This story is being rewritten! The new version, A Price in Memory, can be found here.

I highly suggest you read the new version as this one won't be completed. Also, there has been a lot of changes so you won't be able to continue with the other where this one left off.

A shout tore through the air as the footsteps drew closer, hard heels of boots clipping against the cobbles. Y’rid stepped back from the alleyway and into the street. He looked towards the source of the commotion as he walked to the corpse of the first man he had killed.

In the distance, he could see a group of four quickly approaching. They wore steel breastplates that glinted in the light of the braziers and vines that lined the street. The light was just enough to get an inkling of the hill-and-tree symbol on their cloth-covered pauldrons.

Guards. Someone must have heard the fight and alerted them, or perhaps they heard it themselves. He knelt at the corpse and grasped the hilt sticking out of it. He pulling pressing down on the body with his other hand as he extracted the blade. Harder than one might imagine, with the flesh pressing down on the blade, at least the sword’s tapered profile prevented it from being completely stuck.

Freeing the blade he started wiping it on the clothes on the man as the guards drew near. They would probably take him in for questioning, but whether or not they would clean the blade was another matter.

“Drop the sword!” The one in the lead shouted, his hand gripped around the hilt of his own.

Y’rid placed the sword next to the corpse. No need to agitate them for doing their job. He knew how ugly things could get because of a simple misunderstanding.

He stood up and raised his hands, showing the open palms.

“These two attacked me after killing a man in the alley over there,” he said gesturing to the mouth of the alleyway.

“Keep quiet and stand still!” The guardsman replied staring him in the eyes. He waved to one of the others. “Len, check the bodies.”

The guard approached, flanked by two others, a man and a woman, the third man splitting off to see to the task.

The guard reached out and grabbed Y’rid’s arm, and spun him around, twisting the arm. Y’rid grunted but didn’t resist as the guard grabbed his other hand and held them locked behind his back.

Pain throbbed through his arm from the unnatural angle, but he grit his teeth and endured. With three corpses around him, he didn’t couldn’t really expect gentle treatment.

“Dead.” The other guard, Len, said before moving to Terig’s body.

“No sudden movements.” The guard holding his arms said, his voice cold as the night air. “You try something and I won’t hesitate to put you down.”

“Fucking foreigners,” one of the other guards muttered. “Horde not enough trouble for you?”

“Wait,” Len spoke again as he looked at Terig’s face. “I know this one. One of the hunters that’s part of the scouting groups.”

The guard behind Y’rid clicked his tongue. The pressure on his arms increased ever so slightly. “Edgar, go and get Ulin’s group. Tell them to bring the corpses to the barracks. Len, you stay here and make sure nobody tampers with the bodies. You’re with me, Eris.”

The guard pressed Y’rid forward, as one of the others sped off.

“My sword-“

“Shut up and walk.” The guard cut him off. “The captain’s going to sort this out, back at the barracks. You want to say anything, you say it to him.”

Y’rid sighed and gave up on explaining the situation. At this point, he doubted he would be able to convince the guard of anything, much less his innocence. At least the captain should remember that he was with Holin and the others.

It was a long walk from the Drunken Ape in the eastern part of the city to the barracks. The few people who were on the streets avoided them, often giving them a single glance before hurrying on their way. Twice they came across other groups of guards, who nodded in greeting to Y’rid’s two ‘escorts’ or made some comment about thieves and cutpurses.

One group they passed was pulling a man in worn armour off of a bloody figure as he shouted and clawed at the wounded him. The guards managed to throw the man off before beating him into the ground until he lost the strength or willingness to fight back.

This surprised Y’rid, it seemed later it got into the night, the rowdier the streets became. The guards seemed to have their hand full just trying to keep order.

They passed the group and continued until the barracks came into view. Built against the north and eastern corner of the wall, the barracks almost reached it in height. At the top of the building, Y’rid could just make out a stone staircase leading directly up the wall as a quick access point.

The barracks loomed over nearby houses and structures with a construction entirely made out of stone. Yet, even with its height, its width gave it a squat appearance. It stretched from the eastern side of the wall to the northern, giving the triangular building a wide and intimidating front of smoothed rock.

They walked up to the gates. The large iron-reinforced doors were flanked by two guards who leaned against the wall, looking bored. The two guards looked up as they approached.

“What you got there, Lyke?” One of the guards asked with a frown.

“Three dead, their corpses should arrive soon with Edgar and Len. You tell them to send them to the mortis when they come.”

The guard whistled. “Any witnesses?”

