REAPERS - Book Two: The Hunger and the Sickness

4

"Each day a battle of the soul," said Rooster. "It's been rough, on Mercy especially. But we're pulling through. We're hard folk." The old commander sat across from Jinx in a dim booth lit by rustic lanterns. Both Reapers were in civilian garb. Ascension Boulevard's lamplights twinkled in the canals outside through the uneven glass of the windows. The Hunt House was Rooster's favorite haunt in Camshire for such meetings. Heads and busts of various strange beasts that had been slain across the realm were mounted on the walls and in the dividers between the booths and in the latrines to stare at the eaters and pissers in grim silence. To Jinx, the taxidermic trophies only served as reminders of the profound horrors of the wild. He'd seen many fellow men fall to such kinds of beast. Still saw it, for such things never left the mind once branded into its labyrinthine folds. Yet Jinx understood that his peers need fear little here for the Hunt House was by design a secure place for ranked officials and their guests. It had been used in past times as a bunker, with its thick fortified walls and stores of food and wine in its cellars, when the Diluvians urged popular revolt against the ruling monarchy and war raged in the streets. The servers and cooks were trained and armed and sworn to the Nation to protect the patrons with their lives. Still, Jinx knew men could be swayed by coin or creed, and so he kept wary even here.

Both Reapers had journeyed to the great and pandemonic city after the Battle of Fort Nothing's close. Jinx had come first with the captive necromancer Skelen in tow. The criminal was to be delivered to the Diluvian Inquisitors and finally meet judgment for his unthinkable misdeeds against Marrow and the greater humanity. Rooster came to Camshire later, with twofold purpose—to bury his son who'd died on the eastern front, and to help defend the Reapers against Ogerius' mounting legal charges. Ogerius himself had accompanied Jinx and Skelen on their journey to this City of Uneasy Winds (called so more for its shifting political and social landscapes and architectures and economies than the chicanerous winds themselves), along with his entourage of lackeys, all of whom kept close eyes on the two runists for any hint of talk or witchery.

"We've lost many children and so we are weathered," Rooster continued, "but they had all been very young when they died. Dreu's passing was... different. He was about your age."

"Yes, I met him once," said Jinx, noticing the unfamiliar tenderness in his commander's voice. "A good man. Smart and honorable. He died well. I hear he gave the Erumanir hell in the push to retake Fort Holdt."

"The stars cup his glory now," said Rooster. "I'll tell Mercy you asked."

"Please do," said Jinx as the waiter brought out their steaks. "Have you seen Halo's family yet since your return?"

"Indeed I have," said Rooster. "But not under the fortune of pleasure, to my sincere displeasure. Mulia's been dragged by Ogerius into this mockery of a trial, to testify on the subject of Donric's character."

Jinx frowned. Donric, codenamed Halo, had vanished from Fort Nothing, along with the slain Justicar's haunted sword, leaving no trace. Jinx himself had planned to bring the weapon with him as well for further study of its ancient runes. "Do they suspect Halo of deserting?"

"Perhaps," said Rooster, "but it is not Donric who is on trial. They want to bring down the entire Reaper program. The events surrounding Fort Nothing, including Halo's role, is but one arrow in Ogerius' quiver. There have unfortunately been enough botched missions and disasters to fill years of nonsense quibbling in that circus of a courthouse." Rooster shook his head, resolute. "But Ogerius and Hortecrus and the others don't understand the greater picture, that the good we do ultimately outweighs the bad."

Jinx nodded and wondered if perhaps Rooster was only assuring himself so he may avoid the awful truth, that the Reaper program did have too much reach, took matters too far, was too poorly managed. He gave no voice to such thoughts.