'A Hunter and His Prey' Chapter Ten- Allies

The little creature had approached the farmhouse without once stopping for a rest, and now was running for his life from a Shepherd dog the size of a small boulder.

The large canine snarled and barked at Blink as the Alchemical failure sprinted as fast as his little legs could carry it, and his animal mind raced.

Runrunrunrunrun, his mind screamed. Alchemy beasts always retained a small part of their creator’s intellect, and Genma was more intelligent than most.

Up ahead, Blink saw several Humans and what he thought might be Jafts. All wore overalls and other farmhand clothing. As Blink raced ahead, he saw rows and rows of corn. The farmhands had stopped their harvesting to see what their faithful farm dog was so uppity about.

Dashing and darting between their feet and piles of cut down corn stalks, Blink disappeared into the cornfield, hoping to shake the canine in pursuit.

The pounding of doggy feet behind him slowed. Good, Blink thought. Doggy needs his nose to smell me out.

Blink used what little sense of direction he had and navigated through the maze of maize, hearing the growling and snuffling of the animal in pursuit.

It was much larger than him, and it was bringing friends, Blink realized, hearing the muffled shouts and growls of the bipeds following along.

Not much choice now, he thought, tearing ass through the cornfields straight ahead.

“There it is! Get ‘im boy,” one of the Humans shouted.

The barking grew more intense, and as Blink exited the fields of corn into the vast plains beyond, he chanced a look back and saw the hound closing in.

No options. Blink growled and plunged his poison-filled barb into the canine’s face.

While not lethal to the huskier bipeds, the poison killed the dog almost instantly.

Blink stifled his regret—he knew the bond between human and animal better than most, but it had been his life or that of the dog. Calling up is resources, Blink was gone from sight before the Humans and Jafts could catch up. They huddled around their fallen pet and guard dog with sorrow in their hearts. “Poor Maxi,” one of the Humans said, kneeling down close to the dog.

None of the farmhands could ever describe what happened next. Their brains simply couldn’t accept what their eyes saw: a tall, angular figure in a black robe, carrying a scythe, approached them and the dog, swinging his weapon down through the vague blue stream that was attached to the dog’s spirit. The dog’s body immediately decomposed, leaving nary a trace that it had ever been alive. COME ON, MAXI, GOOD BOY, the figure in the cloak said as the skeletal remains of the canine jumped up and followed after him.

* * * *

Portenda, Jonah and Nareena sat at a round table in a little coffee shop in the dining district of Palen. ‘Le Cafe Du Forte’, the large wooden sign out front called it. They sat in silence, trying to cope with their recent meeting with Death.

“We haven’t got two days to wait, Portenda, that’s too much time,” Jonah complained.

“He wouldn’t have told us anything that would put your sister’s life at risk.” The Bounty Hunter was trying to get a fix on how Nareena had reacted to learning that he was a half-breed. He was also racking his brain, trying to figure out who would intervene on behalf of his existence. It would have to be someone who could convince Death himself to let it slide, and that seemed an impossible task. “We need to think about what we’re going to do when the messenger does arrive. We need to also prepare ourselves for the possibility that this messenger will require immediate medical attention.”

“Okay,” Nareena said. “So Jonah makes a couple of healing potions. What else?”

The Bounty Hunter looked around the cafe, admiring the quaint setting.

Fine oak wood had been crafted to make every piece of furniture and the majority of the building’s structure itself. One and a half foot thick support beams were positioned near the larger tables, with iron coat hooks placed at even intervals around them. The color scheme was soft and earthen, all greens and browns and shades of gray, lending the environment a subtle, relaxing vibe. After their meeting with Death, Portenda, Jonah and Nareena all needed that.

The seemingly random banter of the other patrons filtered through the air and mixed with their conversation, making for a comfortable background noise, and Jonah was faintly reminded of his last weeks in Desanadron, before he had moved out on his own. He had enjoyed several similar outings with his closest friends and his family, and he became momentarily nostalgic for those days.

Nareena was trying to think of a graceful way to inform Jonah that she had known about his brainwashing. It felt as though she would be confessing some great sin, and the Elven Alchemist wasn’t sure he would be in the forgiving mood just now. Instead of telling him, she filled her mouth with pastries and coffee.

The trio sat in studied silence, which Jonah was beginning to feel was the most natural way for the three of them to be.

Portenda alone, among the three of them, realized that already they had trouble heading their way.

* * * *

“I’ve always got time to chat with a friend,” the Sidalis named Felix Armstrong said through his small pocket mirror.

Although a mutant, he appeared no different than a Human, physically, so long as he kept his clothes and armor on. Genma knew, however, that beneath his tunic and chain mail shirt, the Sidalis had a gaping hole where his lower abdomen should be. His upper body was connected to his lower body only through the connection of his life force, and his clothes.

Quite a strange mutation, Genma thought. If only there were a way for him to harness it and make that useful.

All Sidalis in the realms of Tamalaria, and its sister continent, Tallowmere, possessed powers that were neither magical nor scientific, but spiritual in origin. These powers could be defended against, but each mutation was different and required a different defense. Many philosophers on the subject believed that the mutants’ powers were the gods’ way of trying to make up for the fact that the Sidalis Race was infinitely strange and warped. And even this theory sometimes had holes shot through it, at least in the Heavens above. After all, none of the Lesser Gods and Goddesses had any idea why the Sidalis Race was the way it was.

Genma had his own theories, but he wasn’t about to get into them with an employee. After all, agents were to be used for work, not palled around with. But Felix was just, friendly, was all. For the right price.

“Very good, Felix. I have a favor I’d like you to do for me. First of all, where are you right now?”

The handsome, Human-like face in the mirror turned left and right, and Felix was grateful that nobody was around to witness this queer little conversation. A man talking to a mirror might be called a lot of things.

“I’m in Atiock, a small farming village about two days north of Waterway. That’s a fishing city on the western coastline, about a day north of the Desperation.”

Genma performed a quick calculation and concluded that it would take Felix five days on horseback to reach Palen.

“Do you have access to a magic shop?” Genma asked.

Felix gave him a sly grin through the mirror. “Yeah, though its nothing much to look at. Elven fellow runs the place, doesn’t have a whole lot in stock aside from some scrolls.”

“Good enough,” Genma said. “See if he has a Teleportation scroll, and make sure it can take you to Palen. When you’ve done that, get back to me. Oh, and Felix?”

The Sidalis stopped his cut out of the communication, and raised an eyebrow at the ivory-masked Alchemist.

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing in a farming village?”

“I was passing through, and they needed an extra hand to help deliver some calves on one of the ranches. No biggy.”

Though he was a mercenary, Genma reminded himself, and a very capable one at that, Felix Armstrong had a habit of being a nice guy. That might not play too well in Genma’s designs. Then again, he had the money to pay for the Sidalis’ unwilling services. Flash the right number in front of him, and he was certain that Felix would turn over his own mother.

“Very well. Get back to me in a few, when you have the scroll.” Genma waved his hand in front of the new, huge vanity mirror, and watched as the image faded to a plain reflective surface.

Delays, delays, delays, he thought irritably. The girl had gone and gotten herself hurt, his first mercenary had been slain by a Lizardman Monk, and he was beginning to wonder how strong his hold over Kobuchi really was. He hadn’t ordered the Kobold to prepare any recapture teams in the event that the girl got away; Genma had known that she would try something, and had prepared a little surprise for her near the edge of the tower’s barrier. However, because his attendant had acted on his own accord, the girl had been injured during her retrieval. That meant at least another three days tacked on to the wait, and Kobuchi didn’t seem worried by that in the slightest.

Genma stood from his leather swivel chair and formed a Focus Site on the floor with a piece of chalk that he always kept handy. Clapping his hands and pressing his palms to the border of the Site, he felt the rush of force as it wound its way through the tower and bore down on Kobuchi, the mark on his chest burning like a thousand suns as he dropped to the floor.

Though Genma did not witness it this time, he knew that wherever the Kobold was, he was suddenly in a great deal of pain, and would shortly be feeling much more compliant.

