Dragon (s)layers

Chapter 10 -- Last Call

"A lot of people wonder what kind of mind it takes to end a life. They want to put a pretty bow on an ugly package so they can wrap their mind around the infinite ways they're different and somehow better, never realizing that the sad truth is that it's us and the gods who put these values to life.

I'm not the only one who's watched their husband die at the hands of another. . .

But do you care?

Of course you don't. But I bet you can think of a few ways that, given the right circumstances, I could take that killer's place and hunt him down in some desperate quest for vengeance or something. Maybe if I was twenty years younger, a lot stronger and didn't have a goddess looking over my shoulder with sharp stick in hand waiting for me to soil Her name.

Even then, I don't think I would have it in me; life is meant to be lived and the moment we forget that, we become animals. Tragedy happens, but your existence is a gods given right and responsibility.

Picking up the pieces and living afterwards? I'm still trying to find my place, but I'd bet good coin that sooner or later we all figure it out. Until then?

Well. . .

That's the challenge, isn't it?

I never said it was simple."

Leslie Mosaena, Paladin of Isira

Letters From the Gods Volume 983

~Vestrin~

Vestrin clutched the reins of his horse, glancing about the exterior of the trading post for any sign of the brunette girl he'd run into inside. It was hard to imagine how someone so young and chesty could've had the skills or luck to get by the caravan jockies without being noticed but somehow the kid had managed it. In a few seconds between him turning his back on her and turning back she'd managed to disappear like ashes on the wind.

It was eerie. He hated it.

He knew her from Sorash, the girl that'd brought Sarah to the Primrose to discuss land deals; the reason, gods the very

single

thing that'd meant they all met-- he'd been tipped off to the meeting along with the contract itself. She'd been some cute little farm girl by all appearances, some tribal that'd gone and become civilized, but now?

Now he couldn't shake the feeling that she had a lot more to do with this than she let on. Briefly he wondered if

she

was Lostariel, but he wrote it off as he climbed up into the saddle and started them off down the caravan path at a quick jaunt. It wasn't like he had a plan if he actually ran into her, but she was a solid lead. He might even have been able to talk it out of her without hurting her.

It was her call, really.

"Faster," he said to the horse. It continued at its own pace, ignoring his urging. It decided a lazy stroll through the gods damned meadows was in order and no amount of pushing and twisting one way or the other was going to convince it it was wrong. "Come on, move it!"

It snorted and deliberately slowed its pace.

"Are you fucking kidding me?! Move!" Vestrin tugged on the reins a bit, not entirely sure how to handle the creature. He dug his heels in a bit, snarling. "Move it!"

And to his surprise, the horse did. It bolted hard and fast, chewing up ground at a fever pitch. He had to struggle to hold on, gripping tightly even as they took the road's turn. The horse weaved them between other riders and cursing caravan drivers, threading through while Vestrin clung tightly.

The landscapes passed in a blur, the people even more so. Every time he passed someone, Vestrin made an effort to crane his neck and make sure it wasn't the girl, forcing himself to trust the animal wouldn't get them both killed. She couldn't have gotten far in that short amount of time, could she?

Faster and faster the horse pushed itself down the trail, snaking between one group and another until the roads were clear, then he started drawing back on how much effort he was putting in. When it was clear to both of them they were chasing phantoms it almost seemed to ease off on its own; Vestin followed shortly there after, his shoulders slumping as he let out a tired grunt. "Fuck."

It figured. But he still had a lead, he might've even had

the

lead when it came to finding the knife-ear. It was harder to move people around than it was individuals and if Sarah's group had four people, it meant they'd be slower than he was on horseback. Vestrin reminded himself of this as the horse slowed to a lazy trot.

"Stupid horse."

It snorted at that.

Only then did it really occur to him that he'd been walking the animal all night and day for nearly two days, the run had only pushed it harder and here he was complaining about its lack of spirit. Had the orange eyed woman given him something for the animal? There was plenty in there he could eat, but what about feeding his means of transportation? At that thought he pulled on the reins a little and slowed further to a stop where he got off and rummaged around the bag for something to give the animal. Some vague sense of guilt washed over him as he did so, but he refused to let it show.

