Stolen Victory

There are those who wish to rewrite their destinies, to carve from stone their own tales.  Those patrons of Lore, outcast by Archaea, who scorn Fate and tempt Death.  Those too corrupt for good, and too good for darkness.

They call themselves The Fractured Fate.

·⚔︎·

“-and then he lost it!” the young man groaned, thunking his head on the bar so hard it rattled the other mugs and plates.  His jet black hair, which was usually tied back at the base of his neck, dangled loose over his ears.  He sported a wide bandage across one shoulder, a split lip, and bruises riddling his arms where his sleeves were rolled up.

“I didn’t lose it,” one of the other men at the table grunted.  This one sported the same face as his brother, only with cropped hair and biceps the size of a hgral’s incisor.  His cheeks were flushed – with ale or embarrassment, one couldn’t be quite sure.  Three other figures sat along the bar, and the whole Alehouse seemed to be leaning in to listen to their tale.  “I know where it is.”

The first brother stood and planted his hands on his hips.  A throb of pain shot through his shoulder, but he ignored it.  “Oh, yeah, Zev?  Where is it?”

“Ronan-”

“I’ll tell you where it is.  In a bloody direfox’s den!”  Ronan paused.  “And how did it get in that direfox’s den?”

“I was singing-”

“You were singing!”

“But-”

Another voice cut in, before the brothers could come to blows.  “What happened to your pin?”

“My-oh.”  Ronan’s uninjured hand went to his chest.  “I gave it away.”

The air in the Alehouse seemed to stand still.  Even the midnight black horse in the corner stopped mid-sniff on a plate of carrots.  Twenty-something eyes turned on the young man.  He shifted.

Behind the counter stood the proprietor of the Alehouse.  She’d been cleaning a mug with a rag, simply listening.  Loreweaver’s silver hair and ageless face seemed to glow in the soft light of her establishment.  Now, she raised a singular brow.  “Gave it away?”

Ronan nodded and slipped back into his seat.  His brother heaved a sigh of relief.  “Like I said, before this buffoon lost all our gold… we made a friend.”

“A friend.”  Everyone knew you didn’t hand out your guild pin to any old – or new – friend.  Guild pins weren’t just a symbol of membership.  They signified allegiance.  Brotherhood.  In many cases, a guild meant the difference between survival and a Fateless end.  Many guild members only took their pins off to bathe – and even then they were left within arm’s reach, in case some bath-inhabiting horror bubbled up from the drain or a spider-wing dropped from the ceiling.

(The latter was only slightly inconvenient, but its ability to shred any fabric into a beautiful web-like pattern was nonetheless terrifying.)

The rest of the Alehouse held its breath, but Lore simply continued pulling her rag across the rim of the glass.  “A friend,” she repeated, her tone dripping with curiosity.

“Hm,” Zev grunted, but was apparently content to let his brother tell the rest of the story.

Ronan cleared his throat.  “She saved my life.”

·⚔︎·

Six Days Earlier…

·⚔︎·

The aqua stone glimmered in the glaring evening light.  It seemed to capture the sunlight, drawing it in, weaving it, twisting it in hundreds of little directions.  Perfectly round, palm-sized, smooth from years of tumbling through water and sand, fractals of light-

Nike flung the stone aside and rocked back on her heels.  Somewhere in the distance, it crashed through the trees and fell to the forest floor with a soft thud.  Her gaze scanned the desolate ground, running over the grooves in the sand, catching on every glimmer of light, every movement in the dirt…there…something was rustling…

A dormouse popped its head above the silt.

Nike of Pragnos stood up with a sigh.  Nothing.  To be entirely honest, she had no clue what she was looking for.

Twas a terrifying beast, the drunkard had said, nearly soiled me britches, ‘s that terrifying.

Yes, Nike had said, keeping her voice level – not that it was a hard task.  Emotions were strange things.  She preferred not to parade them around for all to see when she barely understood them herself.  But what did it look like?

‘S big as me.  Or bigger.  Coulda been a giant.  Or a dr-dru-drungool.  He’d grinned, having successfully stuttered out the word.

