'The Glove of Shadows' Chapter Seven- First Blood

“Lady luck, why do you hate me,” Anna whispered as Stockholm tended to Styge. The old Illusionist had survived the crash of the autocart with a few cuts and scrapes. But here, maybe a little less than an hour later, he had tripped over a rock and apparently sprained his ankle.

The big Chief wrapped Styge’s foot in medical bandaging he’d brought along, just in case such an emergency arose. While he and Flint could regenerate, the other three weren’t quite so lucky.

Add to this aggravation the fact that Norman had wandered off down to a nearby stream to refill his canteen, and she found herself looking at a serious delay in the schedule. The sun was going down, and her timepiece showed her it was a little after two o’clock in the afternoon.

“Stockholm, are you almost done there,” she spat a little testily.

Her Chief shot her a poisonous look, and she flinched at the sight of it.

“We’ll be ready soon. I don’t want to rush this, he is old after all, and just a little more fragile than yourself, William.” Stockholm helped the old Illusionist up, and let him climb on his back, carrying him piggyback. “I’ll have to carry him for a while. The salve I administered will heal the sprain, but it needs a few hours to work. Meantime, I think everyone should take a minute to get themselves something to eat.”

Anna took out a few pieces of dried cheese, eating slowly, watching for Norman’s return. He should be back by now, she thought.

“Flint, go fetch Norm,” she said around a mouthful of food. “We need to get going again soon. Lee says we’ll make the village of Prek in another two hours,” she said, looking over at the Pickpocket. “I thought you said this village was only a few hours away.”

“Well, yeah, it is.” Lee tried not to look her in the eyes. “By horse,” he added in a whisper.

“What?” Anna dropped her small piece of cheese and grabbed Lee by the front of his tan tunic as Flint nipped off to find the other Gnome of the company. “You never said that before.” She shook him back and forth.

Lee threw his hands up, his eyes filled with panic.

“Sorry, sorry! I would’ve said somefing before, but you seemed to be so pleased wiv our progress. Will, you’re gonna break my neck.” She stopped shaking the Pickpocket, dumped him to the ground, and approached Stockholm and Styge.

“Sorry Chief, looks like you’ll be carrying Styge for the whole trip at this rate,” she said. He gave her a questioning look, to which she replied, “Lee just told me he made his trip by horse.”

Stocky grumbled low in his throat.

“I’ve told you time and again not to trust anything he says, William,” he growled. “But you never listen to me. Still, it could be worse.” He set Styge down gently. “As long as we’ve got the extra travel time tacked on, we may as well have a proper meal.” He pulled his cookware out of his rucksack.

Anna was surprised once again. Nobody else had thought to bring cooking gear, and as far as she knew, she was the only one who could cook a decent meal. Perhaps there’s even more to ol’ Stocky than I thought, she mused.

“What’s going on?” Flint came up behind Anna, Norman held aloft by the back of his shirt. He set the Engineer down, and looked curiously at Stockholm as he struck up a fire.

“Lee miscalculated,” Anna said, sparing Lee from another interrogation. “He forgot that when he made the trip to the city from Prek, he was riding a horse. No big deal, Flint,” she said, glad that at least the Wererat didn’t seem perturbed by the delay in the schedule. “We’re going to have a meal, and then head out again. Norman, you get your canteen filled?”

The Engineer nodded with a wry smile, and sat down with his notepad of calculations.

The company settled in for a decent meal, unaware that they wouldn’t get to finish it.

* * * *

One-thirty, Fly thought, looking again at his timepiece. The wreckage near a sturdy oak gave him a little heart, as it meant that Deus and his company would have been delayed. Smoke still billowed from the machine, and Trent used the small flames to fry a squirrel he’d hit with a shuriken.

Lain concentrated her energy nearby, calling up a strangely clad warrior from an era long since past. The zombie had a mecha weapon clutched tightly in its rotting arms. Fly didn’t like the look either the creature, or its strange weapon, but he knew that Lain would make the most of it.

“How long since they passed through here, Akimaru,” Fly asked as he tore his gaze away from Lain’s undead servant.

The white clad Ninja was crouched low, peering intensely at the tracks.

“Perhaps a little less than a half of an hour,” he said. “At least, since they left. The incident appears to have taken them twenty minutes or so to deal with. The damage done to that machine,” he said, pointing to the autocart. “Someone of immense physical strength did that, and quite easily if I’m any judge.”

Fly looked over at the ruined mecha. Ignatious Stockholm. William Deus’s little trump card, he thought. Well, maybe not so little. “Shall I investigate further?”

“No, that’ll be all.” Fly turned from Akimaru and approached Lain and Rage. “Thoughts?”

“Just a few.” Lain didn’t look away from her new servant. “They’re making good time, but this was one hell of a delay for them. We’re still about five hours from Prek, on foot. If they have another delay, stop for food or something, we’ll catch up to them.”

“Yeah, but we gots to leave now,” Rage added.

“Indeed.” Fly said. “Everybody, let’s go! Trent, on point!”

The Human Ninja did as he was told without complaint, much to Fly’s satisfaction. He’s getting into his groove, Fly thought with a grin. Good.

Thaddeus Fly and his group moved north, following the tracks left behind by William Deus and his Hoods.

“Smoke,” Akimaru said after another twenty minutes. Fly looked up from his thoughts, seeing the small plumes of smoke hanging in the air a little more than fifteen minutes away.

“Excellent,” he said. “Everyone, double time! Eight minutes.” The company got into a jogging stride.

When he called them to a halt, they were just out of earshot of Deus and his company. Fly couldn’t clearly see them, but knew they were only a few minutes away.

He didn’t want to risk being spotted or smelled by the Red Tribe Werewolf or the Wererat, so he kept the company at the foot of a hill that would lead them to Deus and his men.

“Everybody, gather in,” he said softly.

When everyone was huddled around him, he looked them each in the eyes. “All right, here’s how we’re going to play this. Lain, take your servant and Rage right at them, harry them for a few minutes. Trent, Akimaru and I will head east and then north, bypass them,” he said, drawing a small slip of paper out of his belt. “This is a locator sutra, Lain,” he said, handing her the small paper. “When the three of you have harassed them long enough, use this sutra. It’ll bring you all back to me,” he said.

“It won’t work on him,” she said, indicating the silent zombie. She had left the creature over where she’d summoned it.

The zombie groaned, a low, dry rumble from deep in the decayed and rotted stomach.

“Then again, none of them are meant to be permanent. How does it work?” She took the small scroll.

“It’s magic in a way,” Fly said. “Ninjas, Monks, and Samurai can imbue small scrolls with Chi magic, to be used whenever they’re needed. I never learned a lot of them, but the sutra of returning has come in handy for me a number of times.”

Lain graced him a small smile as she tucked the sutra into the front of her dress. “Remember, only engage them for a few minutes, while we make our way around their party. You have to injure at least one of them, a little,” Fly said, looking seriously at Rage. “Sorry big guy, but I’m not sending you to try to kill any of them. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

Fly led Akimaru and Trent east about a mile, then turned north and stopped. He turned back in Lain, Rage and the undead creature’s direction, taking another sutra from his pocket. He threw it into the air, where it turned into a sparkling flare.

The signal was given, and Lain led the way toward William Deus and his group.

