~ Chapter 16: Disease, Injury, Madness ~

There was no heat in Luther's cell, and so the smuggler woke slowly. Like all reptiles, the komodo dragon was ectothermic, meaning he relied on the mercy of external sources to keep his body's temperature in check. A warm fire or a good bask in the sun each day was usually enough to keep him spry, but the cell Estrion had left him in had no windows, and no warmth. His lids felt sluggish, and his limbs as if encased in concrete. He had a small metre-by-metre stone box all to himself, and through the rusted and warped bars of his cell could see nothing but the door that led back into the real world. Craning his neck, Luther heard the muffled sounds of his crew echoing from deeper within the small gaol, the lot of them no doubt thrown into a sunken holding cell and forgotten even moreso than he, at least for the moment. Dragging himself forward on lethargic claws, tongue snaking out and tasting little more than piss and blood, Luther guessed that worm Estrion had given him over to the guards at Kallen, while he and that backstabbing whore Richeleau had gone on to Gohdren for their parade. It was kind of ironic, Kallen had been their destination anyway, though Luther had a slightly different arrival in mind when they set off.

I knew there was something off about that lot. He thought, struggling to focus on the words. A piece of advice from his father – may he rot in the hells – swam back to mind then, unbidden. Never trust a vixen that shows interest in you, especially a pretty one. To them, we're just cold-blooded freaks worth less than the dirt between their toes.

When the excitement died down, Luther imagined he and the crew would be shipped off to Bastion. The Union would pay a stipend in exchange for his labour and bill of incarceration, and Lyskirk would be free of a prisoner they had to feed and clothe. Luther himself would get to spend the next decade of his life mining iron and coal out of the frozen, mad ground in the north.

Either that, or they'd hang him.

Wonder if that wolf is in here with me? Luther thought, turning his head and feeling an aching pain shoot through his neck. He didn't look the sort to be taken prisoner lightly. The last thing Luther could remember was that smug cunt Estrion ordering his arrest, then a club swinging toward him.

Then nothing.

That bitch. He thought, baring his teeth and letting foul breath waft over venomous fangs, imagining how good it would be to bury them in Richeleau's slender neck, to feel her cartilage and bone shattering beneath his grip. It made his cold blood boil to think on. The way she'd shuffled over to the Lyskirk guard, eyes cast down in shame, stolen fox kit clutched against her breast. Luther had known her almost as long as he'd been in debt to her old boss Gorm, and always figured her for a like mind. Another opportunist, doing the best they could in a world that did nothing but spit and shit on them. In a way he'd been right, he just imagined she saw him as an ally and maybe even a friend, and in that, Luther had been dead wrong.

“Astmoor will win this war, and I'll buy my freedom with this child." That's what she said. What does it mean? He wondered, pulling his legs up against his chest and trying to stay awake.

Across from his cell was the door leading into the village guard's section of the building, and from in there came three, or maybe four, muffled cries. They were accompanied by what sounded like a chair being smashed to bits, and with each one of Luther's lagging heartbeats, the voices grew louder and angrier. He blinked all six of his lids in surprise as someone finally started begging, which was in turn followed by a heady crack. A moment later the door slammed open, bouncing as it hit the stained brick wall. Even cold, Luther climbed to his claws and knees, jaw hanging slack. A second after the door crashed open, a Kallen guard dressed in yellow came tumbling down the steps. He cried wordlessly, rolling end over end until his back hit Luther's cell door.

The fox pushed himself up with one paw, looked back just in time to cry “wait!" as the large wolf who threw him took three hurried steps and kicked him in the head. The guard's head snapped back and he went limp, flopping out on the dusty floor like a hunk of seaweed. Luther winced as the taste of fresh piss was caught by his darting tongue.

“What... in the great maw?" Luther mumbled, looking up and seeing the grey-blue wolf that he'd been paid to smuggle across the border. “You!" He exclaimed, as it was the only thing that came to mind.

“Me." The wolf growled, kneeling down and yanking the guard's keys free of his belt.

“You gonna let me out then?" Luther said breathlessly, stuttering over some of the words. At the top of the stairs, he saw that shy ferret and the ornery Doberman peering down at them. “I ain't had any clue what that bitch was about, you believe me, right mate?"

