Matt Forbeck - Marked for Death

“We finally found her,” the dwarf said, his voice thick with grief.

“Good work,” Kandler said, patting Temmah on the back.

“She’s dead, Kandler. Dead.”

“I know.”

Temmah used the end of his beard to dry his face. He shook his head as his wide cheeks flushed with shame. “I saw plenty of death in the War.”

“That was in battle.”

Temmah nodded. “This… this is nothing like that.” He steeled himself as he wiped his eyes again, then he pointed to a spot a dozen yards away. “The young ones found her over there,” he said. “Some of her anyhow.”

Kandler leaned over and whispered to Temmah, “If I wasn’t the town’s justicar, I wouldn’t be here either, my friend. It’s a matter of duty.”

Temmah grimaced. “Duty,” he said. The word wrapped oddly around his tongue, but he held on to it tight.

Kandler patted Temmah on the back again and then walked over to the spot, Burch right behind him. Temmah stayed behind and sat back down on the rock to collect himself.

The rising sun turned the morning sky as gray as the mists of the Mournland towering over them. Almost it seemed the entire world could be a part of the Mournland and the two friends would be condemned to wander through its endless mists forever. Kandler shuddered and looked down.

A large portion of a female human’s torso lay on the ground before him. It was on its front, still wrapped in what was left of a bloodstained blouse and a sliced-up cloak. Kandler motioned for Burch to turn it over.

The chest had been split open like an overripe melon. The contents were still there, but as the torso turned over, they spilled out. They were as gray as the dawn’s light.

Kandler heard Temmah coming up behind him. “Some animal just tore her apart,” the dwarf said. As he did, he shivered and looked over his shoulder at the swirling mists.

“I don’t think so,” Kandler said as he knelt down over the body. He pointed at the severed neck. “The cut is too clean. This was done with a blade.”

Burch crouched down across from Kandler, his knees spread wide as he stared at the body. “What are you saying, boss? None of the other bodies had a mark on them.”

Kandler hunched down to examine the torso closer. “This cut is spotless. The others are too. Blades that sharp don’t wander around by themselves.

“A Darguul raiding party maybe?”

“Goblins don’t have anything like this. Orcs neither.”

“Think someone in Mardakine did it?”

Kandler rubbed the day’s growth on his chin. “I doubt it. There’s only one blade in town that could make such a cut”-he gripped the pommel of the sword hanging from his hip-“and I’m wearing it.”

“Maybe something out of the Mournland?” Burch said.

Kandler felt the ground under the torso. “Probably. It’s a long way to another town from here.”

“Uh, Kandler?” Temmah cleared his throat and looked sidelong at Burch. “Could it have been a warforged? Rumors say they’ve been rallying around this so-called ‘Lord of Blades’. Perhaps this is their work.”

Kandler shook his head. “I suppose it could be, but the warforged don’t tear a body to pieces like this. It’s something else. Something different.”

He stood up and looked around. The cloudless expanse above and to the west filled with a hint of blue. It was going to be a warm day.

“How far apart is she spread?” Kandler asked.

“I… um, I haven’t found all of her yet,” Temmah said, “but there’s at least a fifty-yard split between her head and her… well, I found a thigh over there.”

“Have you found any blood?”

Temmah paused. “Now that you mention it, no. I mean, I hadn’t thought about it. You would think there would be plenty of blood from someone killed like that.”

Kandler nodded. “She wasn’t killed here. She was dead before she got here.”

“Why?” asked Burch.

Kandler stared into the shifter’s wide, yellow eyes. “That I don’t know,” he said, “but I aim to find out.”

Kandler, Burch, and Temmah set to gathering Shawda’s remains. They picked through the scattered ground cover, hunting for the dull flash of a piece of gray skin against the crater’s darker floor. Whenever one found a piece, he alerted the others and then reverently carried the part back to them.

Kandler had taken off his cloak to use as a litter, and the trio laid the pieces gingerly atop the thick wool, reassembling Shawda like a macabre puzzle made of flesh. As they worked, the growing light made the job easier. Soon, they had collected most of the body.

After they found all they could, Kandler carefully wrapped the bits up in his cloak and led the others down from the crater’s rim and back into Mardakine. By this time, the sun had cleared the mist and was climbing into the sky, burning the dew from the grayish-green grass that grew in patches all around the town but nowhere else in the crater.

As the three walked into town, Temmah cleared his throat, his voice still hoarse from his tears. “Kandler?”

“Yes?”

“Who will tell her?”

Just then, they turned a corner in the lane. The town’s main square lay directly ahead of them. A crowd already milled about there. A shout went up as someone saw the three approaching.

“Me,” Kandler said.

He heard the dwarf sigh with relief, but the sound caught in Temmah’s throat as he saw the people gathered before them.

“How could they already know?” Temmah asked.

“Pradak and Rissa,” Burch said as he bounded along at Kandler’s side. “They’ve been back here for hours.”

The trio continued on in silence. Kandler saw faces peeking out of windows and open doors, the people too frightened to ask what he cradled in his arms and too curious to look away. As he walked on, some of the watchers left their houses and fell into step behind him. By the time he reached the main square, the people of Mardakine surrounded him.

Pradak and Rissa and their parents stood in the center of the square, the rest of the town arranged around them. Pradak’s father Mardak, a tall, hard man with a face like a hawk, stepped forward as Kandler neared. “Justicar, is what my son tells me true?” he asked.

Kandler raised the bundle in his arms just a hair. It seemed heavier than before. “We have a body.”

The rest of the color drained from Mardak’s already pallid face as he looked down at the too-small bundle. “Who?” he asked.

Kandler looked around at the crowd. “I’d rather not say here.”

“Justicar,” Mardak said, a tremble in his voice, “we have lost a dozen souls in the past two weeks. These good people have waited long enough for an answer. As founder of this town I order you to give it to them.”

Kandler stared back at Mardak, as impassive as the shifter beside him. Temmah whimpered softly, once, and then fell silent.

“Now,” Mardak said.

“Don’t you think-”

“Now!”

“It’s Shawda!” Temmah blurted. He began to weep again and buried his face in his beard.

A wail erupted from the rear of the crowd. The people parted, revealing Norra, who had collapsed to her knees, her face buried in her hands. Kandler’s stepdaughter Esprл, a slim girl with long, blonde hair and pointed ears, stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Norra to comfort her.

Kandler nearly dropped his bundle to run over and comfort the girls. Instead, he looked to Burch. The shifter, barely taller than Esprл, bounded over and took the girl’s hand. Others leaped to Norra’s aid. Nearly mad with despair, she thrashed and hurled herself about, and her wails followed Kandler all the way to the Mardak’s house.

“Had I known…” Mardak said to Kandler, then trailed off. He turned away from the bundle in Kandler’s hands to address the crowd. His voice shook as he spoke.