The guard holding him, Lyke, must have given some indication as the other chuckled mirthlessly as he shook his head. “And here I thought I got the shit post. Not envying you.”

“You did get the shit post,” The other guard next to the doorway replied to his companion as he opened one of the doors and Lyke marched Y’rid through with the guardswoman a step behind. “I heard that barmaid you been eyeing got the night shift.”

“Where’d you hear that?” The first demanded, his outburst followed by silence. “Hey! I asked you-“

The sound muffled as the heavy door was closed again. Y’rid was walked through a dimly lit corridor, lined with a staircase on either side that led further into the building. The end of the corridor opened up into a large courtyard containing numerous wooden dummies roughly in the different shapes showing various signs of damage. Circles of rock sprawled throughout one half on the yard, the hard-packed earth inside them a testament to long hours of being trampled by boots.

They exited the courtyard at the side and Y’rid was walked through a series of corridors and down a staircase and through a doorway into an even darker part of the barracks, the only light and warmth coming from a few torches placed underneath what few ventilation shafts there were. The light was just enough to reveal a row of cells, their fronts consisting of iron bars.

An overweight guardsman jerked upright from a chair behind a desk to side, the line of drool he quickly wiped from his mouth leaving no question as to his activities, or lack thereof.

“Minra’s tits, can’t you at least try to look vigilant?” Lyke said in an exasperated tone.

“No one’s ever gotten past me,” the man replied with a frown.

“Only for lack of getting passed the bars,” The guardswoman with Lyke muttered under her breath.

Lyke pushed Y’rid forward. “Got another for you.”

The guard nodded and reached for a quill and sheet of paper on the desk. “Name?”

“Y’rid,” Y’rid replied.

The scribbled down the answer, then turned to Lyke. “Gonna need you to fill out the details.”

Lyke sighed. “Just get him into the cell first.”

“We need to ask some questions first,” The jailor said.

“We got three dead bodies, including one of the scouts. You know how the Captain feels about those under his command, even if it’s temporary. He’s going to want to look into this himself.”

“Still, rules stipulate-“

“That sleeping on the job will not be tolerated?”

The jailor was silent for a moment and looked over Y’rid’s shoulder at the other guard. “…Fair enough. But he’s going to the back.”

The man unhooked a bunch of keys from a hook in the wall behind the desk. He walked down the cells, passing them by.

“Move,” Lyke said and pushed him forward.

Y’rid looked at the cells as he passed. The first containing a figure covered in rags, curled up against the far wall, the odour of unwashed body wafting through the iron grid causing his nose to scrunch up. The second cell contained a woman in partial armour. She sat on a wooden bench to the side and watched them silently as they passed, her eyes sharp even in the dim light.

Y’rid was led past the first row of cells and through a small doorway into another room. This one also had a row of cells, although there were only three and they were all empty. The jailor opened the first one and waved him through.

“This is you,” He said with a gap-toothed smile. “Enjoy your stay.”

Y’rid ignored him as the guard released his hold on him and shoved him inside. He turned to the slammed of the gate and the turning of the key, the lock clanking as it slid into place. The jailor and the two guards turned and left the way they came, stepping out of sight and leaving him staring at the wall across his cell.

With a sigh, he turned and surveyed the cell. It was bare, to say the least. A plain wooden bench against a wall and a slop bucket in the corner. The only decoration was the dried blood that stained the cold floor. At least it was empty.

Y’rid rubbed his wrists. The guard’s arm lock hadn’t done them and his already sore shoulder any favours. He stepped over to the narrow bench and lay down, one leg hanging down the side. He crossed his arms beneath his head to provide what little comfort he could.

Deciding that it would probably be a while until the captain came, he closed his eyes to sleep. Yet the image of Terig’s face staring up at the sky appeared in his mind. He pulled one of his arms away and rubbed his eyelids, hoping to drive away the scene.

The man had seemed honest. A little rough around the edges maybe, but who wasn’t? Wanted to be a trader, wasn’t that what he said? Yet he did what he could during these times to help the city he grew up in.

He didn’t deserve dying like that. Not like that. Cut down in the very city he risked his life to defend, probably by people he had unwittingly defended in previous beast attacks.

And for what?

Were they simply there to rob his corpse of what they could find or was something else? Perhaps something to do with the beastmen? He honestly couldn’t decide which was worse.

Y’rid turned onto his side, his back to the gate, getting as much darkness as he could. Slowly he pulled his thoughts away, forcing them from his mind every time his focus wanted to return to the subject.

He kept doing so until sleep came.

Eventually.

