To Captain Karna:
I find myself surprised by your suggestion, but the longer I consider it, the more I agree with it. An individual hoping to hide his or her crimes by allowing the local wildlife to feed on the bodies, while disgusting, could operate undetected for a short while.
But we still have no sense of motive. Is this individual disturbed? Bloodthirsty? Are we searching for a serial killer, or someone hiding a single crime with a growing trail of bodies? Regardless, the more victims that appear, the larger the target grows upon his or her back. They cannot operate undetected for long.
I know you hold the orc clans in the mesa in higher regard than most, but we must consider all potential suspects. We would like to assume that this was not the result of an orc’s rampage, but we must be open to the possibility.
Consul Tiamel
IV
There were no dreams this time. Only darkness.
A pinprick of light opened up before him. It grew wider, but it took him enormous effort to will it to continue. Colors and sounds were beyond that aperture. The world outside, the world he was a part of. He needed to return, but he could not re-enter through such a small gateway.
As it grew, he sensed a thumping within him. A heartbeat.
Bum bum. Bum bum. Bum bum.
This was good. This was right. He had to keep going.
Muted colors became apparent beyond the gateway, blobs of brown and grey and blue swirling together. The vision grew wider still. Blurry, but now the majority of what he could see.
He could feel something cold at his wrists. He could sense that he had a body, more than a heartbeat. Limbs and skin and bones, all woven together into one disparate organism.
There was a name for what he was. Was it his name? Was it the name for all things like him?
Names didn’t matter now. Those could come later.
He was close, nearing the surface. Ready, willing, to return and decide for himself. He wanted to see and hear and feel and continue on. He wanted to fight. He wanted to survive.
He broke through.
Brex gasped, eyes opening wide as he began to heave his breaths, sucking in air like he’d just been drowning.
Looking down, he saw that he was disrobed, slumped against a wall, his back against the cold stone wall and legs atop the slab of a floor. His arms were raised above his head, not that he could help it. Metal bracelets circled around his wrists, connected to chains that attached to the wall.
Trying to catch his breath, he looked around the room. A few wooden tables, too high for him to see what stood upon them. Three narrow slits made for the only window of the stone room. Shelves around the room had jars of liquid and a variety of samples. Pieces of muscle tissue he’d seen before, but also organs, and the liquid itself varied in color from a sky blue to a putrid brownish-yellow.
Alchemy.
Brex pulled on his chains, feeling a growl come from within him.
Wallach.
The master alchemist entered the room, at first ignoring Brex, but clearly sporting a somber, melancholic expression. He practically dragged his feet as he went to tinker with something on the table before Brex.
“Wallach,” Brex said, seething.
He’d never felt this angry before. So many of the terrible things that had happened to him were outside of his control, or even the control of a single group. He’d never felt so summarily betrayed by just one person…
He knew, deep down, that Wallach was not the man that Brex had ever hoped he’d be. Wallach couldn’t be trusted. The only question left was the extent of his misdeeds.
“I suspect you’ve figured it out by now, Brexothuruk,” Wallach said, his voice drained of all enthusiasm.
Brex kept silent.
“I knew you would be a valuable asset from the moment I mentioned alchemy and your smile did not falter,” Wallach continued. “You had no ethical quandaries about the practice of storing Resource for later use, probably because you had no idea of its implications.” His voice began to break. “You didn’t know that it meant harvesting the tissue itself. How could you know that? It’s a lost practice. Abandoned by the universities because we feared the general public’s perception of our capabilities.”
He turned to Brex, looking at him for the first time since the orc woke, eyes pleading with him. “But it’s the greatest hope that we have for advancement. The ability to store Resource and use it without being attached to a living thing. It opens up so many options!” He gestured to his work table, full of beakers and metal instruments. “And I’m so close to unlocking the potential. To create Resource infinitely…We wouldn’t need to rely on our bodies anymore, my friend.”
“Don’t call me that,” Brex spat.
Wallach’s body quivered as he gazed down at his work. “Everything I have done, I did for the advancement of sorcery itself.”
