Book 1 — Sean Patrick Cain

This is the first 2 chapters from my first book: The Mercenary Returns. Check it out, and if you like it, give it a buy

Chapter 1

Gods, I hate misty days, Kelnin thought as he looked up at the gray sky. The kind of gray where it’s hard to differentiate the clouds from the actual skyline. Shrugging his pack higher onto his shoulder, he walked into the limits of the village.

As he was accustomed to in this part of the country, his leather armor and double bladed spear drew wary looks from the few villagers in for their midday meal. And I hate country bumpkins that have nothing but fear and contempt for those willing to travel more than a day away from their precious hovels. While not spitting on him outright, or holding up the symbols of whatever god this village prayed to, it was obvious that outsiders weren’t welcome.

Kelnin walked into the tavern and let his eyes adjust to the pervasive gloom. Threadbare rugs and smoke-stained curtains abounded inside the tavern. In their desperate attempt to hide the dirt, they only added to it by making it feel cheap and dingy as well. There was a smattering of people at the bar itself, with the ever present and archetypal tender behind it, polishing a mug. It has to be some Doppelganger hive mind that has sent forth it’s many parts to learn about humanity, mused Kelnin as he walked up to the barkeep. For nothing else could explain why every bartender I’ve ever met has the same mannerisms and feel, if not the exact looks. Kelnin sat down at the bar.
“Whatever soup you have, preferably in a bread bowl, and a whiskey.”
“Do you want that whiskey with or without rocks?” the bartender asked.

“Huh?”

The man smiled at him, happy to show something off to a customer. “With ice or without? Last year we were lucky to have a great harvest. The town pooled some money together and bought an ice making machine from the Steam Guild.”

Kelnin's eyebrows rose. When he had left the region five years previously, ice machines had been incredibly expensive. “Well then, I guess I'll have it with ice.”

The bartender went to the back of his bar and opened a small metal box. He scooped out some ice and poured three fingers of whiskey, then sat it down in front of Kelnin. While the bartender was getting his food, Kelnin looked around at the patrons in the tavern. There were six other people in the room, four at a table near the bar, and two others near the door. All looked to be local and Kelnin dismissed them. The smell of stew and stale bread reached him just before the food hit the bar; it wasn’t a bowl, but a simple trencher of hard bread. As he wolfed down the meal, to negate as much of the taste as possible, he listened to the patrons talk about the nothing that was village life. Finally, filled if not satiated, he laid his payment down and looked up at the bartender, “Any jobs in town that might interest a traveling sellsword?”

Kelnin received a smile that said the bartender knew his entire story, but was willing to listen to him as long as he continued to buy drinks. It was a look Kelnin had begun to hate years ago and seeing it again for the first time in five years wasn’t helping his feelings towards this village. “There’s a few. But the best one is from some girl looking for an escort to Meltok.”

“Sounds like an easy job. And Meltok is only a few days walk from here. Is this a new job? Or is there something you’re not telling me?”

“She came in here and seemed like she was in a hurry. My wife talked her into a bath and a room so that she could freshen up for the last leg of her journey. Thing looked like she had been dragged in from the gutters. She hasn’t found anyone to escort her yet ”

“And where would I find this young rat now?”

“Normally, she would be in here about now, having lunch with the rest of us. But, seeing as she isn’t, my guess is she’s out in the woods playing around with her bow. People watch her sometimes, as there’s not much entertainment to be had during harvest time.”

Kelnin nodded, doing his best not to roll his eyes. “Right, well, I’ll just go look for her then.” He slid off the barstool and walked out of the tavern, heading towards the woods behind the small building.

Calling them woods is generous, he thought as the roughly one hundred trees came into view. I’d call it a grove, at best. Maybe just, “those trees.” A frown formed on his face as he walked past the first few trees, searching for the girl he had been told about. A few steps further and he heard the thunk of an arrow hitting a wooden object. Following the noise led him to a haphazardly created archery range, complete with bales of hay, wooden targets, and even a scarecrow on the right side of the clearing. Near the left side stood said girl. She was turned away from him, nocking the last arrow she had. As such, he took a moment to study her.

She was shorter than him, though probably not by much. Her figure was slim, but by the way she handled the recurve bow and the rather tight riding pants she wore, Kelnin assumed she was muscular, not just thin. Her pants were two-toned, brown on the inside of her thighs and tan on the outside. Does she have a horse? If not, why the riding pants? The most discerning feature he could see was her hair. It had been dyed every color in the rainbow and was pulled back in a tight ponytail that hung to the middle of her back. What could possibly possess a person to do that to their hair. A light twang and the arrow sped across the field, hitting the scarecrow in the heart. As she started across the range to retrieve her arrows, Kelnin stalked her.

Gwynna had been out at her archery range all morning and her stomach was starting to growl at her. She decided to shoot another round before heading back to the tavern for lunch. Maybe today will be different. Maybe there will be a person to get me out of here. Each day that passed diminished her hope for finding an escort. If no one shows up in two days, I’ll just go by myself. She started plucking arrows out of her targets.

“So you need an escort to Meltok. And, you apparently have no awareness of your surroundings. Let’s talk price,” a voice said to her left and she jumped, making a very unladylike squeak as she did so. She spun around, holding an arrow at the man who had just snuck up on her.

He was short, barely taller than her five feet, and lithely muscled. His clothes were tight fitting leather that looked worn enough so as not to make noise anymore. Strange, she thought, as she noticed the leather seemed to have extra straps that could be loosened… though for what purpose was beyond her. Strapped to his back was a weapon Gwynna had never seen before; a staff rose over his head by about six inches with a spear like tip on either side. She was unimpressed with the basic look of the man.

She searched the man’s face, hoping to find something reassuring there. A scar started from the right side of his chin and ran up, dipping near the inside of his eye, and ending at his close cropped black hair. Another went at a downward angle from there and had obviously taken off the tip of his right ear. The weathered features made Gwynna place the man’s age a full decade older than her, somewhere in his early thirties. Yet the most striking thing about him was his eyes: a bright yellow with green flecks throughout. The man would never be considered handsome, yet there was an intensity that caught the eye.

“You don’t seem to be the kind of escort I’m looking for. How can I tell if you’re any good?”

The man sighed at her, “Are you looking for an escort or not? No one is coming through here until harvest time is through. I’ve been walking this road for days and have only seen people going the away from Meltok and the Church influence closer to the capital. Meltok’s neutrality won’t last forever.

Gwynna bristled, but had to concede the point. “Fine, how much do you want?”

The man gave a weird sounding laugh, halfway between a chuckle and exhaling. “How do you want to travel? Which route do you want to take? Why do you think you need protection? And who, if anyone, is following you?”

At least the man seemed intelligent enough to be a good guard. “I need to get there by the fastest route possible. But I don’t have the money for a horse or a carriage to ride me there,” she paused as she looked around, “not that this village even has a carriage to take me. And as for the whole ‘who’s following me’ thing, it’s the Church that I’m avoiding. Can you fight the likes of the Church? Or avoid them if need be?”

His eyes opened wide for a moment, then narrowed in anger. The inhumanness of his eyes struck her again, and then she realized it, his pupils are vertically slit, like a cat. “I’ll have you know that I’ve killed before, both for protection and for contract. I’ve run across the Church and their Crusaders more than a few times, and once killed two lesser mages.”

“You and what army?”

The man growled deep within his throat, the sound was filled with a rumbling vibration she had never heard from a human throat. “I only worked with an army once. Commanders are a pain in the ass.”

Gwynna smiled, “Aw, they wouldn’t let you play with the big boys?”

Faster than thought, the man had a knife against her throat. She took it not as a threat, but as an example of his ability. Though she also didn't plan on making any quick movements. “Listen to me well, little one. I don’t care if you think I’m worthless or not. My name, in case you’ve never heard it in story or song, is Kelnin Catseye. And I am the sole surviving member of the Mercenary Guild.” His voice was harsh with controlled anger.

That took the smile from Gwynna’s face. It was well known the Church annihilated the Mercenary Guild five years ago. Anyone who claimed to be a member was completely full of themselves, looking for notoriety, had a death wish, or flat out lying. In fact, just naming yourself a member of the Mercenary Guild would earn you the ire of the Church. A quick way to a painful death. She met his eyes, “And you, out of the whole guild, were the only one to make it out?”

Kelnin spat in disgust, “Do you want me to help you? If not, I will go on my merry way and find another to help or kill. It doesn’t matter much to me.” He sheathed his knife and turned to leave. “Good luck.”

Gwynna muttered a few obscenities and followed after Kelnin. “Okay, okay, you’re hired.”

“Who said anything about being hired? We still need to talk about my price.”

“I have money, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Kelnin turned to her, smiling, “The question is, how much?”

“Is three hundred gold enough?”

Kelnin raised an eyebrow at the amount. “How does a young girl like you come into that much money? And didn’t you just tell me that you didn’t have a lot of money for this little adventure?”

Gwynna shook her head, “You’re right. I don’t have all of it. But we can get the majority from my friend in Meltok. He holds a position of power in the city.”

“You have a deal. But I want to know one thing first, what kind of trouble do you have with the Church?”

“Let’s just say there’s a group of Church Inquisitors chasing after me.”

“How long have you been in this area? In this village?” Kelnin’s tone was urgent.