Y’rid opened his eyes to the sound of footsteps and voices. His body felt sore from the hard wooden bench. He turned over onto his back and closed his eyes once more, determined to sink back into oblivion.

“-was one of the scouts?”

The voice sounded familiar as it came closer. It took him a moment to realise it was that of the guard captain they had met when entering the city.

“Yes, Captain.”

Well, that confirmed it.

“And he was seen next to the scout’s corpse? Terig you said?”

Y’rid frowned and closed his eyes once more, he relaxed the muscles in his face and tried to even out his breathing.

“Yes, sir. One of those who supposedly saw the totem,” the second voice came. “Him and two others, known thugs, theft and the like. Picked them up a while ago, taught them a lesson. According to this man, they were the ones that killed the hunter. I figured it was best to let you handle it, considering…”

The footsteps stopped just outside of his cell. Y’rid laid completely still as he focused on what they were saying.

“Hmm,” the captain voice came, his footsteps retreated for a moment before returning the light growing brighter as he did so. Y’rid felt a wave of heat near the front of his cell and fought to keep his closed eyelids from twitching under the light. “Ah, yes I know him. Good thing you brought this to me. If you’d have ‘taught him a lesson’ as well, we would have even more trouble.”

“Captain?”

“Go to the Cobblestreet Inn, in the southern district. Speak to one of the Thalsmen there, inform them their man is with us and we are just asking some questions regarding a murder.”

There was a sharp intake of breath.

“You’re legs still work, guardsman?”

“Yes sir,” the man replied followed by a single footstep and silence.

“Well?” The captain’s gruff voice was laced with annoyance.

“Uh… there is one more thing sir.” The guard’s reply came hesitantly. “I had the mortis look over the corpses. The wounds on the hunter showed the use of a small bladed weapon, while one of the thugs was killed with a sword and the other with a dagger or knife, consistent with what the man said.”

“And?”

“And, while the mortis was looking over the hunter, he found this.” A rustling of fabric followed the man’s words. “At first he thought it was a note to the man's family, so he looked it over…”

There was a soft rustling sound. Paper unfolding, Y’rid guessed, considering the man mentioned a note.

A few moments passed in silence, finally broken by the captain’s voice. “Who else saw this?”

“Just me and the mortis, sir.”

“Keep it to yourself. Not a word.”

“But sir, shouldn’t-“

“There have been three citylords since I first started as a guard,” The captain interrupted. “Two of them while I was captain. I’ve been here for so long because of two reasons. I do my job better than anyone else can. And I keep my nose out of schemes. You understand?”

Another moment passed in silence, though this time he could feel the tension from where he lay.

“Listen,” the captain said. “You’re a good man, Lyke. You lead your squad well. You have a future here. But take some advice from someone who already walked the path. We are guardsmen. We protect the people, that’s what matters. As for schemes and politics? I couldn’t care less. And neither should you.”

“…yes sir.”

“Good. Now go.”

“Sir.”

Retreating footsteps of the guard echoed down the corridor away from his cell, slowly fading. A jingle of keys sounded just outside the cell before one was inserted into the gate, followed by a loud clank as the door was unlocked.

Y’rid groaned and slowly opened his eyes. He sat up rubbed the side off his arms while looking around. He turned and squinted at the figure of the captain standing in the doorway.

“You’re awake,” the man said in a cheerful voice. “I apologize on behalf of my men. They were just doing as they were told. When times are tough, we can’t afford not to be.”

Y’rid blinked a couple of times and rubbed a hand over his face. He paused for a moment before answering, as though taking time to register the words. “Yes… yes, it’s fine.”

He stretched out his back and slowly stood up. “Can’t be too careful.”

“I’m glad you understand,” The captain replied with a warm smile. “I have a few questions for you about the incident if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Sure, though I don’t know if I have much to offer.”

“That’s fine, more a formality than anything else,” The captain gestured over his shoulder with a thumb. “Why don’t we talk in my office. I’m sure you’ve had enough of this place.”

Y’rid nodded and stood up following the man out of the cell and through the corridor. The captain walked ahead of him with a steady stride. In one hand he held a bundle of keys while the other held onto a folded piece of paper.

Y’rid pulled his eyes away from the note and focused back on the man himself. He stepped through the doorway leading to the first cell area, seeing that the number of people had increased by a few. Some of them who were still awake tried to proclaim there innocence at the captain, which the man promptly ignored.

They walked over to the jailor’s area, The overweight man standing and giving the captain a sloppy salute. The captain wordlessly tossed him the keys and led Y’rid out of the area and up the stairs.