“Maybe." The wolf shrugged. “Did you know Richeleau was going to cross us?" He looked down, face steely and unreadable. His huge paws hung like dead weight at his sides, he was unarmed.

Did he do all that bare-knuckled?

“I just said!" Luther replied. He wanted to spit, but judging from his energy levels it just wasn't going to happen. “No! If I did, would I be in 'ere?"

“Maybe." Breeze said, examining the keys. Luther noticed the wolf's mail-covered coat was hanging open, and a dark stain decorated his stomach's left side. Fine tailor-ship in that garb though, no denying it. “Where would they go? They're not here, I looked."

Luther hissed, struggling to pull himself up into a sitting position. “Kallen is a blip, a small nothing-town with barely more'n a dozen guards total." He croaked. “Why it's so perfect to drop smuggled goods like yerself off at. Course some posh shitheel like Estrion won't be here."

“So where are they?" Breeze asked, glancing back up the stairs.

“You gonna let me out?"

“Tell me what I wanna know first."

Luther scratched the scales around his eyes, realising only now how bad his headache was. How hard did they hit him?

“Best guess, they hiked it up to Gohdren." He said. “That's the kingdom capital for you, northman."

“Why leave you here?" Breeze asked, shifting his weight. “You're quite a prize, infamous smuggler like yourself."

Luther slumped. “Estrion, he's spinning a yarn for the nobility, trying to make out like he was teamed up with Richeleau from the start, keep her from the gallows so she can play as his new pet. Gorm and his cronies are famous over 'ere too, those Gohdren aristocrats work out who she really is and that fox'll swing."

“And I told her whoring was honest work." Breeze muttered sombrely. He was piecing it together. “Can't have you blabbing then, that it?"

“That's it." Luther said. “Gohdren is rife with plague right now, not a lot of travel happening if it can be helped. Safer even, to leave us lot down in the middle of fucking nowhere. So, c'mon, let me out already."

“Not just yet."

Luther got angry, and metaphorical or not, the heat in his gut spurred him on. “Look, you ugly bastard, that slut crossed me too, I ain't got no love for that infested bitch."

Breeze dropped into a squat, narrowing his eyes. “How do I find them?"

“You think I've got a fucking address?" Luther snapped. “Gohdren's a big city, lot bigger than someone like you's used to that's for sure." He knew it wasn't wise to antagonise the one man who seemed like he might free him, but it was the komodo's nature, and he was sick of being teased. He was cold, and tired, and he needed to get into the sun before he could think straight. “Let me out, I'll help you track her down once I'm warmer."

“I've got enough friends." Breeze said, turning away. Luther went to snarl something back at the wolf, shocked that the northerner would dare suggest leaving him in here. Before the anger made its way to his mouth however, the komodo felt some of his lethargy ease away, some of the pain in his joints soften. He looked past the wolf, and saw the ferret – the soother – had walked up to the bars. His delicate paws were wrapped around them, sharp blues eyes looking down. Luther felt an iota of shame swim across his belly, and found it a bizarrely foreign feeling.

“There's always someone who knows. What are the families like now?" The ferret said gently. “Is Solomon still in the city?" Luther swallowed. Breeze glanced back, one eyebrow pushed up.

“Solomon?" He asked. The soother looked to him, nodded.

“Someone Inquisitor Morgan used to mention a lot, someone who was around even when I was in Lyskirk. He's connected to everything – if it's illegal and makes any money, Solomon gets a cut."

“No, no." Luther said, shaking his head. “You don't want him, maybe one of the other families, Jessomara, or L'Fahain, but not 'im. Solomon's fuckin' crazy, he finds you got his whereabouts from me'n I'll be a new a pair'a boots."

Breeze grinned, and the sight of his scarred hide stretched like that made Luther want to puke. “Where can we find him?"

“Fuck, I'll show you myself!" Luther exclaimed. “Just lemme out!" The wolf jingled the keys again, and the lizard collapsed, defeated. “There's a place on the docks, it looks run down on the outside, but it's nice, more secured than the king's palace, probably. You want that lunatic; you'll find him there, that is if you can get through quarantine."

The wolf tossed the keys between the bars of the cell, and they slapped against Luther's nose. “I'll worry about that."

