Weeks pass and Alkara finds herself enjoying lunch with Dre and Chiron. They had taken their meal outside the Retrievers’ guild hall to a wide open space that lies Trueward from the hall. One of Alkara’s favorite places to eat lunch. She hates eating in the mess. And this is one of the last open spaces so close to the city wall. Though Alkara suspects with some sorrow that the ever-expanding city will consume it soon enough.
Alkara stuffs her lunch bit after bit into her mouth without noticing the difference in taste, texture, or anything else. Her eyes and mind stay on the journal she’s reading. Uncle Iro’s precise looped, curved script runs the lengths of the pages.
When he gave it to Alkara he explained that while she may disagree, it’s important to understand the perspectives others held for her new suitor. The journal’s thoroughness explained Uncle Iroshi’s absence for the last few months. Alkara had been worried sick at the time, since the last time he’d been gone for that long he’d been abducted.
She absently wipes her mouth with her sleeve, then her hands on her breeches, and turns another page. The Reäsin accounts, the sparsest of them, describe Tharan as boring and predictable. Easily read. His behavior intuited by the youngest children. Tharan wouldn’t engage in their games so they call him a ‘dictionary in an argument.’ A phrase which probably meant something like ‘stick in the mud.’ They tired of his presence and the code of behavior from which he would not deviate.
Easily read. Right.
Alkara gets the impression that maybe in general the Doësín don’t get along with the Reäsín. And yet, apparently Tharan’s sister had married into them.
‘Tharan’s sister spoke of him with a wistful longing. She exhibited an unusual willingness to discuss her little brother. Atypical for Doësin. Darika holds Tharan in high esteem but relayed that his childhood was difficult, particularly his mother’s lessons.’
Alkara wonders why Uncle Iro didn’t inquire further. She’s already fairly certain few people actually know Tharan, and wishes she could have gotten more of his sister’s account and perspective on him. But Uncle Iro was likely trying to give her diverse perspectives. Considering the topic at hand from all angles. And he probably thought Tharan’s sister would be too biased anyway.
Alkara briefly considers going there to talk to Tharan’s sister herself until she sees another note in the margins.
“Probably only visit if you absolutely have to.”
So much for that then.
A Lore Guardian, whatever that is, described him as a ‘rather boring but determined student. His expression of analysis belies the idea that Doësin find comfort in rigidity.’ Uncle Iro notes that the Guardian speaks with the authority of expertise regarding Tharan. He concludes ‘He squanders gifts others would treasure. He trades incomplete with whatever he values, as though the missing quality eludes even him.’
Bit grandiose this Lore Guardian but otherwise evenhanded. Better than some others…
Missing quality eludes him…
The unreadability of Tharan rears its head again. Alkara can’t fathom what might be eluding him. And if those who call him easily understood can’t understand, how would she?
She glances up at Chiron and Dreonna. Dreonna is buried in her own book. No surprises there. And Chiron munches happily away at his lunch while he stares fiercely at the latest puzzle box he’d gotten his hand on. Alkara’s not sure how he doesn’t get bored with those. But somehow he doesn’t.
Alkara shuts the journal with a sigh. Time to do something she does understand. An anticipatory smile creeps onto her face. Open spaces offer an easy connection to the spirit of Urda. Not like the clutter of their home, which, despite Alkara’s struggles, uncle Iro finds no issue with.
Uncle Iro says with time and focused effort, Alkara will learn to commune with Urdima anywhere and in everything.
But does it have to take so long? Why can’t I get better faster?
She practices a lot. More than a lot. Yet the ease with which Uncle Iro communes still eludes her.
Alkara releases her breath and pulls her legs up into a crouch. She pulls in another breath through her nose. Scents, hidden under the more pungent, flood her awareness. A small cricket chirp breaks through the hubbub of city noise. She even feels the sun warming the nearby blades of grass as though the light were on her.