“You killed people.” Brex said. While it was just a hunch, he only needed the slightest hint of confirmation. “You’re the one responsible for the disappearances.” He felt a need to correct himself. “The murders.”
“My research started above board, you know,” Wallach said with a hint of distaste, avoiding Brex’s accusation. “I needed small tissue samples from animals. I thought I could hire a hunter or a trapper for one or two rabbits or squirrels. They turned me down. Not enough money in so few catches, they said. I needed fresh samples, not tanned hides. I couldn’t wait for them to catch twenty just to throw out nineteen.
“So I met with the orc clan traveling nearby, after learning a few phrases of Orcish. And you know what they said?” Wallach leaned back against the table, still avoiding Brex’s eyes. “They told me ‘It is better for the world to teach you how than to do it for you.’ And so they did. A single afternoon, teaching me how to track small animals and hunt them. They let me use a crossbow, and I bought it from them in thanks. They packed up and left for a more fertile land, and I never saw them again.”
Was he expecting to win Brex over with this story? Having met a few orcs, like Brex could just forgive Wallach since he associated with Brex’s own kind? Still, he kept listening.
“I hunted on my own, gathering my samples. But animals weren’t enough. Every storage device I made couldn’t carry enough Resource to sustain itself. So I had to…” Wallach shivered. “The first one…the first one wasn’t my fault. I was at the tavern and saw them get into the argument. A dwarf pissed off a crew of human thugs, or maybe shady merchants. Couldn’t make any sense of it, but the dwarf was drunk, and they took it all outside to settle things. When I followed, the thugs had already finished him off. He’d bled so much, lost consciousness. I took him back here and tried to nurse him to health, but there was no hope. He expired as I tried to suture a wound.
“The dwarf…I didn’t know much about him. But I thought I could honor him. I took some tissue samples. I used them for my research. I took him and laid his body by the river in the dead of night. But Brex…his samples were so much more effective than the animals. I could power spells for hours with them. They didn’t last forever, of course. But they told me I was on the right track.”
“What about the others, Wallach?” Brex’s tone was dark and low, demanding answers. “What did you do to them?”
Silence floated in the air between them.
“Did you know, Brex, that you can use sorcery on crossbow bolts? With the right materials, they act like catalysts.” Wallach asked, wincing this time. “Glyphs that put the wearer to sleep. If the bolt makes contact, they’ll act just like the catalysts we wear every day. It’s more…humane, I think. I made sure they didn’t suffer. I have connections with some of the innkeepers here. I use my knowledge to help them satisfy their dependencies on certain substances.”
A flash of recognition came in Brex’s mind. The innkeeper with the bloodshot eyes, chapped lips.
Ambrosia, Karna had called it. Awful drug. Dries out the face.
“In return,” Wallach continued. “They let me know of single travelers. People who were downtrodden and shunned. People who would not be missed. But people who I could honor, by making their sacrifices matter.”
Brex narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t stop himself from imagining it. Wallach sneaking into an inn, silently ascending the stairs, using a borrowed key from an addict at the front desk, and taking aim with a sorcerous bolt at a sleeping orc’s heart.
“It was a shame these things had to be done.”
“You’re still a murderer,” he said coldly, but he felt a pang in his chest, shaking his last word.
“I think I would be, if I never have the chance to achieve what I’m working toward. But once we get rid of that last problem and find the way to perpetually store Resource, the world will see that the benefits outweigh the costs. And they will be remembered as martyrs.”
“We?” Brex asked, a shiver moving through his body.
“You came at a very opportune moment, Brexothuruk,” Wallach said, at last turning to face the orc again. He dropped to one knee, at eye level with Brex. “Captain Karna arrived and my chances at finding more Resource-heavy tissue disappeared. I thought it was all going to be for nothing. It was only a matter of time before they connected those bodies to me, and throw out all my valuable discoveries.”
“I don’t understand,” Brex said, no longer pulling at the metal chains at his wrists, but letting his arms rest against them. “Why are you telling me all this? You can’t expect me to forgive you.”
And if he can kill someone so easily, why keep me alive? Brex thought.
