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Thurk and his companions waited by the window of the saloon’s front room as night fell. Elizabeth had spoken truthfully—no one had stayed in this room for quite a while. A thick layer of dust and cobwebs lay over almost every surface, including the two beds. Luckily, Thurk had no intention of sleeping this night.
For hours they waited, sipping on beers from the bar downstairs and chewing on more of A’tiami’s antelope jerky. The moon trekked its way slowly across the night sky, as full and round as a plate of fine china.
From across town, they could see the faint glow of a lantern arising from beneath O’Toole’s door. Every once in a while, a dark shadow moved from one side of the door to the other.
Just before midnight, Galmar spoke, “Our friend is coming out.”
Sure enough, the sheriff’s door swung open, casting light out over the steps and into the street. Holding a lantern in his hand, the old man stepped out into the night and closed the door behind himself.
“Alright boys, let’s get after him,” Thurk said.
A’tiami grabbed the orc by the arm as he made to leave, “Wait, Ranger. I have not told you everything.”
“What is it, A’tiami?”
“There is a legend in these lands... A monster who is sustained by offerings given to it by its followers.” A’tiami lowered his voice, “I fear that we may now face this monster.”
“Why did you not say something sooner?”
“I feared that you would not believe me, that you would just write it off as the superstitious ravings of a savage. It is why I could not turn back this morning, I could not leave you to face this thing alone knowing nothing of it.”
“What manner of beast is it?” Thurk asked.
“I do not know, truly. It has only ever been spoken of in rare whispers. But... live for one and a half centuries and the whispers tend to add up. All I know is that it is ancient, and it is powerful.”
Galmar grumbled, “Yer sayin’ this thing is some kind o’ god?”
“I do not know, but it is possible.”
Thurk looked back out the window. O’Toole’s lantern was becoming fainter as he walked off into the desert. “Either way, we have to find out what O’Toole is doing. Whether this has something to do with this beast of which you speak or not, that man knows something we don’t.”
At Thurk’s words, they left their room and headed down the steps into the bar area. Elizabeth was nowhere to be found, most likely having already turned in for the night.
The bar was dark, as was the rest of the town. Where most such places would be filled with laughter and piano song at this time of night, the saloon in Gaynesville was as quiet as the grave. Something had broken in this little town.
Thurk, Galmar, and A’tiami mounted quickly and rode out after the old sheriff.
“He headed straight for the boneyard, what do you take that to mean?” Thurk asked.
“I take it to mean he’s a sick old bastard,” Galmar answered, following closely behind the orc.
Carrying no lanterns to avoid revealing themselves to their quarry, the companions picked up his trail by his office. After following it for less than a quarter-mile, Thurk’s assessment of the sheriff’s direction of travel was proven correct.
Soon, the flickering light of a lantern became apparent, and Thurk pulled up on Bluebell’s reins, slowing her down and turning off the trail.
“We are close to the boneyard,” the orc said. “Let’s get a vantage point somewhere and see just what O’Toole is up to.”
“Follow me—we can get right on top of him without him even realizing,” A’tiami urged his white horse past Thurk and rode parallel to O’Toole’s tracks before turning off and heading up a steep incline.
The Na’anti boy was right; they were less than twenty yards away from the bones in the dry creek bed and looking down onto them. The smell of the place was overwhelming, even from here.
They all dismounted, leaving their mounts nearby and crouched down to wait. Before long, O’Toole arrived.
The old sheriff picked his way over the dry ground carefully, making his way to the edge of the bone pile. There, he stopped, placing his lantern on the ground and peering down at the bones.
Slowly, O’Toole leaned over and lifted a small skull from the pile and held it before his face.
In this way, the old man stood for quite a while. Eventually, he carefully replaced the tiny skull on the pile and retrieved his lantern. After a few more moments, he finally turned away and began walking back toward town.
Once the man was out of earshot, Galmar let out a heavy breath, “What the ‘ell?”
“That was... strange...” A’tiami said.
Thurk rubbed his thumb over one of his tusks and stared out after the sheriff. “Was it just me, or was he crying?”
“No two ways about it, that one’s a sick freak,” Galmar said.
