This is the twenty-first 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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Mulluck Eghart lay on his back, his head turned, watching the Wolf leave with the thin stranger and the child. He smiled and spat up a little blood. He’d enjoyed himself greatly and was excited to have an opportunity to fight the werewolf. He’d kill him next time.
He rose off the muddy grass and spat up a bit more blood with a cough. After catching his breath for a few moments, he rose to his feet, swiped at whatever mud he could see clinging to his body, and trudged toward the Mayor’s home. He slipped off the iron knuckles and tucked them into his pocket. As he approached the steps to the porch, he noticed one had been shattered into splinters – likely the fault of the beastman. He skipped the step.
The foyer of the home was a mess, again, mostly the fault of the wolf, though Eghart himself had contributed to it. Though the Mayor needn’t know that – if he were still alive. Eghart paused at that thought – he sincerely hoped the Mayor was not dead. The man had been one of the few people in Eghart’s life who treated him well enough. Eghart may have tried to pull the wool over his eyes with his gambit all those years ago, but the Mayor gave him work and a home and a sense of stability he’d not felt since he was a child, before the monastery, the farm, and the various bandit camps he’d fallen into. Eghart liked the man.
Though he wasn’t convinced that the Mayor wasn’t aware of what Eghart truly was. If he was, he understood the score and kept Eghart around. It was maybe the best relationship Eghart had with any authority in his life; he would rather not lose that. He doubted the town would last long without Mayor Gorval. Though that was likely due to whatever bargain he’d struck that Eghart had no details of.
Eghart approached the man on whom his comfortable existence depended; the Mayor was crumpled into a heap at the base of a bookshelf, covered in errant tomes and scrolls. Eghart crouched, cleared away the small pile, and saw that the Mayor was alive but unconscious. Eghart exhaled and then realized he’d actually been holding his breath. He was relieved that he hadn’t been mauled to death.
Eghart lifted the man from the floor, quite handily despite the Mayor’s not-quite-inconsiderable girth, and propped him up onto one of the seats in the center of the study. The man’s head hung loosely, and Eghart had to lean it back over the top of the seat.
Glancing around the room, Eghart took in the chaos – the wolf had carved a swath through the study. He couldn’t make out much about what had happened beyond an overwhelming sense of rage. The crossbow bolt sticking out of the opposing seat suggested the Mayor had been agitated as well. After a few seconds, Eghart saw the crossbow on the ground near the doorway and picked it up, just as Mayor Gorval stirred, groaning.
“Ughn.”
“What happened, sir?”
Corrigan Gorval’s head lolled toward Eghart, and the Mayor was slow to respond, his eyes wide, then shutting again. The man was having a hard time seeing. Eghart approached, holding the crossbow in one raised fist with his other hand held open and flat.
“It’s me, Captain Eghart.”
Gorval, with great effort, leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees, and his head slumped down, staring at the floor. He coughed a bit and spat up some blood onto the rug.
“Fucking werewolf attacked me. One second, I was dealing with that medicine man, and the next I felt myself flying. Then I hit something, and everything went dark. Did you see where they went?”
Eghart placed the crossbow down on the floor next to the Mayor and stepped toward the shattered window, where the werewolf had made his entrance into the home. Glass crunched beneath Eghart’s bare feet, but he felt nothing.
“I saw him climbing into the window from the street and ran here to stop him. Fought him, and he overpowered me. I got my shots in. Ran off with his partner and the child – the other Gorse kid.”
“You fought him?”
“Yes. I can get him next time.”
The Mayor was silent for a moment. Eghart continued to stare through the shattered window as he heard Gorval rise to his feet – all grunting and heavy breathing.
“You saw the Gorse girl… they took my niece?”
“She seemed to go with them willingly, sir.” Eghart turned back slightly to look at the Mayor. “She stabbed me.”
“It’s all falling apart, isn’t it?”
“Not if I can help it, sir. Now that I know you’re safe, let me go get them.”