“You didn't hear it from me!" Luther cried after them, as the three slowly left.

“You should hurry." Breeze called back, stepping pointedly over an unconscious guard. They'd knocked out four men, and not even drawn a sword. “They'll wake up soon."

~ X ~

Erasmus watched Breeze from his place atop a stolen horse. The wolf still hadn't bothered changing his blood-stained undershirt, and refused to even do up his coat, as if proclaiming to the world that nothing could stop him. There was a bandage and some rudimentary stitches beneath it, but they'd surely torn during the fight in the Kallen gaol. Fenton and Erasmus had watched with a mixture of awe and horror as Breeze crushed his way through the four guards, not even drawing a weapon, just using his teeth and paws and elbows. After Luther gave them Solomon's whereabouts, Breeze had taken a decent-looking sword and about seven knives from the unconscious guards, before instructing Ras and Fenton to cut them loose a horse each.

Erasmus had been glad to put the small village to his back. Most of the guards Breeze had fought would never be able to make proper 'TH' or 'SH' noises again, he'd knocked that many teeth free.

“Got a funny look to his eyes, huh?" Fenton said in a hushed tone, and Erasmus was forced to give a nod. Breeze wasn't talking, merely riding forward, staring ahead as if his vision could pierce through the hills and trees and look straight upon Gohdren. “Whatcha think the lizard meant by quarantine?"

Erasmus shrugged. “It's a Kirkan word." He said, still watching Breeze's back. “Meaning the methods we use to try and keep the plague at bay. Madness has always been worse here than in Ferrin, nobody knows why, and it's not like the Union has ever cared."

“Too right." Fenton muttered, the edge of mirth typically clinging to his voice totally vanished. “Seems there ain't much the Union care about these days but Astmoor blood."

“You're not wrong." Erasmus replied. The absence of Abigail's tiny weight was playing at him. There was no pull at his shoulders, no bundle bouncing against his back or chest. He hadn't the need to focus on soothing, or worry about food or changing. Marlough and the rest of their supplies had been on board The Rot when Estrion took it, and as far as Erasmus was aware she and the wagon had been loaded onto the Captain's own vessel.

The trio rode in silence a few more hours, keeping the bay to their left, and stopping only for a quick and pensive lunch just after noon. As the minutes became hours, Erasmus felt his anxiety spiking. He'd gotten used to seeing Breeze as a kind of pillar of stability, for the wolf - while often brooding - was typically calm and in-control. Now however, he wasn't quite frenzied, but there was a new nervous air to him. Erasmus noticed Breeze never met their eyes, only spoke when required, and spent most of his time staring intensely into the distance. Fenton was clearly starting to rethink his plan of tagging along, and the otter didn't blame him. The two occasionally chatted, but mostly they just watched Breeze, as if the northerner might suddenly explode at any moment. Seeing this side of the man reiterated the fact to Erasmus that, past few weeks aside, he barely knew Breeze at all.

Witchborn. He thought, ducking beneath low hanging branches, his arse chafing in the saddle. Why exactly did they call him that? What was it that old weirmother said? Killed more boys than the cold, that he raises his sword and the whole north wails?

The pregnant silence came to an end as up ahead, Erasmus saw that Breeze had pulled his horse to a halt, looking out from a rise. With a cautious glance to Fenton, the otter kicked his mount into a trot and rode up alongside the wolf. As he slowed, he understood why Breeze had stopped. Flowing downward from the place where they stood was a wide and expansive valley, peppered with slender, twisting rivers and coloured a generous deep green. Patches of yellow, brown, and maroon dotted the valley, farms of varying sizes and crop, all circling the great centre point of the valley like a funnel.

In the lowest part of the dip, backed right against the steep far side of the valley, was what Erasmus knew to be the great city of Gohdren – Lyskirk's capital. The otter hadn't laid eyes upon it for what must be nearing fifteen years, and in that time it seemed the city had undergone a kind of industrial renaissance.

