12th month, 26th day, 967

  Victor

  I grimaced as I looked at the dead man on the table. He had the same sort of semi-long hair with braids bracketing his face as the ordinary men, like the three that had surrendered, but that is where the similarities ended. The man’s brow looked feral, almost ape-like, with a face contorted in a permanent scowl made even more bestial by prominent canine teeth. There was a jagged patch of flesh on his sternum, a red-orange base with yellow markings, that ran from the base of his throat down to his navel. There were black veins, solidified by death, that ran up his arms leading to his neck; his shoulders were covered in bony plates as well.

  Illiana held my arm firmly; yeah she didn’t like what she saw any more than I did. Across from us, Sylfie wore an expression of pure academic focus - but even I could tell she was shaken. The air inside the tiny cobblestone shack was foul, even with Illiana’s wind magic ventilating the place. This wasn’t just the stink of death, no, this guy smelled bad before he died - a bad chemical odor that offended the entire concept of scent.

  Sylfie said, “I did as thorough an examination as time allowed. I am not well-versed in the anatomical discoveries of the gnomes, nor have I access to their somewhat advanced tools.” She crossed her arms and sighed. “But I can make certain inferences based on what I can see on the surface.”

  I said, “I’m no doctor either let alone a forensics guy - but I did take a couple biology classes in college.”

  “Which means you probably know more than I do.” She gave an annoyed half smile and pointed to the sternum. “Well, let’s start with the first thing I noticed. This is almost certainly a skin graft from a fire salamander - which might explain why fire ray failed to even slow him down.”

  “Huh? Wouldn’t that only help if you struck him center-of mass”

  “Where do you think I was aiming, Victor?” Gah! She had a point, I’d have done the same. “Regardless, if you grafted living tissue from a magical creature into a human like this it doesn’t matter, since the fire resistance would apply all over. They aren’t wholly immune, either, as two of the six I laid low with my fireball were of the same ilk.”

  Hmm why would that be…I closed my eyes and started to theorize. “If the salamander’s skin can impart its natural, or supernatural, fire resistance to a person then I can only guess that it’s carried in the bloodstream. Which means under the hood whoever did this probably hooked up all of the blood vessels. Could this have been done with healing magic?”

  Illiana shook her head, “Nay, Sir Victor - healing magic couldn’t have been used to create an abomination like this.”

  Sylfie nodded, “It would have repaired the man’s skin and rejected any foreign tissue. No, this was done by other means.”

  I said, “Wait. A while back I encountered a guy who used a special drug on his broken knee. Could it be something like that?”

  Sylfie, “Possibly. Some monsters have regenerative abilities…regardless, this method would have been painful. Torturous even. Whoever did this has no regard for the pain and suffering of his test subjects.”

  Illiana gripped my arm again, “When we first met them I could sense it - so much pain in their hearts. These are tortured souls whose very existence is suffering incarnate.”

  I said. “Yet they kept going, enduring many wounds before going down. Like no matter what we did to them, it was nothing compared to what they’d been through. Rayna reported a battle axe getting stuck in his shoulder, any ideas about that?”

  Sylfie nodded. “I believe that region has been enhanced with tissue from a roper or some other monster that uses adhesive. Now regard his face, and look at how thick the tendons of his arms are: I think that he has also been mixed with an orc to increase his endurance.”

  I said, “So he’s like, half-orc or something?”

  Sylfie shook her head, “Not possible - orcs and humans don’t produce viable offspring. I suspect that his body, in addition to the skin grafts, has been forcibly transformed from within.”

  “A mutant. This guy’s a mutant. Mutate, technically, since he clearly wasn’t born this way.” Both princesses looked at me funny, so I followed up. “So, sometimes a piece of DNA goes sideways and it creates a mutation. Usually results in an extra toe or something but in science fiction it involves things like gamma radiation giving you superpowers, or an experimental ooze combining humans with animals.”

  Sylfie cradled her chin. “An alchemical solution, perhaps combined with pattern magic and body enhancement magic.” She sighed, “Master Merlinda was one of the leading authorities in body enhancement spells. Had I some means of accessing her notes perhaps I could figure something out - but given that we’re on a tight timeline…”

  I nodded, “Well why don’t we find some way of preservin’ this guy and take him to the gnomes. Where the hell is that Rockbottom place anyway?”