“You think he was crying from guilt?”
“Who knows why monsters do what they do? I say we follow ‘im now and get this over with ‘fore the sun comes up.”
Thurk shook his head, “No, we’ll confront him tomorrow, in the light of day. Who knows what we’re dealing with here.”
“Whatever you say, orc,” Galmar said.
O’Toole walking all the way out to the creek bed under the cover of darkness had surely been an unusual sight, but it was not a direct indictment. Thurk knew this, but something still did not quite fit into the puzzle. In all his years as a Ranger, solving mysteries and protecting people all across the west, he had never been invited to investigate by the very person committing the crime.
It would all be figured out in the morning, Thurk supposed.
––––––––
A SHRILL CRY BROKE the air, awakening Thurk from his slumber. He had fallen asleep upon the floor of their room at the saloon. The orc had been more tired than he cared to admit. Lately, traveling had a way of getting right down to his bones.
A’tiami and Galmar, too, had fallen asleep. Now they rose with grunts of surprise.
Thurk picked himself up quickly and peered out the window. There was some commotion across town at the sheriff’s office. More people than he had seen in their whole time in this town had crowded around the front porch. From here, Thurk could not see what it was that had them all riled up.
Grabbing his rifle from where it lay upon one dusty bed and scooping his hat off the floor, Thurk hurried for the door. “Come on, you two, something’s going on over at O’Toole’s.”
“Perhaps they mean to string the fool up themselves, and we’ve come all this way fer nothin’,” Galmar said.
“Can’t know till we get there.”
Thurk’s two companions followed him as he took the stairs two at a time and burst through the front doors of the saloon. Moving at a brisk jog, he headed straight for the sheriff’s office.
A few people turned to see as Thurk and his friends approached. They seemed like tired people, and they had surely led hard lives. Dust and grime clung to them like second skins, and the shadows under their eyes were just as deep as O’Toole’s.
Thurk pushed his way through the small crowd who issued a few grumbles of protest. Once he had made his way through, he saw what it was that they had discovered.
O’Toole’s feet hung two feet clear of the ground. A few feet away, a stool lay overturned on the wooden porch. The old man’s tall hat also lay discarded on the ground beneath him.
His face had turned purple, and the tips of his fingers were bloody and raw where he had clawed at the noose around his neck. A slight breeze rocked his body ever so slightly from side to side.
Thurk sniffed the air, drawing deeply. O’Toole had not been dead long. He had killed himself just before sunrise, it seemed. The flies had not yet begun to gather about his mouth and eyes.
Thurk turned back to the crowd. Elizabeth from the saloon stood front and center. Despite it being so early in the morning, the woman had already combed her dark hair and applied her red makeup.
“Who found the sheriff’s body?” Thurk asked.
A man stepped forward, and Thurk immediately recognized him as the one who had been sitting at Elizabeth’s bar the day before. “It was me that found him.”
“Have you touched anything?”
“No, not me, and nobody else.”
“Good. Now, everyone, stand back! I don’t want anyone coming near this place until I’ve concluded my investigation.”
“I’ll conclude it for ya!” someone yelled. “The old fool killed himself!”
“Yeah, and who are you, anyway? Mama always said you couldn’t trust an orc!” Another cried. A few others in the crowd nodded their heads.
Thurk tapped the star on his chest, “I am Thurk Gutarg, and I am an Albara Ranger. Sheriff O’Toole called on us to help solve the disappearances in your town.”
Everyone went silent at that, some even looked down at the ground.
Elizabeth stepped forward. “Thurk is a good man, and he means to help us! So how about we all just do as he says and stay clear of the sheriff’s place for a bit?”
The townsfolk nodded at that. They trusted Elizabeth. The saloon owner was the closest thing people in a town this small had to a mayor.
“I thank you, Elizabeth,” Thurk said.
The woman smiled back at the orc, “Anything to find out what happened to my dear Aime.”
Thurk stepped forward with his arms out to his sides. “Alright everyone, go back to your homes. Nothing more for you to see here.”
