| |
Thurk’s eyes burst open, and he sat up with a gasp. For a moment he was not sure exactly where he was. Or, more specifically, when he was.
He lay in a large bed in a small room. The walls were bare red brick, and the floors lacked much in the way of furniture. A tube of some kind connected Thurk’s arm to a metal tower, from which hung a bag of what appeared to be blood.
The pain in his chest was still present, but the pressure was gone. He could breathe freely.
Looking down, Thurk found that he was bare to the waist. A spot about two inches long on the right side of his chest had been cut into and was sewn neatly shut with a few stitches.
Around his neck lay a familiar weight which had been missing these past few days. His amulet to Uunthu. Janette must have retrieved it from the pawnshop.
Across the room was a wooden door. It opened slowly, letting out a soft creak.
Commissioner Blanca walked in, followed by a tall human man in a white coat. A badge of crossed staffs sewn onto his breast denoted him as a doctor.
“Ah, the brave warrior is awake,” the doctor said. “I have heard much about you, and your efforts in our city.”
“Thurk, this is Doctor Octavio,” Janette said.
“Where am I?” Thurk asked, his voice hoarse.
“You’re in my apartment. I figured this would be the safest place to keep you for now,” the Commissioner said.
Thurk rubbed his throat. “How long was I unconscious?”
“Only about twelve hours,” Janette answered. “I’m just about to leave for the raid on the warehouse that you and Squirrel found.”
“Good, I haven’t missed it.” Thurk attempted to stand.
Doctor Octavio crossed the distance between them on long legs and placed his hands on Thurk’s shoulders. “Careful now. You are strong, but not that strong. I relieved the pressure and gave you a Troll’s blood transfusion to accelerate the healing, but you won’t be ready to do much running around the city for a few days at least.”
“I’m going,” Thurk said.
“You’re not,” Janette pointed a finger at the orc.
“You brought me in to help with this case, and I intend to do so,” Thurk responded.
Janette moved to the bedside and placed a hand on Thurk’s shoulder reassuringly. “You found the warehouse. You discovered more in a couple of days than we did in months. Besides, this isn’t the end of it. There will be plenty of following up for us to do afterward. Get your rest now so that you can help us later.”
Though he wanted to argue further, he found that the fight flew out of him at Janette’s words. He was exhausted and weak. The Commissioner was right; he needed to rest. Whether he wanted to or not.
Thurk relaxed, slumping back down into Blanca’s bed. “Fine, I’ll stay. But you have to keep me in the know about all this. You started me on this case, and I intend to finish it.”
Janette smiled and took a step back toward the exit. “I will, Thurk, don’t worry. Rest up, I’ve got to go meet my men down at the station. Lieutenant Briggs has them all geared up, and they’ll be rearing to go.”
“Wait, Janette,” Thurk called out. “Thank you—for getting my amulet back. It means a lot to me.”
“Of course, Thurk. Anything for a friend.”
With that, the Commissioner stepped out of the room. A few moments later came the sound of the front door closing solidly behind her. Thurk remained lying on the bed, alone with Doctor Octavio.
“Alright, Sir Ranger. As I said, don’t go doing any running about,” the doctor expertly pulled the intravenous needle from Thurk’s wrist, wrapping it around the metal pole and carrying it to the door.
“Uh-huh,” Thurk grunted.
“However...” Octavio put the pole down and walked back over to Thurk’s side. Although they were the only two in the room, the man still glanced from side to side before reaching into his pocket and producing a small metal canister. “If you find that you must get on the move, take one of these.”
Thurk reached out and took the canister; something rattled about inside it. “What is this?”
“A remedy, of my own design. Dragon’s scales, leviathan bones. Not a cheap thing to create,” the doctor replied. “However... these gangs are a plague on the city. I see people die every day under my care from their senseless murders. The cops have not been able to do anything about them. You, though, I think you have what it takes. It takes a lot of brass to come up to a city you have no stake in and try your best to fix our problems.”
