State of the Play - An Original Fantasy Novella

[Selrisitai]

Chapter 1: It's Not Desirable, Just Necessary

Daniel's green eyes shimmered with cruelty as he stuck the length of his blade in the crook of his elbow, against the canvas shirt sleeve, tightened bicep to forearm, enclosing the bloodied metal, and, with a swift motion, drew the sword out, wiping it clean. Redness welled across the gray shirt cloth, and his vicious eyes never left the monster's. Daniel wanted it to know that it would not receive mercy, and its three eyes, wide in terror, told him that it knew.

The monster was a Pernicite, a creature of the dark. Such monsters came in many forms. This one was approximately human in size, knotted with thick, dense muscle, and had three eyes in horizontal configuration. Its entire body was covered in thick, coarse hair, and a network of horns of various size sprouted from its bald, blueish pate. These three-eyed Pernicite variations were regularly used as scouts. They could be loners, but a good Pernicite Mercenary always checked rigorously when happening upon one. Checking was not a friendly process, but a good mercenary would check anyway.

Daniel was a good mercenary.

The scout, therefore, had been roaring in anger and pain, and then in fear and pain, and finally just in pain. Despite its fearsome appearance, it now it whimpered pathetically beneath Daniel's merciless gaze.

"I can continue," he said, almost conversationally, except for the edge to his voice that he could not conceal. "The only difference it will make for you is whether the pain stops now or later—maybe much, much later."

The Pernicite scout's eyes watched the wicked tip of Daniel's blade swaying a few inches from the ground. The fact that they'd had to torture it for this long, perhaps ten minutes, was evidence of the magnitude of its nerve, but that nerve was considerably smaller now, cut down to size. It was ready to talk.

Pernicites spoke the language of where they were spawned, though whether they learned on their own or from others was unclear. Many things were unclear about them, despite much research being done by people with stronger stomachs than Daniel's: he killed them on sight, if the option were available. He already knew enough about them. They were wicked, that was as clear as a frozen winter morning.

The scout looked as though it might abstain, its wicked resolve growing like a mold infestation, but with a gentle twitch of Daniel's wrist, the sword's point began to rise, and the scout's burgeoning bravery was sliced away at the root. "Heron Lies," it cried with a weak voice. It tried to move, shift its position to something more comfortable, so that it wasn't putting its weight against the same wounds, but next to Daniel was Adam, a skillful sorcerer, holding his arms outstretched toward the Pernicite as it lay flat on its back. Waves of force emitted from Adam's forward-facing palms, binding the creature to the spot, arm and leg and head and chest.

Daniel raised the sword. The Pernicite scout watched it, wide-eyed, fanged mouth lolling open in fright, but the sword's tip plunged only into the sheath on Daniel's back, and with a quiet ringing of metal against leather, the blade slipped down until the crosspiece clacked against the sheath's mouth. "Keep talking." His voice was strained, and not just because of his disgust with these beings, but because of the wickedness of the interrogation he'd been forced to mete out. As much as he hated pernicites, torturing them wasn't desirable, just necessary.

The scout had ceased its struggling, the fear of torture abated with the putting-away of the weapon. Now it lay heaving. With every pump of its heart blood bubbled up from its many, many cuts. Felicity, a forest sprite who had joined Daniel and his crew a few weeks ago, kept creeping up and poking at the scout and its wounds, then retreating with guilty jerks when Daniel or Adam chastised her. She had four dragonfly-like wings, a long, thin, wiry tail and a cute, human face, albeit one with two little upper fang-like incisors poking over her lower lip. They went well with her claw-like fingernails and the toenails that curved until their points touched the ground, like talons. She never wore shoes. Despite her vicious appearance, she was mostly harmless, but she was also fiercely loyal and would not hesitate to take out an eye in defense of her friends.

"When?" Daniel asked the dying scout.

"Two. . . ."

"Two what? Days?"

"Yes."

"And how many are attacking?"

The scout's three eyes were barely open. It said nothing, though its lips worked a couple times. The fear and adrenaline had kept it going. Now that the worst danger had passed, it was relaxing into a sleep from which it would never awaken.

