Morning arrived sooner than Arimir would have liked. Tired, fearful of last night’s consequences, and with a stiffer back than usual, he went about preparing a hearty breakfast for both himself, Runt, and more secretly Seda. With his guest sitting before the fire, Arimir was given ample time to contemplate his next actions. A part of him, that most cowardly half, thought it best to give Runt to the bandits. There was little doubt that Runt was responsible for the massacre. Through some unknown, likely quite terrible means, the frail man had found the strength necessary to utterly rip apart two larger and taller men. Braga would doubtlessly want revenge. He’d certainly dedicate himself towards hunting down whoever was responsible for the killings; not only for retribution, but because the culprit proved the only credible threat to his dominion over Invilgram since the Lawbringer.

  But Arimir, cowardly as he might’ve been in so many aspects, was not so foolish and vile as to throw Runt to the wolves. Although Arimir was set on finding answers.

  “Did you kill them?” Arimir asked as he cooked over the fireplace, preparing a pottage of beans and even some bacon he’d been saving away.

  Runt didn’t answer at first, neither confirming, denying, or most tellingly asking for clarification. His silence was answer enough, even more so when coupled with the glare in his eyes.

  Runt had slept deeply, and even after a night’s rest, still seemed tired, weaker than usual, and somehow of an even more pallid complexion. Runt resembled men on death’s door, those who had mere hours or minutes to say their farewells before leaving this world for the hereafter. But somehow Runt was capable of walking, speaking, and now eating. His stomach’s function proved quite evident as Arimir handed the man a bowl of food, which Runt took to devouring eagerly, though as always with his mask firmly over his face as he fed himself through the bottom of his cloth mask.

  Arimir waited for Runt to finish eating before speaking again, fully intending to continue a conversation however one-sided it would be. But instead they were interrupted by a single knock upon the door, and in that moment Arimir’s heart ran cold.

  Already knowing who it would be, Arimir rose from his seat beside Runt slowly, his gaze locked upon the door. With a glance he checked on Runt who, strangely, showed no sign of concern as he continued to eat. Arimir assumed that Runt simply failed to understand the danger they were in but brushed such things aside as he steeled himself enough to approach the door.

  Not wanting to make the man on its opposite side wait, Arimir unlocked its latch, then opened the door fully to reveal none other than Braga, flanked by two of his bandits.

  With a false smile befitting the wicked man, Braga nodded towards Arimir while his eyes scanned the home’s interior. Inevitably Braga’s sights fell upon Runt, the strange man certainly being recognized by Braga. But instead of lingering on the man, Braga instead turned his attention elsewhere, finding more interest in the pot of breakfast than the man who’d only recently arrived in town.

  “How are you, Arimir?” Braga asked.

  “Fine enough.” He replied with all the politeness he could muster.

  “Are you?” Braga’s tone took on a dangerous edge, half-angry, but reserved; this was no display or performance. Braga truly struggled to hold himself back. “Seems strange given what you witnessed last night.”

  “I’ve been trying to forget it.” In return, Arimir did everything he could to remain calm, cordial, and unsuspicious.

  “Same as I, then… You don’t look as if you’ve slept well. I suppose that should be expected…”

  “…Why are you here, if I may ask?”

  As if Arimir had just tipped his hand, Braga smiled. “Well, I suppose there is no point in hiding it. You were there, when my men were murdered."

  “I wasn’t.” Arimir answered. “I arrived just before you. I didn’t see any sign of who did it.”

  Arimir desperately hoped that Braga couldn’t see the lie. But unfortunately, it seemed that Braga noticed something about his expression, as if he truly could tell that something other than the truth had been spoken; but given Braga’s utter lack of interest in Runt, Arimir doubted he was correct in his assessment of where the lie lay. Although ultimately that didn’t matter much. Braga suspected Arimir, and that was a terribly dangerous thing.

  But for a reason beyond Arimir’s understanding, Braga didn’t call out the lie, nor attack. He instead nodded, stepped back, and offered one last false smile. “Very well then. It’s unfortunate you weren’t there to see anything. Maybe someone else in town will know something.”

  Leaving his porch, Braga left Arimir in peace. And when the door closed and locked, Arimir couldn’t help but lean up against it while taking a moment to simply breathe. Air filled his lungs, and he enjoyed the relief which washed over him.

  Turning back towards Runt, he saw no sign of similar relief. Sitting, eating, staring into the fire in those rare seconds when needing to actually chew slowed him down, Runt paid no mind nor concern towards anything which had just transpired.

  “How are you not more concerned?” Arimir asked after another moment of recovery.

  “There’s no need to be.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “Braga ignored me, didn’t he?”

  “Well, yes. But you shouldn’t have expected that.”

  Runt huffed a quiet chuckle which morphed into a short cough. “Wicked men like that never give me a second glance. They only look for threats and rivals, something you’re now unfortunate enough to be… He knows my frailty. The only times I attract attention are when I’m in poorhouses. Good men notice the weak because they’re searching for those who need help.”

  Arimir stared at Runt, while in turn Runt never looked away from his rapidly emptying bowl of food. The other man hadn’t so much as glanced away for a second. And before him, Arimir could only accept his answer and move on. “Fine. But you know what Braga thinks of me, what he thinks I did… So why didn’t he just kill me?”