Thurk nodded, slipping the canister into the pocket of his trousers. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“It is nothing, Mister Gutarg.” Octavio headed back to the door, picking up the metal pole on his way. “Good luck.”
The latch clicked closed behind the doctor, and Thurk was left in silence. His thoughts drifted immediately to the raid on the warehouse. He could not determine what caused it, but something was niggling at the back of his mind.
Something about leather shoes and briefcases. About halflings and sandalwood...
Bruno.
The halfling met on the train to New Stad must have been the Rat King.
Thurk shot upright in bed.
“Lieutenant Briggs,” the ranger muttered to himself. The guard from the first warehouse they had visited. The one who smelled of sandalwood. Blanca had said she was suspicious her forces had been compromised, that someone was playing both sides of this strange gang war.
Thurk threw his legs over the bedside and stood shakily. There was a tightness in the skin around his chest, but he was mobile at least.
In the main living area outside Blanca’s room, Thurk’s duffle lay on the floor beside a large armchair. On the chair itself were folded a clean shirt and his duster jacket. On top of the jacket sat his gun-belt and revolver.
Thurk donned the gun-belt and dressed himself as quickly as he could manage, though it was difficult to move one arm. The collar of his shirt rubbed annoyingly against the wound on his neck, but he would have to manage.
Next, the orc kneeled beside his duffle bag and opened the flap. His eyes flit between his trusted rifle and the double-barreled shotgun that Jacky the gunsmith had gifted him before leaving Dove’s Landing.
The rifle had been with him for many years, ever since he signed on with the Rangers. He knew the weapon as a part of his own body and could shoot the wing off a dragonfly at a hundred yards.
That shotgun, though, it was a piece of art. If it came down to it and Thurk was fighting enemies in the narrow alleyways and warehouses of New Stad at short range, he was going to need something that could cut them down hard and fast.
On the wide plains the ranger was used to, the rifle was the finest choice. Here in this city, though, Thurk would need to fight dirty in order to win.
As he reached down to pick up the weapon, a small noise stopped him. It sounded as though someone had cracked open the window in Blanca’s bedroom. Thurk sniffed and could just detect the cold, outdoor breeze drifting inside. Along with it came another scent. A halfling, and behind everything else was just a hint of sandalwood.
As quietly as he could, Thurk pulled the shotgun from his bag and moved to stand beside the bedroom doorway. Being careful as to not jostle the pills within, he slipped the canister from his pocket and twisted it open. Two should do, he figured.
Thurk swallowed the pills, and the effect was almost immediate. His heart rate slowed as his senses began to heighten. The pain emanating from his various wounds ebbed away to nothing but a dull ache.
For a moment, Thurk feared he was falling into a battle rage. But no, there was no red tinge to his vision. His mind was entirely his own.
From the other side of the wall, Thurk detected just the slightest noise of floorboards creaking as someone made their way toward the door. Slowly, he pulled down both hammers of his shotgun. The ranger winced at the small clicks they made as they moved into their primed position.
The sound of footsteps stopped suddenly. They knew Thurk was there.
Treading carefully, the orc moved closer to the doorway. Moving gun-barrel first, he began to round the corner.
As quick as a snake, a small had grabbed the shotgun’s twin barrels and pushed the weapon away toward the middle of the living room. With a loud explosion, the gun fired, blasting two large holes through Blanca’s armchair.
Behind the hand came a halfling woman wielding a short knife. She let out a wild scream and twisted under Thurk’s gun, swinging her knife in for his belly.
The orc backpedaled, letting go of the shotgun and pulling his revolver from his belt. Before he could fire, the halfling assassin darted in and slashed her blade across Thurk’s arm as she grabbed the handgun and sent it clattering to the floor.
Thurk growled, swinging his arm in a backhand the woman easily ducked. She sprang back up with knife leading and aimed right for the orc’s midsection.
