Fang & Bone: “17. A Grand Unraveling”

This is the seventeenth 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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“I have a meeting with the Mayor today, so you two will need to occupy yourselves until I am done. Fang, try not to eat her.”

“No promises. Only had two potatoes this morning.” Fang glanced over his shoulder at Corea. “And I got stabbed.” 

She shrank back behind them slightly and was very quiet as they continued to walk.

“What business with the Mayor?” Fang asked. “He didn’t want the teeth.”

“Oh, nothing much beyond offering to rescue a constituent of his humble town. Surely a noble man such as himself would see fit to award us for saving a local.”

Corea scoffed and spat at the ground. Erryl’s eyes darted back behind him, noticing her sour expression.

Interesting.

“Thoughts, young Corea?”

“The mayor’s a cunt.”

The two roadmen of Fools’ Errand paused in their tracks. They turned to look back at the girl, shocked.

“Mr. Nathan’s words, I just agree with them,” she added.

“No love lost amongst the family, I see? Just how related are all of you here in New Gordhurst?”

Corea thought about it, her face scrunched as she combed through all the names of surviving lines in town. Erryl watched her think as Fang glanced around and along at the edge of the muddy thoroughfare that made up the route through the village. It was still sunrise, so there were few people out, though two guards at either end of the road, on some sort of patrol, glanced at him. How could they not?

“Well, there were about eight families sprung off the Gordhurst name. That family isn’t around anymore. I think they were ancient. Right now, there are Gorses, Gortens, Gorvals, Gordursts, and Gordanes. I think the Gaerigs are an offshoot. Mr. Donnel is the last of them. There were also Gourlings and Gaenneths. I sometimes play with Ms. Eslpeth’s kids. They are Gaenneths. We also have some outside folk who moved in, and there are a few of them left here from the old town. But you were just asking about the big families, right?”

“Yes, exactly right, thank you, Corea. Would you say the big families are always in charge?”

“As far back as I can tell?”

“Yes, has it ever been different?”

“Well, I guess Mayor Gorval’s dad ran things before him.”  She thought a little more, then continued. “I know that Mr. Nathan – he’s a Gorten – is a cousin to the Gorvals. He’s my uncle… my grandma’s first son. My father was a Gorten until he married my mom and they combined their names. Gorten and Lorse. Gorse. That was kind of a scandal, the way my grandma told it. Apparently. Oh, and Gorten was a mix of Gorval and Mauten. Gorten. That was a scandal, too. Garen told me he heard father and uncle talking about getting as far from the Gorval name as they could. Nobody likes the Mayor.”

“So that would be a no, then.”

Corea realized she’d nearly ignored the question.

“Oh, yeah, that would be a ‘no,’ I think the Mayor’s family has run things forever. Though I guess he’s my family, too. I don’t like that.”

Erryl nodded and glanced over to Fang, who stared at him impatiently. Fang sniffed at the local air and grimaced at something foul in the distance. “Done with the local gossip?”

Erryl smiled. “Our little fighter is a wealth of information.”

“Don’t see the need to pedigree the local farmers.”

Erryl continued walking, plucking an apple from his bag and tossing it to Corea. She caught it easily. Her reflexes were good.

“And that large, pale gentleman, the walking Egg. What do you know about him?”

Fang’s ears perked up, and Erryl glanced over toward the Wolf, who had been trudging dutifully alongside him.

Corea took a bite of the apple, chewing as she spoke. She was clearly famished. “That’s Mr. Eghart, just don’t call him Egg to his face. I saw him punch out Mr. Sott’s teeth one time.”

“Eghart, is that his first name or family name?”

“Family. I think his first name is Mulluck. Mulluck Eghart sounds about right.”

“What do you think of him?”

“His name sounds like a frog. He’s a cunt, too. ”

Fang laughed.

Corea glanced up at the giant werewolf striding ahead of her, and Erryl noticed the slightest hint of a smile on her face. It might have been hard to fathom her stabbing a beastman four times her size moments ago had he not witnessed it himself.

“A lady ought not use the word,” Erryl replied. “Where did you pick that up?”

“I work at the Inn and bring people their beers. I heard you use the word twice when you were drunk last night.”

Erryl shook his head. He laughed to himself.

The trio approached the mayor’s home – the sizable, defensible home that it was. To Erryl, where he stood in the street, it was a shell, and a meaty, spineless thing sat within, cloistered away, fat, happy, and secure.
Ripe for the taking, if the opportunity and proper leverage were applied.

…

“How many men have you killed, Wolf?” asked the child.

“Many.”

“Yes, but how many is that?”

“How many men have you killed?” asked Fang.

