Chapter 10: The Greater Evil

Day 5

We lingered in the trees by the wide dirt path, hidden behind a throng of bushes and saplings. Despite our intentions, I felt an electric rush at the thought of seeing more people, more hints of civilization. According to Cait, the road they were on led to a town called Worthing. I wondered idly what that place was like.

Cait’s underlings, Brick and Bash, had tossed Branch’s body away, leaving it out for the goblins to pick at. I was given his boots, and the rest of his clothing had been distributed among the rest of the bandits. I’d also been given a tunic with sleeves for both arms, to signify that I was one of them now.

Over the day and something I’d spent with the bandits, I’d worked to learn a little about them. Brick and Bash were both Level 3 Fighters, relatively fresh spawns, but older than me. I had yet to find out what a Fighter’s basic abilities were, but I figured I’d get to see soon enough.

Cait was as arrogant as she was beautiful. However, it seemed she also had the talent to back it up. Despite only having spawned in six months ago, she was already Level 6, one higher than Branch. She was stronger than Brick, Bash, and I put together, and she knew it.

“New blood,” Cait said, crouched opposite me. “You’re looking a little pale.”

I tried to affect disinterest. Based on her derisive chuckle, it didn’t work. “I just haven’t done this sort of thing before, that’s all,” I said.

“You get used to it quick,” Brick said. “Nothin’ to it.”

“Couple conks on the head is all it usually takes,” Bash chimed in.

“Charming,” I muttered.

“Ignore them,” Cait said with uncharacteristic softness in her voice. “You’ll stay here for your first time. Your job is just to heal anyone who gets injured.”

“Prissy fucking Cleric,” Brick said.

Bash snorted out a laugh at that.

Cait shot them both a hard look, and they quieted down quick. Standing up, she began to walk away and snapped her fingers as a sign for me to follow.

I did as I was asked, and we wandered through the forest together for a stretch. She didn’t say anything, so I decided to take the lead on the conversation.

“I keep being told that Clerics are rare, valuable somehow,” I said. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“Every group needs a healer,” Cait explained. “Doesn’t matter if you’re bandits, soldiers, or adventurers. If you don’t have one, you’re at a disadvantage against someone who does. Besides that, you guys are the rarest spawns. Half of the population are Fighters. Rogues and Mages make up one fifth each. Clerics—”

“That means only one tenth of the population are Clerics,” I said.

Cait glanced towards me, then shook her head. “Don’t interrupt me. But yes. So you see why I like to keep you around. Aside from your looks, that is.”

I chuckled.

Cait stopped and faced me. “That doesn’t mean I won’t gut you like a fish if you decide to get cute.”

I nodded gravely. “I’ll stay in line.”

She clapped my cheek affectionately. “Good lad. Make an effort to get along with Brick and Bash, too. They’re a little crude, but they’re loyal to me. I don’t want the three of you making trouble with each other.”

“I don’t have a problem with them. They’re the ones who have a problem with me.”

“Then you won’t have any trouble staying above it. I want—”

“That’s not fair, though. I can’t help if they have it out for me.”

All of a sudden, Cait had a dagger against my throat. She backed me up against a tree, the wickedly sharp edge scraping against my adam’s apple. Her face was centimeters from mine, wild-eyed, full lips twitching.

“What did I fucking tell you about interrupting me?”

I swallowed. The bobbing of my throat drew a bead of blood onto the flat of the blade.

“Hmm?” Cait asked, clearly interested in an answer.

“Not to do it,” I worked out.

“So why did you?”

“I wasn’t thinking.”

Cait slowly withdrew her weapon, wiping it clean on my shoulder, but her face remained uncomfortably close. Her scent, lavender, was heavy in my nostrils.

She inched closer, lips parted. Her hand went up my chest.

“Boss!” Bash’s shrill voice came. He jogged through the underbrush, stopping a fair distance away. “We spotted a juicy one. Gotta hurry if we wanna catch ‘em.”

Cait took a step back and cleared her throat. “Excellent. Let’s get the show started, then.” After a quick glance back at me, she sprinted off with her underling.

I followed at a brisk jog.