Fly smiled despite this early run-in. He would be in the lead after this, and he relished the idea of setting a trap for Deus and his men as the Rogue had done to him.

“Do you know what the best thing is about payback, gentlemen?” he asked the other two Ninjas. He looked each in the eyes for but a moment before striding off north once again. “It’s one of the only things you can savor without paying a tab.”

* * * *

Stockholm sniffed hard at the air, wrinkling his snout as he finished making the grilled cheese sandwiches.

“Something wrong, big fellah?” Flint asked. “Burn the bread did ya?”

“We’re not going to get to finish our meal.” The big man stood and cracked his knuckles.

Anna looked up from her simple stew. In the distance three small figures quickly became larger.

“Who is it?” She gained her feet and drew throwing knives.

One of the figures towered over the other two, all green and menacing. At least she knew who that was, though the knowledge was not exactly comforting. Rage, the Orc Berserker whom Thaddeus Fly kept around as a countermeasure to Anna’s larger agents. The other two figures were still too far away, too small for her to make them out.

“Lain McNealy and one of her servants,” Flint said, pulling out three huge hunting knives from his brace of daggers. They were almost the size of short swords, perfectly balanced for the Wererat’s short to medium range throwing attacks. “I can’t make out what the thing is carrying, but it looks like a weapon.”

Anna’s company, their lunches forgotten and their travel equipment gathered into a central pile, prepared themselves for battle. Lee made tracks, leaving a cloud of white smoke behind him as he tore off into the hills as fast as his stout legs would carry him.

“Fucking coward,” Stockholm shouted after the retreating Pickpocket.

Styge retreated a short distance behind the group, sitting cross-legged on the ground. He pulled out a pipe, tapped some tobacco into it from his hip pouch, and started smoking it casually, like nothing at all was wrong.

Norman, rummaging through his tool bag, finally drew out a small power tool that buzzed and whirred. He pulled out a circular, serrated disk, and mounted it to the end of the gadget, giving the deadly blade another spin.

“Nobody take the first move.” Anna crouched in a fighting stance. “Let them come at us. When we turn them aside, we’ll have something to hold over Fly’s head,”

Rage closed to within fifty yards, and drew his left hand back, grabbing a small throwing hammer and whipping it in Stockholm’s direction.

Despite the blinding speed with which it flew, its accuracy left something to be desired. The bulky Red Tribe Werewolf reached out to his left, and plucked the weapon from the air.

Flint hurled his hunting knives at the approaching Orc, only to watch them sink a few centimeters into his blocking forearms and be ignored. Anna’s smaller weapons didn’t even penetrate Rage’s thick green skin. Instead, they bounced harmlessly to the ground.

“Stockholm,” she shouted.

The big Red Tribesman started forward—but a short beam of energy lanced into his huge chest, blasting him several yards back.

Anna’s shocked gaze found the undead creature standing in a shooter’s stance, the end of his mecha weapon smoking.

“Thrice-damned Necromancer,” she growled, spotting Lain McNealy a few yards behind the zombie.

Flint, who had just witnessed the biggest bruiser he knew being thrown back like a rag doll, darted toward Rage, closing the thirty-yard gap as the Orc slowed his own pace. Hunting knife in hand, he lunged at Rage, screaming bloody murder.

The Berserker deflected him handily by punching him right in the face, his longer arms reaching farther than Flint could with his hunting knife.

Teeth flew from the Wererat’s snout as he twisted and fell bleeding to the grass, his vision blurred with pain.

For a moment, Rage’s mind blared to finish the job. However, he had orders, and his orders were to harass, not kill. Besides, he thought, poor little guy looks like he’s in a lot of pain.

This, of course, was a huge understatement. Though Rage didn’t know it, as he stepped over the fallen Wererat, he’d broken part of Flint’s faceplate.

“Stocky, get up.” Anna crouched next to the Red Tribesman.

He’d gotten himself into a half-seated position, his fur and flesh singed slightly. Thankfully, she saw, his chain shirt had absorbed the majority of the blast, but it wouldn’t survive another hit. On top of that, she realized, nobody else in the company was wearing armor. She turned and watched Rage come slowly toward her. Flint screamed on the ground behind the Orc, and her heart dropped.

A blur of crimson shot forward from her side. Stockholm took advantage of Rage’s slowed movements. He launched a roundhouse kick to Rage’s head, sending the Berserker reeling to the left, clutching his head.

Stockholm brought his hands up, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “Come on then, green one.”

Rage punched at him, and Stockholm shifted his weight, grappling the arm and thrusting his own hips into the Orc as he hauled.

Rage, heavy even for a member of his Race, flew through the air as easily as one of Anna’s knives, landing hard on the ground a few yards away.

“Fire,” Lain shouted at her undead minion.

Another pulse of energy erupted from the end of the mecha weapon, scorching the ground next to Anna as she tucked her head into her chest and rolled away. How in the Seven Hells was she being bested by two of Fly’s agents and a shuffling zombie?

Styge, she saw, hadn’t moved from his position on the hill, smoking away at his pipe. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought he would be the most obvious choice of targets for the mecha weapon blasts. Was McNealy holding it back?

Before Anna could find out if that were the case, she was happily surprised by the return of Lee Toren. The Gnome Pickpocket stealthily ran to the zombie’s side, reaching up and plucking the mecha weapon from its hands as he stuck his tongue out at an infuriated Lain.

The Necromancer woman hadn’t even seen him, or heard him coming. In fact, she hadn’t she seen him abandon William Deus and his men? Apparently, Deus’s company had a few tricks up their sleeves.

Still sprinting full out, Lee sped past Norman, who had taken cover behind the party’s belongings. He dropped the weapon into the Engineer’s hands, and smiled like a devil at him.

“What’s this?” Norm looked down at the heavy metal weapon.

“Wot’s it look loik, mate?” The Pickpocket set a boot on Norm’s shoulder and pushed. Lee replaced Norm in the cover spot, and motioned toward the ongoing battle with his head. “S’a weapon! You’ll be able to take out that dead thing at least.”

Norman looked down at the bulky metal weapon, figuring out its operation relatively quickly.

“Nice and easy, at least.” The Engineer crouched low and ducked out of hiding. He opened his eyes wide, taking in the scene in front of him. Flint was just now getting up off of the ground, his lips and snout fur covered in blood, spitting teeth. He looked groggy, and swayed drunkenly from side to side. Stockholm had Rage in check, the two of them trading blows, Stockholm landing the majority of the strikes.

The Chief can handle himself, Norm thought. As for the undead creature, it was reaching for another mecha weapon at its hip, one Norman recognized immediately. It was called a hand cannon, due to the enormous punch it packed, and could easily kill someone.

Stockholm wondered how even Rage could largely ignore his blows. The Orc Berserker hadn’t gone into Berserker Fury, a point that Stockholm took some small comfort in. However, without that lack of control, the Orc managed to block and dodge some of his attacks, frustrating the Chief.

Rage’s own attacks, however, were powerful, though Stockholm wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing it. He only took a few hits, but the Orc made them count.

Behind him, Stockholm heard another discharge from the zombie’s mecha weapon, and once more he prayed he didn’t get hit. When the sound passed, shock registered in Rage’s eyes. He used the hesitation to land a vicious uppercut on the Orc’s jaw.

Rage stumbled backward, falling flat on his back after a few stuttered steps.

