'A Hunter and His Prey' Chapter Eleven- Dawn of a New Day

After finishing their romp in bed, Jonah and Nareena had gone shopping for Alchemy ingredients and other assorted items and goods. They were presently looking over the suspicious items on a traveling Gnome merchant’s wagon stand. Jonah picked up a pocket watch, and tapped it with a single finger, trying to see if it would explode or fall apart, as Gnome mecha sometimes did.

Though far more advanced than Dwarven technology, Gnome inventions tended to malfunction.

But the watch was stable, and he purchased it for four silver pieces and two copper, putting it safely away in his breast pocket.

Nareena smiled at the scruffy little merchant, paying him for a carpenter’s hammer. She put the handle through a belt loop at her hip, making the hammer a quickly available weapon.

The two of them continued exploring the city. When they came out of one side street, they saw something that stopped both of their hearts: Portenda was smiling, laughing, and playing kickball with a group of children.

“Is he feeling all right?” Jonah whispered.

The Elven girl listened to the Bounty Hunter’s hearty laughter and realized, with a start, that it was honest and fun-filled. The children were marveling over how, despite his size, the big guy couldn’t kick a home run.

“I think so,” she whispered in response.

The two Alchemists watched for about five minutes, until Portenda grabbed the red ball and called the children over to him.

“All right, now, you all have to get to school. Game’s over.”

All ten of the children moaned, complaining that they’d rather play games.

“Hey now, you all need an education. It’s very important to your parents. Why else would they send you to school?”

They all agreed, and shuffled slowly away.

Portenda tossed the ball after them, and the children took it with them towards the two-story schoolhouse.

Jonah and Nareena approached, and Jonah cleared his throat rather loudly.

Portenda spun on them, his eyes wide, but he quickly took on his cold, hard mantle.

“What?”

“It’s good to see you have a heart, is all,” Jonah said.

Portenda pulled out a small mirror, and handed it to Jonah.

“What’s this?” the Alchemist asked.

“Genma sent another mercenary after us. I let him go, but I kept that. It’s up to you what we do with that. But be careful. Genma clearly has some sort of control over you. We don’t want a repeat of the last situation with one of those.”

Jonah looked up at Portenda, his jaw set, then tossed the mirror over his shoulder. “We don’t need to speak to him until we have him under our boots.”

Portenda clapped him roughly on the shoulder. “That’s my boy,” he said gently. He looked at the earrings Nareena had purchased from a jewelry store. “Out on a shopping spree?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Jonah picked these out for me! Aren’t they great?”

Portenda leaned in close, took one look at the earrings. “They’re fake.”

Both Jonah and Nareena turned beet red. “I paid good money for those,” Jonah said. He took Nareena by the arm, leading her back to the store.

Portenda moved away, alone once again. He took to the back alleys and dark places of Palen, the underdeveloped and less visited places. After a while, he felt a familiar presence. “What do you want? I didn’t summon you.”

THIS IS NO WAY TO CARRY ON, Death said. A canine skeleton, pink, fleshy tongue waggling in and out of its mouth, stood beside him.

“Why do you bother me?”

YOU KNOW WHY. I FEEL PARTIALLY RESPONSIBLE FOR YOU, AFTER ALL. Death patted Maxi on the head. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF HIM?

“I think you’ve lost your mind. Don’t you have a job to do?” Portenda pull a piece of wood out of the wall at his back and drew a small knife for whittling.

TIME HAS NO MEANING TO ME. YOU KNOW THAT.

Portenda simply carved away at the wood.

WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ONCE YOU GET THE GIRL BACK? YOU KNOW JONAH STAPLES AND NAREENA WON’T STICK AROUND. THEY’LL HEAD BACK TO DESANADRON, TO TRU LIVE OUT THEIR LIVES IN PEACE. OR SO. YOU’LL BE ALL ALONE AGAIN.

“You don’t have to tell me that, Grim,” Portenda muttered. “I, I haven’t thought that far ahead, yet.”

Portenda felt his control dissolve in the presence of Death, much as it did when he was around his father. But this was different. Instead of seething anger, he felt more of an emptiness, a fear of being forever on his own, with no one but this dark fellow for company. Gods, he thought, even Death’s got a companion now!

YOU’RE A PERSONABLE ENOUGH FELLOW. I KNOW ABOUT YOUR TENANTS. YOU TAKE GOOD CARE OF THEM. Death reached into his cloak for a dog treat.

Portenda watched the treat disappear as soon as it went into the skeletal canine’s mouth and listened as the animal crunched it with his sharp teeth.

ESPECIALLY THE OLD JAFT. IF YOU GAVE UP YOUR CAREER, YOU COULD ACTUALLY AFFORD TO HAVE SOME FRIENDS, YOU KNOW.

“I can’t give it up,” the Bounty Hunter replied flatly. “It’s as much a part of who I am as my arms and legs. Besides, I’ve got bills to pay.”

YOU’VE SAVED ALMOST EVERY COIN YOU’VE EVER MADE. YOU COULD RETIRE RIGHT NOW AND NEVER WORRY ABOUT MONEY AGAIN. BESIDES, LANDLORDS MAKE DECENT MONEY, IF THEY PLAY THEIR CARDS RIGHT.

Maxi stalked a short way away to do his business, rather more noisily than Portenda cared for. When the pungent odor hit him, he almost vomited.

LET’S GO SOMEPLACE LESS, OFFENSIVE, Death said, his eyes blaring with crimson light as he glared at his pet, who whined in his own defense.

The three figures, two of whom nobody else could see, made their way into a darkened archway down the alley, a back door to one of the city’s less popular diners.

“You never cease to amaze me,” Portenda said to Death. “What made you get a pet?”

YOU’VE ALWAYS SAID I NEEDED A FRIEND. SO I SORT OF MADE ONE, AS IT WERE. HE ISN’T MUCH TO LOOK AT, BUT IT DOES FEEL GOOD TO HAVE SOMEONE TO TALK TO.

Portenda looked at the mutt, who was busily grooming his bones. He watched as Maxi took one of his own ribs off of his spinal column and started digging in the dirt to bury it.

MAXI, NO! THAT’S YOUR BONE! YOU DON’T TAKE THAT OFF AND BURY IT. Death gave Maxi a light rap on the head with the blunt end of his scythe.

The dog whined again, and returned the rib to its place, where it grafted instantly back to the spine.

STUPID DOG.

“Nobody ever said they were geniuses.” Portenda finished carving his little figurine. It was a plain wooden replica of the being he was speaking with. The level of detail was minimal, but then again, there wasn’t much to detail about Death. A robe, a scythe, and a skeletal hand, always visible on the shaft of the tool of his trade.

NO, AND IT’S A GOOD THING THEY DIDN’T. THE WORLD HAS ENOUGH STUPID STATEMENTS TO GO AROUND. THINK ABOUT WHAT WE TALKED ABOUT, PORTENDA. YOU NEED A FRIEND AS MUCH AS I DO. MAYBE MORE SO. Death faded from Portenda’s vision.

* * * *

Blink had never been comfortable traveling on anything but his own eight feet or on Eileen’s shoulders. Still, the bucking motion of the Troke beneath his body was better than swinging around in a cage in some lab of that dreadful tower.

“Don’t be nervous,” Raja said back to the minute Alchemy beast. “I’ve borne Minotaurs on my back, little one. You’re perfectly safe.” The Troke charged at a slower pace to put Blink at ease.

The creature relaxed his death grip on the Troke, and sighed heavily to himself. I must be getting close. I must be!

Blink pressed his furry head against the Troke’s body, and tried to guide his thoughts into Raja through personal contact. Where’s the nearest city?

“The nearest village is Oordek, a small farming community approximately half a day away from the city of Palen.”

Something about the name of that city struck a chord down in Blink’s core: that was where he had to go.

