In the Shadow of the Rook

6. A Farewell

Erik escaped Zauhn by the river, by design the one easy access point in and out of the town. It was simpler to funnel the lurchers in so you knew where to fight them, and it saved on maintenance of the primary gates. If a few folk too poor to move from the riverbanks died every year, it was no sweat off the count's back.

Between the dash from Zauhn's ever-watchful guards and the hard swim in the fast-flowing river, Erik lost his bag of possessions, and was left with nothing but the clothes on his back, the coins in his purse, the knife on his belt. But he had greater concerns than that.

His father hadn't given him much in their final parting, but he had given him one last gift: a purpose, and a name. Though he didn't know where to search, Erik would pursue this man or woman wherever they were, to hunt down the secret his father claimed they knew. He would find the Rook, and hope his father hadn't deceived him. Again.

But there was only so much time. Only so long before the elixir ran out. Only so long before his body began to rot from the inside out, leaving him no more than another shambling lurcher, less in control of his fate than a dying man. At least a dying man could escape.

Erik rose from the river, and started to run.

* * *

Erik breathed in raggedly and withdrew his hand, fighting to keep his thoughts away from the still form before him. Instead, he concentrated on the pregnant silence that had fallen over the forest. Were the nautded animals released as their master died? Or did they now wait in ambush?

Something brushed his ankle and he nearly jumped out of his skin, kicking down instinctively. But it was just the lurcher from before, still trying to detain him, even with no limbs, no eyes, and its brain beyond mush. Because of me, Erik thought, trying to keep down the sickness suddenly rising up.

He breathed out, stepped over it without looking, and went to the chest in the bare room. Pillaging a man's possessions—much safer moral territory, the incessant voice in his head said. Ignoring it, Erik picked through its contents and found equipment similar to what was in his father's laboratory. But one in particular stuck out to him: a rounded glass chamber with a leather tube extending from its bottom, and a needle coming off the end with a small pump. A surinx—an implement to inject liquid into a man's veins. He intended to use it to keep hydrated, but it had had another purpose during his childhood, when his father administered the elixir to him—to 'keep him healthy,' he'd always said. But there was no use dredging up old, sour memories. Erik took the surinx and rose.

Outside, the sounds of the nautded creatures grew quieter, more distant, then finally stopped altogether. With barely a backward glance, Erik moved to the door, clutching his bloody knife in one hand and the surinx in the other, and with barely reined in dread, he slowly opened it.

By the broken light of the moon, he could see that the risen animals had gone back to grazing on everything in sight. He couldn't help thinking that, perhaps, they would discover more to graze on inside the hut, once the stench became strong enough. Just as long as it's not me getting eaten, he thought, but it still made his stomach turn.

He slowly stepped outside, and nothing looked his way. He took another step—still safe. Then he walked faster, leaving the clearing behind, wishing he could leave the memories with it.

* * *

Ordinary noises of the night accompanied him as he headed down what he hoped was the correct path back. If I am headed the right way, I'd better have a damn good story to tell. Though no story would be good enough if the nautded dogs came hunting and weren't deterred by yungleaf sap. Now that the hermit was dead, who knew what would happen.