The Chief turned, and saw a triumphant smile on Norman Adwar’s face. The Engineer had the mecha weapon, and had blasted the head of the zombie clean off of its shoulders. The ancient body slumped to the ground, truly done in.

“Rage! We’re out of here,” Lain shouted as she avoided getting shot herself. The Necromancer sprinted past Stockholm, weaving to the side as he grabbed at her, and laid a hand on the Orc.

A moment later, she drew out a piece of paper, and the two Midnight Suns disappeared in a flash.

First blood has been drawn, Anna thought as her Hoods gathered in around her. And from the look of us, we were the ones drawn from.

* * * *

Half an hour later, Flint and Stockholm had regenerated their wounds.

Anna led the way again with Lee Toren next to her.

Nobody said much of anything, choosing to remain quiet and alert as they made their way north again, at a much slower pace than before.

The hours wiled away, and as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, they realized that they would have to camp out for a few hours at least before making their way to Prek.

Stockholm cooked the meal again, while Styge and Flint laid out everyone’s sleeping bags.

Anna, lost deep in her own thoughts, looked over at Norman, who had taken apart the mecha weapon he’d received earlier.

He was inspecting the device intently, trying to see if it was marked with a date of creation. Of course it isn’t, he thought bitterly. I could only be so lucky.

How far behind Fly are we now? Anna wondered. Two hours, three? It didn’t matter, she decided. If he got himself and his men around Anna’s group, as she suspected he had, they could already be in the village of Prek. However, if Reynaldi and his posse holed up in an Order of Oun fort, it wouldn’t matter what kind of a lead Fly got on them. The Black Draconus was a Ninja, as were two of his companions. Lain McNealy probably couldn’t come within five miles of a Paladin or Knight without her presence and nature being felt.

Anna smiled to herself a little. Her own troop wouldn’t have any trouble getting into a fort, so long as Lee made himself scarce. After all, he was a well-known criminal across Tamalaria, especially among the Paladin forts. Only one ranking member of the Order, Byron Aixler, had ever pardoned the Gnome. Even then, the Paladin had only done so to recruit Lee for his own purposes.

“How’s the jaw holding up now, Flint,” she asked the Wererat as he took a seat next to her on a fallen tree they had gathered near to set camp.

“Just fine, boss.” He shook his head dismally. “Never expected to get hit so hard, you know.”

Anna looked into the Wererat’s eyes, and saw there that he was reliving the blow. “I can’t remember the last time someone that strong just, you know, out and wailed me one.”

“You should have known better, lunging in like that.” Stockholm didn’t move his eyes from the meal. He started serving portions into bowls and handing them around to the members of the company. “You may be quick, Flint, but you weren’t a match for Rage head-on.”

“I didn’t exactly have the element of surprise or any sort of urban sprawl to use to my advantage,” the Wererat said testily. “I’m not some freakish, moody bruiser like you are, my red friend,” he spat.

Now he had Stockholm’s attention, as the Werewolf was done handing out the food except for his own. Flint had his bowl in hand, but kept his left hand empty, available for action.

“Boys, there’s no need to squabble,” Lee Toren said around a mouthful of food. “Each of us brings somefin’ different to the table. Styge,” he said.

The old Illusionist looked up from his bowl, which already sat half-empty in his hands.

“You’re good at what you do, and what you do is distraction, misdirection and deception of the senses.” Lee looked over to Norman, who had reassembled the mecha weapon before starting his meal. “Norm, you’ve got a knack fer technology, me bucko. Big advantage over Fly and ‘is lot. Flint,” he continued, though the Wererat was still glaring at Stockholm. “You’ve got some quick wits in that head of yours, and you’re very personable. You can get without much effort what a bloke loik meself ‘as to bust his arse for. Stockholm, well, you’re pretty obvious, ain’t yeh.” Lee chuckled but he saw that the big red menace wasn’t amused. Instead, the Red Tribe Werewolf simply lowered his eyes and started eating. “And then, of course, there’s William, who keeps us all wrapped togever and on the same page.”

“Well said, Lee,” Styge said between mouthfuls. “William, are we camping for the night?”

“Just for a few hours,” Anna handed her emptied bowl to Flint, who set it aside to be washed when everyone was finished. “I’ll keep watch with another volunteer.”

Stockholm raised one paw halfway to the air, and they all finished their meals and headed to their sleeping bags. Styge rolled up Anna’s and Stockholm’s before nipping off for some sleep himself, leaving only the Red Tribe Werewolf and the woman they all called William Deus to keep watch.

Fifteen minutes into the watch, Anna still felt unsettled by the tension between her Guild Prime and Chief. She would normally have kept an eye to the north and west of the camp, while Ignatious kept an eye on the south and east. Instead, she sauntered over to the stoic Werewolf.

His arms were crossed over his chest, and he scowled off to the east as she approached. Before she could open her mouth to speak, he whispered to her, “I’m sorry about before, Will. I should not have been so foul with Flint.”

His back was still to her, and for a moment, she thought she might leave it at that. But no, she thought, there’s something else there, something weighing on his mind. He never opens up to anybody, and that’s got to change.

“It’s all right, Ignatious.” She put a hand on his elbow to catch his attention.

He turned only his eyes toward her—a disquieting look. When a man stands a good foot and a half over you, and has the head and some torso elements of a huge, red timber wolf, you only see one big eye swivel down at you. She felt him looking not at her, but into her, searching out the secret she held.

“To tell you the truth, he frustrates me sometimes too. Now come on,” she said, giving him a friendly punch in the arm. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

     At first, he remained silent, glaring down at her with that one visible eye.

Her nerves stood on end. Something primal, far down in the core of her body, told her to run as far and as fast away from this beast as she could. Yet her feet remained planted, unmoving.

Finally, he let out a huge sigh, and half turned to face her better, his hands still folded over his battered chain shirt. “There’s a lot on my mind, sir. Like how you crept into my room yesterday morning and tried to set my picture back without my noticing.”

Anna’s heart jumped up into her throat—he’d been asleep. She had been absolutely certain that he’d been dead to the world asleep when she picked up the portrait. Didn’t he ever just lie there and rest?

He waved one hand to dismiss her worries. “Don’t worry about that, Will. Everyone gets curious now and again—can’t help themselves.”

“Anything else, big guy? And I’m really sorry about that.” She patted him on the shoulder. Quite a reach to do that, she thought.

“Some other things.” He started to walk the perimeter of their camp. “This trip, for instance. I haven’t wandered outside of the city in years, and I’m afraid I might not want to go back right away when we’re done. I like the wilds.” His deep, rumbling voice carried easily on the night air.

She followed a few paces behind him as he walked along, checking the surroundings every minute or so. They appeared to be in the clear, but in the plains, forests and hills of Tamalaria, one didn’t take chances. Monsters and hostile highwaymen roamed everywhere, leaving no one unmolested.

“Plus Lee,” she offered.

He grunted. “Yeah, plus him. Do you know why I dislike him so much?”

She shook her head, because she honestly didn’t. She had suspicions, but nothing confirmed.

“Because he knows something about me that none of the rest of you do, and he shouldn’t,” Stockholm said. “He knows a secret I’ve been keeping from all of you, and it’s not something small.”

“Is he blackmailing you with it?” She was truly worried for both Stockholm and Lee, for different reasons.

Stocky shook his head and let his chin drop toward his chest for a minute.

