Dungeon 42

Kindred

Chapter 172

Elim stood in the dark, the hood of the cloak he’d pulled out of inventory up. Like everything he asked for on the fly, the quality was too good, but he didn’t mind. Nobody would be able to see the fine fabric or too small stitches in the dark and eventually the rain.

He’d given the Lepusan a light stone but didn’t bother with one for himself. It wasn’t perfect, but his mage eyes let him see fairly well in the dark. Enough that he wouldn’t be tripping over stones or walking into trees. There wasn’t enough natural magic in the area for detail, but it was advantage enough.

Rather than take action immediately, he waited a while. The forest smelled like thick loam and a hint of rot in the wet air. The thick growth made it good for hiding or ambushes. He walked away from where he’d been left before reaching out with his mind to call on Marlow.

“Marlow, I don’t fancy them being interrupted tonight. I think they’ve all had enough running for the moment,” Elim said softly.

“Indeed,” came Marlows low reply as he stepped out of the dark. He was a bright spot in the dim landscape, the most magical thing for miles.

Elim didn’t know exactly how it worked, how much Marlow could or couldn’t hear when he wasn’t summoned. He’d made sure he knew what was happening though, keeping him caught up with texts and the occasional whispered conversation when he dared. So long as he was careful it didn’t seem like he was doing anything but occasionally muttering to himself despite the Lupsan’s frankly terrifying hearing range.

Not being particularly deluded about his own abilities, Elim started walking away from the camp rather than follow the hound. As he did Marlow circled it, reporting when their paths crossed. The sign indicated an enemy was near heavy on Elim’s mind. He hadn’t seen it himself, Ban reasonably cautious about not letting an outsider learn their signs, but he’d been told it indicated human enemies specifically rather than animals or monsters.

“Anything yet?” Elim asked softly when Marlow appeared.

“Small signs of someone on the trail, but none yet of a larger party,” Marlow reported after an hour.

“Probably trying to find where they're headed, catch a larger group,” Elim mused. Not a bad plan really, but he remembered what 42 had said about the seekers using flairs to communicate. Or trying to anyway. They hadn’t done so well in the maze she set up by all accounts.

“Perhaps,” Marlow replied.

“Find the tracker but don’t kill them,” Elim decided.

“As you say,” Marlow said, but hesitated to go.

“Something wrong?” Elim asked.

“Does hunting your own kind bother you?” Marlow asked after a moment's hesitation. Elim was a little surprised but considered the idea for a few moments.

“Being human doesn’t make someone ‘my kind’ the way it might for others. Man ought to have done something before you turn on him, and even then that's no reason to go after his kin,” Elim explained.

“Why not kill the tracker then?” Marlow asked. Elim blinked, confused for a moment before what the problem was sunk in. He couldn’t help a huff of laughter, though he tried to muffle it with his hand.

“I’ve got a couple questions for him and I want his stuff. We’ll kill him after,” Elim explained, giving Marlow a scritch behind the ears. The hounds tail wagged happily and soon he was off back on the hunt.

The question lingered though. As a soldier for the Earl, Elim had done some things hadn’t particularly liked. They’d been in defense of the people or to carry out the law, but that hadn’t changed their harsh nature. He hadn’t really minded though nor felt compelled to try and change anything.

Elim could live with finding out he was wrong, had done the wrong thing, because he understood he’d been doing the best he could with the information he had. It was why he was able to follow the orders he’d been given, because the Earl and the men he chose to serve in his stead were doing the same.

To Elim the Earl seemed like a man doing the best he could to be reasonable, as fair was rarely possible. Not when dealing indirectly with such a large group of people.

Stromholt seemed the opposite of that. A mad place where a law without rhyme nor reason to it existed. Hate the idea of the place as he did, Elim wouldn’t have gone looking for trouble in a foreign kingdom. Trouble was they were getting perilously close to the valley and his family of their own accord.

42 would be more than match enough for anyone who dared, but it still made Elim’s hands itch for his sword. He didn’t want such people close enough to even see the outer defenses, let alone touch them.

“I’ve found him,” Marlow said, startling Elim out of his thoughts. Only long practice and a couple good beatings as a soldier kept him from making a sound despite that. The hound really made no sound when it didn’t want to.

