“Jan? Jan, wake up! Jan?”

  “You, get him a bandage now!”

  A ratling jumped forward and tried to bite the scribe. In an instant swords flashed and its head lay severed. The bottom of the pit felt like solid rock.

  It had only been a few minutes since he had been kicked into the mud, and already Laura was shouting orders. Struggling to his feet, they hugged for awhile with a mix of emotions, thrilled they were alive but simultaneously terrified.

  That’s when he noticed who the pit’s inhabitants were.

  A group of imperial soldiers stared back at the embracing scribes.

  All hundred.

  They had swords in their sheaths unlike Jan, but were caked in dirt. The group looked like hell with some wheezing and coughing while others stumbled around with a paraphernalia of bandages. A few sat hunched over, cold, depressive eyes staring glumly at the cliff wall that separated them from the army above. Paranoia glazed their pale faces. They seemed to almost edge along the pit, terrified by the moment a thousand ratlings would slide down the cliff walls and slice them into puny mush. Then Jan noticed who was at the head of the imperial pack. A soldier stood with a broken sword and tired eyes. He too looked terrified but Jan could tell he was trying his best not to show it. A hasty bandage was wrapped around a cut on Jan’s head. It was archaic medicine he had barely experienced in the absence of magic. The scribe stayed close to Laura as the other man approached.

  “I sent a message, you don’t understand. I sent a message telling you not to come, didn’t anyone tell you?”

  Silence dawned on Jan’s face. This was lieutenant Paxter.

  “No, no one told us. We were told to meet you at the Pluncky Duck!” Jan replied.

  The inn’s name almost seemed like an oxymoron when surrounded by such a hellish landscape.

  “I trusted that messenger. If you're here, then that means….” Paxter’s face drained.

  “Who else knows where you are?” Paxter asked.

  The crowd behind him seemed even more distraught. The lieutenant noticed and changed his tone.

  “These three that dropped are Sherrifs of Kag meant to solve the Dawnshire case, they were supposed to check in with Scrier Longsa herself! An imperial army should be on the horizon at any moment!” He said loudly, hoping the groaning soldiers would take effect.

  A few of them bought the lie, likely ignoring their own horrid thoughts to stay alive. Jan could tell his voice quavered. Longsa expected an update at the end of the week. That was in three days. No one else was coming for a long time.

  “We did a perimeter sweep a day after reaching the Inn, we followed trails, and we stumbled upon their camp. There must have been thousands. Before we knew it, we were surrounded. They didn’t take our weapons, but the ratlings forced us into this quarry and blocked the exit,” Paxter spoke cautiously.

  Jan nodded. It made sense. No one could have expected those hoards and parasites following orders like common swine was extrapolated to distant legend. An entire army was camped in imperial forest without even a hint of notice.

  “How long has it been since you ate?”

  The two looked at each other hungrily. It was near evening now.

  “Not since this morning,” Jan replied.

  “Sorry, but that’s not far enough. This is the best I can do,” Paxter motioned.

  Paxter produced a bundle of jerky from his own pack. The soldiers behind him eyed the small slivers of food greedily. It was clear they were starving. Their faces leaned forward to follow the foods every sudden movie. In an instant, Jan had an idea. He swung his plump backpack around and flipped open the top.

  “This pack, it isn’t yours?” Laura asked.

  “No, the Primelord, he gave it to me.”

  “The Primelord? Look, catch me up to speed and I’ll do the same for you,” Paxter replied in confusion.

  Jan flipped open the sack to reveal fresh loaves of bread and what looked like dried pork. The soldiers behind edged forward. A few seemed to smile for the first time in a while.

  “They're crushed, but there must be at least twenty loaves in here!” Paxter muttered in delight.

  He stared at the meat with interest.

  “Cook this again and cook it well. I don’t want anyone eating it in case of the changelings.”

  He shoved the meat toward a man who instantly slinked through the crowd. Others followed.

  “We’ve been on half rations for a while now. We bought enough for a full campaign, but it was meant to be duplicated. We never expected… this,” Paxter muttered.

