Light of Epertase 01: Legends Reborn (24 page)

“Is this where Rasi was last seen, Jasper?” he asked one of his seven hired hands.

“Yes, sir. My contact in the King’s Elite Guard told me yesterday. He said Rasi had been struck by an Epertasian arrow and fell from a tree.” Jasper scanned the trees.

Simcane ground his fingers together before flicking the dirt into the breeze. He wrinkled his forehead.

“East,” he muttered.

“Sir?”

Simcane rubbed his chin while staring east.

“Sir?” Jasper asked again. “Why east? Tevin has gone south to Shadows Peak. Shouldn’t we as well?”

“We’re not chasing Rasi. We are searching for Alina and she has been taken east. Why would Tevin …” He trailed off.

“Rasi probably circled back, sir.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“You don’t believe that, do you, sir?”

I just don’t know.
Simcane grunted. “We will follow where this trail leads. If Shadows Peak and Rasi are what we seek, we will find them soon enough.”

Simcane climbed onto his horse, Eko, and surveyed the landscape one more time. Something didn’t feel right and in his experience if something felt wrong, he’d best be leery. The band of mercenaries gathered and followed him east.

Alina’s trail led Simcane and his men into the town of Parson.

He turned to his hired hand, Bach. “Somebody here must know something. Put out the word, two bits for any information.”

Bach replied, “Aye, sir,” and the mercenaries dispersed.

Simcane made his way into a quaint, crowded pub at the edge of town. He absorbed the condescending stares of the high-class clientele but paid them no mind. After all, their stares weren’t going to quench his thirst.

The seated customers at the bar left little room for his bulky frame and made no effort to create any. Simcane crammed between two snooty men and waved the tender over.

“Ale,” he ordered. The tender seemed to ignore him, turning away to speak to another patron. Without warning, Simcane lunged over the bar and grabbed his shirt. The tavern went silent. The bartender froze.

“I’m looking for Rasi. We can do this nice or not so nice.”

The tender stammered that he’d never seen Rasi while shaking like a man about to piss his drawers. Simcane released his shirt. The other men in the bar quickly looked down at their drinks. He asked again with a louder tone, but the uppity connoisseurs neither knew of, nor cared to share any helpful information. Simcane upped the ante with silver, but it seemed a couple of bits didn’t sway men of privileged status as much as the men he was used to associating with.

By late afternoon, the tender delivered Simcane yet another ale with a look of disbelief, perhaps not used to men consuming such quantities, at least not while remaining vertical.

Simcane muttered, “Just the drinks, not the stares,” and the tender diffidently turned away.

Simcane downed his latest ale. With little more than the gulper left in his mug, Jasper burst through the front door, attracting everyone’s curious eyes.

“Simcane,” he shouted as he knifed through the crowd. “Simcane?” He leaned into Simcane’s ear and whispered, “I found a vagrant. Said there’s a lot of strange activity of late in the warehouse district.”

Simcane shoved his hand into his bag causing the tender to flinch. He tossed several coins for the ale, plus an extra one for an undeserved tip, onto the floor behind the bar and left to the continued stares of the crowd.

A man met him before he could fully exit the bar. He was covered in dirt and alcohol-stink and his clothes were in shambles. His hair stood like the feathers of a diseased peacock. He waved his arms and flapped his mouth in incessant ramblings, revealing more fingers than teeth or smarts.

“Hey, hey,” the man shouted. “Where’smyreward. Huh? Huh? Huh?” His mouth seemed to move faster than his brain. Simcane told him to calm down with enough force to get the attention of a god.

“Hey, man. Hey, man. TheLactneewarehouse. Lottaactivitylately. Yeah. Way too much for the holiday season, that is.”

“Lactnee?” Simcane asked.

“You don’t know Lactnee? Everyone knows about Lactnee. You heard of Lactnee boards, right? Most of Thasula was built using them.”

Simcane didn’t remember hearing the term but had grown tired of the conversation and halfheartedly agreed.

