Alkara makes it back to Three Rivers in pretty good time. It’s around noon when she gets into town, so she decides to head to the Retrievers’ guild hall for the inevitable stack of assignments waiting for her. Charlotte had been so impressed with how efficiently the team had handled the initial backlog that she hadn’t even cared that they technically weren’t doing the jobs together.
Every now and then there’d be a job that required all three of them. And those jobs went fine. But Sengmar’s absence is still a gaping, raw hole for Alkara. So they did them quickly, and then moved on to their next jobs. The feel of the team had completely changed. Chiron never cracks jokes. Dre is even quieter than usual. And Alkara somehow feels more isolated on jobs with them than on jobs she does alone.
Alkara knows Uncle Iro isn’t pleased with this turn of events. Every time he looks at her she swears it’s with disappointment. Why he hasn’t said anything is beyond her. He could say anything. Talk them into their senses. Make them be a family again. The pit of dread in Alkara’s stomach rarely leaves. The tangle of anxiety at her throat strangles even the screams from her nightmares. Things will never be the same. They can never go back.
Dre had given up on trying to find a concoction that might help. Well… Alkara had made her give up. It’s useless. No point in wasting her rare ingredients. After Alkara had refused a new concoction the third night in a row, Dre, tightlipped, had merely muttered a terse, “Fine.” Whipping around, slamming the flask down on her table, and grabbing her cloak and heading out to go find something to dissect.
Chiron just doesn’t talk to her anymore. No more playful pokes and prods. No more trying to get her to set off a trap. No more sharing the silly limericks they used to come up with for each other.
Alkara sighs heavily as she walks in the door. I guess this is life now. She glances at the notice board, and freezes. Her mouth goes dry. Her fingers and palms go cold. A flowy script announces a road closure.
This is it. An order to avoid the southeastern road to Myddfai and Brecon. She quickly checks the date. Today. Goosebumps ripple across her arms and back of her neck. Maybe she can make it in time. She turns to leave, but then stops, turns back, tears the notice off the board, and quickly rolls it and tucks it into her pack. “Let’s go Guen!” She runs out the door, quickly casting a spell to augment her speed. Please let me be in time, please let me be in time. The thought of more people dying so that the merchant guilds could play their games makes her sick.
She makes it to the gate. A line of wagons jams the roadway. Merchants shout for the ones in the back to turn back. She runs to the guards. Their rusty metal ringmail lay malformed on their chests. “Open the gates! I need to get through.”
One of them, a short man with a boil on his nose, stands a little taller. An oniony tang accompanies his voice, “Sorry lass. T’ain’t nobody going through. There’s trouble brewing on the road. Gotta protect the city.”
“Yes. I know,” A bead of sweat niggles the base of Alkara’s neck. “I’m headed there now to try to help.” She gestures at the gate. Forceful. “Let me through.”
The boiled guard looks at his boots, then to his comrade. They share the gaze before turning back and looking down again.
Alkara’s lip curls, “What are you waiting for?” She raises her voice, “You’re wasting time!” One of the nearby wagon drivers stops to watch. “Someone has to help them or people will die!” Her voice shakes with the volume and her nostrils flare. “You want that on your conscience? You can close them right behind me and I’ll find another way back in,” She shakes her head. It’s a muted motion, “Just let me through!”
They have to cooperate. Someone is ordering them to stand down.
They stare at Alkara’s feet. One lifts his head but turns toward the gate before meeting Alkara’s eye. He shakes his head. It’s a noncommittal motion; small and dismissable. “Hey,” There’s another militia member near the gates, “Make sure that beam is in place.” He coughs into his sleeve.
Alkara tightens her brow and strides up to the man. She grabs a handful of the ringmail and pulls down. The man turns in a slow, comical spin. “YOU! What’s your name?” Even pulled downward he’s a few inches taller than her.
He coughs a sour ale puff of air into her face and swallows. “T-t-trevot, ma’am.”