  He was lost in thought and in sheer delight from the supplies.

  “This helps, thanks, Jan? That’s your name right? Hey, aren’t you Consul For The Archmage?” Paxer suddenly looked with a glimmer of hope.

  His mind froze. This may be one situation where he couldn’t shrink from his duties. A few soldiers even stirred at this, their ears perking up. They had hope. He couldn’t give them hope when he barely believed in himself.

  “Yes, I am, but someone else was with us too, Aloat Barka, a famous Sheriff of Kag!” Jan shouted, trying to avert their attention.

  Their faces soured at this.

  “Aloat… Jan, you uh better talk to her first.”

  Laura pointed towards a hunched ball sitting on top of a large boulder. She had almost made a cocoon out of her cloak and held her sword like a baby to her chest. It was far away, but Jan could tell her expression was a mix of sorrow and terror.

  “I don’t understand, she’s done so much, the biography, if even a sliver is true, this should be like Sunday afternoon…” Jan responded.

  “Kiff,” Laura noted.

  The one word spread between them like wildfire. He nodded for a moment before turning to grab a half a loaf from the ration pile. The main group had parted, and Imperial soldiers were already doling out the dried contents of Jan’s pack to supplement what little they had left.

  Sill’s voice popped up for a moment.

  “ANALYZING ESCAPE ROUTE, 20% COMPLETE, ANALYZING, ANALYZING_____ zh zh REDACTED, REDACTED”

  Jan ignored the rock. It too seemed to have been driven insane by the events which unfolded. He placed it in his pocket, hoping his presence would calm Sill more, and Laura seemed relieved when she saw the rock’s smooth exterior. Paxter was oblivious, and the two tried to keep it that way.

  “How long have you been here? Jan asked.

  “About five days, we have food, just I have them rationing in case. If we become too hungry, the ratlings’ll tear us apart like butter,” Paxter responded.

  “There's fresh water in the pit, alot of holes in the rock that seem to collect rainwater, we even managed to kill a few birds who landed near the bottom,” another soldier added.

  Paxter nodded.

  What was worse was the stench. Roasting meat and cooked game wafted like teasing wisps from the cliff above towards the starving soldiers, taunting them with the devices of their horrid enemy.

  “I’m confused. Aloat said there were thirty of you, why so many more? Where’d they come from?” Laura asked.

  He shrugged.

  “We took twenty or so when we left Dawnshire. I felt we needed more, but the rest were already here. It seems a convoy was ambushed a few weeks back, but no one even noticed. They’ve been here ever since. Used to have a Captain leading them but… the dalious ate them. We had to give them our food, which is why we have so little left.”

  Silence covered Jan’s face.

  “Enough about us, what do you know about the enemy, have you found out how those humans are controlling the parasites?”

  “Or if it’s something else…” Laura added glumly.

  No one spoke for a moment.

  “It can’t be something else. That’s impossible, we have to stick to known facts here, we can’t deal in fantasies,” Paxter added.

  They nodded slowly. Short of ratlings and dalious, little to no non-human creatures could more than sharpen a stick, let alone conduct magic or alchemy this complex.

  “What do you think? Arlon, Wei?” Jan inquired.

  “No, if it was either, we’d be dead or in chains over the border. This is something else.” Laura interjected.

  Paxter nodded in agreement.

  “We tried aiming for humans and killing those who looked like mages or shamans, but it didn’t make a difference. The ratlings didn’t turn,” another soldier added.

  “Who’s the highest rank here?” Jan asked, changing the subject

  “You are technically but since your working for Aloat, it would be Sheriff Barka.”

  Jan cast a glance at the girl who seemed to shell herself away upon the rock. Her presence almost exuded a feeling of bitter terror.

  “Not getting much help there are we” Paxter muttered.

  “I uh, I don’t have much experience, can you uh”

  “Wooooaaah there Commander!! Analyzing right now, but you and Laura are the best fit to lead these Jannics!! This is not the time to place fate in lesser hands!!!”