If Hieron had been a house, then Gohdren was a mansion. The city was roughly diamond-shaped, the innards of it segmented by red-brick walls. The innermost wall Erasmus recognised as the border he once knew the city to have, though now Gohdren sported two more sets, each perhaps five to six hundred meters further out. The city splayed like a man in a tavern, legs cocked wide, taking up all the possible space it could manage. Huge towers billowing steam, and metal cranes hoisting crates of brick and timber rose in the furthermost districts, while at the forefront of the outer wall a huge gathering of tents and canopies covered the ground like moss on a stone. Wide roads of gravel and packed dirt stretched out every which way from the city, populated densely with wagons and caravans, while a thick haze of smoke hovered above it all, the chimneys within working hard. To their left was a sharp drop, followed by the deep bay worked into the neck of the river. Erasmus could hear sea birds, and smell the tang of salt on the wind. While it was technically a river, this stretch of water was so wide and easily connected to the ocean that most thought of it more like sea. Gohdren had wisely been built with one corner practically in the bay itself, a bustling armada of merchant and guild-sponsored ships moored by the myriad pier network.

“Well, fuck." Breeze muttered, and Erasmus nodded.

“It's gotten a lot larger since last I was last here." He said, as Fenton trotted up behind.

“Shit on this, why the ever-bleeding hell was I livin' in twice-fucked Niverron when this beauty was waiting just across the channel!" The Doberman whistled.

“No wonder they cut 'emselves off from your Union." Breeze said, glancing at Erasmus, who could only shrug. “This place makes Ferrin look like the Madlands."

“They've done well for themselves, it's true." Erasmus said. “Eighty years between them and direct war with Astmoor, and while we were busy fighting the Kirkan economy flourished. I'd take a guess things aren't quite as nice closer up though, news of the plague has always been worse here, I expect we'll have a difficult time getting inside the city itself."

“Quarantine." Fenton muttered, mispronouncing the word spectacularly.

“Thigs are always uglier close up." Breeze sneered. “Let's go." And he flicked his reigns, stolen horse spraying dirt up as it broke into something a little faster than a trot. Erasmus watched the wolf weave his way down the hillside, before sighing and spurring his own mount into action. Fenton was the last to follow, but once he got going he managed to keep a relatively even pace with the otter. The hill on this side of the valley was easy, smooth and gentle, with few rocks for the horses to trip. There wasn't quite an established road, but as they went Erasmus spied the tell-tale signs of commonly used pathways.

“What's that flotsam at the gates?" Fenton asked, gesturing at the spread of tents and makeshift buildings setup outside the safety of the Gohdren walls.

“That's your madness buffer, I expect." Erasmus explained, a bad feeling pooling in his belly. “They don't let sick people inside the walls, and without signed permission from a physician it can be an effort to get in if you don't have a sponsor."

“I'm sure Breezy'll find a way." Fenton said.

“I'm sure." Erasmus echoed, watching the wolf, his captured sword bouncing as he rode. He tried to remind himself that it was still Breeze; he was just in pain. Erasmus had seen that woman Richeleau kiss him, and shortly after that she'd betrayed him, stealing his charge and letting Estrion stab him. The otter imagined his wolf companion wasn't one to take treachery lightly.

He sighed, a queer blend of feelings swarming across his chest. Seeing her kiss Breeze had all but dashed Ras's hopes. Despite how frightening the wolf could be, there was a certain safety Erasmus felt around him. He was so foreign and unique, no southerner smelled quite the way Breeze did, like the aroma of dirt after a rainstorm, calming and rustic. Since Niverron had fallen to Nurjan, Erasmus had been entertaining foolish school-boy dreams of a budding romance. He'd imagined the two of them delivering Abigail to the Emperor of Astmoor, and being rewarded with whatever they desired. He imagined Breeze requesting a small plot of land with which to farm, and a small farm house where he and Erasmus could live together. There'd be no violence, no fear, and no forced soothing, just them.

Because that was the other thing that set Breeze apart from near everyone Erasmus had worked with before; the wolf did not want him for his magic. Breeze had no need of it, he owned his pain, and he saw beyond Erasmus's abilities and to – the otter hoped – the person beneath it.

That had all been crushed when he saw Breeze kiss Richeleau, for there was no opportunity now – the wolf liked vixens, as did most of the world of men.