The Mayor had walked toward the pile of books on the floor at the broken shelving and tapped at them with a slippered foot. He grunted, though Eghart couldn’t be sure if it were frustration or pain. Maybe it was both.
“The Wolf… they were… are… a Triserian. There is some magic in their blood, and that may be why the undead are closing in. Like predators fighting over territory.”
Eghart understood predators more than the Mayor ever could. He said nothing.
“It’s like watching ants. Those two stirred up the whole pile, and they’re trying to kill the invaders…”
The Mayor turned from the pile of tomes and stepped toward Eghart.
“Can you kill the mercenaries? Maybe we can still salvage this situation. If they’re gone, things can go back. The truce can go back.”
Eghart nodded.
“I need silver.”
The Mayor’s eyes widened for a moment, and then he made his way, limping, to another set of shelves against one of the walls, piled high with boxes and books. He plucked a polished wooden box from a shelf and wiped away a layer of dust from a bronze plate set on the lid. He paused for a moment, glancing longingly at it. He limped back to Eghart and shoved the box toward him, which Eghart took.
“Do what you must. Kill them both. Bring back my niece. I’ve already lost a nephew. I won’t lose her, too.”
“I don’t know if she’ll go willingly. She attacked me.”
“Beat her to within an inch of her life, then. Just bring her back alive by any means necessary. She can hate me for the rest of her life, but at least she’ll be alive to do it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Eghart, thank you. You’re going to save us all.”
Eghart paused. He nodded awkwardly.
“Sir.”
Eghart swept out of the room and out into the open air of New Gordhurst. He pried the box from his chest that he had been clutching tightly, overwhelmed and short of breath.
Eghart had always been a survivor beset by cruelties beyond measure. He still woke up some nights, terrified that he was still the same boy on that ranch. Sometimes Elspeth would rub his chest and ask him what was wrong. He’d tell her nothing and take her, or she would take him. That was their arrangement.
But the Mayor’s words had shaken something loose just now. Corrigan Gorval relied on him, and not just as a captain of the guard. For the first time in a very long time, Mulluck Eghart felt something other than rage or the anxiety of survival.
It was pride. He had someone he relied on, but who relied on him as well.
Eghart would do everything in his power to fix the crisis and get the girl back. He’d slay the mercenaries. He’d beat the Wolf to death. He would save everyone of this shitty town. He’d not just be “Egg” anymore – and even if they continued to mock him, he knew that they depended on him, and he would remind them of that. Their lives were in his hands.
He glanced down at the wooden box in his hands. The bronze plate’s etching read “To Harriet, my Beloved.” He flipped the lid open to see dull, but still quite fancy silverware. The set was still complete. Now it would serve a greater purpose.
Eghart closed the box and made his way to New Gordhurst’s meager forge; the weight of the iron knuckles in his pocket was a welcome sensation.
Soon to be the tool of the demise of the werewolf.
Soon to be the tool that saved the town.
…
Nathan Gorten watched Egg wander from Corrigan’s home, holding a small wooden box with a rather uncharacteristically light step. He wondered if the man had taken to looting the place, and if he would find his brother dead. He’d heard the clatter from the inn and had watched Eghart and the Wolf fight. He’d seen his niece in the fray and had conflicted feelings about that.
Eghart had fared well, but ultimately lost. The mercy of the Wolf was striking, and Nathan had wondered if that had been a mistake. Eghart was a murderer – that much was obvious. He’d become a good tool for his brother. Nathan never trusted the man; his arrival was suspect, and the man was off. Between the pale skin, his massive frame, and his curious tolerance to pain, Eghart made Nathan nervous. He’d seen the man back into a spear once and not react. It was terrifying watching the man pull the head of the spear loose from his side, slowly and awkwardly, and not so much as flinch.
Nathan approached and surveyed the damage to the home. The window had been shattered, there was damage to the steps to the porch, and the front door had been ripped off its hinges. He made his way up and paused at the doorway. He’d not set foot in the ill-gotten home in years. He followed the porch to the window and glanced inside, seeing Corrigan’s back as he sat at the desk.
