Southwest of Faenella, Eganene
Peter crouched beside a tree, his eyes scanning the forest, searching for movement. The Dogs had found them. Elisabeth had doubled back to check the ridge and returned with the news. After speaking to her briefly, she’d disappeared. Now, night was falling quickly, the spools of cotton-like clouds turning from white to grey. He was hidden far west of where he’d seen her last.
She probably ran, Peter thought. It was something he would have done. Something he should have done. Instead, he’d gone west and north, trying to get behind the two men. The taller Dog had moved west as well, though, and cut him off. He was stuck thirty feet from the mountain’s edge.
Creeping close to the precipice, Peter could see the rocky face was pitted with handholds. They were weak ones filled with gravel and thinly rooted grass. It’d be so easy to lose his grip, his fingers scraping against stone, grabbing air and falling.
No, he thought, that was not going to work.
Shadows pooled around Peter, seemingly drawn to him. Not that he minded. It was part of his charm. Peter had always been part of the darkness. He was at home in the lower light, in the dusty gloom before the sun rose or night truly fell. It was easier to remain unseen. He was a shadow disappearing in the shade.
It was still difficult for him to believe he was being hunted by his own. He’d known it was possible when he set the spell, but the Hand and the Sniveler had been on him in hours. He ground his teeth silently, frustrated he hadn’t killed them both. The Sniveler may had survived and told his tale.
The Family didn’t suffer betrayal. From their perspective it would have looked like he had defected.
Deep inside a thicket, he watched the tall man approach. The buttons on the Dog’s jacket caught the dying light. Thankfully, he was invisible inside the thicket. The taller guard was closer now, only ten feet in front of him. Peter could have leapt and touched his boot.
The forest was silent, holding its collective breath in expectation. It always knew.
There was no better time, he thought. His pistol and the Hand’s were already in his grasp, cocked, waiting. The problem was that he could only see one of the men.
Elisabeth had said there were three.
A gust of cold wind roared over the mountain, battering his shoulders, and Peter squinted his eyes. He took two slow steps, his body close to the ground and his back facing the wind. Hidden deep within a holly bush, the thorns stabbed wounds into his hands as he lifted them.
The Dog didn’t see him.
Peter aimed the guns at the man’s head. From this distance he only needed to use one, but why leave room for error?
When he falls, I’ll know where the others are, he thought.
He studied the man he was about to kill. The Dog was unremarkable. He stood searching the ground to the south, his jacket marked by its intricate silver stitching. He had bright, wide buttons, but the needle holes were too large for someone important.
Thought you moved up in the world? Peter thought. Didn’t expect to be searching the wilderness in the dead of winter.
Peter tracked the man’s movement. Ignoring the thorns, he shifted his weight, settling his footing. Tight pods of red berries, small and poisonous, hung about his head like a crown. Enough was enough. Peter brushed his finger against the trigger and his teeth flashed as he grinned.
Crack! Crack!
Gun shots, he thought inanely. He leapt backwards, tripping over a fallen branch and landing heavily. Who was shooting?
Flattening himself against the ground, he sought the cover of a nearby tree and peered around its trunk. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, his blood drumming in his ears.
Mechanically, he made his fingers release their grips. Pull it together.
Crack! Crack! Crack! came the return fire. Wood did not spray about him, and there was no jarring impact. He realized they were shooting at the girl.
Peter moved quickly, edging around the tree to see a man standing at the lip of the southern ridge. The Dog’s gun was aimed northward, smoke trailing from its muzzle. He was turning back towards Peter, his eyes on the ground and surprise on his face.
The man he’d been targeting was down.
If I had taken my shot, this guy would have killed me. The knowledge hit home, staggering in its implication. He’d made a mistake. He hadn’t seen this threat at all.
Crack! Crack! shots blasted the silence, along with sound of a bullet hitting a tree.
Peter growled angrily, bringing his guns to bear.
The man stood a hundred feet away, but Peter wasn’t concerned. He’d made similar shots before. One long breath, held deep inside his chest and then he exhaled, sending the bullet off with the smallest twitch of his finger.
The man reeled backwards as if he had been shoved. He fell, arms working uselessly at his sides and disappeared off the side of the cliff.
Peter wanted to make sure he was dead. The bullet had hit the man in the chest, near to his heart, but Peter knew better then to assume it was a kill. Some men were harder to make dead than others.