Gwynna was confused. “I don’t know, a few days? A week? Does it really matter?”

“Of course it does! You've given them the time to find you. We have to go now! We don’t have time for provisions.”

“Okay, then I will just go to my room and get my belongings.”

The man moved quickly, retrieving her arrows and jamming them into her quiver. She grabbed her pack off the ground and tightened the straps. When everything was collected, they headed back to the tavern quickly.

“I think you’re overreacting. The last time I even saw a member of the Church was two weeks ago.”

Kelnin grunted and just sped up to a light run. Gwynna rolled her eyes and started running as well. They reached the tavern and went inside, heading towards the stairs in back that led to the rooms upstairs. As she had thought, there were plenty of people in the place, eating their lunches and complaining about the harvest. A few of them watched the odd pair go by. Just as they reached the stairs, the mercenary came to a halt, holding her back with his right arm while he sniffed the air.

There was a fwump of something exploding upstairs, followed by a second and a third explosion.

“And I believe that ends your little stay in Hovel Village. We’re leaving, now. Prepare to stick close and keep your head down.”

“If you’d like to be paid, mercenary, then we are going upstairs to grab my stuff.”

Kelnin grumbled, but followed her upstairs. Smoke poured from under the doors and Gwynna headed to the second door on the right. She tentatively touched the handle and jerked back, clutching her hand.

“Gods that’s hot!”

Kelnin walked up and kicked the door in. Hot air and smoke blasted out at him. The room was fully engulfed in flames. Gwynna glared at him. “Well, aren’t you going to do something about that?”

“You want me, to go in there?”

“Well, if you’re not, then I am. I just thought you’d want first shot at it, being the great mercenary that you are.” With that she crouched down, took a few deep breathes and looked about ready to jump in to the room. As she leapt, Kelnin grabbed her and, using her own momentum, spun her back into the wall.

“If you haven’t noticed, the inn is burning down! You aren’t seriously thinking of going in there, are you?”

“You aren’t seriously thinking of leaving my things to burn up, are you? I thought you wanted to be paid.”

“The money’s in there?”

“I’m not an idiot. You think I keep all my money on me? I don’t like to post a ‘free victim’ sign while I’m walking around.”

Kelnin appeared quite worried about the money. “Well, how much money do you have on you?”

Gwynna thought for a moment, “About enough for breakfast tomorrow morning.”

Kelnin’s face turned blood red. “Damn it! Move!” He turned and pushed her roughly downstairs.

The main room was now empty as other, smarter, people had cleared out at the first signs of smoke. Gwynna made for the door but Kelnin pulled her back.

“First you want me to leave, now you’re keeping me inside the burning building. Make up your mind.”

“How about you shut up and let me do my damn job. Ever think the people burning this place to the ground might be outside?” Kelnin twisted his staff in the middle and it separated into two equal lengths. “I’m going out the door first. Give me a five second lead. When you get outside, attack anyone you don’t recognize from your stay here.”

Kelnin ran toward the nearest window and dove through it, arms crossed to protect his face, staff parts held blade down. Gwynna gave a mental count and leaped after him. As she cleared the window, her feet connected with the frame and abruptly threw off her momentum. She landed hard knocking the air out of her as she bounced twice before coming to a stop.

Six men circled Kelnin. They were dressed in the maroons of the Church warrior caste, the Crusaders. All of them held flanged maces, their edges designed to pierce even plate mail. Lightly armored, equipped with bludgeoning weapons, it doesn’t look like they are used to fighting as a single entity yet, or they’d have attacked me already. Amatuers. He felt his lips peel back into a feral grin. As the group closed the circle, he moved, driving his right arm back, stabbing the man behind him in the throat, and leaving the spear there. He jumped back as the men rushed in, grabbing the dying man and pushing him into his friends. Keep them from finding a rhythm or balance and this will be over in seconds.

Kelnin moved forward, launching the other half of his spear into the chest of the furthest man. He reached behind his back and produced two karambits. The men were finally recovering from their dying member being thrown among them. As the first man stepped around the body Kelnin shuffled right, covering distance without breaking his fighting stance. Flicking his right hand out, Kelnin caused the man to flinch back to protect his eyes. The feint allowed Kelnin to duck low and slash up with this left karambit, severing the man’s femoral artery. Blood spurted out of the wound, soaking through the man’s pants, creating a puddle on the ground. Kelnin slid up along the now dying man and shouldered him back into his friends, leaving only one man untangled. The Crusader swung his mace down at Kelnin’s head. Kelnin slid left, keeping his hand close to protect his face while digging the right karambit into his attacker’s shoulder, spinning him around and placing the other blade against the man’s throat, giving Kelnin a second to assess the situation.

Smoke from the burning building and dust from the confrontation hung in the air. Kelnin wanted to cough, but locked the discomfort down. The remaining Crusaders, freed up from their dying comrades, were facing Kelnin, looking frightened. He knew they would continue attacking, as their god demanded. An arrow shaft sprouted from the chest of the man on the left and Kelnin made his move. He pushed his captive forward, slit his throat then kicked him at the last Crusader. As the dying man tumbled into him, Kelnin hurtled over, tackling the man to the ground. Kelnin crashed down on top, flipped the knives forward so they were under the man as they landed, puncturing into his lungs. Kelnin rolled up and quickly collected his weapons from the men. He went to make sure the man hit with the arrow was dead. Sure enough, the girl had hit him in the heart. Kelnin turned to Gwynna, a chilling grin on his face, “Nice shot.” She just stared at him. “Well? Not even a thank you?”

The girl now appeared more than a little terrified of him. She nodded, “You told me to be quiet.”

Kelnin shook his head in exasperation as he searched the bodies for provisions. As they were dedicated Crusaders, completely sustained by the Church, they had nothing other than their weapons and a little bit of food. Kelnin growled, a deep, rumbling sound, “Well, that was completely worthless. We should get going. Crusaders tend to travel in multiples. Decently effective, if you have the man power.”

“I was ready to leave five minutes ago.”

“Are you sure you’re not nobility? You're really reminding me of a fellow guildie that was the third daughter of a minor noble.”

“Yeah, and my parents just forgot to mention it? ‘By the way, you’re a princess?’ Besides, if my parents had any money, they wouldn’t have had to sell me to the Church in the first place.”

That stopped Kelnin. “Wait, so you used to be part of the Church? And you didn’t join voluntarily?”

“I’ve been called a masochist, but never a sadist.”

“What?”

The few people that had been on the street when he had first jumped through the window were gone, having made the wise decision to stay out of the fight.

With a shrug, Kelnin turned and headed towards Meltok. “You know, it’s going to get dark soon. Do you have a blanket? Or something to sleep in?”

“I can see short term memory isn’t a strong suit,” Gwynna said as she collected her arrow from the dead Crusader. “Inn. Burn. Down. Stuff. Go. Poof.”

“You telling me you don’t carry anything useful in that pack of yours?”

“I have plenty of things. At the moment, I have nine knives, a pouch of herbs, my bow and quiver, a piece of leather thong to tie…”

Kelnin interjected, “I don’t need to know too much about you.”

“…back my hair,” the girl glared at him. By now they had passed the village proper and were on the dirt road. “Oh, and two small jewels in case of emergencies.”

“Good, maybe we can barter them to get a room at the next town. Or food, or blankets, or anything useful.”

The girl stopped, crossing her arms in anger. “Oh. So you’re broke too. I thought you didn’t need this job.”

“I don’t. I can live off the land. But I don’t know if you can. Sleeping on the ground is a bit hard.”

“I’ve slept on the ground more times than you can count, even if you were to take your shoes off. Don’t ever presume to know what I’ve done and what I haven’t. And just so you know, I think it’s rather convenient that you show up just as the inn I’m staying at is burned to the ground and an attempt is made on my life.”

“Fine. You know, you’re right. I don’t need to know anything about you.” Kelnin paused. “Wait a second: I do need to know your name. It might be better for that huge chip on your shoulder than having me call you ‘girl’ or ‘little one’ for the rest of this job.”

“My name is Gwynna Farland, but if you have any more questions, keep them to yourself. I’m tired of dealing with you.”

“Not my fault you lost almost everything you own.” He stated calmly.

Her eyes flashed in anger, “What did I just say?”

Kelnin walked past her, “Wasn’t a question.”

They walked in silence, Kelnin in the lead with Gwynna a few steps behind, lost in thought. She had decided that she would not be the first to speak and even if the little mercenary spoke first, she fully intended to ignore him. About an hour out of town Kelnin had moved them off to the side of the road and into the beginnings of trees much thicker than closer to town. While not a thick forest, there was more than ample cover if they spotted someone coming towards them. Though, the footing was less than ideal. I really miss my things, she lamented, those were some nice traveling boots. And walking stick. Bedroll. Small mirror. She heaved a sigh.

Not paying attention, she walked into Kelnin’s back. She started to berate him, but he clamped a dry but still blood covered hand on her mouth, and shook his head without looking at her. As she watched him, he tilted his head and she could see his right ear twitching. He took a deep breath and let it out quietly, slowly dropping his hands to a knife in his belt. Fast as she could blink a knife was twirling into the bushes. A squeal of pain and the thrashing of an animal answered. Kelnin turned to her, smiled with too sharp teeth, and loped over to the sound. Rustling through the bushes, he brought out a rabbit, impaled through the side with his knife.

