Planet Zar: Nexus
Love & Duty
Something was wrong in the world. While the animals were fleeing, the little town swaddled in the arms of the forest had done nothing but grow over the past months. An influx of new residents, refugees, from farther out in the western provinces. Ganbaatar had made note of them during his brief visits through civilization, watched them carefully, and determined the lot were safe enough. Perhaps they were the reason for the shortage of plump hares and slick trout. More mouths to feed.
The rabbit he watched flicked its ears up, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. Ganbaatar held his breath and notched an arrow against his bow.
A twig cracked.
The rabbit bolted, dashing into the cover of brambles.
Ganbaatar lowered his bow and returned the arrow safely to his quiver. "You'd do well not to sneak, young master."
"Mister Gan." A child's voice quivered behind him.
Ganbaatar turned and blanched at the sight. Pelgrin, the tailor's son, with dirty tear tracks down his cheeks and clothes sooty and torn. He trembled. Scratches abraded his cheeks and hands from the thornbushes, but his face was so pale as to be nearly bloodless.
Ganbaatar rushed to his side, crouching before him and gripping the boy's arms. "What's happened?"
"There's a monster in the village! I was sent to fetch you but you weren't at home."
How long had it been terrorizing the townsfolk?
"Go back to my cabin," Ganbaatar barked, surging to his feet and drawing arrows from his quiver once more, snug between his fingers. They were lithe and simply sharp, meant for hunting small game, but they'd suffice. "Stay there until I get you."
He didn't wait to see the boy off. Ganbaatar barreled through the wood toward Breford, skittering over slick moss as he raced down hill. Birds alighted sporadically, but he ignored them as he ran, heart racing, sweat prickling his brow. He swung through the edge of the wood with an arrow readied at his bow. A cacophony of shouts rang clear from the town, cut by the belching shriek of a manticore's hideous laughter. A manticore. Against villagers who knew how to defend from wolves and bandits by sheer number and adequate practice with farming equipment and kitchen utensils. They'd never stand a chance.
Ganbaatar slowed only enough to keep his steps silent, sliding like a shadow between townhouses and streets. They were empty but for a few pairs of worried eyes peeking out of windows. Good. He'd have fewer civilians to worry about if they all stayed indoors.
The shouting came to a raucous crescendo as Ganbaatar twisted around the smithy. The beast loomed in the street, spreading its tattered wings so the tip of each brushed the nearest building. Its humanoid face wrenched itself in a facsimile of amusement, rows of pointed teeth on grinning display. The smithy and his apprentice stood before it, swords in hand, thrusting and waving just beyond the distance of its massive paws.
Ganbaatar loosed an arrow.
The beast's laugh turned into a snarl as the arrow pierced the soft leather of its wing.
"There are no meals for you here." Ganbaatar wheeled around the corner and fired again, striking the manticore's slashing paw. "Leave or die."
"Little goblin!" the manticore shrieked with laughter. "Playing with little sticks! I'll eat you last." It leapt.
Ganbaatar threw himself in front of the smithy and fired again. The arrow pierced the manticore's chest, but it was a small, shallow wound. The creature slapped the arrow shaft loose and bellowed.
"Can you handle this?" asked the smithy.
"Yes, go!" Ganbaatar shoved her and her apprentice toward the nearest street.
Pain lanced through his nerves like fire and he jerked forward. Claws tore into his tunic and ripped his flesh. The manticore reeled him toward its open jaws, teeth gleaming with acid spit. Ganbaatar dropped his bow and groped for one of his swords. Hot breath oozed over him. He drew his sword and stabbed blindly forward. A gush of steaming blood sprayed across his face. The manticore's grip loosened and Ganbaatar shoved his way free, stumbling against the cobblestones.
"Pest!" the manticore snarled, spitting blood from the slash across its mouth. "I will crush you."
It spun, lashing its spiked tail toward him. Ganbaatar scrambled back, throwing up an arm to cover his face. Spikes loosened from the manticore's tail, and although Ganbaatar avoided the bludgeon, the sharp sting of needling pain raced up his forearm where a dozen thick thorns shot into him. He staggered, lip curled, and spun to adjust his balance. The manticore gleamed at him, all bloody teeth and smiles, and lashed its tail with a sharp snap.
"No shield? No armor?" he hissed. "Poor little goblin."
The manticore's reach far exceeded Ganbaatar's and without his bow, he was at a loss to protect himself with distance. He drew his second sword instead and took a step back. His pulse was steady and calm, the world bright and focused. The pain was sharp and fresh, but it did not ache his muscles. Not yet.