The townsfolk wandered off one by one, slowly disappearing into their everyday routines. Elizabeth was the last to leave, she cast Thurk a smile and a wave before stepping into the street and heading back toward the saloon.
“Alright, you two check inside for anything out of the ordinary, and I’ll check his body,” Thurk addressed his two companions.
They followed his instruction, stepping into the sheriff’s office and leaving Thurk alone with the body. The orc began peering more closely at the corpse, looking for anything strange.
Thurk was not sure what he was looking for, not exactly, but he knew that something did not seem right about all of this. Of course, it was possible that O’Toole had merely killed himself out of guilt, but Thurk was never the type to take things at face value.
Turning his attention to O’Toole’s leather boots, Thurk noticed that red dust from the dried creek bed still covered them. Some of the dust had also drifted to land on the ground beneath where the sheriff hung.
Thurk moved to the tipped stool and kneeled beside it. Running a finger over the seat of the stool, he brought his finger up before his eyes: Clean.
Had the jolt of the stool hitting the porch knocked the dust loose, or had O’Toole’s soles never even touched its surface?
“Ye might want to see this, orc,” Galmar’s voice broke Thurk from his focus.
It was dark inside the sheriff’s office, and Thurk’s eyes took a few moments to adjust. Once they did, he immediately noticed that the place was different than it had been the day before.
The waste bin had been overturned and thrown against one wall, and papers were scattered all about the room. On the sheriff’s desk lay his badge and gun.
Thurk walked over and lifted the gun from its place. It was very similar to his own; a six-gun revolver. It had been cleaned and unloaded before O’Toole had put it down here. The badge, too, looked to have been polished.
To Thurk, it looked like a resignation.
“Looks like he went nuts in ‘ere,” Galmar said.
“Maybe he was attacked,” Thurk answered.
“By who? Besides, he did no’ look hurt, and there’s no blood about the place.”
A’tiami interrupted their conversation with a shout from the back of the office, “Quick! Come look!”
Thurk rushed over to the boy who was holding a small book in his hands. He handed the thing over to Thurk as he arrived, and the orc opened it.
“I found it beneath this loose floorboard,” A’tiami said, nudging the floor with his foot.
Thurk thumbed through the pages. “It’s a book of names.”
Indeed, it was. There were dozens of names in the book. Some had been crossed out, others were circled or starred. One stood out, though: Elizabeth Walsh. O’Toole had underlined and circled Elizabeth’s name.
“I don’t know what all this means...” Thurk said. “We should have gone after the sheriff last night. Now we can’t get any info from him.”
A’tiami leaned over and, again, pulled back the loose floorboard, “Wait—there is something else here.”
Reaching inside, he pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper. On it, in O’Toole’s scrawling hand, was written: SETTLERS RIDGE.
“What is Settlers Ridge?” Thurk asked.
“It is not far from here. A little stand of trees grows there, and there are some small caves. My people stay away... The aura in that place is... It is not friendly.”
“We need to go there today and see what it was that O’Toole found.”
“What about our friend out on the porch?” Galmar asked.
“He’s not going anywhere, and he’s not telling us anything useful now.”
Telling no one they were leaving, the three companions rode out of town toward Settlers Ridge. A’tiami lead the way, yet again. Not for the first time, Thurk realized how lucky they had been to run into the local boy.
The fact that he was a hundred-and-fifty-year-old half-elf with extensive knowledge of local places and mythology was just an unexpected bonus.
Within a few hours, they were approaching a small grouping of trees that grew upon a low ridge. As A’tiami had said, dark spots were visible along the ridge where caves disappeared into the earth.
Instantly, Thurk caught a strange scent on the air. It smelled much like the boneyard closer to town, only much older. The scent seemed ingrained into the very earth here. Even Galmar wrinkled his nose in disgust.
“I’ve spent a lot of time in caves, an’ I never smelled nothin’ like that,” the dwarf said.
“I told you... This is a dark place,” A’tiami said.
The smell only became stronger as they got closer to the ridge. Soon, Thurk was forced to pull his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and hold it over his mouth and nose.
Vultures circled the sky above, though even they dared not land.