Shifting in his saddle, Erasmus blushed as a memory came, feeling more foolish than ever. It was from back when the group were staying at The Quiet Viper, and he'd woken to find his bonds unusually loose, and Breeze gone. He'd waited quietly, still groggy with sleep, until Breeze came back to the room. The wolf had been busy with a piss, and Erasmus kept his back shown while the northerner settled back into sleep. After what felt like hours, he'd begun snoring, and Erasmus had done the unthinkable.

He'd crawled, slowly, heart pounding, around to Breeze's slumbering form, and slowly peeled the blankets back. His own sheath had quivered in anticipation, and his paws had shaken in fear. He couldn't stop himself though, he dragged the blanket back, a careful eye on the wolf all the while. He found Breeze was in a plain set of trousers beneath the woollen shawl, and biting his lip to still his breath, Erasmus had played with the waistband until he was able to get it loosened. Breeze had stirred only once, near killing Erasmus with fright, but after a moment he muttered some nonsense dream word and fell back into those rhythmic snores.

The otter had shuffled the trousers down, just enough to expose Breeze's sheath. It was a light creamy colour, almost similar to Ras's own, which his free paw had been fondling all the while. He hadn't done much but stare, gently cupping Breeze's thick furry balls. He'd run two slender fingers up that wide sheath, enough to excite the sleeping wolf into having the red tip of his cock poke free. The otter's fingers worked at his own sheath, slipping inside and teasing his cock as it came free. He wrapped a paw around the length, struggling not to breathe too hard as his fingers tugged Breeze's sheath further down. He could see only the top half of his prick and was still surprised by how thick it was, the slight bulge of the knot appearing deeper in the sheath. Erasmus had jerked then, unable to help cumming into his own paw. Shame had instantly replaced anything else, and he hurriedly pulled up Breeze's trousers and replaced the blanket, scurrying back to his own roll mat and diving beneath the covers. He wiped the stickiness off on his tunic and mat, face burning hot, not believing he'd been so bold. He never did it again, but he did convince Breeze to slacken his nightly bindings, and would play with himself while the wolf slept, replaying the memory and imagining more.

He imagined Breeze, holding him down, huffing over him, that thick wolf cock filling him with hot cum. Erasmus had never been with anyone else – he'd come close with Vaughn, but the deserter was eventually too weak to fulfil anything beyond kissing and light groping. In their free time during the day, the otter had gazed longingly at the wolf, picturing a fantasy life where they did nothing but lie together and talk. Breeze was terrifying, but he was also exciting, and freer than any other man Ras had met before.

All hopes that turned to ash when that woman kissed him.

Even if it hadn't, Erasmus wasn't sure he felt the same now. A part of him still yearned for the wolf, but it was more for the person Breeze had been before they boarded The Rot. Since then, he'd been distant, and when Erasmus watched him fight those guards in the Kallen guard unarmed, the wolf had moved with a speed and ferociousness the otter hadn't realised he possessed. Breeze yanked one of their jaws clean off its hinges, kicked another so hard a broken rib tore free of his chest, and stove another's skull in with the leg of a chair. He'd been gentlest on the last, who was merely thrown down some stairs and kicked in the head.

Erasmus watched Breeze trot toward the city now, and for the first time wondered if Claude Morgan had made a grave mistake in choosing him for this mission.

They reached the flotsam before the gate after only an hour of riding, Breeze keeping their pace always pressed. The horses were exhausted, and as they slowed at the edges of the tent-town Erasmus's had nearly damn well collapsed.

“Stinks like shit." Fenton exclaimed, scowling as he followed Breeze's lead in clambering off the horse.

“Stinks of madness." Breeze muttered, glancing around. Erasmus patted his heaving mount, whispering small apologies to it.

“Will we need the horses again?" He asked, wincing slightly as Breeze looked back to him.

“No. When we leave here with Abigail, it'll be on Marlough." The wolf said surely, as if there was no alternative. His jaw was set, and Ras saw his paws were balled into fists.

“Right then." The otter said, letting the horse's reigns simply go slack in the mud. He turned to take in the madness buffer, yet more anxiety building in his stomach as he felt the familiar pangs of insanity and pain biting at the edges of his awareness. “There are people suffering in there." He said. “We should find a place to stay, and try for the city in the morning."

“There's a tall shack over yonder." Fenton called, using his horse's stirrup as a step to see over the tents. “Looks to be built of driftwood, but it'll do if it's an inn."