“No, though I’m surprised he hasn’t. And he never reminds me that he knows, but he couldn’t possibly have forgotten what he saw,” he growled.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve got a few secrets of my own.” Anna felt the wraps pressed down over her breasts. Her whole existence as William Deus was a cover-up, and she knew if her cover were blown, she’d be pretty steamed too.

Stockholm nodded, suddenly wheeling on her, leaning down close, the tip of his snout almost touching her nose.

“I know,” he said, but there was no hostility in his eyes, or his tone. “And I know that whatever your secret is, you think you’ve got good reason to keep it from me. But Will, I get the distinct impression that Flint knows your secret, and that eats at me. I’m your Chief, William—have been the Guild Chief for over twenty years. I’ve never sought promotion, because I’m not a real thief. I’m a fighter, a brute, William. A bruiser, as Flint puts it so liberally.”

Anna could have been mistaken, but she thought she heard a pang of guilt, or sadness, in his voice.

“A fighter, yes,” she offered. “A bruiser, maybe. But not a brute.” She stood directly next to him. “And certainly I know how intelligent you are. You’re very well read. Even though some of that’s because of your age, which I don’t know precisely, a lot of it is your own willingness to learn. Stocky,” she said, looking up into his deep, crimson cast eyes.

She feared asking him the question, but all this talk about secrets was starting to make her feel guilty as sin that she had only shared her own with Flint. Stockholm was loyal, efficient, trustworthy, even if he was a tad enigmatic. She decided that she would tell him her secret. That she was really Annabelle Deus. “Stocky, what is it that Lee saw? What do you guard so closely?”

And so he told her.

So Much For Short Breaks

Well, so much for getting back with you folks in a timely and orderly fashion, eh?  It's August of 2013, and I'm only just now getting around to formulating a kind of pseudo-regular schedule for myself to follow in terms of posting material here.  It isn't goint to be a daily or even bi-daily thing, but I would love to try for at least once a week, adding something onto the Tamalarian Times blog. 

I'll also be kicking a couple of new blogs into gear here on Blogger, and attaching them to specific things.  The devil's in the details, they say.  Frankly, the little fucker should get out of there and pay attention to some of the obvious stuff now and again. 

Cheers!

-Joshua T. Calkins-Treworgy

Extended Absence (break in story)

Sorry for the extended time away from the blogs to those who have been following the Tamalarian Tales.  I promise that I'll be back to updating and posting from 'The Glove of Shadows' soon.  The birth of my daughter Avery and the time since she has come home with my beloved Katie have taken up most of my focus, understandably.  I'll be trying to put up a couple of chapters this week at least, so look forward to the return of Tamalarian Tales!

"The Glove of Shadows" Chapter Six- On the Road Again

When Flint walked into the drinking hall, he found that he was the last to arrive for the pre-departure meeting. Styge, Norm and Anna sat around a circular oak serving table. Stockholm stood a couple of paces behind the Guild Headmaster, his arms hung loosely at his sides, his weapons already strapped to his belt and his broad back.

Flint noticed that the Red Tribe Werewolf had donned his usual sleeveless chain mail shirt, and his open-fronted vest. Stocky knew the company would be on the road for a while.

Anna looked up as Flint approached, and gave him a small smile. “Well, now that we’re all here, let’s discuss last minute details.” She looked around at the others. “Anybody know where exactly we’re heading yet?”

“The fishing village of Prek,” Flint replied immediately.

All eyes turned on him, and he gave them a wry smile. “Had breakfast with Lee this morning. He brought me up to date.”

“Prek, eh?” Anna said. “Can’t say as I’ve ever been there. You gents ever been?” Norm shook his head, as did Styge, but Stocky, ever the wanderer back in the day, nodded.

“Any thoughts, big guy?”

“Last time I was there, Will, the place was little more than a big fish market.” Stockholm cleared his throat. “Of course, that was about ten, eleven years ago. I’m sure it has grown in size and population since then.”

Anna thought it over.

“Okay, so that’s where Lee said he talked with his contact in Reynaldi’s company. Where might they go from there?”

Flint pulled out his old map of the continent, pointing to the marking Lee had made of Prek.

“My guess would’ve been the Order of Oun outpost northeast of Prek,” he said, pointing to the position of the old fort. “But Lee and I aren’t sure it’s even still in service. They could just as easily have gone east of us to Fort Flag.” The Wererat rolled the map up and tucked it away.

“We’ll have to check in Prek with the locals, find out which way they headed after leaving the village. It shouldn’t be too hard.” Anna stood. “It’s eleven, so we’d better start for the north gates. Norm, you got the autocart up topside yet?”

“Yeah, I had some of the boys take it up on the lift into the old stables,” Norman said. “You know, the place just next to the forth residential district?”

Anna nodded. “Good, that’s on the way. Everybody, get your gear and meet me at the stables. Let’s move out people!” Anna Deus darted out of the in-house tavern, leaving the remaining four members of the company standing or sitting at the table.

“He’s fast,” Styge said as he hauled up his own bag. He struggled with it a moment before Stockholm lifted it easily out of his hands, letting it hang off of his right shoulder. The Werewolf’s own bag was already secured on his broad back, but Styge’s belongings weighed nothing to him. “Thanks Stockholm.”

“Here then, mind carrying my things?” Flint jokingly offered his bag to the colossal Werewolf.

Stockholm sneered at him, harrumphing loudly.

“You’re young and able-bodied.” Stockholm moved out of the hall with Styge next to him. “You carry your own load, rat,” he called over his shoulder.

Flint looked at Norm, who shrugged his shoulders.

“It was worth a shot, mate,” the Gnome offered with a smile.

* * * *

Anna kept to the side streets and alleys, even though it was a clear and sunny day, leaving little in the way of stealthy cover. Though she knew her chances of remaining completely unseen were slim, she didn’t want to be seen by a Midnight Suns agent, particularly with a large traveling bag strapped to her. Word would travel swiftly to Thaddeus Fly, and he would ditch all of his preparations to pursue of Anna and her group. She didn’t want the Black Draconus to know she was gone until long after she made that a fact.

She got to the fourth residential district, in the northern part of the city, without incident. She ducked inside of the old, dilapidated stables, scanning the interior as best she could with her sun-affected vision.

In one of the broken stalls, the autocart gleamed in the sunlight that poured through a hole in the old thatch roof.

The thing could easily be mistaken for some sort of monster in the dark of night, she thought, taking in the sharp angles and spiked points that characterized the machine.

Not long after she sat down with her back to a wall, Stockholm and Styge showed up, the Werewolf carrying both of their bags. He set Styge’s pack down gently near Anna, taking off his own bag next and leaning against a support beam across from the Guild Headmaster. He crossed his arms over his barrel chest and leaned back, shutting his eyes for a moment and breathing a deep sigh.

“So, Norman and Flint still haven’t shown up yet,” he asked.

Anna checked her timepiece—twenty after eleven. They still had plenty of time. “Let’s hope they didn’t get sidetracked again,” he said, opening his eyes.

Gods, Anna thought, he looks so tired. This trip may give him a chance to get some sleep when we camp.

“What’s up,” he asked, seeing the look she was giving him.