Nike had been about to correct him that – no, drungels hardly towered over anything, except perhaps an ordinary fox.  Maybe a badger.  Fortunately, at that point another townsperson had stepped in.  It ‘as these big black wings, the matron said.  She’d lifted her arms and spread them as wide as she could.  Saw it takin’ away my dear Mr. Ecklus, when ‘e went to check on the chickens.  Found ‘is arm in the chicken coop the next mornin’.  She’d shuddered, her eyes welling with tears, and another townsperson stood to help her into a seat.

Serves him right, you ask me, a voice had called out from the corner of the tavern.  It was young, belonging to a teenager.  He’d sulked into the back of the room, melting poorly into the shadows.  Ecklus was a right ol-

His words fell away when Nike turned her gaze on him.  She relished the small flicker of emotion – satisfaction? – that sparked in response to his frozen gaze.  Her appearance was almost always unsettling at first.  But you’re the Champion of Light, those who dared to say anything would stutter.  Most, like this surly teen, said nothing.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and she knew what he saw.  A strange woman, long walnut hair pulled into a braid, blades – all three of them – glinting at her hips.  Her expression was shuttered and cold and those eyes, those crimson eyes practically glowing in the low light.

After that, one brave – or reckless – townswoman had stepped forward.  It always disappears round The Circle.

The others nodded.  The Circle.

The Circle, they murmured in agreement.

What circle?  A sliver of impatience slipped into Nike’s voice.  Where is it?

Just north of the crop fields, they’d said, yeh can’t miss it.

At least they’d been right about that.  You couldn’t miss it – and it was indeed a circle.  A singular slab of stone, perfectly round, about fifteen feet across and covered in a light layer of sand.  There were carvings carefully scripting into the stone, though Nike had yet to come across a monster who carved ancient languages into rock.  That wasn’t to say they couldn’t… but most of the monsters she was called upon to take care of were too busy picking off lonesome villagers one by one for their latest meal… or worse.

She suspected this black-winged monstrosity the villagers of Darton had set a bounty for was no different.

Then again, she’d also expected to find the monstrosity in question at The Circle.  So far, she’d been here for several hours, the sun was beginning to set, and she had yet to even touch her greatsword.

The sun peeked over the edge of the trees, shooting golden streaks across the sky.  It would have been beautiful, but Nike paid no notice.  Instead, she settled herself atop the center of the stone circle, and waited.

·⚔︎·

The first rustle came an hour after the sun had fully disappeared behind the horizon.  Nike’s eyes snapped open.  It was dark, but ever since her…incident…she’d possessed exceptional dark vision.

Rustle.

Something in the trees at the edge of the cleared shifted.

Rustle!

It was getting closer, and moving silently.  Too silently.  Nike followed the shadow with her eyes, barely moving her head.  Her greatsword made a soft zing! as she carefully extracted it from the gilt scabbard at her waist.

Rustle.

Her eyes flitted to the other side of the circle.  A second creature?  The townsfolk hadn’t said anything about two bat-winged beasts.  Then again, they hadn’t said much of anything at all.  Only a handful of them had ever seen it, and always at night or during-

Crack!

A predatory gleam flitted across Nike’s glowing gaze.  She adjusted the grip on her greatsword – not today, beast – and lunged.

“Blaarrrghh!”  Her greatsword clanged against something metal.  Her target stumbled back, hefting something – a battleax? – and glaring.  Nike frowned.  He certainly didn’t look like a bat-winged beast…  Evidently, he’d come to the same conclusion, because he grunted, “who’re you?”

Nike jutted her chin.  “Who’re you?”

“I asked first.”

In the darkness he hardly saw her move a muscle, but suddenly she was in front of him, her wicked blade pressing into his neck.  He flinched.  “I have the sharper blade.”

His throat worked.  He opened his mouth but made the mistake of looking into her eyes…and flinched again.  “M-monster,” he breathed.

This time, Nike did grin.  It was toothy and predatory and made her appear nearly as insane as she knew she was.  “Perhaps.  So maybe you’d like to tell me why you and your friend followed me here.”

“My friend?”

“Yes.”  Nike tore her blade from his throat and swung it to her other side.

“Shit!”  The other young man froze, hands in the air.  He looked at the first figure.  “She’s fast.”

Grunt.

“She’s three seconds from taking your head off,” Nike growled.  She didn’t know who these men were, but they were loose variables.  Stick-cracking, swearing, annoying loose variables.

