Serving Lant Agriche

Chapter 10 - Spiralling Out of Control

Dion and Wally left the forest easily within a fortnight and were running across a moor at dawn. The sky's hue was slowly changing to a mix of pink and orange. There was no tall grass or trees to take cover behind, only a never-ending field with green moss and low shrubs that held the dirt ground in place.

It was Dion's first mistake. He should not have left the treeline in the daytime.

When he saw a sheep on the side of a hill, he grabbed Wally's neck and pulled the beast down with him. Wally breathed loudly through his mouth but otherwise stayed still. Its human ears twitched as it heard the flock of sheep bray and graze.

Dion slowly released the back of Wally's neck and leaned on his elbows. It had been instinct to attempt to conceal himself, but it was impossible in this location. Even digging a hole to hide in would take too much time.

The walking stick appeared in his line of sight first, followed by a small hand and then the outline of the shepherd boy coming to check on his flock.

Dion had meant to be discreet, but a little boy alone meant that his family was nearby, perhaps a farm or ranch. Too many witnesses. He was displeased by how disorganised his journey had started out, but he would be back on track before long.

The picture of sheep and the shepherd boy reminded him of a story he had read in a foreign book.

Hadn't he heard of the story: the Boy Who Cried Wolf? Dion surmised that the boy's death would look natural if it looked like a wolf ate him.

"Kill the human," Dion said.

Wally bounded after the boy and swiped the staff away from the boy's hand.

Dion expected Wally to make short work of the boy, but Wally instead nipped at the boy's heels with its teeth and began jumping over the boy as if it was playing hopscotch.

The shepherd boy cried aloud as Wally's wet paws made small scratches on the boy's arms and tunic. Dion had miscalculated. The toy was no longer hungry, but still prone to bloodlust. After playing its little game, it would eventually kill the boy.

Dion raised the balaclava over his mouth and equipped a dagger that had been strapped to his thigh. Unlike Lant Agriche and Wally, he did not play with his victims.

At Dion's approach, Wally's fluffy goat tail arched upward. It held a few folds of the shepherd boy's tunic in its mouth as the boy pulled at his shirt with his hands, trying to release himself from the beast's grasp.

The shepherd boy was sobbing, but the noise did not illicit any emotion from Dion. He had already seen some of his younger siblings fail their educational requirements before their thirteenth birthday. After all, there was no point in raising a crippled child who had lost his eyesight or let a girl live if she was perpetually bedridden.

The weak should stay hidden and be useful in the shadows. They should not be an eyesore to their masters. That was the environment that Dion was used to.

Wally released the shepherd boy and stood on its two legs as if he were a man. Its paws swung and a low muttering fell from its lips.

Dion followed his gaze to see a young man running from the scene: the shepherd boy's older brother gone to get help.

Another nuisance, Dion thought.

He whistled and Wally went after the young man. Dion looked down at the shepherd boy whose face was burrowed in the grass and decided to let the boy live. He remembered the moral of the wolf story.

The boy was not even eight hands tall. Even if the child said something, the adults would not believe him. No one would believe a boy who cried wolf.

Dion trusted Wally to catch the next target without difficulty. Noel had imbued magical properties that had enhanced Wally's speed, strength, and senses. The demon would be excited from seeing a moving target, and if it decided to play with its food again, Dion himself would climb on the young man and claw its innards out with his hands and switchblade.

His hand brushed against the empty spot at his belt, where his training sword traditionally laid. In another mission, he would have brought his preferred broadsword or whip but was aware that Wally would pick at the loose tools, thinking they were play things. Dion would have to be inventive while fighting with unfamiliar weapons.

A smile played on his lips.

He was having much more fun than being at home.

At the top of the hill, Wally had already planted his paw straight through the young man's forehead. Its lips were stained red when it looked at Dion. Its little goat tail quivered as if expecting praise.

A young woman with a white kerchief over her head screamed. Dion's fingers plucked a shuriken from his belt. He threw the metal throwing star in her direction.

This was different than conducting exercises in the Agriche training grounds. A real mission was complex and everything was spiralling down quickly. How many targets did he have to dispel to hide their tracks?

When Dion reached the woman's body on the floor, his fist clenched. The woman was still alive, crawling to escape from Dion and his toy. Blood seeped from underneath her chest as she grabbed fistfuls of grass, moving her young body incrementally with each pull.

Dion stepped on the woman's back and struck his other foot down, breaking her neck.

He had been so stupid. He had relied on his map, memorising the major human dwellings in a hundred kilometre vicinity, but this one had not been marked.

Before him was a village, too small or new to be included in his charts. Wally followed and stood beside Dion like an obedient dog.

They were on top of the hill now, in plain sight of all the village inhabitants. Another shrill scream. Fingers pointed at Wally, who had dragged the young man's corpse along with him, its front paw still embedded in the skull. The villagers saw Dion standing on top of a woman whose head was unnaturally bending away from her body.

Dion looked up at the pale morning sun and equipped a second dagger. With a weapon in each hand, he ran downward, taking responsibility for his mess.

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