“How’ve you been sleeping, big guy?” Her tone lilted up a little with genuine concern, and she was afraid for a moment that she sounded too feminine. Her appearance as a young man helped her convince most people that her high voice was an affect of her age. William Deus was only supposed to be in his early twenties, after all. However, when she showed too much emotion, she lost control of the masculine hint she infused her voice with.

Stockholm raised an eyebrow at her, but no more than usual.

“Not well, William, to tell you the truth.” He sighed again, then rubbed the bridge of his snout, between his eyes. His head, while lupine, had a very expressive face, much unlike many of his kinsmen.

He looks beat, she thought. “I was up until midnight taking care of disciplinary issues,” he said. “Then I had some final reports to finish. The usual business, boss.” His smile came off as a grimace—a rather frightening one, considering the number of teeth in that mouth.

“Perhaps you need a good break from the usual business, big fellow,” she said, taking a small bag of cookies out of one of her hip pouches. “I worry about you sometimes, you know.” She thought she saw him blush a little, but with his thick, crimson fur, it was hard to tell.

The three of them waited another six minutes, and then Flint showed up with Norm in tow.

Anna finished another cookie and stuffed the pouch away again. She got to her feet, brushed the crumbs off, and looked at the company. “Well, let’s get going. Norm, get the autocart rolling.”

The Gnome Engineer smiled broadly. He took his bag to the back of the cart, putting it in the cargo area. Styge brought his own bag over, and Norm turned and deposited it next to his. He climbed up into the pilot seat, and the old Illusionist hopped into the back with the luggage.

“Riding in style.” The old man smiled wildly.

Stockholm approached the front of the machine, which Norman had brought to rumbling life.

“You sure this thing is stable?” The big red Werewolf leaned down to get a close look at the autocart.

“Course I’m sure.” Norm beamed with pride. “I put this baby together from the ground up. Modeled it after the old ‘automobiles’ of the Fourth Age. I’ve tested it in the field a couple of times, rode it around the city,” Norm said, flipping a couple of metal switches. The rumbling suddenly became very low and quiet, barely discernable. “S’a silent mode, see? I got it working last week.”

“Have you tested it in this ‘silent’ mode, Norman?” Stockholm peered into the Gnome’s eyes. Great, he thought. Of course he hasn’t, but he’s going to lie to me and say he has anyway.

“Of course I have.” Norm’s eyes told Stockholm his suspicions were well held. “I’m a scientist, man. I never leave anything untested.”

A tad defensive, aren’t we, Stockholm thought. He slung his rucksack and headed toward the exit to the stables.

“Stocky’s got the right idea, folks. Let’s get moving.” Anna moved out behind the Chief.

Flint followed, and Norman and Styge, riding the autocart, brought up the rear.

They were maybe ten minutes away from the northern gates. Anna felt certain that if nobody had noticed them by this point, they were in the clear.

She didn’t see Akimaru watching them from atop the nearby church bell tower.

* * * *

Thaddeus Fly checked his clock. Eleven-thirty. “I should take a nap,” he whispered to the empty room. He had once again come to the basement training room, and tetsujin lay in ruins around him. His arms and legs throbbed from the exercise, but it felt good to release some of his aggression. Fly tested his breath weapon on a handful of them, and had been satisfied when the six metal dummies he struck with his lightning exploded.

He wiped his scaled forehead with a towel, and headed to the showers.

Fifteen minutes later, he found Akimaru standing amid the broken dummies, his hands behind his back, his legs slightly apart.

He has something to report, Fly realized. “Akimaru, what is it?”

“Sensei, I just spotted William Deus and four of his men heading for the northern gates.” The air temperature dropped a few degrees around the Black Draconus, and his heart skipped a beat.

He’s already heading out? Damn him and his Hoods!

“Get everyone assembled at the fifth residential district library.” Fly strapped on his weapons and tossing his towel to the floor. “No more delays, no excuses. I’m not going to fall behind William Deus this early in the game. Go!”

Akimaru bowed, and darted away, gone so fast Fly barely saw him move.

Fury spurred the Draconus on. As he stomped up through the halls of the Guild building, he snarled at every agent who stood in his way. The path cleared up quickly.

In his private chambers, Fly strapped on his rucksack, and took a final moment to make a prayer. As soon as he was finished, he left the Midnight Suns’ building, walking out into the light of day.

His building sat smack in the middle of the tenth business district, and the trip to the library in the fifth residential district would take him a good seven or eight minutes jogging. He started off, his legs moving him swiftly and deftly through the crowded streets, past street vendors and visiting adventurers. The handful of people who recognized him were quick to stay away from him, and even the city guards didn’t attempt to impede his progress.

Turn here, run down there, duck, jump, dodge.

He cleared the distance between the Guild and the library in six minutes flat, standing now outside of the library without so much as breaking a sweat. He checked his pocket watch.

Nearly noon, he thought, impatient to be off north after William Deus and his group. He couldn’t be sure that Akimaru would find all of the members of his traveling group in the Guild building, and that could cause further delays. But he didn’t think the problem would lie with Lain McNealy or Rage—they seldom left the building. It would be Markus Trent who would cause problems.

“Damn you Trent,” he grumbled aloud.

The doors of the library opened, and a young Human almost fell right on top of him.

Fly took a quick step to his left, helping the youth up off of his face. “You’ve got to be more careful.” He looked down at the stack of books the young Human had been carrying that caused him to fall.

The Human hadn’t been able to see around the stack, most likely, and thus hadn’t noticed that near the bottom of the steps leading up in to the library, one of the steps was shorter than the others.

“Sorry about that,” the young man said.

Fly piled books back onto his stack.

“I just get a little wrapped up in my thoughts.”

Fly recognized the bumbling Human—Jonah Staples, a local Alchemist with a store in the eleventh business district. His wife, an Elven girl, ran the shop most of the time these days, but apparently this was temporary. The books Jonah had appeared to be borrowing were theoretical research journals. Perhaps he was doing research for a new service?

“It’s understandable young Mr. Staples,” Fly said.

The Alchemist smiled. “So, you’re familiar with my work?”

“A little.” Fly set the last book on top of the stack. Fourteen in all. “I’m not exactly what you call scientifically minded, Mr. Staples. I don’t trust to science.” He decided to be honest with the young Alchemist.

“That’s too bad,” Jonah said. “I’m working on a theory for the basis of the ancient Focus Sites.”

At that point, Fly found himself in foreign territory.

“I believe that the actual source of the power of science and magic—” he stopped when Thaddeus Fly put his hand up to silence him.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize, Mr. Staples,” Fly said, grinding his teeth. “Just leave me be.”

Jonah Staples darted away as quickly as he could while maintaining his stack.

At around ten after noon, Lain McNealy showed up. One of her creatures, a skeleton draped in purple robes, carried her bags.

“My, aren’t we being lazy,” he shot at her.

Her face fell from a dim smile to a blank glare.

He sighed lightly, and let himself deflate. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said, waving her over towards him. “I’m just a little irritated. We’re already falling behind Deus and his men, and there’s been no word from Akimaru.”

“Well, Rage is a few minutes behind me.” Lain tried out her gentle smile once more on the Black Draconus. “Akimaru just got a hold of us. I don’t know where exactly Trent is, but he left the Guild earlier this morning. I saw him ducking out with one of the tracking agents.”

Fly thought long and hard about this little tidbit. He thanked Lain for the update, and checked his timepiece once more. Fifteen after noon. Nothing much that he could do about it, except wait for Trent. What would the troublesome little usurper be doing with one the Midnight Suns trackers? Unless...