“So it’s Palen, then, little one?”

Blink nodded rapidly, and Raja picked up his pace. “I’ll have you there by midnight. Any idea who you’re looking for?”

Once again Blink nodded.

“Good, because I don’t think the citizens of Palen are ready to deal with me. When we get near the city outskirts, I’m going to let you off.”

Blink thanked Raja as best he could, and settled himself in for the last leg of the long ride.

More than anything, he wanted to get back to his owner.

* * * *

Perhaps because he worried all the time, or perhaps because of the chill that had run up his spine, Jonah took Nareena by the hand and started actively searching for the Simpa Bounty Hunter. The sounds and smells of noon meals being made in the nearby diners and private homes filtered through the air, inviting him to forget his troubles, but he shrugged the sensation off and took up his search once again.

Jonah looked in all of the places he could imagine Portenda going to. First, he led Nareena to the artisans’ square, where blacksmiths, armorers and artifact dealers kept their stores and booths. However, nobody he asked had seen Portenda, or anyone matching his description.

Next, they visited the café where the trio had taken coffee and cuppa, but none of the waitresses had seen him, after his meeting with the mercenary.

While Jonah tried to think of where their friend may have gone, Nareena raised her arm and pointed at the Bounty Hunter, who emerged from an alleyway nearby.

“Found him,” she said.

The Bounty Hunter was scowling at nothing in particular. She remembered again why she sometimes had a real sense of dread around him.

As they stopped a few feet away, he turned his sneer on them. Slowly his facial muscles relaxed, returning him to the calm, Monk-like stare he kept at most times.

“We’ve been looking for you,” Nareena said before Jonah could blurt out anything foolish.

Portenda the Quiet said nothing for a moment, still coming down from his strange conversation with the Grim Reaper. His mind kept turning one of Death’s sentences over, trying to analyze it properly, but coming up empty. I FEEL RESPONSIBLE FOR YOU, Death had said. What did he mean by that? He decided he could review it better if he had some nourishment first.

“Come on. You two pick a new place for us to eat today,” he offered, folding his broad arms across his chest. “I’ll pay.”

“As usual.” Jonah sighed with relief. Though Portenda sounded a little more aloof than usual, it seemed almost forced, as though he were restraining himself or thinking about something that he didn’t want the Human Alchemist to worry about.

The stones here and there in the dirt roads skipped and skidded with the faint pit-pat they made in such towns as the trio walked along,

Jonah took the lead with Nareena a step or two back and to his left, and Portenda bringing up the rear. He sampled the air with his nostrils, and let the sweet scent of pastries and sugary confections lead him along. A light breeze blew down the streets of Palen, and the cooling gust whipped his lengthening hair across his head, taking away the beads of sweat that had been forming on his forehead.

When Jonah stopped, the other two formed up behind him.

Nareena giggled and Portenda let out a low “Hrrmm,” as they looked up at the shop that Jonah had let his senses select: ‘Granny Tammy’s Pastries and Sweets,’ the sign heralded for everyone to see.

Blood flushed Jonah’s cheeks, and he turned to give his girlfriend and his ally a friendly smile.

“What can I say? I’m a twenty-three-year-old boy.” He sprinted through the quaint little white door and into Granny Tammy’s.

Nareena looked up into Portenda’s ashen eyes, and searched for even a hint of humor. Much to her disappointment, she saw nothing but the barren wasteland that was the mystery of Portenda the Quiet. She slumped her shoulders a little, and shuffled after Jonah, sickened at heart that the Simpa could find no humor in the situation.

Portenda followed her in. Just before she went over to where Jonah was ordering a slew of teeth-rotting products, he put a hand on her shoulder gently, turning her around.

She gazed up into eyes that appeared to hint at tears.

“Forgive me,” he whispered ever so softly to her. “I just have to keep myself together right now. I can’t explain right now. Later, I promise.”

Due to her Elvan nature, Nareena felt a powerful urge to wrap herself around him and offer her empathy. But he was resolutely holding his emotions in check, and such a gesture might break him.

How could any one man be so self-conflicted? How had he survived so long this way? she wondered. Nareena wasn’t aware of how close her sentiments were to Death’s.

Instead of hugging Portenda, she turned and stood next to Jonah, who was greedily piling his purchases high on a platter, and stuffing half of them in his rucksack for later.

Granny Tammy herself was running the store, and she appeared to be a kindly old Human woman, complete with white beehive hairdo and matching apron.

She’s like something out of a children’s picture book, Nareena thought.

The old woman smiled at Jonah, and pinched his cheek. “Now you don’t eat all of those at once, young man. You’ll be up past your bedtime for certain. Oh, hello deary, how can I help you,” she said to Nareena as Jonah indicated, via pantomime since he had a pastry lodged in his mouth, that he was going to get them a table.

Nareena asked for a small assortment of fruit pastries and a few doughnuts, placing them on a platter and sitting next to Jonah in a booth near one of the storefront windows.

A few minutes later, Portenda sat down across from them, his own platter heaped even higher than Jonah’s.

The Human Alchemist stared at Portenda’s order, then up at the lumbering Simpa as the Bounty Hunter jammed a chocolate covered doughnut in his mouth.

He mashed it around for a moment, then raised an eyebrow at the two Alchemists. “Wha,” he managed through a mouthful of half-chewed food.

Jonah burst out in laughter, and Nareena joined soon after. Portenda felt a bit of an ass, but finished swallowing before he growled mockingly at them both.

“So how much longer do we have to wait for this messenger?” Nareena murmured around a doughnut.

Portenda folded his hands beneath his chin, his elbows propped on the table for support. He sat silently, chewing the last bits of a pastry, thinking on how much time had passed.

“Technically, we have to wait for another full twenty-four hours. At our audience with Death yesterday, he said two days. That means we should expect the messenger between midnight tonight and midnight tomorrow.”

Jonah and Nareena looked at one another and back at Portenda, and each heaved a sigh.

“I know, it doesn’t seem like we’re making much progress.”

“Portenda, we made more headway in Desanadron,” Jonah complained. He tossed his hair, and finished his current regimen of sugar. “We should find some more files to read through, ask some questions around town, something other than drink coffee and shop.”

“Or talk with Death,” Nareena chimed in, taking a swig of her water.

“Uh, let’s not do that again anytime soon,” Jonah said.

You have that option, Portenda thought bitterly.

“Perhaps we should do some training,” Portenda offered, sparking a small light in Jonah’s eyes.

Nareena, while she didn’t look thrilled at the prospect, seemed interested enough.

“Finish your drinks, and we’ll head to a clear area. Palen surely has a training ground for their city guards. We’ll ask to use it.”

After hastily finishing their drinks and packing away excess pastries, the Alchemists followed the Bounty Hunter outside, and then through the busy streets of Palen, magic capital of the world.

Palen was without much in the way of criminal activity, as all of the police and constables were wielders of magic of some form. And Palen’s government didn’t hire amateurs, so if someone were foolish enough to break a law within the city limits, they had to be pretty good at escaping. Punishment in Palen came in several interesting forms, including being turned into a toad for a period of six years before being given to a high wizard. The sentencing was considered harsh to those who knew the tendencies of Palen wizards.

Constables had a training ground near the central administration building.

Palen, being a medium-sized city, had only four constable stations, but central was smack dab in the middle of the city, next door to the high council meeting hall. Behind the two buildings a high brick wall closed in the training area, a magically enchanted space that was several dozen times larger within the walls than it appeared to be from outside.

Time and space, through Enchantment magic, could be manipulated by a decent practitioner, and the Palen city police used this to their advantage.

Portenda had read about this feature of the city once when he had been on assignment, and decided that it would make the perfect training area for himself and the Alchemists.

A twenty-five minute walk brought them to the front of central administration.

