"The Wanderer" - Chapter 1 - "Informal Introductions"
#2 of The Wanderer
Informal Introductions
1
I was in a squalid tavern on the other end of nowhere, sipping from a surprisingly clean tankard as some quiet conversations took place all around. Rain wailed down on the dirt track outside, turning it into mud which would have made smooth ice look like sandpaper. The bartender looked about as rough as they came - a feline with grizzled fur, several scars and one missing eye. I could've sworn that I heard something clatter as he walked around, but I had no desire to look over the bar and leer at his false leg.
Heck, he looked like he'd stab me with a blunt fork for even asking.
My ears twitched as the different voices bounced into them, conversation ranging from the exchange of smuggled goods to the whore someone had the previous night. None of it interesting, none of it bearing any useful information, none of it paid attention to by me.
I focused on my tankard and, more importantly, the brownish liquid sloshing about inside. Said liquid looked and smelled like piss, but it had the vague resemblance of taste to lager - and I really didn't feel like causing a commotion over a bit of backwater alcohol. So I took a swig every few minutes, keeping in mind that my level of inebriation was growing. Not enough to knock me to the floor, you understand, but being robbed was always a risk in small taverns, so one has to keep his senses sharp.
I felt the handle of my sword poking into me, so I grabbed my belt and tugged it around. Still, this move made the contents of my pocket clink and clatter, attracting the attention of a nearby group of feline men. One, with a scar running down his face, looked me over and grinned. That grin was extremely easy to read - Easy pickings.
With a bit of relief, I pushed away the tankard, still half full with the horrid liquid.
"How much?" I asked the bartender, who had been busy cleaning other tankards with a rag.
"Five coppers." He spat, not intentionally. A lot of his teeth were missing.
I dug into my pocket, finding only a bunch of silver pieces, as well as a few of the gold variety. The exchange rate, as far I knew, was ten coppers to one silver, and twenty silver to one gold. Feeling eyes on me, I dropped a silver piece on the bar and told the barkeep not to bother with the change.
Having stood, I made quick progress to the door, throwing over my head the hood of a cloak I had worn on my long travels. To make the shape of my head less obvious, I flattened my ears. This was feline territory, and Huskies weren't exactly a very welcome species in most of the towns.
The regions which I passed were all separated by race - feline, canine, vulpine, serpentine - and, depending on that species' relations with one's race, one could either be accepted with open arms or stabbed in the back. I had money with me, and I guess the barkeep was in a good mood.
Which I couldn't say for the trio of cats following me that given moment.
I walked for a good hundred metres, letting my eyesight adjust to the darkness. It happened remarkably quickly, but I preferred to be sure of myself before turning to face them down. As it played out, I wouldn't need to do any turning.
"Hey, Mutt. Stop right there." A growl. Less deep and throaty than a canine's, but still intimidating. I stopped on command, my ears fighting to detect the movement behind me through the rain. "Ah... Doggy knows tricks, does he?" The cat chortled. "Well, Mutt, heel!"
I didn't flinch. They couldn't see it, but under the cloak, I was already holding the handle of my sword.
"Are you deaf, you inbred dog? I said heel!"
I grimaced, but refused to budge.
"Looks like he won't listen. Boys, teach this hound a lesson."
There was a sching as swords were drawn. Two swords and one axe, judging by the way I heard leather being scraped.
Two sets of feet sloshing in the mud. I spun on one heel, drawing my sword, and swung in an arc in front of myself. Metal collided with metal and one of the thugs lost his balance, giving me the opportunity to plant my boot in the side of his chest and send him sliding back to his leader. The other male, much bigger than the first, tried a wild chop downwards with his large woodsman's axe.
I sidestepped, twisting at the waist and delivering a strong punch to his jaw. It made him wince and snarl, but ultimately, I needed to move again to avoid an incoming haymaker, sharp claws glistening in the moonlight as the cat tried to back-hand punch me. It was easy to dodge a lumbering oaf like him - I crouched, falling on one knee, and swinging my blade up and across.