He peered about cautiously. The tall guy was down, Elisabeth’s kill. The one he shot was at least immobilized. But, where was the third?
Nothing. No movement.
He was impressed with the girl. A fast learner, she picked up stealth like one born to it. The only reason he had any idea of where she was hiding was because the man had been shooting at her.
He let several minutes pass, listening, watching, hardly breathing. The forest had a pulse to it. When the danger was past, it would breathe again, move again, like a mouse creeping from its hole. Seconds ticked by and shadows played with his vision, men snuck out from behind trees only to resolve into blowing leaves. Great puffs of snow were carried on gusts of wind, shattering their thin forms against him.
I need to rest, he thought. It had been years since he experienced such a tiring string of days. Weeks of sleeplessness and cold nights had left him weary and sore. Thankfully, the girl had held up. For all the trouble he was going through, she damn well better.
Nothing large moved, but Peter saw a tree squirrel leap from branch to branch above him. Maybe the girl had been wrong and there were only two hunters. It was worth the risk. If there was another guy out there, the Dog would start firing as soon as he called out. Reloading his guns, he hid his body behind a large oak.
“Elisabeth!” he called out. “You all right?”
Only the birds seemed to register his call, screeching back at him. There was no other sound, only silence and the high-pitched creaking of branches in the wind.
“Elisabeth, answer me,” he tried again. “We’re safe. The men are dead. Come on out. You did a good job.”
Still nothing. Peter slid out from behind the tree and looked around. If the girl was shot, there was little chance he could save her. There was nothing out here, no place to go. He didn’t have any healing majics, no poultices or potions to cure wounds. He could stitch just fine, but what would he sew her up with? His huge needle and some thread?
“Girl, answer me! We need to get out of here.”
Setting his shoulders, he moved towards the tall man. The Dog was in his thirties, probably about Peter’s age. He had long, dirty hair and grime caked beneath his fingernails. Peter suppressed a shudder.
The Dogs had been following them for weeks, probably since they left Delphi. Elisabeth’s shot had taken the man high in the back. Peter could see the pool of blood growing beneath his shoulders.
Leaking, are we? he thought.
Twisting his face, he concentrated on the Dog’s coat and pockets. He wasn’t one for butchery and the man reminded him of a pig left to bleed out. Inside, he found money, quite a lot of it. The Dog had been well paid for his efforts.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Peter thought that the man would find that a poor conciliation now. Fingering open the bag, he counted the coins. Fifteen gold nos and a handful of plain silver and copper disks glimmered in the moonlight. Peter swallowed. That was an awful lot of money for a Dog, even a very good one. He couldn’t remember ever being paid more than a few silver for a hit. Either this guy was ridiculously successful or Peter was missing something.
He’d been out of the loop for a few weeks, concentrating his search in Philly and ignoring matters in Eganene. Was there something big going on that he didn’t know about? His Manager had mentioned the unrest, but the traitors couldn’t have gotten organized so quickly.
The Dog’s pack lay a few feet from his body. Peter squatted beside it, choking down the flash of anxiety that burned the base of his throat. Pulling off his gloves, he untied the rope. His fingers felt large and sloppy.
Stranger and stranger. The man was carrying scrolls, each one individually wrapped with a thin, red ribbon. Taking one, Peter pulled the bow and read quickly.
Let it be known, on this date, February the ninth, Peter Raskolik shall be deemed ANATHEMA. Anyone who aids or abets this fugitive relegates their life forfeit and will be summarily executed for crimes against the Company. Let it also be known that any person found to be traveling with this traitor becomes immediate property of the Company.
It shall be known that a reward of two hundred gold nos will be paid to any person who executes the traitor and that another hundred more shall be paid upon the return of the female in his possession or any other persons traveling therewith.
Persons who take this commission are to register will all due and appropriate expediency with the nearest Bounty Master. Any person who does not register, but who fulfills this bounty, will receive half the stated contract sum.
Manager 23
Office of Relations
Willburn Ave.
Delphi
Unable to help himself, Peter dropped to the ground, the bones of his knees cracking against the forest floor. They couldn’t have! Unconsciously, he smashed the paper against his chest, his fingers flexing and crushing, rendering the words illegible.
Anathema! How could they declare him anathema?
Wasn’t he worth more? Didn’t they want to know why? Did he not merit a second’s consideration? He had expected them to follow him, to try and hunt him down, but he had thought it was worth the risk.