“Dinner. I’ll skin it and cook it for us. Do you at least know how to start a fire?”

“I wasn’t born in the city. I know how to kindle a fire.”

Kelnin closed his eyes and took a long, calming breath, “Then could you please start a fire for us while I clean the rabbit?”

As they sat and he cooked the food she could feel his gaze. She looked up and met his stare, eyebrow arched.

“So, why are you running from the Church?”

“I thought you said you didn’t need to know anything about me.”

He gave her a pained look, “Hey, I’m just trying to figure out how it is that someone as young as yourself, as… seemingly innocent, if a bit overly dramatic…”

“What do you mean, overly dramatic?”

“Your hair, your stance, your attitude, your sarcasm. You really seem to enjoy making things harder for those you think are beneath you. You’re paying me to help, and I don’t really like you. But whatever, it’s a job.”

“I’m certainly not paying you much anymore.”

He gave that weird laugh again, “One can hope. And sometimes an interesting job is its own reward.” She wondered what he meant by that. “But you’re distracting me. How can someone like you be such a thorn in the side of the Church that they’d send the Crusaders after you? What, in the name of your God, did you do to anger them that badly?”

She bristled, “First, he’s not my God. I was sold to the Church by my parents. Second, I told you, I’m not a sadist. In the eight months I was there, I watched them do terrible things. All in the name of gaining knowledge.”

“So because you were angry you ran away? That still doesn’t strike me as reason enough to send Crusaders after you. Maybe some guards if they really bought you for that much. But their best warriors seem a little much.”

She looked down, “I stole something, all right! Something they wanted… needed.

“And that is?”

“An incredibly dangerous magical artifact.”

“You have this with you?”

“I keep it with me at all times. I risked my life for this, and can’t let it out of my reach.”

“You leave the money behind, but keep the thing that will get you killed. Makes perfect sense. Is getting to Meltok more important than your life?”

Warily, she mumbled. “What do you mean?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t be stupid, I’m not going to kill you. But is the job getting you or the artifact to Meltok?”

“Truthfully, it’s the latter. Though, I’d like to make it there alive. Not to mention, I doubt Lanyan would trust you.”

“Who is Lanyan?”

She smiled, it was a small, fragile thing. “He’s the Head Research Librarian in Meltok’s library. If there’s anyone who would know exactly what this thing does, it will be him.”

“Wait… if you don’t even know what it does, how do you know it’s that important to them?”

Gwynna started shouting, her face the vision of fury. “Because I know what they did to obtain it! I know how many people they killed! I know how many small villages were put to the torch and destroyed for this thing! And you just saw how willing they were to kill anyone, even burning down a building with people in it, to get to me!”

Kelnin looked away from her glare. “How do you know these things? I’m asking because I need to understand what, where, and why if I’m going to be able to truly help you.”

Gwynna was on the verge of tears, though he couldn’t tell if it was from sadness or rage. “I did most of the archiving for the temple. I noticed the Crusaders were very mobile in a small province to the far East. They were routinely stopping to replenish their provisions, then leaving on a hard march. It made me curious, so instead of just archiving them, I read the reports.” Tears started rolling down her cheeks.

“Hey, we don’t have to talk about this anymore. I’m sorry. I get it.”

“No, no you don’t. I stumbled on the Church’s search for this artifact. And I saw what they did for it.” She started to reach into her bodice. “They can never have this. They can never be allowed to use it for whatever its purpose is. Never! If I die, if you can’t get me to Meltok, it’s your job to get this letter and this jewel into Lanyan’s hands. The letter will prove that you at least tried to help. He’ll know what to do with the artifact. Or figure our next step.”

Out of her top came a folded letter, well worn, and a small pouch. She upended the pouch into her palm and held it out to him. It was the size of a small acorn and the darkest, most blood red ruby he’d ever seen. There was a small glow to the center of the gem and he bent to get a closer look. When he was a few inches from the gem the glow quickly grew casting its red tint on his face.

And he was lost.

Blood. Everywhere, blood. All over. People screaming. People dying. A legion of dead, maimed, burned, and torn apart bodies. The world covered in blood. A laughing God. People suffering. Death. For this I will do anything. Command me! COMMAND…..

Blazing pain exploded across his face as Kelnin screamed. He tasted blood in his mouth, and felt it dripping down his face from his nose. Another smack whipped his face down and away. His nose, broken many times before, gave that dry twig snap he had become too familiar with, and he came up with death in his eyes.

“The fuck!”

Gwynna was pale. “The gem took you, didn’t it? I started hitting you to loosen its grip on you. That was the sixth slap. The first four didn’t even register.” She put the gem back in its pouch and replaced it and the letter to her bodice.

“What is that? What happened? Is that what will happen if the Church gets a hold of the gem?”

“No, Kelnin. That’s what’s been done just to find this gem. That’s what’s been done to obtain it. I don’t know what will happen if it’s ever used, but I can imagine the repercussions are worse than what you saw.”

Kelnin stood up and bent over. Spitting blood out of his mouth and resetting his nose in a quick movement. Done, he cleared both nostrils, painfully, and reached for his water skin. After taking a small gulp of water, he looked back, “All of that, for a single gem. So all the people in town,” he trailed off.

Gwynna hung her head in shame, “Will most likely die a horrible death until someone points them in my direction.”

“And everyone in that inn knew you were going to Meltok. Maybe they won’t kill the entire town.” He did his best to make the phrase sound like a positive. “Get some rest. It might be a five day walk to Meltok, but I now plan on making it in two and a half. Means less rest and a significantly faster pace. I want that thing as far away from me as possible.”

“What about you? Don’t you need rest?”

“I’m trained to ignore it. I can and will push myself to get there faster. At this point, it’s all up to how little you need to get by. Now sleep. We don’t have much time.”

He tossed her his own bedroll and pulled out a sharpening stone. Time to tend to the weapons he had used today. As he watched her get ready to sleep, he thought about what he had gotten himself into. You always have hated the Church. You’ve been looking for a way to get vengeance on them. Why not follow this through? Because, you dumb bastard, they’re going to be coming for this in larger numbers and with less restraint than they used with the Mercenary Guild. Does that really mean anything to you in the long run? His thoughts trailed off in their argument as his mind was lulled into that place of unthinking that comes from working on any task done so many times it was second nature.

She was jolted awake by Kelnin. “Damnit Gwynna, wake up! You’re not paying me enough to carry you!” As if the rough handling weren’t bad enough, his close presence once again overpowered her with the stench of body odor. You probably don’t smell much better, she mocked herself.

It was sometime during the second day of Kelnin’s forced march. Gwynna took stock and realized it was night time. She had fallen asleep, when he had noticed she couldn’t go further, sometime around late afternoon. What was that… two hours? Maybe three… brings the total to seven hours in almost three days of very fast travel. To try to buy more time, she took a comb to her hair, raking out the numerous knots. The mercenary snapped at her so she picked herself up off the ground and started packing. Her eyes wandered over to Kelnin. He looks a little worn, but I haven’t seen him sleep. How is he not falling over?

Kelnin caught her look, “I think we have about 4 more hours to go. I think I can smell people. And I’m positive I heard a cow earlier. Will your friend…,” he paused.

“Lanyan,” she offered.

“Right. Will Lanyan be able to put us up for the night? How do we contact him?”

Gwynna chuckled. “Easy, Lanyan lives in the library. He’ll be there. And, knowing him, he’ll still be up and about, researching his own things. There’s a reason he chose to join the Librarians. There’s nothing as important to him as knowledge.”

He didn’t seem to have heard a word she said. Instead he was leaning against a tree, hands near weapons, eyes closed, and breathing deeply.

“Kelnin, you awake?”

He shook his head around fast. “Yeah, heard you just fine. He’ll be awake and doing research. We’ll go to the library then. Wonderful.” He arched his back and pushed off from the tree. “Let’s go.”

For what she hoped to be the last time, Kelnin set off at a quick pace. Under a slow trot, but more than a fast walk. Occasionally he would lope off ahead for a while, looking for ambushes she assumed. It was during these times that she would slow her own pace. Hoping to catch her breath, or find a second wind. Inevitably he’d be back, looking none the worse for having roamed ahead, or not having slept, and he’d push her to move faster. Kelnin seemed to have a knack for catching her just as she seemed to really slow down. Like he knew when her dedication was faltering. Yet, for all he pushed her, he was surprisingly gentle. His mocking nature was blunted and almost seemed for her benefit. Something for her to spar against and keep her wits sharp, if not her body attentive.

About two hours into the march Kelnin called a halt. He turned to her and she could see the bags under his eyes. So his ability only goes so far, and when he reaches his limits they come quick.

“Gwynna, I need to rest before we get closer to the city. I want to be as close to my best when we arrive. I have a feeling I’ll need it. Please, please wake me up in an hour.” Kelnin dropped heavily onto the ground and sat cross-legged, leaning against a tree. He pulled his staff onto his lap and was asleep in five more breaths.