She didn’t like loose variables.  “Who are you.”

“They said this is where the monster disappears,” the newcomer said.  “Could I just-” he tried to step to the side, but Nike followed him with her blade.  He froze again.  “Nevermind.  We’re with The Fractured Fate.”

Nike stayed silent.

“The guild.  The Fractured Fate Guild-”

“Ronan,” the first one rumbled.

‘Ronan’ shook his head.  “Right.  Well, we’re here on behalf of the townsfolk of Darton, so if you don’t mind-”

“I’m looking for the monster.”

The first one spoke, his voice low and grumbly.  “Us too.”

“Too bad.”  Nike didn’t put away her blade, but she let it hang at her side.  At worst, these two were a nuisance.  Not worth bloodying her blade – at least not today.

“Maybe not,” the ‘Ronan’ one said.  Nike swung her gaze back to him.  Usually, the full force of her glare was enough to put someone off, but his pondering look barely wavered.  If he were shaken by her crimson gaze, he barely showed it.

If Nike were capable of the emotion, she’d be impressed.

“What if we helped each other?”

“I don’t work with others.”  And she’d never get anything done with these two idiots bumbling around.  Just look at them – the big one barely had enough brain cells to string together a full sentence, and the chatty one wasn’t even smart enough to be scared of her.  She had no time for-

“Sure, neither does my brother.”  The ‘Ronan’ one strode over to his brother – in a wide arch around the reach of her sword.  Not quite so unaffected after all.  “But he can’t seem to get rid of me, can you Zev?”

‘Zev’ just grunted.  His eyes narrowed.

Nike narrowed her eyes back.  Say no.  Tell them to buzz off.  You don’t work with others.  “Help each other,” she just echoed.

‘Ronan’ nodded.  “Help each other.  You know, share information.  Watch each other’s backs.  Help each other.”

“Help each other.”  Nike frowned.  She had worked with others in the past.  Rarely, and it had almost always ended with a knife in her back – literally.  Assuming these two had any practical skills, which was highly unlikely, the big one was looking at her like he was already contemplating how best to twist the knife.

Better the enemy you know, her old commander liked to say, and the sooner you know your enemy –

M-monster.

– the sooner you can water the dirt with their blood.

He’d been a dramatic old codger.

Nike cocked her head, like a kallicha studying its prey.  “Okay.”

‘Ronan’ and ‘Zev’ shifted.  They shared a glance, like they weren’t certain that was going to work.  “Okay?” Ronan echoed.

Nike raised a brow.  How many times did she have to say it?  “Okay.”

A slow grin spread across Ronan’s face.  “Okay.”

‘Zev’ grumbled something about the bounty, snapping his mouth shut with an oof.  Ronan held his grin.  “We can split the bounty.”

“The bounty’s all yours.”

“Really?”

“I don’t care what happens to the money,” Nike said, “as long as I get the kill.”  The brothers shared another glance, equal parts relief and trepidation.  Who did we just get ourselves into, they were probably wondering.  It was a familiar expression.  She just sheathed her greatsword and spun back towards The Circle.  “Don’t screw this up.”

·⚔︎·

As it was, the stupid twins couldn’t have ‘screwed this up’ if they’d tried.  The rest of the night passed in a haze of inane quips from the chatty one and answering grunts from the big one.  Nike held her silence, this time on the edge of the clearing, and opened her senses to the world around them.

Nothing.

Eventually, the sky lightened.  One by one, stars melted into the molten sunrise.  A haze of red appeared above the easternmost trees.  Ronan stretched and yawned.  Zev snorted in his sleep.

Nike frowned at the ground.  It remained untouched.  For the local hub of supernatural activity, The Circle had been disappointingly quiet all night.

A quick perusal of The Circle showed little to no movement overnight.  There had been a slight wind, which accounted for the soft ripples in the sand, but otherwise…

Nothing.

Nike curled her lip.  At least that meant the beast hadn’t stolen anyone that night.  Perhaps it had eaten its fill of Darton and was ready to move onto the next tasty town.  Or perhaps it was biding its time, waiting, wanting-

“‘S it morning already?”  Ronan rubbed his face.  “Anything happen last night?”