Leaving their horses tied close to the trees, the three companions dismounted and continued toward the caves on foot. The ground was rocky and uneven, so they picked their way across the landscape carefully.
Reaching the mouth of the first cave, Thurk peered inside. The day’s light projected a few feet into the cave's mouth, but that was only as far as it needed to go.
It was full of bones, most much older than those in the creek bed. These, too, had been gnawed, and many had been cracked open to reach the marrow inside.
The smell of tobacco clung to the edges of every scent in the place. It was not the strongest—not by far—but it lingered there still.
Thurk’s hand went immediately to the amulet which hung around his neck. If he ever needed the protection which his mother claimed it provided, that time was now.
A’tiami hung his head. “All this time... In my own lands, under my own nose. The stories were true.”
“What manner of beast could do this, orc?” Galmar asked.
“I don’t know, I’ve never seen anything like this,” Thurk said. “Let’s check the rest of the caves, we might find something else.”
They fanned out, checking the rest of the caves in the area. There were dozens, and each was filled with discarded remains. In all his years as a ranger, protecting the people of the west from beasts and bandits alike, Thurk had never seen such a grotesque display.
What sort of beast could have done this?
The orc ranger pulled Sheriff O’Toole’s notebook from his pocket and flipped it open. Immediately his eyes were drawn to Elizabeth’s name. Circled and underlined twice.
Elizabeth Walsh.
The woman who smoked long narrow cigarettes as if she were a miniature smokestack.
The bartender who claimed that she had been here for as long as Gaynesville had been a town. Thurk had at first thought that had been hyperbole, but now he was not sure.
“A’tiami, how long has Gaynesville been settled?” Thurk asked.
The half-elf boy put a hand under his chin, thoughtfully. “Since I was young... Perhaps a hundred years?”
“We have to get back to town,” Thurk said.
“What is it?” Galmar asked.
“I’ve got questions for our gracious host, Elizabeth Walsh.”
Thurk lead the way back to town, spurring Bluebell on as fast as the mare could run. The orc was not sure what exactly was going on here, but he knew that Elizabeth was involved somehow. Could she be one of the followers which A’tiami spoke of, bringing offerings to the beast?
Thurk had asked Elizabeth for access to her missing daughter's room. Why had the woman refused? She had said that she wanted to allow her daughter to rest in peace. Perhaps there was a more sinister reason for her secrecy. Could there be a clue there as to what exactly was going on in Gayne County?
The sun was midway across the sky when they thundered back into Gaynesville. Thurk dismounted in front of the saloon before Bluebell had even slowed to a stop.
Pulling his rifle from where it hung on the saddle, Thurk summited the steps to the saloon and pushed the door open with the barrel. Carefully, he moved in behind his gun, posting around the corner.
The saloon was dimly lit, even at this time of day. Sunlight slanted in through small dusty windows, casting in barely enough to see by. One foot ahead of the other, Thurk stepped over the old wooden floorboards. They creaked loudly with every step.
“Elizabeth!” Thurk cried. “If you’re in here, come on out! I just need to talk.”
No answer came from the empty saloon.
“What’re ye thinkin’ orc?” Galmar asked.
“I do not know yet,” Thurk said. “But we need to have a look in Aime’s room. I have a feeling that there’s a lot Elizabeth hasn’t told us.”
Single file, they made their way up the steps toward the rooms above. Thurk took the lead, still holding his rifle to his shoulder.
Elizabeth’s room was the one at the end of the hall, Thurk knew. The closest door to that one was locked with a large brass padlock and a chain: Aime’s room.
Thurk moved to the door and grabbed the padlock in his hands. It was heavy and well made, there was no way he was cracking it open with the butt of his gun.
Letting the lock drop back into place, Thurk aimed his rifle for it.
Before Thurk could fire, Galmar put up his hand. “I’ve got this, orc, stand back.”
Thurk obliged, stepping out of the way.
Leaving his shield on his back, the stocky dwarf lifted his axe in both hands and brought the blade crashing down onto the padlock. It shattered in one hit, falling to the ground in pieces beside the length of chain.
Thurk stepped up and moved to push open the door. Still, it would not budge.