"How many?" Daniel said, one hand grabbing at the creature's throat and the other bending at the elbow to grab the hilt of his sword. Daniel could torture if he had to, but he was not an expert and had made too many lacerations. Their only source of information was diminishing rapidly. The scout's eyes were closed now, and when Daniel pulled it up by the throat its head lolled. "How many? What kind of attack? What's the purpose of it, curse you!"

When the Pernicite's tongue had fallen out and was flopping, Adam put a hand on Daniel's shoulder. "It's dead."

Daniel looked up at the young sorcerer, whose dark brown bangs fell over his eyes, not concealing but enhancing the compassion in them.

Without more information, they were going to struggle. Daniel released the monster and stood erect, releasing his sword's hilt. "I overdid it."

"Yeah," Adam agreed somberly, lifting up his cloak's hood. "I don't like it. Doing this."

"Me either, but you know what happens if we don't. You know I'm not, y'know, this kind of person."

"I don't want you to ever become this type of person," Adam replied, and there was no mockery in his tone. "That darker part of a person can grow fat and powerful on a steady diet of uncontested tyranny. If you're lucky, you die before no one can oppose you."

"I won't."

"Won't what?" Adam asked wryly. "Die?"

Daniel was not offended by the prod. "Become a tyrant." He had no taste for it. He searched his feelings regularly and always reached the same conclusion: he would happily give up all of this gruesomeness the instant he didn't need it anymore. "Trust me, I won't," he repeated. Glancing at Felicity, who was poking the expired Pernicite, he observed, "But she might."

Felicity stood from all fours to two, looking strikingly human, fluttering wings notwithstanding, and her long furry ears lay flat back like a cat's as she hissed, "Nay! A forest sprite knows no pleasures in such torment."

Adam shrugged. "She's just curious. It's in her nature."

"Yeah, well, I wish she weren't so curious about these things. I guess we'd better—" He cut himself off because he noticed Ilsa, their fourth party member. She was ten paces out, facing away, crouched on her haunches, hands pressed tightly over her ears and, although they couldn't see it from here, they all knew she had her eyes closed just as tightly. She'd been that way since the interrogation had started.

"Better go get her out of 'time out,'" Adam teased. Felicity poked the pernicite scout with her tail and blood bubbled up from three different lacerations. Daniel nodded.

He went over and gently touched her shoulder. Ilsa leapt forward with a start, lost her balance, tumbled, shrieking, and Daniel caught her around the waist. He was strong, and her collapse was halted immediately. Her mage staff, with its cyan gemstone, clattered to the ground. "It's me," Daniel said for the fourth time as gently, yet loudly, as possible. She hadn't seemed to hear him the first three.

Ilsa extricated herself from his grip, unusually testy, and adjusted her robe and waist-ribbon. "I don't like it."

"I know," Daniel replied deferentially, only a little upset at how fast she had retreated from his touch. He understood.

"Why can't you do that a different way? Why must you be such a brute? And Adam, you helped," she said, turning to him. He looked away, but rather than looking remorseful he seemed more like he just didn't want to deal with her. That was Adam, not a people-person. Turning her attention back to Daniel, Ilsa continued. "It's awful. Just awful."

Daniel's eyes were down on her sandals. "I'm sorry."

With a deep breath, Ilsa composed herself. "I am, too. I shouldn't speak to you that way. Or you, Adam."

Adam shrugged.

"I just feel so terrible about it. I wish there were another way."

"I know," Daniel repeated himself. "I do too. Maybe we'll find one."

No one thought that was likely, but the thought lifted the mood a little.

Ilsa picked up her staff and brushed dirt from the gemstone. It glowed eagerly at her touch. It was a catalyst, and it did more than allow magic to flow more easily; it drew magic from the spell-caster, like water through a high-pressure pipe, and could release it in myriad forms. For a mage with healing magic, the staff was indispensable. With it, she could directly channel salubrious magics to wounds, or create zones that would recover stamina and heal injuries for anyone inside, or heal targets at distance. Without it, direct touch would be necessary for most of her magical techniques. Given that she was a pretty young girl with strawberry-blonde hair, with big, innocent eyes and a baby-soft complexion as fair as a lily's bell, most men didn't complain if she needed to touch them.

She said, now with the subordinate voice of a student, higher in pitch, "Did you learn anything?"

Daniel nodded. "He was scouting at Heron Lies. That's where the horde will be attacking. In two days."

Ilsa knew how dangerous such a horde could be. Fear for herself, and for her companions, filled her with reluctance. "How far is it from us?"