Alkara pulls back from the stench but doesn’t let go. “Trevot,” She stares him dead in the eye, “Open this gate, right now.” She nods her head to the side, toward Guen who’s licking a paw without looking. “Or I’ll feed you to my panther.” As she threatens the young man she tilts her head down and smiles with a toothy grin.
Damn these idiots for making me do this.
An authoritative voice rings above the din, calm and steady, “Release the boy. Your threats won’t open the gates but they will put you in the pillory.”
Alkara spins. A clean-cut, middle-aged human stands within an arm’s breadth, hand on sword hilt. His breastplate boasts many dings and scratches. An insignia hammered into the pauldron declares him an officer. “People are going to die, sergeant.” Alkara shakes her head at his expressionless response. “Lives YOU could save will be lost.” Alkara releases the ringmail with a shove. “For what? So you can follow orders in hopes for a promotion?”
The sergeant looks past her and nods to a side. “We follow orders to keep people safe.” More guards, these wearing tabards of the city, form a half circle behind her. “Your protest has been noted.” With the other guards in place he moves his hand from his sword’s hilt. “Your cat has been tolerated so far. I can’t stress to you what will happen if its used to cow the militia into subservience.”
The cat yowls which turns into a long whine. Some of the guards flinch and Alkara allows a somewhat wicked smile to her face. To one side is the city wall, the other are the guards. Alkara breathes out a long breath as her shoulder sink.
Great. Probably going to get arrested. But they aren’t doing anything to Guen.
She grits her teeth. The sergeant raises his eyebrows, awaiting an answer to some unvoiced question. Help those that are likely dying or back down from the city guard? Alkara crouches next to Guen, she feels more than sees the guardsmen tense. She tenses herself, preparing to spring into action. “Guen?” It’s a low whisper, “Exit please?”
They might act tough but can they handle a panther’s snarl and charge?
Guen licks Alkara’s face and receives a pat in return. The great cat pushes into Alkara, bowling her over. Guenwhyvar grips Alkara’s pack in her maw and leaps upward. Shouts from below match Alkara’s thumping heart. The cat lashes out with outstretched claws and digs into a thick branch.
She scrabbles into the tree and perches, Alkara dangling by her pack’s straps. The cat paws forward, quickening into a loping motion, matching the bending of the branch as her weight and momentum threatens to break it. She bounds across a gap in the street to a low roof. Alkara takes a shock to her legs but has no time to assess before Guen leaps again.
More leaps and she scrambles onto a higher roof. Townsfolk shout in alarm as Guen bounds past homes, above street stalls, and through the air. One final leaps brings the pair to the top of the wall. One of the militia members posted there levels a spear in their direction. Guen paces to and fro, unconcerned. Another leap into a tree outside the wall and finally down to the ground.
Guen drops the pack and pushes against Alkara, shoulder first. Alkara takes a steadying breath. It doesn’t help. Her heart beats hard in her chest. She reaches a shaking hand to Guen and scratches her ear. Eyes wide, she looks up at the wall where militia are pointing down at the two. Alkara hops to her feet and takes one faltering step. “O-okay, good girl. Let’s get going Guen. And fast. We’ll get you a grooming tonight for that.”
A crowd mills outside the gates, grumbling to the militia keeping the gates closed. Though now the conversations are directed toward Alkara and her panther. All eyes and words seem pointed in Alkara’s direction. She scans the crowd warily, grateful that none of the militia on this side seem to be keen to pick a fight.
The pair jog down the road, shadowed by the mutterings. She scans the horizon as she goes, leaving the city behind. Here, farmsteads dot the landscape. No aberrants terrorize them. It could be anywhere or anything. She frowns, “Guen! Ahead! Run and find them!”
The panther bounds away. Alkara adopts a steady jog in her wake. The attack could be miles out on the road. Conservation is key. It would make a poor rescuer to show up exhausted and unable to fight. Minutes pass with no sign of a caravan. A quiver enters her stomach.
Is there even an attack? Did I get it wrong?