He let the thought go unexplored, deciding instead to rip Trent a new one for being difficult to find.

Rage lumbered in as they took a seat on the steps, the undead skeleton servant standing a few feet off to the side of Lain. The city guards that passed gave the group suspicious looks, but since they weren’t doing anything illegal, they let the company be.

“Hey boss, hey Lain,” the Orc said in his rumbling bass voice. He scanned the area for a moment, his huge, rock-like head rolling back and forth. “Where’s Aki? Or Trent?”

“Akimaru is likely trying to find our truant Mr. Trent.” Fly rested his head on his hand. “For now, we’ve got no choice but to sit and wait for them. Akimaru would not make us wait. He is highly reliable and diligent in his duties.”

“Yeah, dat’s fer sure.” Rage hopped a squat on the dirt road in front of Lain and Fly. “Oh, Miss McNealy, it’s like dis, right?” He reached into one of the pockets on his huge black trench coat, the only article of clothing he wore on his upper body. He routinely wore shin-length leathers on his legs, custom-made by one of the more talented female agents at the Guild. The Illeck woman had been kind, he thought, and she’d only charged him twelve gold coins for the service. Lain had told him he’d been ripped off, but Rage didn’t know much about money. He could only count to ten, a matter Lain was trying to help him with.

He produced from one of the pockets a small notebook, and handed it to her. In large, childish writing, Rage had produced a single word-‘CAT’.

Lain smiled at him gently. “That’s very good, Rage. And it’s correct.”

Fly nearly rolled his eyes at the display. Still, he envied them both, because they seemed to keep each other going much better than others in the Suns. Once again, his status as a lone wolf loomed over him.

“You’s okay, boss?” The Orc took the notebook and pocketed it.

“I’m fine. Just getting impatient. Lain,” he said, catching her attention. “Do me a favor? Go over to that cafe and bring me a coffee.”

The Necromancer hustled off, her skeletal servant left behind.

He checked his timepiece again. Half past noon, he saw. Too far behind now to ambush Deus and his company, Fly settled in to wait for Trent and Akimaru. He had ways of catching up to the Hoods, and as he rubbed one of the pockets inside of his uniform, he smiled. There are ways.

* * * *

“It’s about toim you lot showed up,” Lee Toren complained. William Deus and his group arrived four minutes late, which normally wouldn’t have been much. However, Lee had become anxious, suspicious that someone would already be on their tails.

“Ease up Lee,” Anna said. “We’re leaving, now.”

Lee Toren took up the lead, marching out through the northern gates, between two Minotaur constables. Lee and Anna strode side by side, with Flint walking alongside Norm and Styge in the autocart, and Stockholm taking the defensive position of a rearguard.

The muscular but agile Red Tribesman turned and gave the guards a slight nod, which they returned in kind. The Hoods’ Chief had taken some time the previous evening to have a short conversation with these two gentlemen. He had warned them that a handful of dangerous slavers were after him and his friends for setting a Gnome captive of theirs free. The look the two guards gave Norman said it all when Stockholm nodded to them—they thought the Engineer had been the captive.

Stockholm couldn’t be certain that Thaddeus Fly and his group would come past the northern gates. If the Suns avoided the north gate, they’d have to go around the outskirts of the city, where smaller groups of bandits and toughs would be waiting for them, looking to settle old scores with the larger Guild. Either way, they had more time than Lee thought they did.

Flint looked east and west, enjoying the scenery. Verdant fields to the west, farmland to the east, crops sewn and reaped for the consumption of Desanadron’s residents. How much capital, he wondered, went into running a city? More than he’d ever see in his lifetime, and maybe that much just to keep the place running for a day. Desanadron’s population, according to the latest census conducted by the police, numbered 850,000 strong, and rising every year. Nearly ten percent of the continent’s populace lived in or around the metropolis of Desanadron. The only other city the Wererat could think of that supported nearly the same number of people was Ja-Wen in the far east. That city’s population was somewhere near a quarter that of Desanadron—around 200,000.

Tamalaria stretched vastly to the east and west, with small villages and hamlets accounting for most of the civilized societies.

Flint glanced ahead at Anna, who was looking back over her shoulder past him. She graced him with a brief smile, then faced forward again, locked in conversation with Lee Toren.

The Wererat admired the brave little Pickpocket—his meandering travels taking him far and wide into every corner of the lands. The Gnome took little with him in the way of weaponry or equipment. He relied largely on his wits and his fleet feet, conning here and evading there, constantly on the run from one body of authority or another. His skills in the field were remarkable. Add to that the fact that the Gnome never seemed to age, and Lee Toren stood as a truly wonderful man.

Norman Adwar listened to the quiet thrum of the autocart beneath him.

Styge kept asking his questions about how the “damned contraption” worked, but Norm only knew a little about the actual power supply system. He’d discovered a battery cell system of some sort, and had simply attached it to the mechanical cart. Before he’d equipped it with the battery, the cart had used a kinetic energy collection pump, which involved him, or someone of similar size and stature, using a set of pedals to pump energy into a kinetic energy battery his friend Jonah Staples had designed. This energy, Jonah had told him, could only be safely stored for a few days before it needed to be hooked up to a device and used.

For long trips, Norman’s calculations showed that the kinetic energy battery wasn’t practical. When it ran low, he’d have to manually pedal the cart in addition to using the storage pedals to gather up energy. He just couldn’t do it, and he didn’t have the materials to modify the seat and pedals to fit someone larger, like Flint, or even William Deus. In short, he’d had to go with the untested battery because he thought it would hold out longer. He certainly meant no offense to young Staples.

Anna, whom only Flint among them knew to be other than William, walked along with Lee Toren, keeping up small talk about his recent travels. “So you say that was about five months ago,” she asked.

“Yep,” Lee said, exhaling smoke. He took another long drag off of his cigarette. “Never expected to run into ‘im on such short notice. Portenda’s the sort to usually contact you a few days in advance. You ever met the man?”

“Can’t say as I have.” Anna felt glad of the fact. She’d heard of the strange Simpa Bounty Hunter, and if his reputation held even half true, she never wanted to be on the wrong end of a contract of his. Even she might not get away from him. “Anything else interesting about him?”

“Well, now that you mention it, somefin’ does stroik me as a bit odd abou’ ‘im.” Lee scratched his white, wiry beard for a moment before looking up at Anna again. “Aside from the usual stuff. Seems ‘e owns properties in three or four cities, apartment buildings. He’s a bit of a landlord.”

Anna raised an eyebrow at the Gnome Pickpocket.

“I know, I know, seems a bit wronky vat a Bounty Hunter would supplement ‘is income wif rental properties, dodn’t it?”

“I should say so, yes.” Anna once more looked out at the vast plains. The Upper Plains baked in the early afternoon sun, dehydrating everything in sight. The members of the company constantly took drinks from the water skins, and Anna hadn’t seen another traveler or animal on either side of their route for a half an hour. She checked her timepiece. “Well, it’s one o’ clock. How long until we reach Prek?”

Lee rolled his eyes a little, thinking. “Jus’ abou’ two more hours.”

Good. Anna wiped sweat from her brow where her bandana didn’t cover it. Too much more of this heat, and I’ll be a husk.

The company continued in relative silence without incident.