Nike just raised a brow.  Obviously not.

In the predawn light, she was finally able to get a better look at her two companions.  They were clearly brothers and around the same age.  They had the same straight noses and lean faces, the same narrowed eyes and straight black hair.  Zev was clearly the brawn of the two – with bulging biceps and hair buzzed close to his head.  He wore simple leather wrappings and a belted tunic and had a perennial frown etched into his mouth.  His brother, however, was leaner with shoulder-length hair tied back at his neck.  His tabard-tunic set was tied together with three belts and many many pouches.  On his back, he carried a large crossbow, its miniature version fastened to his right bracer.

Zev snorted once and snapped awake, grasping for his ax.  “Monster!” he cried.

Ronan chuckled and patted his shoulder.  “Just a surly knight, brother.”  He winked at Nike.  She glared.  His grin widened.  “No monster.”

Zev pushed his brother away.  “Food,” he rumbled.  “I need food.”

“And this beast’s not going to be found on an empty stomach.”  He looked at Nike, brushed the sand off his trousers and hefted a bag she hadn’t noticed the night before.  “Care to join us at the inn for breakfast?”

“No.”  She did have to go back to the inn, though.  She’d rented out a room the day before, and needed a few hours of sleep before she came back to investigate The Circle in daylight.  “But I will follow you.”

“Uhm…alright.”  Ronan tossed his brother another bag, which Zev caught without looking up and swung over his shoulder.  He’d strapped his battleax to the other side.  “Just make sure you’re exactly twenty steps behind at all times.”

“Why?”

“It's a jo-” he sighed, “forget it.  Let’s go.”

·⚔︎·

By daylight, the tavern was just as dingy and moldering as it had been by night.  There was a distinct smell to it, as well.  Like something had crawled into an old boot and promptly kicked the bucket.

Ronan wrinkled his nose.  Zev coughed quietly.  Nike strode to the long wooden slab balanced atop empty barrels that served simultaneously as a receptionary and a bar.  She rapped a knuckle against the slab and the innkeeper’s daughter startled awake.  “Hhnuh?”  She cleared her throat, pushing her stringy black locks from her startlingly pale eyes.  Her cheeks were sunken in, her spindly frame seemed to unfurl like a feather as she came to.  “Oh.  Yes.  Hello.”

Ronan ambled up behind Nike.  He flashed her a grin.  “Morning.”

Those pale blue eyes flickered quickly in his direction, before settling back on Nike.  “Did ye’ catch it?”

“No,” Nike said simply.  “Can I-”

“But we will!” Ronan cut in.  He looked back at his brother.  “We’re working on it.  Right, Zev?”

Zev grunted.

“In the meantime,” the chatty brother plopped his bag on a table, which audibly squealed under the weight, “what are the chances your kitchens are running.”

“We’ve got food, aye.”

As Ronan and Zev ordered-

“I’ll take a plate of eggs-”

“We’ve only got four eggs.”

“Fine, four eggs and some bacon-”

“No bacon.”

“Sausage then.  And a glass of orange juice.  And Zev will take…Zev?”

“Meat.”

“Another sausage.  And some water.”

“That all?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Nike slipped towards the threadbare stairs that rather resembled a set of precariously stacked crates.  The walls were thin, but fortunately the annoying twin and the girl’s voices faded to a small murmur when she closed the door to her room.  And plugged her ears.

“We’re out of sausages.”

Nike groaned and stuffed her head over her pillow.

·⚔︎·

The sun was high when Nike resurfaced into the dreary downstairs of the inn several hours later.  The strange twins were gone and, much to her horror, had been replaced by several louder and far more demanding citizens of Darton.  The innkeeper was also there, and his daughter, along with three older women, an old man, and a young looking couple.

“Well?” one of the old women demanded when Nike stepped into the room.  “Is it gone?”

“Did ye see it?”

“What did you-”

“No,” Nike cut off all inquiries.  She practically spat the word.  “No, it is not gone.  No, I did not see it.”

She should have known this would only set off a slew of further inquiries.

“Did you go to The Circle-”

“What about my-”

“What do you mean it’s not gone-”

“When will you-”

“Are yeh leavin’, then?”  It was the innkeeper’s daughter, who had remained silent.  Her ebony locks still dangled in front of her eyes, and even in the daylight her skin was so pale it seemed almost translucent.  Those ice-blue eyes bored into Nike’s skull.