Returning to the road, Bash pointed out a horse-drawn wagon coming in from the east, going in the direction of Worthing. There were two men in the seat, two in the back of the wagon, and one walking alongside it, swatting at bugs.

Cait squinted at the wagon, one foot up on a rock. “Looks valuable,” she said. “I count three guards.”

“Three?” I asked. “Can you take on that many?”

Brick and Bash snickered. I glared over at them, but to little appreciable effect.

“It won’t be a problem,” Cait said, brimming with confidence. “Just watch and learn, new blood.”

With that, she burst through our concealment and set off to intercept the wagon, which was now only some twenty or thirty meters down the road. Brick and Bash were quick to follow, cudgels held high, their hoarse war cries already echoing through the forest.

It seemed this wasn’t going to be a simple holdup.

Cait drew a knife from a sheath on her leg, shouted “Rend!”, and flicked it at the wagon. It caught one of the men in the throat, and he dipped forward with a wet gurgle.

The ones in the back of the wagon jumped off and fumbled for weapons. The remaining man in the front tugged the horses to a stop and checked on his comrade, already cold dead. The one who had been walking alongside the wagon eyed the bandits with a bug-eyed stare, frozen stiff. Out of the whole group, he seemed the most like a fresh spawn.

Cait readied another knife.

“Mage Hand!” called the man atop the wagon. A ball of crackling flame materialized in his open palm, and he chucked it at the female bandit. She rolled out of the way with a deft tumble, but her concentration was momentarily shattered.

Brick reached the fresh spawn and clubbed him over the head. The man went down, and the bandit stomped on him a few times for good measure. Bash moved on, facing off against the two men at the back. They’d armed themselves with short swords, and their relaxed, confident stances told me they knew how to use them.

“Ironskin,” said one, stepping in front of his partner. A matte-black substance spread across his arms and up his neck, stopping at the chin. “Embolden,” said the other. The muscles in his exposed arm twitched and squirmed, agitated, pushing against the skin. Once more, he spoke the same word, and his form swelled further.

Undeterred, Bash moved against them. He used Ironskin to cover only his left arm in that black, metallic substance, and Embolden to bulk up his right. He made an overhead swing at the man in front. The guard turned aside the blow with his sword, but his grip was shaken.

The guard behind snaked out with a quick stab, hoping to catch Bash in the gut. The bandit jumped out of the way, however, and Brick chose that moment to enter the fray, catching the guard on his extended arm with a two-handed swing. Even from my hiding spot, I heard bones crack. The guard stumbled and fell with a scream.

The Mage jumped off the front of the wagon. He and Cait approached each other, slow and deliberate.

Cait drew a knife, imbued it with Rend, and threw it. “Telekinesis,” the Mage said, and the knife slowed to a stop in front of his outstretched hand, lazily spinning. With a flick, he returned it to sender. Cait used a Quickstep to avoid the knife and close in on the mage, skidding to a stop just a meter or two away. With her last two weapons, a pair of daggers, she crossed the final distance.

“Clone!” the Mage cried, backing away. A perfect copy of the man materialized in front of him, clothes and all. It leapt at Cait and tackled her to the ground. While they grappled, the Mage retreated.

Cait raised a dagger to deal with the clone, but the Mage used Telekinesis to yank it out of her hand. He let his helper grab it, who turned the wicked blade back on her, raising it for a stab. The Rogue deflected its dagger with her own, then cut its throat. Instead of blood, the clone leaked blue mist, the conjured humanoid dispersing into tendrils of smoke.

“Fuck!” the Mage cursed, looking at his right forearm. No mana left, it seemed.

Cait rose and went after him. The Mage despaired, turning to run, but she was taking her time, a swagger in her step. “Quickstep,” she spoke and zipped past the man in a flash. She was followed by a spray of blood, the Mage’s stomach cut open. His intestines spilled into the dirt, and he stared at them in utter shock for a moment before falling forward.

Brick and Bash had already finished with their opponents, forearms drenched in blood. Brick had a bad cut on his shoulder, but the pair were in good spirits, laughing and shoving each other.

All in a day’s work, I thought with a bitter lump in my stomach, eyeing the freshly made corpses surrounding the wagon.