The manticore huffed and leaped away from him, landing on the roof of the potter's house. The shingled creaked and crumbled under its weight. "Why fight you when there is more tender meat?" It licked its chops and smashed a paw through the potter's wooden window panes. A startled scream escaped.
Ganbaatar jabbed a sword toward the beast - which made it rumble with laughter, so far above him - but its chortles cut to surprised silence. Ganbaatar had little magic, but he drew on it now, letting crude rope burst from his arms and down the length of his sword, curling like a whip around the manticore's leg. He yanked. The shingles cracked and slid. The manticore scrambled for balance a moment, then took wing, whirling on Ganbaatar with spitting rage and blood. It snarled and dove for him.
Ganbaatar dismissed the snare and readied his swords.
The manticore hit him like a boulder, crushing the air from him. He gasped. Teeth sank into his flesh and pain alighted everywhere. The ground drop away from him. His head smacked against the pavement with a burst of black lights. The stink and heat of the manticore smothered him. Ganbaatar roared and shoved his blades upward. Hot blood spilled over him. The beast shrieked around Ganbaatar's arm. Its tail flailed. Glass shattered over their heads. Ganbaatar thrust his swords deeper and twisted them.
The manticore fell limp. Ganbaatar fell suit a second later, wheezing for sips of air.
Light dwindled, or perhaps it was his vision, and something cool pressed around his fingers, easing them from his swords. In a moment, the crushing weight eased away and the blinding orange of the midday sun swam into view.
"We've got you," said Imroden, the potter, as Eryn the smithy pulled Ganbaatar upright by his arms. "You did just fine, my boy."
The Absent Goat was a modest in that saw a regular influx of customers but rarely had what could be considered a "busy night", but it was teetering toward crowded that evening as half of Breford popped in and out with fanfare and tidbits that Ganbaatar couldn't decline without causing hurt feelings. He was stripped from the waist up with Hildo Buck (Breford's foremost physician) perched on a stool bench over Ganbaatar's shredded shoulder, needle and thread in hand. Ganbaatar nursed a swig of pale ale to staunch the pain, grimacing from the taste and the needle-poke both.
"We haven't seen manticores in these parts for years," said Eryn, frowning into her own beer. "Something odd's been happening around here."
Ganbaatar considered mentioning the lack of animals in the woods, but held his tongue. There were strangers in the inn, but not so many as the regular townsfolk Ganbaatar had grown to know. A few unfamiliar faces, unfamiliar races, watching curiously. A few had offered quiet thanks, but most kept to themselves. None of them looked like warriors of any sort, but they weren't near as shaken as Breford's usuals. Things were happening in the world beyond the wood, but Ganbaatar wanted no part of it.
The door chimed. Ganbaatar, unable to turn with Hildo's stitching his side, quirked an ear for the tread of footsteps. Two sets. One steady and confident, the other less-so. He spotted the softer person first as the pair stepped up to the bar. A canine-like humanoid, female, dressed sensibly and watching everything with an intense hyper-focus that made Ganbaatar's skin prickle. She seemed young and unarmed, but Ganbaatar rarely let his guard down in the presence of strangers.
"Some wine, please," said the second person, obscured by the first. "For myself and my companion."
The voice grumbled familiarity. Ganbaatar wrenched himself to the side, causing Hildo to hiss and snap his thread. It couldn't be... no one knew where he'd gone. No one knew what he'd tried to make of himself since that bloody day on War's battlefield.
The bearer of the familiar voice accepted two glasses of cheap red wine and leaned back so his face was in view. He turned, deliberate and slow, and met Ganbaatar's gaze.
"Imar," Ganbaatar hissed. His eyes fell to the crest at Imar's throat, the entwined sword and axe, symbol of Direkes, formerly a God of War. And now nothing. Nothing to Ganbaatar and nothing to the powers of Lomeelas. Ganbaatar slid from his stool and set a bandaged hand on the hilt of his sword. "You let these people fight against a manticore and did nothing?"
Quiet fell over The Absent Goat.
Imar - a tall, dark man of elven heritage, dressed head to toe in armor that had once been fine quality - bent and whispered something to his canid companion. She nodded and stepped away.
"I would have interfered if someone was likely to receive a mortal injury. You didn't take long after they sent the children off to find you."
Imar held his wine glass with both hands, stem and cup. Ganbaatar eyed the sword hanging from his belt.
"And," Imar continued. "I needed to draw you out."
"You led it here?" Ganbaatar seethed, fangs bared. He wanted nothing more than to draw his sword and quarter Imar from where he stood. But he didn't do that sort of thing, not anymore. Slaying beasts was one thing, but Ganbaatar did not kill men out of rage or vengeance. He didn't draw swords against men he once stood shoulder-to-shoulder with on the battlefield.
