Page 2 of Wanted: Rogues and Bards

Fenric paused, leaning against a building for a moment, letting the cool stone chill his heated skin, as he’d been running now for a good fifteen minutes. A storm rolling in blocked out the last rays of the setting sun and held in the day’s heat, making for a very muggy evening. Sweat slipped down the sides of his face and left his shirt clinging to his back. He listened hard for his pursuers, and he could hear them, but they were a fair distance off. At least a block or two. The streets were largely empty at this hour. Most shops had closed up, and people had returned home for dinner and to forget about the day’s woes. The only places still seeing business were taverns and brothels. They were all in the western district, while his current hiding place in the southern district was filled with the dilapidated hovels of the poor.

Had he lost those bastards chasing him at last?

Seemed like he had.

Straightening, he blew out a breath. Switching from human to cat and back to human as he’d darted through narrow alleys and across rooftops had apparently done the trick. Upon shifting, he’d stopped only long enough to more properly settle his shirt across his shoulders and stomp down on his right boot. That one was always off, the magic just not settling it correctly on his foot. One of the skills he kept closely hidden from outsiders was his shapeshifting ability, the cat being only one of his forms. And while he might not be able to tap into the cat’s heightened senses in his human form, the ability to shift at will was useful for getting out of tricky situations. Like tonight’s.

Fenric had headed out on the town because his coin pouch held only lint, and he’d thought he’d try his luck with sticky fingers at a crowded tavern for a bit o’ bag. Things had started off fine as people got deeper into their cups and loose with their purses. But then he’d gotten greedy and joined the card game. Those players hadn’t been nearly as drunk as he’d thought they were. One eagle-eyed bastard just had to notice the deck suddenly had more than four aces, and being new to town, Fenric naturally got blamed.

Wiping sweat from his forehead, he gave it another minute. The sounds of pursuit grew quieter, as if those pissed-off drunks were headed in the other direction. All right then, he should be able to return safely to his group’s little rented house on the outskirts of town.

Er, which was uh… Damn, he really should have paid better attention to where he was going. Where the hell was he? He currently stood at the edge of a graveyard filled with crumbling headstones and overgrown weeds. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen such a pathetic resting spot. He wouldn’t be surprised if the occupants climbed out of their holes and hiked off to the main cemetery on the other side of Pomor.

That graveyard on the edge of the Rulzet District was fancy as all get out with its cathedral adjacent to Mineas, Constellation of the Western Rising Star and supposed “great decider” of all their lives.

Fuck that.

When they’d first arrived in town, Fenric had passed by the cathedral, which towered over the neatly kept graveyard and even had half a dozen stained glass windows—damn impressive for a small town such as Pomor. The cathedral supposedly contained four life-sized marble statues of some of the great priestesses for Mineas, but if it didn’t have Katrina, he didn’t give a shit about the thing.

But this graveyard in front of him? Not a very populated one—wait, was populated the right word?

Fenric shrugged this question off. Something to ask Belstrom when he got back.

Anyway, graveyard.

The tiny church next to the graveyard was falling apart, its roof caved in and all its windows broken. There was no guardian for these dead.

Beyond, he could see the thinned-out woods edging the southern parts of Pomor. He crept closer to the cemetery and climbed on top of the remains of a low stone wall to get a better lay of the land.

Several yards away, a pair of lamps glowed from a small building, catching his eye. A white flag hanging from the corner fluttered in the breeze, showing the symbol of a walking stick and waterskin—the sign of Gauldin, god of travelers. The south road hitching station! Ah-ha! So he wasn’t too far from the rental house. Maybe a fifteen-minute walk once he crossed this graveyard?

Excellent. He was thirsty, not to mention hungry. Mental note: Don’t do the pluck-the-drunks trick until after he’d had dinner. Tavern food wasn’t nearly as good as Belstrom’s cooking.

He moseyed across the graveyard, mostly because he needed a short break from all the running. There was no point in backtracking to cut through the slums when he had a nice, quiet graveyard in front of him.

Fenric hummed as he cautiously picked his way through the broken headstones and over the uneven earth. The night might not have been highly lucrative, but at least his purse jingled with a few coins.

The wind kicked up, rustling tree branches and sending birds into the air to seek better resting spots.

Fenric glared at the boiling black clouds as the air grew heavier with the scent of rain. “You know, just because I’m in a graveyard, there’s no need to make it spookier than it already is.”

Thump.

Fenric froze, his eyes darting around. That ominous thump sounded as if it had come from underground.

“Earlier, when I thought about this being a pathetic graveyard, I was joking, right?” Fenric called out. His mouth had gone dry. That drink was sounding so good right about now.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The noise became more urgent. Shit. The dead were really listening.

Fenric shifted to the balls of his feet and started moving again, every muscle tensed and ready to run. The only problem was that the thumping was so muffled, he couldn’t be sure which direction it came from. He resumed moving in the direction he needed to reach the road, but he turned as he walked, making sure no shambling dead could sneak up on him.

“You need my friend Hapi. He’s a necromancer. He’s the guy who can help you get out of that crummy grave and into a much posher one over in Rulzet. Let me get him for you.”

The thumping increased, and now there was desperate scratching on wood, like a cat clawing at the door, begging to be let in. Only this was more likely a corpse begging to be let out.

Fenric twisted, getting a better feel for where the noise was emanating from, only to have his foot catch on a bit of broken headstone, causing him to tumble onto his ass.