The connection between them became stronger, and for a moment, Genma could feel Kobuchi’s agony. But he could also feel something else, something coming from an exterior source. What was this sensation, and what could cause such alarm in the Alchemist?

Before he could reach out for the source, his mirror shimmered back into the image of the Sidalis Felix Armstrong. “Yo,” the man said, holding a scroll up for Genma to see.

“Ah, very good. Use it as soon as we are done speaking, Felix. What I need you to do is find a very specific group of people, a trio. One is a Simpa Bounty Hunter by the name of Portenda. He will be easy to identify by the gray stripes on his arms, and the fact that you’ll never in your lifetime see such a heavily armed were-lion. One is Jonah Staples, a Human Alchemist. The boy is sort of gangly, a little unhealthy looking.” Genma tried to be fair to his nephew. It was hard, though, because the boy never looked too sturdy. “And the third is an Elven girl, also an Alchemist. Her name is Nareena, and she probably won’t ever be far from the boy.”

“Okay, find them first. Then what?”

“Then, entertain them for a while, Felix,” Genma said meaningfully. “There’s no need to kill them. Just, keep them busy for a few days. Mislead them, misguide them. You remember where the tower is, yes?”

Felix nodded.

“Good. Keep them away from the tower at all costs. I’m not certain if they know how to get here, but just in case they find out, I want you there to keep them away, by any means necessary.”

Felix smiled broadly, and set his teeth in a vicious grin. “So, what’s the pay?”

Down to business, Genma thought. At least he’s accepted the job.

“Normally, I’d say standard rate, my friend.” Genma let it be well known that this job was different. “Thirty thousand. But the Simpa is a rough customer, and won’t be easily dealt with, even for one with your, ah, unique talents,” he said, emphasizing the word ‘unique’. “So the pay shall be forty thousand.”

The Sidalis’ eyes bulged at the figure. “Rate and a half, huh?” Felix pulled awkwardly at his collar, and rubbed the back of his head with his free hand. “This Portenda guy, he’s the real deal, huh?”

“Quite so,” Genma said. “He has managed to get Wren killed,” he said, giving no details. He liked to let his agents use their own imaginations, as their own misguided thoughts often conjured images that Genma couldn’t provide with his best efforts.

Felix whistled. “Wow, Wren Headsplitter’s dead huh,” he said into the mirror. “Well, that’s a lot of money, and I sure could use another house.”

Genma rolled his eyes, heaving a mental sigh. Armstrong almost always used his money to build new homes for himself and his friends, or add on to those he already had. Considering how far a gold piece went, each job got him a sizable three-story home, materials and labor completely covered by his payments, with a little left over to help his friends move. Charity work, Genma thought. Why does he bother?

“All right, I’ll do it. I’m going right now.” Felix severed the link.

As the mirror went blank once more, Genma tried to feel through the tower for Kobuchi. The Kobold had returned to his normal duties.

Some things, thankfully, would never change.

* * * *

“Haaaauuuugggghhhh!” Kobuchi howled as his Master’s Focus Site burned into his flesh and mind. The walls of willpower that he had been slowly building up shattered like so much blown glass, and in his mind’s eye, Kobuchi saw his defenses crumble to dust. The raging dragon of Alchemical force pounded through the landscape of his soul, and scorched that ground with fiery demon’s breath.

The Kobold dropped to his knees, the platter he had been carrying falling and breaking apart on the stone floor at his feet.

Eileen had heard his shouts and fits of pain, and couldn’t resist helping in what small ways she could.

Ignoring her injuries, she darted from her resting chamber and found the Kobold writhing on the hallway floor, his eyes wide and glossy as his limbs thrashed.

Dashing over and kneeling next to him, Eileen tried to think of a way to help him.

“Something to bite on, something to bite on,” she murmured aloud, and took the wooden saltshaker from the busted tray, setting it between Kobuchi’s teeth. At least he wouldn’t bite his own tongue off this way.

The symbol on Kobuchi’s chest was gleaming, and Eileen feared the worst for him. She knew that he had only a limited amount of free will, thanks to her uncle’s twisted practices, and she knew of only one way to help in this matter. She pulling of the sling she wore over her injured left shoulder, and placed her left hand on the mark, flooding her magic into his body. She used the Q Mage spell Manna Shield on him, though she wasn’t entirely certain it would work against science.

In Kobuchi’s mind, the Kobold had backed himself against an aging, decrepit pine tree, the needles strewn all about the ground miserably. The shadowy dragon-like beast reared up and loosed a howl of wicked delight, and charged at him. Kobuchi threw up his arms in despair, but was amazed to see the tree thrust its branches to form a dome around him.

Life ebbed back into the tree, and Kobuchi sprang up and spun about to look at it. There, in the middle of the trunk, carved out of the wood itself, was the face of the girl his Master had taken. Eileen Staples, he realized, had just spared him from becoming a total drone again.

The dragon blew away into smoke, and a moment later, Kobuchi blinked his real eyes, and found that he was looking at the Human girl through tears of pain and relief. She, too, sobbed, and he saw that she had used her injured arm to protect him.

Kobuchi sat up and felt at the symbol on his chest, which still felt hot to the touch. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. “Um, thank you, miss Staples,” he mumbled, unsure of how to take this development. His Master would be furious if he took the time to notice that Kobuchi hadn’t been broken.

The girl threw her good arm around him, and Kobuchi went still with surprise. Compassion, he thought. For me? I’m the one who brought her back in here!

“No living person should suffer so,” she whispered in his pointy, dog-like ear.

“I agree, Miss Staples,” he whispered back. He stood and helped the Human girl get her arm back in its sling. “Now you should get back in bed. I’ll go get you some fresh food, and perhaps we can speak further on the matter tomorrow. For now, I don’t think it wise to spend time together.”

Eileen nodded and gave him a small smile, despite her own suffering. She lay back in her bed and stared at the ceiling. Come on, boy, she thought, picturing Blink in her mind. Find him. Bring him to me, so I can get out of here.

* * * *

Portenda couldn’t say what exact trouble was coming, but his gut told him it would be soon. His instincts seldom deceived him, and right now, he expected trouble to come from all directions. Still, without more information, he could do little. He sat quietly, joining in the conversation with occasional grunt of agreement or disdain, not really paying full attention. He scanned the cafe, but decided that the threat wasn’t here. It was close, but not one of the customers or staff.

“What do you think, Portenda?” Nareena asked the Simpa as she leaned forward on the table, her chin resting in her palm. Her bare arms were tensed slightly, and Portenda realized, as he looked at her, that she too sensed trouble. But he had also completely missed the question.

“Ah, about what again?”

Jonah rolled his eyes and chuckled.

“You were off in la-la land,” Jonah said. “We were just discussing the similarities and disparities between magic and science. Nareena believes they stem from the same basic roots and sources. I don’t happen to agree. What do you think?”

Portenda tried to mull the question over, but kept part of his mind free to assess the situation around him.

A handsome fellow in a chain mail shirt, tan leggings, and thick black leather boots came into the cafe, and ordered a large cuppa, seating himself in the far left corner from where the trio sat discussing magic and science. The man didn’t seem very heavily armed, and appeared to be more concerned with his appearance than the actual protection that a chain shirt provided. No threat there, Portenda surmised.

“I’ve never had to think about it,” he offered, looking once again at the Alchemists. “The only magic I bothered with is of the variety that you find in street performers, and the only sciences that interest me are biology and mecha weapon design.” His tone sounded so cold, even to him, that icicles clung to the air as he spoke. The more he tried to sense the danger, the more his frosty demeanor took hold. The effect not only changed his voice and tone, but the set and bunching of his muscles as well.

Jonah slid his chair back a little from the table, ready to spring away from any danger. He had become intimately familiar with the dead, ashen look in the Bounty Hunter’s eyes, and wanted to be ready to act if the need arose.

“Biology,” Nareena asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you,” she asked. “Why biology?”