With a slight growl, he pushed his shoulder hard into the thick wood. Still nothing.
Thurk stepped back to the other side of the hall and charged. The heavy oak door came off the hinges as he collided with it, falling inward. Dust swirled in the air, each mote glinting in the faint light which drifted in from a small window by the ceiling.
Against the far wall was a single bed, dust layered inches thick upon the blanket. Laying there on the center of the bed was Aime.
The girl had been wearing a pink dress when she had died. Judging by the size of her corpse, she had been less than five years old.
The hair on her head was black, like her mother’s.
“Gods...” Galmar performed a symbol of protection in the air with his hand.
Thurk moved to the bedside and looked down at the pink-clad corpse, leaning his rifle against the wall as he did so. The dry air had partially preserved her, though now only skin and bone remained.
“She’s been dead for decades...”
A’tiami looked up, “But that would mean-”
The floorboards creaked, though none of the men had taken a step.
“I asked you to let my daughter rest, Mister Thurk.”
The voice came from the hallway. When the three companions turned, Elizabeth was standing in the doorway. Galmar and A’tiami took a few hesitant steps backward, away from the woman.
“What is going on here Elizabeth?” Thurk asked, eyes glancing down to where his gun lay propped against the wall.
“Come now, Ranger, you’re smart enough to figure it out,” Elizabeth stepped into the room. Darkness seemed to follow her.
“You are giving sacrifices to the beast of the desert. You serve an evil deity,” Thurk said.
“Oh, very close, Mister Ranger, but not quite...”
A’tiami looked back at Thurk, “Thurk, I think-”
“What do you think, elf boy?” Elizabeth strode up to A’tiami and cupped his chin with one white hand. She brought his face up close to her own.
“How do you know that?” A’tiami stuttered.
“Because I’ve been here, A’tiami... all along.”
“Thurk! She’s-”
Elizabeth flung her arm out, and A’tiami went tumbling away as though struck by a giant. He landed in a crumpled pile by the base of the bed.
Galmar rushed the woman with a battle cry, axe in hand. But she whirled on him and lashed out. Long fingernails slashed across the dwarf’s face and he, too, went flying to the side.
Elizabeth turned back toward Thurk with a smile. The orc had grabbed his rifle and now had it aimed directly for the woman’s heart. From the corner of his eye, Thurk watched as his friends picked themselves off the floor.
“Have you figured it out yet, handsome?”
Thurk pulled back the hammer deliberately with his thumb. “You’re a beast.”
Elizabeth began to cackle, the sound filling the room and shaking dust from the ceiling. Her fingernails began to stretch into claws and she, herself, started to grow. Long fangs jutted from her mouth.
“I am not just any beast, Thurk. I am The Beast. I have stalked these lands for longer than you can imagine, and one orc ranger is not going to stop me.”
Thurk pulled the trigger, and the shot rang out along with a plume of smoke. The bullet ripped into Elizabeth’s chest, right where Thurk had been aiming.
The woman looked down at the black hole in her chest and looked back up at Thurk with a smile. Moving in a blur, she launched herself toward him with a wild scream.
Thurk dodged, and Elizabeth slammed into the wall. Long claws scratched deeply into the wood.
“Go!” Thurk screamed to his companions, rushing for the door himself.
They jumbled out into the hallway and ran for the stairs. Elizabeth’s blood-curdling scream came loud from behind.
A’tiami hit the stairs first, sliding down the long banister and rushing to the front door. He threw it open and pulled out his stone club as his two companions careened down after him.
In the gloom at the top of the staircase, Elizabeth emerged. “Run wherever you may, boys! I will find you!”
Thurk ran out into the sunlight to Bluebell’s side. Slapping the horse on her rear, he yelled, “Yah! Get out of here girl!”
The bay mare did not hesitate and galloped away immediately. Galmar and A’tiami did likewise with their own mounts.
“We’ll take cover in the sheriff’s office,” Thurk yelled, running out into the street.
As they dashed across town, many of the doors along the street were thrown open. Townsfolk came out, yelling and pointing at the three men as they ran. A few produced weapons and took aim.