“Because, Brex, together, we can end all this.” Wallach’s eyes lit up with passion for the first time since Brex woke. “You are a very specific combination of variables. Because of you, we can achieve the sorcerous progress that we’ve been waiting decades, no, centuries for.”
“No, I don’t…I don’t understand…” Brex echoed, fear creeping in his voice again.
“You are an orc, a sorcerer, and you came to town with a beast hiding under an illusion,” Wallach said, holding up a finger for each. “These three things will solve all our problems. You and I both know now that orcs have the greatest overall muscle volume of sentient species. By my calculations, with tissue samples from your body, we can create the perfect self-sufficient alchemical storage unit for sorcery. But to do that would require…many samples. More than you have to give now.”
“More?”
“Which brings me to my second point: As a sorcerer, your body is more receptive to spells than any given sapient species that walks into town. Using a careful setup of catalysts, we can keep you alive and able to continue donating tissue. But that’s a painful process.”
“Painful?” Brex was listening. He felt weak again, warm around his wrists, waiting for Wallach to finish his explanation.
“Yes, I doubt you’d want to be aware of what’s happening. But we can make sure you’re in a sort of comatose state until we have enough tissue.”
How long will that be? Brex thought. He tried to form the words with his mouth, but couldn’t. He had to keep listening, instead.
“All of this would be for naught if our fair captain finds out. But your traveling companion can help us there,” Wallach said. “All of the missing persons have suffered violent, animalistic deaths. It could easily be blamed on a reckless beast like that. Karna has her murderer, and we can continue our studies.”
“Fits…” Brex mumbled, heaving his chest up and down, wrists pulling on the chains that kept him against the wall.
“Which is why I want to ask you personally, to appeal to your better nature. I want to know you’re with me. We can only accomplish this together, Brex.” Wallach put his hand on Brex’s knee. “Are you ready to become the most important sorcerer that’s ever lived?”
The words swirled around in his mind, comforting him, and pushing away all the prickly thoughts of consequences and pain. Images of statues built in Brex’s honor, heralding him for his accomplishments. They would name buildings, even entire cities after him.
Brexothuruk, Harbinger of Progress.
One word came to the center.
Agree.
“I…agree…” Brex mumbled, taking great care to enunciate the words.
Wallach stood up, that mournful smile on his face. “Thank you, Brexothuruk. You’re a paragon of your kind.” He pulled out a small chain necklace and put it over the orc’s neck. “To dull the pain,” he added before stepping over to the lab table to make preparations.
But the word never left Brex. He lingered on it.
Agree.
Why? The logic barely fit together. A reckless leap from one point to the next. And yet he felt compelled to go along with it. There was no guarantee of accolades. Wallach made no promise to shout his name from the rooftops for his sacrifice.
His wrists felt warm again as he pulled weakly on the chains.
With great effort, he turned to look at the chain on his left hand. Focusing on it for several seconds, he could sense that vibration that sorcerers knew all too well.
Catalyst. It’s a catalyst.
And he had a solid guess as to what the glyphs on this catalyst did.
He turned to the chain on his right wrist and focused on it.
That buzzing, humming feeling again. But what word?
Listen, he deduced.
Listen and agree.
He lost every ounce of good will that Wallach had managed to earn. All the posturing and promise of his vision meant nothing. Not when his consent rang so hollow.
But the chain around his neck weighed so heavy, as though it were pulling his eyelids downward.
A third catalyst, Brex figured.
Wallach was using his own body against him. The abundant muscle tissue only let Wallach pile on spell after spell on top of his poor mind.
Sleep, it urged. Sleep and rest now, for all time.
He tried to fight, but his vision was dimming, his hearing fading.
Fingertips went numb, and Brex tried to feel worried.
He wanted to fight it.
The room grew darker.
Fight it.
He couldn’t feel his legs, his arms.
Fight it.
Fight.
Fight.
Fight.
Do not let the world take you.
You must survive.
Fight.
Survive.
The beast’s eyes snapped open. Scanned the room.
Awareness triggered in an instant.
A prison. Hands chained. Metal attached to the wall.
The metal was old and would not last with so much force against it.
