Interlude: Hot Pursuit, Cold Heart
Four figures crept through the shadows of the night. Three followed, one led, dominating the environment with more than just his great size. Authority seemed to tangibly drip from his body, eking out of his mouth as his breath wisped into the dark air. Yet along with it came something else – something feral, and completely savage. It trailed behind him, blazing like Hellfire in his yellow eyes.
They came to an unannounced halt. The trio of followers froze on instinct. As one, they wondered why they'd stopped, until their leader spoke.
He was staring blankly ahead, voice a husky monotone. "Look," he breathed. "Look at what she's done."
None of them could see what he meant until he moved aside.
Half submerged in the River Danub was the rotting carcass of a Displacer Beast. The corpse sat, heavy and immovable in its watery grave and displaying all the characteristics of rotting meat. Even dead, its great size was evident. Long tentacles trailed in the water, buffeted every now and again by the river's flow. Evil spikes jutted just above the surface, each filled with enough venom to kill a man in a few hours. Its belly was swollen as it lay on its back, but in the moonlight a crusted death-wound was easily visible bellow the breastbone.
All four on the shore recognised what had made that wound. It was part of their profession that they should know it for what it was – the mark of a dagger blade.
"She was here. This is her doing."
"Are you sure?" Salfos asked, brushing a few strands of greasy hair from his eyes. "This could be the work of some other warrior."
A feral glare snapped into him. Their leader uttered a growl that shook their bones down to the marrow. "You dare to question me? I know The Rogue's handiwork when I see it. She killed this beast, just as my master said she did." He turned back to look at the huge body, raking his gaze over the state of decomposition. "And if this is here, and she yet lives, then she can't be very far away." A cruel smile tugged at his lips, revealing razor-like fangs beneath. He ran his tongue lovingly over them, feeling the sharpness of each one in turn.
Without warning, he suddenly leapt forward and plunged into the river. The three young assassins started, and watched in amazement as the one who had once been known as Emilios the Savage made his way to the Displacer's Beast waterlogged carcass and casually kicked it over.
His strength was stupefying. He moved the heavy bulk like it was no more than a feather. It rolled easily aside, rotten stink billowing. Bits of flesh were missing where scavengers had pried it off, and though none of them knew it, there was the corpse of a fox caught against some rocks downstream. It had found the reason why Displacer Beast meat did not make for anything but a poisoned meal.
He knelt down to stare into the face that pushed fully above the surface, bloated purple and frozen forever in its dying moments. Gehín had a word for that look. Rejkep – meaning 'masquerade of the fallen', though Common Tongue usually translated it as 'death mask'.
For a long moment nothing moved. Salfos, Hariq and Pablo observed as Emilios stared unblinkingly into the dead animal's eyes, which were filmy and white. Not many people knew how eyeballs sank deep into the skull after death, cushioning against liquefying brain matter. Nor did many know how long it took them to do so, or how to establish a time of death based on these observations.
The allegedly undefeatable Displacer Beast.
Defeated.
By The Rogue.
Their prey.
They shivered collectively. They were tracking the girl who could do this?
Not for the first time, they cursed the mentors who'd put them forward for this crazy mission in the first place.
Sabertooth – that was what he liked to be called now, wasn't it? – straightened up. He stared intently at the dead creature, as if weighing it up.
He spat on it, and then turned on his heel and stalked away through the shallows, kicking up spray as he went.
"You weren't worthy as an opponent of The Rogue. You were undeserving, and now you've paid the price for challenging her. I won't make that mistake, because when I challenge her, I'll kill her!" He smiled again. "And her two companions too, as per milord's requests." Strangely, he paused to bow to the empty air.
When he reached the bank he didn't even check to make sure the three youths followed him into the undergrowth. They trailed along in his wake regardless, as they were wont to do.
Over the days they'd spent in and around Zanninsa, and then travelling to the Danub, Emilios/Sabertooth had grown steadily odder. His behaviour had become more erratic, and his mood-swings more dangerous. Salfos still bore the black eye he'd been given on a whim, when he'd got too close to a window back in the city. Both Pablo and Hariq rubbed unconsciously at the bluish bruises peppering their bodies from minor faults he saw fit to punish.
And that wasn't all. Recently, he'd also started to talk to himself, too.
