The Beast of Ildenwood: 10. Cracking Bones and Soundless Homes

“Where is it?” Zerban demands, the knife pressed against Lahab’s neck. “Where is Muna?”

“Why do you want to know?” the Wanderer asks, trying to think of a way out of this mess. He meets Lahab’s eyes, but cannot tell what she is thinking even now that a knife is so dangerously close to slicing her neck open.

“I do not think you have noticed, but you’re in no position to demand answers of me,” Zerban snaps, a frown set deep into his features. “Tell me where the artifact is, or you’ll both be dead before you can blink. I’ve gotten much faster since the last time we met, little Guardian,” he adds, whispering into Lahab’s ear. She shudders and pulls at his knife hand, but Zerban holds steady.

He's certainly fast, but how strong is this man?

Zerban, Noble Guardian of the City of Sowarr Strength: 32

He is surprised that he can see the man’s Strength, but there is no time for him to question why. The number generally means very little to him; he still doesn’t quite understand how to interpret it. He recalls his own condition – his Intelligence level, which is much higher than Zerban’s Strength, and yet still not particularly impressive (at the very least, not by Lahab’s standards, whatever they may be). Does that mean that Zerban’s strength isn’t impressive, either? Is his strength considered low?

There’s only one way to find out. But I’ll need an opening. I can’t do anything with Lahab held hostage.

“What makes you think we have the artifact?” she demands coolly.

“What are you talking about?” he growls.

“Do you truly believe I would travel with Muna knowing that a bounty has been placed on my head?” she snorts, rolling her eyes. “For all your fuss about age, you’re being quite naive, Zerban.”

“You’re lying!” Zerban hisses, and a small drop of blood trickles down Lahab’s throat. “You wouldn’t part with something so valuable.”

“She’s telling the truth,” the Wanderer grits out, trying to play along with whatever plan is bouncing around in Lahab’s mind. “We gave Muna to Deletrear. He should be in Aks already, and we are meant to meet him there tomorrow. What do you think he’ll do if he realizes we never made it past Sowarr? You’re acting foolishly. Take your knife away from her.”

“And let the two of you go now that you know? Not likely,” Zerban says, shaking his head. “Besides, I still don’t believe you. Naive is more your speed, little one. You and your father are the same. Always trying to do the right thing. Always looking down on everyone else. I know you have the artifact, and you’re going to tell me exactly where it is, or I’m going to have to get it out of you, slice by slice.”

“Do you think us idiots?” Lahab demands. “An artifact long buried in a secret place, undisturbed for centuries, is dug up by our enemies under the guise of a war on the borders of our lands. There are only a small number of people who could have known about Muna, and all of them Guardians. Of course we would not trust anyone – not even you.” She sniffs, her lips quirking. “Especially you. You’ve always disliked and belittled me. You don’t think I noticed? And you expect me to walk right into your home with an artifact worth your life a million times over? Your body might be quick, but your mind certainly lags behind.”

With a feral growl, Zerban shoves Lahab into the floor, and she lands with a muffled Ooomph! Holding the knife out before him, he crouches to her level as she gets to her knees. “Such arrogance in such a small thing,” he spits out. “I wonder how long it’ll take to knock you off your pedestal.”

This is as good an opening as he’s going to get. With Zerban’s focus on Lahab, there won’t be a better time to attack, and if all goes well, maybe they can knock Zerban unconscious and escape. The Wanderer crouches slightly, getting into a position in which one hand steadies him on the floor, and wonders why it feels so natural. All coiled up and ready to go, the Wanderer sucks in a silent breath.

Without warning, he pushes himself off the ground. The movement is effortless, and he feels almost like a beast, flying through the air and barreling into Zerban with as much strength as he can muster. It is almost as though his body has been through these motions before.

Most surprisingly – and most disturbingly – is the result. A sickening range of loud cracks fills the room, and Zerban lets out a howl of anguish, crumpling onto the floor in a broken heap, knife clattering out of his hands. The Wanderer lifts himself from the man and backs away quickly, watching him writhe anxiously on the ground.

What is this? He had expected him to put up more of a fight, had expected to push into a wall rather than an easily-crumpled...

