Lazo
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Dust on the horizon is always ominous.
A thick, earthen shroud bridging land and sky, while whatever had given rise to it remained obscured by the haze, the only certain knowledge being that it must have been large enough to lift a cloud of dust in its wake. In a place called ‘The Badlands’, anyone would be justified in studying the rising dust with a certain concern for its hidden origin. The source of this cloud, however, was not to be particularly feared. It was a caravan heading for the southern deserts, having cut through the Badlands through the bordering towns to the east to avoid the worst of the desert climate.
Having traveled with them until some time ago, Cain was well aware of this. Instead, the apprehension he felt was not due to a fear of what the dust hid, but due to the oddly serene emptiness that hung about the desolate environment. He could not be sure if it was simply his anticipation, but much like the stories he had heard, there had been a certain something tugging at the edge of his senses ever since he had set foot in this wasteland, telling him there was more to the Badlands that met the eye.
It was said that many an adventurer had sunk fortunes trying to find whatever this something, crossing the plains again and again until a sliver of civilization had eked a place in the center of the wilderness, The Tempest. An interesting notion, a land that drew people into it, teasing them with the potential for something greater just beyond sight, though whether this potential existed in truth or was simply a matter of stubborn insistence was subject to debate. This was what he had come to see, after all. And now, it is I who is drawn in, he mused with a half-smile as he glanced at the retreating cara—
His gaze was wrenched from the horizon by a strong shake of his horse’s neck. Surprised by the motion, Cain was pulled forward by the reins, and was barely able to dodge as, without breaking its stride, the horse jerked its head backwards with enough strength to break his nose.
He should know. That was what had happened the first time.
Adjusting himself over the stirrups, Cain glared at his mount. “I swear, Berry. Sometimes I think those tribesmen were looking for a convenient way to get rid of you when they ‘rewarded’ me.”
He seemed to have injured the black mare’s sensitivities with that comment, as it earned him an angry snort, and another shake that nearly threw him off the saddle. Awkwardly shifting himself over the black mare, he forced her forward.
The shaking and squirming only became stronger with every suddenly hesitant step the mare took, her breath quickening until it seemed like a succession of forceful snorts. It got to the point that Cain was forced to jump down her side before she ended up hurting either of them.
Cain pressed a steel gauntleted hand to the mare’s side in a calming gesture, the other holding the reins so the animal would not bolt and leave him stranded in the wasteland. This did not seem like one of the ornery mare’s normal outbursts, so, with a reflexive shake of his frayed brown hair, he took the chance to look around, hoping to find whatever had put his mount in this state.
The sun was still high in the sky, its strong rays falling with a heavy heat over Cain’s head and shoulders. A cool breeze would occasionally roll over the nearby hills and outcropping boulders, pulling at the dry grass and replacing the sun’s heat with a momentary chill, a hint of what could be expected when night fell. Small thickets could be seen at a distance, promising some relief from the sun’s glare should one need it. The retreating cloud of dust still hung over the horizon like a reminder that it was too late to turn back. Alas, it was then or never. From the maps he had acquired and the word of some of the merchants, had he stayed any longer, the road to The Tempest would have been much more uneven and dangerous to his mount.
No danger of any kind was immediately visible to him after his scan, however, and he sent a questioning glance the mare’s way. She had mostly calmed down, by then, but Cain noticed her ears were pricked forward, dark eyes fixed on some point ahead. Following the intent stare, the only thing Cain saw was an unassuming boulder by the road’s side. Frowning, he led the suddenly shy mare towards the landmark.
Only a few steps forward, an unmistakable odor hit him like a brick wall. Rotting flesh. He let go of the mare’s reins and unslung his heavy crossbow from his red baldric, the steel-reinforced arms giving off a sinister glint in the sunlight. Cain was pleased to see Berry simply take a few steps backwards rather than outright flee as he had feared, so he began the patient process of loading the weapon. The shield on his left hand made turning the crank to pull the string even more awkward, but he had time. Once he was ready, he hefted the crossbow in both arms and walked around the large rock.