The horse watched him out of the side of its vision, lingering an accusing eye on him like some watchman that'd caught him walking the wrong side of the road. Not that Vestrin cared, no, he did give a shit about some animal-- none the less, he felt relief when he found the bundle of apples in the middle of his pack. He thrust one out at the horse with a sour expression.

It stared at him like he was crazy.

"Eat it, shithead." Vestrin tried to force it to the animal's lips but it turned its head. When he moved to re-adjust his aim, the horse's muzzle smacked him in the head knocking him off balance. Before he could topple into a heap, the creature snatched the apple from his flailing arm and stepped aside gracefully as Vestrin was introduced to the dirt.

For his part in it, the city boy scrabbled and flailed to get away fearing the creature might step on him or something. He rolled over and pushed to his feet, heart slamming in his chest hard enough it felt like his ribs would crack. The horse merely started at him and chewed its- his, Vestrin noticed- apple.

Neither of them moved for a second and the sound of crunching apples grew louder and louder the thicker the silence became. Vestrin moved to take the reins again but the horse drew his muzzle back, kicking off a back and forth that lasted entirely too long for comfort. When a caravan rider came along asking if he was all right, the scarred man let out a grunt and yanked the reins to force the horse along.

He didn't get far.

The driver laughed, "You get that with them plains horses. Damn fine animals, but they're intelligent, and they don't like being controlled."

"Intelligent my ass, the-- umph!" The horse smacked him again. Vestrin almost felt like punching him, but he kept himself in check. Barely. "You dirty little fucker."

"Hah! That's the spirit." The driver started on down the path with his own horses and wagon. "Just give it time, they grow on ya!" Vestrin and his horse watched the man go until he was around the curve, then the horse looked back to him and opened his mouth.

When Vestrin didn't budge, the stupid creature snorted at him and started off at a lazy walk.

"Hey!" He caught up easily enough but the animal picked up his pace a little. The damned thing could've out ran a barrel tumbling down hill but he wasn't trying to out run him, was it? Vestrin made another grab for the reins and the horse juked to the left. Then to the right. Another few steps and it trotted out of the way and turned on him, teeth bared.

He was too old and tired for this but he wasn't about to risk facing down an animal that could flatten him either, he spread his hands and tried for a calm voice. "The hell is wrong with you?! Y'damn animal, we got places to go."

This only caused the horse to launch into another fit of snuffing and prancing about like an idiot; back and forth and back and forth until finally he strode up to Vestrin and snorted in his face. They stared at one another for a moment and eventually it turned away, batting his scarred face with his tail.

What the fuck kind of horse was this? Vestrin muttered as he edged up to the creature's side and muttered some kind of half-assed apology, or curse, before taking the saddle and reins and pulling himself up. "You gonna throw me, then? Is that it?"

The horse snorted again.

And so they went; uneasily settled into a routine in which neither of them acknowledged the other, Vestrin eventually gave up hoping he'd find the girl and settled into the lazy pace the horse was using. According to the maps he had the main caravan path headed straight towards Giwic to the south with few offshoots, the best way to catch Sarah was going to be following the road. He even had a day's ride on her.

It somehow didn't sit right. He had twenty-- nineteen now, days to catch her but he couldn't shake the feeling that the faster he got her, the better off he'd be. The happier. He'd lay this burden down and go about his life; maybe the dragon bitch would come through on her promise and make him rich. Enough that he could live on and be comfortable for the rest of his days.

What a sick thought. Him, comfortable while those he cared for rotted in graves half a world a way. Vestrin sighed. There was no winning here, no happy ending. They would always be dead and. . .

So would he.

#

He grew tired of the silence eventually and started thumbing through his documents, laboriously reading through them as best he could. Some of them were too complicated to fully understand but from what he gathered they were vouchers for inns along the caravan routes, including a few fancy looking ones with names like 'The Vibrating Song.'

It sounded like a place Rebecca would've wanted to go; fancy and upscale with a name to match. In the thicker bundle of papers he found a big file on Sarah Kettar that took him well into sundown to read through. It was frustrating and boring at times, but when he and his horse made camp he found himself going back to it to keep his mind busy. When he was reading he didn't have to think of anything. He buried himself in the words that were slow to form, he hid from the world and himself one sheaf of paper at a time.