The vagrant glared at him like he wasn’t so sure. “You heard about the Great Conflagration Fire of Matthew 937, haven’t you?”

“Of course I have. Get to the point.”

“Well that’s where it started. They say a clumsy worker started the fire with his weed stick.”

“Why do I care?”

“Because the warehouse is abandoned now, left for the rats and the less fortunate.”

“You mean like you?”

The vagrant crunched his nose and smirked as if not amused.

“I want you to take us to it tonight,” Simcane said.

“Sure, but it’ll cost ya.”

Simcane agreed to the vagrant’s demands.

As the suns settled, his team of mercenaries slowly returned one by one, each with little or no information gained. They mounted their steeds and followed the vagrant upon his no doubt stolen spotted jackass toward Lactnee.

The warehouse district was a town in itself, full of the hard-working men who made and transported supplies to all of the venders of Thasula. Simcane had been through the area a couple of times many years before but a lot had changed since then.

The homeless man pointed down the road to the burned-out building of Lactnee. “That’s it.”

“Where is everyone? I’ve never seen it so …” Simcane fished for the right word. “Dead,” he finally said.

The homeless man, so full of knowledge, said, “The workers take off Matthew Day and don’t return for several weeks. Most of them travel to their hometowns with their families.”

“How do you know this ‘activity’ is what I seek?” Though he asked, he could not envision a better place to hide a princess.

“I saw the strangers last night. Creepy. One of them, big as you.”

Simcane looked down at the man who sat proudly upon his jackass. “And you? Not enough jobs for you to work?”

The man gave a look that said “don’t judge me” while holding out his outstretched open palm.

“Very well. Pay the man,” Simcane said and jerked his massive steed to the side. He clopped forward a couple of steps before dismounting.

The toothless informant scurried across the road and disappeared into the shadows, most likely searching for a way to spend his new-found wealth.

Simcane turned to his men. “Leave your horses here. We will approach on foot.”

Bach asked, “Should we circle around to the rear?”

“No,” he answered. “As little of light from the street torches as there is, I am sure there is even less around back. I prefer to see my enemy in front of me. Besides, we are not expected. We will walk through the front door and do our work.”

They cleared the street, hugging the walls of the factories and warehouses as they snuck closer and closer to Lactnee.

“Stay alert, men,” Simcane said. “A kidnapper of princesses will likely be skilled.”

The men reached the front of Lactnee. Four of his soldiers crept past the doorway and crouched next to a pile of waterlogged wood, careful not to be seen through any of the many decayed holes in the walls. There was a slight breeze and the foundation creaked and swayed with it.

Simcane waved his hand. Jasper crawled to the rotted door. He glanced over his shoulder, waiting for Simcane’s command. Simcane gave the approving nod. He stood up, drew back his foot and bashed the door open.

He took a step inside. A shrill voice cut through the night air, stopping him cold. “Well, hello,” the voice said.

Jasper twirled around. Simcane stepped out into the street torch light.
Pretty good. Sneaking up on me is not easy,
he thought.

Scorne cocked his head. “I’ve heard that b-b-b-before.”

Simcane lowered his brow. “Are you whom we seek?”

Scorne took a step forward. “I sure hope s-s-s-s-s-s-sooo.”

Simcane opened his arms and shed his cumbersome fur, exposing his muscular chest. His waistband held a blade that reached past his knees and curved like a crescent moon. He intertwined his fingers and bent his knuckles backward to a cacophony of cracks. Then he extracted his blade. “Come on, criminal. Face me.”

The white-haired villain cackled. He shuffled from foot to foot like he was dancing. “Are you sure that is w-w-w-what you want?” He stepped to the side, revealing a motionless figure lying on the ground, a rope around his neck.

“If you expect me to fear a man who slaughters vagrants, you are mistaken.”

“Oh th-th-this? No, this was simply p-p-p-punishment for helping you.”

Simcane flicked his hand at his side.

Jasper smirked. “Fan out? Sir, there is only one of them.”