Shots rang out, peppering the ground at Thurk’s feet, but he kept on running. At a cry from A’tiami, the orc turned to see the boy clutching his left arm in pain. The Na’anti were fearless warriors, though, and he kept pace.
Flying up the steps of the sheriff’s office, they pushed their way past O’Toole’s still-swinging corpse and hit the front door. After his friends had made it inside, Thurk turned around and dropped to one knee in the doorway.
His first shot sliced through the rope holding up O’Toole’s body and sent the sheriff dropping unceremoniously to the ground. Next, the orc began firing off at the townsfolk who had followed them out into the street. One man went down with a spray of blood, and the others quickly took cover behind boxes, buildings, and porches.
Across town, Elizabeth was striding out into the sunlight. As she walked, she began to change. Even from here, Thurk could hear the sound of bones popping and crackling as she grew several feet higher. Her arms stretched and grew until her fingertips scraped the ground while her legs bent and twisted until they were horribly bowed. Her dress ripped, revealing a gaunt frame beneath. Her skin was the pale blue of a drowned corpse. From her back burst two wings like those of a bat. They, too, were bent and twisted. Surely she could not use them to fly.
“Galmar! The boards on the front windows, pry them off!” Thurk yelled as he fired his rifle at the approaching monster.
The bullets cracked into Elizabeth, but she barely flinched. In response, she pointed at Thurk with a garbled roar. At her command, the tired-eyed people of Gaynesville popped out of cover and fired back at Thurk. Those without weapons leaped out and began running toward him.
Taking cover as the bullets ripped into the sheriff’s office, Thurk watched Galmar use his axe to pry the wooden boards from over the windows. A’tiami stood nearby, holding his stone club in one hand. Blood trickled from his upper left arm, but the wound did not seem fatal.
“Can you shoot?” Thurk asked the boy who was not truly a boy.
A’tiami nodded. “I can.”
Thurk tossed him his rifle and produced his own revolver from his belt, “Alright, then shoot!”
A’tiami grabbed a box of ammo from the sheriff’s desk and rushed to a window Galmar had opened. Once in position, he began firing at the people rushing towards them. There were at least three dozen townsfolk in all—more than they had thought even lived here.
“Still don’t believe in dark magic, dwarf?” A’tiami spoke between shots.
“If we make it through this, boy, I’ll believe anything ye tell me!”
Thurk returned to his cover behind the door frame and looked back out into the street. Elizabeth was about halfway across town, and those of her followers who were armed had filed out behind her as she went. Two of the unarmed runners had nearly reached the front steps.
Thurk stood, revolver held out, and stepped into the doorway. Two shots later and both enemies lay dead on the front steps. Thurk ducked back inside just in time as bullets whizzed through the air where he had stood just moments before.
The ranger had been in shootouts before, of course. But shootouts with the crazed followers of some great beast that wanted him dead? Well, that he had never experienced.
These people were not acting normal, that he was sure of.
“I think she has them in some sort of thrall!” Thurk yelled to his companions. “If we kill her, then maybe the rest will stop!”
“I saw ye shoot her—did no’ seem to care much!” Galmar yelled, lifting his shield just in time for a stray bullet to ping off it with the sound of ringing metal.
“In my experience, the best way to kill a beast is to cut off its head,” Thurk said, eyes drifting to Galmar’s axe. “Can you do it?”
“If ye get me close, aye,” Galmar nodded stoically.
Suddenly, the sound of gunfire stopped. When Thurk looked outside, the monster that had been Elizabeth Walsh stood at the base of the porch steps. Behind her stood several dozen of the townsfolk. When Thurk looked into their eyes, they were as cold and dead as any corpse’s.
“So,” Thurk called out from behind cover, “O’Toole was a good man after all! He almost had you figured out, so you killed him.”
Elizabeth laughed, the sound like a snake’s rattle. “No, the old fool really did kill himself! Blamed himself for not figuring it out earlier... Died a coward.”
“And your daughter? You killed Aime?”
“No! I loved her!” Elizabeth screeched.
“You killed her!”
“No! No! I loved Aime! She was my world!” The stairs creaked as Elizabeth stepped up. “But she saw me for what I was... And she feared me... We could have lived happily forever! You and I, we could have lived happily together as well. But no, you’ve gone and ruined it!”