Two Humans stood out front in uniform, puffing away on smoke sticks and laughing with one another despite their conflicting schools of magic. The gentleman on the left wore bright crimson and yellow tunics over his chain mail armor, and his hair was long and streaked with flecks of blond and black along with the bright red of his roots. The man on the right wore a similar set of tunics and sashes but in the many hues of water and ice.

An Aquamancer and a Pyromancer working side by side wasn’t exactly common.  Aquamancy did serious damage to a Pyromancer, after all. Gaiamancers hated being around Pyromancers for similar reasons, and Aeromancers around Gaiamancers.

“Gentlemen, may I speak with your commanding officer?” Portenda asked of the two of them.

The Pyromancer flicked his smoke into the street and smiled as he plumed out smoke.

Jonah hacked a lung, Nareena patting him on the back.

“What do you need him for?” the Pyromancer Corporal asked.

“We’re involved in some rough business, and these two need to toughen up a bit,” Portenda explained, giving Jonah a light shove. “We need to request permission to use the training area.”

Jonah played it up and stumbled backward, falling over his own feet,  and both officers sniggered.

Nareena helped Jonah up, and the Pyromancer sauntered inside of the station.

Portenda gave Jonah a little wink on the sly, and a few minutes later, the three of the them found themselves looking again at the Pyromancer, followed by a huge, heavily armored Minotaur of the rank of Major.

“Can I help you folks?” the Minotaur boomed.

Portenda sniffed, detecting a hint of Q Magic on the hulking Minotaur.

“Yes Major.” Portenda tool another step forward. “We would like to borrow your training area for a short while.”

The Minotaur looked Portenda up and down for a moment, and then cast his gaze over the Alchemists.

“They need it, from the looks of them. You’ve got as long as you need, unless my men need the ground. You’ll have to record your names, though. Follow me.” He ducked through the doorway, remaining ducked down all the way to his office, where the trio from Ja-Wen seated themselves.

Portenda had to stay crouched much like the Major throughout the process, and he caught the Minotaur looking him over again. Something about the way he was being watched put him ill at ease, though he couldn’t explain why.

The way the Major smiled when they signed the registry sheet did nothing to ease his concerns.

“Very good,” the Major said as Portenda signed the sheet. “It’s nice to see you again, Bounty Hunter.” Portenda finally realized why the Major made him uncomfortable. Portenda had taken a contract from him: one that had him searching for dirt on the Minotaur’s commanding officer. Clearly, it had been a successful mission, because this man had been a Captain when Portenda had last seen him.

Jonah looked back and forth between the Minotaur and Simpa, feeling the tension build.

“I should never have agreed to help you,” Portenda said in his usual tone of arctic chilliness.

The Minotaur threw his head back and laughed derisively.

“Ah, but the money was right, Portenda. Now, you’ve got what you want from me. Hells, I might even join you out there in a bit. Maybe show your little friends here what a real man is capable of in the arena.”

Jonah wondered about Portenda’s chances in an outright contest. The Major was larger and even more muscular than Portenda, and on top of that, he was a fighter-mage. How could the Bounty Hunter stand against him? He suspected he’d find out soon enough, and stayed close to the Bounty Hunter as the three of them made their way through the station and out the back door.

Training equipment lay strewn about the exercise field, which was roughly the size of a farm.

Portenda took off his weapons and his rucksack, setting all of his belongings, including his leather and metal vest armor, next to the door. He sauntered about thirty feet away from the Alchemists, then turned to face them.

“So, what are we going to do?” Nareena cracked her knuckles in anticipation.

Jonah had seen Portenda in combat and knew that he and Nareena would have to work together to land so much as a single blow, even with the aid of Alchemy.

“Come at me. Both of you,” Portenda said, inviting them to attack. “Be warned, your tricks aren’t going to do you much good.” He easily deflected the throwing knife that Nareena had hurled at him.

Nareena looked over to Jonah to see what he would do, but Jonah had taken off his own rucksack and had drawn the enchanted short sword his father had given him.

“Jonah, what are you doing?” Nareena rasped as Jonah took a fighting stance. “If you use Focus and I use my potions and powders, we can take him down.”

Jonah just stood out in the hot sun, waiting.

Got to wait for him to make the first move, Jonah thought calmly, shifting his weight from his front leg to his back. Any moment now.

Unfortunately, he didn’t say those words out loud. Nareena sprung forward, dashing toward Portenda with a hand full of light yellow powder.

As she neared the Simpa, Nareena swallowed the powder, letting her saliva mix with the powder to unlock its power.

The Elven Alchemist skidded to a halt five yards from Portenda, and opened her mouth wide, electrical power bursting forward like a Blue Dragon’s lightning breath weapon.

The Simpa Bounty Hunter turned into a blur of gold and slightly orange motion, his fur leaving a vapor trail as he dashed backward and around to her left.

As lightning erupted from her throat, Portenda planted his feet in a wide stance, using his body motion to amplify the effect of his upward thrusting palm. His hand collided with the bottom of her lower jaw, smashing her teeth together and sending her flying end over end.

When she landed a moment later, Nareena rolled onto her sore side, spitting blood and teeth to the ground.

Jonah moved forward, trying to keep his fury in check. Nareena could grow her teeth back with a healing potion.

He tried to stay focused on the sword in his hand, and on the hulking, gray-striped Bounty Hunter.

Portenda had returned to a neutral stance, turning his back on the fallen Elf girl, and spreading his arms wide to Jonah.

A taunt, the Human Alchemist thought. Just ignore it.

He’s being cautious, Portenda thought with a grin. Good, he’s learned something along the way. But he’s waiting too long.

Portenda reared his head back, and loosed the unearthly battle roar he had used to make the spirit creature solid in the tavern on the east end of the city.

As the unnatural sound pierced Jonah’s eardrums, his entire body went numb and he watched helplessly as his father’s short sword fell from his open hands. His arms and legs had gone slack and he slumped to his knees, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides.

Portenda leapt through the air, thrusting his right leg out and kicking Jonah squarely in the face, sending him sprawling, tearing through the dirt of the training area.

Flares of light burst in Jonah’s field of vision, agony racing through his skull, and he thought he might have a fractured faceplate as he groaned, rolling over onto his stomach, trying to get to his hands and knees.

“All right, both of you, get up, take a healing potion, and think over what just happened,” Portenda growled at the Alchemists.

Jonah hardly had the strength to move, but Nareena helped him into a sitting position, taking a potion herself and then pouring another down Jonah’s throat.

He felt a whole lot better after a minute of the liquid’s healing effect, and shook off his temporary daze.

Jonah raised a hand, and Portenda gave him a curious look. “What’s on your mind, Jonah?”

“What was that,” he asked. “That’s the second time I’ve heard that roar of yours. I know that a Simpa roar can cause people to be afraid of them, and a Khan roar can make troopers so furious that they make stupid mistakes. But your roar,” he said, being cautious with his choice of words. “It’s something completely different. I was paralyzed, helpless.”

Portenda grinned, but there was no mirth in it.

“How did you do that to me? What is it about you that makes that possible?”

Portenda just shrugged his shoulders.

“I haven’t figured that out either.  Just one of those things I can do,” he explained. “Now, talk things over, and when you’re ready, come at me.” He once again stood in a neutral stance. “And remember, you should use everything at your disposal this time.”

Jonah retrieved his short sword, sheathing it as he walked up to Nareena.

“All right,” she whispered as he put his arm around her shoulder, staying close and keeping their voices low. “That didn’t go well. Any suggestions, Jonah?”

The Human Alchemist tried to think over Portenda’s movements, his speed and agility. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t think of any weaknesses. “He’s completely unarmed, but that doesn’t seem to matter much, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Jonah replied, rubbing his chin stubble thoughtfully. “If anything, it just makes him more brutal. Sometimes I get to thinking his sword and spear are for show more than anything. But, we may be able to use that to our advantage.”