The room was small. Glass bottles and containers with liquid. Everywhere. Dangerous if they shattered. Dim light. Lock on the door. But no one nearby.
The monster had gone.
He exhaled into an effortless growl. Pulled on the chains at his wrists. The metal groaned. Screamed. Fire spread into his body from around his fingers. The beast pulled harder.
Clunk.
The chain on the beast’s right hand separated from the wall. The cuff clinged to his wrist still. But the links dangled below.
His attention snapped to the door. He listened with careful intent.
Sounds of a scuffle came from somewhere beyond. Shouts of a human. Deep-throated growls of an animal.
The beast pulled on his left hand. Another groan from the metal until it gave way.
The door crashed open and the monster returned. It slammed the door shut and locked it. The beast kept his arms still. He had to keep his free movement a secret.
It didn’t take long for the monster to notice him again. A look of concern on its face as it tried to whisper sweet reassurances to him. It tried to give him the sense of worry that it had shown him before. But that wouldn’t work this time. The beast could see through its lies. He would not be coddled or seduced by the monster’s advances again.
The beast merely kept his gaze on the monster. His chest and shoulders rose and fell with each breath. Tingling power surged from his wrists up through his arms and chest. He did not question the sensation. Not with the trap he was setting.
The monster stepped forward. It had cuts on its face. On its pale skin.
The door rattled as something pressed against it. Then shook as something slammed it. The lock would not hold for long.
The monster ran its hand through its hair. It looked back and forth between the door and the beast. It muttered words that the beast wouldn’t bother to hear.
All the beast wanted for the monster to step just a little closer.
But the door shook again and the monster kept still.
So the beast stood up. Towered over the monster. Chains hanging from his wrists.
Fear crept over the monster’s face.
It fell with one blow to the chest. Its breathing was harried. Its voice rang out in a scream.
The beast knelt over it.
Another blow with the other hand.
It kept screaming.
Another blow.
Another.
Another.
The door crashed open. But the beast was no longer concerned.
The monster had to die.
Another blow.
Another.
Another.
The screaming ended. The beast’s strikes would not.
The rhythm continued.
It didn’t stop until he felt something at his back.
Instinct made the beast turn and strike behind him.
And what he saw made the beast withdraw.
Brex gasped as Red’s yelp of pain echoed through the room.
The lion crept backward from him, head lowered in fear as it moved toward the corner.
Brex reached out a hand, “Wait–”
He froze, seeing his fingers dripping with blood. For a second, he thought it was his own, and then the realization flowed into him.
The chains. The necklace. The beast and the monster.
He had knelt over Wallach. He remembered that much. He could even feel Wallach’s calves between his own legs. Even as Red stayed in the corner, Brex couldn’t bring himself to turn back around. He was still looking backward, certainly, but his body was facing Wallach. He kept his eyes on Red’s, the two of them both afraid.
Brex tried to will himself to stand up, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. And when he felt warm liquid at his knees, he turned to look at last.
Wallach had become almost unrecognizable in death. His jaw dislocated and his temples caved in, blood continued to flow out from his wounds, spilling onto his clothes. Underneath his shirt, ribs cracked inward. Marks of scarlet and blue littered his shoulders and arms, along with his chest where skin was still visible.
Brex felt nauseous, barely stifling the urge to retch at the sight. He scrambled back and turned away, breathing heavy as he tried to understand what had happened.
Red was here. Why?
When he first awoke, Wallach wasn’t in the room, but in the adjacent one. Defending himself against something. When he returned, he had scratches on his arms and face.
Defending himself against Red.
But now the lion was looking at him with fear. Brex was sure that if Red wanted to, he could kill any orc with a few well-placed slashes and bites. He considered himself lucky that he escaped their first confrontation with little more than a bruised arm. And now the infamous Bloodmane was watching him with trepidation.
Brex wiped his bloody hands on the ground and held them both up in a gesture of peace, trying to ignore the reddish-brown streaks that remained on the back of each.
“Red, I’m sorry,” Brex confessed. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Red’s posture shifted. He lifted his head and leaned forward, taking a single step.
“I don’t know what happened. But I won’t do it again. I promise.” Brex’s voice cracked.