Bringing his arm down, Thurk hit the halfling’s wrist just before her knife would have gutted him. The blow was deflected to the side, and the ranger countered with a kick that struck his enemy in the center of her chest.
The kick sent the assassin flying off her feet to land flat on her back. Despite her agility, she was not fast enough to regain her footing before Thurk grabbed her tightly by the ankle with both hands. With a growl and a heave, the orc twisted his body, swinging the halfling woman up off the floor and tossing her body across the room.
––––––––
ALEVEA’S KNIFE FLEW from her hands as she tumbled across the police Commissioner’s living room. Though she braced herself, pain still shot through her body as she slammed into the hardwood floor. Splinters pierced her palms, and she came to a rolling stop against the far wall.
Dazed, she looked up at the orc ranger as he walked toward her. As he moved, his duster shifted and revealed a patch of blood on the front of his shirt.
Gritting her teeth, Alevea rose to her hands and knees just as the orc reached her. He kicked her again, slamming her shoulder blades into the wall behind her. She could taste iron in her mouth, but she swallowed and stuck her chin up defiantly.
“You work for him?” the orc growled, looming high over her head.
Alevea’s mouth clamped shut. She had been trained well, no word about the Rat King would escape her mouth, even if she were tortured.
“How is Bruno using magic?” the ranger grabbed Alevea by the front of her shirt and picked her up with one hand. Again he slammed her against the wall.
A sly smile spread across Alevea’s face. Before the green-skinned man could react, she contorted, bending one leg upwards and pulling a small razor-blade from her boot with two fingers.
The blade slashed across the orc’s arms, and he dropped her with a cry of pain. Again she slashed, this time across his thighs as she rolled between his legs and popped up behind him.
Roaring, the orc turned on her, but she was too fast. Before he knew it, Alevea was back out the window, leaping down to the street below and darting away.
––––––––
THURK CURSED HIMSELF as he watched the halfling disappear down the street. He dripped blood from several new gashes on his skin, and a few stitches on his chest had ripped open during the fight.
Outfought and outsmarted by someone who weighed less than fifty pounds, Thurk groaned and put his head in his hands.
There was no time to bemoan, though. He had to get to Blanca. If Lieutenant Briggs was working for the Rat King, then the raid on the warehouse was almost definitely a trap.
Scooping up his shotgun, Thurk popped out the two spent shells and reloaded it. In seconds, he was out the door and heading toward the warehouse.
––––––––
JANETTE BLANCA RODE atop a brown mare at the head of a score of police officers. Squirrel, the vagrant boy, walked along ahead of her, leading them closer to the warehouse he and Thurk had discovered the day before.
Beside Janette rode her lieutenant, Briggs. The man had been a member of the force for dozens of years. He had saved Blanca’s skin more times than she could count.
The lieutenant had taken the lead on this mission, gathering the officers and planning out the raid while Blanca had been indisposed helping out Thurk.
The blizzard had ended hours before, and the sky was bright. Janette’s horse’s hooves splashed loudly in the gray slush that always graced the city after such storms.
Before long, the force entered an area containing dozens of warehouses. Only one of the buildings seemed to have any active workers. They were orcs, going about business as usual and doing their best to avoid looking up at the group of cops.
Squirrel made a beeline for the one warehouse in particular. Though he had told Blanca yesterday that there had been two dwarves guarding the place, no one stood watch now.
As they reached the warehouse, Janette and Briggs dismounted. The lieutenant moved to the front door and pushed it open carefully.
“All clear!” Briggs called. “Group one, move in.”
Janette led the first, smaller group of officers inside the building. There were six of them, including Squirrel and herself. A lone skylight lit the place with diffused daylight. The warehouse was completely empty.
“Group two!” Briggs called from behind.
“Briggs, wait...” Janette turned just as Briggs closed the door. The man produced a key and placed it into the lock. The officers who had entered with him all stood with guns raised.