Gwynna busied herself, walking around. Must stay awake. Must stay awake. Why would he trust me this late in his plans? After a few minutes of walking around where Kelnin was sleeping, she came back to him and decided to start a small camp fire. It would warm her tired body and give her something to do. There were plenty of small sticks and dry leaves for kindling and it didn’t take long for her to get a nice fire going. Realizing she didn’t have anything else to do, she rustled around in her bag until she found some dried meat she had forgotten about. She walked around a little more, munching on the incredibly tough meat, and occasionally looking at her traveling partner.

Bored, and more than a little tired, she sat down across the way from Kelnin. She pulled a letter out of her bodice and unfolded it. Though there wasn’t enough light for her to read it, she opened it up and imagined the words she had read so many times before.

My Dearest Gwynna,

How I’ve missed you this past year. If ever you’re near Meltok again

I’ve been promoted to Head Research Librarian. Who would have

ever thought they’d pay to me do something I joined them to do?

Life is pleasant, if a bit quiet without you. Out of sheer

boredom I’ve begun learning the lyre (mostly to impress you when

next you’re here!) and am becoming a fair hand at it.

Is the Church everything the people hope it to be?

I await you next letter with baited breath.

Love,

Lanyan O’Marseam

She smiled as she refolded the letter and placed it back in her bodice. Looking over at the sleeping form of Kelnin, she realized how tired she was. One eye had closed while she had imagined the words on the letter and the other was threatening to follow. I should stand up and walk around again. Kelnin will be furious if I… fall… and Gwynna was asleep.

Kelnin’s first inclination that things were awry occurred as he felt his body rolling away from his resting spot. He took control of the motion and used his stomach muscles to flip him out of the roll and into a combat ready stance, staff leveled out in front of him. Over many years or training, war, odd jobs, and traveling, Kelnin taught his body to respond to the intent to do him harm even when he wasn’t aware of it consciously. By now he was fully awake and realized he had been attacked by a single person.

The man was dressed in all black. On every part of his body weapons were strapped tightly, yet his movements made no noise. The hunter side of Kelnin was impressed, even as he thought through the coming fight. This was one of the Inquisitors hunting Gwynna. Gwynna! Where is she? Is she ok? Is that a fire going? I’m going to kill her! These thoughts flashed through his mind in a second, but gave his enemy the first move.

The Inquisitor jumped to the side and threw his hands wide. The night exploded. Blinding light and booming noise accompanied the motion and while Kelnin reeled he felt a knife slice through his armor and skate along his ribs. Superficial wound. Light loss of blood. Minor pain. Continue fighting. He jumped backwards, hoping situational awareness hadn’t failed him with his normal senses.

His back pressed against another tree and he slipped back and left, tripping over a root, but rolling with the momentum. He dropped the cumbersome staff and pulled two throwing knives as the motion carried him back to standing. His eyes finally started the slow cycle back to vision. Stars blooming in his vision as he rapidly blinked. That instinct, that feeling someone was about to attack, was his only warning. A slight shearing sound came from the armor as he leaned with his attacker’s momentum. The quiet agony of a highly sharpened knife scored across his back and he dived out of the way, rolling back up to face, blindly, where the attack had come from. Muscles weakened on the right side. More blood loss.

Giving up on sight for the moment, Kelnin sniffed the air. Under the familiar smell of a camp fire and Gwynna, Kelnin caught the whiff of incense Church members used to purify themselves. When the smell started approaching him from the left side, he held off until the last second before throwing a knife in that direction as he shuffled to his right. He heard a soft grunt of pain but didn’t smell blood other than his own. His mind did the calculation of how many spins the knife had gone through and he backed up again, hitting another tree. Damn trees. He rolled around the trunk of the tree and continued blinking.

Finally, his vision came back. But it was too late. His foe was in the air and Kelnin didn’t have the time to dodge. Yelling at his opponent, Kelnin leapt right at him. He felt his opponent’s knife skip off his collar bone and carve deep into his left trapezius as he tackled the Inquisitor. His world went red in pain and his scream became animal-like as they crashed to the ground and the man tried to saw into his bone.

Gwynna had finally recovered from the initial flash, and saw Kelnin and the Inquisitor land on the ground. As the two men rolled along the ground, the Inquisitor feverishly stabbing and Kelnin deftly stopping most of the blows, she saw something shift in her mercenary. It was as if the muscles under his skin were going through terrible spasms. His skin rippled for a second then tore open as white and black fur sprang wetly forth. She screamed in horror as his face elongated into a feline-style muzzle and he bit into his attacker.

The Inquisitor attempted to cry out, but only managed a wet gurgle. Kelnin had found his windpipe and was thrashing against it. She heard a tearing sound and the man went limp. Kelnin rolled off the man and stood, blood covering him from snout to chest. Where once there had been a short statured man named Kelnin; now stood a medium height monster. A were-tiger of white coat and black stripes, yet still clearly man shaped. The thing pulled the knife out from its shoulder, growling all the while. He dropped the knife and looked at Gwynna.

“What?”

“You’re…. you’re a… a… a shapeshifter,” she realized she was close to panic.

The thing gave that weird laugh at her, the only real clue that Kelnin was still in there. The sound in his human form was halfway between a laugh and an exhalation of air. In this new form she heard it for what it really was; part laugh, part exhalation, part purr of amusement. “I believe the technical term is therianthrope. With my sub-species being tiger.”

“I… uh… you… him….” Her mind had definitely fled her.

Kelnin closed his eyes and shifted back to human. The fur literally fell off his skin and he seemed to sink back into his smaller size. His face became smaller in increments, finally settling on the human standard. Where once there would have been a huge wound in his shoulder, down to his collar bone, now there was barely a large scratch, already scabbing over. If anything though, Kelnin looked more tired now than he had when he went to sleep. The mercenary began tightening the straps on his leather vest and pants, readjusting them for his smaller human frame. Incredible, designed to quick release when he shifts, but not undo themselves in normal movement.

Gwynna’s mind clicked back into place. “Are you ok?”

As he collected his weapons he spoke to her, “Yes. I’m fine. But it takes a lot out of me switching back and forth in rapid succession. Not ideal. You ok?”

She took stock of herself and realized everything was right where it should be. Gwynna nodded.

“Good. I’m hoping this Inquisitor was just ranging in front of his companions, hoping to take us at a moment like that. Otherwise…” he trailed off. As he talked, he seemed smaller and smaller. “And by the way, I don’t know if you noticed, but you both fell asleep and left a fire untended. Do you want us both to die before we meet up with your Lanyan?” There was no real harshness in his voice, but he looked disappointed in her.

Feeling chagrin, Gwynna grabbed her gear and his pack, and started towards Meltok. She missed Kelnin’s smile. He took a while to catch up, but his feral smile was enough for her to know he could continue on. Or, even if he couldn’t, he wasn’t about to stop. They walked in silence, Kelnin slowly moving ahead of her and increasing the pace.

As they reached the edge of the woods she could finally see the road to Meltok. While it had never been too far from them, Kelnin had avoided it and the travelers. Kelnin halted for a moment, hand barring her path, and she could see him smelling the air. He then took his water skin and started pouring it over the places where blood was evident on him. When he shot her a questioning look and spun around, she nodded her assurance that there was no visible blood.

“Looks clear. Time to be normal travelers on our way to Meltok.”

He walked out of the trees and onto the road. Unlike most of the places she’d been recently, this road was paved, well designed, and well worn. Being a major city in this region, Meltok was also a hub of commerce, arts, and politics. It was a neutral city with no patron god and didn’t allow any place of worship within its walls.

“How did you meet Lanyan?”

Gwynna was so shocked to hear this question she stopped walking, she took a few running steps to catch up to Kelnin. “Sorry, uh, we were raised in the same village. Lanyan is three years older than me and good friends to my eldest brother. I, well, I idolized my older brother and followed him around all the time. It was a natural progression to like my idol’s closest friend. About four years ago his quest for knowledge forced him to leave town for Meltok. He told me how much he wanted to learn about everything and that,” she affected a man’s voice, “‘living in a novel hamlet far away from libraries and books’ would never work for him.”

Kelnin turned to look at her, “So you haven’t seen him in four years?”

“No, I made it a point to get out to Meltok at every opportunity. That is, until my parents sold me to the Church. Since then, we’ve been corresponding by letters.”

“And your brother?”

Her smile wilted, “Joined the Church. While he wasn’t smart like Lanyan or me, probably wanted out of there more than both of us put together. The Church thought he was best suited to be a fighter. Last I heard he was leading a cavalry unit in the Crusaders. In fact, it was his insistence that got me in the Church in the first place. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive him for that.”

“Why not? You being part of the Church allowed you to find the gem and get it out of their grasp. Maybe that’s what he had planned from the beginning.”

For the second time in as many minutes, Gwynna halted. “No, there’s no way he could have known. He’s just not that cunning.”

Kelnin laughed, “It sounds like you’re allowing your feelings for your brother to cloud your judgment.”

Dawn approached just as they reached the gates to Meltok. While not really designed to sustain a siege, the city enjoyed the impression of keeping the rabble out. A fifteen foot wall surrounded the city proper, though there were plenty of shanty houses pressed right up against it. Those shanties closest to the wall were the most well designed and as they spread out became little more than shacks and tents. The gates to the city were made of plain, if sturdy, wood with only light reinforcement. Standing before it were four very bored looking guards sporting nothing more than leather armor. While all of them carried swords, one had a crossbow and the other three held pikes. Kelnin stopped a respectable distance from the guards and waited for them to address him. Since it was still before the gates were officially opened for the day, Gwynna knew they would be questioned before they were let in.