“You are a monster, Elizabeth! Let these people go, and come on inside alone, let’s talk.”
Thurk’s rifle went off in A’tiami’s hands. The shot crashed into Elizabeth’s eye and exited the back of her head in a spray of black gore.
She screamed as she raised one black-clawed hand to her face. “Kill them!”
The townspeople rushed forward at once, and Elizabeth went with them. They streamed up the steps and over O’Toole’s body, rushing for the door. Elizabeth was forced to stoop her lanky form just to stand upon the porch.
Thurk dove for cover behind the sheriff’s desk as more shots rang out, filling the air with noise. A’tiami dropped the rifle and produced his club as Galmar slammed his axe against his shield and set his stance.
Three unarmed townspeople rushed in at once, and Thurk shot the first before they had even made it through the door. The next rushed for Galmar, who charged forward with a yell.
The dwarf’s round shield slammed into the man with a loud thud, but strong fingers gripped the rim with one hand and clawed for Galmar’s face with the other. Pivoting sideways, the dwarf swung his axe for his enemy’s feet, taking both off at the ankles. The man fell screaming to the ground, but still attempted to crawl across the floor. The old dwarf backpedaled quickly, keeping away as best as he could. Arching his back, he lifted his shield and brought it crashing down on the enthralled man’s head. The man slumped to the ground instantly and was still.
As the third enemy, an older man who moved with surprising agility, came at A’tiami, he swung his club in hard. The stone slammed into the side of the man’s face, and teeth flew out to clatter upon the floor. Though it should have been a devastating blow, the old man did not stop coming.
He latched one hand on A’tiami’s arm and the other into his long hair. “You can’t hurt the queen! You can’t!”
A’tiami pushed back against the man, but dirty fingernails dug deeply into his skin and entangled in his hair. The boy planted a knee into his opponent’s groin, and again there was no response.
Just when A’tiami thought he was done for, a shot came from behind the sheriff’s desk, and the old man went limp. When A’tiami looked, Thurk stood there with the revolver in his hand, still smoking.
The orc fired twice more, and two more enemies in the doorway fell.
The next thing to come through the doorway was a long blue arm. Elizabeth placed one clawed hand on the doorframe and stepped into the sheriff’s office. She was at least seven feet tall now, and her frame took up much of the room.
Her face was eerily similar to the one the men had met the day before in the saloon, though now her nose was long and crooked, and her teeth were thin and sharp. Looking at her claws, Thurk realized it had not been a blade that had killed those people in the boneyard. Already, the hole in her head where A’tiami had shot her had begun to heal.
Galmar gave one last glance to Thurk before charging at Elizabeth. “Die! Ye foul daemon!”
The dwarf ducked under one swinging claw and popped back up, his axe swinging. The weapon scored a long gash up Elizabeth’s abdomen, but she did not seem to notice. Another clawed hand came around and crashed into Galmar’s shield. The thing was ripped from Galmar’s arm to land clattering on the floor.
With another yell, Galmar lifted his axe in both hands for an overhead chop. As quick as a striking viper, Elizabeth struck the dwarf in the chest, sending him tumbling backward. His axe fell to the floor as he slammed into the far wall and slumped limply to the ground.
A’tiami attacked next, running at Elizabeth and springing off the ground. He soared through the air before planting one foot on the wall near the monster and springing off. As he flew by her, he swung his club into the side of her head.
Elizabeth's head ripped to the side, but she clawed out with both hands, catching A’tiami and sending him crashing to the ground. A’tiami rolled as he fell, coming up in a crouch and rushing back toward her.
The beast caught A’tiami around the neck with one hand and lifted him clear off the ground. With a dismissive hiss, she tossed the Na’anti warrior aside to land in a crumpled heap nearby.
A few of Elizabeth’s thrall’s stood in the doorway, but they moved no further.
She turned toward Thurk with a ghastly grin. “It is only us, Ranger...”
Thurk pointed his revolver and unloaded every round into Elizabeth’s chest. When the smoke had cleared, she still stood.