Alkara revels in that feeling. The heightened senses. The connection with living things nearby. Even what should be unpleasant tickles her amusement with the thrill of perceiving things outside her own experience.
She takes another deep breath, pushing past the sounds of the city. Its clutter and refuse. The stench of too many people in too little space. The resistance naggles her. But with persistence she probes even the nearby city blocks.
She winces and flinches away from that direction.
Something close… but where? And… what? Unnatural, but Aberrant?
Chiron shakes her at the shoulder. His eyebrows knitted, “You were growling…”
Alkara ignores him, looking around the clearing to the nearby buildings for some indication. Screams fill the air. “Shit! Let’s go!”
She throws herself from the crouch into a run without waiting for confirmation. A few strides in and Guen streaks past her. Chiron and Dre will have to play catchup. As usual.
The screams spill from the Blackshaw Company’s guildhall followed by some of its members. Bloods streaks their clothes.
Alkara pivots, beating hard steps into the cobbles. And despite her head start, Chiron flits from an alley and bounds up the steps.
“Chiron wait!” Alkara yells as he ducks into the building. Guen sprints up the stairs with Alkara following close behind.
Dammit, we don’t know what it is.
Her heart pounds as she earns the top step. Her breath comes hard-fought. Guen, of course, stalks low with narrowed eyes toward the double doors, looking every bit as though she’d awoken from a nap.
Chiron backs out into the open before they enter the hall.
He shakes his head, “I don’t know what Kierra’s up to, but she managed to get an Ironshod wrecking their foyer.” He turns to Alkara with a grin, “Maybe metallurgy?”
A hulking creature smashes one of the tables. It stands near half of the hall’s twenty [foot] ceiling. It hunches toward another table and rips into it with iron-like claws. Grey flesh neatly blends with the stone columns, but splotchy red spots break apart the grey. Darker grey ferroderms contrast against its flesh at the brow, chest, and forearms.
Mushroom caps peek out from its head. The Ironshod claws at them, ripping into its own flesh in places. Bright red streaks of blood cover the back of its head.
Burn marks outline the stalks on its flesh, but the caps remain unblemished. It rips one cap out and throws it to the floor where others lay. The Ironshod tramples it with manic steps.
“What’s it doing?” Alkara turns to Dre, having just caught up. Alkara raises her eyebrows and quirks the corner of her mouth. The aberrant stares down at the mushroom caps, eyes blinking out of order.
A purple mist surrounds it and several dark forms inside could only be other guild members.
“I don’t know,” Chiron clips his sentence off with a scowl. “There are people inside though. They won’t last long in its poison.” He draws his sword and rubs the onyx set into the pommel. A dark swirling mist swirls out from the black, surrounding Chiron. He plunges into the purple cloud. A wisp of that mist snakes out from his entry.
Alkara grins. Chiron’s practice pays off at least. She begins to circle the mist, looking for any vantage, when the black streak of Guen charges after Chiron. “Wait!” The hairs on Alkara’s neck prickle.
“Intriguing.” Dre cocks her head to one side. “It’s trying to cut off the fungus. We’ve never seen any do that.”
Fire dances on some of the broken tables. Whatever scorched the Ironshod also set the back of the hall alight.
Alkara shakes her head, “Not now Dre!” She looses an arrow into the mist. It flies through, smoldering until it sinks into the Ironshod’s abdomen. “Help me cover Chiron and figure out an antidote for Guen.”
The Ironshod growls as it looks down at the arrow. It turns toward Alkara and slams its forearms together as the next arrow arrives.
The arrow smashes into the plating and snaps.
“Right,” Alkara mutters, “Ironshod.”
Rotted egg stench drifts into the air. Dre finishes pouring a vial into her crossbow’s flight groove.
Guen darts around the creature, ducking a foot thick with more ferroderm. She claws at the other leg as she springs between them.