The source of the stench was not difficult to find, and he grimaced as he beheld the body. A man, the only hint as to his profession being the sword gripped tightly in his right hand. He was propped against the stone in a manner that suggested that he had chosen the boulder as a resting place before death claimed him. If he squinted hard enough, he thought he could make out a sloppy trail through the grass as the man made his way to the road from the wilderness. The cadaver had the swollen look of a body who had already spent a day or two in the sun, but something about its state bothered Cain.
No injuries he could see on his front and, oddly, no flies or other scavengers on sight.
In a somewhat morbid fashion, the way he had ran into the body reminded him of the way a cat would leave trophies where its owners could see them. Cain looked back at his horse and cocked an eyebrow. “Did you do this?”
The mare snorted and shook her head, mane flopping to one side and the other. Cain stared at the surprisingly human gesture for a moment before chuckling silently and returning his attention to the body. It had to have been a coincidence.
He knelt over the body, glancing at the sword for a moment before deciding he would rather not pry it from the man’s dead fingers. Rummaging through his pockets, however, was a different story. After a few seconds, he was rewarded with a small pouch that jingled with the tell-tale sound of coin, and a small, folded note.
Humming to himself, he opened the note, taking a moment to study the high quality of the parchment and the practiced, graceful handwriting within. He severely doubted either belonged to the man stiffly propped against the stone. Shifting to a more comfortable position, he began reading the note to himself.
“I seek those willing to aid in the recovery of a relic found in the Badlands. Any who plan to embark upon this quest, bear in mind that due to the nature of this land, martial or magical skill of some degree are desired. For details, ask for Lady Antimony at The Tempest Inn.”
Below this, the stylized letters graced the margin of the notice with a series of numbers Cain took to be the room of this Lady Antimony at the Tempest. Brown eyes widened as he found the offered reward, an astronomical fund that immediately brought to mind his own slowly dwindling supplies. Besides that, as if anything else were needed, were the words, ‘alternative recompense can be arranged if needed’.
Cain folded the note and placed it in one of his leather coat’s pockets, the whimsical threads of curiosity beginning to pull at his imagination. Standing up, he had already taken a few steps back towards his mount when an odd, lingering sensation tugged at him. The feeling of having forgotten something.
Backtracking towards the body, crossbow heavy on his arms, he stared at it for a moment. Then, with as much care as he could afford, he used one leg to push at its side until it fell over its face. What he saw on the cadaver’s back made his tan features pale. Holes dotted the body on this end, as if something had repeatedly dug into and out of the corpse. He didn’t want to guess at the state of the man’s innards. What truly caught his attention, however, was the large, milky white sac protruding from the body’s lower back.
Cain drew back as the egg suddenly splintered. With a meaty, crunching sound, an opening cracked, and something pulled free. For a lack of a better description, it looked like a cross between a leech and a snake. The creature was no longer than his forearm, slender, and coated with a purulent substance that covered its skin-like coloration. It pulled what passed for its head up into the air and emitted a hissing like noise that brought Cain’s attention to the rows and rows of razor teeth that lined its leech like mouth. There were no visible eyes on the thing, but that didn’t seem to matter as it angled its mouth in his direction.
Ah, it’s those kinds of details. Suddenly, he had a good guess why there weren’t any flies swarming around the corpse.
Ignoring the body in favor of this seemingly fresh meal, the creature crawled away from the cadaver and slowly, pitifully, rather, crawled towards Cain. Sadly for the whelp, the man’s first instinct was to slam his boot down on the thing’s head until it stopped thrashing.
Giving his boot a disgusted grimace, he glanced up at the rock, noting the blackened stains of dried black where the body had made contact with it. Had he carried that thing with him to his grave, or had something found him while resting? He could not see blood on the trail, but the body had a few days on it, and it was likely the blood had already seeped into the ground.
