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The bell tolls for all.
Mevela 25th, 1125 Dom.
The lute strings rattled and the harpist stopped and the washdrum player ceased mid swing. Women with jars of wine above their head turned back and walked into the shadows of the mounted skulls of monsters looming overhead a wooden beam.
“You think you have it in you to be part of the fourteenth?” Obrick leaned into Edwin.
“We’re the best archers you’ll ever meet. Of course we will.”
“How good are you?”
“Five silver we can shoot the bone out of big iron’s mouth.”
Kal sat wide eyed with the femur half-chewed in his mouth, gristle hung from his front teeth. The plate of meat juices and mawed bones lay in a patch underneath him.
“Alright Kal, go stand by the wall.” He pointed to the winery to the far of the corner of the room, far from the stairs and close to the back door to the kitchen. A cobblestone and wooden antiquated wall, just setting his foot on the floor stirred the film of dust on the barrels closest to the floor. A drunk looked up, stream of wine coming down to his cup. Cherub cheeks, half-toothed smile.
“Keep the bone in your mouth.” Obrick folded his arm. Edwin put a foot up on the table, his arm wound the string.
“You sure about this?” I asked, fork in the air. Kal nodded.
The string gave a harsh note. Rattled. Fired. The arrow went past Kal’s face, striking the barrel behind. Wine leaked onto the floor. The bone was still in his mouth.
“You missed.” Obrick said.
“Wait. Wait. Wait. I’ve got it.” Edwin looked for another arrow, down near the table.
Kal was running. Edwin was winding. I shook my head.
I walked up to Obrick standing still near our dinner table. His hand next to the steaming hog head.
“He’s going to score this whole tavern with arrows.” I said.
“It’s out of his paycheck, not mine.” Obrick said. “’Sides, you’re the one who let him in.”
“What else was I supposed to do? Sylas isn’t here to deal with him.” I put the fork down. “Do you know where he is?”
“Sylas? You don’t know?” Obrick said. “Vicentius has him on reconnaissance.”
“Reconnaissance?” I asked. “Vicentius didn’t ask me. Sylas didn’t tell me.”
“They didn’t? Vicentius doesn’t want anyone jumping the gun this time around. We’re taking this mission slow.”
“No. He didn’t.” I said.
The fireplace spat out sparks and chutes of black smoke. The musicians covered their bodies with their instruments. Everyone ducked. Edwin fired. And Kal ran.
Vincent stood in front of a manor, his hands waving every which direction and the speaking loud to the group he was with. Of which, the only notable person was Soveros. It was a few blocks off the tavern and somewhere where the houses were gated and large and the ledges were contained within wide bodied balustrades, rushing water fountains at the front, cleaned and trimmed hedges tall and covering the windows across the face of mansions. Lanterns moved within these gothic, wide draconian concrete buildings. Lanterns like eyes that followed me through the mist and towards Vincent.
“Where’s Sylas?” I asked.
“Sylas?” His red eyes big and almost glowing against his pale skin. There must have been a dozen men here, every single one wore a lantern on their waist and all of them seemed invisible save for Soveros and Vincent, who with their red eyes may have needed no lantern at all.
“I sent him on a mission.”
“You sent him and you didn’t tell me? I’m his second in command.”
“You’re a squad leader.” Soveros said. “A glorified assistant.”
Vincent put the back of his palm against Soveros.
“He’s the only one I sent off. Not many other people know about it either. We’re surveying the city before we amass our attack.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I asked. “What’s the enemy? What’s the trouble?”
“That’s part of the problem.” Vincent said. “The enemy is somewhat…inapproachable.”
I entered the circle, the men looked at me. All of them, captains. Soveros especially kept his glare at me, with narrow eyes the same way I assume a falcon does as he’s scanning the floor for food. And here I was, underneath this bird of prey expecting to be snatched into quick death. It was an unusually uncomfortable long time, but everything with Soveros was always unusually uncomfortable, that was his talent.
Vincent begun to wave at the other men and at Soveros. Giving each a personal dismissal. Good bye to you, mayor. Good bye to you, city guard. So on, with a smile and with the flick of his feathered coat.
“Come, walk with me.” He grabbed me by the elbow.
We went through the cobblestone city, past the pointed tops of fences and rusted hinges of iron gates. Alleys and alleys, all with their own locks that Vicentius opened with a heavy ring of keys. We stopped underneath the battered flag that waved in misty air, a giant red cross. In front, a group of men around a barrel. A cloth covered it.
"It's called a nightstalker." Vincent said.
"And should I be asking why they call it a nightstalker?"
