“Okay, let’s maybe try…”
I hoist the girl’s body over my shoulder, and almost immediately, the throbbing gash in my side feels as though it’s being pried open. My free hand, which is already applying pressure to the wound, suddenly feels something smooth press against it.
“Motherfucker… all the way to my guts?”
The amputee falls back on the ground. Erland, that son of a bitch! At least I got him back with a kick straight into the ribs. I could try patching myself up here, but there’s still the tattooed archer to worry about. I should have enough strength left for a quick sprint to another village, even with the unconscious girl weighing me down. Thunderclouds begin to condensate, and I grab my new hostage by the leg.
“In case you can hear me – sorry about this. I guess I’m more vindictive than I thought.”
Lightning crashes, and time dilates.
The wounds and added weight mean I’m not running nearly as fast as usual. In between each step, I scan the smoldering remains of Cupram village, sweeping the ashes in search of the archer, and Erland’s body, dead or alive. I try my best to hold up her leg as high as possible, but from the corner of my eye, I can see a trail of red being left behind my path. Every time both feet are off the ground, I can hear the sound of gravel and wood chips shredding off parts of the girl’s face and arms. For a brief moment, I forget whose family she belongs to, and feel slightly nauseated.
Where the hell are they? The village gate is starting to come into view, and I haven’t spotted neither mercenary. My point in time elongates, and I intensify my search. Is it possible Erland died on impact, or from landing into a burning house? No – if that were the case, I would have seen the body. Are they just watching me from afar? No! That crafty bastard… he was willing to mangle his hand with an arrow just to hurt me; he has to be near!
…What is going on with me?
Am I seriously getting this paranoid over someone who can’t even use magick? A cockroach that’s been running on fumes this whole time? I can gradually feel my heartrate quicken in rage. I’m the magus of lightning – I kicked that bastard so hard he flew through the air, so what the hell am I doing?
My mind starts catching up to each one of my movements, and everything starts to accelerate. The limp body I’m dragging along starts making a scraping noise again, and in no time, I reach the front gate of the fishing village. Prepare however it damn pleases you Erland, once I come back, it won’t make a–
*schlik*
What was tha–
Everything erupts in pain. It feels like my throat is being pried open. I look down, and see a wide gash tearing apart my neck. The wound is traveling deeper and deeper in, hiding outside of my vision. What is going on?!
Time around me starts decelerating, but not to a standstill. The pain transforms into torture; I can feel something tearing apart individual strands of the muscles holding my neck together. What is doing this? What am I not SEEING?!
Suddenly, I feel a strong odor stick to the back of my throat. Pungent, metallic, not quite blood…
Ink?
It takes all strength to strain my eyes in spite of the agonizing pain. I can only see it now that it’s dug into my neck – a goddamn fishing line, strung-up by the gate and dripping in black ink.
Shit! Shit! I fire magick off the moment I realize what’s going on.
The Splenius muscles, the Semispinalis’… what other muscles? It’s like a fissure has opened up in the back of my neck. Rectus capitis?
My entire head is suddenly forced to move upwards. The fishing line starts cutting diagonally, and hits bone. It is excruciating. Come on. Come ON! More electricity flows into the muscles of my left arm – if it can just extend in time, it’ll smash against the gate and maybe stop my running. Erland must be just outside this gate – I’m going to tear him limb from–
..?
What the hell am I seeing?
I try to use magick, but it’s unresponsive. I try turning my head, but it doesn’t work. Why is everything around me suddenly getting bigger..?
Whose headless body is that..?
Did it work?
We only had time to wrap fishing line around spare pieces of wood strewn about before we had to lay the trap out. Lightning flashed, and then, a force ripped the makeshift garrote out from my hand… but Wulfram is still holding his. The dust and smoke Fulgir kicked up begin slowly dissipating, until…
My breathing becomes fevered. Pain starts leaving my body.
That’s Fulgir’s headless body.
“Haaaa… Haaa…”
I turn to my left, and see the magus’ disembodied head laid out on the gravel. My mind can’t seem to decide whether to start crying, or screaming.
“EAT SHIIIT!” I finally cry out.
For a moment, I consider kicking his head back into the village like a ball, but as soon as I get the idea, my body decides that it’s down for the count. My legs quiver in protest, demanding I sit down to rest immediately. My back rests against the wooden gate.
“Wulfram! Since when could you do that with your tattoos?!”
There’s no response. I strain my eyes a bit, and see the tattooist standing over the lightning magus’ corpse in the distance.
“Wulfram! Hello? Do a little heel click for me! Or a little dance!”
“Erland– just… come here..!”
He doesn’t sound very happy – actually, he sounds agitated. Did something happen?
I shuffle over to the tattooist, and just then, the feeling of a pit in my stomach returns. Fulgir’s body was sprawled out on the dirt road – scrapes and broken bones all over – but his hand was still holding onto Rum. Her body lay face-first in the ground, completely limp. I think Wulfram’s debating whether or not to flip her over.
We both look at each other, and I nod.
The tattooist carefully flips Rum face-up…
“Oh God…” we both say in unison.
The good news was that only one half of her body was harmed. That being said, the left side of Rum’s face looked as though it were rubbed raw with sandpaper, as did her forearm. Her nose was still attached, but half of her lip seems to have been completely burned off, and more pressingly, her entire eye was missing. Wulfram inspected her body for no more than few seconds – time which, to me, felt like minutes.