“Every target and potential opponent has weak points, due to the nature of his or her Race,” Portenda reported. He stared ahead at nothing, trying to focus on where the threat he was sensing might come from. “Over the years, I have studied the biological weaknesses and strengths of the Races of Tamalaria. For instance, were you aware that Elven females have a nerve in their legs that their men do not?”

Nareena’s eyes widened for a moment as Portenda tapped said nerve with one of his bare toes beneath the table.

“When struck, even lightly, on the exact point of the nerve, the woman lose all motor function from the waist down.”

Nareena tried to move her legs and found that she couldn’t.

Portenda tapped the nerve again, and she swung her legs experimentally.

“Likewise, when tapped again, function is restored.”

“Just like the half-Orc back in Ja-Wen,” Jonah said with awe. “Is there any Race that doesn’t have those kinds of weaknesses?”

“No, though a few are difficult to affect with such techniques. With Lizardmen and Sidalis, for instance, the exact location of the nerves varies by person instead of by gender or age. With the Lizardmen, each tribal bloodline has their own set of weaknesses and strengths. For Sidalis, it is even more difficult, because each person of their Race has a different bodily mutation.”

As Portenda said this last bit, he identified the scent of the handsome newcomer to the cafe. A Sidalis, he thought, but didn’t spare the man more than a passing observation. He hadn’t sensed any malice from him. “It’s getting late. We’re going to find an inn now.” He got up, leaving the money for the bill on the table.

Jonah and Nareena followed the Bounty Hunter out of the cafe and into the dark evening streets of Palen. The Alchemists walked arm-in-arm, while Portenda stalked ahead of them, his body tensed and ready to spring at an instant’s notice.

The trio made their way to the business district, home of the city’s four hotels. Each building was identical to the next—low, long buildings that stretched for a hundred yards back from their front doors.

Portenda chose one at random, and led Jonah and Nareena inside. A Human, a bored-looking teen-ager from his expression, manned the front counter.

“How many rooms? How many days?” The youth took his feet down from the counter and opened the logbook to the latest entries.

“Two rooms, two days,” Portenda said flatly.

“Eight gold.” The youth grabbed two of the keys from the pegboard behind him and sliding them across the counter, taking the money in return. “Room eighteen, and room twenty-two. They’re across the hall from each other.” The youth gave Nareena a wink.

The Elven Alchemist gave him a fake smile as she flipped him off from the waist.

“Room eighteen’s the king size bed,” the clerk said.

Taking their respective keys, the trio headed down the hall. Portenda took mental notes of the position of every painting, every lounge bench and bust pedestal. Their primary escape route secured, he stopped in front of the door to his room, and spun on his heel.

“No fooling around tonight you two.” He gave them a fierce look. “Someone’s to stay awake at all times. I’ll take the first watch, then I’ll wake you, Jonah.”

Jonah and Nareena looked each other in the eyes, and then up at the tall Simpa.

“What’s wrong? Were we followed?” Jonah asked.

“No.” Portenda heaved a sigh. “But I can sense trouble. You do too, don’t you?” he asked Nareena, who nodded. “Jonah, have a couple of combative Focus Sites ready for use. Nareena, coat your knives with poisons, every one you can think of. And both of you keep some healing potions on hand. You’ve got about an hour before I expect you both to be in bed and asleep. Plenty of time to make a couple more potions if you need to.” Portenda had kept tabs on how long it took Jonah to make his most common tinctures. “Keep the paralysis vial on hand, too, Jonah. If anyone comes at us tonight or tomorrow, I want to question them. Understood?”

The Alchemists nodded their agreement.

“Good. Do what you have to and get to bed.” He opened the door to his room. “And no screwing around,” he added for good measure again, his voice as frosty as the Dwarven mountains. He slammed his door shut behind him, leaving the Alchemist couple to their own devices.

“Quickie?” Nareena asked, rubbing Jonah’s back playfully.

He gave her a deep kiss, and the two of them disappeared into their room. They’d still have plenty of prep time, Jonah reasoned, losing all rational thought soon after.

* * * *

Blink hadn’t been alive for very long, but he valued the life he had. His dog-like mind couldn’t quite wrap itself around, his current problem—a river rampaging under soft moonlight.

Something wooden floated toward him over the water’s surface, two figures standing on it, silhouetted in the dim glow of the moon.

The smell of soft soil filled the air as Blink took a couple of skittering steps closer to the riverbank, trying to get a better view of the creatures coming toward him.

The one in the black cloak and robes, his blue, bald head now clearly visible, smelled horribly. The Jaft’s stench filled the air, and Blink had to focus hard to catch the smell of the other one.

A large cat of some sort, he decided.

Cats were for chasing, but the size of this cat, and the fact that it walked on two legs, gave Blink reason for pause.

The ferry touched the riverbank softly, and the Jaft ferryman struck the ground with his pole, holding the raft in place.

The Khan Soldier stepped off, and turned around to pay the man when he caught notice of Blink.

Before the Alchemy creature could scurry out of sight, a large, orange hand was presented to him, palm up.

Friend? Blink wondered. He took a few hesitant steps forward, and looked up into the gentle smile of Tiberious Amon. Friend, Blink decided, stepping fully on to his hand.

“Trying to get across, little guy?” Amon looked back at the ferryman, who appeared to be in no rush, and was also smiling—but the Jaft was also smacking his lips. “I don’t think he’d taste very good, sir,” Amon growled at the Jaft as he stepped back aboard the ferry raft. “Take us back across, and then bring me back here. I’ll pay for all three trips at the end.”

The Jaft shrugged his shoulders and pushed off from the shore. “So, have you come far?” Amon asked.

Blink nodded, surprised he was able to communicate.

Amon gave the creature a curious glance, and realized that nature couldn’t have made this being. Magic of some sort had grafted several animals together into one entity.

Amon stroked Blink’s furry little head, and the small animal purred in response.

“You can understand what I’m saying, can’t you,” he whispered

Again, Blink nodded.

“Do you know where you’re going?”

Blink nodded and shook his head as well.

“You’ve got an idea. Hmm.” Amon mulling over the chance that he would encounter this strange beast. The gods, it seemed, continued to have a use for him.

As time passed, Amon held Blink and patted him on the head now and again. After a half an hour, they arrived on the opposite bank. Amon lowered Blink to the ground, and the Alchemy beast waved his stinger in the direction he intended to go.

“No, I’m sorry little guy.” Amon pulled a strip of salted meat from his rucksack and set it on the ground for Blink. “I’m heading the other way. But rest assured, I’ve served my purpose in your task. Now go, and stay safe.”

He watched as the creature devoured the meat he had left. Then, before the ferryman could push off, Blink had disappeared.

“Strange how the world works, eh?”

The Jaft said nothing in return.

* * * *

They don’t seem like bad folks, Felix Armstrong thought as he watched the trio leave the cafe.

He raised a finger to catch the waitress’s attention, and when the perky young Human woman flounced up, he smiled at her winningly. The girl blushed under his gaze, and he flipped his head to the side, tossing his long, beautiful blond hair back. “I’d like to trade one of my gold pieces for one that the Simpa paid with, if you don’t mind.” He exercised his charm.

The girl nodded and smiled at him, playing with her own hair as she fetched a coin from Portenda’s table and traded it with one of Felix’s.

“Thank you so very much,” he said, taking a sip of his cuppa. Good stuff, he thought. They really know how to make it here. Not like that backwater village. He hadn’t expected farm folks to be able to make such a beverage, but it had been awful.

“Can I get you anything else,” the girl asked, captivated by his androgynous beauty.

With the proper clothes, Felix Armstrong could pass for a woman, and found that men often envied his beauty, while women wanted him because of it. His charm enhanced his Sidalis power. As an adolescent, he’d developed the ability to temporarily inhabit the body of anyone he spoke with during the previous twenty-four hours. More, he could apply this power to anyone an inhabited body spoke with. In this way, he could jump from person to person for extended periods of time, but he didn’t like to be gone from his own body for too long. It left him vulnerable if he didn’t have a good hiding place for his body. Mercenaries didn’t last long if they left themselves open to attack.