“No attacks on the wall I take it?” Y’rid asked as they reached the top, breaking the silence.

“Hmm?” The captain turned his head towards him, allowing Y’rid to see the lines under his eyes. “Oh, no, nothing so far and the night’s reaching its end, thankfully.”

Its end?

It would seem he had slept longer than he thought. It didn’t feel like it though, not the soreness in his body was any indication. But perhaps that just came from sleeping in armour on a wooden bench that would hardly fit a child.

“But even so, the streets aren’t exactly quiet,” the captain continued.

Y’rid nodded out of habit, then realised the man couldn’t see him. “Yes, I saw some of that.”

“Bit more than saw, eh? Not that I’m holding it against you. I won’t shed any tears for two fewer cutthroats roaming the city.”

The rest of the walk was spent in silence, going through corridors and heading up another flight of stairs, with guards they met along the way saluting the captain as they passed. Occasionally the captain would spare a word or two for them in greeting or encouragement.

As they reached the second floor the torches on the walls started disappearing, a few narrow windows started appearing in their stead, the moon and starlight shining through them. In front of many of the windows were potted plants with lightvines growing on them, giving off a soft glow.

They finally reached the office of the captain, a relatively large stone room that spoke of practicality. A desk stood opposite the doorway with two chairs, one behind the desk facing the door and another opposite the first. The only other piece of furniture was a narrow bookshelf stacked with neatly aligned books and scrolls.

In fact, most of the things in the room were neatly arranged. All except for the desk, which was crowded with stacks of papers and maps. The desk was illuminated by a small brazier to right the side of the room a safe distance away from the desk and another of the plants to the left, in front of an open window that let in a cool night breeze.

The captain walked over to the desk and dropped the folded note to one side onto the surface. Y’rid pulled his eyes up away from the note as the man drew out the chair from behind the desk. He took his seat and gestured for Y’rid to take the other, which he did.

“So,” the captain began, placing his elbows onto the desk and folding his hands. “Why don’t you take me through the events that took place.”

Y’rid did so, recounting how he met Terig and what happened after he left the tavern.

The captain nodded. “I suppose you were there to hear about his totem story?”

“I take it you don’t believe it, captain?”

The man shrugged. “I sent men the location they specified after they returned. Nothing was found. But, regardless as to whether or not that totem was ever there, it won’t make a difference me.”

“It won’t?”

“I keep the city safe. And with the horde attacking us, I certainly don’t have the time or men to spare to chase after stories. All it would cause is more panic among the people and they are already stretched as far as they can get. Many would do whatever they can to get out of the city, you saw it yourself, even lived it yourself.”

Y’rid felt a frown form on his face as he looked at the captain in confusion.

The man looked back before raising his eyebrows. “Ah, of course you don’t know. Someone looked over the corpses from yesterday. Standard procedure when no witnesses are present. But he did find the scout’s coin pouch on one of the thieves you killed.” – He shook his head – “Damn shame to die like that, murdered in an alleyway in your own city for a few coins.”

The scout’s coin pouch?

From what he had overheard between the guard and the captain outside the cells, no mention had been made of a Terig’s coin pouch. Had he missed that part?

“This is what I meant about people doing whatever they can. An extreme example of course, but one you saw yourself. Those two probably aimed to buy their way onto a caravan heading out of the city, or to start their new lives somewhere else. Who knows how many they would have killed before they deemed they had enough?”

Y’rid stayed silent. Were the two mere thieves? It did make sense in a certain way. They definitely weren’t mercenaries or hunters, not when carrying only a pair of daggers.

“Well don’t blame yourself for putting down those two. You might have done the city a favour,” The captain said seeing his expression. Y’rid merely nodded making no effort to correct the man. After that, the captain asked him a few more questions, then stopped.

“Well, I’ve got everything I need. Like I said, just a formality,” the man said and pulled out a quill and inkwell and clean sheet of paper after rummaging through a stack on the desk. “Just give me a moment to write down the details and we’ll go and get your weapons.”

Y’rid’s eyes drifted over the desk and landed upon the note the captain had carried with him when they arrived. The more he thought about their conversation the more he wanted to read the letter. He looked back to the man but he didn’t notice, still busy writing the report. “Lot’s of paper here, more than I’d have thought.”

The captain sighed but didn’t look up. “Horrible system. Supposed to prevent corruption, yet all it seems to do is waste time, and the amount of dosh stems that go into making all of this is just as ridiculous.”