“Are you alive?”
Corrigan glanced back over his shoulder, staring back at his brother. He winced, clearly in pain, and Nathan was pleased by this.
“Yes, regrettably for you, I am still alive.”
“I may hate you, Corr, but I don’t hate you enough to see another brother die. I came to see if you were okay and let you know that our mother died this morning.”
“Fuck.”
“Corea found the body.”
Corrigan turned back to face the inside of the study.
“I see. I feel for her. That can’t have been pleasant.”
“No, she is Larian’s daughter for better or worse, and she seemed… hardened this morning. Resolved to something. She reminded me so much of him when we were kids.”
“She was here, you know.”
“I saw. With the two mercenaries.”
“And you are okay with that?”
“She is Larian’s daughter. She won’t be stopped.”
“You’ll trust her with a fucking monster and soldier of fortune over her uncle, then?”
Nathan huffed.
“You’re not her uncle, Corrigan.”
“I am Larian’s brother, just as I am yours. I am her uncle by all rights, and you fucking rats filled her head with lies. Her and Garen, both. Do you hate me so much?”
Silence hung in the air for a long moment as Nathan wondered what to say. He said nothing, and that said everything.
Corrigan rose from the seat and approached the window, looking Nathan in the eyes.
“I won’t lose any more of my family.”
Nathan moved closer to the window frame and leaned against the wall, staring at Corrigan.
“Its not just your family that matters, Corr. You have never understood that.”
“I lost my son.”
“So did others. And some lost daughters. Some lost husbands, fathers, uncles. Wives, mothers, aunts. We should have fled further when it all fell, but you chose not to.”
“I had my reasons.”
Nathan slapped the wall.
“Just like you had reasons to fall in with that magician. You were blinded by greed. You’ve always been. You hired a killer to guard this town. How many people need to die for your poor judgment? You can’t salvage this. That Necromancer wants us here, and you are giving them what they want – why?”
“Then flee. Leave.”
“You know that I can’t do that.”
“You did when you and Larian changed your names. You forced Mother to do the same thing. You poisoned everyone against me when I needed you all the most,” Corrigan leaned closer, continuing, “yes, I fell in with that dark magician, and he seduced me, Harriet, and Martin. But you abandoned us to him.”
“We broke away because we warned you and you refused our help.”
“That is not how I remember it.”
“Memory was never your strength, Corr.”
Corrigan reached through the open window frame and grabbed Nathan’s apron, pulling him closer. Nathan ripped Corrigan’s hand away and took several steps back.
“I’ll be burying Mother this afternoon. You are welcome to come. Consider it a gift to remind you of having a family.”
“Fuck you.”
Nathan shook his head.
“Your greed fucked me and everyone else long ago. No, thank you. No more.”
Corrigan stepped further back into the study, nearly slipping on splintered wood from the collapsed desk. Nathan watched him in silence as Corrigan drew a crossbow that had been sitting in the dark. He held it aloft and aimed it at Nathan.
“It’s not even loaded, Corr. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Just leave. Go.”
Nathan sighed and sidestepped away from the shattered window. As he followed the porch, he could hear the sound of crying coming from the study.
He couldn’t help but cry as well. How had things gone so very wrong? He thought of his mother and was glad she had not lived to see what had just happened.
…
“I can take care of that for you in a couple of hours; there is no need for swords or horseshoes today, Mr. Eghart.” Sandval, the smithy, looked Eghart over. “You look like a mess. Did something happen?”
Eghart stood there, a fistful of silverware in each hand. He said nothing, and Sandval simply shrugged and set the kettle into the forge. Eghart dropped both fistfuls of silver into the kettle and reached into his pocket, placing the iron knuckles on a nearby anvil. He walked away from the smithy, who began to inspect the knuckles.
Eghart whistled a tune as he walked back toward his home to prepare for his hunt. It was a sweet little song, and he couldn’t quite figure out if it was a lullaby, a work song, or a hymn.
Not that it mattered.
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A dizzy end, woosh
and that long pausing glance..