“You cannot kill me, Ranger... I will win this day.” Elizabeth gestured to Thurk’s unconscious companions, “But I will kill them first, I think... I have not tasted elve’s blood in so long... You, though, I will save for last. And it is you I will cherish the most.”
“I won’t let you kill them!” Thurk yelled back, and as he did, he began to notice a red mist forming at the edges of his vision.
No. He could not. The last time he had let the rage take him had been the worst moment of Thurk’s life, and it would haunt him forever.
“I will kill them, Thurk Gutarg, and they will scream as I do. Just as thousands did before. I will make them beg for me to take their lives.”
Elizabeth stalked over to where Galmar lay on the ground and placed one clawed foot onto his back. Flipping the dwarf over, she licked her lips expectantly and craned her neck, sniffing the air.
“Ah... I will enjoy this.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth wide, revealing rows of sharp teeth. Her eyes glazed over, and she seemed to lose sight of everything else in the room.
As she loomed over Galmar’s prone form, Thurk began to rage.
The haze in his vision grew until everything seemed as red as hot iron. Elizabeth was the only thing Thurk could focus on in the room, and she glowed as brightly as a small sun. His body called out for her blood.
He did not want this. He could not allow it to happen. Thurk could solve everything without the rage. He rallied his mind against the violent urge.
It was like fighting a forest fire with a bucket and ladle.
Thurk clamped two large green hands to his ears as they began to ring loudly. He could hear nothing over the sound except for his own beating heart.
He could not stop it. Just like that winter day all those years ago. People had died then, and they were going to die now.
Growling like a wild animal, Thurk threw his gun aside and leaped over the sheriff’s desk.
As he passed by Galmar’s axe on the ground, he stooped over to grab it. Through the haze of battlerage, the heavy weapon was as light as a pen.
Elizabeth turned just in time as Thurk slammed into her, axe first. Galmar’s keenly sharpened blade punched into the monster’s gut as Thurk forced her across the room.
Black blood spurted out, spraying all over Thurk’s body. The smell of it was rank and strong. It only fed his rage.
Elizabeth’s back slammed into the wall so hard that the entire sheriff’s office shook. The Beast screeched in pain, the sound so shrill that the air itself quivered. Two clawed hands slashed repeatedly at Thurk’s body, but he paid them no heed.
Grunting with all his might, Thurk pushed the axe deeper into Elizabeth’s gut before pulling it free and taking a step back. Through the red haze, Thurk saw Elizabeth place her hands over her belly which oozed out more of the thick black sludge.
Now, the orc ranger gripped the axe’s shaft in two hands and swung it around with all his might.
Sharp metal sheared through ancient flesh, passing through skin and muscle to bite through the bone below. The axe exited the other side of her neck moving almost as quickly as it had entered.
Elizabeth’s head hit the ground first, followed by the rest of her body.
As she twitched her final spasms, her body morphed back into that of a black-haired woman.
The rage still filling him, Thurk whirled on the townsfolk in the doorway. They were looking about in confusion and shaking their heads as though just waking from some sort of dream.
Thurk stepped toward them, axe raised to strike, but somewhere in his mind he remembered. He remembered that winter day in the war. He remembered boys who did not wish to die.
He remembered their screams. Awakening from the rage to find himself surrounded by blood and bodies.
Galmar’s axe fell to the ground, and the red faded from Thurk’s vision. He made it two steps before he collapsed to his knees. His hands went to his chest and sides, where Elizabeth’s claws had raked him. They came away soaked in bright blood.
When he looked down, he saw exposed bone peeking out from his torn flesh. His clothes had been soaked through completely.
The orc ranger struggled to rise back to his feet.
Thurk’s vision faded to black as he slumped onto the floor.
––––––––
THURK AWOKE TO THE sound of chanting and the smell of smoke. An old native man kneeled over him in a shaman’s garb. He was smearing some sort of poultice over Thurk’s wounds
Instantly, Thurk remembered the battle in Gaynesville. The orc tried to rise with a grunt, but strong hands on his shoulders held him down.
A familiar voice said, “Ye did it, orc, ye did it.”