From his dark robes, Adam produced a map; a place on the ground was cleared of twigs and pebbles, and the town was located. "Northwest, maybe a few hours' journey from where we are now."

"Is there no one closer, do you think?" Ilsa asked, her trepidation obvious to everyone. "A military base or a mercenary guild?"

"Not that I can see," Daniel said sincerely, studying the map. "Plus, even if there is, we're presumably the only ones who know a horde is on its way. We have to go anyhow."

Ilsa looked hopelessly at the map, eyes searching some way out. There was only one tactic left, and it was pathetically desperate. "What if the Pernicite was lying? How do you know for sure he wasn't?"

Ilsa only looked at Daniel's hard eyes for an instant. Light seemed to have been sucked from them. Her voice came out scolded, meek. "Oh."

"Let's head back and pack up camp," Daniel said without inflection as he carefully folded the map. He held it out to Adam. "We're going to town."​

 

[Selrisitai]

At a distance, squatting on the precipice of a grassy cliff and looking out perhaps three miles, Heron Lies was a more impressive town than any of the quartet had expected of so remote a location. It had a cobblestone road lead-in that opened up into a large foundation upon which wooden gabled houses sat, horse-drawn carriages clattered and citizens haggled in friendly back-and-forths with shop-owners.

The nearby mountains must have accounted for the materials to build a town of this sophistication, Daniel speculated, darting thoughtful eyes from one side of the town to the other, searching for signs of a mining operation.

Ilsa put a hand on Daniel's shoulder for balance and leaned over the edge of the cliff, trying to get a better look. "Do you suppose that's why that monstrous horde is coming here?"

Daniel was considering it, but not favorably, when Adam answered from inside his robe's heavy hood. "Why not? Not every pernicite is mindless."

"But they're all bloodthirsty," Daniel said, standing. Ilsa backpedaled to avoid being shoved as he turned and began making his way down the mountain. She watched him anxiously, and began to moan in frustration. "Oh, Adam, do you think he's upset with me?"

Adam was silent at first. He was not typically a talker, but there was a mischievous streak in him. "I wouldn't say that. He's probably just thinking about the cruelty he needed to express toward that scout back there. He hates doing it, even though he hates pernicites."

"And I gave him a hard time," Ilsa said, hoping Adam would contradict her.

"Well, it's good to remind him now and then. Don't want him to start liking it, do we?" Grinning he started after Daniel.

Ilsa looked helplessly at Felicity; Felicity looked back. "It is an agonizing thing. He does, lest he lose the world; he does not, lest he lose his soul."

Felicity, her back muscles shifting under her epidermis like a muscled big cat, went on ahead, long tail swaying, its knife-like tip snapping rhythmically left and right.

It was awfully quiet and still on that mountaintop alone. "I'm sorry!" Ilsa cried, starting forward. "Wait up! Daniel!"

By time they reached the village, Ilsa had apologized so profusely to Daniel that he felt compelled to apologize to her, and then she was so guilt-ridden by this that she had to say she was sorry too, and at this point Adam demanded that no one in their group be allowed to apologize ever again.

There was a sense of the society the moment they were within the town's boundaries. It evoked excitement. Felicity dropped to all fours and rushed around, enjoying the warm cobblestones on her bare hands and feet.

"I would love to have a warm bath," Ilsa said dreamily.

Daniel was pleased to see everyone enjoying themselves, with the possible exception of Adam who was, as usual, quiet and withdrawn. Daniel knew he wasn't staring at his feet though, Adam was always watching.

"If you want," Daniel said, "I'll go on to the mayor's office with Adam and you two can explore the town. It might be worth it for you to scope things out, now that I think about it."

Felicity hissed and rushed between the two men, albeit a might closer to Adam. "Nay! I would not be separated from my humans."

Forest sprites didn't always have the vocabulary to describe human concepts like friendship, but they knew what she meant. Daniel thought his scouting idea had been a good one and considered insisting, but fighting with Felicity was rarely worth it, and Ilsa wasn't going to go by herself when they didn't know the town well, nor would he want that with a horde on its way. They weren't close, but. . . .

"Alright," he said, "let's go introduce ourselves."

Adam's hood shuffled, suggesting he was shaking his head. "I suspect we're going to be dismissed."