The captain looked up at the sound of someone approaching. Y’rid turned in his seat to, seeing the same guard that brought him in step into the doorway with Holin behind him.

“Captain,” the guard said, saluting before nodding to Y’rid and leaving.

“Captain,” Holin said, copying the man.

“Ah, you have arrived, hunter,” the guard captain said, standing up and walking around the desk to greet Holin.

Y’rid stood up as the man passed him, he reached out and snatched up the note on the desk as he did so, turning to face them with his arms crossed behind his back.

Holin greeted the captain and eyed Y’rid with a knowing smile as he tucked the note into the sleeve of his coat, underneath the bracer on the arm.

“I leave you alone for a moment and you already find yourself in trouble,” Holin said looking at him with a grin.

“Oh no,” The captain said turning back to look Y’rid over. “Quite the contrary, he helped us get rid of some filth that was hiding in the city.”

“That so?”

“Indeed,” The captain said. “I was just going over the events of last night with Y’rid here, but I think we’re done. I’ll walk with you and we can pick up his weapons from the mortuary.”

The captain led them through the barracks to the mortuary. It was located at one end of the compound, a triangular shaped structure wedged between the city wall and the front side on the barracks with another small courtyard separating it from the rest.

Unlike the first courtyard Y’rid saw when entering, this one was overgrown with weeds, only a small dirt path, lined with vines, running through it to the structure itself.

No guards were in sight as they approached, the reason for which quickly became clear the nearer they got. The stench of death hung around the structure, warding off any who didn’t need to be there. This only increased as the captain opened the door, causing the stench to increase fivefold.

The inside of the room held an array of items, leaning against the walls or laying on the tables. Trails of dried blood, dark from age mixed with more youthful streaks of red lead to a staircase at the far end, leading down into what was no doubt storage for corpses.

A man stood over a large bucket placed on one of the tables, the splashing of water accompanying his movements. He turned as they entered, holding a cleaver in one hand, red tinted liquid dripping from it. His mouth hung open as he breathed, a raspy sound escaping as he did so.

He nodded once at the captain then turned back to cleaning the cleaver. Y’rid noticed an array of different tools already cleaned and drying on the table’s surface, though he would be hard-pressed to name half of them.

“Mortis,” The captain said with visible unease. “The equipment that came with the three bodies last-”

He had yet to complete the sentence before the man held up a hand pointing to a table at the wall without turning around.

The captain briskly strode over and gestured for Y’rid to come along. Y’rid matched his speed and quickly looked over the table, noting Terig’s bow and the two daggers, before seizing his own sword and dagger.

He quickly marched to the exit, spending any more time here than necessary was definitely not something he wanted to do. With the captain short on his heels, he could guess that the feeling was mutual.

The captain shut the door as soon as they left and started walking back to the main structure.

“Can never get used to that place,” He muttered as he walked. Y’rid glanced over at Holin half-expecting some snarky comment, but for once the man remained silent.

***

“You going to fill me in?” Y’rid heard Holin ask as they walked back to the inn. “Last I saw you, you were going to talk to the other scout.”

“You didn’t figure something was amiss when I didn’t show?”

“I had just reached the inn myself, caught the guard just outside, in fact.”

“Just reached the inn?” Y’rid asked. “I was gone for hours, what were you doing?”

“Collecting information from the tavern owner, like we said.”

“Collecting information, huh?”

“Yes,” Holin replied with a grin. “Very diligently.”

Y’rid scoffed, though he couldn’t stop the half-smile forming on his face. He started recounting the events for the second time that day. It was really getting old, at least to his ears. The only difference between this account and what he gave the captain, was the detail. He went into what he and Terig had discussed as well as his impressions of the man.

“Hmm, that does actually fit in with his background. Apparently, his grandfather was one of the few traders that held relations with the beastmen of Orr, before the war broke out. Made himself quite a bit of coin. He must have learned about totems from the old man.”

“Get that from your ‘informant’?”

“I did, as a matter of fact.”

“The grandfather still alive?”

“Nope, he protested against the war. It seems people don’t like it when you tell them the things that killed their loved ones were only defending themselves. Who knew?”

Y’rid shook his head. The similarities in their deaths somehow just seemed to make the situation sadder.

“That might be the end of Terig’s story,” Holin said. “But you took something from the captain. Back when I came in…”

He looked at Y’rid expectantly. Y’rid quickly told him about what he had overheard, causing Holin’s eyebrow to raise.

“Well?” He asked. “Open up the letter and let’s see what it says.”

Y’rid dug two fingers into his sleeve and found the end of the piece of paper. He pulled it out and unfolded the note.

