Chapter 9: One Head Shorter

I swung down vertically, sword in a two-handed grip. The blade sank through the remaining sliver of the direboar’s muscled neck, and the head fell free.

I stood back, panting, and wiped sweat from my forehead. I cleaned my sword on some shrubbery, rubbed the worst of Piggy’s blood off with a few clumps of moss and dirt, and went over to a nearby rock where I’d left my tunic. I put it on and sat down for a minute to catch my breath.

“Old man better appreciate this…” I panted. “Cutting off heads really isn’t my thing.”

Night had fallen, and there was little light to go by. I figured it was best to get started before whatever monsters lurked in the dark caught a whiff of me. Goblins or worse.

I braided strips of bark together into a rope and used that to tie a clumsy harness, attaching it to the direboar head. I dragged the cumbersome thing behind me, too heavy to carry.

A sky full of stars winked down at me through the trees. An array of crescent moons hung heavy among them. I counted five. Staring at that great beyond got me thinking.

What is this world, really? Why does it feel so… unnatural? I was born here, so why do I feel like I belong someplace else?

Branch had mentioned someone called the Architect. Was that the god of this place? I would have to ask him later.

The trek back to the cabin was arduous, seemingly infinitely longer than the path I had taken when leaving it. The head dragged behind me, one long tusk scraping the dirt, harness digging into my chest.

Eventually the cabin came into view, amber firelight shining through the smudged windows. I’d made it. Without incident, too. That was something.

I shrugged off the harness and left Piggy’s head on the ground outside. Branch could decide what he wanted done with it. I sure wasn’t moving it another centimeter.

Stepping up to the door, I found myself pausing. The rope that kept the door shut had been severed, both ends hanging limply. The door was open a crack. I heard no sound from inside, saw no shadows in the windows. I considered calling out to Branch, but thought better of it. Instead, I instinctively reached out for the power that dwelled within me.

“Scry,” I whispered.

My vision was flooded with light, gold threads woven into patterns too fine for my reckoning. They were pulled taut, arranged into something more decipherable, color bleeding back into the arcane weave.

I saw myself from behind. I had a hand on the door. I pushed it open and entered, calling soundlessly to Branch. As soon as I entered, a brief flash of something dark cut through my neck. Then my head slid off my shoulders, and the rest of me sank to the ground.

I snapped back into my own body, breathing heavy, a steadying hand on the cottage wall. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, before I felt truly at home within myself again.

A vision. A possible future, maybe. I wasn’t sure. But I was sure of one thing.

There was something dangerous inside that cottage.

I considered simply leaving, walking off into the night, but curiosity got the better of me. Besides, if Branch was in trouble, I figured I had an obligation to help him. The bastard had done the same for me more than once.

I snuck around the side of the cottage, hand trailing the uneven stones. I got to a window and peeked inside. Through the foggy glass, I could make out Branch draped over his straw bed.

A knife jutted out of his throat, buried to the hilt, burning with the same dark energy I’d seen Branch himself utilize. Blood stained his bare right arm, dripping off his limp hand onto the floor.

Other shapes moved inside the cottage. I jerked my head back, breathing hard, but not from exertion this time.

Fuck, I thought. He’s dead. He’s fucking dead.

At least, he would be soon. Maybe a Lay on Hands could fix him up, but I couldn’t tell if he was still moving or not.

I looked through the window once more. I made out three people inside, seated on Branch’s chairs around the wood stove. Two men, one woman. The men were bald, rough-hewn, covered in scars. The woman was slender and sable-haired. Even through the dirty window, I could tell that she was beautiful. She played idly with a dagger, throwing it into the air and catching it. They all wore clothing that covered their right arms, so I couldn’t make out class or level.

“I see you!” the woman called without taking her eyes off the fire. “Come inside, will you? It’s cold out.”

I froze. I went through my options in a split second. All were bad.

Three of them in there. Those are bad odds. I don’t think I could beat even a single fighter with Branch’s experience.

I could run. But judging by the look of that knife, at least one of them is a Rogue. Rogues can use Quickstep, meaning they’d catch up to me quick.

Leaving me with one option.

I doubled back to the front of the cottage and went in through the door. The two men had stood up, brandishing steel-banded cudgels. They watched me closely, but made no move. The woman stayed put, glancing briefly over her shoulder before returning her attention to the fire.

I looked over at Branch. The man was still alive, sucking feebly for air. Blood bubbled on his lips. He stared frantically right at me, lips moving as if he was trying to beg me to save him.

There was still time.

I diverted my gaze. I’m sorry, old man. You told me not to get attached.

“You two friends?” the woman asked. She caught her dagger and pointed it in Branch’s general direction.

“Not exactly,” I said. “He fished me off the beach when I spawned in. Threatened to kill me. Made me work for him.”

“Ah.” The woman said nothing else. It was impossible to tell whether she believed me or not.

“Can we kill him?” one of the toughs asked in a surprisingly high-pitched voice.

“Not yet,” the woman said. She stood with a sigh, sheathing the dagger at her belt, and turned to face me. Hands on hips, she looked me up and down. She really was shapely, leather breeches hugging a pair of long, slender legs as tight as a second skin. I fought the urge to stare.

“Why?” asked the other man. His voice was rough and grating.

“Why?” The woman’s honeyed voice took on a hard edge. “Three reasons, Brick. Firstly, because he’s a Cleric. That means he’s valuable. Secondly, because it’d be a shame to waste such a pretty face. Thirdly—and most importantly—because I fucking said so. Do I need to remind you who’s in charge?”

Brick’s dumb face flashed with rage, but only for a moment. His features went placid, and he lowered his weapon a hair. “No, Cait. I get it. Don’t need to be such a bitch about it.”

Cait took the insult in stride and approached me. I backed away on reflex, but the two men tilted their heads in response, a warning. I stopped, let the leader come in close.

She smelled of lavender. Her face neared mine, and her full, blood-red lips puckered. I swallowed hard. That made her grin. She cupped my face in one hand and turned it every which way.

Branch let out one last, pathetic gurgle before going still.

I considered unsheathing my sword and driving her through, but I checked my anger. Her confidence, and the ease with which Branch had been dispatched, suggested that this group was strong. If I made one wrong move, I was dead.

So I did nothing, and let the woman tug me around.

“You said this idiot made you work for him?” Cait asked.

“That’s right.”

“Hmm. Awful generous of him to give you his only sword.”

“He sent me out to kill a monster for him. He knew I was too weak to defy him, with or without a weapon.”

“What type of monster?”

“A direboar.”

“You killed a direboar on your own?” She glanced down at my arm. “At Level Two?”

Her sleeve slid down, letting me get a peek at her forearm. Rogue. Level Six.

That’s bad.

I was soaking with cold, clammy sweat. I wanted to vomit.

“The direboar was old and lame. My captor just wanted it dead so it wouldn’t scare away the goblins around this area.”

Cait nodded, thoughtful. “Why didn’t you run?”

“I’m a fresh spawn. I don’t know the lay of the land. He said the goblins would get me if I tried to run. I needed his protection.”

The woman let go of my face with a final clap on the cheek and took a step back. “I see. Then how about earning my protection? I could use a Cleric in my… band.”

I let out a sharp breath, unaware until now that I’d been holding it in.

She bought it.

“Yes, of course,” I said. “You saved me from that horrible man. I’ll work for you, if you’ll have me. Although, what exactly do you do?”

“Simple,” Cait said. “We’re bandits.”

She grinned.

I swallowed.