"Why would we be?"

"Have you seen yourselves?" Adam replied with amused disdain. The other three looked down at themselves and were embarrassed at the dirty state of their clothes. Ilsa's robe, which was supposed to be white, was decidedly more of an egg-shell, with splotches of dirt and green smears of leaves where she'd fallen at some point; Felicity's claws lacked sheen and her fur was caked in dried mud. As for Daniel, dirt was the least of his concern. He unconsciously hid his left sleeve behind his back.

"Don't you think," Ilsa chirped with false positivity, "that it gives us credibility? Why, we must have been out fighting beasts right before coming into town, just look at the state of us!"

Daniel and Adam exchanged a pair of glances. Daniel wore a brown leather glove on his right hand. He grabbed his chin and looked up. "She's an optimist."

This encouraged Ilsa.

"She's an idealist," Adam said wryly.

This did not encourage Ilsa. Her voice was huffy. "Then what shall we do?"

Adam pulled his hood tighter. Felicity raked her claws on the cobblestones, not particularly interested in the conversation. It was up to Daniel. "I'd like to get it over with," he announced wearily. "Let's go straight there."

Ilsa felt somewhat vindicated.


The mayor's office was precisely in the center of town. A regal affair, it was a long white squat building, with wide steps leading to a portico that could host a small party and columns too big for an adult to get his arms all the way around. Inside the ceiling seemed higher than the building was tall, and the air was cool. Ilsa wondered if it was magic that made it so cool despite the warm weather, or something about the design of the building.

It was quiet as they walked deeper into the main hall, and they could hear Felicity's talons clicking on the tile, hear Ilsa's wooden staff, hear Adam's glass and wood charms tied to his waist clacking together.

A receptionist was at a long desk on the left. Daniel shifted toward her and his companions swooped around him like a flock of birds changing direction mid-flight, then crowded in as he stopped at the desk.

"Do you mind?" Daniel asked, trying to spread his arms. Everyone moved a few inches away, not enough for elbow room, but he didn't feel like arguing. The receptionist sat there bewildered.

Daniel cleared his throat, suddenly hyper aware of his state of dress. "Excuse me, we're a group of Pernicite hunters and we have important information for the mayor."

The receptionist, with her short, professional haircut swooped to one said, dangling gold earrings and gray vest over white button-down, swiveled her head to look at each disheveled individual standing at her once-reputable station. Her earrings swung at each turn of her head, sparkling as they caught the light. "I'm sorry, you are?"

"Daniel Warnsward. Do you want all of our names?

"That shouldn't be necessary." Opal-blue eyes went down to a pad and quill and inkwell. "Mr. Ashcloth is quite busy, but I could fit you in, say, Tuesday? at noon?" Mistaking their stunned silence for confusion, she explained, "I'm his secretary."

The quarter looked around at one another. "Actually," Daniel said, trying to exude confidence, "it's urgent. We don't need a meeting, we need to give him a warning."

The receptionist did not look like she was about to shuffle her boss's schedule. "I could get it to him." To her credit, she did at least dip her quill into the inkwell. If she didn't actually intend to deliver the message she was certainly willing to put in the effort to look like she would.

Adam put a hand on Daniel's shoulder. "Do we really need permission? This is life or death."

Daniel felt the weight of his sword in its scabbard. He glanced around. They had passed two guards coming in, and there were another two posted seemingly at every entrance and exit, as well as one patrolling a catwalk above. He pursed his lips. His eyes shifted this way and that. He went dead still as he played out the scenario in his head. Finally, he shrugged the shoulder Adam was touching and the hand fell away.

"Ma'am," Daniel said, "just tell him there will be trouble if he doesn't see us, can you do that?"

The lady was prim and dismissive. "I'm sure that I can."

Daniel slapped his hand on the desk, startling her, and leaned forward. She leaned back. "A lot of trouble. Got it?"

The secretary nodded nervously. "O-of course." She added, "Sir" belatedly.

"Is there trouble here?" a new voice called from behind, the kind of stuffy, severe voice that comes from men who appreciate order and are exceptional at their jobs.

The party turned to see a tall man, perhaps six feet, with a three piece suit, an ascot instead of a tie, immaculately-parted black hair and a carefully groomed, medium-sized mustache. His eyes were so dark it was tough to say if they were brown or another color, but they were intelligent and, at the moment, not the least bit amused.