“Good, hopefully he’ll have made a camp and have his things with him. I don’t care to go climbing trees,” Elim replied after a moment. It would be bad luck if the man had elected to string his gear up to keep animals out of it.

He made sure to reward Marlow with some head pats before they set out, Elim trailing after him slowly. The path was easy, the hound making sure of it, but he still had to take care to be quiet. They arrived just as the first light touch of rain began to find a single man in leathers sitting miserably amidst a cold camp.

A good set up considering his task, though he spoiled it quickly by lighting a fire once the rain grew heavy. Elim really had to wonder what kind of discipline the seekers taught if they could be so easily undone by a spot of cold rain. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take the man long to fall asleep either.

“Almost seems a waste to tie him up,” Elim muttered. He couldn’t be sure what the man would know, but he doubted it would be much given how poorly he behaved.

Huddled up with Marlow sheltering under his cloak, Elim was actually a little colder than he’d have been on his own. The stone dog seemed to suck in heat without sharing any.

“Then allow me,” Marlow said. Elim didn’t have time to question what the hound ment as the other man’s body began sinking into the earth. It wasn’t a fast process, he could have gotten up if he’d roused and moved quickly, but he didn’t. A few minutes later he was buried up to his neck in soft earth.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” Elim mused.

“I find you agreeable master, and cannot harm you anyway, but will should it be needed,” Marlow replied solemnly. Elim laughed at the serious tone and started giving him a good scratch and belly rub, though it hurt his hands a bit to do it even with good leather gloves on. He’d really need to get some plate ones that covered the tips of his fingers fully at some point.

Elim put up a bit of canvas with ropes to block the rain before going through the small tent the other man had been sleeping in. He found a backpack full of gear and started going through it. Very little of it seemed like anything that would interest 42, but he threw anything unfamiliar into his inventory all the same.

Intent on his search Elim didn’t bother waking the other man, though he eventually roused on his own. There was some considerable caterwauling, threats, and tears once Brinbarn, as he called himself, woke up.

Elim didn’t care for it, but waited it out a bit while the man got comfortable with his helplessness. His only regret was that the other man being entrapped in earth, while effective, made it difficult to hold a conversation without getting a crick in his neck.

Once Brinbarn’s general panic subsided, the conversation did not improve.

“You and your whole lot of heretics are going to die in agony once my company arrive,” Brinbarn growled.

“Right, about that, how many are in the main seeker group?” Elim asked for the third time. He could have been more menacing about it, but was busy reading a little booklet that explained how the flairs worked and what the colors were for.

Given that the man only seemed to have one kind, red, his having the little manual was likely a mistake. Drop it in the lofting tube wick down and the light wick wasn’t complicated. He should have simply been drilled on that.

“Hundreds,” Brinbarn spat.

“Not much of a liar, are you?” Elim chidded. He’d have said forty in the other man's place. It was a reasonably intimidating number but not absolutely ludicrous.

“Heretic,” Brinban replied, teeth gnashing. It was his favorite insult despite not having landed any of the other times.

“That word doesn’t mean what you think it does,” Elim said, putting the booklet and flairs in his inventory.

“Oh?” Brinbarn challenged. Elim just shook his head and slit the man's neck, careful to get the jugular and made it quick. Marlow started to bury him fully, but Elim held up a hand to stop him. He’d been useless but there wasn’t a point in cruelty, they’d wait until he was properly dead.

“What does it mean?” Marlow inquired as the other man bled.

“Means someone of a faith rejecting parts of it or practicing it differently than the church says they should,” Elim explained. “I can’t be a heretic because I don’t give two fucks about his faith, nor was I born to it.”

“I can see why you’d reject him as your kind,” Marlow replied. Elim just snorted at that.

“Bought time to get back to where I’m expected to be waiting,” Elim said, brushing his pants off as he stood. Brinbarn was properly dead and he found what he’d been looking for.

He didn’t plan on hiding what he’d done from Ban, but it was a conversation for later. One he didn’t plan on making the other man track him down to have. The Lepusan had enough worries as it was without him adding to them.