Casting the surrounding area wary glances, he ambled back towards Berry, who remained waiting where he had left her. When he was close enough, the horse lunged forward and, with a depressingly practiced motion, Cain dodged under the bite and slid over the saddle. Berry gave him an irritated snort but remained otherwise still as he settled on top of her and rested the crossbow on his lap.
Gaze shifting back to the receding cloud on the horizon, he could almost hear it say, in mocking tones, “Welcome to the Badlands.” Alas, he now had a fairly clear idea of what he would do upon reaching the inn. After all, he thought with a small smirk, I saw no relic among his belongings.
After a moment, he pressed his heels against the mare’s sides. “Come on,” he urged. “We still have ground to cover before it gets dark.”
Night had fallen, and the day’s heat had gone with it. Along with the cold, the breeze had brought with it a swath of clouds that covered the moon and much of the starry sky, such that it was difficult to see a mere three feet beyond one’s nose. It was a small mercy that they did not yet look ready to rain down on the wastes.
Looking to escape the cold, Cain had angled his way to one of the nearby copses and prepared a small fire, careful to contain it so that the dry grass covering the landscape would not flare up like so much tinder. He huddled before the fire with a sleepy expression, the grayish cloak he had produced from Berry’s saddlebags draped around him. Beside him, within easy reach, lay his crossbow, still ready to fire since his encounter with the dead body. Who knew if whatever had killed the man was still around?
He had hesitated to build his little campfire, worried that it might attract the wrong attention. Weak as it was, he was certain that the light could be seen for miles, but the sudden wave of numbing cold had been unexpected. If he was lucky, the wildlife would associate the smell of smoke with a wildfire and avoid his position. For this very reason, he had avoided food that needed to be cooked.
He sighed deeply as he stared at the dancing flames, his mind replaying his earlier encounter. Just what had the man been seeking? Had he been on his own? Where had that creature come from? He had never seen anything quite like it before. Had the wounds in his back been caused by other worms? He debated pulling out the notice so he could study it further.
The wind swept through, stretching the flames like invisible fingers pulling at hair, and he shivered.
Perhaps I should take a rest, came the treacherous thoughts. I could trust Berry to wake me if something dangerous comes by. The moment the thought crossed his mind, he snorted at the notion. The mare would probably keep entirely silent while he was attacked. Hell, if she wasn’t tied to a tree, she would probably help. I could trust whatever comes by to think Berry is a more filling meal than a person, he amended.
As if reading his thoughts, a loud whinny sounded from behind him. Cain started, grabbing his crossbow and vaulting upright, images of wolves tearing into his horse flashing through his suddenly alert mind.
The picture he aimed his crossbow at, however, was not quite like that. Berry was still tied to the tree where he had left her, agitatedly huffing and pawing at the ground with one hoof. What had not been there before, however, was the tall, slender woman with the worn, pinkish cloak, long, queued hair and a scrunched expression that reminded him of a curse cut short. She had the disheveled look of one who had been walking on her own for some time. One of her arms was held protectively across her chest, and Cain thought he could make out an angry welt with a shape suspiciously similar to Berry’s teeth marks.
He should know.
It was not difficult to figure out what had happened, but it was a testament to the man’s personality that Cain felt less affronted over the attempted theft of his horse than excited by the prospect of company. Before the horse thief could try another angle, he loudly cleared his throat.
Predictably, the thief froze on her place, jaw bunching as if she had swallowed something sour. With agonizing slowness, she turned to face him, her wary, blue eyes being immediately drawn towards the loaded crossbow. As she turned, Cain caught a glimpse of an empty scabbard peeking from under the folds of her cloak.
With the reflection of the flames playing on the steel bow, Cain’s smile came off as rather unsettling. “If you would please step away from the horse, my lady, I would be grateful,” he requested with theatrical politeness.