He scanned his eyes over it then started at the top, parsing out each syllable and stringing them together in his head.

“What the hell are you doing?” Holin asked after a while, losing patience.

“Give me a moment.”

Y’rid continued. Unsurprisingly people who grow up on the streets didn’t do much reading. His father had taught him the basics, of course, before he died on the wall.

He paused.

His father?

Holin took advantage of his lapse and swiped the letter out of his hands. He quickly scanned over the letter, his expression turning serious. “Hmm.”

“Well?” Y’rid asked.

Holin eyed him, his seriousness fading as it was replaced with a smile, amusement clear in his eye. “You sure you want me to tell you? You were doing so well.”

Y’rid stared at him, unamused. “You’re not nearly as-“

“It is a letter,” Holin said cutting him off. The serious expression returning to his face as though it had never left, causing Y’rid to sigh. “Addressed to one mister Terig, from someone signed ‘the Hand’. It thanks him for his continued efforts to ‘obscure the facts’ and promises an additional sum added onto that already paid for services rendered.”

Y’rid slowly grew grimmer as Holin reached the end. What the letter talked about was obvious, though he did not want to believe it. He took the letter back from Holin and looked over it.

Why? Was he simply unwilling to admit the man played him?

“Well, it seems to be what we were looking for to begin with,” Holin said. “Even if it doesn’t exactly fill me with joy to find it.”

He went back over his interaction with the man. No, it didn’t seem right.

“Something’s off,” Y’rid said. “Terig didn’t strike me as that kind of person. The way he spoke about their find… he wasn’t faking it.”

Holin was silent for a while before speaking. “People are capable of strange things, many of which you might never expect.”

“It still doesn’t seem right.”

The rest of the walk to the inn was done in silence. The sky was still dark when they reached the building, though Y’rid knew dawn was not far off.

“I’m going to get some sleep while I still can,” Y’rid said to Holin. “Sleeping on a small bench while in armour hadn’t exactly been restful.”

Holin yawned. “I could do with a few hours myself.”

Y’rid snorted. He made his way to his room and stepped inside. The darkness was alleviated a bit by a small vine intertwined with some sort of potted shrub that sat on the window sill, in the way that seemed common here. It gave just enough light for him to move around the small room without bumping into the bed, storage chest or singular chair that made up the entirety of the furniture in the room.

Y’rid took off his leather armour with a feeling of relief. He stretched, trying to get rid of the soreness in his muscles before taking off his coat as well. He went through his pockets and dropped the few contents of them onto the chests lid, the single silver coin and five coppers clinking as the fell.

He should have taken the coin from the thugs’ corpses. Terig’s as well now that he thought about it. The dead had no use for them after all.

He moved to the bed before coming to a stop. A frown creased his face as he stared out in front of him.

Robbing the dead?

Where had that thought come from? He was certain he should have found the thought uncomfortable if not outright repulsive. In fact, the more he thought about it the more he did, yet a part of him was completely fine with the idea. That part of him felt as though it was a given.

He sat down on the bed and looked at the wooden floor. A part of him felt he was being foolish, making a big deal out of nothing. Perhaps he would have listened, but this was the second time today he felt like this.

My father.

That is what he had called the man who had taught Y’rid to read, had he not? Except that the person he had taught hadn’t been him.

He stared down at his hands. He knew his hands had been older, covered in scars. Yet when he flexed these youthful ones, he couldn’t imagine them being any other way. He had inherited the memories of Y’rid he knew, and he knew it had affected him to some extent, after all, how could it not?

Memories made a large part of a person.

Yet for the first time, he wondered how much they affected him exactly. For the first time, he wondered if he would even notice the changes. These two had been easy to catch, but what about other more subtle alterations. Would he notice?

Perhaps… it already has and I never did.

A shiver ran down his spine, one that had nothing to do with the chill coming in through the window. Was he still the same person he had been in his previous life? If he went back… would his family recognise him? Certainly, they wouldn’t recognise his body.

The image of a little girl danced in his mind, one he had often recalled. The sunlight glistened off of her black hair, the sun’s rays themselves paling in comparison radiance of her smile.

Would she recognise him?

***

Lerann watched as the mage strode out of the room clutching a tome of bound notes. Research he had spent a large part of his life on. His lip turned up into a sneer. The snake had the gall to suggest it was a fair trade. He even pressed for more. Now he slithered back to whatever opulent hole he came out of.