“How?” Nareena looked up at the Simpa, who hadn’t budged.

“Well, we’re out in the open, which he’s comfortable with. What if that mobility and freedom of movement was suddenly cut off? I could erect stone barriers to cut off his range of movement.”

“That’ll cut us off too,” Nareena said.

“Not necessarily,” Jonah said. “I could completely box him in. I’ll trap him in a stone hut, leaving a small hole. You take one of your poison vapors and send it in through the hole.”

Nareena smiled. “I like it. But what about the Focus Site? You’ll have to take time to draw it.”

He shook his head and she noticed that Jonah had been drawing a Focus Site on his hand with a pinch of his own blood.

“Nice to see you’re a step ahead of me,” she cooed, giving him a peck on the cheek.

“Always.” He clapped his hands and let his Alchemy take over.

Portenda sensed a shifting in the ground around him, and an instant later, just as Nareena rushed toward his position, a stone hut formed around him.

Nice, he thought, but flawed.

Jonah had left a hole in the exterior of the stone trap, presumably so that Nareena could send a poison through, if he knew the Elven Alchemist at all.

Portenda took a deep breath, and pressed himself against the stone wall next to the hole.

Nareena grinned in triumph as she uncorked a glass tube, sticking the open end in the hole and venting the gas into the stone structure.

Portenda watched the green liquid turn to gas as it hit the ground, and the glass tube disappeared, as did the hole.

“There’s no way he can get out of this one,” Nareena shouted as she ran back to Jonah.

The young Alchemist couldn’t help but be worried for Portenda’s safety, and resolved to tear the structure apart through reverse Alchemy in five minutes’ time. But a moment later, stone debris struck both he and Nareena as Portenda punched the stone barrier apart from inside.

The Simpa Bounty Hunter smiled like a man possessed.

As Jonah and Nareena broke apart, Portenda landed in a beast-like crouch in front of the Elf woman.

“Oh, ah, hi there,” she stammered.

He bull-tackled her to the ground, punching her once in the right shoulder.

Nareena howled as her collarbone was shattered into broken waste.

Jonah clapped his hands together, activating one of his newly acquired Sites that he’d inscribed on his right arm.

This’ll throw him for a loop, he thought as his body twisted and bent.

A moment later, he dropped to the ground, fire coursing through his veins.

Portenda was ready to leap at him, but stayed astride the Elven girl, clapping her once across the temple with one of his gnarled knuckles, rendering her unconscious. What was Jonah doing now?

Jonah’s body contorted and expanded, and his flesh sprouted fur, his muscles exploding to several dozen times their normal size, and even his scent began to change.

“Remarkable,” Portenda breathed, as a carbon copy of himself rose to its feet.

The only discernable difference was that Jonah hadn’t been able to recreate the gray eyes or stripes, and patches of his skin were covered with a layer of steel.

One of the weapons racks near the central police station doors had mysteriously emptied.

Jonah marveled at the feeling so quick, so powerful. But he knew the change wouldn’t last long—he had to take advantage of it now.

He took on an attacking stance, and claws sprang from his fingertips, spouting blood as they tore through the tips of his fingers. “Looks like we’re pretty even now.” Portenda’s voice sounded almost ghastly coming from his throat.

“Not quite,” Portenda said. “You’ve copied my body, sure. But can you copy my mind?”

Portenda sprang from his pent-up crouch, flying through the air and leveling a jump-kick at Jonah, whose right arm came up naturally in defense.

Portenda kicked off of the blocking arm, and landed in a three-point stance.

Jonah felt a rush of exhilaration as he defended himself from another chest-level kick, but the joy dissipated as Portenda followed up with an uppercut punch that laid him flat on his back.

Jonah was up almost immediately, however, his blood pumping harder than ever. He launched a hard roundhouse kick with his right leg.

Portenda parried effortlessly, but the metal plates on Jonah’s artificial foot damaged Portenda’s outstretched arm. The Bounty Hunter cursed himself silently for not simply evading the strike.

Jonah took to the offensive, swinging wildly with undisciplined punches and kicks as Portenda simply blocked and dodged.

Jonah was quickly losing both speed and strength, and as he half-heartedly launched a hook punch, Portenda found his opening.

He stepped forward into the strike, thrusting both hands, open palmed, into Jonah’s arm, striking a nerve and the bones in his wrist hard.

The sudden impact staggered Jonah.

During that moment, Portenda backhanded him in the face as Portenda’s left palm checked his chest.

Portenda drew his right hand back and punched Jonah in the stomach, still going through the motions of the self-defense technique.

As Jonah’s head came down, Portenda raised his right arm and performed a heavy hammer blow on his jaw.

Jonah fell in a heap to the ground, his body quickly reverting to normal.

The entire series had taken two seconds to perform, and the sudden devastation had forced the Alchemical transformation to break apart and dissolve.

Nareena regained consciousness in time to see that she and Jonah had failed once again. Portenda was rubbing his wrist, however, a sign that Jonah had managed to hurt him a little.

Portenda lifted Jonah gingerly and carried him over to Nareena, his eyes filled with regret.

“Jonah, wake up,” he urged as he laid the boy down on the dirt near Nareena.

The Elven Alchemist grabbed another healing potion, and poured it into Jonah’s mouth, having already taken one herself.

A moment later, the boy was awake, and he quickly scuttled away from Portenda. His heart was filled with shame at his failed attempt to defeat the Bounty Hunter, and he felt almost useless.

“Nareena crouched down next to him, and tried to give him a comforting embrace, but Jonah shrugged her off, too ashamed to be close to anyone at the moment.

Portenda’s heart sank. He, too, had once felt worthless, helpless. He stepped forward and offered his hand to Jonah, who refused it.

The boy stood up on his own, straightening his clothes.

“Jonah, don’t sell yourself short. You just aren’t using all of the tools at your disposal,” Portenda said softly.

“Bullshit! What can we possibly do to get at you? You want to tell me that? What?”

 “What about your sister,” Portenda asked in a harsh tone.

Jonah’s eyes went wide, and his mind came to a screaming halt.

“You still want to save her, correct? We’re dealing with another Alchemist, Jonah. He’s going to have soldiers, guards at his base of operations.”

Nareena put her arms around Jonah’s left arm, holding on tightly.

Jonah knew Portenda was right. He had to find a way.

“Take your time, and think it through. I’ll be ready for you,” Portenda moved away, turning to face them in his neutral stance.

“Jonah, are you okay?” Nareena gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll be fine. It’s just so frustrating! He’s like the perfect warrior. I can’t find a single weakness in him.”

“I know of one.” She pulled a silver dagger from her boot. She had kept it in a copper sheath, and she saw Portenda’s eyes widen at the sight of it.

Jonah took the weapon from, tested its weight, and tried to think of how to use it to his advantage.

“About two pounds,” he whispered. It was enough raw material to work with, but what could he do? If he made a different weapon out of it, he would have to use it, and Portenda could defend himself against weapons, chemicals, and traps. How could Jonah make certain that the metal touched him?

That’s it, he thought excitedly.

“Sweetheart, stand right here.” He moved Nareena to where he needed her,  and took an inkwell from his rucksack. “This is going to seem odd, but trust me.”

Dipping his finger into the inkwell and pulling Nareena’s shirt out, he put his hand up under her clothes.

“Um, honey. Now doesn’t seem like the right time for this.”

 “Portenda uses traps all the time, right? He reacts to whatever comes at him. But what about when something reacts to him? I’ve seen him counterattack other counterattacks, but what if the first counter isn’t really an attack at all? What if it’s a diversion, something to set up a chain reaction?”

Nareena thought she had an idea of where he was going with this, and Jonah darted away, keeping his distance from the Bounty Hunter. He inscribed a Site on Nareena, and one on the dagger as well.

The Simpa moved now towards Jonah, fists raised.