Another few steps, and Red was within arm’s reach. But Brex knew better than to move his hands already. He had to earn back the lion’s trust.
Red sniffed at Brex’s hand, then pressed his head into it, and the orc sighed with relief.
He couldn’t stop himself from sliding his arms around the lion and holding him close. Red brushed his muzzle along Brex’s jaw, leaning into him so hard that he nearly toppled them both over.
After what felt like minutes passed, Brex pulled his arms back and looked Red in the eye, somber determination brewing within him. “We need to get out of here.”
Red chuffed. Brex took that as a tacit agreement.
Brex fumbled with his feet and legs for a while, leaning on a nearby table until he was able to pull himself up, barely standing on his own. He looked around the room, making sure not to linger too long on Wallach’s body.
He stepped toward the door, chains still hanging from his wrists.
I came in here with my bag, Brex thought. He must have put it somewhere. He didn’t smell anything burning and didn’t see a fire big enough that Wallach could have used to burned his belongings or clothes.
Creeping into the next room, he saw that it was the same room that Wallach had sprung the trap on him. Displays of muscle tissue and other, more innocent examples of alchemy. There were claw marks on the ground and a few pieces of broken glass. This must be where Red surprised Wallach.
The lion followed him, wary. The door was ajar, and looked undamaged. The iron was likely too strong for Red to just burst through. He must have lured Wallach to answer when he wasn’t expecting anything.
“Clever,” Brex said.
Red just urged him to continue looking with a little nudge at the orc’s side.
The room held nothing of immediate value to Brex after a moment’s searching. But there was one other door that must have led to Wallach’s private chambers.
With no lock, the door easily opened to show Brex almost disappointingly simple sleeping quarters. Just a bed and a desk, not unlike his rented room at the inn, and a small shelf of books. The room also held the only window wide enough for a reasonably-sized person to fit through, leaving Brex to guess that it must have been the only room not originally meant for prisoners. Laying on the bed were Brex’s clothes, gifted from the clan, and leaning next to the bed was his bag.
To his dismay, when Brex picked up the shirt, he found it’d been cut into two pieces and ultimately made useless. Similarly, his pants had been cut, but they were still functional, even if they no longer covered his calves and most of his thighs. After slipping on what was left of the pants, he found his boots completely unscathed, and slid his feet into them. Compared to what he saw other people wearing recently, he might get some looks, but at least he was covered where it counts, especially since he planned to leave Ziqondi on foot in the next few minutes.
Graciously, Brex’s bag looked mostly untouched, including the catalysts that he had on him when Wallach trapped him, as well as the orcish sorcery books. He felt a twinge of guilt when he realized that the translator’s career was over.
He deserved it, a voice inside him offered as reminder. He was a murderer. He was ready to leave you half-dead for years.
Brex slid his finger over the bonds around one of his wrists. He still wasn’t entirely sure of what happened. He had no reasonable explanation for it. He felt an urge to sit down and get the cuffs off his hands so he could examine them properly, with an enchanting plate.
But that would have to wait.
Brex continued to search the room, pulling open cabinets and drawers. Many of the smaller spaces were filled with notes in a language Brex couldn’t read, or small bottles of liquid Brex assumed had to do with Alchemy.
One drawer held a handful of rings and coins that Brex was sure were catalysts for sorcery. For a precious moment, he considered dumping them all in his bag for later study, but if even one of them was as malicious as the coin that Wallach handed him earlier, it could land him in a lot of trouble.
Instead, Brex grabbed the nearby pouch, peeking inside to see it was almost brimming with gold and silver coins. Proper, non-threatening money.
Based on what Karna said, people out here needed to pay money for just about everything. Not just luxuries. If Brex was going to survive, he’d need every bit of economic leverage he could get his hands on.
Just as he slid the pouch into his bag, the door to the lab creaked open.
Brex and Red both snapped their attention to it, huddling out of sight.
“Wallach?” Karna’s voice rang through the lab.
Brex looked out the window. The sun had just hidden itself beyond the horizon. Karna was following up on her promise to check on them after dusk.