She’ll do. He paid the bill and took his leave. Upon his arrival in Palen, Felix had gone to a tavern and asked to rent out the basement, which the proprietor had been more than happy to arrange. The barkeep’s mother, apparently a spirit creature, had kept him from renting out the room for a long time. A Simpa fellow, he had been told, had exorcised her earlier in the day, and Felix knew that it had been Portenda. Before he left the cafe, however, he signaled to the young waitress.

“I’m staying in town for a couple of days,” he said to her, and watched as her cheeks flushed. “I might stop by tomorrow. Are you working then?”

“No, but I can meet you here,” she said cheerily. “My name’s Michelle.”

“I’m Felix. A pleasure to meet you, Michelle.” He bowed deeply and took her hand in his own. Gets them every time, he thought, as the girl looked away bashfully. Might as well have a little fun while I’m in town. He turned then and walked out into the streets.

Once out of view of the inn, he pulled out the Simpa’s coin and turned it over in his fingers. He had a friend in the city who might be able to tell him more about the man by the coin he had in his hand.

Stalking through the streets as the city guards lit the street lamps, Felix Armstrong smiled and waved to passersby, maintaining his friendly demeanor before he got down to business.

After a while, he stood before a low, squat cottage, and knocked on the maple wood door.

After a series of crashing noises and some cursing, the door creaked open on hinges in sore need of an oiling.

A hunched man stood before him, his long, scruffy beard covering his entire face and neck, hanging over his plain blue tunic shirt. “Felix? Is that you?”

“Yes it is.” Felix hugged the man briefly.

They held each other at arm’s length, and the old man opened all three of his eyes for a moment.

“It’s good to see you, my boy,” the elderly Sidalis said. “Come in, come in.” He pulled Felix into the disastrous home behind him.

Several inches of clothes, books, and other assorted unnecessary items created in a thick layer on the floor, covering the hardwood that might have echoed under one’s boots, should they find the floor. “Can I bring you some tea, Felix?”

“No, no.” Felix took a seat in one of the soft wool recliners. “I’ve come for business, I’m afraid.”

The old man heaved a sigh.

“Don’t take it badly, pops.” Felix produced the gold coin that Portenda had handled. “I can always come back after this assignment.”

“Humph. That’s what you said last time.” The three-eyed Sidalis’s bristles twitched as he shook his head sadly. "Do you mean it this time?”

“Yes, Hector,” Felix said. “I do. I’ll have plenty of money after this one, and we can even get you a new place. Or at least hire someone to come in and clean this mess. Listen, I need to know everything you can tell me about the man who handled this before I did. I’ve been hired to distract him and his friends for a couple of days.”

Hector gave him a curious glance.

“Define for me, distract, Felix.” He took the offered gold coin.

“Oh, I don’t have to kill them. Hells, I don’t even have to hurt them, pops.”

“But it always comes to that, doesn’t it?” Felix, though he was a handsome fellow, and a nice guy to boot, had a violent streak that could run from Ja-Wen to Desanadron and back.

“It doesn’t have to,” Felix said softly. “Before you do your thing, I think I will take that tea. And the spare bedroom if you can offer it to me for the night,” he added hastily. Although he had paid for the use of a tavern basement, his old friend’s place would be more comfortable.

“Not a problem.” Hector shuffled through a pile of novels about Vampires in Tamalaria.

Although any other outsider would only see a total mess throughout the cottage, Felix knew that the old Sidalis had a method of arranging his various belongings, because whenever Hector needed something, it was within arm’s reach.

After a few minutes, Hector returned with a mug of tea. When he’d handed it to Felix, he sat across from him and turned the gold coin between his fingers. He closed all three of his eyes, and went perfectly still.

Felix had relied on the old man’s help on several jobs, as Hector’s mutant power allowed him to use an object or belonging of someone’s to look into their past, their mind, and to a small degree, their very soul.

Felix had never seen the old man react like he was now.

Hector’s entire body trembled.

Felix dropped his emptied mug to the floor and dashed to his friend’s side. “Hector, are you all right?”

The elderly Sidalis now shook so badly that his arms thrashed, striking Felix several times across the head and shoulders before the younger mutant pried the coin from his fingers.

As soon as Felix had it, Hector slipped to the floor from his seat, his chest heaving up and down, his breathing ragged and harsh.

“Hector, talk to me!”

“Felix, listen,” Hector gasped, his eyes wide. His third eye had become completely black. “You said, you don’t have to even hurt these people?”

“No, no I don’t.” Felix wondered where the old man was going with this.

“Good. If you tried it, you’d be killed faster than you could feel the Reaper’s hand on your shoulder.”

Felix stared in disbelief at his long-time friend. He had been hired once to dispose of an adolescent White Dragon, and had managed the task with only a few injuries, only one of which had been major. How could this Simpa be a greater threat to him?

Hector took a heavy, calming breath, and returned to his seat.

Felix did the same, ready to hear everything the old man could tell him. “Tell me everything,” he said in a hushed voice. “I have to know.”

“Well, where to begin? He’s about sixty or seventy years old, still young for his people.” Hector eased himself into the telling. “When he was young, I saw, he lost his mother. He was very young, only nine or ten years old. I didn’t get any exact images of anything that far back, but the feelings were intense. And at the same moment, he felt two greatly opposite reactions; a great loss, for he loved his mother immensely. And along side that, he burned with fury and hatred for someone similarly close. I believe it was his father.”

Felix nodded. He wasn’t certain he liked where this was going. “Then what?”

“Not long after, he left his homeland, to live on his own.” Hector shook his head slowly. “A boy of ten years. But he took with him a short sword, and a crudely made bow, and the very same day he left his home in the Allenian Hills, he killed a man. His first violent encounter with a creature that wasn’t an animal, aside from a fight with his father when he left home.”

“Did he leave, or was he tossed out?” Felix asked.

“A little of both.” Hector stared into space. “While walking along one of the trade roads, he was accosted by highwaymen. The first man got a leg full of teeth, and he made his way off to the horizon as quickly as he could. The second man hadn’t been so lucky. Ah, such a powerful memory, I could see it all,” Hector breathed. “A Jaft thug, at least twice his size. He swung a truncheon at the Simpa boy, but the Simpa had already been well trained with his sword. He blocked the attack, and cleaved the Jaft’s left leg at the knee. The man begged for mercy, but there was none in the boy’s heart. In that moment, a great void enveloped this boy, who would become the man you pursue! He spared the thug no mercy, cutting each of his limbs off, and then taking his head off with one clean swing. The blood sprayed everywhere, even in the boy’s eyes. He didn’t even blink, Felix.

“But time and experience have let him calm down, open up little by little. He has slain hundreds, perhaps even thousands, and most of it has been in the name of his profession.” Hector stopped for a moment, and fetched himself some tea, and a refill for Felix.

“So, he’s got a rather violent past and upbringing. What made you, you know, react like you did?”

Hector’s third eye had been clearing. It now darkened again.

“Firstly, I’ll tell you this. He’s a very rational man, very logical. His tactical efficiency is unmatched, Felix, and his powers of perception are something that only the Gods and Goddesses should be allowed to possess. He has emotions, but they do not govern his actions and thoughts. If someone gets in his way, he’ll cut them down, almost certainly ignoring any personal connections he has to them.”

“And the second thing you want to tell me?” Felix felt tendrils of fear slither against his spine and heart.

“Yes, that,” Hector said. “Felix, I could see the source and magnitude of his strength and power, and I must tell you this, because I care about your wellbeing. When I saw the source, his soul, I knew something that few ever get to know; there are Lesser Gods who would rightly tremble before him. But don’t be too afraid,” Hector said reassuringly. “He doesn’t yet know how to tap that vast potential yet.”

“How can such power even exist in the realm of mortals?” Abruptly, Genma’s payment seemed paltry rather than generous.

“At the creation of his soul and his body, he should have ceased to be. His very nature is taboo. Someone in the Heavens intervened on his behalf. Someone very influential,” he concluded.