  Sylfie’s right eye sparkled. “The place where father bartered alchemical supplies for the services of one of our healers. I’m surprised that you know of it.”

  I chuckled, scratching the back of my neck. “You’d be surprised at the things you pick up while adventuring.”

  Sylfie nodded. “At any rate, it’s a bit out of our way - in the mountain range north of the Gaian Waste.”

  Ah. I remembered seeing a map of the area; there’s all kinds of kingdoms, duchies, principalities, and even one republic encircling the wilderness surrounding the former capital.

  “Are there any gnomish cities out here?”

  Sylfie considered for a moment before shaking her head. “That’d be a Malcolm question. My knowledge of this area is limited. That said, I think a utility grade Wild spell could keep the specimen’s corpse fresh and we can ask Miss Rayna if she’d be willing to carry the body in her portable hole. Sadly I know no such spell so we’ll have to rely on ice magic to keep it cold.”

  Illiana said, “You should learn one, Sir Victor! The way you handled the raptor proves what Juliette said - you’d make a great ranger!”

  Aww, my sweet fiancée was adopting my terminology! I had no choice but to huggle her brains out.

  Sylfie smiled and said, “You’d best keep that up, sis. Human men can be in the worst mood, but you can just say that kind of thing to them and they will be thrilled. Furthermore, they won’t forget the compliment, years after the fact.”

  “True,” I said.

  Some of ‘em were from ten years ago or more, still can’t recollect who they were from, but they still stuck with me. I wondered if Sylfie was speaking from experience - despite the fact that we were basically family now she hadn’t told me much about her past at all. Five hundred years, good grief, I’ll bet she’s got tons of stories. But moving on.

  Illiana’s eyes sparkled, “O Sir Victor - thou preparest meat the way an artisan sculptor crafts wonders with marble!”

  “Thank you darling,” I said, “Speaking of which, I wonder if those boars are good eating.”

  Sylfie shook her head. “I can’t say for certain they’re even safe to eat. Whoever did this,” she waved her hands at the dead man, “likely wouldn’t have had any qualms about doing the same to an animal.”

  “Doesn’t seem to be stopping the townspeople.” I said.

  Illiana said, “They’re desperate. Supply lines have been cut off for some time and this bounty of meat is just what they needed.”

  Right - we had done some asking around and it made sense that’d be the case. King Antonio is dead, and with that the guys in charge of Erikvale consider their non-aggression treaty null and void. They’re probably waiting for the civil war to start in earnest, as the Mastermind predicted they would do. So far there hadn’t been any battles, none that had reached the ears of the people living here at any rate, but I reckoned it was only a matter of time. We really needed to hurry up to Galin’s capital and speak to Hanzo’s man.

  I nodded. “Next thing we gotta do is find out our prisoners know, after which we need to hightail it to Rivercrown.”

  The sisters agreed and so we made our way to the makeshift jail we’d helped construct. Illiana had used wood-shaping magic to create perfect wooden spars and I’d leveraged the knot-tying I’d learned in the scouts to lash them together to form a cage big enough to walk around in. Sylfie and Illiana also used enhancement magic to strengthen the wood in order to make it harder for them to escape.

  There were four prisoners, all male, all human; judging by their dress and features I guessed they were from the same culture. I’d call them Gaul-like or Celtiberian-ish if I had to make a comparison to something from my former world’s history. After we found the captain we only managed to round up one of the four who ran off - I could only hope they didn’t cause any trouble - the other three were the ones who had surrendered to Sylfie. Those three were especially cautious as we approached, for they’d seen several of their companions incinerated.

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  I took point, and stood before our prisoners with crossed arms. The one I’d quite literally lassoed made it a point to turn away awkwardly, and the other three looked right past me and gulped. Either they were stunned by Illiana’s cuteness, or fearful of Sylfie’s magic - dealer’s choice.

  “All right,” I began, “The ladies and I were debating on what to do with y’all. But before we figure that out, we had some questions. Depending on your answers it might just help your cases.”

  The men looked at each other. “We’ll talk.” Said one, a man in his late forties with a short beard. He seemed to be the oldest out of all of them.

  I asked, “Why did you attack Swan’s Crossing?”

  He said, “Our chieftain wanted to raid it for supplies and slaves.”

  I clicked my tongue in disgust. “So you’re thieves and human traffickers.”