Another twenty minutes passed, and they reached slightly cooler flatlands, trees smattered here and there across the landscape.

Flint sped his pace for a minute, to approach Anna and ask for the company to take a couple of minutes’ break.

It’s moments like this, he would think later, that cause events to occur. The little, almost imperceptible moments when something is done out of the established norm. Had he continued at the pace he’d already set, he felt, nothing would have happened. But he didn’t, and so something did.

As he got a few feet in front of Norm’s autocart, the machine give a loud cough.

Norm’s eyes filled with panic.

As Flint took a split second to start his feet moving away from the group, the autocart bucked under Norm’s hands, and spun toward the Wererat, now moving at full tilt.

Oh gods, the Wererat thought, I’m going to be crushed.

Only seconds had passed, and already the rest of the company had fallen into confusion. Anna stopped dead in her tracks and watched helplessly as her Guild Prime and good friend fled from the rumbling, menacing machine.

The steering wheel had come off in Norman’s hands, and he was flailing and screaming, trying to undo the straps that secured him to the seat.

Styge, Anna saw, had bailed almost right away. He was rolling over in the grass, trying to bring himself to a complete stop before he struck his old head on something too solid.

Where’s Stocky? Anna’s mind raced as the world moved in slow motion around her. In times of panic, her perception slowed to a near crawl, allowing her to take in the most minute details around her.

As she swiveled her eyes toward Flint’s fleeing form, she saw a blur of crimson motion seeming to impose into the space between Flint and the machine.

As reality around her came back into full motion, she watched Stockholm bend low, letting the autocart’s front bumper flow over his outstretched right hand. As soon as it was over his lower arm, he clamped onto a block of metal, hauling straight up toward the sky.

The entire front end of the autocart lifted into the air, and Norman stopped tearing at his restraints, suddenly positive that getting out now could prove more hazardous for his health.

As Stockholm hauled up with his right hand, he shifted his body weight, throwing his left arm underneath the carriage of the autocart. With one more heave, the Red Tribe Werewolf lifted the churning, sputtering machine over his head—an impossible display of brute power.

Anna watched the muscles in Stocky’s arms and shoulders quake. She’d never seen such strength from a creature of mortal flesh and blood.

An instant later, the Red Tribesman lifted the machine up half an inch more, sliding out from under it.

As it hung in midair, he grabbed the back end, and slammed it into the ground. Parts flew off and got crushed under the force of the blow. The wheels stopped. The only noise issuing from the autocart was Norm’s low sobbing.

Flint, a few yards away up in the tree he’d marked as his safe retreat from rolling death, breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He’d been almost certain that the autocart was going to crush him, but of course, good ol’ Stocky had taken care of things in his usually rough manner. Close to a ton of moving machinery, and the Red Tribe Werewolf hadn’t even blinked at lifting it.

Anna rushed over to Norm’s side, undoing the buckles and lifting him out of his seat like an injured child. He groaned again as she carried him away from the smoldering, smoking machine, setting him down on the soft grass.

“Norm? Talk to me Norm.” She pulled a water skin from her hip and pouring some of its contents on his face.

The Gnome Engineer sputtered and splashed, waving his hands back and forth.

“I’m okay, I’m okay Will.” His eyes shot wide open as he looked at his damaged machine. The Werewolf loomed over it, pulling the bags from the back. “Crikey. I could’ve killed someone,” he whispered, horrified that Flint had only escaped by a few feet.

     “Yeah, namely me.” The Wererat hopped out of the tree, landing nimbly next to Stockholm, who was finished retrieving the belongings and was now pushing the cart over onto its side. “Where’s the old man?”

Styge, still lying on the ground, raised his hand from his side. He appeared to be stretching out for a nap, but Flint saw his other hand held his side.

“Styge, are you hurt?” Anna called over to the old Illusionist.

“Mostly my pride, youngster,” he called back, trying to sit up.

Flint helped him to his feet gently, handling the old man as if he might break like a vase.

Styge brushed his robes off, and gave him a crooked smile. “Now that was exciting!”

Flint patted him on the back as they walked over to Anna and Norman, who had one of his notebooks in front of his eyes.

He looked over, and watched as Stockholm ripped the battery unit out of the autocart, casing and all.

Mental note, he thought. Never make that man excessively mad at you.

The Red Tribesman stalked over to the group, and dropped the battery unit unceremoniously at Norman’s feet. “What’s this?”

“That’s a power supply unit.” Norm tried to keep his voice from cracking as he craned his neck almost entirely vertically to look into Stockholm’s scowling countenance.

“Who engineered it, Norman?”

“Um, not really sure. I found it in the field, down in some old ruins to the northwest.”

“What happened to Jonah Staples’ battery system? The last time I saw this thing in service, you had his kinetic energy unit hooked up to it.”

Norm blinked, surprised at Stockholm’s knowledge. Without mecha knowledge nobody should be able to tell the difference between the two systems, and Werewolves, regardless of tribe, tended to distrust technology.

“It, ah, wouldn’t have been up to the long trek.” Norm looked down at the ruined battery unit. “Of course, neither apparently was this thing.”

Stockholm crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head slightly. “This came from a vehicle in the Age of Mecha, Norman. The vehicle was called a Mass Transit Train.” Stockholm bent and picked up the power unit. He scrutinized the blacked harness casing, searching its surface carefully. “Says right here it shouldn’t be used for anything less than two metric tons.”

He lowered the unit for Norman to see. The Gnome, however, couldn’t understand the writing on the side of the unit. He marveled at Stockholm’s knowledge of pre-Fall civilization. Then again, hadn’t the Red Tribesman lived during that time?

“Um, I couldn’t read that.” He looked up at Stockholm. “I suppose I should’ve field tested the autocart first, huh?”

Stockholm hurled the battery unit into the distance.

“Look, big guy, Flint, Will, I’m really sorry about this,” Norman said.

Anna shrugged her shoulders.

“Everyone’s okay, and we’ve only lost a few minutes on this fiasco.” Anna turned toward the north. Lee had already departed, setting the pace for the rest of the trip. “Styge, get back on covering our tracks. Norman, try to keep up. I trust the rest of your gadgetry is in order?”

“Oh, quite sir,” he said, brightening. “Right as rain it is.”

“Good. For now, get in the middle of the pack.” She moved forward to rejoin Lee Toren. “Let’s move it people!”

Anna Deus’s company moved north once again, minus the heap of mecha left smoking near the oak tree.

Stockholm once more carried Styge’s belongings, leaving Norman to carry his own as punishment for his carelessness.

Thankfully, Norm thought, Flint didn’t yell at him, or seem to carry a grudge over the incident.

The Wererat himself couldn’t help thinking that the world would be better off if mecha had never been rediscovered.

* * * *

Fly’s timepiece struck one o’clock when Markus Trent finally showed up, Akimaru walking slightly behind and to his left.

The Black Draconus was on his feet the moment he spied Trent. “Where the mighty hell have you been, Trent? We’ve lost precious time waiting on you!”

The Human Ninja gave a mocking low bow, smiling toothily at his Headmaster.

“My sincerest apologies, Headmaster.” He looked up from his bow. “I was conducting some last-minute business before we departed from the city.”

Trent stood to full height, looking at the others of the group. “Everyone’s here, so shall we be going?”