Nike just stared.  The innkeeper grasped his daughter’s arm and shifted her to stand slightly behind him.  Nike barely registered the motion.

Snap out of it, Nike would have told herself, had she not been surrounded by the Darton Biddy’s Club.  She’s an innkeeper’s daughter.  And not even a pretty one.

Ignoring the burning gaze on her back – and the pounding questions in her ears – Nike strode out.  Her destination was The Circle.  Perhaps what she hadn’t been able to see at night would reveal itself to her under the searing light of day.  Or, at the very least, she could check one last time before leaving Darton behind.  Hopefully forever.

She expected The Circle to look different in the daylight.  Perhaps less ominous, though animosity had never truly affected her.  What Nike hadn’t expected to see was the twins, already rifling through the sand.  Their packs lay discarded at the edge of the clearing.  They both looked up at her approach-

-and groaned.

Nike raised a brow.

Ronan mustered a smile.  “Happy to see us?”

“Surprised.”  Nike set down her own pack.  “You didn’t leave.”

“We’re not amateurs.”  It was the longest sentence she’d ever heard from Zev.  And Nike summarily disagreed.  They were clearly amateurs.  One look at them screamed AMATEUR!

And yet…they were here.  She had to applaud the dedication.  “Find anything?”

“That we’re gonna share?  Nah.”  Ronan shuffled at something with his foot.  “But I did find this.”

“I found it.”

“You did not!  I’m the one who tripped over it.”

“But-”

“What is it?”  Nike approached the ‘it’ in question.  At first, she wasn’t entirely certain what she was looking at.  A metal stick?  A pole?  A silver-plated femur?

“It’s a lever.  See-” Ronan scuffed his foot over the dirt, clearing away the base around the stick.  Nike blinked.  It was, in fact, a lever.  The kind they put next to horizontal doors.  The kind that led down to the secret kind of tunnel in which monsters and beasts and all unsavory sorts preferred to shelter.

“Problem is,” Zev had ambled up next to them.  “Can’t get it open.”

Nike raised a brow.  “It’s a lever.”

“A bloody heavy one,” Ronan added.  “Neither of us could-”

SCREEAAACH!

At the center of the Circle, a large portion of the stone floor fell away.  Down tumbled sand, rocks, sticks, down, down, into the rapidly growing hole in the center of the Circle.

The twins blinked.  “How-how did you-”

Nike just brushed the sand from her palms and drew her greatsword.  “Not that heavy.  Now, who’s going in?”

·⚔︎·

Once the sand stopped pouring into the mouth of the hole she’d created, Nike, Ronan, and Zev approached the hold.  It was a dark, bottomless void of nothingness.  Even the sand, which had stopped shifting and now formed a soft slope into the hole, disappeared into the darkness.  There was no way to know how far it went down, and if the drop were even survivable.

Nike jutted her head at the chatty one.  “You go.”

“What?”  Ronan swung his head around.  “Why me?”  He looked at his brother.

Zev just shrugged.

“Because,” Nike said, “you’ve got the quickest reflexes.”  And the loudest scream.  “You’re the most likely to survive.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”  She had no intention to die this day.  It was not a fun experience.  “I’ll take the middle.  The big one will hold up the rear.”

Zev grunted.  “The big one?”

“But what if-”

“Go.”

“Right.”  Ronan blew out a breath.  A strand of his shoulder-length black hair had slipped from the little string tying it all together.  He pushed back the strand, hefted his crossbow, and stepped onto the ramp.  “Fastest reflexes,” he mumbled.  He melted further into the darkness.  Nike waited.  “Fast reflexes.  If anything jumps out-”

“Why aren’t you going?” Zev rumbled at Nike.

Nike just raised her brow.  “To make sure there’s nothing down there.”

“He’s bate?”

“He’s-”

“Fine!” Ronan called up from the hole.  “He’s-I’m fine.  There’s no one down here.”  Then a pause.  “You guys should see this.”