One of the pikemen walked over to Kelnin. The man looked to be in his mid-forties with salt and pepper hair and more than a few lines on his face. “What brings you to Meltok?”

Gwynna opened her mouth to talk but Kelnin interjected, “We’ve been traveling from the South and didn’t plan on making such good time. We were hoping you’d open the gates for us so that we could get a room at an inn and re-provision before setting off to Quanduan.”

Gwynna faked a yawn to cover opening her mouth, but found that it quickly turned into a real one. Gods, I’m tired. We need to get into the library before we both drop from exhaustion.

The pikeman nodded, “Why all the weapons?”

“My friend’s parents were worried that she might be accosted on the road home. So they asked me to look after her. Being recently unemployed from my last guard job, I decided it couldn’t hurt to go North and see if there’s any work there.” He paused and a small, hopeful smile appeared on his face. “Hey, is there any work here? I mean, I need to get my friend back to her family first. But I could always return if you’re hiring. Not to sound rude, but this job seems decently easy and I’m guessing it provides well.”

The men laughed. “Yes,” the pikeman said, “the job is quite easy. More often than not we only have to break up a drunken brawl or two. Or stop the occasional thief. In fact, you’re looking at the worst part of the job; guarding the four gates into the city at night. But that’s not too terrible as most people don’t really come here during those hours anyway. If you’re looking for a job, head to the barracks next to the council, in the center of the city. Tell them Joren sent you.”

Kelnin smiled and thanked the men, as they opened a small door in the gate and ushered them in.

Kelnin had been through Meltok a few times and knew that if he followed the main road it would take them to the library. As well as past the barracks, which he had no desire to enter. The buildings just inside the wall were hardly nicer than those outside. Once again proving it was location rather than quality that decided the price of housing.

“So you lied to them because you think we’re still being followed?” Gwynna asked.

“No, I lied to them because I’m not in the habit of telling people where I’ve been, where I plan on going, or anything else that could ever lead someone to me.”

Gwynna looked thoughtful for a moment. “Is it hard living your style of life?”

Kelnin shrugged, “At this point, I’ve been doing it so long I don’t know any other way. I have a few stories I tell automatically depending on where I am. And on the road, anyone that’s asking that many questions tends to be a brigand.”

The main road was just starting to greet the day. Merchants were setting up their stands, businesses were sweeping their steps and opening doors and windows to the day. And the heavy sent of baking bread and cooking meats made Kelnin’s stomach grumble loudly. Burning through too much energy. Need food and rest soon.

While he was lost in all the smells of the morning, Gwynna started to move faster. It was obvious she was looking forward to seeing Lanyan again. And, considering the way she talked about him, definitely more than a simple friendship. Kelnin picked up the pace and caught up to her as they entered the center of the city.

The merchant districts and the outside of the city were not impressive to him, but the city center was breathtaking. This was clearly a place of learning, art, and science. The buildings were all unique in design. To his right was the Steam Guild building, with walls replicating the complexity of intricate gears. It was so lifelike he expected to see movement. Brass was liberally used throughout the building as well, and the ever present exhausts of steam rising from the top of the building.

Next to it was a bank, a huge edifice of marble, ivory, and gold. People were already lining up outside of it, waiting for the business of the day to begin. The City Council building had a sculpture of a scale, forever balanced and made of marble.

Yet all of these paled in comparison to the magnificence of the Meltok Library. Kelnin had never seen a civilian building this big in his life. Easily ten stories tall, the library had statue after statue of important authors, political figures, and healers. Gwynna strode purposefully toward it and as he followed something caught his eye.

To the left of the library was a building, plain in ornament yet built to the high quality of the surrounding structures, Kelnin realized it was a Mercenary Guild Hall and his throat constricted. The building was slowly losing to time. While only five years had gone by since the Church purged the members of the guild, the hall looked like it hadn’t seen repairs in much longer. The windows were mostly broken. The flag of the guild was gone and the pole from which it had hung was broken. There was a placard on the doors saying that it was to be sold soon, and trespassers would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

Kelnin dipped his head in respect then caught up to Gwynna as she started knocking on the library door. She waited a full minute then knocked again, this time louder. The process repeated itself three times before the door opened. The man behind the door was tall, well over six feet. He was wearing baggy pants and an untucked shirt, as though he had just thrown them on before coming to the door. The loose clothing only accentuated how thin he was. In fact, Kelnin decided he looked more like a stork than a human. Large owlish eyes squinted at them from behind fashionably small glasses and smudges of ink covered his sharp features and hands.

Of course, he only caught this quick glimpse before Gwynna threw herself at the man, embracing him. So, this is Lanyan, he thought as the taller man squawked and nearly fell over. Kelnin walked into the Library and closed the door. Humans…

Having recovered from the assault, Lanyan was laughing merrily. “Gwynna! Why didn’t you send a letter that you were visiting?” When no answered came, he slowly pushed Gwynna away from himself, and looked down at her. “Let us go to my room. It’s decently large and, more importantly, secure.”

Kelnin picked up Gwynna’s fallen equipment and followed the two, noting that while he had pushed her away from the embrace, Lanyan still held her hand. They walked past the front desk and into the stacks of books. Kelnin couldn’t help but notice that the place smelled of dust and decaying paper. While not an unpleasant smell, it still made his nose itch. After passing rows and rows of books, Lanyan produced a key from his trousers and opened a door. Once the three were inside, he closed and locked the door.

The room was divided into three areas: one a sad little attempt at a living room, complete with a small couch and smaller table. Two doors next to each other were on the far wall, one went to an even smaller bedroom with a bed that would be comically tiny to Lanyan’s frame. The second smelled of a washroom. The entire place was covered in tomes, scrolls, quills, and ink wells both full and empty. Kelnin found a mostly clear spot and set down both sets of gear. That done, he walked over to the couch and dropped heavily on it, noticing that while it might not look nice, it was extremely comfortable. He looked to Gwynna to make sure she was all right, then closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

Chapter 2

Dunsit Maelic the Magnificent, stood in a long line. A really long line. A line so long that he could only just see an end to it if he jumped, which he would never deign to do. Nonetheless, it was a long line. And while he might have the patience of a mountain while doing those things he loved in life, reading, studying, writing, or looking at his image in any reflective surface, he had no patience for things he considered beneath him. Such as waiting in lines. Long, slow moving, boring lines.

It’s not that he had much of a choice though. He was new to this town and almost out of money from his last misadventure. I guess I could sell my clothes… But I spent so much time and money acquiring them. Hence he stood in line looking for work. He had been there a total of seven minutes, might as well be days, the line had not moved once, and he was officially out of patience.

He focused his attention on the man in front of him. In fact, he downright glared at him. The man suddenly looked up, then walked out of line and went away. Next in line was an androgynous youth, with short cropped hair that stuck up at all angles. He focused his thoughts on the youth, who started sneezing uncontrollably and left the line as well. This continued, person after person realizing they needed to be somewhere else, randomly falling ill, or, in the case of one extremely ugly man, attacked by bees. Dunsit figured it couldn’t hurt the man’s looks, it might just help. He halted his efforts after going through three quarters of the line.

As he waited to get inside the building and receive a job based on his skills, he took out a small knife and began carefully cleaning his nails. Once the dirt, real or imagined, was purged, he took out a small file and smoothed the surfaces down. With a small effort of will he polished the nails perfectly so that they shined in direct light.

The man behind him tapped him on the shoulder and grumbled something unintelligible. Dunsit whipped around and furiously glared at him, but with no focus. Then, realizing where he was again, he spun back and looked around. While cleaning his nails, he had failed to notice he was now the next person in line. He lifted his head, flipped back a stray lock of his long platinum blonde hair and strode purposefully forward.

The clerk in front of him couldn’t have been more different in looks if he had tried. He was short, obese, frumpy, and most damning, old. I will kill myself before I ever look like this man. The clerk gestured at the seat in front of the table and Dunsit looked at the disheveled chair, sneered, and remained standing. The elder gentleman sighed.

“Name?”

“Dunsit Maelic,” the Magnificent.

“Age?”

“Twenty nine and three quarters,” seventy five even.

“Any skills you’d like to tell me about that might help in your selection process?”

“I am a wonderful healer and a master chef,” can summon elementals of fire, water, air, create illusions, and change the very face of reality itself.

“We don’t need a chef in this town, we have an inn already. And a semi-famous restaurant.”

“Why yes, I had some of the innkeeper’s concoctions this morning,” and am barely holding them down as we speak.

The old man glared at him, “But we could always use more healers. While it might not be large, this city is still a crossroads from Meltok to the outer regions of the country. Many people come through here, so disease and injuries from travel are common. Over the years the facility has grown enough to gain a reputation to draw healers from other cities to study here.”

Dunsit nodded slowly, “Sure, I could do that. Is there a chance I will be given a place to live with this job?”

“If they accept you, there is a dormitory for the healers.”

“Sounds superb, may I have a letter of admittance, or recommendation, or whatever it is you do that gets me the job?”

The man pulled out a piece of paper from a folder, stamped it, and handed it to Dunsit.