It had started as muted whisperings when he'd thought nobody could hear, but had now progressed to openly conversing with empty air and scenery. Their journey's progress had been slow of late because of these little respites he liked to take, where he'd sit aside from his charges with his back to them, and just talk. There was never anybody there, but he always became quickly engrossed with the pastime, referring to his invisible cohort as 'master', and 'milord'. All three of the young assassins privately believed him to be mad, but none of them were stupid enough to breach the subject in conversation.
Hariq drew closer to Salfos, scratching idly at a small claw-shaped cut above his left eye. He leaned slightly to shield his comment and direct it only at the taller boy. "Kinda makes you glad we ain't his apprentices, don't it?"
Salfos looked around before answering. "If he's like this with us, just pity that poor sap he used to mentor. That guy musta been a mess after every training session."
A long moment passed. Somewhere, an own hooted.
Salfos fingered his left eye. "Wasn't he the one who went to Österrik and never came back? Strange that The Guild Council never penalised him like they've done to The Rogue."
"Yeah, but remember where in Österrik he went," Pablo pointed out, joining their conversation uninvited. Hariq shot him a withering glance, but it was ignored. "They couldn't exactly send a hunting party there."
Hariq nodded. "Guess so. What was his name again? That old pupil, I mean."
Pablo screwed up his face. "Um... Petros something?"
"Pietro the Loyal," Salfos corrected.
A loud roar rent the air.
Emilios/Sabretooth whirled and launched himself at the tall boy, knocking him backwards and pinning him to the ground with his considerably greater mass. All the air was squeezed from Salfos's lungs, as the hairy man leaned forward, snarling menacingly.
"Don't you ever let me catch you mentioning that name again. You hear me?" Flecks of saliva rained from his lips. "Pietro the Loyal don't exist no more. He ain't no concern of The Guild's, and he ain't nuthin' to do with you. If you so much as think about him again, then I will personally gut you and sell your innards as a girdle. Do you understand me?" His voice had dropped to a deceptively soft lull, and his foul breath was warm and sticky against Salfos's cheek.
The boy spluttered for breath and did the only thing he could – he nodded.
Apparently this was enough. Emilios/Sabertooth removed himself to stalk off. He vanished into the underbrush on cat-silent feet.
Hariq and Pablo yanked Salfos up. This was not because they cared for his wellbeing. The three were hardly close friends. It was more so that they wouldn't be left behind and suffer a worse fate when Emilios/Sabretooth came back for them.
Not that he actually would. Sometimes, he barely even acknowledged their presence, and the rest of the time they felt like more of an inconvenience than a help to either him or the mission. He might even be glad they weren't behind him.
Salfos breathed heavily. None of his ribs had cracked, but his chest felt tight and sore where Emilios/Sabertooth's fingers had curled under his breastplate and pressed hard. Had he checked beneath his armour he would have seen tears in his tunic that no human fingernails could make.
He was forced to lean on Hariq for support as they walked. Pablo looked up ahead to where the near-feral man's gargantuan form was swiftly disappearing through the strangely sized bracken. Gods, but the scrub around these parts was giant. Maybe there was more to stories of Schwartzwald Fee – Black Forest Fairies – than they thought.
It was Hariq who voiced their thoughts. "Why do I get the feeling he's got something to do with that... guy's disappearance?"
"Shhh!" Pablo hissed. "He'll hear you."
Silence for a moment. Then Hariq spoke again. "Strange, though, isn't it? Something happened on that jaunt to Österrik. Two went, but only one came back. Him."
"And... see... what he l-looks like... now," Salfos wheezed. "I reckon... I reckon Pietro musta been... some kinda... trade... for..." He coughed.
"For those new freakish good-looks," Hariq finished. "Don't look at me that way, Pablo. It makes sense when you think about it. The Guild didn't want anything to do with Pietro's disappearance. It was like they didn't want to be reminded of what happened to him, and they didn't say anything at all when Emilios suddenly turned up again looking like... like /that/." He eyed the way ahead. "Some kind of weird cross between a man, a bear and a monster."
Pablo said nothing for a long moment. "I'll tell you one thing," he confided at last, voice low and tone soft. "Wherever that old pupil is at, if Emilios had anything to do with it, I'd bet my sword he's in one whole heap of trouble."
"If he's even still alive." Hariq shrugged. "What? You were both thinking it."
"Which we won't be for much longer if we don't hurry up." Pablo shot back, quickening his step. His shoulders were tense, his gait harried. "Come on, or The Rogue and her pals won't be the only ones swinging from the gibbet."
As one, they sped off into the night.
To Be Continued...