“None,” Corea scowled.

“I’ve killed more than that,” Fang replied.

Corea stomped up the broken stairs to the covered porch of the Mayor’s home. She glanced at the broken step. “I wonder what happened here?”

Fang was silent.

She leaned over the railing that surrounded the porch.

“Is your friend really going to try to get money out of the Mayor to rescue Garen?”

“He’ll try.”

Corea had absentmindedly pulled out the kitchen knife and dug the point into a section of the railing. After a moment, she glanced over to the Wolf, who stood on the grass, keeping watch. He didn’t seem to notice the knife was out.

She had felt bad for a moment and considered putting it away, but instead turned her attention to digging the point into the wooden railing.

“So what are you watching out for?”

“Danger.”

“I thought a talking werewolf would be more interesting.”

Fang shook his head and turned toward her. He caught a glimpse of the knife, scanned what she was doing, and then looked back at her. He lowered his hood to show his ears.

“Perhaps if you were quiet, you might pick up a thing or two yourself.”

Corea stopped carving. She had made a cross so far. “What are you picking up?”

“I hear sounds from inside. I am not in the room, but I am at their meeting. Erryl and your Mayor.” He gestured to the window out front. “They’re there now, just inside, peek into the window if you’d like.”

Corea raised an eyebrow, skeptical of Fang’s boast, but crept to the window. Sure enough, from the corner, she observed Erryl and the Mayor. They were shouting, maybe, but it wasn’t distinct to her. It was muffled anger through thick glass.

She walked back to the stairs that led down from the porch and looked at the Wolf. He seemed to be smiling, if one could call it that, on a wolfen face.

“Are all your senses that strong?” she asked.

Fang nodded.

“I smell the dead, girl. All around the town. Within the woods,” he paused briefly, staring her in the eyes. “On you.”

She felt her heart claw its way into her throat. He knew? Is that why he hadn’t killed her for stabbing him? The monster pitied her?  She felt herself stumble for a moment. Fang continued to look at her, his brow noticeably softened.

“Her cloak, yes?”

Corea nodded.

“Was it a long sickness?” he asked.

“Two years.”

“I see.”

“Garen is all I have.” She began to cry. She raised her hand; her fist trembled. She readied to strike herself, but a sharp whine came from the Wolf. She looked at him, and he had stepped closer to the porch where she stood.

“Corea,” her name rumbled out of a fearsome bark. “Many battles ahead. Don’t fight this one.” It didn’t feel like yelling. It didn’t feel angry.

She unclenched his fist and slowly let her hand fall to her side. This was the first time he’d said her name, from what she could remember. No “girl” or “child.” It was comforting. She watched him turn and trudge back to where he had previously stationed himself.

“Mister Wolf, what was your name again?”

Fang turned around and lifted the left flew of his snout, exposing his many teeth, tapping at a fang with a claw. He glanced at her.

“Your name is Tooth?” she asked.

Fang stood there for a moment, confused.

“I know you mean Fang. I was joking.”

Fang’s brow furrowed, and he huffed. “I chose it after everything that happened. I realized I would be stuck like this; it seemed fitting given the circumstances.”

“What were you called before?”

“Hush.” The command was a growl. Corea wasn’t sure what had happened. She stared at the werewolf, who was now crouched, alerted to something. Then she noticed his ears shifting – two triangles on his head – focusing on something.

Without warning, he snarled and tore over the railing of the porch, directly toward the window where Erryl and the Mayor were meeting.

…

“Fuck you” was all that slipped from the Mayor’s lips. It had only been five minutes since Erryl had talked his way back into the home.

Erryl shook his head, puffing at his pipe. He sat back on the exact cushion where he sat yesterday afternoon. The room was still a mess, and there was still a layer of dust all over Mayor Corrigan Gorval’s study. Some new things had appeared, notably papers. There were also a couple of trunks that had been opened, the contents being removed and set into nearby piles.

Yesterday’s visit has sparked something in the Mayor. His eyes were red and puffy.

Erryl reiterated his point, “Mr. Mayor, surely you wish to see a rescue party formed, especially when there is a nephew’s life on the line. The descendants of old Gordhurst have met untold, sprawling tragedy; surely you can trust us to prevent another? We can even take your Mister Eghart along to ensure the deal is honored. As I understand it, he is the captain of the civil defense? We’d be grateful for his accompaniment. Anyone you can spare. We haven’t a moment to lose.”

The Mayor glared at Erryl, and Erryl observed the man’s face screwed into a red pinch from a sea of doughy paleness. The man opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. The effect was that of a fish plucked from the water – flummoxed and desperate. Erryl continued to puff on his pipe.