With its back exposed, Dre’s and Alkara’s next arrows strike its weaker flesh. The arrow sinks halfway but Dre’s empowered bolt sinks deeper. The end of the fletching is all that remains outside.
The Ironshod grunts and, forgetting the cat, kicks off into a wild charge toward the women. Alkara pushes Dre left and goes right.
The aberrant’s ungainly steps bring it in line with Dre. Dre leaps at the last moment.
It bats at Dre’s forearm. A sickening thump echoes through the hall as she sprawls to the floor.
Guen, close on its heels, leaps onto its back. She rakes it before bounding away.
Alkara spies the fungus clump. It’s usually a weak spot. She looses an arrow which strikes near the growth but glances off.
Alkara tugs at her pouch’s flap and snatches a rigid green vine from it. Prickly thorns draw blood from Alkara’s rough handling.
The Ironshod’s charge leads it toward the doors leading outside. It flails at Guen, striking her back leg with an armored forearm.
Alkara draws on Urdima’s power, still overflowing from her earlier commune. She snaps the vine against her bowstring like an arrow and lets it loose toward the front doors. “Chiron! Where are you?”
The Ironshod stamps toward the doors, which explode in a bloom of vines and flowers. Green tendrils worm between the flagstones, splitting them.
Thorns grow from the vines. They pierce the Ironshod’s flesh.
Alkara looses another arrow and runs toward Dre.
Halfway to Guen a crash announces the Ironshod’s departure. The vine-covered entryway lay in shambles.
Chiron emerges from the cloud supporting a man covered in pale fluid. The swirling black mists fill the space between him and the purple poison.
Alkara helps Dre to a sitting position. She feels her side where the creature clipped her.
Chiron lets the last of the poison fade before releasing the inky mists around him. He helps the man to the ground. Thick strands of viscous goop drip between them. Chiron swipes at them.
Guen favors the back leg as she limps to Alkara. No obvious signs of damage show on the paw, but Alkara will need to examine it further.
Her fur catches Alkara’s eye. Formerly sleek black, red tinges the outer parts of her hairs. Alkara brings the paw closer to assess the change when shouts from outside filter into the building.
Neither Dre’s nor Guen’s injuries need immediate attention. Alkara grabs her bow and rushes toward the door. Wending through the broken vines.
Chiron blinks past as though he found some shortcut and darts outside.
Alkara steps outside, blinking against the change in light. Chiron leaps down the stairs three at a time. Except now there are four of him.
The Ironshod pins a horse to the ground with one claw. It whinnies and snorts while kicking futilely.
The aberrant stands in some stupor. Thorns measuring feet in length protrude from its calves.
Townsfolk line the square in front of the guildlhall, watching with wide eyes. A man approaches with hesitant steps.
Half of the Chirons bound past the Ironshod to its other side. The other two stab at the Ironshod. All of them sizzle in the sunlight.
A sword pokes into the Ironshod’s flesh and it snaps from the stupor. It throws the horse at the approaching man.
One shadowy Chiron pushes the man out of the way moments before the horse smashes through them. Chiron puffs apart, inky tendril disintegrating in the light.
Alkara looses more arrows. Some leave gashes while other glance off harmlessly.
The Ironshod ignores them all. It shakes its head and kicks a shadowy Chiron into nothingness.
The aberrant stalks toward a woman as the two remaining Chiron’s stab at it. The woman yelps and runs from the guildhall square.
The Ironshod looks left and right for nearby humans. Left once more and then stops. Its shoulders slacken.
Alkara takes advantage of the creature’s position and looses another arrow. It sinks halfway into the fungal mass before snapping off.
The Ironshod takes one step forward and falls. A crashing boom fills the area and the ground shakes.
Alkara breathes hard, letting the flurry and excitement of the fight fade. Dre steps out from the guildhall with Guen limping next to her.
Dre looks down at the Ironshod with tightened eyes. “I don’t suppose we can take the whole thing back.” A bandage wraps around her stomach.