By campfire he read about how Sarah had been property sold to something called a 'Clockwork Pit' when her mother died giving birth to her. The father was nowhere to be found, naturally, and so she wound up a ward-- if that was even the word for it-- of the Engineer's College of Pamor. From there she spent most of her life making things, until she showed she could make new things better than the things she was tasked with making. Then she was put up for sale to the nobility.

According to the ledger notes from the college she was 'a bright creature that will one day become a cleric no doubt.' It was cold, impersonal. Everything he'd come to expect from the Estan Free States. He fell asleep to that notion, dreaming of spinning gears and gleaming metal in a dark pit surrounded by teeth. When he awoke his pack was strewn across the ground and the apples were gone.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Vestrin wiped his eyes and groaned, forcing himself up. He grudgingly went about cleaning up the mess and when he was sorted out he went about his morning ritual; a drink, a piss and a good stretch. It occurred to him absently the events of the last few days and what'd started out as a reasonably good mood came crashing down in an instant.

Rebecca.

Paul.

He'd never see them again. He had to find Sarah to have the faintest chance of hope for the future, he had to do this, he had to make it right by them. His heart clenched in his chest and slowly, as if he was pulling himself along behind a plow, he looked to the pile of supplies. The only things he owned in the world right now.

Then he looked to his horse. The animal looked right back at him and, seeing they were aware of one another, he dug at the ground with his hoof. Vestrin was slow to catch on, so the animal dug some more. When this didn't get any reaction he took up a bunch of pine needles in his mouth and spat them at Vestrin's feet.

Vestrin groaned and ran a hand over his face. "You hungry, then? That it?" He started to complain but for some reason it wouldn't come-- for some reason it didn't bother him, he looked around for something for the horse. When he found a pine cone and offered it, he was met with what had to have been a flat look from the equine.

He snorted himself, almost laughed in fact and together they set off looking for breakfast.

A stroll through the woods later and they came to an empty field full of tall grass and flowers. The horse looked around warily, almost seeming to embrace the tree line's protection for a moment before peeking out again. It acted more like a cat than any horse Vestrin had seen, dipping a hoof into the field and then drawing back, dipping and drawing back. He placed a hoof on the ground and steadily eased himself into it like cold water.

Vestrin watched in puzzlement as the horse went through his ritual until he was comfortable. When the animal finally settled into a grazing spot, he picked up his reading materials again and tried to busy himself with it. All the while his mind ran with thoughts of what could've been; maybe if things had gone differently he'd have been able to save Rebecca- at least.

But there was no room for that in this world, was there? There was no fairness to be had when everything insisted on being so fucked up. It wasn't

his

fault, it wasn't even Sarah's fault exactly, but gods dammit why did it have to be

him

that went through it? Why did he get to survive, why was

he

the one to have to chase after her and why did

he

have to carry this? He was a decent man-- he tried, anyway, life wasn't fair and it didn't allow for much goodness in his life, but he never intentionally killed anyone.

What god had he pissed off so thoroughly as to drag him through this? Vestrin clenched his hands into fists, balling up until his knuckles threatened to break through his skin. He wanted to scream, to cry, to tell the world that it wasn't his gods damned fault. It wasn't!

But there it was, he was alone and no one was going to give so much as a single shit if he opened trenches in his wrists right then and there. He was too dead inside to do that, too much of a coward even. Too dead to live, too scared to die. . .

Didn't it gods damned figure.

As he ruminated on this, his horse wandered over to him and ate nearby until he was content. Then surprisingly he walked over and nudged Vestrin with his muzzle. Again. And again.

"What the fuck is it?!" Vestrin snarled. "Teh fuck d'you want, huh?!" The tears broke through before he could stop them and the scarred rouge clutched himself feeling the crushing weight of his loneliness drag him down into new depths-- he'd never be able to open up the way he did with Rebecca, he'd never love the way he did Paul. . .

He'd never be human again.

The horse pressed in close and, to his surprise, set his muzzle against Vestin's head breathing hotly against his trembling shoulder. Vestrin didn't know what to do at first, but the longer he stood there and the less sense the whole thing made, the more he wanted to get moving.

Which is exactly what he did. He touched the horse's muzzle briefly. . . Then his hand slid to grab the reins. He wasn't going to do any good lying down, he said to himself. So long as he was moving, so long as he was going forward, so long as he was living he could make it.

He wasn't dead yet, gods dammit.