“You’re a godsdamned fool if you go looking for the old town, or anyone who was lost on patrol. You think we haven’t tried rescues before? We try, and they die – that’s how it has been. You may be handy at dispatching a couple of ghouls, and maybe your guild is as notable as you brag, but…” 

“… but, you hadn’t had myself and my companion at your service,” Erryl interjected.

The mayor stood up and walked around behind the seat where he had been sitting, back toward his desk. He stumbled a bit, still in the haze of intoxication. He leaned over the couch, digging his fingers into dusty fabric. He shook his head. He was exhausted. Desperate.

“I am the only reason you are safe here. The only reason anyone is safe here. I keep the monsters at bay – the bastard who killed my wife and son and razed the town, he keeps us here because it hurts me. Do you understand what I am sacrificing just to keep everyone here alive? You and your wolf, and that poor girl you plan to drag along with you, my niece, no less. I’d just as soon have you all killed where you stand to protect you from something far worse. You don’t know the evil out there as I do – and when you die, I will mourn the girl you drag down with you, you fucking arrogant scarecrow prick.”

Mayor Corrigan backed away from the seat and walked over to his desk, piled high with tomes and bric-a-brac. He glanced out the window that framed the desk. There were two empty bottles of drink on the desk… two bottles that hadn’t been there yesterday.

“I regret the loss of the boy. I do. I regret the loss of the others, too. Don’t you see it? My family, my town, it’s all dying a slow death. We rarely lose anyone on a patrol, not for years – there is an unspoken truce. Of course, I am troubled by the loss of this one. Five good men! One of them was my brother’s child!”

Brother’s child? 

Corrigan whirled back toward the desk, his eyes redder now. He’d been crying at the window. He leaned toward the desk and stared deep into Erryl’s eyes. It made Erryl uncomfortable – his whole countenance was off – frenzied, not just angry. Erryl had inspired enough anger towards him in life to know the difference. This was… feral.

“It wasn’t until you and that damnable Triserian arrived, you know? The patrol went out around the time you must have been traveling into our lands. It senses you, I think. It responded to you. You’re inserting yourself into something that you think you can so easily destroy. The Necromancer sees everything. You think I hadn’t acted before? Tried to get people out?!”

The mayor leaned down and drew a heavy crossbow from behind the desk, pulling the bolt back and locking it into place as he swung his arms up, aiming it squarely at Erryl.

He pulled the trigger. 

The Wolf crashed in from the window.

Erryl hadn’t even noticed the bolt miss him, as he had been too struck by the sight of Fang barreling into the glass pane and clawing his way out of the frame. The window was large, but it wasn’t large enough for Fang to simply slide through. Erryl watched Fang’s jaw gnash with every bark as clawed hands tore at the wooden frame. Glass shards, still lodged in the frame, tore through the wolf’s hide with a sickening ripping noise. After a few seconds, with a huff and a puff, Fang’s body was through. He stumbled in and, to find balance, he put his weight upon the desk, which promptly collapsed, knocking the Mayor back as he had been fumbling with a new bolt for his crossbow.

With a sudden strike, Fang, still off balance, grabbed the mayor at the chest, gripping the man’s robe and holding him two feet aloft. Corrigan scrambled and kicked, but without letting the man drop once, Fang found his footing, raising Corrigan several more feet from the ground, the man still flailing. He had even gotten a few good kicks to Fang’s ribs as Fang drew him closer to his own face.

Without a second thought, Fang then hurled the Mayor to the other end of the room. Erryl had to duck at the trajectory, nearly being clipped as the Mayor flew overhead. The man crashed violently into a wall of books, breaking several shelves. The impact knocked nearly every book off the wall.

Erryl scrambled to his feet, climbed over the seat, and fell to his knees, checking to see if Corrigan was even alive.

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” Erryl hissed.

“He was going to kill you.”

Erryl searched for signs of life. Corrigan was dazed, barely alert. Perhaps his head had hit the wall. His bell had been thoroughly rung.

Shit.

“I almost had him, I’ll have you know. He would have paid us.”

“He wasn’t going to pay us, and you knew that, Barber. You wanted your silly little mystery.”

“It can be two things!”

A whistle from outside grabbed their attention. They both turned to look back at the window, spotting Corea looking into the room.

“Fucking Hells,” she whispered.

Erryl glanced back at Fang, who looked at him. The Wolf was breathing heavily.

“One of us is going to have to talk to her about her language,” Erryl said.

Fang grunted and picked up the crossbow from the floor where the Mayor had been standing. He held it up. As Corrigan wielded it, it appeared large and deadly. As Fang held it, it looked like a toy.