  “He wants proof.” Runt explained while feeding another strip of bacon to himself from under his mask. “Wants everybody to know that nothing can be kept hidden from him, or at the very least, he wants time to think of worse ways to punish you.”

  Arimir was anything but relieved, but regardless he accepted the explanation, assuming that Runt must have more experience in matters of bandits, violence, and the dark nature of the world, as evidenced by last night. “Then what should I do?”

  “You could fight.” Runt answered swiftly.

  “…I can’t.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I’m not strong enough.”

  “As am I, but that hasn’t made a difference.”

  Arimir had no rebuke, but neither did Runt’s words make him any braver. “I can’t.”

  “Perhaps…” Runt mused. “But if things keep going the way they have, and Braga keeps his sights set upon you, there will come a moment when you have to either fight or lose everything you care about.” Runt paused, giving space for a response that didn’t come before continuing. “I can’t save this town alone. In some ways, you will have to save yourselves. And if you aren’t willing to stand on your own two feet and at least spit on them in defiance, then this will end with me dead and all of you damned… I’d prefer to know which path you will take soon.”

  Nodding, for there was no other answer he could offer, Arimir gestured towards the door. “You’ve had your rest.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Runt didn’t protest, but instead merely placed his bowl on the small table beside his chair while standing. On still shaky legs, Runt moved to leave Arimir’s home, stopping only to speak once more. “Thank you for the food… and the bed. It’s been too long since I’ve known hospitality like that.”

  Runt’s departure was swift, and though it left the door unlocked in its wake, Arimir didn’t move to immediately lock it. Instead, he simply stared into the now dwindling fire.

  “He’s right, you know.” Seda spoke from the cellar, her voice as nothing but a whisper casted out through the small cracks in the floor.

  Sighing, Arimir looked downwards to where he approximated Seda to be standing, though neither could see the other. “About what?”

  “You should fight. It’s the only proper thing to do.”

  “Then why haven’t you left your hideaway?”

  No answer came from below, not for a while at least. “You better tell me what happened last night. Sounds like it could be good news.”

  “Maybe. Or it could just’ve provoked Braga… He’s terrible enough while happy. Who knows what he’ll do now.”

  “Let him come then. We’ll fight if he makes us.”

  Arimir wished it wouldn’t come to that.

  —---------------

  For most of the remaining day Arimir saw little of Runt. He worked, toiling alongside his fellow herdsmen as they tended to their flocks of Plaintaurs, then after that he assisted Sarus the carpenter with repairing a barn roof which had collapsed from an unseen rot the previous night. Such matters were wholly mundane, and in better times would have brought contentment alongside the satisfaction of hard but meaningful work.

  Arimir saw Runt only once, very briefly, upon his short visit to Aleyda to deliver miscellaneous items, the sort of tools only Sorceresses could use or understand. As before, Runt worked in his allocated corner of Aleyda’s shop. Runt worked with Arimir’s blood, mixing new concoctions of a foul sort. And notably, it seemed the man had harvested more shrubs at some point in the day and now worked to add them into his strange brews.

  Arimir gave little thought to Runt’s efforts, not any more than necessary. He, of course, wondered what part those liquids played in last night’s slaughter. Perhaps somehow they were used as weapons, maybe as venoms or poisons. Such an explanation could explain why Runt was so weakened, if he’d been harmed by them despite his precautions. But those would be cheap tricks, and Arimir doubted they would ever be effective against Braga, clever as he was. A liquid which burned the skin or blinded the eyes, as Arimir surmised might have been the effect of those brews, were not the sort of harms that could kill Braga.

  Seemingly nothing could, thought Arimir. Braga was strong and smart, and made a life of killing better men for low reasons.

  He thought long about many aspects of Runt’s work, though no perfect explanation entered his mind. Runt was certainly no foul Wizard. Men of magic were always of a dark sort, the kind of people who were willing to steal arcane power for themselves through terrible means. And such men, thankfully rare as they were, would be far more inclined to join the likes of Braga then fight selflessly against the bandits. At least, that was what Arimir had learned from stories about the Deep Woe and the dangers it unleashed into the world.

  Thinking of these things was made less worrisome as Arimir sat atop the barn roof, Sarus some ten feet away as he likewise stared out beyond the horizon. From this height, all the vast plains could be seen; every shadow cast by even the smallest of boulders and rocks, to the dust which was kicked high by a cool, rolling breeze, and especially the warm tint of the sun upon the horizon. Beauty still existed. And as he drank his water, ate a small bite of food, and enjoyed the latter half of the day with the slow falling of the sun. Arimir almost smiled.

  Yet, as so often occurs, this momentary peace was shaken by something unexpected.

  From the distance, within town, Arimir heard a shrill cry of someone beyond the point of panic. But unlike the night before, this was not the voice of grown men, but instead a woman. The tone of voice, the sound of that scream; it signaled something truly terrible. And after giving Sarus nothing more than a glance, Arimir rushed to climb down the roof, descending the ladder before rushing towards the continued sounds of distress.