He was going to use the girl to find the Radcliff witch. He had imagined himself returning triumphant, returning in glory.
Instead, he was out. No questions. No excuses. Nothing but a bullet in the back. Sweat broke out on his brow.
Anathema? he thought. I can’t be anathema!
He inhaled deeply, drinking in the frigid air, fighting for calm. He knew Management would be angry. But anathema? Without even giving him the chance to explain? It didn’t make sense.
They shouldn’t have been able to connect him to the explosion. Milly was the only one who knew he set the spell. And there was no way she was talking to the Family. He should still have time! His next meeting wasn’t for days.
Gripping his head in his hands, he rocked back and forth, the motion slow and deliberate. The branches of the trees above him cut the newly emerged moonlight like the blades of a fan.
The spell had been a risk. He knew the Family would be furious if they found out he’d set it. But, they shouldn’t have known it was him.
If they know I brought someone across, he thought, shivering, I’m as good as dead.
The warrant mentioned a female. No wonder they were after him. If they thought he had Caroline’s daughter, they’d send the whole pack to track him down. There was no way they would believe him now.
But the Hand was dead and the Sniveler hadn’t seen the girl. Elisabeth had knocked him out before he had a chance to turn around. Unless… it was possible they had spotted her before they broke into his house.
Peter slammed his fist into the snow, expelling his breath in an explosion of steam. He should have killed the fat man when he had the chance. The Sniveler must have recovered and Traveled to Orlenia. Peter could see him now, his body wobbling up the marble steps, a hand to his bloody head, his eyes weeping puss while poisoned words dripped from his lips.
What had he told them? Did they know the girl was from Earth? Had they connected her to the explosion?
It had to have been the Sniveler. Peter hadn’t seen anyone else that night. Granted, he hadn’t been himself. The spell Milly had given him had made sure of that, but he didn’t think anyone else had seen him with the girl. For Sod’s sake, it had been a freaking blizzard when they left.
Stupid girl! he thought, remembering her aiming at him, the flash of rage that swept across his skin, turning her black and white in his mind. He could have killed her.
Should have killed her. She was new and slow. He should have done it, just washed his hands of the whole affair. But, he wanted to get her far enough away from the explosion, from her brother, to make her vulnerable. He wanted to know why he pulled her across, why the spell had brought her instead of the witch.
Peter sat back, his hand digging deep into the snow beside the corpse. There had to be something he could do. He hadn’t come this far and worked this hard to be shot up in the woods. He’d spent his whole life in the Family.
They knew what kind of work he did, how good at his job he was. They need me, dammit!
Now, he knew that he had been wrong on that count. The Family didn’t need anybody. They just needed the job done. And Peter hadn’t done the job. Worse, in their eyes, he had taken their property and left them with the bill.
If I bring them Caroline’s daughter, I’ll be a hero.
Peter sighed, an imperceptible smile catching the corner of his mouth. That was it. He would avoid the Dogs for long enough to find the witch. And Elisabeth was going to help him. She’d proved competent thus far. If she wasn’t dead, he still had a chance.
Confident that there was a least some way back, he shoved the paper into the man’s pack and shouldered the sack. With the way his luck had been running, some Hunter would find it and bring it back to town.
First thing first. He needed to find Elisabeth and get them out of there. There would be more Dogs. There always were. He needed to get as far away as possible, somewhere safe where he could think. Glaring into the woods, he tried to pull himself together. He knew that finding shelter tonight was going to be a challenge. He’d have to worry about the rest in the morning.
Peter cupped his hands over his mouth, the growth there a strange sensation, “Elisabeth? Where are you?”
Guess I needed the beard after all, he thought. It would make him harder to recognize. He would have to work on the girl later, too. Even in Eganese clothes, she still looked like a foreigner. “Elisabeth! Where are you?”
This time he got a response.
“Over here,” came the weak reply north of his position. The wind blew into his face as he moved closer, escorting the heavy scent of corruption. It got worse as he approached. Peter felt himself frown.
Don’t let her be shot. Please, don’t let her be shot.
She was sitting against a tree, her pale hair wild about her face. Leaves, twigs and chunks of bark littered her clothes. She looked as if she had been dumped from a trash collector’s wagon and rolled about, dust and wood chips sprinkled over her like confetti.
“Are you hurt?”