Felix Armstrong thanked his friend for his help, and shuffled off to the spare bedroom to think a while on what he had just been told. This was going to be a difficult job. Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to put his own body in jeopardy. He had plenty of hosts to choose from, after all.

With such thoughts in his head, he slipped off to sleep, and in slumber, let his spirit wander towards his potential hosts.

* * * *

Portenda watched the streets through the window in his room, keeping his eyes focused and his mind clear. No external sound mixed with the inflation and deflation of his lungs as he breathed steadily, rhythmically. He still felt the twinge of caution that he had felt before, and he always trusted his instincts. But his shift was almost over, and soon he could get some precious sleep.

Which one do I wake? he wondered. He could smell faint hints of herbs, unknown liquids, and the burning scent of Alchemical tools having been put to use from across the hall. Jonah and Nareena had indeed made some preparations, after, of course, they were done rutting. They weren’t exactly the quietest couple, Portenda observed, again.

The streets outside weren’t deserted, but they weren’t packed, either. Just before Portenda went to get Jonah out of bed, he saw the young waitress from the cafe walking down the street, looking back and forth among the people.

She seemed upset about something but a minute later, she lurched forward, like she might if she was going to vomit. A few seconds later, she looked at her hands, as though it was the first time she was seeing them.

“What an odd girl,” Portenda muttered as he turned and walked out into the hallway.

Jonah was sleeping lightly, as he usually did these days. Since that first night in Portenda’s apartment in Ja-Wen, he had been training his body to wake up at an instant’s notice.

When the knock came at his door, he sprang from the bed and opened the door wide, his left eye twitching slightly.

Still not used to this, he thought, rubbing his eyes as he looked up at Portenda. “Let me guess,” the Human Alchemist said. “My shift, right?”

“That’s right,” Portenda said. “How many healing potions did you manage to make?”

“Four,” Jonah said, stretching and yawning. “One for each of us, and one extra. Nareena made some poisonous mist powder and a few explosive chemical tinctures. We could have made more with a little extra time.”

“So in other words, if you hadn’t screwed around again, despite my request not to,” Portenda said evenly. “I thought I had been very specific about that.”

Jonah’s face flushed, and without another word the Bounty Hunter returned to his room to sleep. Jonah looked over his shoulder, and saw that Nareena had stirred for a moment, and then gone right back to sleep.

“Looks like I’m on my own,” Jonah said to the empty hallway. Closing his door behind him, he strolled over to the window. The streets outside held few wandering citizens, and a number of city guards stood huddled in a circle in the cold night air, smoking pipes and smoke sticks. The waitress from the café they had enjoyed earlier that day caught his eye. She was just staring into space, looking for something out of sight.

Jonah shrugged his shoulders and started reading through the third tome of Focus knowledge, deciding to use his time productively.

For the first hour of his shift, Jonah didn’t hear or see anything out of the usual. The fire in their fireplace had died down to dwindling ashes, and the soft scent of Nareena’s perfume filled the room, mingling with the smell of their coupling.

Jonah smiled affectionately at her sleeping form, and looked once again out the window. Through the vaguely smeared and blurry window he saw the waitress from the cafe start to move toward their hotel and he wondered if she was meeting with someone in the late hours of the night.

Felix Armstrong had enjoyed being in this girl’s body for about fifteen minutes before he realized, from sifting through her thoughts, that she was a total idiot.

Due to the nature of her occupation, Felix found that she gave him a wide array of hosts he could jump to. Because of the low amount of willpower this ditzy little Human had, Felix could take his time about selecting a host. He preferred to take them when they were asleep, because their resistance was lower. The host, most times, would simply go along with what was happening, and tell the police later, if Felix did something unlawful with their body, that they were dreaming. Any Knight that heard them speaking would know, through the nature of their honor system of belief, that the subject was telling the truth.

Nearby, through his mutant powers, he could sense another potential host, and so he moved the girl closer to the side of the building that Jonah, Nareena, and Portenda were staying in. He used his mind’s eye to search, and found there the perfect host—the Elven girl.

He leapt from the waitress into the Elven Alchemist, leaving Michelle dazed and confused, asking the gathered guards nearby what had happened to her.

Felix felt a wave of resistance rise up for a moment, and then he took hold, telling Nareena’s consciousness that it all just a dream. The ploy worked as usual, and Felix woke her up.

At first, he almost couldn’t resist feeling Nareena’s body with her own hands. He looked beneath the covers to find her naked, and realized she was beautiful. The scent of her perfume, the feel of her smooth skin, and the sound of her moan as he stretched her body were magnificent.

Lost in a euphoric moment, he stared at the mirror on the vanity across the room from him/her, and saw himself smile with her face. Wonderful, he thought to himself. Just wonderful!

The Human Alchemist sat at a small table near the window, not five yards away from the bed, and Felix turned to look at him as he labored away at a book of some sort.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Jonah said as Nareena rolled to face him. “You may want to get your clothes on, the fire’s died down.” He tossed her the jeans and shirt she’d worn the previous day.

Nareena slowly got up and got dressed, taking her time about every motion she made.

Jonah had no idea that Felix Armstrong was controlling Nareena, and so he wasn’t entirely prepared for her to go over to the door and prepare to leave.

“Hey, be back in a couple of hours. It’ll be your shift, and I want to get some more sleep,” Jonah called after her, and Nareena simply nodded her reply.

From Nareena’s mind, Felix knew that the Bounty Hunter was across the hall, hopefully sleeping. Having so recently acquired this host body, the Sidalis had to wait a bit until he could make another leap.

He eased Nareena’s body close to the door across the hall from where she and Jonah had been staying.

Putting her ear to the door, Felix listened for any signs of activity on the other side, but he could discern nothing, not even the soft, sound of lungs filling with air.

Ever so carefully, he gripped the handle of the door, and turned it, slowly opening the door.

What transpired next occurred so quickly that Felix couldn’t even blink Nareena’s eyes before it was over.

As the door reached the half-open point, the line of copper thread tied around the handle of the door pulled taut, flipping a small lever attached to the other end. A series of circular screws had kept the thread out of Portenda’s way, should he awaken and decide to move about. The trigger on the other end of the thread was the release catch trigger for a large oak crossbow, which fired a single, heavy wooden bolt into Nareena’s right leg.

Felix screamed through her throat in pain, and before she hit the floor, there was a huge, muscular body on top of her, hand around her throat and a long knife it its hand, tip poised to stab.

But the man’s eyes went wide as he recognized her. He eased his hand off of Nareena’s throat, causing her to cough and gag, and Felix knew now exactly what Hector had been telling him.

Portenda the Quiet was not to be trifled with lightly.

“Nareena, what are you doing,” Portenda growled, pulling the arrow out of her leg roughly. “You know I set my room when I sleep.”

Such power, such grace, Felix thought, awed beyond reason. And to be so prepared. This man, above all others, he would not attack outright.

But the Elf girl had other skills. So long as Felix inhabited her body, he could utilize her knowledge and Class abilities.

He pulled a small vial of green liquid from her jeans pocket, and drank the healing potion. In her left pocket, he knew, she kept two vials of a highly lethal poison, and on one of her belt loops, she kept a pouch filled with a green dust that could cause a number of altering effects in a victim.

Through these means, he could debilitate the Bounty Hunter and leave him helpless, or at least slow him down. After all, Genma hadn’t hired him to kill any of these three people. He’d been hired to give them pause, nothing more, he thought with a malicious grin.

“And what’s so funny,” he heard Portenda say, and Felix snapped out of his mental monologue.

“Oh, nothing.” Nareena rubbed the back of her head awkwardly. “I was just wandering. I don’t feel right, like I’m in a daze or something.”

Portenda raised an eyebrow, and turned away, tucking the long, serrated blade under his pillow.

“Possibly a spirit creature had a grip on you,” Portenda mused aloud, his tone still severe and colder than ice. “You have to be more careful. Now get back to your room.” Portenda forced her back out of his room with an easy hand on her shoulder. “Like I said before, no screwing around.” He thrust her out of the room and closed the door again.

