Fifthwind (11 page)

Babbitt
shuddered, "I can't believe you were able to kill that thing."

"Two
of them," Mason corrected, pointing to the other dead beast on the
other side of the room.

Babbitt
stepped back appalled, "This is no place for a peaceful man.
Please, I must go back to my temple and pray."

Ben
said, "Don't tell anyone what you've seen here today. As far as
anyone knows, Tad was killed by thieves. The truth isn't going to
help anything. The last thing these people need are more monster
stories."

"You're
asking me to lie?"

Mason
stepped forward and corrected, "He's trying to keep you alive."

"By
threatening a peaceful man?"

Mason
rolled his eyes. "Stop being so dramatic, and think. The Captain
was the last man who tried to tell the truth. You're free to follow
in his footsteps if you like."

The
holy man stiffened with the understanding of Mason's point. "Oh...
I suppose you're right."

"No
doubt," Mason returned rhetorically.

William
turned for the door. "If you two make it back to town, maybe I'll
see you at the inn." He paused as if to say something else, but
then continued on his way and was gone.

"Do
you think he'll talk?" Mason asked.

"He's
too scared," Ben answered. "You explained the consequences quite
clearly."

"I'm
just telling it the way I see it. Whatever the Captain knew, they
killed him for it."

"I
know."

Mason
nodded toward the nearest dead creature. "Brother Babbitt was
trembling just being in the same room with that thing."

Ben
said, "If he's that scared of the dead ones, I hope for his sake he
doesn't encounter one that is still breathing."

Ben
knelt beside the creature so that he could better examine the weapon
strapped to its arm. A long curved blade rode along the top of its
forearm and came to a point several inches from its clenched fist.
The weapon made it possible for the creature to attack with either a
punching or slashing motion, as well as use the blades for defense
simply by blocking blows with its forearms. It bothered him that the
blades were not held, but instead attached to its arms as if the
weapons were not a chosen tool, but rather an applied accessory.

Ben
looked up at Mason. "The stories we heard as kids never said
anything about weapons. It doesn't look like they carry them by
choice. Someone has strapped this stuff onto them."

Mason
shrugged, "They use them well enough."

Ben
could hardly remember any details of the fight, but he did recall
that it had not been easy. Rarely had he ever crossed blades with an
opponent of such relentless determination and skill. The creatures
were quick, fearless and well equipped. They were not the type of
adversaries to give up easily, if at all.

Ben
said, "I don't understand. We were both tired and weak and that
last one was the strongest of the three. It could have easily
defeated us, why would it run?"

"That's
easy... it was afraid." Mason said.

"Not
as much as I was!" Ben replied. "I had no strength left and was
so dizzy I could barely see!"

"Ben,
you blocked everything it threw at you, like it was a child!"

Ben
shrugged and regretted it as pain shot through his arm. "I was
upset. I fight better when I'm mad."

Mason
grabbed Ben and met his eyes with intense sincerity. "You blocked
everything it threw at you... with your eyes closed!"

Ben
started to refute the comment but saw the pure, honest face of his
closest friend. Instead, he only shook his head and groaned, "Not
you too."

"Ben,
I know what I saw."

Ben
searched for a possible explanation but knew that Mason would never
lie to him and that the veteran soldier was extremely attuned to
details while in combat. There was no point arguing with Mason's
claim. Instead, Ben took the opportunity to change the subject and
examine Mason's wounds. "How's the arm?"

"Not
as bad as yours."

Ben
gripped his own shoulder and winced as he tried to flex it. It was
painful, but it was not the worst injury he had ever experienced.
"Then I guess we'll live."

"Not
all of us."

Ben
looked down at his hands as if to find an explanation. "I just
wasn't fast enough. Maybe if I had reacted sooner I could have helped
him. I was just too slow!"

"It
not your fault," Mason said, waving off the unnecessary apology and
pointed at the creature on the floor. "It was that..." Mason
looked like he wanted to say something more but stopped himself.