‘This’ turned out to be something reminiscent of a subterranean human living space.  Once her eyes adjusted to the low light, Nike could easily make out a small bed in one corner of the little cave beneath The Circle, with a bedside table, a standing mirror, and a vanity.  Draped across the bed was a drab black dress, coated in dust and sand.

Ronan was nowhere near the bed.  His attention had been drawn to a pile of something on the other side of the room.  He shifted the closest thing with his toe.  “Are these-”

Snap!

Three heads swiveled to the door.

The figure was nearly to the door before Nike caught up to it.  A hand thrashed out, glinting, but Nike ducked.  She latched onto the arm, then the other, and yanked.

The figure cried out – high pitched and distinctly female.

What…

Nike yanked the arm again, and the figure spun.  Two pale blue globes pierced her with a glare so sharp it could have cut.  “You,” the innkeeper’s daughter growled.

“You,” Nike growled back.

“Her?” Zev growled.

For once, Ronan said nothing.  In fact, when Nike pulled the innkeeper’s daughter further inside, she noticed the twin’s attention had returned to the pile in the corner.  “Are these yours?”

From their position, Nike felt the tremor pulse through her captive’s body.  “Don’t touch them.”

Ronan wet his lips.  “Are they… is this…”  He snagged a large circular object off the top of the pile.  “Is this human?”

The innkeeper’s body shuddered violently.  In fact, her whole body shook.  Nike struggled to keep her grip on her arms.  “I said,” her voice rose to an inhuman shriek, “GET AWAY!”

The innkeeper’s daughter exploded.  At least, that was the only explanation Nike’s brain could fumble around as she went flying towards the entrance to the room.  The sandy slope cushioned her fall, but her head still cracked against something – the stone door?  Somewhere in the distance, one of the twins shouted “shit!”

“What is that thing?”

“Move!”

Followed by another screech that pierced through Nike’s pounding skull.

Groaning, Nike pushed herself up.  And blinked.

The room was swirling – no.  The innkeeper’s daughter, or rather the thing she had turned into, was flitting across the room at an almost inhuman speed.  A crossbow bolt whizzed past Nike’s ear.

“Shit shit shit!”  Ronan rolled to the side, just narrowly missing the thing’s razor claws.  Zev swung, but it dodged the ax so fast she barely saw it move.

Nike’s sword had landed several feet away.  She half-slid half-fell down the sandy slope, scooping up the blade on her way.  Its weight was solid in her hand, reassuring.  She stood-

-and came face to face with the thing.

Strands of black hair hung limply off a balding rotting skull.  Leathery skin clung to the curves of its bones like wet silk, ivory and translucent.  Sharpened teeth and even sharper claws flashed as the thing bared its mouth, which stretched ear to ear in a terrifying maw of black spittle and flesh.  Two leathery black wings sprouted from its back.  The only true remnant of the innkeeper's daughter were its eyes.  Those eyes – ice blue and frigid and lifeless.

And then its jaw unhinged, that horrible dripping mouth opening wide, wide…and it screamed.

Nike dove to the left.  Talons flashed above her.  The horrible misshapen head followed her.  Spittle sizzled against her skin.  It reared back to lunge-

CLINK!

A crossbow bolt had embedded itself in the thing’s ear.  It swiveled and Ronan cursed.  “It’s on me now!” he called.  Zev flung himself at the beast.  The creature shifted at the last minute, but the tip of his great blade snagged on something.  A wing.  With a hard yank-

Riiiiiip!

The thing screamed – an unholy screech of pain that wormed its way into the brain, twisting, writhing, pulsing.  Nike resisted the urge to throw her hands over her ears.  Instead, she watched.  And waited.

It swung its head on Zev, rotting hair and black spittle flying everywhere.  More black ichor dripped from where its right wing had been shredded.  Those frigid blue eyes narrowed in on the ax and Nike tensed, ready to jump in if it attacked.

It did attack, but not Zev.  Ronan cried out.  Between one blink and the next, it had spun from one brother and turned on the other.  Three talons pierced into Ronan’s chest and shoulder, flattening him to the cave wall.

Zev shouted and lunged, but he wasn’t fast enough.

The thing opened its mouth, tongue swirling, and a low-throated hissing began to build.

Nike threw herself forward – and then she was sliding – her backplate screeching terribly across the floor – through the thing’s crooked legs – hitting the wall –

– the hissing stopped.