Briggs locked the warehouse door and replaced the key in his pocket. “I’m sorry, Commissioner Blanca, I truly am.”
“What’s going on?” Janette’s eyes darted from man to man.
Briggs stepped forward. “You know what’s going on, Janette.”
“Don’t do this Briggs,” Blanca said. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Oh, but I do, Janette,” the lieutenant said. “Group two, fire at will.”
A hand grabbed Blanca by the elbow and dragged her away as gunfire filled the room. The other four members of group one died screaming as Squirrel pulled Blanca to the side of the building. They crashed through a door and stumbled out into the alley beyond. Instantly, they froze in their tracks.
A halfling man stood just outside the door, dressed in a fine suit. A briefcase sat on the ground by his feet. On either side of him stood an armed dwarf, and beside each of them stood humans, dressed as elves with arrows nocked to their bows.
“Ah, Commissioner Blanca, how nice to meet you,” the halfling extended a hand, which Janette refused to take. “My name is Bruno.”
“The Rat King,” Squirrel whispered.
Janette spat. “I suppose we should have known it was you.”
Bruno smiled. “The Rat King... A sensationalized version of me fabricated by the newspapers, no more. You mustn’t believe everything you read, Janette.”
The two Uptown Elves relaxed their bows and placed them on their backs, stepping toward Blanca and Squirrel.
“Tell that to the people you’ve killed,” Janette said.
“Oh, Miss Blanca, I haven’t killed anyone. Not since the war. I’m not a barbarian,” Bruno said. “Take them.”
The men dressed as elves lunged forward. One grabbed Janette while the other took hold of Squirrel.
“You can’t hurt us! I am the police Commissioner!” Janette cried. “There’s an Albara Ranger in town. He’ll hunt you down like the mad dog you are.”
“Ah yes, Thurk Gutarg. One of my own is at your apartment at this very moment, taking care of that particular loose end,” he smiled. “A shame. I quite liked the man. We both fought at Tain Creek, you know? Don’t worry, I’ve sent my very best for him. He most likely won’t feel a thing.” The Rat King scrutinized the Commissioner and the boy before moving to turn.
“Let’s go on back to the casino. I’ve much to show you, Commissioner.”
The gangster holding Squirrel squinted and brought his face close to the boy’s own. “Hey boss, this one’s got two different colored eyes.”
Bruno’s gaze shot up immediately. “A druid. How lucky are we?”
The Commissioner frowned, but Squirrel’s eyes widened and fear kicked in. He slammed his forehead forward into his captor’s face, breaking the man’s nose and sending him reeling.
Like a trapped cat, Squirrel bolted. Leaping, he ricocheted off the nearest wall and scrambled up the side of the warehouse. The gangster whom he had escaped from reached out to grab him again, but the boy was too quick. In moments he was up and away.
The Uptown Elf glanced sheepishly toward Bruno, expecting the worst.
“Do not fret,” the Rat King said. “We will find him. Whatever is lost shall be found.”
The small man leaned down, retrieving his suitcase. Without another word, he strode off. His men following him closely with Commissioner Blanca in tow.
––––––––
Winter, 1862
DRAGGING HIMSELF, INCH by inch and foot by foot, Thurk turned back for camp. He knew that he would never make it; not bleeding the way he was.
There was no other choice, though. He could not stay there in that stand of trees, surrounded by bodies. Bodies of men—no, boys—he had killed.
So, he crawled. He crawled until he thought that he could crawl no more, and then he crawled farther.
He inched onward for a full day when he happened upon a small farm. Warm light shone in the windows, like a beacon to Thurk’s tired mind.
Knowing full well that the farmers were most likely enemy loyalists who would shoot on sight of his green skin, he clawed up the steps to their doorway. With hands bloodied and frozen, he knocked upon the old wood.
Moments later, the door opened, casting the golden glow of a burning hearth onto his face.
And Thurk was saved.