“Fan out, I said. There are at least four.” Simcane darted his eyes side-to-side while fidgeting in a circle. “They are surrounding us.” His men drew their swords with shaky hands. Simcane recognized their unease and ordered them into a half-circle. He yelled, “Come out, creatures. I smell your stink.”

Blog stepped from the shadows to create his own. Jasper spun toward him. “One behind you, sir. Big as a house, this one.”

“I know. I saw him. There are more. One east and one west.”

Simcane’s hired hand, called Shiloe, asked with the tone of a scared child, “What are they?” His sword quivered in his hands.

The lead one shouted, “I s-s-s-s-s-s-smell the fear in your men, Simcane.”

“You know my name, heathen. What is yours?”

“I am d-death to all. I … am … Scooorrnnne.” His words trailed off like a sick song.

“Well, Scorne, I am not impressed.”

“Maybe you should b-b-be.” Scorne stepped closer to Bach.

“Sir?” Bach asked with his blade trained on the freak. His eyes shot from Simcane to Scorne and then back to Simcane again.

Simcane butted between the two men to stand chest-to-face with Scorne. Scorne looked up as thick drool leaked from his lips. Simcane stepped back with a snarl. He heard shuffling feet but saw little more than a blur of black hair whip past and just as quickly disappear in the shadows. Shiloe’s sword clanged to the stone. He swayed before dropping to his knees and clutching his throat. Blood squirted between his clenched fingers as he gasped for air that wasn’t there. He collapsed to the stone ground. A river of red surrounded his convulsing body, filling the imperfections of the street and seeping between the cracks. Cyn stood at the opposite side of the road with a murderous grin, fresh blood dripping from her arm.

The soldiers bunched together. The other two symbiots, as Simcane had heard them called in secret conversations over the years, revealed themselves. The big one was named Blog and the other was Rez, as the stories went.

Simcane steadied himself. He shouted, “Fight or die,” to his stunned men.

Two enthusiastic members of his team leaped at Blog. Their foe lifted his giant sword in time to clang it against theirs. Their combined steel was no match for his strength and the impact slammed both of them to the ground.

Scorne grinned. “You’ve brought amateurs. Th-th-this will be a pleasure. I’ve heard your legend.” He slid his sword from his hip.

“Good,” Simcane muttered.

Scorne leaped.

Simcane raised his curved blade and deflected Scorne’s attack. He hurled his foot at Scorne’s gut but he struck metal.

Scorne swung his fist but the big man batted it away with ease. The force staggered Scorne to the side but he twirled and drove his sword forward. Again, Simcane blocked his blade.

Simcane’s team of overwhelmed mercenaries wailed from behind as each of them fell to the other symbiots. He knew he had to help them else he’d soon be alone against these freaks. As good as he was, he knew his odds were poor against all of them.

Scorne lunged. Simcane dropped his blade and shoved both of his hands at Scorne’s chest. A thunderous boom exploded from his fingertips, sending a burst of force against Scorne’s ribs. The energy blast hurled the freak into the street and onto his back.

Simcane wobbled against the growing weight of the air around him. He hated using his gift. His thighs quivered.

Rez dove in, swinging his blade. Simcane dropped to his knees as the blade whiffed past his head. He gripped his sword from the ground and rammed it at Rez’s exposed chest. The freak’s metal skin shifted to deflect the steel. Rez thrust his knee against Simcane’s jaw, jarring his head backward. Simcane didn’t relent and caught Rez’s knee. With all of his weight, he drove the freak to the ground.

When Simcane tried to bounce up, Cyn was on him like a swarm of frost beetles. Pain shot across his back and he involuntarily jutted his chest outward. He glanced over his shoulder to see her grinning with her head cocked sideways like a curious puppy. Her metal skin protruded like the long blade of a knife along the contour of her forearm. She licked his dripping blood from it.

She sprung forward. He rolled to his back and with a grunt heaved his open hands at her. An energy blast collided with her face, flipping her backward head-over-heels. Red plasma exploded from her nose and she yelped to his satisfaction.