No. Guen hasn’t returned. The great cat would be a mile away by now. Alkara recalls the notice. It had the hallmarks of the previous attack’s bulletin. A vague threat. Road closure. That it was being addressed. Alkara quickens her pace.
Gotta make sure I learn that one spell some day. Riding Guen is a far cry better, and faster, than her pitiful pace.
Alkara’s breathing grows ragged. The pace is wearing on her after putting nearly a league of road behind her. She halts, forcing her lungs to take deep breaths. She inclines her head, tilting around for any out of place sound or sight.
Nothing.
At least I’m getting in some exercise.
Alkara’s smiles through the hard breathes. She squeezes her hands into fists a few times and takes up Guen’s trail again. This time taking a slower pace.
More jogging. The road turns toward the treeline and a copse of trees. With some large winged thing popping up above the treeline. Too large. And wagons circle nearby.
Finally.
Alkara’s heart thrums, a faster rhythm than she had worked it into jogging. She breaks into a run, ignoring the shock her calves jolt her with. Less than a mile to go. Guen’s roar catches her mid-stride. Alkara pushes harder, encouraging her legs with the thought of completion.
Just a little further!
The flying things dart down onto the circled wagons. After swooping in they take back to the sky. Each is accompanied by panicked shouts from the caravaneers. She looses one of the new arrows. It’s further than she’d have tried in the past. The arrow pirouettes through the arrow until it lodges in the thing’s neck. Alkara smiles even as it plummets, satisfaction warming her chest. She pulls another arrow and grins widely at the tip, looking past for a new target.
The grin disappears as she takes further stock of the situation.
Shit. That’s… a lot. I thought it said “creature.” As in, one.
The creatures are some perverted cross between rabbit and dog but with a singular eye and gaping maw of jagged teeth. Alkara shudders. Guen is tangling with one. The panther has ripped it from the sky and is tearing into it on the ground.
Guen yowls, and writhes as her fur falls apart. The revealed flesh bubbles black with tallow-yellow spots. A translucent green pus oozes out from underneath.
“Guen!” She looses an arrow at the creature. The arrow sinks into a thick hind-leg, making the creature howl. It whips its head toward her and glares at her with its big eye. She staggers a bit from the wave of energy and braces for whatever happened to Guen to happen to her… but it doesn’t come.
Alkara loosens her tightened muscles, letting go of the anticipation. She plucks another arrow from her quiver but pauses before nocking it, “Urdima, help me fell this foul thing.” Nothing seems to change. She draws the arrow and releases. The arrow flits across the distance with unnerving speed, slamming into the thing with more force than it has a right to. Alkara sprints toward a nearby wagon and ducks behind it, gaining cover from some of the flying dog-rabbits.
A wave of rotted flesh envelops her. Caravaneers crouch under the wagon’s bed. Some have wounds like Guen’s, pus spewing bubbling rot. Alkara covers her nose while using the bow hand to wave them away. Their eyes are wide and they shake their heads with quick, small movements.
An aberrant howls. Alkara pokes her head out to survey the scene. Guen has regained her upper claw on the thing and gnaws at its neck. The hide is thick but the panther is capable. Large chunks of flesh lay strewn about the soon to be corpse.
Alkara exhales. “Guen! Check out the rest, makes sure there aren’t more!” Using the wagon for cover, she steps out to loose arrows before sliding back into place.
Guen springs toward more wagons. Too late. A heart-rending wail rises up from that direction. Alkara’s stomach plummets faster than the aberrant had. Another of the dog-rabbits dives through the air. Alkara grits her teeth and looses an arrow at it. Without waiting to see if she hits the damned thing, she sprints toward the wailing.
Rounding the corner of another set of wagons brings her eyes to eye and eye with two of the cycloptic creatures. Her panther, Guenwhyver, tangles with one. Each darts in with feints and strikes, feeling the other out. The second tugs at a body. Hunks of flesh have been ripped from the boy.