“Do you want this?” the Wolf asked.

“The poor man has had it hard enough already. I’d prefer not to steal his things.”

Fang dropped the crossbow to the ground with a bored expression, and the crossbow clattered loudly on the hardwood. 

“Fine.”

Erryl watched Fang stomp off to the door to the house, still breathing hard. It was a minor bloodlust. Erryl observed the chaos of the room, ensured the Mayor was still alive, and rose to his feet, following. He paused at the side of the seat where he had been sitting. A single crossbow bolt was buried in the wooden frame.

…

The shattering of glass threw Eghart into a panic. The clamor pulled him away from a warm bed and into the early morning air. Erupting from behind a building and onto the main thoroughfare, he saw the werewolf climbing through the window into Gorval’s office. Eghart hadn’t equipped himself for the day as he had paid Elspeth his usual visit, still lacing up his trousers as he watched the attack.

Shirtless and bootless, he ran to the scene, fists clenched and heart beating fast. As he approached, he spotted the waif from the inn step up toward the window. The fucking girl with the dead brother brought this on. He wondered if he could get away with beating her to death for the trouble, even if she were Corrigan’s niece.

He arrived in front of the house just as the werewolf had stepped to the front door on his way back out – Eghart had never wanted a spear with him in his whole life more so than the moment he locked eyes with the beastman. Without a moment’s hesitation, Eghart tore up the broken steps and threw his body at the werewolf’s midsection, bowling the beastman over.

The man and the wolf collapsed into a heap in the foyer as Eghart began pummeling. The wolf’s grip on the door had ripped it from the frame, and it fell on them both, creating a bizarre pile of man, beast, and wood. Eghart elbowed the door, sending it sliding to the floor with a clatter, and he continued to rain blows upon the beast.

…

The speed and intensity of the fists had caught Fang off guard. The weight of the pale man did not help, either. Fang had thought the man was fat, clearly heavy, but this weight was dense; it was pure muscle, and the strength the man carried was transferred from punch to punch. Each violent impact on his face and neck sent the back of Fang’s skull smashing into the wooden floor. The blows kept coming, steady now, as the man dug his fingers deep into the soft hide that covered Fang’s throat. The man was smart, choking him to the best of his ability, and stabilizing himself for maximum leverage on each punch.

This was a real fight. It had been a while. Fang was thrilled. 

As another heavy blow came down toward Fang’s face, the werewolf swung a massive arm to block it, colliding with the pale man’s arm, throwing him off balance, and resulting in him collapsing onto Fang. The sudden shift of weight was rough, but the instability allowed Fang to lift his right shoulder from the floor and turn over, pinning the large man between his body and the stairwell.

Fang rocked the opposite direction, creating space and scrambling to his feet as best he could as the pads on his fingers and toes slid around. Fang had to dig his claws into the floor outright to gain some traction, using a wall as a handhold to rise to his feet. Aloft, finally, he glanced at a dumbfounded Erryl and smiled at him. Hot blood trickled around the edges of his mouth. It tasted good.

Fang stepped over and grabbed the wrist of the pale man, and with a sudden jerk pulled him from the floor, hurling him out the front door into the mud and grass. With luck, his shoulder would be dislocated.

…

Eghart had never been airborne before. The sensation was alien, but he could barely dwell on it as he hit the ground after two seconds. The mud and grass had cushioned the blow, barely, but it still took the wind out of him.

He lay on his back, breathing out the force of the impact. It didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt Eghart. But the impact was still felt, physically,  like a laden cart hitting a wall. The ringing in his ears began to fade, and he rolled himself over to his knees, rising from the ground as the wolf hopped from the porch to the damp earth, his weight generating a pile of mud at his feet. Eghart looked up at him, spat up blood, and slowly shifted his weight, raising to meet the wolf. 

The wolf nodded, unlatching his cloak. Beneath the cloak was a sizable length of heavy iron chain, which the wolf also discarded. Lastly, the tremendous broadsword that had been lashed to the back of his leather vest collapsed on the pile of chain and fabric.

Eghart flexed his fingers and wrists, loosening up. He slid his heavy right forearm across his mouth to sop up as much blood as possible. He repeated the same with his left arm, leaving red smears across pale skin. Raising his arms, he took a defensive stance, his fists raised, poised to strike.

“Is that all you have, dog?”

The wolf flexed his own fingers and then closed his fists.

Neither of them moved for several moments, sizing one another up.

Eghart was not a small man. He was taller than most, but the wolf towered over him by at least a head. It was intimidating, especially given the monstrosity that stood before him. But Mulluck Eghart knew monsters. He’d been one most of his life.

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