There was a hollow thud-splash behind me as the feline's arm, chopped off at the elbow, landed in the ditch. From my position, I twisted my wrist and drove the blade into his stomach, right up to the hilt, standing up to maximise the impact. He choked, a wheeze of disbelief leaving him. I pulled my sword out of him, not even sparing a glance as the large lump of meat dropped into the mud.
Two left. The leader, with his scar, and his lackey, with a bandana across his forehead and several piercings in one ear. The lackey, feeling impending doom, turned around and sprinted off, barely managing to stay on his feet in the slick mud.
"So... Doggy can bite?" The leader, left alone, asked. His arrogance was gone, and although he tried to keep his tone intimidating, he practically smelled of fear.
I approached, my sword held at my side as the back of the cloak flapped behind me. He raised his own sword, only to have his wrist caught by me as he tried a swing. I pushed the tip of my weapon against his throat.
"Your purse. Hand it over." I growled.
He let his sword drop to the ground, nodding quickly with anxiety, and reached for his belt. Bringing out a measly leather purse held together with twine. I snatched it from his paw, having let go of his wrist.
"Please... Don't kill me..." The kitty whimpered.
Mercy is the last thing I dispense with when it comes to bandits and thugs. Call me a cold hearted killer, but those who depend on robbing others to survive do not deserve to live, in my book. Still, the way this pathetic creature begged for his life reminded me of someone from long, long ago.
I sheathed my sword, then punched him in the stomach. He fell, gasping, curling up in the mud.
2
I wandered a fair bit in the pouring rain, trying to get as far away from that squalid settlement as possible. To be completely honest, I hate confrontation and everything about it. I detest killing others, and only ever do it in self defence.
But I guess that's just the way my parents taught me. The understanding between killing someone for a good reason and doing it for the sake of killing.
After a long walk, I came upon a small cottage. Smoke plumed from its chimney, and inviting light was glowing in its windows. The garden that I saw sticking out from the back of the building suggested good things - calm occupants, for a start. Ones that wouldn't attack me at the sight of my race.
Hopefully.
Cold, wet and without a place to rest, I decided to try my luck.
After approaching the door, I curled my paw into a fist and rapped the heavy frame. I didn't hear any voices coming from inside before or after the knocking, but the smell of food confirmed my thoughts. There were people living here.
It took a while, but finally, the inside of the door clunked heavily and warmth spilled out of the house. In front of me stood an elderly feline male, dressed in modest woollen clothing. Spectacles adorned his small nose, and he had to look up in order to view my face.
I opened my mouth to speak when he beat me to it.
"Well, what are you standing out there for, lad? Come in, out of the rain!" He opened the door wider and waved his paw in a beckoning gesture, one that I gladly followed. Once I was all in, he closed the door again.
"Thank you... But aren't you taking a risk by inviting a stranger into your home?" I asked him, not raising my hood. My head was also lowered, to hide the long canine muzzle. Despite this kind old man's hospitality, I still wasn't sure of his view on canines.
"Believe me, child, if you were a threat in any way, you would not have had the door opened." The cat walked over to a big chair, craning and holding his back as he made slow progress, and sat down. "I saw you walking outside, and even through that cloak of yours, it was obvious that you are no bandit. And if you do not mind my asking... What is a canine doing all the way out here?"
Busted. I pulled up my hood, letting the soft light bounce off my damp fur. "Wandering. I'm walking the lands with no aim in mind but exploration and learning what I can."
"Ah... It's rare that I see your type pass by these days. Please, put the cloak by the fire and sit down." He pointed first to a grate in front of the fireplace, then to a chair across from his. The house itself was filled with all sorts of things - bookshelves, a desk, parchments, paper and strange apparatus on one side, then cutlery and a store of vegetables and such on the other. Generally foodstuffs, but you get the idea. Through the makeshift kitchen was a back door which probably led to the garden outside.
Doing as the old man suggested, I left my cloak to dry and sat down in the chair, my breastplate and shoulder-guards scraping against each other. That was pretty much the only armour I ever wore, preferring agility and speed over brute strength.
Over the fire hung a pot with a stew bubbling away inside, and the smell drifting from it was simply amazing, though I chose to keep my nose to myself for the time being.