A wordless cry of rage erupts from Alkara. She snatches a broadhead and looses it. Then follows that with a mythril one. The dog-rabbit falls before it fully turns to look at the first arrow. Alkara stomps forward, grabbing and loosing an arrow with each footfall. By the third the aberrant lay dead. Alkara smashes the arrow back into her quiver. The thing’s claw swipes one final time with mindless abandon. Guen backsteps and the claw hits the dirt in failure.
A woman staggers to the body. The frenetic movements colored by looks to the sky. Her face screwed up, the woman dashes the last few feet and collapses over the body. It looks like a young man, younger than the woman. Though with the mutilation it’s not a sure guess.
A downgust buffets Alkara. The woman’s shawl kicks up with the wind. Alkara snaps her head up. Two more of the dog-rabbits bear down on them. Alkara throws herself to the side. Scree and rocks spray from the aberrant’s strike. Something wet trickles down Alkara’s leg.
The fire in her chest goes cold. She rolls with the strike and brings herself to a knee. The rocky road screams at her through her knee, but she ignores it. Her frozen chest quells any thought of pain. “Guen, kill,” She points with an arrow at one of the pair. Alkara nocks that same arrow for the other.
The aberrant pulls up and wheels back in the wagon’s direction. Alkara waits. The dampness in the pant-leg grows. The dog-rabbit hones in, swooping down once more. Alkara pulls back and looses the arrow. The broadhead greets the creature in its eye. It issues a gurgled yowl as it plunges into the dirt. A chorus of broken bones accompanies the thud into the ground. It twitches once.
The young man isn’t the only casualty. Many had succumbed to whatever foul magic caused the pustuled rot. The fetid, sour meat stench permeates the battlefield. Humans, a few Teäsin elves with their green skin, a dwarf, and a couple gnomes. Nearly a third of the caravaneers. Alkara attends her panther first.
If the rot kills… gotta help Guen.
After she reviews the wounds of the living. Most have scrapes and gouges from the creatures’ claws. Some hug rotting appendages to their chests. A few sit in dazed stillness, staring at the dirt.
They bury guards and those unknown to the others. It’s unclear who might call for them. The guards are sellswords or hired thugs. The young man and others like him are wrapped in cloth for transport to Three Rivers. They’ll receive proper rites. The wagons’ driver offers Alkara a seat in their caravan.
Alkara pats Guen, surveying the half dozen wagons, “No, I think we’ll look around a bit.” She steps away on wobbly legs. Each step demands a balancing act as muscles threaten to disobey. Alkara adds, her voice quivers with rapitiy, “Once I get to the back of your train I’ll hop on.”
Good thing there’s more than one of these things. That could have been embarrassing.
The older human eyes her, watching her faltering gait. “Nonsense.” He nods to a pair of bronze-skinned elves; Miësin, that’s what they call themselves. “Get in with Gaeilge and his sister.” His voice is dry, dusty. “I wanna hear your story. What you’re doing out here. The name’s Garth.”
Alkara nods. She breathes deep, but winces with the ached pain in her lungs. She deflates as she climbs in next to the Miësin elves. Some sweet scent drifts from them, like honey. “I’m Alkara.”
The caravan had halted at Guenwhyvar’s arrival. Garth and the guards didn’t know what to make of the panther. Wary, they had drawn together as the great cat stalked the perimeter. Then the flying things had approached. Luck or providence brought them into a protective position at the sight of Guen. Gaeilge and the sister invoked protective magicks which warded the group until Alkara’s arrival. Though perhaps not as efficiently as they’d prefer, with the losses they endured. Alkara for her part tells them of the journey from the city gate. It’s a much shorter tale.
Garth nods at the conclusion. He wipes dust or some other annoyance from the corner of his mouth, “How can we repay you?” The wagon trundles along with the added weight of the question.
Alkara shakes her head. “Please… don’t worry about it.” She offers a shaky smile. “Let’s call it even since you’re giving me a ride back. I have coin to feed my family and do my job. That’s enough for me. You should use your goods and coin to tend to your own and recover from this. I’m… sorry I couldn’t do more.”