Felix looked around at the inn’s elegant decorations. How could anyone be so cold, so devoid of feeling, and yet so deadly? A set of traps, a weapon under his pillow, and an awareness that bordered on being godly. How could Genma have expected Wren Headsplitter to kill this man?

Felix had known the Werewolf for a little while. Though the mercenary was skilled and capable, it was simply a match that couldn’t be won. He wondered himself what to do, but remembered the Alchemy at his disposal. There were always ways, if he just thought hard enough on them.

Felix/Nareena returned to the room Nareena shared with Jonah, to find Jonah still engrossed in one of his tomes of Focus knowledge. Though Nareena’s mind retained a little information regarding the art of Focus, Felix knew that the Elven girl knew a small fraction of the information available to the boy. With Jonah concentrating as he was, Felix would have a hard time shifting from his current host to the Human Alchemist. Besides, he mused, if he made the jump right now, they both might realize that something had taken them over, and their resistance would be too much for him. But the Simpa was probably asleep again....

Felix Armstrong closed Nareena’s eyes and focused, feeling out toward Portenda the Quiet.

In his mind’s eye, he passed directly through the wall, into the empty hallway, through another wall, and finally, hovered over the Bounty Hunter.

As his spirit approached closely enough to lean over the slumbering form of the massive Simpa warrior, something in the air around Portenda leapt out at him—a natural defensive aura of some sort.

A barrier, he thought in shock. A mental barrier!

Extending his ghostly fingers like tendrils toward the vague barrier, Felix began the tedious task of working around Portenda’s defenses.

This task turned out to be far more taxing than he would have imagined possible. Only Psychics had ever offered such strong mental defenses, but the Bounty Hunter was no Psychic. Though it drained him, Felix managed to create a single opening in the mental shield.

Taking his essence and forming it into a spear of energy, he dove headlong into Portenda the Quiet’s mind.

“What in the name of the Heavens?” He arrived on a darkened theater stage.

The mental landscape of most individuals took on the appearance of an area or place familiar to the person, and often reflected their personality. The Elven woman’s mindscape had, for example, appeared to be a large laboratory, with many different doors that led to the various realms of her mental state. Every other mind he had visited had similar doors, even if they were suspended in mid-air in a field or forest. Here, he stood alone in a spotlight upon a stage.

As he looked out into the rows of seats, however, he saw that he was not alone; out in the audience, about halfway to the back, sat Portenda the Quiet. He did not look pleased.

“Who are you?” The Bounty Hunter rose from his seat, a growl rumbling in his chest. “Identify yourself.”

Felix ignored him.

The Simpa raised an ancient mecha weapon, something that Felix had once called a pistol, and trained it directly at his ethereal chest. Oh boy, Felix thought. I’ve never had to do combat with someone mentally.

A moments reflection dispelled his panic. Wait a minute. I’m the one in control here; I’m the one whose power matters in the mindscape.

“My name is of no consequence, my good sir.” He bowed grandly in the spotlight. “I am a figment of your imagination, nothing more.”

The Bounty Hunter cocked the hammer on the pistol.

“That can’t hurt me, you know. I’m just a stray thought, a wandering image summoned up by your subconscious.”

A thundering report echoed in Portenda’s mind as Portenda fired a single shot into Felix’s left leg.

“Haaauughh!” Felix screamed in agony as he dropped to the stage, his ethereal body suddenly very solid and bleeding all over the place.

“I was being generous.” Portenda approached the stage and holstered the mecha weapon, his footfalls echoing through the theater.

Felix worried that the damage he had suffered here would appear on his physical body back at Hector’s home, and realized that he had made a huge mistake in coming to this man’s mindscape.

“I shot you just below the kneecap, demon,” Portenda now climbed the stage stairs.

As Felix got to his wobbling feet, Portenda dashed across the stage in two leaping bounds, latching his huge right hand around Felix’s throat, squeezing hard.

“I know of you Dream Stalkers.” Portenda referred to the rare demons that inhabited the Dreamscape and killed their victims through their dreams. “The same rules apply to you as they do to us: if you die here, your body dies in the physical plane. Before I crush the life from you, Hell-spawn, may I ask if someone sent you?”

Before Portenda could torture an answer from his prey, Felix Armstrong pulled himself all the way back to his own body.

Shooting upright in his bed, Felix gasped for breath, and looked down at his uninjured leg with relief.

When he looked outside, the sun had begun its ascent into the skies.

* * * *

“Nareena, are you all right,” Jonah was asking the Elven Alchemist as he shook her awake.

She had a headache that made her head feel as though someone had been hitting her with a soft wooden bat all night long, and she rubbed her temples as she sat up. The sun was rising outside, and she realized that she had slept through her entire shift. Yet, she was fully dressed, and lying on their bedroom floor.

Portenda also stood over her, his muscular arms crossed over his chest.

“I, I think so. Why am I out of bed,” she asked, to which Jonah just smiled, giving her a hard hug.

“You were possessed, most likely by a ghost or a demon,” Portenda said flatly. “In this city, it’s not unheard of.” He remembered how foolish Nareena had been to enter his room without heeding the traps he would inevitably have set. “The same creature tried to take me, but found I was a bit more difficult to take over. We have another day to wait for our messenger. I propose we go our separate ways for the day, meeting only for meals to discuss our day’s events. Agreed?”

Jonah and Nareena smiled a little at one another, and turned back to nod at Portenda.

“Good. If you’re going to have your coupling,” the big man said as he turned and left the room. “Do it during daylight.”

Leaving the Alchemists behind, Portenda made his way slowly out of the hotel, and into the brightening streets of Palen. The city of magic, he thought. Such oddities abound here.

The sounds and sights of children at play before school did a little to lift his spirits, and he ducked quickly as a soccer ball flew past his face.

“Sorry mister,” a Jaft youth exclaimed as he ran past.

Portenda rubbed the boy’s hairless head as he passed under his massive arm, and the boy laughed and pushed off of him. These are the moments worth remembering, he thought with a subtle grin.

“Sorry about him,” the boy’s father said as he pursued in a brisk, steady walk. The Jaft’s natural odor almost knocked Portenda off of his feet, but he shook his head and gave the middle-aged man the same grin.

“Boys will be boys. I understand.” He noticed the way the Jaft kept glancing at his weapons. People tended to act a bit timid around the Bounty Hunter, and he realized that appearance, even in this city, wasn’t very comforting to people. Hmm, he thought. Perhaps I should have left the weapons behind.

He brushed this thought aside as he continued on through the dirt roads and alleys of the city, drinking in the morning life of Palen.

Wrapped up in his morning observations of daily life, the Bounty Hunter didn’t feel the eyes upon him.

* * * *

“Your guest has arrived, my lord,” Kobuchi said, making certain to leave the inflection out of his voice.

Genma hadn’t noticed that the Kobold now had complete control of himself, mostly because he hadn’t bothered to take a close mental probe of his servant, who was giving serious thought to a change of job.

“He is in the meeting hall,” Kobuchi reported in his best imitation of a soulless drone.

Genma smiled beneath his ivory mask, lifting the obscene, demonic visage a bit.

“Very good. Used a Teleportation scroll like I asked, did he?”

Kobuchi nodded without comment.

“Good. I’ll go see him now. You may return to your chamber.”

The Kobold moved away slowly, shuffling his feet.

Too bad these side effects last so long, Genma thought. The Alchemist formerly known as Allen Staples stalked down the darkened halls of his tower, passing by several Alchemy beasts and creatures of a nature so warped he wondered why he hadn’t slated them as failures. Still, he mused, they served their purpose.

The black stone of the walls and floors stood motionless and soundless around him as he descended through the tower stairwell and stalked down the hallway of the first floor. The soft echo of his boots clacking against the hard stone met his ears and reminded him of his deep, pressing loneliness. In about a week, that feeling would recede as he remade his loving wife from his niece’s body. Sure, he felt a twinge of guilt at using his own brother’s daughter in such a way, but he had to have her back. There was no point to life if he had nobody to share his pain and his joy, his ups and downs. That was why, after reading the ancient texts he had saved from his home before he burned it to the ground, he kept on living. He had discovered a way to change a person’s mind and body permanently, and make them a copy of another person. The creation of his tower fortress had come first, followed by the acquisition of the machinery he would use in his experiments as he awaited the right time to procure his niece. Eileen hadn’t yet grown into womanhood when he first became Genma of the Black Tower, and he had been forced to occupy his time with other projects.