“Breeze?" Erasmus asked, stepping closer. He touched the wolf on his arm, and was shocked to feel how tense the muscles beneath were. “Are you alright?"

“I'm finding more of myself out here." Breeze said, staring into the divide between the tents, canopies, and shacks of wood and iron. “I'll get her back Ras, don't worry. Nobody steals from me."

The otter frowned, but nodded. “Of course. We need to rest, and get someone to take a better look at that wound."

“I'm fine, it was shallow."

“No good if it gets infected and you go down again though. You think Fenton and I can do this alone?" Breeze looked back at him.

“I s'pose not." He muttered, running a thumb over his injured palm. “Lead ahead."

Feeling as if he'd somehow lost, Erasmus nodded, taking the front position. He led the group into the thick mix of tents, the orange light of sunset setting everything aglow. There was a cool gale, but any attempt at peacefulness was interrupted by the screams and hisses of the crazed.

“Ants. Ants, ants-ANTS!" An emaciated leopard screamed from within a green canvas tent. Erasmus looked in and saw the cat was thrashing in the mud, clawing at his own fur, eyes bulging, sick mixed with blood staining the front of his chest. “GET THE FUCKING ANTS OUT OF ME!" He wailed, as an exhausted trio tried to hold him down.

They passed an old bear missing a leg, setup near a canopy strut with a soiled cavalry hat pulled low over his eyes, with what looked like a bite-mark taken out of one side. “Pahran, Pahran is the key to... the key... but what's the lock? It's all about time." He mumbled, holding his paws forward and rapidly clenching and unclenching his fingers.

“I'm dead, I'm dead, let me go, let me GO!" Bellowed a fox down an alley, as two thick wolves dragged him back by his legs. He was naked, twisting and scrambling in the muck, vibrant orange fur splotched with filth of all kinds. “LET! GO! ASTMOOR SPIES!" He screamed, voice hoarse from it.

Others wailed from sickbeds, or vomited into buckets. More had stretches of cloth wrapped tight around their muzzles, and Erasmus spied a few small gatherings of plague doctors, with their nightmarish bird-masks poking free of black leather cloaks.

“I'd almost forgotten what the plague was like." Breeze said, his head turning as they walked. “Voices always whispering at you near and far, itches in places you can't get, sweats, chills, odd ideas coming whether you want 'em or not. Time doesn't make sense, feels like nothin' does."

“It's what this war does. Union don't care none, ain't them what's so rife with disease an' injury." Fenton said, shoving away a leering wolf with drool swinging from his muzzle. “Wonder what Lyskirk did to piss off the Triumvirate so bad."

“I ain't seen it, I ain't!" The wolf slurred, collapsing to his knees and sobbing, dirty palms pressed into his eyes.

“Ain't no gods responsible for this madness." Breeze replied, turning into a slightly more built-up district of the buffer. Gohdren's outer wall loomed beyond them like a shadow, a relatively well upkept tower of ramparted red cobble, certainly maintained enough to put Niverron's walls to shame. “This is men, and our bloody minded missions. Fuck your Triumvirate, we done this ourselves, and we deserve as much."

“How will we get into the city?" Erasmus asked with a sigh, peeling a wet flyer from a post. The writing on it was legible, but scrawled by a shaking paw. “This claims the gates are closed, and nobody without a signed trade tariff is getting through. Although, it also claims heaven is made entirely of fire."

“Does this place even 'ave guards?" Fenton asked, looking around.

“This Solomon will get us in himself, I expect." Breeze said, causing Erasmus to do a double take.

“And how do you figure that?"

The wolf shrugged. “If there's one thing I know – it's the mentality of warlords. He'll have eyes out here, if he's all that lizard says he's to be, all we need do is start up some trouble with his boys, and he'll find us."

“Start..." Erasmus swallowed. “Trouble?" The idea of more fighting made him queasy.

Breeze grinned, and the sight of his exposed teeth, of his scarred and wounded face stretched out in an imitation of glee made Erasmus near want to cry.

“Why that... and not... peaceful discussion?" He offered lamely. Breeze clapped him on the shoulder.

“You should know by now Ras, startin' a little trouble is about all I'm good for."