Chapter 1: Thief of Limbs

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"So you need beasthunters?" Khendric asked, putting his hat—and the contract—on the counter.

The burly-looking bartender continued washing a glass. "Yes, I do." He placed the glass on the counter and turned to face both Khendric and Topper. "I already hired one of your kind. A beasthunter, I mean. But she fled the case for 'something greater.' Her words."

"A woman?" Khendric asked, shooting a glance at Topper. Hope sparked in Khendric's mind. He had been trying to subtly track her down, without Topper noticing.

"Oh no," Topper answered. "Don't ask."

"She looked like you," the bartender said, nodding at Khendric. "Having a similar hair colour, I mean. Yours is orange, hers was red."

"Damn it," Topper muttered.

"Do you happen to know where she was going?" Khendric asked.

"No, no," Topper protested. "We are not doing that. We are doing this." He hammered his index finger on the contract sitting on the bar.

At Topper's raised voice, a few tavern patrons twisted in their seats. Seeing no danger, they returned to their conversations. "Couldn't help you if I wanted to," the bartender said, picking up another glass. "I don't know where she went."

Khendric sighed and picked up the contract. "Then we are here to help you with your problem."

"You are beasthunters?" he asked incredulously. "I get you"—motioning towards Khendric—"but you seem quite young." He eyed Topper. "Sure you're not an apprentice?"

"Don't worry," Khendric said, holding back a chuckle. "He's older than he looks. And as a reconciliation for the female beasthunter's sudden abandonment, we'll only take two thirds of the pay."

The bartender ran his eyes over them once again. "Fine."

"So tell us. What is happening?"

"Let me close up first," he answered, leaning closer. "Don't want to scare unbeknownst customers from coming back. Take these while I do it." The man gave them two mugs of ale and started cleaning up tables.

Khendric was glad to be on a case, but he longed to pursue the red-haired beasthunter.

The bartender expelled the regulars from the premises, and it wasn't long before the beasthunters were alone with him. He snuffed out most of the lights before returning to the counter.

"My name is Harry," he said. "I owned this bar with my wife for seven years. Last year, she passed away due to heartflies—or so we think, at least. The mortician said most of her heart was missing." Pain clad his voice. "So now it's just me and my boy, Eric."

"We're terribly sorry for your loss," Khendric said earnestly.

"If you need advice against the pests, we can help," Topper added.

"She used the damn cloth over her mouth while she slept," Harry said defensively. "Anyway, that's not the matter at hand. Something is happening in the city."

"In all of Kalastra?" asked Khendric.

"I don't know about the whole city, but at least here. Something peculiar is going on. Something evil."

"Has anyone died?" Topper asked.

Harry sighed. "It's . . . hard to say really. I guess so."

"Why is it hard to say?"

"Because a couple of people go missing and then they come back all . . . weird and all."

"They come back weird?" Khendric wondered. "Like they're crazy?"

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