from Carter, but when he handed it to them it always fell from their grips. When the guards tried to pick it up, they couldn't. To them, the weapon had gained a tremendous weight and they could not manage to lift it even an inch. Carter found it a bit amusing how similar the gun was to Thor's hammer from the Marvel movies. In the films, only the ones chosen by the hammer itself could lift it. Did that mean he was chosen somehow? If so, by whom? The gods?

The Reeve stopped trying to lift the black gun after a few seconds. He shook his head and returned to his chair. "It's as I feared." His dark eyes met Carter's own, and he could see the seriousness in them. "That is a Witch Arm."

"Witch Arm?" Carter muttered. "What's that?"

"It's not surprising that you would be unfamiliar with them," Lannok said. "They are legendary relics from our land, dating from the time of the witches." The Reeve steepled his fingers together, his gaze sweeping over the black weapon on his desk. "There are twelve of them altogether. It is said that each Witch Arm is a weapon holding the magic of a powerful witch. These weapons give their wielder the powers that the witch had in life, granting them abilities no ordinary mortal possesses."

"I see." Carter frowned, looking down at the gun. "So they're magical weapons, then? Are they artifacts?"

Lannok chuckled at that. "No, no. Comparing a Witch Arm to an Artifact is like comparing the Emperor to a local lord. These items are legendary, one of a kind. Each one is unique, in appearance as well as in the powers they grant. All Witch Arms represent a color, which in turn represents the type of magic they grant their wielder. That one," the Reeve indicated the gun, "if I am not mistaken is the Black Witch Arm. Its name is Dorothea the Ebon."

A sharp pain suddenly spiked in Carter's head upon hearing the name, originating from the right side of his skull. It only lasted for the briefest of moments and was gone as quickly as it had appeared. The Reeve did not seem to notice his discomfort as he continued speaking.

"According to the legends, the Black Witch Arm could transform into any weapon its holder wishes. I'm quite curious as to why it has taken this peculiar form, though." Lannok looked more closely at the gun, his lips frowning. "I've never seen anything like it before."

"It's a weapon," Carter told him. "From where I'm from. It's called a gun. Or, firearm. It's…" He searched for the best way to describe a weapon like a gun to someone who probably has never even heard of gunpowder before. "It's like a hand-held bow, basically."

"I see. So a miniaturized crossbow, then?"

Carter shrugged. "That's a good way to put it, I guess."

Lannok nodded. "It's so small though. The bolts it uses must be so tiny. How can it ever damage anything? I don't see how to load the weapon, either."

"It's, um, complicated," Carter told him.

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Lannok just shrugged. "In any case, it is said that transformation is the only ability the Black Witch Arm holds. I had believed this, until today. This weapon is most likely what is responsible for the strange healing magic that is affecting you. At least that is my guess; I was under the assumption that only the magic of Church priests could affect the living body."

"I see." Carter reached over and grabbed the gun by its grip. He then lifted it easily off the table, not having any of the difficulty that the Reeve had shown. "Why am I the only one that can pick this thing up?"

"It's a characteristic of Witch Arms," the Reeve explained. "It is said that whoever kills their wielder becomes the new one, and only their wielders are able to grasp them."

Wow, it was exactly like Thor and his hammer.

"I didn't kill that guy in black, though," Carter said. "He stabbed himself, though he made me hold his sword while he did it."

"I suppose that would be enough in the weapon's eye to transfer ownership."

So magical rules had loopholes, too? Great.

Carter examined the black weapon in his hands. Like its sword form before, the gun was completely made from a strange, matte black metal that seemed to absorb all light. Even the bullets, which he could see from the open chambers at the front of the cylinder, were made of the same material. Also like the sword, its design was simple, with no frills or decoration. Unlike other guns he'd used, this one had no manufacturer's mark on the barrel, no serial number, no model or caliber designation. It was about as basic and uncomplicated as a revolver could be.

"That man who used to own this thing," Carter said, thinking back to the previous owner of the gun. "Who the hell was he? He said that he'd been looking for me."

"Did he?" The Reeve looked worried for a moment but then shook his head. "No. I wouldn't put too much thought into what that man said. He's been known to ramble incoherent nonsense. When he wasn't murdering and causing complete havoc, that is."

"You knew him?"

"Not personally, no. Just by repute." Lannok frowned. "His name was Dervon, I don't believe he had a surname. He was an adventurer of some fame before he managed to get his hands on the Witch Arm. He quickly became an outlaw, murdering and thieving his way across the continent." The Reeve's frown deepened, his face looking troubled. "Dervon hasn't been seen near any major city in more than ten years. He usually stays in the fringes, to avoid capture. I have no idea how or why he was in this city."

"Like I said, he did say he was looking for me. Maybe he wasn't just rambling."

"I'm sorry, Ser. But I very much doubt that is the case." The Reeve scoffed. "Dervon was known as a complete and utter lunatic. He was capricious at the best of times; at the worst, well, he was a monster. He's murdered men, women, and children for no rhyme or reason. The fact that he came to your aid was fortuitous, but nothing more."

Carter remained silent. Lannok didn't know the whole story. Carter had been brought to this world by magic. Then, just a day after that, some big guy with a powerful magical weapon shows up. There was no way it was a mere coincidence.

The dark-haired man placed the black weapon back onto the desk. "What are you going to do with it?"

Lannok looked at him in surprise. "Me? I'm not doing anything with that blasted thing. It's yours."

"Mine?" Carter was confused. "Really? You just said this thing was a legendary item. I thought like your government would confiscate it or something."