“You did this to her.”
I try smothering the thought away with everything else my mind’s spitting out. Finally, Wulfram speaks up.
“Erland, she’s still breathing.”
My guts tie themselves into knots. The combined feeling of relief and foreboding twists everything around while I try and come up with something to say to Wulfram. I can’t get any words out before the tattooist continues.
“I’ll boil some water and we’ll wash the wound off, but we don’t have anything to wrap the face with…”
“Wulfram,” he snaps out of whatever trance he was in, “do we even know whether she’ll wake up?”
“…Look, she needs at least the wounds cleaned, otherwise she won’t last another–”
“Another what, Wulfram? We’ve both seen mercenaries with far gentler wounds die of sepsis in a matter of days; half her face is missing!”
We look at each other in silence. I know I’m right, but saying these things out loud makes me want to stop.
“Erland,” the tattooist’s voice sounds harsher than before, “are you suggesting we leave Rum to die?”
“You know there’s more to it than that.”
Wulfram stands back up from the ground, and puts both hands on my shoulders. His fingers tighten like a vice.
“Do you know why I hardly said anything after your little stunt with the contract? Because despite how colossal of a fuck-up it was, you more than pulled your weight.”
I try pushing my way out of the man’s grasp, with no success.
“But Erland, if you try to… toss Rum aside – us aside – because of… what? Convenience? Risk?”
“Wulfram, we can treat her, bandage her, maybe she even wakes up – but then what? This kind of injury needs a doctor – and not some decrepit fossil that only dabbles in bloodletting – a real doctor.”
Wulfram didn’t seem the slightest bit convinced, but he also didn’t respond.
“Magi like that live in mansions built right in the middle of the capital, which might I remind you, is at least a week-long journey from here.”
At a certain point, I stopped trying to convince the tattooist, and started trying to convince myself.
“We don’t have money to pay for something like that – we don’t even have anything to dress her wounds with.”
“And your wounds are doing just peachy, then?”
My hand throbbed in pain as if it was just called to.
“Unless you know a doctor we can get to in time, there’s nothing we can do.”
The longer this argument goes, the heavier the pit in my stomach becomes. Wulfram, please, just–
“I can think of at least one.”
He gives me a look. I cock my eyebrow. He cocks both in return. Wait…
“The Duchess?”
Did he just nod?
“The Duchess that we scammed? The Duchess who got us declared wanted in Fleurand? That Duchess?”
“Yes, that Duchess. The same Duchess who also happens to be the medicine magus.”
For a second, I’m genuinely speechless, which Wulfram uses to continue his pitch.
“If we can get in touch with that same smuggler that brought us over the border, then we can get there as quick as one day, if we’re lucky. She works her magick, and we’re golden.”
“…And we’re golden? Just like that?”
I start scratching myself at the neck just thinking about a conversation like that.
“And what do you propose we lead with, exactly? Sorry about disappearing on you ma’am, we just had to use the shitter. By the by, could you re-grow our buddy’s face?”
Wulfram doesn’t look thrown off-balance in the slightest.
“You’re acting as though a con like that isn’t your natural habitat.”
His grip finally loosens.
“Erland, we just killed the lightning magus. That alone opens doors of opportunity we didn’t even know existed.” He points at Rum, who’s been propped up against a tree. “But I won’t let you reap all the benefits if it means leaving her to die – especially not when there’s a way to save her.”
“Wulfram… just dealing with the guards at that place…”
He doesn’t say anything in return. The tattooist just steps aside to give me a better view of Rum.
…Damn it.
“We’re using your share to pay for everything.”
Cupram Village stopped burning a while ago – no more fuel left, I guess. Wulfram managed to find a clothesline full of white shirts that was far enough away from the fire, so we at least have something resembling bandages for Rum. The horse-drawn carriage we arrived on is still in one piece. I can see Wulfram load up the girl, who still hasn’t woken up. I should be resting there with her…
But I needed to see this.
By my feet is Fulgir’s headless corpse. His fingers are still curled like he’s holding onto something. The body looks like it’s already turning yellow, and bloating a little bit.
I’m not sure what this feeling is. If I had to compare it to something, then it reminds me of how I felt when I first saw a mountain. At first, I was just… awe-struck. How could something like that exist? Once I got to the foot of that mountain, it feeling turned to foreboding – something so mountainous that they dedicated a whole word for it.
And then, I climbed it.
“Rest in piss, scumbag.”
I kick the magus’ body right in the ribs. The corpse shifts, and the something inside of his leather vest rattles a bit.
Wait, it rattled?
Fulgir shouldn’t have had anything metal on person… I kneel down, and my body instinctively holds its breath. There’s a small pocket tucked away to the vest’s side, and the moment I unlatch its top, a diamond rolls out onto the ground.
Holy shit… not just any diamond – this thing is twice as big as an olive! It’s spherical, with faceted cuts all around it – was this how Fulgir was getting paid?
“Erland! We’re leaving, get over here!”
“Coming!”
I reach for the diamond, but in the middle of pocketing it, a small electrical shock zaps me.
God! It takes a second for me to calm back down. Does Fulgir’s body still have magick running through it?
Freaky…
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