Great, Fly thought, not even out of the city, and he’s already vying for control of the party. I may have to put him in his place sooner than I’d hoped.

“That we shall. Take point, Markus,” Fly said.

He waited for Akimaru to walk alongside him, then leaned close to the white clad Ninja as Markus took a good twenty-yard lead on his group. “What news, Akimaru?”

“I am not certain, sensei.” Akimaru didn’t take his eyes from Trent’s back. “He was conversing with a female tracking agent, Miss Noriko Shibata. Whether their discussion was personal, or Guild business, I could not tell. I could not risk getting close enough to hear them.”

Fly heard the suspicion in his favored agent’s voice. Akimaru didn’t appear to trust Trent either, a fact that Fly savored as Trent approached the northern gates.

Bringing up the rear, Lain McNealy worked with the Orc Berserker on his grammar. “Remember, dear,” she said, sounding more like a schoolmarm than a Necromancer. “’I’ is followed by ‘am’ when talking about oneself. So the sentence is, ‘I am going to the market’. Now, try again,” she said, looking ahead at Thaddeus Fly and Akimaru.

“I, am going, to the market.” Rage focused as hard as he could on the structure of his sentence. “Dat way, right?”

“Correct, deary. Now, let’s work on your pronunciation. It’s, ‘that way’, not ‘dat way’, all right?”

Rage shook his head, rubbing his temples as he thought over her lessons.

“Don’t know why she bothers,” Markus Trent muttered to no one in particular. “Like trying to teach a rock,” he said with an absurd grin.

As Trent walked through the archway of the northern city gates, two lumbering Minotaur policemen stepped out in front of him, axes held at the ready.

“What ho, gentlemen,” he said smoothly as Fly and the rest of the company halted behind Trent.

The Minotaurs looked at one another, and gave each other a brief nod.

“We have some questions for you people,” the one on the left said as Trent placed his hands behind his back.

Fly could see that he was letting a knife slip from his sleeve down into the palm of his hand. He’s good, Fly thought. Still knows standard Obura Clan procedure.

“Certainly, constable,” Trent said amiably. “Ask away.”

Another knife dropped into his other hand, and he gripped the tips of the weapons tightly between thumbs and forefingers.

One of the burly officers cleared his throat to begin.

“We’ve had some disturbing reports about slavers in the area. You folks wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Wait a minute. Fly took a good look at the guards. They had left deep impressions in the dirt of their posts. They’d been on duty a fairly long while, and should have been relieved by now. Why would they still be standing here?

Then he had it—Deus! The Rogue had obviously given these bozos a bogus story about slavers, and given the guards his company’s general description. He scanned the white clad Ninja. Then again, he thought, Aki does tend to stand out like a sore thumb, when he wants to be seen. His attention returned to Trent, as he began to speak once again.

“Slavers? Well, I can’t say as I’m surprised, gents,” the Human Ninja said casually. “Desanadron is a big city, and it would be easy for such fiends to hide out inside of her walls.”

As the guards looked at one another briefly, Trent looked back at his Headmaster, the question in his eyes. Fly nodded, averting his eyes afterward.

As the two guards turned their heads to face Trent again, the Human Ninja let his throwing knives fly, each finding their mark in a guard’s right eye, buried all the way to the hilts.

The bodies hadn’t even dropped before Thaddeus Fly and his party was through the gates and out of the city.

They ran for a clean mile before slowing to a walk, catching their breath. Akimaru and Rage weren’t even winded. Fly panted only from sheer rage and indignity at the setup he’d so carelessly walked into. Trent and Lain had started to breath a little heavily. Her skeletal servant appeared to be falling apart, and she took her rucksack from it before banishing it back to the soil, which opened up and swallowed the creature in seconds. Fly shuddered; the sight of her power still chilled him to the bones. “Damn him,” he growled under his breath.

“Who, sensei?” Akimaru asked.

“William Deus, who else? The little rat bastard knew we’d be following them out of the city, and he took some pains to ensure we were slowed down.” Fly looked at the assembled company, and wondered for the first time if his choice of operatives had been poorly made. Three Ninjas, a Berserker and a Necromancer. All in all, they weren’t a very diverse group, he realized with a bit of chagrin. Still, his decisions had been made. Let someone else question them. “Come on. We’ll head north, hopefully pick up their trail. Markus, take the point again.”

Once more they moved ahead, Markus Trent in the front, followed by Fly and Akimaru, with Lain McNealy and Rage bringing up the rear.

They walked for perhaps half an hour before Fly noticed that there were no tracks on the road ahead of them. Surely if Deus and his men had come this way, they would have left some sign of their passage.

“Trent, turn direction. Let’s head a little east, see if we can find their trail.”

The group followed his directions, moving directly east for another twenty minutes, before Trent came to a stop. “What is it, Trent?”

While normally hateful and distrusting of his Headmaster, once out in the field, Markus Trent was an efficient, if not entirely obedient, agent. He scanned the ground around him, shaking his head. “It’s the ground, Fly,” he said, not looking up from the grasslands around and beneath him. “It feels different. It feels right.”

“And on our original path?” Fly asked.

Trent shook his head vaguely, trying to think of the right words.

“The ground back west felt, disturbed. It was as though someone had taken a horse-drawn cart through the fields. Here, the soil is traveled as well, but I can clearly see it.”

Fly looked back in the direction they had come. Another hour wasted, by the gods, he fumed.

“Very well. Reverse direction. We’re heading back to where Mr. Trent says the soil was ‘disturbed’. When we get back in that area, keep a sharp eye out for anything suspicious. Let’s move people.”

Twenty minutes later, they were standing right back in the path they’d been taking before.

Fly scanned the area with his eyes and ears, but couldn’t see whatever had been making itself obvious to Trent. “What are we looking for exactly, Markus?”

“I’m not sure,” the Human Ninja said.

Lain had gotten down on all fours, and was running her hand along the ground.

Trent looked over at Fly, and suddenly shouted, “Stop! Stay right where you are Fly!” The Black Draconus tensed for battle, certain that Trent had chosen this moment to strike. But it was so soon, and besides, Fly thought as Trent approached, he hasn’t drawn any weapons.

Trent stood next to Fly, then crouched, placing his hand through the ground.

Through it, Fly thought, bewildered.

Trent’s hand disappeared without effort beneath the soil.

“What the devil,” Fly whispered.

Lain crawled over and placed her own hand next to Trent’s.

“What trickery is this?” Lain let a small amount of her magic flow into the illusion, dissipating it as she did so.

For miles north of them along the path, Fly saw the illusion fade, revealing a deep set of tire tracks, and several sets of foot tracks.

“An illusion,” Lain said as she stood. “A minor trick, performed either by someone with very little actual power, or a crafty Illusionist. If the spell were more potent, it would have been obvious to me from the get-go.”

“And me,” Akimaru said.

Was that a trace of irritation I heard, Fly wondered. Nothing escaped Akimaru’s piercing gaze, but apparently, something had, this time.

“The old man, Styge.” Trent shook. “I can’t believe he’s still alive.”

Thaddeus Fly was surprised, too. Styge was, after all, Human. Age should have claimed him by now.

“Well, at least we’ve undone his little trick,” Trent said, grinning at the Midnight Suns’ Headmaster.

“True. Let us hope that doing so hasn’t set off any more nasty little surprises.”

Fly’s company continued on, trailing after William Deus and his Hoods.