  “It - it wasn’t like we wanted slaves,” the raider said. “Originally we were gonna take a few things and run, but the overchief had other ideas. He wanted the whole place destroyed, and he ordered that we bring him captives…or else he’d use our people instead.”

  Huh? “Used how?”

  “You saw ‘em didn’t you? The creepy half-men we were fighting beside. Some of ‘em used to be Ebrotani like me and these lads. But now they’re hollow shells.”

  I stroked my chin. I guessed that this overchief was sending a message - this is what you will become if you step out of line or something to that effect. Disgusting…threatening them with a tortured existence, a fate worse than death.

  “Tell me about this overchief of yours.” I said. Then sighed. “I promise you that no matter what fate befalls you, we won’t be sending you back to him; not for any amount of ransom.”

  As suspected, the men seemed relieved. The way they explained it, the chieftain was the direct leader of their tribe, the Ebrotani, who were in turn a semi-autonomous vassal of this overchief guy. They were given extra help in the form of those mutant fighters and placed under the command of his chosen captain.

  “That’s the one on the ra-” I stopped myself, “The dreadrunner, right? Know anything about her?”

  “Her?” The older man seemed confused. “I didn’t know the captain was a woman.”

  I was surprised too, to be fair - she had normal breastplate on, not some form-fitting metal skinsuit. Honestly the fact that she was wearing the best armor was what first clued me in that she was the leader of this goon squad.

  One of the other raiders, a bald one, Gerlinder, turned pale, “Oy, if the capn’ was a lady I know who she’s got-a be. Overchief’s got a daughter, an’ I reckon it’s her. I ain’t never seen ‘im wif a woman in ‘is ranks.”

  “Is a lady,” I corrected. “We captured her alive, too.”

  “That’s a relief,” said Obinder, the oldest guy, “There’s no telling what the overchief might do if something happened to her.”

  "Gra'itude," said Gerlinder.

  Bastard should have thought of that before he sent her on a dangerous raiding mission in the first place. Okay, fine, he may have had no way of knowing I’d be here with my car and a pack of adventurers but that’s just chaos theory in action. Still, sending her out to massacre innocents and set fire to their homes is pretty fucked up too. It seemed like the men here didn’t know much else, the deeper motivations of the overchief among them.

  I made it a point to ask them if they’d heard of The Black Order and all they did was stare at me blankly; given their cooperativeness I figured they weren’t cultists, just patsies and that only sought to confirm it. But as one final test I mentioned the supreme-devil and they were terrorized at the mere mention of that moniker. Yep: not Black Order cultists.

  There wasn’t a magistrate to speak of anywhere nearby, and the local lord was apparently too occupied to deal with a pack of raiders so it sort of fell to us to figure out what to do with these guys. We didn’t have much time to think it over, but we did have one last prisoner to speak to…reckoned it was time we checked to see if she was awake.

  The Dark Princess

  P.K.A: The Captain

  I’m not dead?

  My cheek lay against a soft surface. I opened my eyes and saw the inside of a wooden shack made of rotted planks. I felt surprisingly light - my armor was gone, save only for the underlying arming doublet, and my weapons were likewise missing. I felt around my body and realized that I had no wounds, no broken bones, not even a scratch on me. There was no sign of any of the men I’d been commanding…but more importantly there was no sign of Misty. My heart sank as full memory returned to me - the raid had been an unmitigated disaster.

  Who had put me here, and healed my injuries, and why? Then suddenly I heard a man’s voice from outside.

  “Reckon she’s finally awake. All right - let’s get started.”

  There was a melodic chanting outside, and suddenly the wall opposite the bed began to twist and gnarl until it was no longer a solid ramshackle wall but was instead a series of criss-crossing beams that allowed light to pour in but between which the spaces were too small for even my head to stick through. Standing outside were two people I’d never seen before - an elf woman and a human man; the latter had a strange sort of stars and stripes pattern that I’d never seen before upon his brigandine armor. Damn it. I knew adventurers when I saw them.

  I’d killed many such glory-hounds who’d trespassed on my father’s lands before and they’re always the same: they wear the livery of no particular lord, favoring eclectic outfits that express their cold individuality. These two had weapons carried upon back-scabbards, an arming sword and a staff respectively, which is a hallmark of adventurers.

  “Bo,” said the man.