  Jan shook his head, confusing Paxter. At least the rock was overconfident in him, but he would do anything not to have their blood stain his hands.

  “Look, Jan, I’m five years older than you, you’re barely out of the academy, I don’t expect anything.”

  He placed a palm on Jan’s shoulder and looked forward with understanding. His bronze armour was dented and frayed with long gashes pressed into the overlapping metal.

  “Thanks, it uh it means alot,” He muttered silently.

  Laura cut into the conversation as she walked along the jagged stones.

  “Wait, so if you’ve been here all this time, what have you been doing?”

  “We’ve been doing what the parasites want us to do.” Paxter let out a loose breath.

  “That is?”

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  “Mining watchers”

  Suddenly, Jan understood why the soldiers were still alive. The parasites needed slave labour, and they considered them less worth than even the ratlings. Why even place guards when the cliff walls would do? and food? Drop a few sprinkles in once in a while and let imperial ranks deal with it. It was a self-run prison and an easy way to shift work into the palms of their enemy. It made him feel a little more safe. A quarry as large as this was enough to merit entire wars and would be chiselling out watchers for a lifetime. Vital instruments would be easily traded for blood if it meant aid to an endless imperial campaign.

  Watchers weren’t active when moving. Something about being stationary was critical for their function, but having wagons loaded was one of the most critical weapons an army could field in war. Simply stop moving the cart, and you and your enemy have lost their entire connection to the source. Jan hadn’t paid attention enough in enchantology, but it was still important regardless. People lived, died and made a fortunate building watchers. They were a critical infrastructure for modern armies. Anyone who could afford a watcher could nullify mages at a moment's notice to rely on their own army of archers, swordsmen and knights to supplement. In total, the rock needed to weigh around three hundred kilograms to produce a twenty-meter radius. It was a branch of enchantment that was still being elucidated by academics and the subject of intense financial debate. Most recently, a paper had been stolen from Wei researchers describing the feasibility of reverse engineering the stone to amplify magic, but the science was still in its infancy, and Damnu had chalked it up to quack literature. Others had not, in nearly a month, a million quands had been invested in blasting forges and geoenchanting equipment more complex than the world had ever seen before.

  “Watchers aren’t just slabs of rock. Where else do you process them?”

  “No, these ones are meteorites. Pure and completely simple.”

  The thought dawned on Laura for a moment. Jan too opened his mouth in shock.

  “Meteorite? Last year, academics estimated that only 100 kilograms of source blocking meteorites existed in the entire world! There must be tons here!” She spurted.

  “Puuuureeeee stone Commanders!! This likely hit the planet from the Kooper Beltway 200,000 years ago!”

  The two scribes heard Sill but simply took pride in the young rock’s respect for the heavens. This famed Kooper Beltaway must have been a great deity in the granite-being’s culture. Laura’s hands grasped a few of the pebbles and looked at them in pure fascination. Jan too viewed the rock with renewed interest.

  “I know”

  “You're telling me these stones came from the great beyond? From the gods themselves?” Laura pointed in shock.

  “From Kooper Beltaway himself……” Jan added in a serious tone.

  Paxter looked at him with interest. Unsure of what holy accolades were attributed to the strange god he just proclaimed.

  The pit was a blessing from the angels, worth its weight in gold, let alone blood. If they survived, entire imperial battalions would be ordered to guard a quarry like this day and night as it became the envy and desire of continents unfurled. It could forge maybe twenty to twenty-five watchers in total. The Emperor himself would likely visit to grawp at its magnificent jagged walls and herald the victory of his armies for a hundred years to come.

  “Wait, the rock only starts ten feet down. There are no caves, no sign of another specialized mine, how would they even find this? The dirt would have masked the watcher’s radius no matter how large,” Laura added.

  “I don’t know either” Paxter replied.

  These were questions with important answers they had neither the time nor the patience to devise.