Yet he had agreed to this. Payment for the inscribing ingredients he had already used. Soon Lerann would run out of things he could trade, unless he traded his modified versions of resurrection, and that was something he refused to do.

A mage in need of coin.

The thought dragged a rueful laugh from his throat.

Any adjustment on the rune array required that the whole thing be redone. Each and every rune realigned and re-inscribed. Each test of his spell set him back more than he would have used in five terms and it offered no return on investment.

He could move back south to his family. Go crawling back, looking for a handout from those who he severed ties with so long ago. They would be all to happy to welcome him back with open arms and fake smiles, all to elevate their position, to stare down at the rest from just a bit higher. Perhaps they thought if they rose high enough the rabble would disappear from sight altogether.

Or he could always offer his services as in classical resurrection, but using the very thing he was trying to change seemed like a betrayal of all he had worked for. He glanced off to the side of the room, to the corridor that led to his personal chambers and the stone coffin that resided there. No, continuing that practice was something he refused to do.

A knock on the door drew his attention back to reality.

“Come in.”

The door opened and Shara stepped through. She bowed her head to him before speaking. “The subject has arrived.”

Lerann nodded. “Have you found out anything about the young man from Riversedge?”

“It is as we expected. The merchant I visited said he and one of the beasteaters came into his shop to buy some armour and weapons the day we arrived. In all likelihood, he joined them when they headed north.”

Lerann sighed. Unfortunate, but his previous inquiries had pointed to this conclusion. The man had been seen spending a lot of time with the beasteater group on their journey to Lok. He was hoping his singular success could have helped to fine tune the spell, hastening its completion, but it seemed it wouldn’t be happening.

“Very well, bring the subject to the casting room. I’ll head there now.”

Shara nodded before turning around and leaving.

He ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath. Pushing himself off of the table he had been leaning against, he made his way out the doorway and down the stairs.

He quickly arrived in the casting room and looked out through the window on the opposite wall. From here, near the centre of Lok, he could look out through the gaps in between the sprawling building-mass that made up the innercity. Through the gaps, he could see the lights of the outercity shining in the night.

A prime located home, one that would cost more than any of the outercity would ever see in their lifetimes, yet he received it from the citylord without spending a single copper coin. If only the supplies he needed came as easily. Then he might have completed his work already.

He went to check over the spell array one last time before the subject arrived. Two-hundred-and-thirteen runes. A decrease from the two-hundred-and-forty-seven of his last attempt, closer to what the array looked like at Riversedge.

He was sure that his failure last time had to do with trying to take out more of the restrictions without perfecting the first. First, he had to get rid of the sacrifice and perfect it. After that, he could look towards altering the time constraints and corpse anchor.

Shara and another woman arrived as he was checking over the runes. The woman started to greet him but Shara silenced her and let him continue without interruptions.

Lerann nodded to himself as he finished the check. “Right.” – He turned to the woman – “Sit down on the table for me.”

She walked up and pulled herself onto the table. He placed a hand onto her back while speaking. “Just try to relax. There won’t be any pain.”

He formed the runes inside his mind and poured his will into them. He felt his hand heat up and her body cooled down. He slowly lowered her onto the table as she drew her final breath a minute later.

Lerann stepped back outside the array of runes encircling the stone table. He looked at Shara and gave her a nod. “Bring the chains.”

She nodded back and retrieved the inscribed chains from a small table to the side of the room. She walked over to the woman’s corpse and placed them over it before taking a step back.

“Easy now,” Lerann said. “We don’t want to harm her, only prevent her from harming herself.”

After what happened last time, he had decided to take some extra precautions. Shara retreated from the rune array and held up her hands. The runes on the chains began to glow as they moved, seemingly on their own, loosely tightening around the corpse. Shara opened her eyes and nodded back at him.

Lerann took a breath. Closing his eyes he extended his consciousness, like guiding a stream. He ran through each of the runes in order. He could feel every rune connecting to the next as the array slowly lit up, the strain on his will building with each addition. His body trembled as he went through the final runes. He opened his eyes to the expected blinding light, pulsing with energy. With one final push, he guiding the energy upwards and connected it with the body on the table.

The runes pulsed with light one last time brighter than before and went out. He swayed as he felt the exhaustion set in. A steady hand caught his arm and supported him. He reached out and placed his hand on Shara’s, grateful for her support as he looked at the table.

Even with the torches on the walls, the loss of the array’s light left him almost blind, he could only barely make out the jerking corpse on the table. He stared at it as his eyes adjusted, more and more details coming into focus.

The woman jerked once more, before sucking in a deep breath her back arching, pressing her torso up from the surface.

