Wednesday, Thursday, Hughday… Chapter 5: Part 1

Elara bent over the map, spread over the table. The herb patch… The berry bushes… The maples on the north side…

A presence tugged on her. She raised her head. Hugh stood in the doorway.

Alive. Uninjured.

 She let out a mental breath and straightened. “You’re back.”

“I am.” His voice held no bravado.  He sounded, not subdued exactly, but quietly resigned. She braced herself.

“Casualties?” she asked.

“None on our side. Something smells amazing.”

“I made chicken for dinner.”

He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Is it for me?”

“Yes.  You did come back safely.”

“Can it wait?” he asked. “I need your help.”

“Of course.”  What was going on with him?

He invited her out with a sweep of his hand. She left the room, and they went down the hallway side by side.  The Keep was quiet. Soft afternoon light spilled through the windows, drawing long rectangles on the hallway floor.

“What happened in Aberdine?” she asked.

“Falcon blocked our approach.  We had some words and then Bale decorated the road with Falcon’s brains. The rest of the mercs cleared off.”

He still sounded off.

“Is this going to come back to bite us?” she asked.

“Possibly.  The second half of the company is enroute to Aberdine. The woman who is leading it could prove difficult.  It depends on whether she decides to make an issue out of Falcon’s death or if she assumes command and takes what’s left of them somewhere else. If I were her, I’d count my blessings, but some people lack common sense.”

They reached the staircase and started down the steps.

“And if she decides to attack?”

“I’ll crush her.”

There was no force in his voice.  He said it so matter of fact, as if he were talking about taking out the trash.

“Hugh?”

“Yes?”

“What’s wrong?”

He looked straight ahead.

“About ten years ago we came across a corpse town in the Laurentian Uplands in Ontario. Men, women, kids, all dead, rotting in the street.”  

His tone was flat and weary.

“We found one survivor. A skinny kid about fifteen or so. Someone nailed him to a tree.”

Nailed?

“He should’ve died but he was too stubborn to let go. We took him with us.”

“What happened to town?”

“He never told us. He barely talked. Once we fed him enough for his legs to support his weight, I asked him what he wanted to do. He said he wanted to get stronger.”

Hugh sighed. “Some people are born swordsmen. It’s not something you can teach or train. The kid picked up the sword, and he was gone. He’d wake up in the morning and train until he passed out in the evening with a sword in his bed. Bale’s berserkers had adopted him. They all used to watch out for him, because he forgot to eat. He wasn’t the strongest or the most skilled, but he was fast, and he had the killer instinct. When he faced an opponent, the world disappeared. Nothing else existed.”

He fell silent.

“Was he as good as you?” she prompted.

“Almost. With magic down, he’d be a problem for me. Possibly even for Daniels.”

He brought up Kate.  That usually meant he’d gone into a dark place. Roland’s biological daughter was the reason for his exile. They had a long and tangled history, none of it good. Hugh had done horrible things while under Roland’s control and they plagued his soul festering there until they ruptured into open sores. Kate was a wound that never healed.

“How long was he with you?” she asked.

“Eight years,” Hugh said. “We had a winter base near Wichita Falls in north Texas. Pretty country down there.  Mild winter, lakes, rivers. We’d come back to it year after year when not on mission. One day he came to me and said he wanted out. He met a girl and decided he was done being a Dog.”

“But he loved being a swordsman?”

Hugh shook his head. “It wasn’t love. More like compulsion. It consumed him, and when he was with her, he could put it away. She freed him of it.”

“What did you do?”

“What could I do? I let him go. It was his second chance at life. He could be whatever he wanted to be. Everyone was happy for him.”

A cold unease washed over her. “Did you find him in Aberdine?”

“I did. I found him in that shithole of a camp. With people who didn’t deserve him and treated him like an attack dog. Those assholes couldn’t even be bothered with basic shit like guards and patrols. Elara, we just rode right in there. It was dirty and disorganized, a fucking disgrace. And those shitheads thought they could hold a town for ransom, and we would just let them.”

He was disgusted by all of it. The mercenaries had no idea how lucky they were. He could have just wiped them all out, and his face told her he had considered it. They probably deserved it.

“How the fuck did he end up there?” Hugh stopped. “He left with enough money to last him for five years. It should have been enough to take her anywhere and do whatever they wanted. Should I have kept him?”

“He wasn’t yours to keep,” she said gently. “You saved him, you trained him, and then you let him go. The rest was up to him.”

He gave her a dark look. “And he fucked it up.”

On the scales of Hugh’s life, with so much guilt and darkness piled up on one side, this young swordsman must have been a counterweight. Someone Hugh saved. Proof that he wasn’t irredeemable, that the Iron Dogs stood for more than slaughter and destruction. Even while under Roland’s influence, with his life going up in flames, Hugh had let him go. He was a remarkable asset, but his future happiness mattered, and Hugh released him.

Now that happiness lay in ruins. Seeing that broke something in Hugh. She could feel him retreating deeper inside himself, in the place where Hugh faded, and Roland’s warlord took the front line. The memory of a burning maelstrom with fangs she once saw in his soul scalded her. She had to keep him with her, anchored in here and now no matter what it took.

“If you’d kept him against his will, he could have died,” she told him. “You said yourself that Roland wrecked everything you built. As good as he was, he would be near the top of the execution list. At least he’s alive.”

“There’s that.”

“What happened to the girl?”

“I’ll show you.”

They’d reached the third floor. A trace of magic tugged on her. It came from the left, from the direction of the guest suite where they put potentially troublesome visitors. It felt sharp, almost spiky, like a cocklebur bristling with hooked needles. It pulsed in a subdued rhythm, active but muted.

She sped up. They marched down the hallway to the door. Hugh knocked and pushed the door open, not bothering to wait for an invitation.

A young woman with long dark hair lay on the bed. The burr of magic wrapped around her, fused with her body, strangled her vitality, growing from it like a parasite. Her eyes were shut, her skin was pallid, and patches of fuzzy dark growth, rippling with black, red, and purple, marked her exposed arms and neck. It looked like someone had scooped a toxic bacterial colony from some giant petri dish, smeared it all over her, and it took root.

A man in his mid-twenties sat in the chair by bed. He looked up at their approach and his eyes were full of grief.

The magic burr pulsed with power.

“A curse.” The word fell from Elara’s lips. She had never seen one like that.

“Can it be undone?” Hugh asked her.

“I don’t know. But we will try.”