But he had always known that he would use Eileen for the rebirth of his lovely bride. From a young age, she had looked much like her aunt, and now, she would be her aunt in essence. But he had to put these thoughts to the back of his mind, and prepare for the meeting with Telroke. He approached the grand twin doors of red-painted steel, and thrust them open, stepping into the grand meeting hall.

He had adorned this meeting chamber with regal decorations and artifacts that he had gained possession of through the years as Genma of the Black Tower.

Seated on one of the low standing sofas was a bulky Simpa with a water skin, which Genma suspected wasn’t filled with water. This man reeked of liquor.

“Perfect,” he grumbled to himself, observing the sloppy way the Simpa was sprawled on the sofa, lounging like this was his own home.

“Nice digs you got here, man.” Telroke gave him a drunken grin and took a swig of his water skin.

“Yes, well, they are mine. So if you would be so good as to take your foot off of the sofa.”

The Simpa looked at him for a long, silent moment before pulling his left leg down off of the sofa.

“I am pleased to see that my servant’s message did not go unheeded.”

“He said in his letter that this had something to do with my son.” The belched loudly, the raw sound of it echoing through the grand hall.

Genma squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Such manners, he thought in disgust, but he forced a smile that Telroke couldn’t see in any event. He was having a hard time keeping his emotions in check, his calm, calculating manner quickly deteriorating in this drunkard’s presence. As Genma stepped closer, he smelled the stench of stale sweat, long soaked into Telroke’s ragged clothes.

“So what do you want from me?”

“I want to know about your son, Mister Telroke. Everything you can tell me about him, any small detail, would be most useful. But you don’t have to tell me now. This afternoon, at lunch. Arrangements have been made for you to stay here with us for a little while. May I suggest that you take a shower or a bath? I have some clothes to replace the rags you’re presently wearing.”

Telroke laughed, a harsh, ragged sound that tore at Genma’s ears.

“Sure thing, buddy. I am startin’ ta smell pretty bad, even by my standards,” Telroke said. “Oh, and don’t worry. I’m not gonna be sloshed the whole time I’m here.” He got up from the sofa as another of Genma’s servants, an ancient servant robot from the Age of Mecha, rolled on its treads up to the Simpa. “I just like to keep the edge off, you know?”

“Yes, quite,” Genma rasped rather more curtly than he had meant to. Gods, this man is intolerable, he thought. No wonder his own flesh and blood hates him.

“Unit F-Thirteen will show you to your quarters and get you anything you might need. My hospitality is at your disposal. Try not to abuse it too much,” he added as an afterthought, storming from the meeting hall as swiftly as he could without seeming too rude.

Genma hurried to his screening chamber on the first floor, and activated the bank of monitor screens linked to the security cameras he had scattered throughout the first five floors. He watched as the Simpa followed behind the robot with a slightly drunken swagger.

“What a waste,” he muttered before he sat to keep an eye on his new houseguest. “He might prove more trouble than he’s worth.”

* * * *

Blink had slowly become aware of his own evolving intelligence, and he now understood the Common tongue very well, though he could not respond to it in any way. As he had darted through the plains west of Palen, he had passed many merchants and bands of travelers, including a group of wagons belonging to one of the Wayfarer clans. Wayfarers were bands of tradesmen and adventurers that formed tightly knit packs that traveled the lands of Tamalaria without any permanent home. Their home, they often said, was the open road, their greatest treasure, their freedom.

Blink had landed amid one of their wagon circle encampments, and one of the children, the son of the clan leader, had scooped him up without fear. Blink knew not to harm the child, but was not very trustful of the way he was being carried in such a hurry.

The boy, a youth by the name of Billy Cole, rushed to his father’s side.

The short leader of the clan, a man by the name of Steven Cole, turned as his son tugged at his chain mail shirt. “Papa, papa, look at this critter.”

The Human leader of the Yellow Ribbon Clan of Wayfarers turned to look at Blink, and his mustache twitched as he grimaced at the Alchemical beast.

“Let me see that thing.” The man reached out with his left hand.

A yellow ribbon fluttered about his wrist as he reached for Blink, who willingly scuttled up into his palm, and sat there looking up at Steven Cole with unwavering eyes. He was large enough to cover the man’s whole hand, as Steven Cole wasn’t the biggest man around. Nor was he, unbeknownst to Blink, the most capable fighter in the clan. But he had the most charisma and a knack for leadership, formerly being a Captain in the Desanadron Standing Army.

Steven smiled as he brought Blink up to eye level. “It’s an Alchemical beast, son. Where’s your master, little fellow?” He gently ran a finger along Blink’s furry head.

Blink purred in response, and hopped around on all eight legs, gibbering unintelligibly at the Human.

“What the Hells is that thing?” one of the other clansmen asked as he approached.

The third voice came, Blink saw, from a red-furred Werewolf, a hulking brute of a man with heavy, metal gloves over his fists.

“Billy found him out by the perimeter.” Steven looked Blink over. “Don’t quite know what to make of him, though. I think he can understand us. Think you might be able to fetch Helena?”

The Werewolf grunted and shuffled away, and a minute later, Blink made out the sweet scent of fruit-based perfume.

A tall, elegant Elven woman came close to Steven Cole and the boy, who was jumping up and down excitedly, telling the other children of the clan about how he’d found something neat by the perimeter. Children, Blink thought, rolling his tiny eyes.

The Alchemical beast turned his attention to the Elven woman, who now stared at him, her eyes filled with a sense of wonder. An aura of power radiated from her body as she spoke very softly to him. “Speak with me,” she whispered.

Blink found that he could not stop thinking about the task that his owner had set for him.

“I see,” the Elven woman said after a few minutes. “He is on a mission. We cannot keep him, Billy.” She patted the boy on the head.

“Aw, mom,” the boy moaned.

Blink whipped his head around and saw that the boy’s ears had the distinct point at their tops, revealing that he indeed had Elven blood.

“Why not?”

“Because, sweetie,” the woman said, her tone more motherly now, and less otherworldly. “He has something very important he has to do. He’s a messenger, and he has to be going that way.” She pointed over her shoulder to the east. “And I believe he’s going to need help. He’s fast, Steven,” she said, addressing her husband. “But I get a sense of real necessity from him. Someone’s life may hang in the balance.”

Steven gave a ‘hrrm’ of pensive consideration.

“We can spare one person,” he said. “We’ll send him with Raja. He’s the best candidate for this sort of thing.”

The Red Tribe Werewolf, grunted and darted away, grumbling something about being an errand boy. He returned with a person wrapped entirely in thick, white bandages.

Blink looked at the man in the bandaging, and shivered. He didn’t know exactly what the man was, but he was instinctively afraid of him.

“Raja, I have to ask you a favor.” Helena spoke softly and the creature in the bandages croaked in response. “This little fellow has to get east. I believe he’ll be able to communicate to you where he wants to stop or head to. Can you do this for us?”

The creature in the bandages brought its wraith-thin arm up to the bandages around its head, moving one strap, revealing a blaring, crimson eyeball.

Blink yipped in fear, and scurried up onto Steven Cole’s shoulder.

“Hey now, little guy, it’s all right.” The Human grabbed Blink and held him out towards Raja. “He’s scary, sure, but Raja won’t bring you any harm. He’s one of us, even if he is a Troke.”

Blink, for reasons he didn’t know, understood exactly what a Troke was. They were, by and large, a vicious, merciless race of shapeshifters, able to take on the form of any creature they came in direct contact with. A rare breed of spirit beast that took physical shape, they often appeared as lumbering dog-men and boar-like beasts. This one seemed to prefer the appearance of a bandaged humanoid.

