Something between anger and anxiety tore through him as he walked, as if every ounce of blood in his body had been set to boil. He strode through the cobblestone square as he tried to cast the memory of the girl from his mind. By the time he reached the edge of the town, he realised that his eyes were filled with tears.
Chapter 3:
Another Seed
Even as he lay in the darkness, writhing with pain, the Pyromancer dreamt the same dream that had haunted him all his life. He found himself entombed once more in that terrible coffin made from flesh, gradually filling with blood. He knew that crying for help would do no good, so Fionn the Red simply waited until he was fully submerged. Then he drowned again just as he had done so many times before.
***
The road took Farris eastwards from Roseán, through a dying countryside. Dark trees flanked the path, with leaves in decay at their roots, and little life left upon their branches.
There was certainly a strange sort of peace in this side of the country, far from the politics of Cruachan and the steam of Penance. Life must be so simple, with only the weather and crops to worry about.
Except when the occasional troll comes lumbering out from the Glenn.
Farris attempted to shake the thought from his mind, but it wouldn’t leave him. How often would smallfolk be forced to deal with a death as brutal as that child’s mother’s? And even if the Silverback did go to war, how badly could a conflict between Man and Simian affect a life as simple as this?
No, I cannot trivialise the threat of a civil war. This madness must be stopped before the first seed is sown.
Even in the silver light of the crescent moon, Farris barely noticed that the trees had grown more numerous around him as the path meandered into a forest. Tufts of grass now speckled the ground, growing upwards between cracks in the stone.
The king had another spy stationed in Penance. We were supposed to meet him once the ship docked at Sin. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too late to track him down. Indeed, the king had said that he would be disguised as a druid—that alone was a very uncommon sight in the City of Steam.
As his mind rolled through the possible scenarios involving the Silverback’s men and the false preacher, it took Farris longer than usual to feel that something was not right. The forest was absent of life, with no sound but the wind rustling through bare branches. The hair across Farris’s shoulders stood on end, and gooseflesh emerged on his forearms.
He paused and quickly examined his surroundings. The ground on either side of the path sloped upwards, like the sides of a valley. The trees were thickest along the tops of the hills and would make for a perfect spot for an ambush.
Farris cursed under his breath. Although he had a small dagger concealed inside his pack, it certainly wouldn’t help if he was already being watched.
I should have been more prepared.
“I know you’re there,” he called out. “If its gold you want, I have plenty. But I cannot give you any if you stay hidden.”
In an instant, the forest came to life. Three men emerged from a hedgerow just beyond the path, and two more armed with crossbows appeared from atop a hill.
“There’s no need to hurt yourself,” said one of the three men as he approached. He held an iron spear in both hands, the tip pointing towards Farris’s chest. “Hand over whatever you’ve got, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Of course,” said Farris. He slowly took the pack off his shoulder. “I have no reason to start any trouble.” His eyes remained fixed on the spear.
Intimidating, yes, but not very practical for close combat.
The other two, although also armed, were far from intimidating. One held an iron dagger with the blade pointing upwards as if it were a butter knife. The other wielded a longsword, but his grip was far too tight for complex manoeuvring. The only foes that gave Farris pause were the two crossbow men on the hill, but even they would only have one shot apiece. Not counting reloading, of course.
“Your armour is fine for a highwayman,” said Farris to the first bandit. “Have you been stealing from Simian soldiers lately?”
“That’s none of your damn business, rat! Just hand over the bag and we’ll let you go on your way.” He thrusted the spear dangerously near Farris’s face.
“You’re using your weapon wrong,” said Farris, keeping his voice clear and calm. “A spear has little use outside of a phalanx.” He fastened his grip on his pack. “Good for hunting, perhaps, but you’d need a fairly good throwing arm. Have you thrown a javelin before?”
Before the bandit had a chance to react, Farris shoved the spear downwards. It took little effort to force it to drop, and its momentum caused his attacker to lose balance. Farris leapt forward and grabbed the spearman by the throat. As soon as he heard the sound of bolts being loosed, Farris shoved the bandit towards the direction of the crossbowmen. One bolt caught the rogue between the shoulder blades, the other went whizzing over Farris’s head.
He dropped the spearman and faced the other two. They came at him together, from either side. The first swung his sword towards Farris, but he hopped backwards to avoid it. As the sword’s weight carried the bandit through its arc, Farris hurled his pack into the bandit’s face. Though not heavy enough to do damage, it did loosen the bandit’s grip on the sword. With a quick strike of Farris’s open palm against his chest, the bandit’s weapon fell to the ground.
The second attacker thrusted towards Farris with the dagger, swinging it too widely to be of any threat. Farris evaded one swing easily and anticipated the next before it came. When it did, Farris grabbed the bandit’s wrist and struck his forearm. The sound of snapping bone was enough to give the two crossbowmen pause in their reloading.
“Do you think your next bolt will reach me before I reach you?” called Farris. He moved forward, deftly picking the spear from the ground as he went. The two marksmen fled at the sight, not looking back at the comrades they abandoned.
“You should visit Penance,” Farris said to the others on the ground. “There is some honour amongst the thieves there.”
Only the bandit armed with the longsword seemed to hear him, for the spearman lay dead, and the other was more concerned with the bloodied bone jutting out from his skin.
“What makes you any different than us?” stammered the swordsman. He reached out for his dropped weapon, but Farris drove the spear’s head into his wrist. The Simian leaned in towards the bandit, who howled in pain.
“I fight for a better cause,” Farris whispered, twisting the spear.
Farris fetched his pack, and deftly threw it over his shoulder.
“Best to keep your voices down,” he called out as he left. “If the wolves aren’t drawn in by your scent, they’ll sure as Sin hear your squealing.”
***
The night had deepened when time Farris reached Point Grey. Dark clouds blanketed the sky, blocking out the light of the moon. Still, the town’s huge stone wall was easily visible, with torches burning by the gates. Two guards stood at its base and regarded Farris with caution as he approached. Farris switched his stride to a limp.
“Bandits,” Farris rasped, letting more pain than he felt linger in his words. “Highwaymen on the Sandy Road attacked me as I travelled.”
“And what has you walking the Sandy Road so late in the first place?” said one guard.
Farris groaned. He held a hand against his waist, as if nursing a wound. “Can’t you see that I’m in dire need of medical attention? What danger do you think I could cause your people in this state?”