“Jonah,” Nareena screamed.

The Human was ready for this. He ducked and rolled away from the Bounty Hunter’s hard, straight-line punch.

He hadn’t learned much about Portenda’s fighting style, since it varied so much, but he knew the general signs of attack. He dashed in the direction that Portenda had come from, ducking down and drawing a single line in the dirt before darting away again from the attacking Bounty Hunter.

Nareena watched this odd dance for a few minutes, finally realizing that Jonah was systematically inscribing Focus Sites all over the training ground.

“Get ready,” he shouted as he rolled behind Nareena, ducking down, his hands ready to clap together.

Portenda had leaped through the air, and was coming down with an over-hand blow at Nareena, who leaned back as she heard Jonah’s clap behind her.

The Site on her chest flared to life, and a gust of concussion force blasted the surprised Simpa as he closed to within an inch of her breastbone. That energy sent him flying, but he landed in a crouch, fist clenched and raised.

Jonah clapped his hands again.

Before Portenda could think, a pair of stone hands grabbed his ankles from the Focus Site he had landed on. Jonah’s calculations were proving themselves most efficient, and Portenda was suddenly aware that he had fallen for a series of traps.

“Clever boy,” he muttered, bracing his body for the impact from another Focus. A cannon had formed out of a nearby Site, and a heavy, leaden ball struck Portenda sent him sprawling.

He landed on his back near another Site, which burst with blinding light as his legs were transformed into steel weights.

“Oh shit,” he murmured as he realized that his own legs had been transformed, leaving him immobilized as the silver dagger Teleported about fifty yards above him.

Just before the falling weapon slammed into Portenda’s stomach, Jonah caught it.

“Got you.”

Portenda’s legs returned to normal, and he got up, brushing himself off.

He clapped Jonah on the shoulder as he rubbed his sore ribs. When the cannonball had struck him, it had broken two of them, and he was concentrating on his regeneration when the Major entered the arena courtyard, his heavy battle-axe over his shoulder.

“I thought he was joking about coming out here,” Jonah said as Nareena came toward them with their weapons and belongings in hand. He handed her the dagger, which she hastily tucked away in her boot sheath.

Portenda felt a little better as the copper sheath suppressed the silver’s presence, but he didn’t trust the Minotaur in the least.

“I see they managed to get you on that one, Bounty Hunter,” the Major shouted across the hundred yards that separated them. “I’m not very familiar with Alchemy, but I’d say the boy is rather adept with it. It’s nothing compared to real magic, though.” He flexed his left hand, bringing a spark of energy to bear. “I’m surprised you bother to associate with anyone less capable than yourself, Portenda. I thought Bounty Hunters didn’t keep company.”

Portenda kept his face slack, but his left hand was making a fist on and off as he took his protective vest from Nareena and put it on.

“Thanks for letting us use the field.” Jonah slung his rucksack over his shoulders. “I think we’ll be moving along now, though.”

“I don’t think so, little man.” The Major approached slowly, methodically swinging his battle-axe. “I’d like to pit your science against my magic, Mister Staples.”

“That’s not a fair fight,” Portenda said as the Minotaur closed to within ten yards. The scent of dried blood wafted from his axe head, and Portenda listened to the rumble of magical force being summoned forth. The Major was going to force a confrontation, and soon, he realized. “Your magic is used to amplify your own natural physical capabilities, Major. Jonah stands no chance against you in a physical altercation, and you know it.”

“Aw, what’s the matter, Bounty Hunter? Afraid I might hurt your little friend?” the Major mocked.

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Portenda’s voice sank to a growl. “And he is my friend, Major. I won’t allow you to visit harm on him. Why don’t you take me on instead? I don’t have any magic or Alchemy to use against you, after all.”

“I want the boy.”

Arrogant bastard, Jonah thought as Nareena clutched him around the waist. “You can give him any weapon you want,” the Major said.

An idea popped into Portenda’s head. “All right.”

Jonah and Nareena looked incredulously at the Bounty Hunter.

“Jonah, take this.” He took his sniper rifle off of his shoulder and handed it to the boy. “Nareena, get behind me.”

“Excellent,” the Major said, bringing his magic to bear. “Now get ready for a real lesson, kid.”

“Portenda, what are you doing?” Jonah held the sniper rifle awkwardly.

Portenda smiled broadly, his fangs gleaming in the afternoon sun. “Jonah, execute command seventy-three.”

Portenda watched with satisfaction as Jonah’s eyes glazed, though not nearly as much as when Genma had said those exact same words through the mirror communicator.

Portenda, Nareena, and the Major watched with fascination, and for the Major, a touch of fear, as Jonah’s left hand flew over the rifle, transforming it into a sizable cannon.

The Major knocked the barrel, which had rested against his chest, aside, and moved forward, axe over his head. He swung down, but connected with nothing but air and ground, and looked to his left to find that the boy had darted around him faster than he could see.

Jonah felt adrenaline pump through his body, and he could actually see and control some of his actions as he executed the mentally programmed command. Portenda had used one of Genma’s machinations as a positive course of action, and Jonah held the weapon level to the Major’s head as he tossed a fire tincture at the Minotaur. It exploded against the Major, who ran around screaming, dropping his weapon as flames consumed his clothes and armor.

When they had burned away, the Major found he was undamaged, but completely naked. Jonah came down out of his trance, and the rifle became a normal mecha weapon again. The Minotaur covered his privates with his hands, and stared wide-eyed at the boy.

“You’re a freak,” he shouted at Jonah.

“And you’re small,” Nareena chided, getting a laugh out of Jonah and even a chuckle out of the Bounty Hunter. “Gods, my man there has a bigger crank than you, and he’s Human.”

The Major ran, cursing and shouting over his shoulder, into the constable station.

Jonah walked over to Portenda, holding out the rifle, but Portenda shook his head.

“Keep it.”

Jonah positively beamed at him as he strapped the rifle to his back.

“When this is all over, it’ll be useful for hunting fresh game for your mother to cook at home.” Portenda’s voice remained filled with good humor and spirits at the Major’s expense.

As the trio left the constable station a few minutes later, Jonah pulled Portenda aside.

Nareena nodded to him, and walked a little way away, so that Jonah and Portenda could have a little privacy.

“Portenda, back there, did you mean what you told that Minotaur?”

Portenda raised an eyebrow at him, and Jonah moved his hands, feeling embarrassed about asking such a question. “Are we really your friends?”

“Certainly.” He did, in fact, feel they were the best friends he’d ever had. But Death had been right: he didn’t expect Jonah and Nareena to stick around once they rescued Eileen. They would most likely head back to Desanadron and settle in together. He’d be right back where he started: alone with his thoughts and his silence.

He put a companionable arm around Jonah and then Nareena, walking between them down the central road of Palen. “I say we’ve earned ourselves some entertainment,” he said amiably to the Alchemists.

“So where are we headed?” Nareena asked, surprised that Portenda was acting so chummy with both her and Jonah.

“There’s a gaming house on the north end of the city. We can spend some time and money there. Who knows, maybe we’ll actually win something.” He doubted that they would be so lucky, but that didn’t matter to him; what mattered was enjoying their company as much as he could before their messenger arrived. After that, it would be back to business.

He’d have to return to being Portenda the Quiet, instead of Portenda, friend of Jonah Staples and Nareena.

* * * *

The Master slept mostly during the day.

While Kobuchi was taking a bit of a risk, it was a calculated one.

The Kobold made his way to Eileen Staples’ room, where he found her sitting at the table, picking at her lunch.

She looked up, startled to find him watching her. “What are you doing here?”

Kobuchi dashed over to her, speaking in a rush.

“There’s something I need you to help me with. We’ll both benefit from it, I assure you. The Master keeps a set of journals locked up two floors above us, in one of his offices. The door is hidden, so you wouldn’t have noticed it, but I can get us in.”

