Chapter 1 #3
Anthony had been absolutely convinced that their house was in the territory of a foul-tempered finfolk man.
The only way to appease the territorial beast was to offer up small treasures.
He left particularly nice shells, interesting rocks, and whatever shiny thing he could acquire, by the gate in the garden wall that faced the water.
The little treasures were always accepted, which eased the anxiety in his young chest. That was likely the handiwork of a gardener or his older cousins. No one mentioned it, he never asked, and the territorial finfolk man never attacked the house.
Children would believe any old nonsense. Now, he recognized the superstition for being exactly that.
Anthony made his way up the dirt street to the main thoroughfare. The town was quiet; the inclement weather encouraging the residents to stay home for the equinox and turn in early.
The frontier town wildly differed from the coastal town of his youth, Saltwick.
Here the buildings were wooden, the roofs metal, and the roads unpaved.
A staggering number of people flowed through Sweetwater Point, congesting the muddy roads and crowding the taverns, but somehow it felt open.
The possibilities were as endless as the sky.
Saltwick was old and worn. The streets were paved and the houses made of stone, but the people who lived there were as cold as the harsh wind off the northern waters. He hadn’t set foot in that forsaken town since he left at eighteen and he was glad of it.
None of this was helpful.
Anthony quickened his step. He needed to find his missing recruit, preferably before the man did something regrettable.
An uncontrollable beast on the loose never ended well.
The best recruits were enlisted soldiers who volunteered for the bite. They were loyal and understood. The raw power they possessed could shift the balance in battle. Only a small percentage transformed, even those with a family predisposition.
To make up the numbers, recruits were drawn from the jails and less savory sources. Many took the bite to avoid the hangman. Even if they failed to transform, they lived out their days in prison. If they did transform, they served for ten years before being discharged with a pension.
It was a fair deal when the alternative was the noose. Unfortunately, these recruits were unreliable and prone to vice. They had no pride in the uniform they wore and broke every regulation. Eventually, they all went rogue.
Such was the case of Ben Jollett. Imprisoned for theft, he agreed to the bite. Now, just a few short weeks later, he was on the run. Faced with the realities of a soldier’s life, Ben decided that he would rather be a fugitive.
Conscription never worked. Even when it did, the creatures had a limited life span.
The military asked for ten years but few lived to see the end of their servitude.
The officers in charge only saw the creatures as weapons, not living, breathing people, and were thrown into the most dangerous situations.
The fatality rate was staggering. If a beast was fortunate to survive, they needed an anchor.
If too much time passed without a soul to tether the monster, they went feral.
Dangerous. Beyond dangerous. And despite the orders and mission briefings from senior officers, no one could force a bond. It happened organically or not at all.
Artifacts would be the most useful. Genuine weapons infused with Nexus energy, relics from the colonial age, in the hands of loyal and true soldiers? They would be unmatched. Not even Draven with his army of monsters lurking in the mountains could stand against just an elite force.
Unfortunately, artifact quality ranged from the legendary to the worthless.
Legendary artifacts were few and far between.
A skilled artificer spent their lives perfecting their craft and could hope to forge one true artifact.
The demand far outstripped the supply. The government could pass a provision demanding that all artifacts be surrendered but that would create more problems than it solved.
Namely, artifacts were to be found in the possession of monster hunters, who would never surrender the weapons, and collectors, who were too wealthy to be ignored.
There was no resolution down that path.
What the military needed was witches.
Their skills at tracking monsters were unparalleled. They could manipulate Nexus energy and use that to enhance weaponry. While they might never make a tier one relic, imagine the benefit of lesser improvements. Rifles that aimed true. Pistols that never misfired. Spyglasses with improved vision.
Anthony considered the deputy. She understood loyalty and duty. Her skills at tracking needed to be improved, but that wasn’t anything time and repetition couldn’t cure. She’d be a useful tool but perhaps she was too loyal. She’d never leave her cousin, the sheriff.
Perhaps he could seduce her. He saw the way she looked at him with appreciation.
The notion filled him with instant revulsion. That was something his brother Roderick would do. Anthony would never stoop to such manipulation. There had to be another way.
Could he appeal to her sense of patriotism? Join his company of monsters for the greater good of all humanity?
Anthony pulled at the collar of his coat. The rain felt like needles of ice on his skin.
A scream pierced the night.