"Oh! Mr. Witley!" the secretary called a little too loudly, her voice a little too strained. She was begging for assistance. "These fine people were just looking for the mayor."

"So? Did you work them in?"

She was about to say that she tried, but that sounded accusatory and she was not prepared to argue with the man possessing a sword and what appeared to be the muscles required to use it. "It's complicated. Why don't you walk with them? Mr. Witley? Sir?"

Mr. Witley nodded with reluctant ascented. "Very well. Follow me."

He walked, they followed.

"I am the mayor's personal aid, Falimoor Witley, and as you can imagine I'm rather busy."

"We won't waste your time," Daniel said quickly. "There's a horde on its way to this town. It will arrive within two days. You need to be ready."

To the surprise of all four members of the group, Witley didn't even slow his pace. "Is that so? Well, we'll take it under advisement."

"Sir," Daniel said, "I don't think you understand. This isn't a game or a joke."

"So you say," Witley said, stopping then and looking fully upon them. "But what guarantee do I have that this isn't some ruse, or an elaborate prank? or just bad information?"

Daniel raised his arm, showing off the dried blood. "It isn't a prank, and the information is reliable."

Adam added, "He made sure of that."

There's nothing like physical evidence to give pause to a doubter. Mr. Witley looked at the dried blood, breaking off into particles and sprinkling onto the marble tiles. Whether he was considering the truth of their statement or just annoyed at the mess they were making it was impossible to discern by those cool, deep, calculating eyes. "Alright, then. The mayor will be in his office. I'll notify him, but don't expect a frenzied response."

Ilsa's hands clapped together. "Oh, thank you Mr. Witley, sir!"

"Thanks," Daniel paraphrased her appreciation.

Witley turned, glanced back over his shoulder saying, "And pets aren't allowed in the building. It will need to wait outside." He was looking at Felicity, then he was moving away, toward a tall, finely-carved, heavy wooden set of doors.

Felicity started toward him and the others grabbed her wherever they could get a hold. "You asp! Coward! Return thence and do battle with me! I shall rend thee from ear to ear, from sternum to crotch, from—"

She rather went on while they took turns trying to cover her mouth and not get bitten. When finally she had calmed enough that they no longer needed to hold her at bay, Daniel found himself reaching for his sword. Adam frowned. The blade hissed, metal on leather, from the scabbard. Ilsa noticed as the tip cleared the sheath. Adam reached out, called upon his sorcery, but Daniel was fast. Too fast.

He took a single step, twisted at the hip, and thrust. The point took Felicity in the gut, followed through, bursting from her back. She curled forward so tightly the ridges of her spine made bumps against the flesh. A scarlet length of metal appeared in full, the crosspiece having stopped any further penetration. As everyone stared in disbelief and horror, Daniel braced and, with a single pull, withdrew the blade—and dropped it. It clattered to the tiles; Felicity fell to her knees, collapsed onto her side, heaving, shaking.

Ilsa fell upon the forest sprite, pulling up her sleeves. She did not cry out or weep. When Ilsa was healing, she was purely clinical. "Back away," she said firmly, loudly, "give me room."

Onlookers began inching forward, but retreated when they saw the scene. Someone yelled, someone screamed, footsteps beat on the floor and faded. Daniel stared at his hands. Felicity's blood trickled down in thick red beads, breaking into jagged branches, slipping down toward his wrists. "What did I do?" he whispered hoarsely.

Adam had one hand, magic primed, facing Daniel, another hand prepared to aid Ilsa, who was trying to staunch the flow of blood.

When had it happened, Daniel kept asking himself, over and over. He would never do that to his friend, this was madness. Madness! He needed to help her. He looked up to see his friend's hand facing him the way it would normally have faced a Pernicite. "Adam, I—"

"Keep him back," Ilsa said. No emotion, just facts.

"I can help—"

"Keep him back!" Ilsa called, louder, more firm. Adam put a hand on Daniel's shoulder and gently pushed until Daniel was off-balance and impulsively stepped back. Once he started he kept going.

Standing ten feet away, in what felt like a thousand miles of barren emptiness, Daniel watched his companion die, bled out, from a wound he hand inflicted with his own hands. The bloody sword lay where it fell, blood pooling beneath it upon the marble tile.