Born a Monster

465 One Night, Outside Whitehill

I sent to Black Legs.

he admitted.

He blinked at me.

I turned my back on a poisonous spider that was larger than the backpack it settled on. he sent.

My backpack jerked as he looked around.

he sent.

.....

But for all his doubts, we survived that night, and in the morning he had his fill of bats. (Minus three, because the mother could ask for her release, and those of her two daughters (who were able to send pictures and sticky feelings).

Black Legs asked.

I said,

[Transformation: Human, Achean Lineage has begun. Please do nothing stressful for the next thirty three minutes and twenty seconds.]

The transformation process always leaves stray bits outside; Black Legs was happily scarfing them down as the red faded from my vision and my pulse began to slow.

I cursed.

Black Legs said.

Hrm. Humans, second or third place in most things? No, not by a long shot. But they were... flexible.

I sent.

I said.

he said.

He leapt onto a nearby tree trunk.

he sent,

Dang it. What was I suddenly doing wrong or different? I used to have friends... er, okay, maybe not. Maybe they were all attracted only by the money or loyalty to other people.

But, once I’d gotten past the patrols, I made it to the house of someone who obviously wasn’t my friend. His mansion was guarded; both humans and hounds patrolled the grounds. I decided to make my way around the front, approach through the gate.

“I wouldn’t move suddenly, if I were you.” a man said.

I blinked into the darkness. “I call upon...”

“And nothing that resembles magic, if you want to keep your skin intact.”

“Mostly intact.” said the short one, “We’ll be scuffing you up a little bit.”

From looking at him, I was able to ... almost ... locate the other. I knew where he was standing, where he HAD to be standing. Still, it seemed he literally stepped out of the shadows.

“Unless there is reason, perhaps, not to be doing that.” he said.

I squinted at him. “Are you, perhaps, brother to Gerald the Blade?”

He smiled. “Cousin, and sometimes a sparring partner. How do you know him?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I said. “But before we get to this, are you on Lord Oriestes-son’s side, or against him?”

He stopped, sword suddenly in his hand. I pulled Heart’s Defender from my own inventory.

“THAT blade,” he said, “is sadly in need of some sharpening.”

“I am aware.” I said. “It happens when you use your weapon.”

The shorter man circled around to my right.

Into my left hand, I drew the barber’s razor. I’d have preferred one of the shields, but I didn’t think either of them was going to give me the time to strap it on properly.

“Randal, stop.” the taller man said. “This boy is under half his maximum health, already.” And to me, he said. “When was the last time you ate?”

“A few minutes ago.” I said. “Found some berries.”

“I mean an actual meal, lad. Cooked food, infused with care and bursting with nutrition.”

I shrugged. “Only a few days, now.” I said. Randal, I noticed, hadn’t stopped. He was working himself around to my back.

“Is that so?” he asked. “Fortunate for you, then. But rather than steal a meal, how about you...”

Randal chose that moment to use Shadow Step. I kicked backward, grabbing for the very arm he was trying to work around to get his dagger at my neck. A quick pull, and he was prone before me.

And the other’s blade was flat against the bottom of my chin.

“That,” he said, “was impressively better than most people do.”

“Professional wrestler’s throw.” Randal said, actually sounding happy about it. He made no effort to rise. “Best drop your blade before he makes you drop it, kid.”

Instead, I put both weapons back into inventory.

“Now.” said the taller, “how do you know my more famous cousin?”

“He tried to train me to fight, once.” I said.

Randal began laughing, all need for stealth abandoned.

The taller slid his blade forward, pricking my neck. “Try again.”

“I told you that you wouldn’t believe me.” I said.

“And so I don’t.” he said, sliding just a few inches forward, to hold his blade in place, but with an easier to maintain bend in his arm. “Now, try again.”

I yawned. “You won’t believe this either, then. I literally cannot lie to you.”

“The missus will know the truth of that.” Randal said.

“Bind his wrists, if you please. Behind him, this time.”

“This time?” I asked.

“There was an unfortunate time, this once.” Randal said.

“It was last week.” tall man said.

“And having her wrists before her, a young lass thought to work her hands free and run for it.”

Tall man looked away. “We ended up having to kill her. So don’t think we’ll hesitate to do the same to you.”

“Nah.” Randal said, tying my wrists one across the other. “He won’t give us any problem. Not when there might be a meal in it for you.”

I sighed. “Provided we’re headed to the house, I suppose I have no reason to cause either of you problems.”

It was not the missus, but Lord Mortimer himself who met us on the wooden porch that surrounded his house. “Mister Durham, Mister Hapston. This is a clear case of why both of you are OUTSIDE the property tonight.”

Randal looked confused. “What do you mean, your lordship?”

“Look at our guest’s eyes, if you would, gentlemen.”

They did so, Randal reacting with shock, the other with annoyance.

“You may leave us now, gentlemen. And remember, attention to detail.”

I flexed, loosening the rope enough to slip my wrists free. It was only when I brought it around in front of me that I realized that I had broken it in two places.

Waste not, want not; I popped a loose end of it into my mouth and began chewing.

“So, Mister Rhishisikk, to what do I owe this visit?” he asked.

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