Dunsit found the healer building in short order. It was three stories tall, undecorated, and smelled of despair. Obviously not a happy place to be, he thought. There were very few people near it, as if the knowledge of what went on inside forced the healthy and whole away. He reached out and touched the place with his mind and spirit. The feeling of despair grew. Though there might not be an actual spell making those inside worse, there were enough emotions to taint any who spent time in there. For the healers it would most likely manifest as irritability, depression, and a hindered ability to help. The injured patients would have repressed healing, but since most of them could be sent on their way after being administered to there was no lasting effect on them. The sick received the worst of the miasma. Simple diseases would fester and ignore medication. Infections spread quickly inside those walls, and fatality was abnormally high.

This must be new or the place would not have a glowing reputation. Something to work on after I get settled in, Dunsit mused. He adjusted his pack and went inside the building. As he looked around he began to understand part of what was affecting this building. All the curtains were drawn, giving the place a look of perpetual dusk, and hushed tones coupled with bland colors added to the melancholia. Few people moved in the main hall.

Dunsit went over to the windows and threw the curtains wide, allowing the sun to brighten the main hall.

“Excuse me, sir, but what are you doing?” A voice spoke from behind him.

Dunsit turned around slowly and stared at the speaker. If color could be personified, than this was gray’s avatar. Nothing stood out about him except he was incredibly nondescript. Brown eyes, short brown hair threaded with gray, average height, average weight. In other words, the type of person that wouldn’t be recognizable fifteen minutes after meeting them. Dunsit immediately dubbed him Bland and handed his paper over to the man.

“I am looking for a job as a healer.”

Bland took the sheet, read it, and looked back up at Dunsit, “All very well, but what are you doing?”

“I was pulling the curtains open to allow fresh air and light into the building. Liven the place up, if you will.”

“We like to keep the building in a state of calm and relaxation. It’s why we ask people to whisper and keep the light diffused.”

As if it was a mausoleum. Dunsit bristled. “Sunlight, fresh air, and happiness go much further in helping people recover than quiet relaxation. Besides, who are you to tell me that this is better? This place reeks of misery.”

Even with the implied insult, Bland didn’t even blink. “I’m Carlen Morsey, and I’m the head healer here. Or, in other words, your boss.”

“Oh, well then. Good to meet you, sir. Where should I go first? Drop my belongings off in the dormitory I was told about? Or straight to see someone in need of my expertise?”

Bland, did he say his name was Curlen or something, gave a smile that never touched his eyes. “Just because they sent you here doesn’t mean we accept you. While we could always use more healers, I’d like to know your background. What would you do for a severe fever?”

“Put them in cold water and feed them a hearty broth while giving them the roots of willow to chew on to momentarily lower the fever to reduce chance of long term damage.” Or, in actuality, heal them with a small force of will and magic.

“Hmm, I would have settled for leeching.”

It took all his willpower not to splutter in outrage, Leeching? Bleeding someone almost never helps anything! Barbaric and backwards! “Uh, yes, sir. That is a common cure for high fever in outlying villages.” Extremely far from any real notion of society, culture, or medicine… things that make up civilization.

“How about if your patient has a persistent wet cough?”

“I would have them sit in a room with steam to ease the pain on the lungs while helping to loosen anything they needed to cough up in a manner that should not worsen the pain of coughing.”

Bland stared at him for a long time, “So you don’t believe in the four humors? Or having to align them to keep a person healthy?”

Dunsit’s right eye started twitching in irritation. “I feel that the humors can be a nice starting point,” if you want to kill your patient, “but that there is more than one way to go about healing a person.” Preferably so they do not die. And, preferably, with magic.

“Well then, I guess we will use you for the time being, seeing as one of my healers left today for Quanduan.”

Each healer was given a room of patients to tend to. Bland had told him they were stretched a bit thin at the moment and to write down notes on what he did for the shift. Dunsit opened the door to a room where there were six patients, all in beds, all in close proximity, all with different things wrong with them. Does anyone else wonder why people seem to get worse when they spend any appreciable amount of time in here? He gathered his will and threw a spell out. One designed to make people fall asleep and stay asleep. As he watched the spell take effect, he went over to the windows and opened them to the outside world. Clean air fluttered in and he turned to the first patient.

The woman was in her early twenties, thin, and under normal circumstances, beautiful. Right now, though, her face was pale with spots of color on her cheeks and dark rings around her eyes. A sunken quality to her face gave a hint this illness had been with her for a while. Dunsit grabbed a chair and sat down next to her. He crossed his legs, straightened his back, lowered his head, and reached out his right hand to the woman. As he made contact with the woman’s forehead he drew in his focus and looked at her, letting his vision blur so that he could see her spirit.

There were spots on her lungs, dark brown with hints of red around the edges, most likely consumption. The rest of her body seemed fine, but the glow of her spirit seemed off. Instead of being a typical aura extending slightly around her, the curves looked chewed upon. It was almost as if something had been gnawing on her spirit. Something magical, here? Dunsit had never come across this situation. Hmmm… not a spiritual malady. This is strictly physical. He focused on the spots on her lung and forged a needle both in his mind and in the spirit world. With a little effort he heated the needle and started lancing the spots on her lungs. Once they were purged of the viscous liquid he began suturing them closed. He stopped a quarter of the way on each hole and with a little more effort coaxed her body to start healing. Cannot have her just miraculously becoming healthy the moment I touch her. Two weeks and she will be completely healed.

Dunsit stood up and walked, stretching out his long legs around for a few minutes. It had been a while since he used his willpower over an extended period on a single spell. Though it hadn’t taxed much of his energy, the spell work had taken over thirty minutes of prolonged concentration. After grabbing some water and checking to make certain that his magic was still working on the woman, he moved his chair to the next patient.

A middle aged man with sallow skin, waxy in both look and touch, and a hint of fever. Drawing in his focus again, he opened his eyes and looked at the man. His body was riddled with flecks of black. Large concentrations of the ooze hung over his kidneys, liver, and bladder. On his lungs small brown spots were slowly forming. Wonderful, she is infectious. Dunsit glared at his previous patient, then turned back to the man. When he did, he realized that the same manner of chunks were missing from his aura. But while the woman’s aura was only slightly off, this patient’s aura was essentially gone.

Without releasing his focus, Dunsit looked at the other four people in the room. Three of them were missing parts of their aura to a greater or lesser extent. An aura could swell and shrink around an individual but would always retain its natural shape. For the shape to be ragged a force would have to interact with it. Something is feeding off them. But what? The implications concerned him, but he knew that he’d have to leave it for later. He turned his sight back on the man and pushed under the ooze to look at the kidneys directly. They were beyond saving with normal means, and even using magic would be time consuming.

There is no easy way to tell you this, sir. But you are a dead man. I am pretty certain I could heal you, but there is no way to do that and not be noticed. By all accounts, you should be dead already. Dunsit didn’t want the man to die, but drawing attention so soon would be bad. With a quick refocusing of his will, he blocked off the spread of the lung infection and eased the pain of the man.

After increasing the natural healing powers of the other four patients, cleansing the lung infections, and curing them of minor ailments, Dunsit was exhausted. He made certain the patients would recover at different rates, even leaving some residual disease in two of them that would take longer to heal. But he knew the other four would be out before the week was over.

He dispelled the sleep compulsion and walked out of the room to the main hall. Not paying attention, Dunsit bumped into someone, knocking them to the floor, and eliciting a yelp of surprise and pain.

“Watch where you’re going!”

Dunsit looked down at the person at his feet. It was a mousy little woman. She was very thin, leaning to the side of frail looking. Her hair was cut pageboy short and framed a bookish face. Her skin was tanned, but not from the sun. In fact, Dunsit guessed her skin should be significantly darker than it was. Her thin lips were almost non-existent as she glared at him with angry hazel eyes. Her pack was on the floor, the contents strewn about. He could see some herbs and roots, all labeled, as well as some paper with precise writing. Lastly, there was the jar of leeches. Hideous, bloodsucking, disgusting parasites. His right eye started twitching rapidly.

“Well, are you going to help me up?” the woman asked, exasperated.

He absentmindedly reached down and pulled her up, all the while glaring at the leeches. Without intending to, he realized that he had focused his will and the leeches were now in the process of dying, painfully, the blood boiling inside of them. Dunsit closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and diffused his focus. After a count to five, he opened his pale blue eyes and looked down at the woman.

“Please excuse me for knocking you down. I just finished working on six patients and was thinking about dinner and a drink when I ran into you. Allow me to give introductions. The name is Dunsit Maelic,” the Magnificent.

“I’m Lenera.” The mouse woman, Dunsit added mentally. “And really, you should watch where you’re going. What would have happened if I was an old man?”

Then I would not have helped you off the floor. “Uh, you probably would have broken your hip. Common falling injury in the elderly.”

He helped her gather up the roots and paper, but refused to even go near the jar containing the now dead leeches. As Mousy picked the jar off the floor she noticed something wrong with the leeches.

“Weird, I just grabbed these off of one of Carlen’s patients. They were fine a few moments ago. And, do you smell burning?”

Dunsit coughed and tried his best to look as puzzled as Mousy. “Hm, well, shame they are dead. Seems like they were cooked inside the jar. Did you leave it in the sun for a few minutes?” Or in the sightline of a disgusted mage?