Horse-stealing was supposed to be easy. Jebel didn’t remember much from her days growing up on the ranch that had been her home before the bandits had raided and put the place to the torch, but she had vague memories of how stupid horses were. Grab the lead rein and pull, and the beasts would follow wherever you wanted to go.
Except for this one, apparently. This monster must have been crossed from a wolfhound, because Jebel was fairly certain the cretin’s eyes were just glittering with glee after delivering the vicious bite, and the thing had monstrously sharp teeth, considering it was supposed to spend its days eating grass and hay.
Curse Torv for the gutless, impatient weasel he was, and curse Sten for his inattentiveness! The little runt should have been easy, and they’d gotten careless, and now she was reduced to stealing horses to try and get back to her cache of supplies.
The night just got better, as she heard the sound of a throat clearing behind her. Perfect, the man hadn’t been asleep after all. She turned towards him, feeling her empty scabbard tap against her leg, another reminder of the day’s earlier failure.
He was shorter than she was, but armored, and the crossbow was not something to mess around with. Even if she could avoid the shot, the sheath at his belt was notably full, while hers was just as obviously empty. There was really only one play here, so she summoned up the tears as best she could, moving away from the horse. “Oh… Oh, please don’t shoot me, milord. I meant nothing by it, I didn’t! I just… We was attacked, you see, and I hardly got away, and… I didn’t know if you were with them, and, and I was so scared…” Jebel dropped her face into her hands, her shoulders slumping as she dissolved into tears.
There was a pause in which she could hear nothing but her sobs and the somber crackle of the flames, and she feared that her ruse had not had the desired effect. It was soon made evident that this was not the case. “Shoot you? And be rid of such beautiful company? Perish the thought.” Oh. Well, not exactly the response she had expected, but perhaps she could use this. “Please, take a seat by the fire. It’s a cold night and you look like you could use a rest.”
Slightly curious, and careful to maintain the act of a scared victim with a well-timed tremor of her shoulders, she timidly spied at the man through the gaps in her fingers. The crossbow was no longer trained on her, though it remained comfortably gripped in his arms. Noticing her warily eyeing the weapon, he gestured with it towards the fire, a half-smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. Head hung low, she complied, tiredly walking towards the warm flames, stealing surreptitious glances at her host every few seconds.
Nodding to himself as she took her seat on the ground before the small fire, the man began walking towards the alleged ‘horse’. He approached at an angle, forcing the beast to turn to face him, but he quickly walked to the side of its barrel and dug one hand into the saddlebags. The horse kept turning, neck craned towards its owner and teeth bared in an expression disturbingly similar to a snarl, but the man simply followed the motion, one hand still stuck on the bag, until the reins forced the animal to stop. It soon began turning the other way, giving up on biting the man and perhaps hoping to buck him, but its efforts met the same result. Jebel wasn’t certain what to make of the man, sitting at his fire and watching him deftly avoid the horse’s attempts at biting him.
“Did she break skin?” he asked in conversational tones, glancing at her over the back of the horse.
She blinked as the man spoke, and then shook her head, gingerly rubbing at her wrist with her other hand. “No, but not for lack of effort.”
“I’m glad to hear that. It’s not every day I meet such a lovely lady, and it pains me to start our meeting on such a note.”
The compliment she ignored. It seemed best. In her experience, a man who paid you a compliment always wanted something from you. It worked well enough in reverse, Jebel had found. Men always wanted to hear how wonderful they were, how strong and brave. Pay a man a few compliments, and he swelled up like a full skin of water. Then they made a mistake. It was as good a chance as she might get, so after a moment she ventured hesitantly. “You handle the horse well. Might… Might I know your name?”
“You may call me Cain, and this is Berry,” he said, finally producing a small bag from the horse’s burden. “You truly must forgive her, she…” the man trailed off, adopting a contemplative expression for a moment before smiling impishly. “To be truthful, she has no excuse, but I’m sure she would appreciate your forgiveness. Such a sensitive soul in this one.” The pat on the withers that accompanied the statement only made the mare redouble her efforts to harm her master, but he quickly slipped away from her.
