This is the eighteenth chapter of the Fang & Bone serial; click here to visit the previous installment of Fang of Triseria. Please share your thoughts on the story in the comments, or visit the project hub for more information.
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Fang shook off the morning dew that had collected on his fur, taking in the sight and the scent of the killer in front of him. As far as he knew, the man, who went by Eghart, or to the village, “Egg,” was the captain of the town guard.
But what Fang inferred was that the man was a killer. As the heavy-set, pale man tightened his fists, the dense muscles of his forearms would twist like knotted rope. His arms, like the rest of his body, were extraordinarily pale – the man was an albino.
But it was the slivery lines of scars that latticed the man’s body that stood out most. Each one implied a moment of violence, and the sheer amount of scars suggested the frequency of the violence was more than one a town guardsman would face in the line of duty, even for a town such as this. The deep scars suggested blows of all manner obtained in the line of the bloody work that Fang too found himself embroiled in from town to town.
If the Egg was not a roadman, he was a bandit who had found his way into the graces of the town, leaving the roads and woods to his kind who were not as clever as he was – and Fang could tell, the Egg was a clever one. The heavy sag to his pockets said as much, and the man slipping on a pair of iron knuckles from them put a point on it.
The man’s scent may have been the most unusual thing about him, from Fang’s perspective. There was an acrid taste of fear emanating from the man, but nowhere near as great as it should have been – given the nature of his opponent – given the nature of the blows that had exchanged so far. Instead, there was a spicy scent, a peppery note of adrenaline. The pale man was looking forward to this fight as much as Fang was.
As soon as Eghart began his dash toward Fang, the Wolf eased onto his back foot, expecting the iron knuckles on the first strike. Instead came a kick to the hip with such impact that Fang twisted against his will, falling off balance, allowing for the knuckles to come down to the top of his shoulder with a heavy thud. The explosion of force sent Fang sliding into the mud and grass. Eghart followed that opening with several stomps to the same shoulder.
The pain was exquisite. The Wolf began to growl, and Eghart’s foot obliged the Wolf again, right in the shoulder.
Now, though, Fang seized the opening of the repeated strikes and threw his other arm across his chest, raking his claws on Eghart’s foot as it slammed into his shoulder, placing as much pressure as possible to catch the large man on his other foot, unbalanced.
Fang’s claws were sharp. Fearsome. He’d made short work of many with them, and he’d always understood them to be agonizing, dagger-like points. But there was no cry from Eghart, and any resistance to them felt delayed, like the man learned his foot had been pierced seconds after the fact. There was no flex to the muscles.
Fang glanced back at the dumbfounded Eghart, who was staring at the claws in his foot, registering what had happened, but not feeling it.
The man felt no pain.
Fang raked regardless, shredding his claws through the man’s foot and rolling away. Eghart’s balance faltered, and he landed forward on the shredded foot and tumbled forward into the mud. Fang, having rolled into his back, seized the opportunity to bring a heavy fist square to the back of Eghart’s bald and scarred head, shoving his face further into the mud with the strike.
Fang was already trying to get back up to his feet as Eghart pulled his face up from the mud, who was now sputtering grass and gunk, hoping to catch his breath. He wiped away what we could with a heavy forearm and saw the Wolf begin to rise to his digitigrade feet. Fang glanced down and just caught the impact of the iron knuckles on his ankle, dropping him to his knees with a muddy splash.
Fang yelped as the heavy knuckles buried into his hip bone and again in his ribs. He felt his lungs deflate at the sound of a crack. Without thinking, Fang lashed out, raking again and finding purchase on some muscle he couldn’t quite see. But again, there was no sound or reaction from Eghart. Fang raked again, drawing claws through meat, and then gripping, using Eghart’s flesh as leverage to push himself away. The Wolf scrambled forward, pulling himself along the mud, grass, and blood until he was able to look back, seeing he had made a mess of Eghart’s calf.
But now, Eghart had already been turning to right himself, and Fang had done the same, rising onto unsteady feet as his ankle throbbed. The two took a moment to size one another up.
Fang had just barely caught a sign of movement behind Eghart when he heard a familiar squelch.
Eghart took a step forward and had already taken a second step before he noticed something had happened to his thigh, as he dragged Corea along, who had her knife buried deep into his flesh. The weight shift was what he had noticed, not the point of the blade.
He looked down at her, confused, unsure of what he was seeing.
…
Corea stared back at Egg, his eyes were wide, and his brow raised. He didn’t look like he was in pain at all, and Corea doubled down, putting all the weight she could against the knife, plunging it deeper. She felt hot blood bubble up and burst across her hands. She pressed her full weight into it.
Her eyes shut tight, she never saw his hand reach for her hair. One second, she clung to the blade; the next, she felt a fire across her scalp. She kicked her legs, not feeling the ground, and as she opened her eyes, she saw the ugly face of Eghart, staring, furious. Before she could spit in his face, she felt a heavy strike right into her stomach. She felt herself curl up into a ball and hit the ground. Her vision doubled on her as she lay curled tight in the mud, her belly throbbing.