After a beat, Nike dared to look up.

Ronan was still impaled against the wall, grunting with the effort to hold himself up against the talons and the large limp body of the thing which had slumped forward.  Its maw was open, those sharp teeth a hair's breadth away from Ronan’s nose.  The eyes stared forward – ice blue and frigid and actually lifeless.  Black ichor dripped onto Nike’s breastplate, sizzling away the ebony paint.

Her greatsword protruded up through the thing’s skull, piercing the chin, tongue, and brain.  Nike rolled out from beneath it, pulling her greatsword with her.  The thing squelched to the floor, and Ronan made another squeak of pain as all three talons ripped from his shoulder.

“Brother!”  Zev stumbled over to his brother.  Ronan’s tunic was torn to shreds and his chest now sported three puncture wounds.  Drops of dark blood splatted against the sandy floor.

Ronan groaned, supporting himself on his brother.  “All good.  Totally peachy.”

Thud.

Nike looked up from where she’d been wiping her blade on the bedspread.  “Did he just faint?”

Zev grunted.

Great.

Now they had to carry two bodies.

·⚔︎·

By the time they reached the tavern, giant bat-winged corpse and unconscious brother in tow, the entire village of Darton must have heard the news – which would have been an impressive feat, but Darton boasted only about sixty inhabitants.  Fewer, if one ignored the cows.

Nike imagined Ronan would have preferred to be awake for the spectacle.  She also imagined he would have said something stupid like…

Like…

Well, it would have been stupid.  And when the innkeeper asked what the creature was, neither she nor Zev had the tact to tell him it had been his daughter.  Or had eaten his daughter.  Both were possible options.

Ronan came to on one of the tables in the tavern several minutes later.  Groaning, he patted his shoulder, which had been wrapped in poultice and clean bandages.  Zev rushed over.  Nike collected her things from the room she’d rented.

When she came back down, Ronan was settled at the bartop, supporting an overflowing mug of something brown, fizzy, and…chunky?  Ronan took a sip, wrinkled his nose, coughed, then lifted the mug to Nike.  Zev sat two stools down.  Ronan grinned, eyes crinkling in the corners.  “I hear thanks are in order.”  He pushed over a small pouch, which jingled ever so slightly.  “You saved my life – both of our lives – and I don’t think I would be here right now if we hadn’t run into-”

“Keep it.”

“What?”

Nike pushed the bag back across to him.  “Keep the money.  I don’t need it.”

Ronan blinked.  “You weren’t joking when you said you didn’t want the money?”

“No.”

“But…”  He looked to his brother, who shrugged.  “But you’re an adventurer.  Why put your life in danger without reward?”

Nike stayed silent.  If he knew the truth, it was unlikely he would suddenly be so grateful for her aid.

“It’s crazy!  You should take-”

“Brother,” Zev grumbled.  “She’s giving us the money.  Take.  The money.”

Still blinking, Ronan slid the pouch back to Zev.

Nodding, Nike hefted her pack.  Time to leave Darton for good.  Finally.

“Wait!”

What now?

The brothers shared a glance.  “We owe you,” Zev said.  His expression said he didn’t like owing her anymore than Nike liked being owed.

“Seriously,” Ronan added.  “If… if you won’t take the money… at least take this.”

Nike felt something small and metal drop into her palm.  She looked down.

It was a pin – a small metal plate engraved with a strange symbol.  It looked to be two interlocking ‘F’s atop a shield.  Vines and stones curled around it.

“It’s my guild pin,” said the brother, “if you ever need anything, present this at the Loreweaver’s Alehouse in Golton.”

“Your guild.”

“The Fractured Fate.  It’s… we’re…”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s probably for the best.”  Ronan clasped her forearm.  “Thank you.”

Nike clasped his forearm.  “You’re an idiot.  You’re going to die quickly if you don’t fix that.”

Zev snorted.  Ronan just grinned.  “I’ll get on that.”

“Travel safe,” Zev rumbled.

Nike nodded.  She would return the words, but she didn’t actually care if they got back safe.  They could be attacked by direfoxes on the way back for all she cared.

Liar.

Clearing her throat, she slipped the pin into her belt pouch-

-and strode out.

·⚔︎·