“Weapons out, Tiv,” Karna said. “Signs of a scuffle here.” Brex could hear the iron in her voice, and his stomach dropped. “Barrask, watch the rear.”
She was going to find Wallach’s body, beaten to a pulp by something monstrous. She’d find Brex, blood on his hands, with his wild animal for a companion. There was only one sensible conclusion if she found them: Brex would have been responsible for all of those deaths, including, especially, Wallach’s.
He thought about going peacefully, offering an explanation, maybe even bargaining with them to allow Red to go on without him somehow. But he didn’t know how they would react. In his clan, if someone ever wronged the others, the adults of the clan discussed and voted on what to do with them. But these humans and dwarves. Could he trust them to listen? What if they executed him on the spot?
“Shit,” Karna said. “You two, stay on guard. Secure the area.”
“What is it?” Tiv said.
“We’ve got a body.”
Brex winced.
Red nudged at Brex’s side, and they both knew it was time to leave the wretched little town of Ziqondi.
Quietly, carefully, the orc crept over to window and unhooked the latch, slowly swinging it open. Red fumbled in the cramped space before leaping through the gap. Brex climbed out, deliberate about every movement he made, until at last they were both on the other side with Brex’s traveling bag in tow.
Even as they slipped through the empty alleys and streets, Brex was sure that they’d been spotted somehow, and one of the guards were following them. But no one ever peeked around a corner behind them after they weaved their way to the edge of the town. No footsteps followed them. No wandering mysterious figures haunted their path.
And as the light faded from the sky, the orc and the lion left the town of Ziqondi without another word to any of its citizens.
But Brex never shook the feeling that he was being watched.
The twilight allowed Brex and Red to travel far enough so that they were out of eyeshot of the town. Brex set up a small campfire in the shade of a lone tree near the road and Red laid on his side, making sure to face Brex as he worked.
In the light of the fire, Brex finally got a chance to look closely at the cuffs around his wrists.
They looked more like something a blacksmith would use to hold something down to a table instead of a real method to restrain someone. The metal was thick, and only held in place by a screw. Without that, it would swing into two separate pieces. Relieved, it didn’t take long for Brex to free his wrists from both of them.
He held one in both of his hands, sliding his fingers around the surfaces of the metal. This one had been on his right hand. He focused for a moment, feeling that faint buzzing, a vibration somewhere from deep within the metal, resonating with him.
His eyes closed, he focused his attention to that vibration. He could sense it growing stronger, reverberating against him.
It felt closer.
Somewhere deep inside, the beast pulled at its bonds.
Brex dropped the cuff with a gasp, causing Red to lift his head up and look his way with concern.
His heart was racing. “I-it’s nothing,” Brex said to the lion as he picked the cuff back up, this time reaching into his bag for his enchanting plate, waiting for his body to calm down while he began carving the spell to reveal what was attached to the cuff.
He thought back to what happened in the alchemy lab, how his opinion and willingness to listen to Wallach had shifted over time. He was reasonably confident that Wallach had put spells on those cuffs to get him to agree to his horrific proposal.
As he finished the glyphs, he wondered what the spell would be. A spell to slowly convert the opinions of someone else over to favor yours. Something powerful, something forbidden, even.
But as the glyphs shifted on the plate, they all combined to form one simple shape: Two triangles connected by a broken line.
Brex reached into his bag, searching for his copy of The Dictionary of Known Glyphs, Nineteenth edition. He swore that he saw this symbol somewhere in there. It seemed simple enough that it was probably a basic spell.
After a moment of scanning through pages, Brex found it.
“Translation: Attack
Other Interpretations: Persist, Persevere, Battle, Fight, Survive
Use: In controlled uses of this glyph, the wearer or target of the catalyst will find their minds honed for battle, specifically with the intent of survival. As long as the wearer or target is conscious of whatever combat is unfolding around them, they should be able to keep a clear head and gain an edge over combatants without sorcery.
However, should the wearer or target find themselves unprepared, or unaware of this glyph’s effects, the glyph will trigger a sort of animalistic reaction, similar to a “fight or flight” response, but removing escape as an option.
Use with extreme caution.”