"Oh, how rude of me. I am Soje." He reached out a paw.
"Tarik." We shook. "I also wanted to thank you for your hospitality, Soje."
Soje waved a paw dismissively. "Think nothing of it. A personal reason, you understand, is that I rarely get to talk to anyone, living all the way out here."
"You're a hermit?" I asked, thinking aloud. Soje considered, then nodded.
"I suppose you could say that."
We sat in silence for a moment, then the cat's gaze shifted to his dinner.
"Are you hungry, Tarik?" Soje asked. I nodded. "This will be extremely rude of me, but could you get the bowls? My back is aching more than usual when I move, lately."
"It's not rude at all." I stood and walked to where he pointed me, finding two ceramic bowls and a pair of metal spoons with a ladle. Soje noticed my weapon as I walked around, and waited until both of us had a portion of food to ask.
"Tell me, where did you get that sword?"
I stopped with a spoon mid-way to my mouth, eyeing Soje curiously. Lowering the spoon back into the bowl, I unconsciously stroked the pommel of my weapon.
"It was given to me by my father. As a birthday gift when I turned sixteen."
"May I see it?"
Alarm bells went off in my head. One of my life-long rules was to never hand over my sword to anyone. Friend or foe, nobody could ever-
"I do not want to take it. Just hold it up to the light." Soje said, seeing my hesitation. I did as he asked, removing it from the sheath with a slow shing. As I turned it, holding both the handle and the edge of the blade, the glow of the flames began to dance off the metal. Both edges were sharpened to razor standard. The blade got thicker towards the middle, where it was abruptly thinned again by a smooth rove inside which all kinds of inscriptions and decorations were etched.
At the tip, the sword ended in a smooth point, one that could easily tear through most kind of light armour. Finally, the handle was wrapped in strong leather, and the pommel was a ball of some kind of deep blue crystal, given to the blacksmith by my mother to be attached to the weapon.
"My... That is beautiful." Soje murmured. He nodded, having gotten what he asked for, and I replaced the weapon in its sheath. "You must keep it safe - I would hazard to guess that there is not another one like it in the world."
I picked up the bowl and began eating. "There isn't. It was made especially for me."
The broth that Soje had brewed up was made mainly with vegetables, but I felt some kind of meat once in a while. As for the taste... It was far better than anything I'd had on the road, and, really, any kind of food I'd eaten in a long while.
When we had both finished eating, Soje offered me his bed for the night. I refused, knowing that the older gentleman needed it more than I did. He brought a sheepskin blanket from his bedroom for me, and I took up residence in one of the big chairs, my armour lying on the floor next to it and the sword on my lap, always ready to spring into action at the slightest sign of danger.
3
Morning came, and with it, a stop to the torrents of rain. Some birds flew to and fro, singing their songs in an almost obnoxious manner. I stretched, pushing the blanket down. My ears picked up no movement in the house, so I guessed Soje was still resting. The fire had died down to ashes, one or two tiny embers still glowing in the sea of gray.
I stood, clipping the sheath to my belt and sliding the sword out a few inches to check if it was still there. Next, I put on my breastplate on, followed by my shoulder guards. My cloak was completely dry now, so covering myself with it was no longer an unpleasant experience. While I was tying a string on the cloak's shoulder level, Soje emerged from his room, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and adjusting his spectacles.
"Leaving so soon, Tarik?" He asked.
"I need to go." I shrugged, then turned to face him. "Soje, there are people hunting me. My past... It's not so bright. I cannot be absolved of my sins anymore, so all I can do is to run from them, and hope that they can't catch up."
The cat studied me with a concerned expression. He raised a paw. "Wait here."
I did as he asked, standing in the room of the small cottage and looking around. The prospect of living in such a place was an enticing one. To get away from fighting, killing and running and just settle down, live out my last years in peace...
But that couldn't happen. Not while there was a bounty on my head, and people out to kill me.
Soje returned with a leather satchel to which a long strap was attached. He was packing things inside - a flint and steel, a small bag of white powder, dried meat. Having put in what he wanted to put in, he held it out to me.
