1. Fenric
Fenric paused, leaning against a building for a moment, letting the cool stone chill his heated skin, as he’d been running now for a good fifteen minutes.
A storm rolling in blocked out the last rays of the setting sun and held in the day’s heat, making for a very muggy evening.
Sweat slipped down the sides of his face and left his shirt clinging to his back.
He listened hard for his pursuers, and he could hear them, but they were a fair distance off.
At least a block or two. The streets were largely empty at this hour.
Most shops had closed up, and people had returned home for dinner and to forget about the day’s woes.
The only places still seeing business were taverns and brothels.
They were all in the western district, while his current hiding place in the southern district was filled with the dilapidated hovels of the poor.
Had he lost those bastards chasing him at last?
Seemed like he had.
Straightening, he blew out a breath. Switching from human to cat and back to human as he’d darted through narrow alleys and across rooftops had apparently done the trick.
Upon shifting, he’d stopped only long enough to more properly settle his shirt across his shoulders and stomp down on his right boot.
That one was always off, the magic just not settling it correctly on his foot.
One of the skills he kept closely hidden from outsiders was his shapeshifting ability, the cat being only one of his forms. And while he might not be able to tap into the cat’s heightened senses in his human form, the ability to shift at will was useful for getting out of tricky situations. Like tonight’s.
Fenric had headed out on the town because his coin pouch held only lint, and he’d thought he’d try his luck with sticky fingers at a crowded tavern for a bit o’ bag.
Things had started off fine as people got deeper into their cups and loose with their purses.
But then he’d gotten greedy and joined the card game.
Those players hadn’t been nearly as drunk as he’d thought they were.
One eagle-eyed bastard just had to notice the deck suddenly had more than four aces, and being new to town, Fenric naturally got blamed.
Wiping sweat from his forehead, he gave it another minute. The sounds of pursuit grew quieter, as if those pissed-off drunks were headed in the other direction. All right then, he should be able to return safely to his group’s little rented house on the outskirts of town.
Er, which was uh… Damn, he really should have paid better attention to where he was going.
Where the hell was he? He currently stood at the edge of a graveyard filled with crumbling headstones and overgrown weeds.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen such a pathetic resting spot.
He wouldn’t be surprised if the occupants climbed out of their holes and hiked off to the main cemetery on the other side of Pomor.
That graveyard on the edge of the Rulzet District was fancy as all get out with its cathedral adjacent to Mineas, Constellation of the Western Rising Star and supposed “great decider” of all their lives.
Fuck that.
When they’d first arrived in town, Fenric had passed by the cathedral, which towered over the neatly kept graveyard and even had half a dozen stained glass windows—damn impressive for a small town such as Pomor.
The cathedral supposedly contained four life-sized marble statues of some of the great priestesses for Mineas, but if it didn’t have Katrina, he didn’t give a shit about the thing.
But this graveyard in front of him? Not a very populated one—wait, was populated the right word?
Fenric shrugged this question off. Something to ask Belstrom when he got back.
Anyway, graveyard.
The tiny church next to the graveyard was falling apart, its roof caved in and all its windows broken. There was no guardian for these dead.
Beyond, he could see the thinned-out woods edging the southern parts of Pomor. He crept closer to the cemetery and climbed on top of the remains of a low stone wall to get a better lay of the land.
Several yards away, a pair of lamps glowed from a small building, catching his eye.
A white flag hanging from the corner fluttered in the breeze, showing the symbol of a walking stick and waterskin—the sign of Gauldin, god of travelers.
The south road hitching station! Ah-ha! So he wasn’t too far from the rental house.
Maybe a fifteen-minute walk once he crossed this graveyard?
Excellent. He was thirsty, not to mention hungry. Mental note: Don’t do the pluck-the-drunks trick until after he’d had dinner. Tavern food wasn’t nearly as good as Belstrom’s cooking.
He moseyed across the graveyard, mostly because he needed a short break from all the running. There was no point in backtracking to cut through the slums when he had a nice, quiet graveyard in front of him.
Fenric hummed as he cautiously picked his way through the broken headstones and over the uneven earth. The night might not have been highly lucrative, but at least his purse jingled with a few coins.
The wind kicked up, rustling tree branches and sending birds into the air to seek better resting spots.
Fenric glared at the boiling black clouds as the air grew heavier with the scent of rain. “You know, just because I’m in a graveyard, there’s no need to make it spookier than it already is.”
Thump.
Fenric froze, his eyes darting around. That ominous thump sounded as if it had come from underground.
“Earlier, when I thought about this being a pathetic graveyard, I was joking, right?” Fenric called out. His mouth had gone dry. That drink was sounding so good right about now.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The noise became more urgent. Shit. The dead were really listening.
Fenric shifted to the balls of his feet and started moving again, every muscle tensed and ready to run.
The only problem was that the thumping was so muffled, he couldn’t be sure which direction it came from.