“Okay. Where do I fit in? And why do you want the journals?”

“I believe one of those journals records the process the Master used to make me his minion,” Kobuchi explained. “If I can review it, I might be able to break his hold on me. But the desk drawer is sealed with Alchemy. I don’t have any spells that he wouldn’t notice or know of that can get me at those journals. You might. Also, you should be warned. The Master has a guest in the tower, and I’m not sure of him.” He referred to Telroke, Portenda’s father. “I saw him wandering around earlier, and we have to avoid him if we can.”

Eileen decided that perhaps Kobuchi would be able to aid her from inside the tower when her brother came for her, as she prayed he would.

“Okay, I’ll help you. When do we do this?”

“Right now.” Kobuchi darted to the door, looking up and down the hallway.

Eileen gingerly raised herself from her seat, her body still stiff and sore from her injuries. She followed Kobuchi down the left of the corridor, all the way to the stairwell, and up two flights of stairs.

At the entryway to the floor, she had to stop and rest, already short of breath.

“Take your time,” Kobuchi said. “I doubt that Telroke would come this far up the tower.”

“Telroke?” she asked, still wheezing slightly.

“The Master’s guest. He’s a Simpa, a drunkard from what I can tell,” Kobuchi said, glad that the offensive man had such a vice. It might make him easier to control or manipulate.

Steadier once again, Eileen indicated that Kobuchi could continue on.

He led her to a set of stones that didn’t seem properly aligned with the rest of the wall.

Eileen felt a little foolish for not having noticed this before, but Kobuchi tapped a stone opposite the door, and it swung soundlessly open, revealing a small office with a single oak desk and a set of reference bookcases.

She followed him behind the desk, and he pointed to the top right hand drawer. “If it’s opened normally, or with my magic, the Master will be alerted. I am hoping you have some other way to get into it.”

He almost screamed in terror when Eileen touched the desktop.

“Be very careful,” he moaned, frightened to the core that Genma would find out what he was up to, and do away with him altogether.

Eileen moved her good hand over the surface, and let a small amount of magical force carve a perfect square into the wood. She levitated the cut material up, and Kobuchi dove his hand in and withdrew two notebooks.

Eileen then floated the wood back into place, and restored the desk surface.

Kobuchi smiled broadly at her. “I’d offer you one, but I have to read them both through to make certain. Are you going to be staying in your room?”

“For a few more days,” Eileen said quietly, now also afraid of what might happen if they were discovered.

“Good. I’ll bring them to you with a set of notes when I’m finished.” Kobuchi poked his head out into the hallway. When he saw all was clear, he led Eileen Staples back to her room and helped her into her bed, pulling the covers up over her.

She smiled and thanked him before nodding off to sleep. She really was a very pretty girl, and sweet to boot, he thought.

He had to help her escape the Master.

* * * *

Genma was not, in point of fact, asleep at the time. He was quite awake, but distracted by his visitor, the Simpa Telroke.

The man had done considerable damage to his provided quarters, and was trying to explain what had happened to Genma, but the ivory masked Alchemist finally held up a hand to stop him.

“Enough of this. I have some questions I’d like you to answer. Tell me about your son.”

“What d’you wanna know?” Telroke managed halfway decent speech, seeing as Genma had cut him off after two bottles of his finest Shiraz.

“First off, what’s he capable of?” Genma crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap.

The entire room smelled like sweat, liquor, and freshly washed fur.

At least the man had taken a bath and changed his clothes, Genma thought as calmly as he could. Just being around this man flustered him.

“Well, you’ve got an impressive little army of beasties,” Telroke said with a sloppy smile, waving his hands around for emphasis as drunks often do. “He’ll be able to rip through most of them without a sweat, though. He’sh really good, at fighting, ya know?”

Genma had to restrain himself from yelling that he wanted specifics, statistics, something of more value than a vague statement like, ‘he’s good at fighting’.

“Why is it that you don’t get along with him?” he asked, taking a different tack. “He’s your own flesh and blood, after all. I would imagine you should be quite close.”

“He’s a little freak.” Telroke’s face turned into a familiar scowl. “If I didn’t have to, I wouldn’t even admit to being related to the boy. Besides, we’ve never been close.”

Genma realized Telroke wasn’t wholly in the room with the Alchemist, and wondered how this Simpa had become the drunken, angry soul before him.

“I suppose you have your suspicions about what he is,” Telroke said quietly, his eyes drooping slightly. “His mother was a Khan woman.”

“Ah, I see,” Genma said. He had only caught a glimpse of the Bounty Hunter through the mirror communication with Jonah, but he had noted the odd gray stripes on his forearms. “So he’s a half-breed, then? I thought Simpa and Khan were, incompatible. How did he come to be?”

Telroke spat on the floor, causing Genma to twitch slightly as the saliva struck the royal blue rug.

Have to remember to wash it or replace it, he thought.

Telroke shrugged. “I’m not certain. It’s highly taboo what I did in the first place. And as far as I know, there’s never been a child born from such a mating.”

“Mating?” Genma asked, twisting the word meaningfully. “You took her by force, didn’t you?”

Telroke looked away and growled deep in his throat. His mane stood on end, and he bared his teeth ever so slightly.

“I see. So how about it? Tell me what happened.” Genma activated a Focus Site he had marked under the Simpa’s seat.

Telroke’s eyes glazed over for a moment, and he began speaking without willing it.

“Me and four of my tribesmen were patrolling the Hills around our village. We came upon three Khan, presumably collecting reconnaissance on the area. We hadn’t been prepared to find anything out of the ordinary, but these Khan weren’t even carrying weapons. That seemed a tad strange to us, so instead of outright assaulting them, we stayed back and observed from behind an outcropping of rocks. There were two men and a young woman, far more beautiful than the women of my tribe, even for a Khan. The men were muttering to themselves in some strange language I had never heard before. As they chanted, an orb of black energy began to form between them.

“Then the woman stretched out her arm, and a white light streamed from her palm into the orb. A wave of concussion force threw my allies and myself to the ground. The Khan men heard us, and they came at us, launching kicks and claw swipes that were clearly martial arts of some sort. But we were highly trained Soldiers, and our weapons were at the ready. The four of us hacked them apart in less than a minute. The woman tried to run, but I chased her down and had my way with her.” There was the gleam of rapture in Telroke’s eyes as he relived the sexual violence.

What a repugnant creature, Genma thought. Then again, I have similar designs for my niece.

“Any idea what they were trying to accomplish,” Genma asked, letting the Focus Site’s effect gradually wear off.

“No, and I didn’t care.” Telroke realized that something peculiar had been done to him. “And before you tell me what in the seven Hells you just did to me, I’d just like to add that my actions that day have led me to this place, speaking to you about my son. Strange, don’t you think?”

“No, not really. And I just used Alchemy to help this little conversation along,” Genma said slyly, crossing his legs as he spoke.

“Alchemy,” Telroke said, raising an eyebrow. “Some new sort of sorcery, is that?”

“No, but science can get very close to magic.” Genma smiled beneath his ivory mask. “Often times, I find, it’s even better than magic. Now, please, continue Telroke.”

The alcoholic Simpa scanned the room for any liquor bottles he hadn’t emptied, and spotted one on the dresser behind Genma. He stalked around the masked Alchemist and opened the bottle with an echoing pop as returned to his seat. He took a long pull on the brandy, and wiped his mouth.

“After I was done with the girl, I punched her once in the forehead. I knocked her out.” The quick drink had steadied his voice.

It appeared to Genma that without alcohol, Telroke could no longer function properly.

“My men admonished me for what I had done, yelling at me about the laws of nature that I had broken. I explained that I was leaving a clear sign to our hated enemies that we owned the Allenians, and that we owned them if we so chose to. I bound the girl with some rope I kept in my pack, and hauled her back to the village with me.