Garth frowns, “I don’t much like the idea of not paying you a fee.” His gaze lingers on the guards in the trailing wagons. “We’d have no resources without you here. Or our lives.”
Alkara lets a small smile creep onto her mouth but her eyes stay weighted with sorrow. “It’s not any trouble. I can’t take anything.”
Garth nods, looking down at his feet. “It’s strange.” The statement hangs between them, “This journey isn’t a new one. I’ve done it many times in my years and the Guilds haven’t made it safer.” He swipes the corner of his mouth again. “No, these roads are more dangerous than ever.” He huffs, furrowing his brow. “We’re no more than a couple leagues out. You’d think it’d be safer this close to Three Rivers.”
Alkara’s shoulders slump. The small smile that had perched on her lips disappears. “One would think. But I’ve seen this happen before. If it’s the same as last time, the guilds were ordered to stand down.”
Garth’s eyes go wide. The Miësin murmur too quickly for Alkara to follow.
Alkara nods, reaffirming the statement. “Last time the whole caravan was slaughtered,” Alkara barks a mirthless laugh, “And then they used it as an excuse to raise their prices. I wouldn’t count on protection from Three Rivers unless it’s explicitly contracted.”
He looks at her with concern, “That is… alarming news.” He says as a couple of the elves come up along side them on horses to listen in on the conversation.
Alkara watches Guen absently, “And it’s not likely to get better while I’m the only one making a fuss about it.”
Garth harrumphs as he looks to either side, “Oh, we’ll make a fuss alright. Working with the larger merchant guilds may be all but required, but if what you said is true–“
Alkara pulls the notice out of her pack and shows it to Garth, “If they have enough notice to print and post this around all the Guild Halls, they have enough notice to get a team out here.”
Garth and the others look at the parchment, nonplussed. Alkara shakes her head, “I’m the only one out here. And I just got back into town today.”
Garth’s face starts to turn red with anger. “Indeed. Gwyneira will certainly be hearing about this.”
Alkara shrugs, “Don’t know how much good that will do you. Which guild are you with?”
Garth taps the patch on his tunic, “Honest Peddlers. Gwyneira runs a tight ship–“
“A ship that’s likely all but under Northern Blackshaw Company’s thumb.” Alkara plasters her hand to her face, dragging it down slowly. “I’ll do what I can to spread the word once we get back to town. You guys should probably play it safe and say nothing, but then you’ll just have to be ready for the next time it happens.”
Garth and the elves nod, “And who should I request when I insist on that explicit contract?” He gives her a meaningful look.
Alkara looks a little sheepish, “Well, my name is Alkara. But you can trust anyone in the Waste Walkers if I’m not available for some reason. We’re all part of Rook’s Rapid Retrievers. There’s me, Chiron, Dreonna, and–” She cuts herself off with a flinch. “It’s uh, it’s just us three now.”
Sadness tinges Garths expression for a few moments before he looks away, “Sorry for your loss. Father?”
Alkara looks down and shakes her head, “Brother.”
He nods, “Happens too damn often when that there river is supposed to keep those monsters away from us.” He sighs, then looks at her sidewise, “You make it your business, taking them out?”
Alkara just nods. “And I still couldn’t save everyone.”
“And you never will. But you saved most. And I, for one, am grateful.”
The Miesin elves nod in agreement.
She meets his gaze for a few moments and then just nods. The rest of the trip passes in solemn silence.
When they get back, the gates are still closed, and she decides to hop off before they get too close. “I may have made some enemies with the guards on the way out. Me being here probably won’t help your chances of getting in.” She smiles apologetically. As she walks north toward the next closest bridge a thought hits her and she turns back around, “Actually, where are you staying? I have an idea and might need to find you later.”
Garth smiles, “I believe most of us are staying at The Gilded Lion. If there’s anything we can do to help, please let us know.”
Alkara nods and waves as she walks off, then leans down to scratch Guen between the ears, “Okay, girl. You ready for that grooming?”