Ben
read Mason's thoughts and said, "The Murg."

The
two men stood silently over the dead beast taking in the reality of
what they were looking at. The body on the floor was not supposed to
exist. Yet, the injuries they bore and the fallen friend Mason had
buried proved otherwise.

Mason
kicked at the creature. "They're only half as big as the stories
say. As a kid I pictured them as being huge."

"You
were a lot smaller then," Ben said. "
A lot smaller.
"

"I
guess all make-believe monsters seemed pretty big back then."

Ben
pointed out the obvious. "They might not be all that big, but
unlike those stories, these are real."

Mason
nodded appreciatively and pushed his hair back out of his eyes. "I
guess that makes them twice as bad no matter the size, doesn't it?"

With
Mason's help, Ben gathered the few possessions Tad had left in the
cottage. They hurried as much as possible to finish and have enough
time to get back into town before sundown. There was no doubt in
either of their minds that darkness would bring another attack if
they stayed. They found a pack containing Tad's valuables and a few
rolled and tied papers. Nothing else seemed important. The room was
practically empty except for a shattered table, a few cooking
necessities, and of course the two dead beasts.

"What
should we do with them?" Mason asked.

"We
can't leave them here for someone to find, the people around here are
already scared enough." Ben looked around the small room and
shrugged. "Burn them. Burn the entire house."

Outside,
Ben paid a visit to Tad's grave as he had promised. Mason had laid
the Captain to rest beneath a large oak a short distance behind the
cottage. The grave was shallow and covered with stones, Tad's sword
serving as a marker. He was buried in the soldier tradition, with his
feet to the east to meet the new day's sun.

Ben
spent a long time in silent respect as Mason waited patiently. There
was no man who had shaped Ben's future more so than Tad Haddaway, and
it was hard to believe he was gone.

"We'll
return and place a proper marker for him. He was a hero of the
kingdom and deserves as much."

Mason
faced the grave, stood at attention and saluted, "Sir! Permission
to break camp..."

"Of
course, Mason, whenever you're ready," Ben said, but then realized
that Mason was not speaking to him. It was the final request of a
Sergeant to his Captain; a respectful way to let go and move on. The
old soldier bit his lower lip and turned his damp eyes skyward lest
their flow betray his emotions. After an awkward moment, he turned on
his heel and walked away.

Ben
shed the tear that Mason had kept concealed. If not for Tad, then for
the grief of his closest friend.

For
the first time, Ben saw Mason as a man and not just an old soldier. A
man who had experienced a lifetime of losses and carried his pain
deep. Tad had been the closest thing to family that Mason had ever
known. Mason looked lost, almost afraid to venture too far from the
familiar.

Mason
busied himself with the task of setting fire to the small cottage. It
did not take long before the flames overtook the aging wood. Within
minutes, the roof collapsed and the structure burned in a confined
heap. Satisfied that the fire posed no threat to the surrounding
forest, the two men headed north.

Given
their condition, the walk back to Kishell Springs took a while. They
looked terrible as they limped and groaned their way along the path
as black smoke welled up into the sky behind them. Ben did not speak
for much of the trip. There were many thoughts flying though his head
as he faced a wide range of emotions. It was really too much to take
in all at once.

Mason
was also quiet. He had an emotionless mask of resolve on his face.
Ben had seen this look before and knew that Mason would not be
satisfied until he had avenged the death of his Captain.

"What
are your plans?" Ben asked.

Mason
kept his eyes forward. "First, I'm going to have a long drink in
honor of Captain Taddus James Haddaway. Then I'm going to get drunk."
Mason kept his stride heavy and strong. "After that, I'm going to
track down Tad's men and find out what's been going on around here."

"Mason,
there are no men," Ben tried.

"His
men would never leave with work still to be done. If they left, it
was because he ordered them away." Mason concluded, "They might
still be in the area."