“The elders didn’t like it, but they approved from the viewpoint of conquest.” Telroke took another swig as he smiled at the memory. “They declared that I could keep her as a trophy of war, use her however I wanted. But they tried to let the men that had been with me take turns with her, which I argued against. They agreed after a while, and I took her to my tent.”

Genma had been listening intently when he had an odd chill race up his spine. Something strange was happening in his tower keep. Deciding to investigate later, he turned his attention back to the Simpa. “I assume she didn’t go along peacefully.”

“Not exactly. But after a few beatings, she stopped resisting. I took her every night for a month. Then one night, she told me that I couldn’t. I asked her why not, and she told me that she was with child. My child.” Telroke’s eyes glazed over once more as he took down the last of the bottle’s contents. “I would have told her that was impossible, except that Khan are known for their instincts for such things. In their society, a man cannot lay with his woman when she is one month along in her pregnancy. Instead, the man is then allowed to choose one of his wife’s available sisters or friends, and take them when they have the urge.”

“That’s rather unusual,” Genma said, genuinely surprised to learn something new about the world and its cultures from this drunkard. “I would imagine that leads to a lot of jealousy and broken marriages,” he said.

“In Khan culture, I have learned, the bearing of a child is the most powerful statement of love between a man and woman. They will not risk the child’s welfare by having relations, so the men are allowed an outlet for their more, primal urges.” Telroke gave a sloppy grin. “No such standards exist in my people’s society. However, I didn’t wish to force the situation because I never expected her to carry to full term. After all, it had never happened before.”

“I see.” Genma, folded his hands in front of his chin. “But she did carry to full term. Were you there?”

“No,” Telroke said flatly. “I was with most of the rest of my tribe, engaged with a small Khan village on the outskirts of our patrolling borders. As it turned out, it had been her village, her tribe.

We were entrenched outside of their village for six days. We made several attacks each day, slaying more and more of them each time we struck.” Telroke swung the emptied bottle of brandy in the air like a weapon, reliving his glorious moments of sobriety, when battle was all that mattered, when victory measured one’s worth. “We lost a few of our own, too, though. It is the nature of war that there is no such thing as victory without a price.

“Upon our return back to our own village, which we could now expand a bit since we had no immediate threats around, I noticed that a large group of women and the elders had gathered around my tent. ‘She has delivered a child,’ one of the elders told me.

I remember the anger in his voice, the hatred he felt for what I had helped create. A freak of nature.” Telroke heaved the bottle at a side wall, smashing it into tiny pieces.

Genma grimaced at the sound of the impact, the explosion of glass against the concrete wall.

“But the elders did not bother me so much as the other one who stood there.”

“The other one? Who do you mean?” Genma asked him, curious now that things had taken a turn in the tale.

“I swear that I saw the Grim Reaper looking in at the child.” Telroke’s voice said his mind dwelled in a faraway memory. “But he turned and stalked away when I spotted him, not once looking back at me or those gathered around my tent. The boy was born looking almost completely like a Simpa, one of our proud people. But the stripes of gray hue, and his eyes of the same ashen color, gave him away for what he was. A boy,” Telroke said, tears threatening to escape from his eyes. “My boy. His mother named him Portenda, which in the Khan tongue means ‘he who defies the laws’.”

“Rather fitting, really,” Genma said. “So, you let the boy live, raised him as your own. What of his mother?”

Telroke stood, tensing his muscles. “Well, for starters, the boy grew far more quickly than anyone expected. For the first year of his life, his bitch of a mother wouldn’t let him out of her sight. By the time his first birthday came around, he was running, wearing a boy’s clothes, and speaking the rough tones of the Khan tongue. He appeared to be a boy of five or six years of age when he turned just a year old, and many of the tribesmen started distancing themselves from me and my family, if that’s what one could call them.

“He was a freak, but Gods damn it, he was my son.” Telroke clenched his fists in rage. “I took the boy from the tent while his mother slept, and asked him if he could understand my words.

“‘Of course I can,’ the boy had responded to my disbelief. He knew both the language of the Khan and of the Simpa, and he was barely thirteen months of age.”

“Remarkable,” Genma rasped, now completely lost in Telroke’s tale. “Please, continue.”

“His mother and I spent much time apart, and I had started to take an interest in some of the other available women of the tribe. But the elders warned me that I could have no other woman. I had a child with the Khan who was my trophy, and as punishment for my violation of ancient taboo, I could take no other wife. I was furious. Now I was as much of an outsider as my own son and the woman I had brought to the village. I began accepting assignments from the elders that took me further and further from the village, for longer periods of time.

“I lost track of time. I started drinking,” he waved a hand dismally towards the broken brandy bottle. “For eight years I was lost in a fog of alcohol and blood, but I didn’t care. One day, when I came home, I found the boy was armed and training with weaponry. One of the young Hunters of the village told me as I approached my own flesh and blood that the boy had almost killed him in a sparring session. He was good, too good to be real. When I approached him, he dropped the weapons, and rushed up to me. He, he hugged me around the waist. ‘Daddy, you’re home,’ he said to me.”

A single tear streaked the fur on Telroke’s face.

“But I knew what he was, and I knew that I had to do something to make myself free of him and his bitch mother. He was so fond of her, so close to her. Yet she never spoke to me, not a word in years. Not even to resist what I did to her. She never tried to escape, spent most of her time in the tent or the fields, working to harvest what few crops we grew in the Hills.

“I told the boy, Portenda, why don’t you go a little further south of the village and train. The terrain is rough, and will be perfect for training your balance and strength. The boy was gone before I could blink, Genma. He’s always been terribly fast.” Telroke waved a finger at the mad Alchemist. “Don’t be fooled by his size! Your guard creatures won’t be able to so much as clear their throat before he blasts through them.”

Genma figured that the man was blowing smoke, being drunk and not wanting to remember everything clearly. “I’m not worried too much,” Genma said confidently. “Please, finish your story. I sense it’s coming to an end.”

Telroke grumbled and nodded, for he was indeed almost done.

“I took out my broadsword and stalked to my tent. Several of my tribesmen must have sensed what was going to happen, and they fetched two or three of the elders to bear witness. I entered my tent, and she was just sitting there, praying. She opened her eyes, and I her mute acceptance. ‘I’ve come to kill you, you know,’ I told her.

“And then, finally, she spoke to me. What she said haunts me to this day, Genma. She said, ‘I died the day our child was born. My purpose in this life is served.’ I used a single blow and took off her head. When I carried it over my shoulder outside, the whole village cheered for me. They welcomed me back as one of their own, but one voice cried out in agony. The boy charged through the crowd, swinging his own sword at me.

“I easily blocked him, kicked him away like so much trash.

“The village turned on him, all together once more. The boy turned and ran, and I followed after, leaving his mother’s head behind on the ground. I caught up with him almost twenty minutes later, and he came at me, hard. I was actually being beaten back by a boy only half my size, a boy nine years of age. But his fury made him sloppy, and I disarmed him. I would have finished him off, but he invoked the Rite of Exile, a sacred tradition among our people. I could do him no harm, and he had to remove himself from the Allenian Hills. If ever he returns, both Races will target him. The elders of my village were willing to take him back recently, but he refused their offer. He will not stand against the Khan nation of the Allenian Hills. All because of some misbegotten allegiance to his dead mother.” Telroke f moved over to the bed, slumping down onto it after a moment. “We’re done for now, Genma. I assume I’ve given you what you want.”

“For now.” He got to his feet, still taking in everything that the Simpa had told him. It was true, then, he thought. Nine years old and on his own in a very harsh world. Yet, that boy had survived, and become the Bounty Hunter that threatened to ruin his plans.