  After more talking, they began to inspect stations where the soldiers used pickaxes to chip away parts of the rock, along with ropes and wooden logs to transport it towards the bandits’ cranes. The ratlings and dishevelled creatures above mocked and jeered at them from the cliff wall, acting almost as if it were a parapet for their personal castles. Regardless, Paxter had the soldiers working overtime. It was likely he was terrified they would lose their quota and be deemed worthless by those above. Unsure what to do next. Jan grabbed a pickaxe too and started to slowly chip away.

  – — – - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - break - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - – - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  The sound of the pickaxes swinging blended among the prisoners. Mining watchers gave them at least something to do, and this was likely the most menial labour Jan had ever done in his entire life, short of writing. Blisters formed fast on his soft hands, and the other miners started to make fun of him for it while they worked. Jan was the most well-rested, so he tried to take the brunt of the work. They would simply chisel out large rocks and press their bodies against the stones with wooden logs and ropes in the hopes of angling it towards the crane. Once in a while, a screech would echo from the cliffs above. Inhuman and blood-curdling like those above were consuming something more than game. Jan could swear that when his eyes traced the cliff edge, he could see the fanged creatures glancing back. Their faces were transfixed on the ground he stood, lost in thought as they traced his every move. Paranoia trickled in, but he shook it off with every swing.

  “The ratlings, are they looking at you?” a soldier asked.

  He was older than Jan but not by much and wore red robes and standard bronze armour over leather pants and a shirt. His sword dangled at his side as his shoes scuffed along the ground.

  They looked up together with tired eyes. Jan felt his back tingle as nearly fifty feet above, the creatures stirred. Another older soldier leaned forward. Night swept around their bodies, and cold started to bite at his limbs. It felt good that the others were acknowledging it, too, at least he wasn’t going crazy.

  “Say, aren’t you Jan Theric?” another asked.

  He stopped for a moment. It wasn’t good when others recognized him. Sill whirred in his pocket and he swung again at the soft rock for sparks to fly.

  “Yeah, that’s me,” Jan echoed.

  “Wait, you’re moderately famous? We’ll not famous, famous but I swear I heard of you before!”

  The others laughed at this with grinning smiles. They clearly wanted to have some fun.

  “Is it true you once slipped on dung and broke the holy seal of Loaeun?” the younger one asked.

  “Or the time you challenged headmaster Damnu to a horse race only to slam into a street sign and end up in hospital for four months?”

  “Where’d you hear about that?!” Jan responded half-angry. This was one of those situations where saying less might be better.

  “Sam Herald, I have an issue from three weeks ago if you're interested.”

  The scribe shrugged before turning to slam the pickaxe again.

  “Shouldn’t they have more important things to report?”

  “We’ll I doubt anyone knows you outside of Kag, but they certainly sell copies, you know, they once labelled you a public enemy after you accidentally burned the holy tome of Bonhaven!”

  “Okay, that one is ridiculous, I singed it, not burned and only because I was doing smoke-aging on the pages! Also, Bonhaven was a sham. He performed one minor miracle that barely grew five trees!”

  The others laughed, but more at the fact that he acknowledged the events.

  “By the Emperor, forgive me, but if there’s ever a day when you aren’t Consul For The Archmage, we’ll lose a heck of a lot of entertainment. I must say, when we heard you and Sheriff Barka were on commission together, our Captain….”

  The words crawled on his lips for a moment as he struggled to remember. This must have been one of the original survivors for the pit. The others stood in awkward silence as he struggled to reconcile the memory of a man they never knew. They needed to distract him somehow. The older soldier stepped forward as they continued to stare at the ratlings above.

  “Hey, that one kind of looks like you, Lory.”

  The creature above was staring at them. It was high enough that they could make out the ratlings' dishevelled head and scruffy hair.

  The parasite stuck out of its matted fur like a sore thumb, but Jan needed to squint to make out details.

  “Nah, more that one looks like you there.”

  He pointed to an even more dishevelled ratling that was gazing down at them. It’s droopy eyes and one broken fang, causing them all to bust out laughing.

  Suddenly, another screech came from above the pit.