Brex sat back, his mind blurring with recollection from what happened in the lab, after Wallach thought he’d agreed to remain as a half-dead vegetable to mine for Resource. He, or perhaps the beastly version of himself, had felt power surging through both his arms and his chest before…
Brex immediately began carving the spell to reveal what had been enchanted on the other cuff. If the first cuff had been “listen”, then this one was likely to have been “agree”. But he had a hunch what was really there.
The symbols danced on the plate until settling exactly what he suspected: The same “attack” glyph as the other cuff.
Brex dug around in his bag until he found the chain necklace that Wallach had used to put him into that sorcery-induced sleep. The third and final catalyst in Wallach’s trap.
Brex’s heart beat faster and faster as he carved the same glyphs one more time. It didn’t make any sense. None of the effects that Wallach had used related to anything like attacking or combat. But something had changed them. Had Brex somehow enchanted them while he was asleep? Did someone come in and change the glyphs?
He pondered a few impossible theories, like a mysterious other party tampering with Wallach’s catalysts, or Red somehow performing sorcery.
But the truth stared back at him, confirming what he suspected yet again.
On the necklace was just one glyph. The same as the others.
Attack. Fight. Persevere.
Brex heaved a sigh.
Red chuffed from somewhere behind him, rolling onto his back and lifting his legs into the air.
The orc perked up, grabbing the ring he used to send messages to Red.
Stay still. Keep laying on your back.
Red didn’t move, and Brex took it as confirmation.
The lion didn’t look particularly comfortable like that, but Brex kept him company, waiting for the change. After all, if sunlight triggered the lion’s form, then if he kept all that metal fused to his body to the ground, then there’d be no way for the light to reach it, even if it was reflected by the moon.
After a few minutes, Red began to change back into something a little less familiar.
The joints of his front legs angled themselves into orcish-looking arms. The thick pelt of fur receded into his skin, as if it were never really there to begin with. His muzzle shrank, reforming into that of an orc’s skull, without the tusks. Even his back legs straightened out, thickening into a pair more suited for bipedal movement.
“It’s nice to see you like this again,” Brex said, after making sure the change had finished.
Red smiled, almost weakly. “It’s nice to feel it when I’m not so tired. I still don’t know how it works.”
Brex nodded. “The spell, the one that’s on the metal in your back, I accidentally changed it. Now it means you’ll only be a lion if there’s sunlight reaching that metal.”
“Is that why I’m supposed to stay still?”
“Yes.”
“But…isn’t that the moon, not the sun?” Red gestured to the sky.
Brex chuckled. “The moon counts too. That light actually comes from the sun. It’s just bouncing off of the moon and falling on us here. It’s something orcs figured out a long time ago, because the moon would look like a different shape in the sky, but it was actually the angle of–”
“I’m still not used to these feet,” Red interrupted, looking down at himself and wiggling his toes. “They’re so much bigger. Well, compared to the other ones.”
Brex smiled, letting go of his desire to continue the explanation. “Lion feet and orc feet have different uses.”
“Different,” Red agreed. “But still not quite right.”
“What do you mean?” Brex asked.
“Both of them feel the same…amount of right. But neither of them is totally right.”
Brex was too tired to try and process what that meant. But what Red said next sent a mixture of adrenaline and shame through him.
“Green thing, you frightened me back there.”
Brex looked away. “I know. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m truly sorry.”
The orc felt an extra helping of guilt push down upon him. He remembered that he once was sure that Red was responsible for the deaths of those missing travelers.
“What happened, green thing?”
Brex sighed. “Where should I start?”
“This morning,” Red said. “When you left the inn.”
Brex explained how he’d been escorted by Karna to the supply shop, then met up with Wallach, eventually learning about the light-shifting glyph. It took a bit more strength to recount the way that Wallach used sorcery to trap Brex, but remembering Wallach’s confession to the deaths of those travelers gave him some solace.
“And then he put another necklace on me,” Brex said. “And I…fell asleep, sort of. I thought I was dying, in a way.” He looked over at the manacles that once held him. “But somehow, I changed the spell. Or maybe they changed themselves. I’m still not sure.”