Ben
realized that his friend was right. Tad was too highly respected to
ever be faced with desertions, his men would have gone to their
graves fighting at his side. There had to be another explanation and
there was no reason to sit and do nothing. After all, they had
traveled for months to get here. They owed it to their fallen friend
to uncover the events that lead to his death. Mason, for one, would
want to finish what Tad had started.

Ben
wondered if that would even be possible. As Tad had said, ‘
The
situation was complicated. The nature of the enemy had changed
.'
Ben now understood the predicament Tad had faced. What he did not
understand was why his old friend had reached a point of failure.
Captain Haddaway was widely known as a tactical genius. If things had
gotten difficult, it was just a matter of putting together a better
plan. It was that simple. But, for now, there were other matters that
concerned him more.

"Were
my eyes really closed?"

"Like
a blind man."

"But,
I could see fine..."

"I
noticed."

Ben
stopped and turned a serious eye to his long-time friend. "Did you
see a man in a gray cloak, just prior to or during the attack?"

Mason
thought for a moment and shook his head, "No."

Ben
turned back toward the smoke rising in the distance and the trees
beyond. Somewhere in that forest was a gray-clad man that held the
answers he sought. A man that had taken part in the execution of Tad.

"Was
it the same as the figure you saw the night we arrived? The one in
the meadow?"

Ben
had not considered that possibility, but now faced with the question,
he was somehow certain that the two were entirely different. The dark
figure that he had seen upon his arrival had frightened him, but he
now believed it did not mean him any harm. In contrast, the man in
the gray cloak reeked of spite and malice; evil poured from his
presence. "I don't think so... this time was different."

Mason
furrowed his brow. "I wish I could help you more, but I don't
understand everything that is happening around here. I don't doubt
your words but I haven't seen these figures that you speak of."

"Things
are changing, Mason. I don't have any answers either. Only yesterday,
I didn't believe in monsters..."

Mason
forced a weak grin and winked. "Then I guess we'll just have to
figure things out as we go."

The
two men slowly made their way back into town and to the doorstep of
the Masked Pig. There was no doubt that their injuries would raise
questions when they entered, but there did not seem any point in
panicking the locals. Just as they had told Babbitt, they agreed to
let the truth wait, and concocted a tale of thievery and bloodshed
that was both believable and respectful to their fallen friend.

Before
going in, Ben said, "While you're searching for Tad's men, I should
make myself useful."

Mason
stopped and gave Ben an odd look. "First you need to get some new
clothes." Mason made a show of flipping the loose shreds of fabric
and pointing out the bloodstains. Do you have any idea how much I
paid for this stuff?"

Ben
reached up and snatched the hat off Mason's head. "I see that this
purple embarrassment of yours survived untouched. You should have
left it to the fire."

"It's
lucky," Mason said, grabbing it back and squaring it firmly on his
head.

Ben
bowed deeply, "After I get some clothing that meets with your
approval, what would you have me do?"

"I
suggest you go track down—"

"Woodlock,"
Ben finished. "You're right, maybe he deserves to be heard after
all."

CHAPTER TEN

"Don't
argue with me! Go get some water and clean linen," James Holton
barked, then called back to the young serving girl after she scurried
off, "and a pint of Holton's Best. The pure stuff in the back, not
the cut stock."

"Jimmy,
go easy on her, she's just trying to help," said Ben.

Jimmy
waved off Ben's concern. "She knows I'm just a cranky old codger
and mean nothing by it. Besides, the girls know how to tolerate the
likes of me. They deal with worse every night!"

Ben
had gone through this every morning for the last three weeks. James
Holton, or Old Jimmy as the locals called him, had taken quite an
interest in Ben. He did not particularly look forward to the painful
changing of his bandages, but the regular attention had proven
immensely beneficial. The rapid healing he was experiencing made the
daily discomfort worthwhile.

The
serving girl returned and put the clean cloth and a small bottle on
the table. She turned with an audible huff and walked away with
noticeably heavy steps. Jimmy shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe you're
right. I should treat the girls better," he said, then quickly
changed the subject.