  Somehow it was fear that propelled Arimir to investigate, a dread that it might have been Seda who screamed. But while the answer wasn’t quite so terrible, it was no doubt terrifying in its own way.

  Coming towards the scene, Arimir rounded a corner to find the bandits, two of them, as they hauled the cobbler’s daughter Alisa from her home. The girl kicked and screamed, thrashing in the iron-tight grips of the bandits who smiled gleefully as they pulled from her home. Nearby, others from the town had arrived to witness the event, though none acted nor made even a sound as the girl’s father begged and cried for the bandits to show a mercy they all knew wouldn’t be given.

  Arimir was locked, stunned with dread, to the point that he failed to notice the figure standing behind him, until the man spoke directly and with terrible cruelty.

  “She’s a nice one, isn’t she?”

  Turning around, Arimir came to lock eyes with Braga who glared down at him with an intense, burning glee of the wicked.

  “Her father said that she’d left town before we arrived. Funny that so many women in your town just up and left just before we showed up, right?”

  A knowing glare hardened Braga’s expression, and with fearful realization Arimir took a step back.

  “Me and the boys decided, we might as well give this town a little shake up… See what we might find in those homes of yours.” Braga looked Arimir up and down, clearly drinking in Arimir’s reaction before he in turn stepped back, turning his attention elsewhere.

  Arimir hadn’t even realized that he had started running. His mind, muddled, focused on the only place he could think of going. Not home, where he would be helpless to protect Seda if she were found, but instead towards Runt, and Aleyda.

  Practically crashing through the door of the healing house, Arimir caught the attention of both Aleyda and Runt as they worked on their respective crafts. And while Aleyda showed clear concern at his panic, Runt showed nothing but a cool apathy, as if Arimir’s panic was mundane or expected.

  “Seda…” Arimir gasped out breathlessly, having not recognized the burning ache in his chest until that very moment.

  Unsurprisingly, Aleyda seemed to understand the danger of the situation better than Runt, who continued to stand unmoving, watching as Aleyda approached to place a hand upon Arimir’s chest in a calming effort.

  “Breathe… Tell us what’s happened.”

  Arimir did as instructed. He breathed, in, out, then continued. “Braga’s taking his men around town. They’re searching everywhere. They’ve already found a girl, maybe some others, I don’t know if Seda will stay safe.”

  “Have you given any indication as to where she’s hiding?” Runt asked.

  Arimir shook his head. “No…” He paused. “Do you know where she is?”

  “I spent a night at your home. I realized where she was quickly enough.”

  That certainly wasn’t reassuring, Arimir realized. And his panic only swelled further, as the veil of obscurity around Seda’s hiding place he’d relied upon to stay calm, faded. “Please…” He began to beg while approaching Runt. “Please… Do something.”

  “She is your family.” Runt answered, still calm and unmoving despite how close Arimir now was. “Why won’t you fight back yourself?”

  “I’ve told you before!” Arimir’s desperation made anger an easy thing. “We can’t fight Braga, nobody can…”

  “Then what good could I do?” Runt then looked to Aleyda. “You should ask for her assistance before mine. She’s a Sorceress… She calls Invilgram home.” Aleyda’s expression turned stern at Runt’s suggestion, and especially as he addressed her directly. “Why haven’t you fought?”

  Aleyda let seconds pass before responding. “…Do you think Sorceresses are beyond fear?”

  Runt nodded. “So, none of you will stop them.” He then turned back towards his work, esoteric and seemingly fruitless as it was. “Pity…” He finished, his hollow and hoarse voice making the word all the more enraging.

  “You promised to help us. But how do you expect some brews to stop them?” Arimir demanded.

  “They can’t… not alone…” Something strange happened then, as for the first time since meeting the man, a fire entered into Runt’s tone. His voice, weak and feeble like its speaker, rose in strength until a long-held bitterness tinged with conviction became clear. As if the spirit of Runt, that deepest part of his soul from which all life and wrath originated, was finally showing itself in ways that his body usually made so difficult. As if for the first time, Arimir was seeing the true man as he would be if not for his ailments. “No weapon is better than their wielder… A weak man may die with a sword of legend in his hands. The strong might overcome all odds despite the rusted shiv they hold…” Runt continued working as he spoke, his attention falling back to the smoking, bubbling vials upon his workstation. And with a deftness known only to masters of their craft, he began to add more ingredients. “I don’t ask for you to fight without reason, but because I simply cannot wield my own weapons, not the strongest of them, at least…”

  Runt, with a final sniff of the vial and its purplish contents, turned back to Arimir. “One of you, any of you, have to be the ones to fight back. But if there’s nothing but cowards in this town, nothing I do will matter.” Runt then extended his hand, the still smoking and foul-smelling vial alongside it. “Dom drink this and fight, or know that everyone you hold dear will suffer because of your cowardice.”

  Arimir glanced at Aleyda, her expression being the same as his. A silent surprise, tempered only by an ever-quieter shame. Arimir then turned back to Runt, still not knowing how his creation could possibly aid them. But knowing there was no other path nor hope for salvation, Arimir accepted his offer, took up the vial, and drank deeply of its contents.