"I... Can't take this." I held up my gloved paws. Soje took hold of the satchel by its strap and hung it on my outstretched arms.
"Listen to me, Tarik. Stories travel fast, and they spread everywhere. I have heard of you, of your apparent 'crime'. But, in my eyes, you are simply not capable of doing such a thing. Take what I have offered you; I will have no use for it much longer." He was referring to his age, and I couldn't fault him. "Remember." Soje put a paw on my shoulder, having to reach up to do it. "One day you will have to face your past, and the strength of your heart will determine which of the two of you comes out alive."
I undid my cloak, draped the satchel over one shoulder, then covered myself again.
"Thank you, Soje." Was all I could say to him. He nodded.
"Farewell, Tarik."
4
I was able to admire the scenery once I left Soje's home. The darkness and rain had both dissipated, giving way to fields of green with the occasional tree here and there. Half an hour of walking later took me to the edge of a pine forest, with foliage so thick barely any light got through. This was by no means a new sight to me - I'd passed plenty of forests of all kinds on my way. So I went on.
Soje's words were stuck in my head as I weaved through the thick tree trunks. If the news had stretched this far, the news meaning my past, then I'd have a hard time finding shelter in the near future. By giving me the flint and steel, I think Soje was preparing me for the hard nights yet to come.
I hopped over a small stream, looking around and admiring the serenity of the forest. Birds flew from tree to tree and small critters scuttled to and fro, kicking up pine needles on the soft ground. A light breeze was blowing, swelling up my hood at the sides and making the back of my cloak billow. It felt as though the temperature was getting colder and colder as I walked - not in the rapid sense, but over the past few weeks I'd noticed that my cloak barely sufficed as a windbreaker. Sooner or later, I'd need to stop by a store or hunt down an animal and make a new one.
Out of curiosity, I reached into the satchel Soje had given me and looked inside. It contained a bunch of useful items, and ones that would have been a nightmare to find elsewhere; there was a compass, a moderately sized water skin, a flint and steel, what looked like a suture with clean silk thread, dried meat, a small bag of salt and a folded up piece of parchment. Something struck me about this parchment, so I stopped, went down on one knee and pulled it out of the bag, unfolding.
"I can't believe it..." I chuckled. The parchment was a map, which painted out an image of an area about two thousand square miles. It was finely detailed, and every settlement was marked, from the largest castle down to the tiniest village.
Had I tried to buy such a map, it would have cost everything I had, including the clothes on my back. I had the sudden desire to go back and thank Soje again, but something told me that it was a bad idea.
Standing again, I continued on my way, with a fresh glow of reassurance in my mind.
5
Hax walked into a village that couldn't have bigger than a swamp. It seemed to rest on one as well. He tightened the belts which crisscrossed over his chest, supporting two swords on his back. The wolf's body was covered by a set of leather armour which broke open at the neck in a popped-up collar, revealing a lot of his collarbone and a golden medallion - a wide circle in the middle of which sat an emerald. He had no sleeves - the leather armour broke off at the shoulders and showed off his thick, muscled arms, then a pair of steel gauntlets down from that.
The leather style continued downwards - a completely black pair of pants which hugged the wolf's legs and were tucked into a pair of boots with steel caps. All in all, the danger he posed to everyone was obvious, but one had to be intimidating if he was to be a convincing bounty hunter. The one thing that gave him some 'humanity', so to speak, was a ponytail of dark brown hair stretching down into his collar.
The first thing that caught Hax's eye was a corpse lying in the dirt next to a pool of dry blood which gathered around a stump that once housed his arm. He approached this unfortunate feline, crouching and touching the stump with a gloved finger.
"Fresh..." Hax mused. "No more than ten hours."
He stood straight again, taking note of how clean the cut was, and noted the bloodstain on the feline's back.
"Impaled by a sword. A sharp one." Another small note, which he seemed to scribe in his mind and say aloud. Hax looked around. His gaze settled on the suspended wall-plaque of a bar, whose name he didn't care to see.
Inside, there was a quiet atmosphere. The bartender sat in a corner, idly sipping at some form of vile liquid. At the side of the bar there was another male, a feline with a scar running down his face. He was passed out next to a tipped-over tankard, the side of his head lying on the table while spittle pooled at his open mouth.