“Is that why you were so…different when I arrived?” Red asked.
“Yes. I don’t remember a lot of specifics. I felt afraid. But powerful. I didn’t even feel like me. This me, right now. I felt different. I was acting on instinct. Wallach wasn’t even a person to me anymore, just something awful that was in my way. He threatened me, so he had to be removed.” Brex winced. “Even saying it like that, it feels wrong.”
“You were cornered,” Red said.
“I’m sorry,” Brex said.
But Red spoke no words of forgiveness.
They sat in silence for a moment.
“You were gone until the sun began to fall,” Red said. “And then the dwarf was knocking on the door to the room, so I left to find you. I followed your scent to that human’s home. I thought you were inside with him, so I scratched at the door.”
Red was staring up into the sky, his fingers laced together over his chest. “When he opened the door, it smelled like a graveyard. But I didn’t see any bodies or decay. I thought he had done something to you, so I pushed through the doorway and attacked.”
He frowned. “It seems like a bad idea now. But at the time, I was so concerned, I wasn’t thinking properly. Even when I’m on four legs like that, it’s very easy to follow instinct. And then he went into that room. Where you were.”
Red had turned stoic, no longer the lazy, smiling partner that Brex had seen the previous night. “He locked the door but I was able to break through it. And when I did, you were kneeling over his body, punching.”
“That…that wasn’t me, Red,” Brex said. It felt like a lie. That thing, that beast, it was both him, and someone entirely separate. But he couldn’t let it happen again, not around Red.
“You won’t do it again, will you?” Red asked.
“Never. I promise.”
Red let his lips curl into half a smile and glanced in Brex’s direction. “Then all is forgiven, green thing.”
Brex felt a weight lift from him, and found he could breathe more easily.
“Where are we going in the morning?” Red asked.
Brex turned to look in the distance, the moonlight reflecting off the ocean in the distance, a city skyline tearing through the horizon.
“Haramschall, or as close as we can get to it. There’s got to be a sorcerer there we can trust. Someone who can explain how you got this way. Someone who knows more than I do.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, green thing,” Red said. “You’re not bad.”
Brex smirked. He could do a lot worse for his first recommendation.
“Can I turn over now?” Red asked. “This is getting uncomfortable.”
“Do you mind if I lean on you while I read?” Brex asked.
“Feel free, green thing,” Red said before shifting his position. Before he could even settle down, the sorcery shifted his body into the quadrupedal form of the lion, giving him a more comfortable way to lay himself on the ground.
Brex reached into his bag, intending to grab A Beginner’s Guide to Understanding Sorcery, Volumes 1 through 4 to try and find how the glyphs changed on his manacles. But instead, he took a thin book, with a title he couldn’t read. Curious, he grabbed his translation catalyst and slipped it on his finger.
Scary Stories for Steel Hearts.
The book he’d borrowed from the inn. He’d forgotten all about it. The title seemed like a challenge. What spooky bedtime story could possibly compare to what he’d seen in the last week?
As the stars began to poke holes of light in the sky, he decided he deserved something a bit less academic. And if he was feeling up for it, he could practice his own translations by slipping the ring on and off.
But for that night, he kept it on, peeling back the title page and scanning the first sentences. There was no sign of sorcery in the story at all, which seemed both unrealistic and welcome. He figured he could learn something from this.
If there was one thing Wallach had taught him, it was that sorcery couldn’t solve all of life’s problems.
Not without great and terrible cost.
To Captain Karna:
I am disappointed, but not surprised, to hear that an orc was responsible for these deaths, including your sorcerer acquaintance. An orc using sorcery to control wildlife is a potent threat indeed.
It is a relief that this orc appears to be unaffiliated with any of the local clans, but if he is heading toward Haramschall, as you suspect, we must make preparations to stop him from harming any other innocents.
Please assist the local citizens with any burial preparations as you deem necessary and return to Haramschall as soon as possible. We must contain this threat quickly and without remorse.
Consul Tiamel
Copyright © 2015 E. Michael Chase, All Rights Reserved
Key art by @taoren
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This book is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the reader. It is the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, copied, or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes without written consent from the author.
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