He left Telroke to his thoughts and rest, and stalked the long corridors of his tower keep. He would have to speak with Kobuchi, make certain that the guard beasts were up to snuff. After hearing the Simpa’s tale, he knew that Portenda the Quiet was as dangerous as he had suspected, perhaps more so. He also sensed that the confrontation between son and father hadn’t gone exactly as Telroke had described it. He would have to take every precaution in the event Portenda found the tower before Eileen’s transformation.

In the guest chambers, Telroke broke down and wept for the many sins of his life.

* * * *

Night had fallen on the city of Palen, and Jonah, Nareena, and Portenda had each blown roughly one hundred gold pieces on the gaming tables in the gambling hall of the city. As the three companions made their way out into the darkened streets of Palen, they looked around at the dimly lit buildings and the torch lamps that illuminated the streets.

“Come on, we should get to a hotel. A new one tonight,” Portenda said.

Jonah and Nareena walked hand in hand behind him, following all the way to the western district where they entered a humble inn and got themselves rooms to bed down in for the night.

When at last Portenda closed the door behind him, he heaved a sigh. He had enjoyed spending time with the Alchemists, but soon he would have to pick up on the trail of Eileen Staples and her abductor: the man formerly called Allen Staples.

“Genma,” he whispered, stalking over to the window in his unlit room.

He peered out into the night sky, watching as clouds rolled in overhead, and listened to the skittering of the rodents in the walls and between the floorboards of the inn room. His nostrils flared as he took a deep, centering breath. “Why have you taken your niece? What have you become?”

He removed the leather and metal protector vest from his torso, hanging it on a hook in the wall next to his bed, setting his weapons around and underneath the bed for quick access.

Portenda’s mind touched here and there on what he knew about the facts of this quest. “A quest, not a job,” he muttered to himself. “I’m not getting paid for this, after all.” He opened his rucksack and withdrew a single folder. The file contained all of the relevant information that Portenda had on Genma, Kobuchi, and Eileen Staples.

The Bounty Hunter reached in and drew out a second folder, containing the few scribbled notes he had taken down concerning the connections and motives of the subjects involved in this mission. He had as yet not found the connection between Genma and Eileen, other than their blood relationship as uncle and niece. The Bounty Hunter had long ago learned how to make the ties between individuals involved in his contracts. The art of detective work was tricky business for most, but his own enhanced powers of perception had always given him an edge.

Portenda had also gained first-hand knowledge of Alchemy through watching Jonah use the Focus Sites. Nareena’s potions and tinctures, in addition to the Human boy’s, could have dozens of various effects, many of them as yet unknown to the Simpa. Until he had an idea of why Genma held his niece captive, Portenda couldn’t gauge how long he had to find the girl.

If it took him a week, Portenda would draw out the torture that Genma deserved for doing such a thing to good people.

The beast came to a screeching halt, stone and scrub grass kicking up and flying into the otherwise still and unbroken air, the harsh echo of its stampeding hooves through the night now an abrupt explosion of stopping energy. The soft and easy scent of fresh loam filled the air around Raja as he stood, neighing, perhaps twenty yards away from the western gate of Palen, Blink still clutching to his morphing flesh like a creature in its final death throes.

Night birds swirled overhead, occasionally letting out brief caws that Blink’s increasingly limber mind interpreted as ‘hey, how’s your wife doing?’ The responding croaks from other black feathered avian animals loosely related as, ‘oh, she’s fine. You know, sitting on the eggs.’

Momentarily distracted by this exchange, Blink hadn’t noticed that his path was clear into the city. No guards kept watch over the western gates of Palen. No shouts came from anyone demanding to know identity or business in the city. Instead the balmy rasping of an evening wind told of secrets overheard during the daylight hours. The Alchemical beast descended Raja’s flank, dropping to the ground easily as he got to the Troke’s underbelly. The sound and sight of dark flesh moving and sliding into a new shape rent the air, and the sensation of impending departure filled the little beast’s heart. Though they hadn’t spoken much, he was immensely grateful to the Troke for his help in this matter.

“Well, little one, this is where we say good-bye.” Raja took the form of a huge, obsidian raven with a bandaged head and beak. A single eye poked through the bandages, giving him an obscene countenance, like an animal partially treated by half-assed medical techniques and released, permanently scarred, into the wild. “I trust that what you’re looking for is here.”

Blink nodded his furry little head, and gave his thanks by emitting a wave of energy towards the Troke; Raja felt a cooling sensation brush over him from Blink’s body, and he smiled to himself. “Perhaps some day we shall meet again, little one. For now, though, I wish you the best of luck.” He took flight into the night sky, appearing to be a lone bird, charting its own course.

As time had passed throughout the day, Blink had formed an increasingly solid mental image of the person he had been sent to find. As an Alchemical beast, his intellect and memories were highly affected by the knowledge of his creator, who happened to be related to his quarry by blood. Blink had gained a sort of genetic memory from Genma, who had used a few drops of his own blood to merge three separate animals, creating from them, this creature now known as Blink.

His eight scorpion-like legs carried him through Palen’s open gates and into an environment that smelled of magic and science in high potency and concentration. The only other occupants of the streets, it appeared to the Alchemy beast, were a few town guardsmen and rats that had escaped from the labs they had been kept in.

A couple of them, Blink knew, weren’t rats at all, but Wererats, using their animal form to remain unseen as they looked for places to rob or loot. Wererats were natural thieves, and most of them were very professional about it—even in a city like Palen, the natural order of things seemed to march on.

There. Blink’s nostrils flaring like a canine hunting animal’s might when it sniffs a doe. Someone close by smells like the girl, like my owner. Dashing over dirt and cobblestone streets, Blink made his way to the solid oak door of a hotel.

He looked up at the door in dismay. He wasn’t strong enough to push the portal open and step through, and he might have to wait until someone entered or exited, risking being stepped on.

Perhaps, he surmised, someone on the first floor would be up at this late hour. If he could get their attention, they might open a window and grant him access inside.

A few minutes later, Blink found himself in luck. He dropped down on an exterior window ledge, and looked up at a huge lion-like creature: a Simpa, if he remembered correctly. More information filtered through his mind as Genma’s knowledge of the world seeped into his brain.

The huge lycanthrope was well muscled and had lit a few candles on a nightstand near the chair he sat in as he read over some papers through his thin, elegantly crafted spectacles. Gray stripes lined his arms and tree trunk chest, light in color but definitely there, nonetheless.

But the Simpa wasn’t looking at the window. Blink had to get his attention. While he sensed that the man on the other side of the glass was dangerous, not a man to be trifled with, Blink also got the feeling that he could trust his safety to the Despite the Simpa’s size and obvious power, the Alchemical beast he would be gentle and kind to such an unfortunate creature as himself.

Portenda pored over his information once more, looking over at the timepiece next to his bed and noting the late hour. “One in the morning,” he muttered to himself. “I should get some sleep.”

As he set the folder on the nightstand, he heard a light tapping of something hard and sharp against his window.

He removed his reading glasses, and found himself looking at a creature that appeared to be a mixture of a small dog, a scorpion, and some third, unknown animal. “What in the Seven Hells?” He got up out of his chair, which groaned appreciatively to be free of his massive weight, and approached the window slowly, so as not to frighten off the Alchemical beast. Portenda unfastened the latch, and slid the window open with care, allowing the creature some space.

“Hello there, little man,” he said calmly, reassuringly. “Can I help you?”

Blink leaped through the air, landing on the Bounty Hunter’s shoulder and lowering himself close against his fur and flesh. The image of a young woman rushed from Blink’s mind into his own Simpa brain.

“Eileen,” he whispered in shock. “Eileen Staples sent you, didn’t she?”

The little beast nodded its head vigorously, and Portenda smiled like a demon that has just been offered the purest soul. “Well, it would appear that our messenger has arrived. My name is Portenda, little one.” The Simpa patted Blink appreciatively on the head. “And sleep can wait for now.”