A sense of nausea creeps over him, and he brings a hand up to his mouth, unable to tear his eyes from the man before him, the misshapen body.

You have incapacitated Zerban, Noble Guardian of the City of Sowarr.

“What – have you – done?!” he yells through wails of pain, and this is enough to snap him out of his grim fascination.

The Wanderer glances at Lahab, and she stares back at him, wide-eyed, frozen in place. Is it shock he sees in her eyes or fear? Perhaps it is a mixture of both. He swallows hard and glances at Zerban, who still writhes and yells and calls for help on the ground.

“I didn’t,” the Wanderer breathes, ripping his eyes away from the terrible sight of the man’s mangled body. “I didn’t expect – I didn’t mean – truly, I didn’t...” He trails off, not quite certain what there is to say. He has done something terrible, and all he wanted to do was try to knock the man out so the two of them could run away.

It takes a while for Zerban to finally grow silent, and every second seems to be wrenched out forcefully, so that the Wanderer’s mind spends eons considering his actions, and even more time imbuing him with guilt. What has he done?

 

You have brought about the demise of Zerban, Noble Guardian of the City of Sowarr.

“Come,” Lahab says at long last, when Zerban’s cries have died down and he stares at the ceiling without end. She stands up and retrieves her sack, breathing out a sigh of relief, before returning to the Wanderer’s side and squeezing his arm. “It could not be helped. Come. We must leave now, before others come looking for him. We cannot assume he is working alone.”

She pulls the Wanderer along and he follows, half there and half not, still very much in shock. He can’t seem to erase the feeling of bones breaking under the strength of his body, and can’t seem to quiet the echoes of Zerban’s anguished pleas. Lahab leads him to the front door, and sets to work opening the lock, pushing the metal bolt back through its maze. It takes her one try, though that one try takes much longer than Zerban’s blurred speed.

Soon, they are standing outside again, bathed in the darkness of the night, and the cool air seems to revitalize the Wanderer enough to awaken him slightly from his haze. He glances around at the empty streets, confused. “Did nobody hear?” he asks quietly, crossing his arms against the cold of the evening. “Did nobody hear his screams?”

Lahab does not meet his eyes. “The house has had a Soundless spell recently cast upon it,” she tells him. “Zerban must have cast it before we arrived. I noticed it in the house’s condition when I called upon it with my Inspection skill. I realized then that something was wrong.”

“You knew?” the Wanderer demands. “Why did you not tell me?”

“I did not want to alert him to my suspicion,” she replies simply. “I was hoping to find out some information about the people chasing after the artifact, and what in the world they could possibly want to use it for, if they are willing to go so far as to start a war and kill for it.”

“Did you expect him to – to do what he did?”

“I expected something might happen, yes,” she admits. “When he pushed me to the ground, I thought perhaps I could continue to anger him, in hopes that maybe he could tell me more. Perhaps he could reveal the identity of the person leading this hunt.”

“He could have killed you!” the young man exclaims, then glances around to make sure there are no eavesdroppers. “He was going to torture you for information.”

“I wouldn’t have allowed it to go so far,” she says softly. “I was preparing my Dragon’s Breath, and I would have used it if I truly feared for my life, or yours. I had no idea that you were quite so powerful.”

He flinches, running a hand through his hair. “You mean I’ve ruined everything,” he mutters bitterly. “Because of me, you didn’t get any information, and the man’s dead.”

“I would have killed him, too, if he tried to attack me,” she says. “I would not be quite so concerned about Zerban. You were protecting me. The man was clearly too far gone to have any integrity left, and I shudder to think what other crimes he has committed over the years. My father always told me he was not to be trusted.”

When the Wanderer does not answer, she reaches out and gently grabs hold of his arm. “You did well,” she tells him. “You did the right thing. And, because of it, now we know something else about you. Your strength is extraordinary. Perhaps it has something to do with your unique attribute.” She glances around with a frown. “We can discuss this in more detail at the inn. I will send word to Deletrear at the palace and inform him of tonight’s goings-on. He will inform the King, and they will send someone to investigate Zerban.”

She begins to walk, pulling the Wanderer along with her without realizing. “The sooner I send a letter, the better. Come, let us go while the night is still young.”