"The creature adopted the name." Vincent waved the men away. He lifted the tarp and undid it in a bundle around the barrel. The creature. The nightstalker, bare. It’s flesh worse than the outline and imagination in my head. It wasn't humanoid, though had hind legs, a little angled near the shins. But what was peculiar was not it's leg or its boils or the small hairs along its body or the bulbous head with the myriad eyes like two white raspberries put along his face.
It was the carapace. The shield all along it's back and its front, like a cockroach.
There was a blade stuck to it's abdomen, it had multiple cuts but that one by far was the one that'd done the most damage. It was a side cut that went all the way down its body, across what looked like a white skull. I turned away almost coughing.
"Who killed it?" I asked.
"One of the men. He didn't quite go scratchless though." Vincent said. "It seems as though it was a double hit. The monster cut him, he cut the monster."
"Is he alive?" I asked.
"Again, that's a tough one to answer." Vincent put his hands against the mouth of the creature. The mouth, which was somewhere hidden under the assortment of eyes. He lifted its jaw open. It wasn't quite a fang in the creatures mouth, rather, something worse. Something that resembled a little flute or a mosquito's blood-sucking shoot.
"He was poisoned by this." Vincent closed the mouth. "A flight or fight response, like a bee."
The nightstalkers head bobbled and slanted down. The mouth snapped shut.
"Flight or fight…” I composed myself straight. “Shot out poison under bodily duress.”
"Maybe." Vincent turned to me. "There's a whole colony of these things. Living somewhere."
"Living somewhere?" I asked.
"Yes, somewhere here." He said. “We don’t know where or how but they’ve managed to dodge any attempts made by the city. Though we suspect it’s underground.”
“That’s the last thing I want to hear, Vincent.” I said. “Little monsters living underground, coming up to the ground to kidnap and eat people. You can’t make this shit up.”
“And every little bit of that statement is true.” He said. “It wasn’t a problem before. Perhaps one or two occasional Nightstalkers here and there, but the uptick ever since two weeks ago has increased tremendously.”
“Did someone bring them in?”
Vincent turned his head and blinked.
“N-no. Maybe they’ve just eaten so much, had so much, that they’ve bred out of control.” Vincent said. “Windhelm is a great benefactor for the war. Half the male population was conscripted these last five years. The defenses are weak, the people are few so the nightstalkers have come to feed.”
“I didn’t realize animals could be this smart.” I said.
“They’re not smart, just opportunists.”
“What is Sylas the only one going out if the problem is this big?”
“It’s precicely because the problem is big that I don’t want there to be any trouble.” Vincent said. “We’ll scare and scatter them off if we all invade the tunnels and sewers and dungeons blind. Nightstalkers relocate, fast.”
“So you have Sylas going ahead, doing it on his own. I understand…but isn’t it dangerous, just him?”
“I don’t think Sylas cares how dangerous it is. I don’t think he’s ever cared how dangerous any mission is.” Vincent pulled the tarp over the creature and looked up to a headless, pointing statue. A nameless hero I’ve heard the city had brought upon to be their mascot. D’oreal or something or another it was called.
“That’s not a virtue.” I said. “It’s not good to not care.”
“I know. But he’s the best we have.” Vincent said.
“So we’re to do nothing then?” I threw my hand out, which pushed my red cape.
“I expect you to follow orders. If not mine, then Sylas’s. He’s specifically told me to tell you not to follow suit.”
“I didn’t suffer these last few months to do nothing. Give us something more, give me something to work for. You can’t build a reputation by standing by the sidelines.” I said.
“No, but you could learn how to be patient.” He said.
“But-”
“Are you disobeying?” He threw his sharp gaze at me and I didn’t even need to see it to get the idea - it was like staring into a fire with this guy.
“Alright. I said. We’ll stand by then.” I said.
“You’re not happy?” He asked. “I thought you’d enjoy doing nothing.”
“There’s no glory in standing still.” I said.
“There’s glory dying in the battlefield, either.” Vincent said.
“Is that it? At least dead soldiers get remembered longer” I said. The voice made Vincent’s face break a little, like his smile snuffed into apathy and his red eyes looked away to the shuffling nervous, purse-clutching women and children and homeless men.
“Just…just get drunk and eat plenty and be happy for once, Virgil.” He said. “You have a reputation. You have some money. You have friends. What else more could you want?”
“Just your trust.” I said.
Vincent’s eyes narrowed. He shook his head - smiled once - then turned and frowned.
“You want me to trust you?” Vincent turned and walked away. “Then follow orders, please.”