“Can you take care of this one, Raja?”

There was silence from the Troke for a long pause, which it broke by itself.

“Yyyyesssss.” Raja’s voice was like the sound of a boulder scraping down a mountainside. He slowly reached  for Blink, who hesitated at first. When he made out the hint of a smile beneath that bandaged countenance, Blink scurried onto the offered hand, which stretched to three times its normal width to accommodate the Alchemical beast.

“Whaaaat issss yourrrrr nnnnnammme?”

Blink tried to think his name at the Troke as he had the Elven woman, and it worked.

“Blink, hmmmmm? Wwwwellll, Blink, it llllooks llllike we’rrrrre going to be trrrrraveling companionssssss, for a bit.” Raja set Blink down on the ground gently, and the small creature heard sudden, violent sound of bones snapping and resetting, muscle tissue tearing apart and rearranging itself. A flash of light emanated from the Troke’s body as it took on the form of a great, black stallion, with white bandages about its head and face.

The bandages revealed only one eye, and it was as red and bloodshot as before. “Get on,” the Troke rasped through its equine teeth.

Blink climbed up Raja’s leg and onto his back, sinking down as low on his back as he could.

Steven gave Raja a playful slap in the hind flanks, and the Troke looked back at him reproachfully.

“Aw, come on, I’ve always wanted to do that,” Steven Cole said as the Troke took off at full speed, the little messenger astride his back.

“So, this is serious, eh?” he asked his wife quietly.

“Someone’s life is in danger, Steven, and he, or she, had the presence of mind to send that little fellow for help. But it was very specific help he wanted. We could do nothing more for him.”

Steven Cole took this statement in, wondering how the world operated on the whole for perhaps the thousandth time that year.

* * * *

Felix Armstrong decided that his best course of action would be to come forward and admit what he had done to the Simpa. Yet as he followed him, keeping himself well concealed at every point, he remembered that powerful grip on his throat, the accuracy with which the were-lion had fired his ancient mecha weapon. The truth, it was said, could set you free. “Yeah, death is a freedom of sorts I suppose,” he grumbled aloud.

The sounds of the marketplace, opening up for the day, filtered into his ears, and he tried to decide whether the money was worth the risk involved in this assignment.

Wren Headsplitter had thought about the money, too, he mused. Look at how that turned out. No more hesitation, he decided. He sprinted out of cover and towards the Simpa Bounty Hunter, who spun and launched a sidekick at his face, stopping just an inch shy of contact.

Felix stumbled back, falling flat on his ass. Despite not being directly connected to his upper torso, he felt the impact and rubbed his hindquarters.

“You,” Portenda growled. “I should have recognized you from the cafe.” He crossed the distance too fast for Felix to respond in any way, other than to try and scramble to safety.

As he turned around on his hands and knees, ready to sprint away again, Portenda hefted him up by the back of his chain mail collar.

Portenda raised an eyebrow as he looked down, and saw that he had pulled Felix’s upper torso into the air, leaving his body from the waist down on the ground. “What the—,”

Felix’s legs lashed out at his shin.

Pain shot through his leg and Portenda dropped the Sidalis, who levitated his upper torso over his legs, and tucked his shirt back into his pants again, putting his hands up defensively.

“Wait a minute, big guy,” he said. “What say we go back to that diner and have a chat? I’ll pay.” His brow broke out in a cold sweat.

Portenda’s left hand was on the handle of his gun, but as Felix kept his defensive posture, he relaxed his stance and glared at the Sidalis.

“I’ll explain everything about last night.”

Portenda nodded, waving his hand out, indicating that Felix should walk ahead of him.

“Don’t trust me, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Understandable, all things considered.” He was away forty thousand gold pieces. Forty thousand! So much for that new house, he thought, hanging his head in shame.

“You’re a handsome fellow,” Portenda said as they turned down a side street, heading for the cafe. “Must come in handy, considering what you hide beneath those clothes.”

“Comes with the territory,” Felix said feebly as they walked up the steps fronting the coffee bar. They stepped inside, and Michelle smiled at Felix winningly.

“Oh, hello again Mister Felix,” She positively beamed at him. “I went to find you last night—I think,” She bounced along as she led the two warriors to a booth.

They sat, Portenda glared at Felix with as much malice as he could bring to bear.

The Sidalis felt that he might scream under that piercing gaze.

Missing everything, Michelle smiled again. “What can I get for you two gentlemen?”

“Two cuppas,” Portenda said out of the corner of his mouth. “No rush.”

The two men waited until the waitress sauntered away.

“Explain yourself. Now,” Portenda demanded.

Felix heard the hammer of his pistol cock back beneath the table.

“Whoa, easy guy.” Felix gave the Simpa his most charming smile. “Last night wasn’t anything personal. I’m a mercenary, see? I was hired to distract you and your little friends for a couple of days, nothing more.”

“Mmm hmm. And that’s why you possessed the Elf, and tried to possess me? Is that your mutant power?”

Felix nodded, his face falling in defeat.

“I figured as much. Not a common Sidalis power, that. The only reason that I haven’t killed you yet,” Portenda leaned across the table as far as he could without revealing his weapon, “is that I don’t get the sense that you’re all that bad a guy. You need the money, you’re just using your skills to get a few gold here and there, right?”

Felix nodded, realizing that it wasn’t yet his turn to speak.

“I understand. I’m a Bounty Hunter, after all.” Portenda gave the waitress a half-hearted smile as she set his mug down in front of him.

Before she had even turned to leave the table, Portenda drained his mug, and asked for another by holding the mug up with his right hand.

“My, my. Thirsty aren’t we sir?”

“You know, this stuff’s no good for you,” Felix offered, taking a sip of his own cuppa.

“It keeps me awake. Besides, I think I might be addicted.”

“Well, there’s worse things to be addicted to.”

“Agreed.” Portenda put the gun away and folding his hands on the table’s surface. “Now, tell me everything. In order.”

“Well, what’s there to tell?” Felix set his mug down. “A few years back, this Alchemist with a weird mask approached me in Ja-Wen, said he needed an occasional job done for him, dangerous stuff. Mostly going into places few people go to gather plants and the like, and get books out of guarded ruins. Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Felix said with a measure of pride. “Anyway, he contacted me a few days ago with this.” He pulled out a small mirror, setting it on the table.

Portenda snatched it up, and tucked it in his own belt.

“That’s all right, I won’t be needing it back anytime soon.” After this fiasco, he’d never work for Genma again.

“Go on.” Portenda took the second mug of cuppa from Michelle, sipping at it more slowly, in less of a rush for the caffeine.

“He offered me forty thousand gold to keep you three from getting at him,” Felix said. “I only have a vague idea of where his tower is, but I know it’s harder than Hells to get to.”

“As would be expected.” Portenda took another sip of his drink. “So why the sudden change of heart?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I’ve never run into someone so, well, capable,” Felix said awkwardly. “I wouldn’t have expected you to have a mental barrier up in your sleep. You’re not a Psychic, are you?”

Portenda shook his head. “No. I’m something, else.”

Felix nodded, appreciating the need for privacy more than most.

“What’s your name?” Portenda demanded.

“I’m Felix Armstrong,” the Sidalis said, offering Portenda a handshake, which the Simpa took. “And I already know who you are. Well, sort of. Anyway, what do you intend to do now?”

Portenda looked out of their booth window to the streets, where children still played in their attempts to delay going to school. “Where do we go from here?”

“You stay here and pay for the drinks, and do some serious thinking about your profession of choice,” Portenda said, still looking out the window. “I’m going to go play some kickball.” He exited the cafe without another look back at the Sidalis.

Felix Armstrong paid for the drinks, and asked Michelle what time she got off of work. The waitress immediately asked her manager for the rest of the day off, and the two of them left the café for her home.

This is much more my speed, Felix thought, trying to think of a way to explain his odd bodily nature to the girl once things got heated.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw the ruthless Bounty Hunter playing a pick-up game of kickball with a group of children of assorted Races. Strange, he mused as he turned away again. So cold, and yet, not.