When Things Are Set Right

The Rune Reaper

"Where is he?"

The Rune Reeper's belt jangled with each heavy step. As he strode across the parlor of the gambling house, severed fingers swayed from the black cord around his neck.

Three men, low-level scum, trembled in silence as they avoided looking directly at him. Ulfur could smell the terror seeping from their pores.

"You were supposed to have had him by now," he said. "You said you tracked him here. So where is he?"

"He–he got away, Sir," said one of the men with a metal stud in his nose. "We found the guards slaughtered."

"He got away," Ulfur said.

The Cords fell quiet.

Ulfur paced silently, seething, then grabbed the nearest Cord, a skinny man with a vest and no shirt who smelled particularly foul. Shirtless yelped as Ulfur wrapped him in a headlock, and with one swift motion, snapped his neck.

"Imagine my displeasure," Ulfur said, his voice conversational as he allowed the lifeless body to collapse on the floor. "I received word to hurry to Fieldgate. When I arrived, I learned he'd gotten away. Again. In addition, half of the Fieldgate cell is dead."

Unleashing a roar, Ulfur overturned a nearby table. The remaining two Cords quailed as Ulfur broke off a table leg and stalked toward them.

"I want an explanation," he said, his voice elevated and menacing. "Did his powers come back?"

"We–we think he had help," Nose Stud said.

"Enlighten me."

The door swung wide and one of Ulfur's men dragged a prostitute inside by the hair. He pushed her forward. The woman cursed at him, standing straighter and smoothing her shabby dress. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she had bruises over her arms.

"This whore says she saw something," the hunter said.

Ulfur lowered the table leg and let it clatter to the floor. He looked the woman up and down. Her gaze darted from Ulfur's one milky eye to his grotesque necklace. She blanched, and hugged her arms to herself. She took the tiniest step away.

"I mighta saw somethin'..." she said, looking anywhere but at him.

Ulfur's mouth curled into a faint smile. He slowly crossed the room. When he reached out his hand, she recoiled, but he caught her. He pressed only his fingertips against her scalp.

Cold seeped from his touch. She screamed for a brief moment, then her breath caught. Her face contorted.

He stroked the fingers around his neck, each marked with a symbol he found unique and useful. His hand brushed the symbol allowing him to worm through her memory. He felt its power leak into his own hand, crawl up his arm, through his mind, and down the other arm, into the hand grasping the woman by the forehead.

Through the prostitute's eyes, he watched a gruesome scene unfold, when something gave him pause.

A little she-elf?

That was unexpected.

What was she, some zealot, or do-gooder?

He wormed deeper into the woman's mind.

The she-elf slipped into the shadowy alley, and the whore stepped away from the window where she'd been watching.

Ulfur pried his hand off the woman's face, leaving blackened prints where his fingertips touched her head. She dropped to her knees, and dissolved in tears.

Ulfur gasped for air and his eyelids drooped. He swayed, then caught himself, grabbing onto the necklace. His muscles felt heavy and depleted. Using the runes this way drained him of energy. It always did. But this was an extraordinary circumstance.

"Ready my carriage," he said to the hunter, his voice gravelly. "Find out what you can about the wood elf. Alert our men at the gates. She doesn't leave this city. She'll lead us to him."

He lumbered stiffly toward the door following his hunter toward the waiting carriage.

"Where...where are you going?" Nose Stud asked.

"To summon our forces across Noemar," Ulfur said. "He's loose."