  The three turned to see a group of ratlings standing at the cliff’s edge. Some held sharpened spears while others wore stolen Imperial shortswords. The weapons were nearly the height of the ratlings themselves. Scattered whispers and animalistic shouts filled the air as the three gazed up in wonder.

  “Help! Help!” one of the soldiers cried.

  Jan turned to look as he saw the main group a near sixty feet away. They were stumbling to their weapons, but it was clear they wouldn’t reach the three in time.

  “What’s going on?” Jan asked quickly.

  “It’s a ratling contest o’ honour, vermin going to try to kill who’evers the strongest out of us and crawl back out!” one replied in horror.

  The oldest soldier looked a little scared but reached for the sword on his belt.

  “Stick together! Whatever happens, we can fight them!”

  Above, the creatures roared, their miniature forms clad with fangs and leather clothing as three jumped down. Hundreds of ratlings watched from above, letting out shrieks and chitters to those below.

  All four creatures went for Jan.

  This is getting ridiculous

  The two miners took a defensive stance but were quickly distracted by a stray ratling. Another took a swing at the young scribe.

  He dodged a spear thrust and parried with his own sword. His moves were clumsy. Strangely, the ratling seemed more ferocious than most. Red war-paint smeared across its brow as its teeth barred.

  Jan fell back. He swayed his sword left and right in an untrained manner. Almost flailing. He could hear the other coming forward. He could feel the imperials behind watching him dance among the rocks and rush to his aid. Relief mere seconds away masqueraded as years in the scribe’s beating heart. Every movement pulsed with the weight of a thousand worlds.

  “Commander!! Do you need help?”

  “Yes, what do you think, Sill?! I thought you went mad!” Jan shouted in reply.

  He dodged another desperate pounce by the war-painted ratling, and two more took advantage to swing at his legs. The other two prisoners overheard the scribe talking to himself, but were too distracted to take notice.

  “Sorry, Commander, you keep confusing me for an organic! One day I’ll rid you of your brainwashing, I promise!! We sythnetics can never go mad! I am continuing to formulate an escape plan!”

  Jan nodded. Time with Crous had strengthened the creature's stomach.

  “Sorry, you mentioned help?” the scribe screamed as another ratling leapt off a boulder and tried to jump on his face.

  “7:00, enemy inbound stab behind you, Commander!”

  Then a strange thing happened.

  Almost out of complete instinct, Jan followed. Like eyes on the back of his head, he sliced with lightning speed directly through a rattling chest.

  “Great work, Commander!!!!! Deaaaatth to the enemy!!!!!! Perhaps your implants have retained functionality, you’re still good at digesting orders!!”

  He took the compliment but chalked up the rest of the words to Sill’s eccentric character.

  “Enemy who’s the enemy? Sill, and what do you mean, Jannic?”

  Empty words formed for a moment, and Jan dodged another ratling's spear.

  “The reason were on the Jannic….……REDACTED _______ zhzhzhzhz REDACTED!” a static buzz gleamed.

  “Sorry, Commander Ratling, 3:00 left strike 174 degrees!” the rock screamed again.

  The numbers clicked, adrenaline coursed through the scribe's veins, and in one swift motion, he chopped the ratling in half. His own sword gleamed in infected blood as the last two snarled. They chittered in the cold breeze while staring off at their distant prey. The eyes of a killer staring into his own kind. Guilt seeped inwards as he spotted the war-painted ratling's corpse. Sill, however continue to gleam orders.

  “Sorry Sill, can you repeat that!” Jan spoke quickly. He, too, was shocked at his own abilities.

  “The enemy!! Zhzhzh _________________ REDACTED…. Sorry, Commander, there seems to be a sizable blocker on my information in case I fall into Jannic hands!”

  Even more repressed memories? Even with the password, it seemed he and Laura would likely have to pay hundreds of quands in therapy to assist the rock’s psychological recovery. Regardless, it was the least they could do.

  The ratlings hissed.