Alkara shakes her head, “No.” She turns to Guen and looks her over more fully. She had expected the limp. Whatever the red tinge is worries her. Sengmar once said transformative magicks have long-lasting effects. What might this have caused?
It covers Guen completely. Even her whiskers sport the new accent. No weird lumps or limbs though. Her breathing, though labored, appears normal. She acts like the same old girl. Alkara accompanies Guen down the stairs, taking them as slow as Guen needs.
Chiron hacks at the Ironshod’s neck. Despite the iron-like flesh, his chops cut deep into the flesh. Chiron’s muscles bulge and an oily sheen covers them. A stray empty bottle lay on the ground next to him. Dre watches without comment.
Probably asked him for the head.
Alkara descends the last few steps as a Northern Blackshaw Company guard approaches with a bucket. Others follow. Other guards and guild members form a line leading toward the hall.
An anxious thought strikes Alkara. She points at the nearest guard. “You! Is Kierra here?”
The guard swallows. Thin wisps of hair poke out from under his chinstrap. “I… I don’t know.” The water-filled bucket he holds waits for the next pair of hands.
Alkara grits her teeth, “Was she here earlier? Could she still be inside?”
Uncertainty paints the guard’s ruddy face. He hands the bucket to the next person and looks at the guild hall. “It’s on fire.”
Alkara closes her eyes with a slight head tilt. The urge to slap the man grips her. She shakes her head with small movements.
Don’t. He’s just a guard.
“Your headquarters was attacked.” Alkara opens her eyes to glare at the man. “Those things never come up from the Depths. [Hell], I’d never even seen one before.” She raises her eyebrows at him. “You didn’t think maybe your boss might be in there. Might have been the target? And might be in danger?”
The man’s mouth opens and he stares.
“Ugh!” Alkara throws her hands up and runs back up the stairs.
It’d been years since she’d been in here, but she still remembers it like the back of her hand. Alkara sprints through the foyer and past several small offices. Familiar intersections greet her. Guen’s presence felt more than heard.
“Kierra!” Only a few more offices to pass before Alkara reaches the guildmaster’s.
Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay.
“Kierra!” She pumps her legs to slow as she arrives at the door. One deep breath and Alkara pushes the door open, bracing for the worst.
Instead Kierra stands tight-lipped, staring at a cinched bag. Her eyes flick up to Alkara. A small narrowing of the eyes precedes Kierra’s question. “Alkara?” She runs the bag’s drawstring through a beltloop and ties it off.
Strands of hair stick out from Kierra’s normally immaculate hair. Her clothing, still of discernible quality, sports ruffles. There’s even a small bead of sweat working up the courage to run down Kierra’s face.
Some of Alkara’s tension vanishes. “Kierra!” It comes out with her breath. She steps into the room, searching the corners for hidden threats. “Are you hurt?” Soft yellow light shines unflickering from wall sconces. They reveal no danger. “There was an Ironshod downstairs!”
Kierra sets her expression, clenching her jaw. She watches Guen’s entrance before responding. “I am unhurt.” Her display case filled with the guild’s trophies frames her. “We can’t all abandon our posts in times of need.”
No guards, magical protections, or summoned things guard the guildleader. Instead only her liquor bottles and ornate furniture keep her company. Alkara’s lip curls at the corner of her mouth. “Where are your guards? Why aren’t they here?” From the office’s enormous window, the fire line continues to pass buckets along toward the building and back. “What if you were the target?”
Kierra waves a dismissive hand. She locks the display cabinet and stows the key in an inner pocket of her coat. “I sent them away.”
Alkara narrows her eyes. “Away?” She works her lips as though trying to find a word that would express her incredulity. “The guild was under attack!”
Kierra nods, “Yes. And so I sent my guards to assess and report back as necessary.” The guildmaster steps around the desk and onto the silken runner showing the Blackshaw Company’s traditional trade routes through the kingdom.