She glanced toward Eghart. He smiled wickedly and shifted his attention to her, so many feet away – how far had he thrown her?
She caught sight of Erryl, the scarecrow man, leaping over her, his thin, reedy sword drawn, making his way toward the giant man.
But Erryl never made it.
She saw Fang leap from the blurriest end of her vision, land on Eghart, and watched them slide out of her sight. Fang’s roar split the air like a thunderclap. She shut her eyes to stop the world from spinning.
…
Erryl came to a sudden stop as his companion’s gigantic form collided with Eghart with such ferocity that it nearly sent Erryl himself reeling back. He felt his grip falter on his sword, Lancet, as both massive combatants vanished from his view, only to right his grip as he scanned to his right, seeing Fang perched down over the Eghart. The man’s bulbous head rested in the Wolf’s slathering jaws, and the jaws were now tightening.
This had gone too far. Fang’s eyes, yellow, shone with a feral aura that Erryl knew all too well. The jaws clenched, and the sound of bone splintering was clear. Fang wanted to kill the man as painfully as possible.
And yet Eghart did not scream. He wrestled his thick fingers against Fang’s muzzle and tore at the jaws, but it was the struggle of a man trying to break free to continue the fight, not of a man on the verge of having his skull crushed. There was no fear, just simple anger.
Erryl whispered a minor prayer to Armastrid, Raven of Roads, as he thwapped the flat of the rapier against Fang’s face, right at the bridge of the snout, just above the nose. He’d had an aggressive dog once, and the snout had been useful then.
“Don’t you fucking dare kill him! Spit the bastard out.”
Eghart’s head was still clenched between Fang’s jaws, and the yellow eyes focused on Erryl. There was a flash of predatory menace and the hottest rage one could imagine – as though Fang wished death upon him – but Erryl stood his ground, raising his rapier aloft, and staring right back at his partner.
Without a warning, Erryl struck again, the same strike in the same place. Eghart continued to grab at Fang’s maw, and Fang squeezed his jaws together tighter. The pale man’s face was covered in blood.
“Fang. Stop,” Erryl pleaded.
The werewolf paused for a moment and loosened his grip on Eghart’s skull. Fang whimpered slightly, his eyes wide in alarm and confusion. He opened his jaws fully, and Eghart’s body dropped to the mud. The man laughed.
“Good dog,” Eghart muttered, spitting fresh blood from his mouth.
Fang rose to his feet, and Erryl observed a slight limp. He would need to inspect that ankle once they’d made some distance.
Fang wandered off, pausing for a moment to observe Eghart and then Corea. Erryl saw him pause, hang his head, and limp over to his belongings discarded for the fight. He’d never seen someone put up this much of a fight against the Wolf. That terrified him.
Erryl turned his gaze back to Eghart, who was grinning and breathing heavily on his back. Erryl took in his features, committing them to memory.
Erryl pointed the tip of the rapier at Eghart’s face. The man did not flinch. Erryl began to speak.
“Next time, I will not be there to save you; I do you this kindness as a medicine man. If you approach us again, you will die. I’ll do it myself to spare you my friend’s full fury. Do you understand?”
Eghart, still on his back, collapsed under his massive bulk, wiped blood from his face, flicking it at the feet of Erryl, dashing red streaks across his boots. Erryl did not react. Then the giant spoke.
“People have tried to kill me for years, barber. Best you kill me now. I’ll come for you, the mutt, and your little bitch, all.”
Erryl stared at the man, his toothy grin reduced to small yellowish islands in a pool of blood. His eyes were wide with the fervor of a predator, not unlike Fang.
Erryl shook his head and stepped away, seriously considering putting the rapier through both of the man’s eyes and down his throat for good measure.
…
Corea was still curled up and winded as Erryl approached. He tapped at her rear with the tip of his boot.
“Can you stand?”
“I can’t breathe,” she choked out.
“We are leaving now. Before any more violence breaks out. Get up.” His voice was emotionless. Couldn’t he see she was in pain?
“Get up, or we leave you here.”
Corea did her best to uncurl her body. She tried to take in some breaths and felt her midsection burn. She coughed up some blood onto the grass and curled up again.
“Get. Up.”
She uncurled and rose slightly, looking at Erryl’s severe face. She saw no concern, and it angered her.
He looked at her for a couple of moments, shook his head disapprovingly, and walked off. At that, Corea scrambled to her feet, though it left her breathless and throbbing, falling to her knees. She glanced around. Eghart was still breathing heavily in the grass. Her knife was left where they had been standing before Fang…
She glanced around. Fang was already several yards away, and Erryl was gaining ground on him. The Wolf had just walked with his arms full, not even pausing to set his chains or shoulder his cloak.
Corea rose onto unsteady feet and trudged swervingly to the knife. She picked it up, slick with blood, mud, and failure. She glanced back over to Eghart, who had turned his head to look at her. He smiled at her as blood poured from his mouth. Several large punctures ringed his head across the crown. After a moment, he turned his gaze back up to the morning sky, and Corea did her best to jog after the Wolf and the Barber.