  They seemed to look at each other for a moment. Almost as if they were letting out a weak smile. Jan yelped as they both leaped forward at the same time. This time, Sill barked more orders, his enthusiastic voice cutting through the tense air.

  “Duuuuuuuck!! 45 degrees upward stab!!”

  To his own amazement, Jan’s head tilted back. Newfound flexibility caused his body to twist and dodge the ratlings' combined tackle. In an instant, however, he heard his back crack with muscle reflex, tearing from pain.

  A burning sensation shot through his entire frame.

  “Careeful, Commander!! It seems your body isn’t up to regulation standards!”

  Jan coughed for a moment.

  Just then, the two ratlings did one final pounce. Knives were drawn as they leapt towards Jan’s head in the hopes of stabbing out his eyes. They were desperate, fighting with every scrap of courage instilled in their monstrous hearts as a chorus of chitters from above chastised their every move. In one single Sill-directed swing, Jan slammed both into the ground, causing them to rumble.

  The last ratling ran.

  It scrambled. Rabbit-like feet kicking up dirt on the side of the cliff while it frantically hugged the wall towards its companions. Jan didn’t need Sill’s orders anymore; only Kiff’s memory guided his shot. Picking up one of the ratling's spears from the ground, he hesitated as the creature scrambled back up the cliffside. He knew the spear would reign true and splay the creature into the soft rock, but he hesitated. His fingers seemed to contract for a moment, fighting the urge to kill as mercy weighed in from distant memory.

  All four ratlings had perished. Three in his hands.

  Finally, the imperial forces arrived. Paxter had his sword drawn but stood in a stance that echoed both shock and concern. Laura too stood at his side with a map still in her hands from their planning. A few impressed murmurs and nods came from the prisoners while above the ratlings stood still. At the top the ratling, he spared stared longer than most before turning and disappearing into the hissing crowd. A brutal fury glowed from within that pit, and for a splinter of time, fear, admiration, and hate dominated the surviving ratling's eyes.

  Jan’s stomach queased as he helped two miners drag the ratling corpses into a fire. It was at the farthest corner of their rocky prison where the stench of death clung thick to the warm air. He gagged as he pulled the first monster, almost throwing up, for a few miners to laugh and comfort him by placing a hand on his back. They embraced him and shouted in cheer at their victory. Regardless, regret clung to thoughts. He had never killed so brazenly before. It felt strange, unnatural, a gnawing feeling that set through his bones. Actions so easily justified by written word but daunted by the simplest of feeling. Still it wasn’t like the ratlings hadn’t tried to do the same to him only a few moments prior.

  It was only when the last corpse had been cleared that Laura walked over. She questioned him about his sudden skill that had been enough to impress the other imperials, only to have Jan relay a fanatical tale about Sill simply shouting moves. It was only when the two began to turn from the corpse pit that Jan noticed something.

  A belt-buckle was shining in the gravel-like dirt. It was the kind with thin embroidered flowers of gold pasted against the red markings of a merchant’s crest.

  It didn’t take long to find its owner.

  Laundre.

  A dead Laundre sat in the pit's corner.

  The merchant-mage's corpse was sitting up against a rocky slope. Almost positioned as though he had collapsed against the wall in a fit of exhaustion. The body showed clear signs of decay. Fine silk clothing was complemented by a torn imperial robe. Pus and rotting flesh distorted a single wound sitting directly in the middle of the man’s forehead. A small gaping hole similar to a spear thrust or crossbow bolt without the shaft. Only it seemed to go directly through both sides. The two looked at each other and called over Paxter. The lieutenant soon stood beside them with a handful of prisoners seeking distraction from both hunger and boredom.

  “That body was ere befor all of us, in the pit. The ratlings dumped it ere” an older soldier muttered.

  “You know him?” Paxter asked quickly. He tried to make his voice sorrowful, but Jan could tell he was more interested than dismayed.

  “Yes. That man is Viscount Laundre” Laura replied.

  The revelation sent shockwaves through their ranks. In seconds, she bent over to inspect the dead. An action that would have made Jan queasy. Her entire mind seemed to race while she spoke. Both excitement and terror fleeting through her voice.