Approaching the fire once more, he took a seat some feet away from her, letting the crossbow rest beside him – the side farthest from her, she noted – and began fiddling with the small bag’s strings. “The ones who gifted her to me told me their horses were proud, only settling for the most attentive and firm-handed riders. I believed it a compliment at the time, but perhaps I should have thought more of it,” he added with a wry smile, reflexively rubbing his armored arm in the same space the horse had bitten her before returning to the bag.
Finally, he pried the bag open with a pleased hum and offered it to her. She noticed a faint, spicy scent drifting from the opening. “Now, as endearing as ‘Miss Horse Thief’ may sound in my head, it is hardly a proper title. May I have your name, my lady?”
For a moment she hesitated, considering whether or not to give Cain her name. It was a potential risk. She wasn’t particularly well known, at least, she didn’t think she was, but there was always a chance that word of her might have gotten around. In the end, she decided it was an acceptable risk. The man looked like a newcomer to Badlands, so she plunged ahead with her answer before Cain suspected something of her moment of silence. “Jebel, and I’m no horse thief.” She glanced towards the horse, grimacing and rubbing at her wrist. “Not a very good one, at any rate.”
She looked back at Cain. At least the crossbow was out of his hands now. Granted, it was too far from her to be of any use, but at least it was no longer aimed at her. Leaning forward slightly, she reached into the proffered bag, drawing out a piece of jerky and tearing into it. “I was with a caravan, we were attacked…” Jebel trailed off, as if she could not go on with the thought. “Where are you going? I mean… if you don’t mind me askin’, milord.”
The man chuckled. “Cain, please, and you already tried to rob me. It would be odd if I were to suddenly take offense to a few questions, would it not? I have a few of my own, after all.” He flashed her a wry grin once more, before letting his eyes fall over the dancing flames, a pensive expression falling over his features. It truly did not fit him at all. “I like to think of myself as a tourist,” he replied after a moment, recovering his seemingly ever-present smirk, “and from what I know, there are few enough ‘attractions’ in this land that you may hazard a guess as to the place I intend to visit. I assume you are aware of The Tempest? Was it perhaps your destination as well before you... found yourself alone?”
The Tempest, the very last, or perhaps second to last, place that Jebel would ever want to be. Of all the places in the Badlands, it inn was where she was most likely to be recognized. Still, she was committed to this cover, and it made sense. “Yes milord, I mean, Cain…” She ducked her head for a moment, as if embarrassed. “The Tempest is the only trade stop ‘round here. You either stop there and take on provisions, or carry extra and push straight through.”
Her host considered that fact for several seconds, offering the bag of jerky again before asking his next question. “I don’t mean to come off as brusque, but should I be worried? I suspect it would prove quite difficult to play the gracious host to a troupe of bandits.”
Jebel shivered theatrically, wrapping her arms around her knees and staring into the fire. She worked at it, and congratulated herself on getting just the right amount of tremor into her voice. “I… I don’t think so, milord Cain. They… We was… Well, the caravan was… well-stocked. They’re probably still celebrating. I don’t think they’re for bothering anyone soon.”
“I… see,” he said quietly, then fell silent.
In those few seconds during which the only sound was the faint crackling of the fire, Jebel hoped Cain would not press the issue, but even while keeping her gaze fixed on the flames, she could easily feel his scrutiny. Part of her wondered if she had inadvertently said something that gave her away, but soon dismissed the notion. This felt like the awkward silence of one trying and failing to find the correct words for a particular situation.
“Why were you with this caravan, if I may ask?” he spoke eventually.
“I was a guard, sort of. I mean, we all had to help keep watch for bandits.” She sighed. “I suppose I weren’t much good for that though… I also tended the stalls sometimes, when we set up to sell our wares.” She could swear that, for a moment, Cain’s brows furrowed in mild disappointment, but for all she knew it could have been the fire’s lighting playing tricks on her peripheral vision. Jebel shifted, feeling a tad uncomfortable by his continued staring. She wished the man would look somewhere else.