Hax went to the bartender first.
"You." He growled.
"Eh?" The cat looked up, squinting.
"Did you see a canine pass through here?"
"Whass it worth to ya?"
Hax put a paw on the handle of one of his swords. "Your life."
The message sunk in instantly, and the bartender pointed a shaky finger to the unconscious patron. Hax walked over to the other feline and dragged him up by the scruff of his neck, slapping him across the face. He woke up quickly, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.
"Wha-... Who-..." He started. The wolf cut him off with another slap.
"Shut up and listen. Did you see a dog pass through here? A husky, with a decorated sword?" Hax held the cat by the collar as he spoke, having switched his gripping point.
"I-... Yes... Yes, I saw him. He killed my friend."
"The lump of meat outside?"
"Yes."
"What the hell did you try and do? Rob him?"
The feline was on the verge of tears, terrified by the wolf's tone and his presence.
"Where'd he go?"
"I... Don't know..."
Hax yanked on the cat's shirt collar and threw him onto the floor. The cat yelped and tried to scramble away, but the wolf caught him by the scruff of the neck again, lifted him up and threw him on the table, making the tankard fly away. All manner of struggling ceased when Hax pushed the edge of a dagger against the cat's neck.
"Where. Is. He?"
"I don't know! He punched me in the gut! I didn't see where he went! I swear!" The sheer terror in his eyes and tone made whatever he said sound true. Hax sneered and in one quick move crushed the cat's windpipe. As he writhed, gasping and choking, the wolf left the tavern and continued on his way.
There were no obvious signs of anyone passing through when Hax studied the road. The previous night's rain had done a good job to mask any tracks left over. He kept looking for a cloaked figure in the distance, but saw no such thing.
What he did see, however, was a small cottage by the side of the road. There was nothing special about it, other than its placement - in the middle of nowhere. Approaching, Hax knocked on the door, deciding that beating it down would give off the wrong impression.
It didn't open.
Hax knocked again, his patience faltering.
Still, nothing.
"I just want to ask a question, whoever is inside. I won't even come in." He took a step back in case anyone was watching.
"Ask your question." A voice said, muffled by the door.
Progress. "I'm looking for a canine. Tall, silver fur. He carries a unique sword. Have you seen him?"
"No." The response was immediate, and the voice decisive. "Canines do not pass through here."
"Are you sure? He's pretty distinctive."
"I am sure."
"Alright." Hax drew his sword and swung it down into the door. The first hit tore away a chunk of wood and revealed the locking mechanism. The second smashed through the mechanism, sending the corroded metal clattering to the floor. He drew back and shoulder-slammed the door, making it fly open and throw light into the cottage.
Its owner, an elderly feline with spectacles on the bridge of his nose, was standing in front of the fireplace, an iron poker in his shaky paw. Hax couldn't stifle a laugh.
"What? D'you think you can fight me off with that?" He asked, advancing, sword held by his side.
"Stay back!" The cat warned. When Hax got close enough, the old man took a swing in a pathetic, slow arc. Hax just leaned back to avoid it, then grabbed the man by the neck, shoving him up against the stone build of the fireplace.
"You're going to tell me where he went, or I'm going to kill you." Hax stated, his sword poking into the old man at the stomach.
The cat hissed and took another swing, this one faster and more powerful. It struck Hax just above the knee, making him wince and falter for a moment. When he recovered, he snatched the poker away and threw it to the side, pushing the sword harder into the man's stomach.
"Where did he go?" He repeated.
"Away... Far away..." The feline wheezed.
"Which direction!?"
"Don't... Know..."
Hax was getting angry. His forearm was pressing harder and harder into the man's neck, cutting off his airway. Restraining himself, he let go and took a step back. The cat fell on his knees, gasping.
"You're useless. I should kill you... But I admire your spirit." Hax sheathed his sword and let off a short growl. Without saying another word, he left, following in the footsteps of Tarik - the Husky outlaw who he had been tracking for the past six months.
And I won't give up until your blood is on my sword. Hax promised.