  “Viscount Laundre? That’s impossible, he was alive five days ago. I saw him in Kag.” Paxter mouthed as the words realized on his tongue.

  “Are you sure the corpse didn’t just bloat?” another soldier added.

  The scribes shook their heads. Jan heaved a sigh. He recognized a birthmark on the man’s swollen chin. His cufflings were the same as those given to him by Irwain six years prior. Jan could still remember the smug look on the nobleman's face the day the Archmage awarded them on commission. There was no mistake. Visions flashed of Laundre in the past through the scribe's mind. Times when the mage had given a child-aged Jan toy figures bent out of straw or bought him sweet cakes from the local plazas.

  Laundre had always been a lout. Greed, opulence and gluttony composed a patchwork of his everyday, but he wasn’t careless. He had been tempered by years as an experienced soldier and even more chasing far-fetched dreams of bounty hunting on the coast. Friends of Irwain were never chosen without reason.

  His death was serious.

  “Commanders!! It appears that this Jannic was executed by gun-shot wound! Sampling dictates his blood was also taken for analysis. Estimated time of death three and a half weeks ago, give or take six hours! This is great! This means our soldiers are operating in the nearby area!”

  Jan and Laura looked at each other while Sill spoke. This reeked of Crous. Sill’s mention of blood-letting caused the young scribe's fist to tighten. The two locked eyes for a moment. They couldn’t question the rock right now, but they would drill the tiny stone the moment they left Paxter’s sight.

  “Gun-shot?” Laura stated out loud.

  Paxter was intrigued by the new word and looked to them for explanation.

  “Guns? Firearms? Time with the primitives has really addled your minds Commanders!” Sill coughed.

  The two dismissed Sill’s words and continued to stare ahead. Their stomachs had gotten alot stronger in recent time.

  “If this is Laundre, then what’s in Kag right now?” Jan asked slowly.

  “Possible stealth operation, Commander! But something’s wrong here; this is an enemy pit? Perhaps the ratlings simply found his body on the side of the road?” Sill commented.

  The others didn’t react. The entire group stayed silent. An odd sensation trickled over Jan’s mind at the thought of what creature now wore Laundre’s skin, ate at his table and tucked his children in to bed at night.

  “He’s been dead for a while,” Laura whispered in terror.

  “How do you know?” Jan replied.

  She pointed at his belt to reveal a myriad of potions. Healing draughts, strength elixirs and even a changing cure dangling from loose threads.

  “The expiry dates. They all date back three weeks.” She replied in an instant.

  She took one of the bottles and placed it in her own belt. The others she raised to the torchlight and watched as the shadows danced.

  “So he’s been dead for even longer?”

  Paxter look forward. Others commented, trying to relay a sense of when the body had first been seen. Laura’s face paled even more.

  “Jan… the retelling of the attack on Kag, Laundre ordered it not too long ago. He kept on getting mad at me about quality and was drinking heavily while he spoke.”

  “Laundre doesn’t drink,” Jan added.

  The thought fell on cold ears. For a while, they almost formed a semi-circle around the body, mesmerized by the horror it bestowed. Only the wind spoke. It whistled as it drifted through the trees above. They were frozen. Hesitant to react towards both the mystery and meaning of what lay infront. Jan’s eyes watered for a moment. He wasn’t close to Laundre. The two had barely spoken in a year, but the man had a sporadic presence throughout his childhood. He was a stoic figure that stood in the background of every painting or the corners of distant memory.

  The silence only stopped when Jan stepped forward.

  “Someone hand me a shovel,” He said quietly.

  No response came.

  “A shovel?” Jan asked with more bite than he was used to.

  They responded quickly. A handle was pressed into his palm, and he let the blade dig into the gravel below. Others followed without any more words needed. The grave would need to be six feet deep.

  He had never dug something without magic before.

  For the first time in his life, he would have dug it by hand either way.

  Thanks so much for reading!!! :)