…
“The good news is, the ankle is not broken or sprained. Now my speciality is not werewolves, but it’s stiff because you took a big chunk of iron right fucking to it.”
Erryl tightened the lacing leather cuffs Fang wore around his ankles. The Wolf growled at the sudden tightness, but Erryl simply continued his work.
A low, rumbling “Thank you” came after a time.
Erryl smirked. “For the ankle, my company, or stopping you from killing that man in a shower of gore?”
Fang was silent.
“You keep your temper remarkably well, given your affliction. What set you off?”
Fang continued to sit in silence, almost sulking. Erryl slapped Fang’s ankle, making him yelp.
“Fucker!” he barked.
“You don’t get to do that – be silent and brooding when you are a goddsdamned powder keg. I travel with you because you have a handle on it, but you terrify me, you great big bastard.”
Fang glanced directly into Erryl’s eyes. Erryl continued.
“Between us, me and the child, even as fearsome as she is, we know you are the things parents warn their children about in the dark. I know that’s not all you are, but you fucking terrify me. What happened?”
Fang shook his head and hung his gaze low, not wanting to meet Erryl’s eyes suddenly.
“The girl… the man hit her. It was a stupid thing she did, but she reminded me of my son.” Fang glanced back up at Erryl. “I miss my boy.”
Erryl fell back from his crouch to sit on the grass. Taking a moment to think.
“Didn’t know you had a son. How old?”
“Little older than Corea.”
“Shit. That would do it, I suppose.”
The Wolf said nothing further. He nodded to the girl as she limped up the road toward the northern gate – toward the two of them. Erryl gestured for her to sit, just as Fang rose and wandered past the gate, onto the larger road. He would take watch in case trouble came to find them before they left.
“I see you decided to join us,” Erryl said tonelessly as he rose to his feet.
“I’m really hurting.”
“Serves you right for your second stupid assault with a knife today.”
“He was attacking…”
Erryl slapped her.
Corea rubbed her face, her eyes wide in shock. She looked stupid and betrayed. She looked like a child.
Erryl hadn’t wanted to do that – to strike her. Especially given what Fang had said, but the Wolf did not react to it. This was a lesson she had to learn.
“At this point, Corea, you are a liability. You are the weakest link in our chain, and that will change. Either that changes, or we set you loose and you die on the way. Understood?”
He stared into her eyes and saw that they were watery and red. The change occurred almost instantly, with a blink and a hard gulp. One moment, her brows were drooping like those of a spoiled girl; the next, they were furrowed and angry. Good. He could use that.
“Understood,” she said.
He knelt to look her in the eyes. “Good. May I check your stomach? You took a strong blow from that monster.”
“Fang didn’t hit me.”
Erryl glanced toward Fang, noticing an ear twitch. Good. He needed to hear that.
“I meant the albino,” he added.
“Oh, right…” She looked at Erryl, then past him, toward Fang. “Did he hear me say that?”
“Absolutely,” he added. ‘I need to feel under your clothes, it is just the stomach and the lower ribs, understood?”
She nodded and untucked the shirt from her breeches and lifted the tunic. A dense, rectangular bruise emblazoned the pale skin of her stomach, just below the ribcage. There was a chance that had the strike been higher, her ribs would have shattered.
Erryl shook his head and lowered her hands that held up the clothing.
“A nasty bruise that took the wind out of you, but you’ll be fine. I’ll give you something for the pain.”
He handed her a ginger root that had been dusted in crystallized bloodshroom sap. “Chew as we walk. We leave now.”
He stood up as he slung his bag over his shoulder and reached his hand down to her. She took it and rose to her feet, tucking the shirt into her pants. Erryl had already begun walking, and she came up behind him.
Fang stood outside the gate, a few yards away. He’d finished wrapping his chains around his massive body and throwing his cloak over his shoulders, latching the pin. He turned to face them as Erryl stepped past the gate that made up the northern entry to the town.
Corea hesitated. Erryl continued moving, perhaps not really noticing in the moment, or perhaps knowing this was a moment she needed to do on her own, when he thought back on it years later.
…
Corea had never ventured along the north road, having been told by Mr. Gorten that he would tan her hide for even approaching it. He was a mean man in many ways, but it was the meanness of someone caring.
She felt bad that she had left so quickly after letting him know his mother had died. She wanted to help him tend to the body, but there was no time if she was to find Garen. He’d take care of her. He’d put Grandma to rest.
She felt bad about it, but in at least a couple of ways, she was relieved Grandma Nettie had passed this morning. Corea was free now to do the work that so few others would do. And uncle Nathan – Mr. Gorten – would be too distracted to tan her hide for what she was about to do.
She took a deep, painful breath and stepped past the gate. She hung there for a moment, in silence and doubt. She touched her tummy and winced. Was she ready for this, really? The Wolf and Egg had made short work of her twice this morning, and she would be traveling with the Wolf. He was scarier than she had thought he was last night – this morning it had been claws, teeth, and blood.
She tried to breathe again, and just as she let the pain settle, she saw down the road that the Wolf and the Barber were waiting for her.
She started walking.
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