She didn’t look up
“Elisabeth? Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, her eyes focused on the ground.
Another body, Peter saw. It was the third Dog, his corpse face down in the snow. What should have been his face, Peter corrected. Elisabeth’s shot had reduced the man’s head to a pile of bone flakes. Blood and grey chunks were sprayed out. There would be no recognizing him.
Peter noted that the man’s bowels had let loose into the snow, explaining the terrible smell.
“You got two!” he praised, turning back to her. “How did you make both shots? This guy would have heard you take out the tall one. He was only a few feet in front of you.”
The girl shook her head, her eyes still glazed, “I shot them at the same time.
“What?” his voice was sharper than he intended, and the girl recoiled.
“Both shots. I took both shots at the same time.”
Two, at once, he thought, his breath streaming into the air between them. And the second shot was no simple one. Maybe sixty feet? Pride blossomed inside of him. The girl was a quick study. He’d showed her how to aim a few days ago, how to sight a target and a bit about how to gauge the wind and incline. She’d never even taken a practice shot!
It was incredible and a little disturbing. Even Peter hadn’t been that good when he started. Well, maybe he had been, but he hadn’t been put to the test so early. He looked at her again, imagining the confidence she would have needed to stand-up and make those shots.
But she was also on the edge of breaking. Deep, dark circles rimmed her glassy eyes. He knew it was just the surface of a boiling torrent. Sooner or later, she would explode. He needed it to be later.
“You did well, Elisabeth,” he said, searching the dead man’s body. He was careful not to touch the blood, of which there was a lot. He took the small amount of money and the Dog’s gun. Squatting beside Elisabeth, he wiped the hair from her face.
She looked up slowly, “I killed those men.”
“You did. But you had to. It was them or us. They were hunting you, following us for a long time. If it wasn’t today, it could have been yesterday or tomorrow. The Dogs would never have stopped, never rested. I know these people. They didn’t even hate you. It was a just a job to them. Your death was just a paycheck. A way to make some money.”
She was shaking her head, and Peter knew that this would be the hardest part. In her world, people killed for reasons, for love, hate, anger, revenge. But normal people didn’t live in that world. They thought bad stuff just happened on their television sets.
“Elisabeth, we need to move. There will be more.”
“No…” she said as though waking. “No. There can’t be anymore.”
“Elisabeth…”
“No!” she interrupted. “I can’t do this again. There can’t be more. These guys are dead. Dead!”
“Let’s go, Elisabeth. I need you to pull it together.”
She wrenched herself away from him, took two heavy steps towards the brush and then sagged to her knees, throwing-up for all she was worth. Tears drenched her face and hair. The smell of vomit mingled with death.
He put his hand on her back, trying to ignore the stink. “It’s all right. It’s always hard the first time.” She tried to pull away, to bring up more of the foulness inside her, but he picked her up easily, swinging her into his arms.
“Elisabeth,” he said softly. His hands caressed hers, the hairs on her arm standing to attention. She was looking into his eyes, her pupils dilating to pinpricks. He could sense that she felt that this was right and good. She relaxed in his arms as he cradled her. She put her head on his chest and he could feel her heart beat slowing.
Peter made three stops, always beside a dead man, but Elisabeth didn’t notice. Like a rag doll, he sat her by a tree, making time to double-check the bodies and collect guns and provisions. Her eyes remained closed.
He shouldered three packs now, but they balanced well with the girl in his arms. Exhaustion set-in after two miles and he dropped to the ground. Without the strength to build a fire, he pulled anything warm from their packs and made a nest. Sheltering them from the wind beneath a pine, he layered blankets on the girl. She shook softly, her eyes closed.
Peter wrapped himself around her, using his body heat to warm her. He was beyond spent. There was no point in pretending to set a watch. The girl needed his warmth. They both needed sleep. He had to hope none of the other Dogs were close enough to track them. Squeezing the girl tightly, he had a pang of regret for speaking to her so harshly.
Of course, he planned on turning her over to the Family eventually, but he had a feeling she was going to be useful in finding Caroline’s daughter. And now that the Family was hunting him, he didn’t have a choice. He had to find the witch.
His hunches were almost always right. Somehow, someway, he’d ripped Elisabeth into Eganene. There had to be some reason for it. Things didn’t happen to him by accident. And the girl had some skills. Not just skills, he smiled. She had talent, real talent.