  “Bo?” I said, “How can you be so casual?”

  He gave a sarcastic bow, “Bozulay then. Mind you, you’re in the presence of royalty here.”

  The elf woman bowed, “Princess Illiana Verissa tael Anaura.”

  Anaura? Where had I-

  The man took off his needlessly large hat off his head, placed it on his chest and bowed. “Victor Alexander Kirkland, adventurer by trade, party leader of Red Lightning. We’re the ones who put the kibosh on your raid earlier this morning.”

  I knew it! Meddlesome fools! Blast! They must have been passing through on some fool’s errand, saw us coming, and decided to defend the town. It cannot be such a contrived, ham-fisted coincidence can it? No, this beggars belief - the man in the black cloak assured father that the town would be undefended. Furthermore, what the fat-devil is a kibosh? Nay, that’s not what’s important-

  “Where is Misty?”

  The man said, “Misty? Who’s that?”

  I snarled, “My dreadrunner!”

  “Oh, the raptor! She’s fine; I found her standing guard over your body. You were almost dead but my fiancee here healed you.” The elf gave a curtsy. “But then she bounded off into the woods for some reason. That’s when the girls got you out of your armor, and we put you in here.”

  Misty’s alive? I sighed. All is well. She’s a clever girl. Even if I’m gone, she’ll find a way. This wounds my pride but…

  “I thank you for sparing her,” I said.

  “No problem - there’s no way I was gonna kill such a beautiful creature; I’m glad I was able to calm her down. You were almost dead, and she was standing guard so something had to be done.”

  Huh? “Why would you go out of your way to save the life of an enemy?”

  The man held up three fingers, “Several reasons. But let me give you three. First, I always try to be merciful where applicable. Second, since we guessed you were their leader I reckoned we could get some information out of you which is a bit difficult to do if you’re dead. Third, I didn’t wanna make that clever girl sad.”

  I clicked my tongue. Mercy is for the weak; that is what father always said. But his second reason made sense, tactically speaking, and the third - I think I understood why Misty trusted this man.

  “She…she really likes it when I call her that. But no matter - what do you intend to do with me?”

  “Reckon we haven’t decided yet,” he said. “First of all, can you tell me why your pops wanted this place destroyed?”

  Pops? The nerve! “My father doesn’t need a reason to take territory, nor does he need one to bolster his labor force with captured slaves.”

  “So he’s an asshole, got it.” Before I could react he asked his next question. “Those strange guys we fought. Where did they come from?”

  The twisted ones. Yeah of course he’d be curious about them. Why am I being so gods-damned cooperative?

  I said, “The man in the black cloak makes them, I think.”

  The elf woman said, “Pray tell, who is this man in the black cloak?”

  “One of my father’s advisors,” I said. “I don’t know his name, but he gives me the creeps.”

  “Any chance this dude might be a member of The Black Order?”

  No. Where was he going with this line of questioning? And what does he mean by dude?

  “Never heard of them.” I said, curtly.

  The man said, “A really shady cult, worships the supreme-devil.”

  “Why the fat-fucking-devil would anyone-” This was patently absurd. “The supreme-devil has no followers: he’s too busy being dead for one thing, and for another who would be dumb enough to-”

  “You’d be surprised,” he said. “I can’t think of anything else to ask right now, and unfortunately we don’t have time for a full-on interrogation. Reckon we’d best figure out what to do with you, by tomorrow morning at the latest.”

  “Sir Victor, I have one,” the woman said. “You’re half elf, are you not?”

  I nodded, “Yes, on my mother’s side.”

  “You look like you’re from the Dragon Sea, so your mother is an Eastborn?”

  “Was.” I said. “She died of an illness just a few years after I was born, so I never had any memories of her - nor did I learn any of the elvish language.”

  Is it because they aren’t berating me? Is that why I’m telling them so much? I should be resisting! I must get back to my father as soon as possible.

  I continued, “I don’t wish to speak more of her right now. Nor do I wish to answer any more questions.”

  The man said. “As far as I’m concerned you have the right to remain silent, so, that’s fine by me. By the way, I’d hate to keep calling you prisoner - would you at least be willing to tell me your name?”

  I clicked my tongue. This man is a walking contradiction - flippant in one instance, harsh in another, and then comes courtesy. But very well.

  “Maera.”