There was a creeping suspicion in her mind that Cain didn’t believe her. There was nothing she could do about the matter if he did not though, she was committed to this as a cover, and she could hardly come out and tell the man that she was a failed bandit. All she could do was play her part, and hope for the best.
However, it seemed that her suspicions were unwarranted.
“A guard, then,” the man mused. “Yes, I suppose I can see that. Empty as your scabbard may be, you don’t have the hands of a merchant.” Cain leaned forward slightly, showing a genial smile. “You seem to have traveled through this land before, correct? Seeing as we seem to have the same destination in mind, perhaps we could help each other.”
Jebel eyed Cain warily, not having to feign the faint note of trepidation that crept into her tone. “What are you suggesting?” Normally, she might have put her hand on the hilt of her weapon, a habit of reassuring herself that she was never more aware of than now, when reaching out to touch that reassuring presence caused her hand to encounter nothing but air and the empty scabbard.
Cain caught the motion and let out an exaggerated sigh, underscored by the amused glint clear in his eyes. “Alas, such mistrust! It wounds me to see you think so little of me still, milady Jebel, but I suppose it cannot be helped.” He waved one hand in the air, as in dismissal. “Very well, I believe you will find my proposal most agreeable. As I said, I like to consider myself a tourist, and as such a thing might imply, I have little knowledge of these Badlands beyond what I picked up from rumors and maps. You, in turn, are possessed of such knowledge, yet seem to find yourself lacking any supplies to make the journey.” He gestured with one hand towards the horse, which seemed to be trying to chew through the reins. “Supplies that I happen to have in enough abundance to share, if rationed properly,” he continued, drawing her attention away from the worrying sight and back to him and that infuriating smirk. “It almost seems like fate brought us together, does it not? However, should that not be enough to set your mind at ease...” he trailed off as he produced a pouch from one of the pockets on his leather jacket. A clinking pouch. “I am prepared to hire your services. I suspect this should be enough to recover some of your lost equipment, and, with luck, passage out of this wilderness.”
Jebel considered the offer in silence, weighing her options. On one hand, there was a chance, however slim, that taking Cain to the Tempest could end up in her being recognized and declaimed for her past acts. On the other, that was a slim chance, by her reckoning, and the reward would be easy gold. She needed the gold. Equipment didn’t pay for itself, and she had next to nothing on hand to work with. “Fine,” she reached out for the bag.
Cain swiftly withdrew the pouch, wagging a plated finger at her as one would to a misbehaved infant. “Impatience is most unbecoming, my lady. I trust you were not commonly paid in full up front when working as a caravan guard? Rest assured, you will have your coin eventually.”
Not reaching across the intervening space and strangling the life from the wretched man was one of the hardest things that Jebel had ever done. The flash of anger that rushed through her was hot enough that it could have seared flesh, given the chance. The bandit clamped down hard on it though. She could be patient, she could wait. In the end, Cain would regret toying with her. Until then, let him play his little games, and have his little laughs. “Fine. I accept. When do we set out?”
“Excellent!” the fool grinned triumphantly, seemingly oblivious to the curtness of the answer. “Having such lovely company is certainly leagues better than what I envisioned upon setting out on this journey.” He stood up with a groan, picking up his crossbow in one hand and patting the dust out of the back of his cloak with the other. “That said, we leave at morrow’s first light. Until then, I urge you to rest for the night, if only to… clear your head. I will keep watch.”
Jebel’s narrowed eyes remained fixed on the man’s back as he turned and walked away to the edge of the camp. A faint aroma drifted to her nose, and she broke her stare to find the bag of spiced jerky resting where Cain had sat. The mental debating lasted the whole of a second before she took the bag and began chewing into her meal, giving the fire a sullen look.
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