Alkara crosses her arms, “Well then they’re either dead or ran away.” Shouts and directions spill up from the ground floor. The fireline must be encountering some issue with the fire. Alkara looks back for a moment. “We didn’t have any help.”
Kierra walks to Alkara. “You are experts in your field, are you not ‘Aberrant-Bane’?” She raises her eyebrows. They appraise each other before Kierra continues past and toward the guild’s back entrance.
Alkara growls, “Kierra…” She follows the guildmaster down the hallway.
Kierra holds her chin up as they leave the office. “Yes, I suspected you would be resistant to the epithet.” She smiles sidelong at Alkara. “You would do better to embrace the title. It’s an excellent business strategy. Not that you have been listening to my advice of late.”
A knot begin to form in Alkara’s stomach. “We’ve made a name for ourselves as the Waste Walkers.” Alkara mutters, “I don’t need my own.”
“The city disagrees.” They descend the back stairs. “Three Rivers will cement your glory with or without your help.” At the base of the stairs Kierra turns and arcs an eyebrow. “Unless you quit. Although you resist the option despite the incentives.”
Spiky heat flares through Alkara. She stops at the second-to-last stair. She starts to speak but Kierra continues.
“And even quitting might not work with your new entanglement.” Kierra treats Alkara to a small, conspirator’s smile. “Courting a Bell Keeper? Unusual choice for someone ostensibly avoiding the spotlight.”
Alkara’s face tightens. “How did you–” She bites her question off. With a glare she says, “Mind your own business. And leave him out of this.”
Kierra chuckles. “If anyone is bringing him in, it’s you Alkara.” She shakes her head. “The elves are ruthless, Tharan included.” For a moment Kierra’s expression softens. She searches Alkara’s face. “Do you like him?”
A snappy reply dies in Alkara’s throat at Kierra’s expression. Alkara pulls back and crosses her arms. An old familiarity descends on them. Alkara shrugs with a small turn of her head. “Yes.”
Kierra studies Alkara, even looking at Guen to complete whatever calculation she needs. “Good.” She turns and continues down the corridor. “I would feel more confident in your chances if you’d taken your etiquette classes more seriously.”
Alkara rolls her eyes at the back of Kierra’s head. “I can take care of myself.”
“Oh, you’re probably right.” Kierra’s voice brightens into a sing-song tone. “If he were looking for etiquette he’d be with one of the many, many elf maidens who’ve tried to tie him down.”
Alkara sighs. She follows Kierra into the alley, grateful that it doesn’t stretch far from the street. Their interactions always worm their way under Alkara’s skin. The unexpected moment of peace and sincerity is only throwing her off more.
They emerge on the street to a growing crowd. Some watch from Furze Market. Others jump in to help with the bucket line. A gaggle of people surrounding Dre and Chiron.
The pair stand with the Ironshod’s body. Its headless corpse lay next to a head-sized sack. Kierra purses her lips and narrows her eyes.
Alkara smirks. “Think of it as our cut.” She moves to join them but stops and turns back. “We took care of the problem. Now we take our payment.”
Kierra meets Alkara’s gaze, “There would be no issue of payment.”
Alkara shrugs. “You know Dre. I couldn’t get that head away from her now even if you did pay us. It’ll be stinking up the house for days.”
“Of course. We will dispose of the… remains.” Kierra looks the body over. “Are there any safety precautions of which we should be aware?”
Alkara shakes her head. “No, just the usual stuff. Don’t grab the sharp parts and it will be difficult to chop up. Its bones are like iron.”
Kierra nods once. “Very well. We appreciate your assistance in this matter.” She turns back to Alkara with a smile, “I will pass on your praise to Charlotte. And of course ensure the people know who slew the beast.” She gesture’s toward an odd lump in the sack. “That appears to be an arrow in its head.”
Alkara shrugs, feeling uncomfortable again. “Don’t worry about it.”