“Tighten the chains!”

The chains around her tightened and pulled her back onto the table, binding her in place. Her head spun around before landing on the chains holding her down.

“Relax, relax,” Lerann said holding up his hands to placate her. “They are only there to help you.”

Her head swivelled in his direction. Her eyes were half-lidded and unfocused, yet he felt an unease stir inside him as he looked at them. He felt the smile slip off of his face. It felt like staring into a giant hole, threatening to draw you in, instead of at a tied woman.

Only for a moment then she turned back to the chains. Before his eyes, the pulsing of the runes began flickering.

“Don’t lose focus,” He said to Shara over his shoulder. He heard her groan and saw the runes flare with light. Shara screamed as he shielded his eyes from the glare. The light died as quickly as it came once more throwing him into darkness.

“What happened?” He yelled at Shara as he blinked furiously, trying to regain his vision. He heard the rattling of chains falling to the floor followed by a thud.

“Something’s w-wrong,” Shara stuttered. He turned and squinted, seeing her hunched on the floor, her hands pressing on her head and swaying slightly. “Couldn’t… cut the connection.”

A snap drew him back to the table, he could make out the woman on the floor, crawling towards them. Her arm bent and snapped, twisting out of shape as she reached forward. More details came into focus as he stared. Her skin rippled, her jaw dislocated with a popping sound. Each time she moved a limb a loud crack was heard as it twisted, her movements becoming more fluid with each.

His eyes glanced passed her at the chains on the floor. Extending his will he connected with the runes etched onto them. With a motion of his hand, the chains slithered forward and curled around the woman’s ankle. One end anchored to the table, they began pulling her back as they wrapped around her leg.

Her head turned to him again, he could feel her attention even though he could not make out her gaze. She reached, her hands clutching at the chains.

He gasped as he felt the price on his will increasing. The runes started flickering as the drain increased, an ominous feeling building up in him. Without thinking twice he severed the connection, the runes dying and the chains falling limp.

His eyes stretched wide as he stared at the woman.

Impossible.

His mind rebelled against what he saw. Such a thing should not happen. Can’t happen. Only the mage himself has control of his will. Yet she pulled it into herself.

The chains fell to the floor as she started making her way towards him on her hands and feet, faster than before and increasing with each step.

A spike of fear shot through him snapping him out of his daze. He reached up, inside his shirt and pulled out the talisman that hung around his neck. With a tug he snapped the cord and held the round metal disk out in front of him, extending his will towards the rune array inscribed on it.

The woman launched herself forward just as the runes activated, compressing the air in front of the talisman. It drew her in, pulling her forward and causing her to slam into the air barrier. She snarled and started clawing at the barrier, swiping and biting at it.

Lerann took a deep breath and pressed his will further into the talisman and activated the secondary array on it. The air in the room surged towards the barrier compressing further. The torches on the wall went out and he heard Shara gasp for breath beside him before the barrier exploded outward with the sound of thunder.

The blast of air stormed through everything in its path, hurling the woman through the air and into the far wall with a sickening crack. Furniture was overturned and torches were ripped from the walls, even the stone table slid back a few steps.

Air came rushing back pushing Lerann from his feet as he felt exhaustion wash over him. His head felt like it was being pounded with a hammer, a sure sign of overextending. He heard Shara was gasping beside him, drawing in great mouthfuls of air.

Lerann forced himself up onto his elbows and stared at the limp form of the woman on the floor, the moonlight shining through the window just enough to make it out. He reached out to his will but found it unresponsive.

He gave Shara a moment before turning to her and speaking. “Light. Create a light. Need to see what happened.”

He heard fumbling in the dark until a sphere of bluish light appeared. A simple light array inscribed onto a metal ball that Shara was holding.

Turning back to the wall he felt his eyes widen. A large blood spatter ran down the wall where the woman’s head had struck it. But no corpse lay underneath it.

Lerann’s gaze snapped around the room, except for the devastation the talisman had caused, he saw nothing out of place. Pieces of wooden furniture, torn books and shattered jars were strewn about the room but no corpse. He looked back to the wall and noticed a bloody handprint on the window sill.

He forced himself to his feet, and walked to the window with a wobbly gait, almost falling down twice before he crossed the distance. He reached the window and supported himself against the wall and looked out. A narrow walkway on the lower level separated him and the building opposite, on it was more bloodstains, leading off of its side.

He looked down past the walkway and into the narrow street below. Pieces of wood lay scattered, blown out by the blast, but of the woman, there was no sign.