But he might make an exception.
"No, but I followed it." Imar cast a long glance over the inn's patrons. They'd quieted to whispers, but most eyes were on them. "Perhaps we could talk somewhere private?"
"We don't need to talk at all." Ganbaatar snatched his tunic from the counter and shucked it on over half-finished stitches. "I'm leaving."
"Not going to tell us to leave?" said Imar, eyebrows raised.
"I don't own the bar." Ganbaatar fetched a few silver pieces from his pocket and slapped them on the counter. Normally, Basi the innkeeper would have protested after a day like to today, but everyone was still and silent with the tension in the air. "It could do with the patronage."
"Cassimir's hand will reach your little town too, Ganbaatar. You can't hide from him forever."
The name made Ganbaatar's hair stand on end. He'd avoided any thought of it for years. He met Imar's eyes, mouth twisted in a snarl. "I'm not hiding from him."
"You love these people. Do you want to see them dead?" Imar paused. "Destroyed, utterly? Like our-"
Ganbaatar shoved Imar into the bar. He wished there was something better to grab onto than hard steel, but he relented in curling his fist against Imar's sternum. "Not here."
"Somewhere private," said Imar, with a stony nod.
Ganbaatar flicked his gaze to Basi, who merely offered a worried nod and pointed down the hall.
"I'll have some food and drink sent to you," she said, bravely keeping her voice steady.
Ganbaatar muttered thanks and shoved away from Imar, striding toward the first-floor rooms, his gait stiff from more than just his recent injuries. The Absent Goat's rooms were small and the walls nothing more than thin planks of old wood, but he couldn't have this conversation with the townsfolk's eyes on him. The room contained a single small cot, large enough for a human, a rickety wooden table, and one chair. Ganbaatar took the chair and watched with a stony glare as Imar and his canine companion followed in. Imar shut the door and stood, while the woman took a seat on the cot and watched, silent but intense.
"The gods-"
Ganbaatar scoffed.
Imar's face crumpled in a scowl. "They are still gods and Cassimir hasn't destroyed all their temples."
The unspoken ‘yet' hang heavy between them.
"The gods, then." Ganbaatar waved a hand for him to continue.
"The gods are forming a coalition in order to remove Cassimir from power. They've set aside old grudges. They need armies again, Ganbaatar."
"They shouldn't have sent them to be slaughtered, then." Cold steel prickled through Ganbaatar's spine, worse than the bite of the manticore, more gripping than his fear for Breford's inhabitants. Flashes of darkness and flame, glittering red scales, the screams of soldiers as they were decimated and broken around him. Ganbaatar squeezed his eyes shut. "There's nothing you need me for."
"You were our captain." Imar swept across the room and dropped to one knee before Ganbaatar. "Things would have been worse without you. None of us would have survived."
"Direkes asked us to fight children."
"They were monsters."
"He didn't know that!" The pain twisting up his side told him he'd stood before he'd even realized he'd knocked his chair back. "I won't fight for anyone - god or mortal - that thinks so little of others' lives."
Imar rose to his feet. "How are you going to save your town when Cassimir arrives?"
Cassimir's army didn't slaughter completely, he took prisoners, but Ganbaatar's memories of those black days where he was at the god's mercy were worse than any moment on the battlefield. He would not subject Breford to that. He'd hoped the little town would be inconsequential to Cassimir. He'd ignored the disparate newcomers seeking refuge in Breford, how they were also village-folk, farmers and simple people with simple lives. Cassimir was destroying everything - or he'd lost control of his beasts.
"War's army lost against two of his monsters," said Ganbaatar. "Cassimir must have more by now. How are any of us supposed to defeat them, with or without the gods?"
A small, enigmatic cough lit from the opposite side of the room.
Ganbaatar shifted his gaze to the canine-woman.
"I believe I have a solution for you," she said, poised. "I needed to know if you'd be suitable, but Payunth and I both believe you'd do well."
Ganbaatar frowned. "Well at what?"
The woman's maw split into a grin. "Standing at a clutch for your own dragon. An Imperial Court."
"I was asked to find you specifically," said Imar. "We need our captain back, and this is the best chance we have at fighting Cassimir."
Ganbaatar didn't want to be a captain again. He wanted to live his life in the woods, trapping and fishing, exchanging his wears with quiet townsfolk. He wanted to leave war and blood and beasts far behind him and never have to mutter the name of another god again.
He drew himself up. "I'm doing it for Breford, for the people. Not for the gods."