The Reeve laughed. "Yes, I'm sure they would love to do so. But as you can see," he leaned over his desk and grabbed the revolver. His arm strained to pull it upwards but ultimately failed. "None but you can use it. Only through death can someone else do so, and I very much doubt you wish for that to happen."

An image flashed in Carter's mind; a memory. Of him standing before Anna's grave. Of the gun pressed against his temple.

He shook his head to clear his mind. "N-no. Of course not."

Lannok leaned back in his chair and his gaze became serious. "Saying that, I must warn you. The Witch Arms are highly coveted. Many would love to take it for themselves, and, as you know, the only way for them to do so is to kill the current owner. Being its new owner, you are not yet versed in all of its capabilities. That makes you a very tempting target."

Carter nodded, not feeling surprised. "So I'm in danger."

"I'm afraid so, Ser Lee. Not just from common thugs, either. There are those in high positions who would seek to claim such a treasure. Wealthy collectors, unscrupulous nobles, you know the type. There's also the matter of the Benevolent Church. Although having a Witch Arm is not against any law, many of their members consider such items as evil. They may spurn you, refusing to aid you or prevent you from receiving their services. Thankfully, you won't be needing their healing any time soon."

Great. So he has a massive target on his back now. "Is it possible to keep this a secret? Not too many people know I have this thing."

"I'm afraid not," said the Reeve. "I am obligated by law to inform not just the imperial government, but the Church, of any sightings of the Witch Arms as well as their wielders. I'm sorry."

Damn. Carter looked down at the gun, wondering at what kind of trouble he'd just gotten himself into.

"What I can do is stall for time, though," the Reeve said. "I can give you three days until I send out my report. That should give you a good head start to travel to the capital if you leave by morning. Get to the Lacotian embassy, Ser Lee. And quickly. They can help you."

"Yes. That's a good plan, thank you."

The Reeve was right. It was a good, solid plan. Just not for him. Carter wasn't a Lacotian, so there was no way the Lacotian government would protect him if he showed up at their embassy. No. He needed another plan.

"I wish I could do more," said Lannok sadly.

Carter shook his head. "Oh, no. You've done so much already. Thank you, I mean it."

The two men shook hands. Before leaving the office, Carter picked up the Witch Arm. Although it was light as air, it felt heavy in his hands. Lannok passed him a small, folded-up parchment with his wax seal on it. He said it was the letter he had promised to get Carter earlier, the one testifying to his identity. The Reeve promised him that it would serve as identification and would help him get through the gates of the capital. Carter thanked him, not telling the man that he would probably never use it.

Carter left the office and a guardsman showed him to a small, private room nearby. Inside were all of his things. The large leather knapsack with his purchases from Logher was there, as were his weapons. The white shirt and waistcoat he had been wearing were also there, folded up neatly and placed on a table. Carter picked up the items and noted the clean fabric, completely free of the bloodstains they once had. Except for the cut in the cloth from where he had been stabbed, the shirt and vest were completely blemish-free. As he healed, the blood he had spilled just vanished into thin air. It was pretty weird.

He began to dress himself, putting the shirt and waistcoat on over his bandages. He flinched as pain from his partially healed abdomen flared up when he moved, but thankfully it wasn't as bad as it had been just an hour ago. He fastened his weapons to his belt and threw the blue cloak over his shoulders. Once finished, Carter looked down at the black gun which he had placed on the table. It looked like an ominous shape just sitting there, absorbing all the dim light from the candles in the room.

Carter picked it up, shivering slightly. He thought he heard soft whispering at the edge of his hearing. He ignored the sensation, knowing that he didn't have much time. He needed to get to the inn and get some rest. First thing in the morning, he would need to leave the city.

Carter tucked the gun into his belt. He should get some type of holster for it later. He heaved the backpack over his shoulders, then opened the door to leave the room.

Outside in the hall, a familiar face was waiting for him. It was the older guardsman in the red sash that he had met that morning, the one Rann said was his father.

"Greetings, Ser Lee," the guardsman said, giving him a low bow. "My name is Leftenant Gul Rann. I'm Tonval's father."

"Of course," Carter said. "How is he doing?"

"He's recovering well, thank you for asking." The man swallowed nervously before giving him another bow. "I just wanted to thank you, good Ser. You saved my boy's life."

Carter shook his head. "Oh, no. Please. I didn't do anything. In fact, it was your son who probably saved me. He fought really well."

Rann's father looked pleased and he smiled. "You're too kind, Ser. Very kind." His face then fell and the man leaned in closer. "Which is why I got to warn you, Ser." His voice had dropped to a whisper. "Warn you about that thing you took."

The man's eyes dropped to Carter's waist, where the Witch Arm was tucked into his belt.

"That thing is evil Ser. True evil," said the guard.

Carter remembered that Rann was a devout member of the Church. He had a very bad opinion of anything to do with witches, and apparently, his father was the same.

"I see. The Witch Arm has the powers of a witch, right? I guess that-"

"No, Ser. Not just that!" Rann's father interrupted. "I'm not talking about all the Witch Arms, just that black one in specific! It is evil! It has been probably since it was made. They say it whispers into your head at night. Tells you to do things." The man paused, his eyes wide with worry. "Every person who's ever taken up that black thing, every one of 'em, they've gone mad."

A memory of Dervon, the black knight, formed in Carter's mind. He saw the gigantic man's brutally scarred face. His maniacal laughter. The sharp, pointed teeth. But most of all, Carter remembered his eye. That sole, blue eye that shone so bright with intense, undisguised insanity.

Carter shivered. As he did, he thought that he could hear soft, gentle laughter at the edge of his hearing.