But Mousy was too intent on looking at the leeches from different angles.

“Could you possibly put those things away? I do not like them.”

She barked out a laugh as she put the jar away. “That’s new, a healer that can’t stand the sight of leeches. What do you do when you require them for patients?”

“I do my best to find alternative methods that do not require me to bleed a patient. In my time as a healer, I have yet to find a situation that was only resolvable with those filthy creatures.”

Bland appeared from around the corner and strode over to them.

Dunsit straightened, “Sir,” what was his name again, “I looked over the patients in this room. Four of them should be better rather soon. Seems they just had a light cough and a small fever. Nothing too terrible. The woman near the window seemed to have a disease of the lung. I gave her some herbs and I hope to see a sign of her recovering within a week or so. But, alas, the gentleman with the yellow skin is not going to live. His back hurts, he has a hard time urinating, and from his coloring, it seems his kidneys have failed. Conservative estimate is less than three days until he dies.”

Bland looked up at him with dull eyes, “Sounds like you might be some help after all. Lenera, please take Dunsit to the dormitory and find him a place to stay. And have you seen the leeches that were on Stellan?”

A small amount of panic hit Dunsit, “Excuse me, sir. Do you mind if she shows me to the dorms? I am quite tired from travel and standing in line to get this job. Not to mention the work I did while here. If I do not get some food into me, I am quite positive I will pass out.”

“Fine. Though I’d still like to have a word with you,” he turned to Mousy with a slightly reproving look on his face, “after you get him settled.”

The girl squeaked, thus proving me right, and bowed her head to Bland. Then she led the way out.

Dunsit followed Mousy through the building, to the back, out past a small garden, and into what he assumed to be the dormitory. Just inside the entrance was a small living space, complete with a fireplace large enough to cook in, a large table that the healers probably took their meals at, and some comfortable looking couches and chairs. While nothing was to the standards he was accustomed to, all of it looked well cared for and sturdy. Not that I enjoy spending much time in the company of others. At the end of the main room was a hall branching off left and right.

“Males are on the left, females on the right. At the end of each hall is a washroom. You’re free to use the utensils and cooking space whenever you want. Most of us try to get together for dinner about an hour after sunset, but you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

He shrugged, “Guess it depends on what you plan on cooking. And how good the cook is.”

Mousy flashed a quick smile, “The men tend to not cook as often, as people get tired of simple stews and meat that’s either so rare it still bleeds, or worse.”

Dunsit looked appalled. “What do you mean by worse?”

“Some of them are so bad that the meat is burned on the outside but still raw inside.”

“How could anyone be that bad of a cook?”

Her smile grew, really, she is moderately pretty when she smiles, “Does that mean you’re a good cook?”

Dunsit straightened himself to his full height and lifted his chin, “The term is chef,” he added emphasis onto the word. “I am a chef. Not some simple cook of meats and stews.”

“So when can we expect you to cook for us?”

He looked down at her, “When I decide if the rest of you have earned it.”

Thinking that he was joking, Mousy laughed.

“So I can take any room I want?”

“Sure, though I recommend avoiding the one closest to the washrooms. Henley is a big drinker, and from what I’ve heard, doesn’t hold his liquor so well.”

He felt his right eye start twitching. “Please, please tell me that we have someone else do our cleaning here. Preferably a professional.”

She laughed again, why does she keep thinking I am joking?

“No, we all clean the place. Since we live here for free, including basic food, we each chip in on cleaning detail. Each month a list of the chores are written up and handed out.”

“Let me get this right. We, the healers, clean up after each other?”

“Yes, it’s not as bad as it sounds.” She looked around conspiratorially. “The night the errands are divvied up, we play cards and wager either money or chores. If you’re any good with them it’s possible to go the month without having to actually do any chores other than clean up after yourself.”

“Fair enough, I think I can live with that.” Mainly because I plan on cheating. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to find a place to put my things and would like to relax before supper.” Without waiting for an answer, Dunsit walked to the hall and took a left.

There were doors on either side of the hallway, three on each side and one at the end of the hall. The dreaded washroom of vomit. How he was going to deal with that was beyond him at the moment. Each door had a placard on it, naming the occupant. There were two doors without names on them. Dunsit took this to mean that he could enter either. One was uncomfortably close to the washroom, definitely no. That left the one nearest to the common room. Not the most ideal place for when I want to concentrate, but infinitely better than the alternative.

He pushed the door open and looked inside. Simple wood flooring, plain dresser, a small closet, and a modest bed made up the extent of the room. He closed the door behind him, checking for a lock. Of course there isn’t one. Dunsit focused on the door, extended his right hand to it, and began creating a spell. He sealed the spaces around the door with an invisible spell, making the seal solid on his side, but permeable on the hallway side. Now, no one could hear anything he was doing inside his room, but he’d still have the ability to hear them. Next, he wiped across the door at head height, making it see through for his eyes. Lastly, he imagined a lock inside the handle to his door then bolted it shut. Outside of breaking the door down or using magic, no one other than him could enter.

Satisfied with the results, Dunsit went over to the bed and cleaned it magically. Being a mage, he was immune to all natural diseases, allergies, and illnesses. However, that didn’t excuse the fact that someone else had slept in this bed and he didn’t trust others to clean to his standards. How could they without magic, he thought with a wry chuckle. He repeated the process with the dresser and the closet, then sat down on his bed and took off his bag.

It was small for an average traveling sack; clearly not large enough for an assortment of clothes, cooking gear, blankets, or standard provisions. Dunsit began opening the bag and, with a small thought, opened the way to his pocket dimension. The bag’s mouth was now three times larger and he began unpacking all those things he’d need in a new place.

After unpacking and a quick nap, Dunsit decided to brave the washroom. As he opened the door a light odor of ammonia reached his nose. At least they use a strong cleaning agent on this room, he mused. He looked to the copper tub and was stunned to see that pipes were attached to it. They must be very well known to afford plumbing and hot water from the Steam Guild. Yet, it was the last addition that pleased him. A small porcelain sink with an actual mirror stood just inside the room. They are not total savages here, Dunsit’s heart soared and he took his first long look at himself for the day.

Pale blue eyes, the color of ice chips, peered back at him from under thin, platinum blonde eyebrows. He had a lean, wolfish face, full of angles. Others might call him emaciated, but he tended to see it more as striking. By far his best facial quality was the razor sharp jaw line, clean of any stubble and his full lips. He undid his ponytail and shook out his long hair. He started the hot water for the tub, smiling in expectation.

Dunsit stripped down and continued to look himself over in the mirror. While not heavily muscled, there was a clear distinction he maintained an active lifestyle. His muscles were clearly defined, if not very large. He stopped the flow of water and climbed into the tub, sighing as he did so. How many days since I fully submerged my body in hot water? He cleaned himself from the dust of the road, the diseases of the sick, and his scorn for the poor.

Now that he had time to think about it in a relaxing setting, he recalled the auras of his patients. It was obvious something had been taking bites out of them, feeding itself on their spiritual energy. This was damaging even if it was short term, and devastating in the long term. He slid lower into the water, until just his nose was peeking out. What causes marks like that? What could steal life force from them, yet still look human enough to walk around? It was days like this he wished he had figured out that eidetic memory spell. Being able to recall anything he had seen, heard, or read would be immensely useful in this situation. I should take another look at that spell; maybe if I ground the process in something I do all the time it will work. He submerged himself fully, soaking his hair.

Something spiritually vampiric in nature was draining the life of at least the patients in the healer’s building. The first thing to do is look around at the villagers outside of the healing center. If there are a lot of people missing chunks of aura, then it might be a whole community of creatures doing this. If not, then it could be something that waits until people are already sick before beginning to feed. All conjecture at this stage... Dunsit seriously hoped it was the latter, as the former might mean a concerted effort by unknown entities that were feeding off of a large village. And since no one has told me about the “curse of the village” or the “scourge of the countryside” yet, the entities would have to be able to hide in public.

He got out of the tub and drained it. Wrapping himself in a large robe, he moved back over to the mirror. A small focus of will and he rubbed his hand across his face and neck, erasing the hair and leaving his skin silky smooth. He brought out a comb from one of the robe’s pockets and started working on his hair, again infusing willpower. Once all tangles were dealt with and his hair was perfect, he pulled it back into his standard ponytail. He sat down on the edge of the tub, grabbed out his cleaning knife and began on his fingernails.

The smell of food brought Dunsit out of his room, stomach rumbling its displeasure at him. He walked into the main room with a book under his arm. There were seven people, including Mousy, milling around the cooking area and the main table. Places were set for eight at the table. I assume they believed I would be joining them, he thought as Mousy caught his eye. She waved him over and handed him a plate with meat, vegetables, and freshly baked bread with butter and honey on top.

“Evening Dunsit, glad you decided to join us tonight,” Mousy fairly beamed with good-natured cheer. I am beginning to think she is the mother hen of this group.

“I do not think my stomach would have allowed anything else,” he replied with a faint smile. “So what are we having? And who made the food tonight?”

“I did! The meat is venison spiced lightly with salt, oil, and pepper. The vegetables are sautéed in garlic and Polit made the bread. I hope you like it.”