He resumed moving in the direction he needed to reach the road, but he turned as he walked, making sure no shambling dead could sneak up on him.
“You need my friend Hapi. He’s a necromancer. He’s the guy who can help you get out of that crummy grave and into a much posher one over in Rulzet. Let me get him for you.”
The thumping increased, and now there was desperate scratching on wood, like a cat clawing at the door, begging to be let in. Only this was more likely a corpse begging to be let out.
Fenric twisted, getting a better feel for where the noise was emanating from, only to have his foot catch on a bit of broken headstone, causing him to tumble onto his ass.
The scent of damp, freshly turned soil filled his nose.
That shouldn’t be in such an old graveyard.
Planting his hands in the scraggly weeds and soft dirt, he started to push back to his feet when he noticed a very wide and long pauper’s grave meant for communal burials.
Peering over the edge, he saw there were several places where it looked like older coffins had been buried, but some asshole hadn’t bothered to fill in the entire hole.
But what caught his attention was a shoddy-looking wooden coffin tucked up against the side.
There. That was what thumped and rattled, shaking loose some of the dirt chucked on top of it.
So…old hole, new occupant? Was the dirt there merely to keep the person inside, inside?
Because there was clearly something “alive” in that coffin.
Whether or not it was friend shaped was the question.
Fenric honestly considered just leaving because he was a villain, not a hero. Who cared if someone got buried alive, right? Besides, a ghoul or something could be in there. People not buried with the correct rites turned into Other Beings, after all. Not his circus, most definitely not his monkeys.
A heart-wrenching sob poured from the coffin, plucking at some dusty cords deep in Fenric’s chest. The sound held such a note of hopelessness, Fenric’s throat tightened and his teeth clenched.
Ghosts of memories from when he had been at his lowest in life, without a single soul to help him, moaned in his ears.
Ouch, feelings. Feelings had joined the party.
Well, didn’t hurt to ask, right?
Of course, he could also hear Hapi snickering as the necromancer called him a sap and a sucker.
Whatever.
Fenric hopped into the hole, then nudged the side of the coffin with his boot. “New grave, who dis?”
“Is someone there?” a soft male tenor rasped. He sounded young. “Please, I implore you, do help me. I’ve been unfairly buried alive!”
“I see that. Promise you won’t try to suck my soul out of my body or eat me if I let you out.”
“I would never, sir!”
Well, all right, proof was in the pudding. Not to mention Fenric had a fair assortment of knives tucked about his body. He felt certain he could take one prematurely buried wretch.
With a shrug, Fenric held his arms together and used them to sweep off the grave dirt. “Hang on, then. I’ve got to remove some of the dirt to lift the lid.”
“I commend your courageous and forthright spirit. May Adon shine his guiding light on your noble brow!”
Fenric stopped and rolled his eyes heavenward while heaving a great sigh. What the hell was he doing?
Some thief had clearly nabbed himself a rich, educated nob, pilfered his purse, and then tossed him in a grave. If he had any sense, Fenric would turn around and walk away right this second. He was a villain.
Except those hopeless, lonely sobs still echoed through his mind.
No. No, he wasn’t some sap.
However, maybe he could get a reward after getting the man back to his family. Far more than the meager coins Fenric had scrounged on tonight’s bunko. Somebody had to be willing to pay to get Sir Fancy Pants back.
Oh, and fuck the god of justice! The great patron god of heroes could shove his guiding light right up his ass.
All right, that should be enough dirt off.
He scooted around to the head of the coffin, got a grip on the lid, and tried heaving, but the damn thing didn’t give.
He leaned in close, sliding his fingers over the rough wood to find nails hammered into the lid.
At least six of them. Fenric jerked back.
His eyebrows leapt nearly to his hairline.
Nails weren’t cheap to come by. This wasn’t a quick ditch-and-dash job.
Someone with more than a little scratch didn’t want Sir Fancy Pants climbing out of this grave.
Walking away was starting to sound better and better.
“Kind sir?” the young man called out, his muffled voice wavering ever so slightly. “I have no wish to be a bother, but will I be free soon?”
It was that sweet voice that had sabotaged Fenric’s common sense.
The kid sounded so innocent. This probably wasn’t a robbery at all.
Some rich guy’s second wife probably paid someone to off her husband’s eldest son from his previous wife to make way for her own spawn.
He probably didn’t even know Stepmommy wanted him dead so he couldn’t inherit the family fortune.
With that very logical story worked out in his head, Fenric grabbed one of his knives and started working it between the lid and the coffin, prying the cheap wood up bit by bit. “I’ll have you out in a trice. No worries.”
Wood creaked and groaned as the trapped man pushed up against the lid while Fenric pulled and pried. After several minutes, the lid flew off and the captive scrambled out. He rolled onto the ground, clearing the coffin completely.
Fenric let the lid drop and took a good look at who he’d just rescued.
Well, ain’t this a cute little puppy?