Dunsit gave a polite nod, “Well, I must admit, it does smell promising. If it tastes half as good, you will be on your way to earning a meal cooked by me.”

Mousy took the head seat at the table, I wonder if it is reserved for the cook of the meal or the highest ranked healer at the table? Dunsit, not knowing anyone else, and not particularly inclined to go through introductions, sat next to Mousy and waited to see how everyone arranged themselves. There were four other females and two males. The group seemed to split up into familiar groups, not everyone sitting close to each other. The two men silently prayed before their meal, but it was by no means a requirement of the table. Having waited for etiquette cues, and not having seen them, Dunsit dug into his food.

It was both incredibly simple and tasted great. The seasonings blended together without taking away from the base material. The bread had oats and almonds mixed into it, with the crumb of the bread still being quite warm and soft. Dunsit looked to Mousy and nodded his approval. Her glow ratcheted up another few notches and threatened to overwhelm him.

Mousy cleared her throat politely, but with enough noise to get everyone’s attention. And suddenly, the moment Dunsit had been dreading since he walked into the building started.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Today we have a new healer joining us for the first time. I’d like to introduce Dunsit Maelic. Everyone, Dunsit. Dunsit, everyone.”

Preamble done, Mousy gave a whirlwind explanation of the people at the table. Dunsit didn’t even try putting names to faces, accomplishments, or hobbies. He thanked the bread girl for her contribution to the meal and otherwise tried to look interested. Most of them quickly went back to eating.

Dunsit finished his meal, cleaned his dishes, and put them on a rack to dry. Done with pleasantries, I hope, he went to the most comfortable looking chair and sat down with his book. He manually lit the lantern on the table next to him and began to read.

“So Dunsit, what’re you reading?” It was Mousy, she had sneaked over to him after her own meal.

Something that might give me an idea of what is consuming people in your village. Now, shoo.

He saved his spot in the book and looked up at her. “Nothing much. It is Treatise on Magical Creatures and I am looking in the section for vampirism: physical or spiritual.”

“That sounds… particularly morbid for an after-dinner read.” Mousy looked a little queasy just thinking about it.

He shrugged. “I find magical creatures to be fascinating reading.”

One of the men came over and joined the conversation, he looked unhappy. “Magical creatures are an abomination against God. Hopefully they will be purged from the land.”

Dunsit’s right eye started twitching and he could feel his focus coalescing. He breathed slowly, forcefully pushing his anger aside. “Be that as it may, it is imperative for healers to know things that are living and breathing and what effects they might have on us humans.” As if I would ever consider myself as useless as a human.

The man didn’t even have the intelligence to look chagrined. “Why bother? Magical creatures are becoming extinct, or, at the very least, pushed away from human settlements.”

Dunsit bristled, “Because ignorance is never an excuse. Why would you want to limit yourself as a healer? Just because the non-humans are being pushed away from us does not mean that you will never run across one.” Like the mage sitting in front of you at this moment.

Mousy looked between the two men, deciding if violence was in the air. She stepped between the two of them, “Grenden, leave Dunsit out of your religious debates. At least not on his first night here.”

The religious zealot looked like he was about to spew forth more dogma, but thought better of it and then spun on his heel and left. His friend from the dinner table followed after him. Mousy turned back to Dunsit, looking embarrassed for the two idiots.

“Please ignore Grenden and Thuros. They mean well but are on loan from the Church. They’ve been teaching some great suturing classes with threads that dissolve instead of having to be removed. But, as you can see, they are strong believers.”

Dunsit snorted. “I will keep out of their way whenever possible. Though, I am intrigued to look in on their class on suturing. By the way, is that something that everyone does? Teach as well as heal?”

Mousy shook her head. “Not really. If you have something you can teach others, than we all appreciate it. Otherwise, most people that come to us are learning to become healers. They follow one of us around as we work on the patients and assist.”

“Sounds like a pretty decent set up you have. Though,” he gave a crooked smile, “I still disagree with the leeches.”

She barked out a laugh, “Well then, Mister Maelic, maybe you’ll have to show us some remedies to replace them.”

Dunsit closed the door to his room and locked it with his spell. Then, thinking of what he was about to create, he made the border around the door block light as well as sound. He sat down on the bed and rested his back against the wall while crossing his legs. He drew in an immense amount of focus and looked at his ceiling. He pictured a chandelier, one of moderate size, but brightly lit. He fashioned it out of brass and made the candles red, but with plenty of space to catch the wax. He thought up crystal around the candle holders to refract light then added mirrors on top to amplify the effect. Firmly placing the construction in his mind, he anchored his will to the ceiling. He drew in one last bit of power and exhaled his image to life.

As he pictured it, the chandelier appeared, candles lit and all. He took a few breaths, steadying himself and slowing down his heart rate. Looking over his creation showed it was exactly as imagined. It was one thing to move things around in the spirit like his method of healing. It was another thing to create something from nothing but thought. While he could have probably gotten away with just picturing a generic chandelier with lights, it would have taken more effort to bring forth and may not have held together so well. Magic, true conjuring magic, was all about willpower. His master had told him there were no limits to what a mage could do, so long as he truly believed in what he was creating.

Of course, by implication, as well as trial and error, Dunsit knew that if someone didn’t believe hard enough, spells fizzled. A poor attempt would see a mage wasting valuable focus and energy, not to mention time. This was all right if the mage was conjuring something simple, like a table or chair. But when the mage couldn’t force his reality on the world, the results could be disastrous. Dunsit’s first attempt at creating a fireball spell had literally exploded in his face, singing his hair and ruining his eyebrows and beard. Since then, he hadn’t worn a beard and always kept his hair pulled back. The trick to making the conjuring easier was to imagine every little detail about the object. Even a ball of fire had shape, size, heat, color, and the way it would affect the environment around it. All of this made the spell easier to become reality. The drawback was it also took time, which limited its usefulness in battle. As such, a mage that wanted to create during a battle, or, even harder, change reality itself, practiced the conjuration outside of combat. Thus, when the need arose, that picture of the fireball created over and over in practice, could be brought to the center of thought faster than creating it from scratch.

Each time he used a spell, it made it that much easier to recreate it. So, before he went to sleep every night, he liked to create and control things he might need one day. At the back of his head, the aura issue was still pecking away, but he wanted to cast a few more conjurations before he fell asleep.

Fireball, as always, was his first spell of the night. He pulled up the image of a ball, one foot in diameter, blue around the outside edges and scaling from there to red, orange, yellow, and white in the middle. He extended his hands out and the ball sprang to life, hanging in the air. Tonight he modified it, spreading his arms wide and creating the image of a wall of flame, blue at the top to white at the bottom, one foot high. The fireball became a firewall, still hanging in the air and far away from anything combustible. Dunsit decided to enclose the wall so that no heat could escape into the room and overly warm him. Last thing he wanted was to sweat or draw attention.

Satisfied with his spell, he dismissed it. Keeping the enclosure in his mind, he started forming a new spell he’d been working on for three weeks. Thunder clouds, heavy with lightning began to emerge in his field. He breathed out and let the clouds dissipate. In his mind’s eye he remembered a stormy night near an old lighthouse. The wind was impossibly strong, knocking over small trees and throwing debris for hundreds of feet. Had he not created a void around him, he would have been tossed as well. As he had watched the tempest rage, lightning had flashed over and over against the lighthouse. It was as if the storm was enraged with the tower for withstanding it. But the architects of the lighthouse had known of the weather in this area and had welded a strong lightning rod to the tower, harmlessly channeling the destructive energy.

He replayed the lightning and how it had made his hair stand on end. He saw in perfect detail as it stuck the rod over and over. Refocusing his will towards the spell he stripped the tower from the rod and placed the rod in the room. Clasping his hands in front of his face, Dunsit channeled the destructive energy of the lightning and flung it at the rod. Four strikes in less than a second hit the rod and were calmly evaporated by the conjured object. Ha! Worked this time. Didn’t even have to create ground for the rod to send the energy away! Dunsit allowed himself to feel brief triumph for a moment. Mainly because he knew what came next.

He moved the rod in front of his face and checked his mental image with the reality. Everything seemed to be working as he imagined. Out in the void he reformed the storm clouds and forced more energy into them. He watched the lightning dance in the clouds and pictured the lighting coming right at him. He detached his will from the clouds and slammed it into the rod just as lightning flew towards him. The first bolt smashed into the rod and Dunsit felt a spasm as residual energy from the strike arced over to him. He felt his willpower waver for a moment and saw the cloud charging up for another strike.

Dunsit brought his hands in front of his face in a warding gesture while splitting his mind into two parts. The first, which held the lion’s share of his will, went to blocking the next strike. The second began to unravel the thunder clouds. Lighting reached his rod and was stopped cold this time. Two more hits peppered him before he banished the cloud from reality. He dropped the void and let the rod slip out of existence. All the short hair on his body was standing on end and he could hear a crackle of energy. His breath shuddered out and leaned his head against the wall. Well, still need to work on that one a bit more. But I am reasonably confident I could stop at least a few lightning attacks, Dunsit thought as he collected his book and opened it to the section he had been reading earlier. I am going to take the rest of the night off and look for the clues to what is attacking the auras of the villagers. Not because I almost electrocuted myself, but because the problem is eating at me.

Right.

Questions? Say hi.