Baron Bernard Buchanan crouched in the tall grass, staring intently at the dried viscera. The stench was nearly unbearable, but his face did not so much as twitch. This was not a sight he was unfamiliar with, though he was grateful it was only animal gore this time.
“My lord,” a soldier greeted with a salute.
“What news?” Bernard asked, rising to his feet, observing the crimson stains darkening the ground for hundreds of feet in all directions.
“Nothing remains, my lord. Records indicate there should be a home and at least one barn, possibly a coup, but we have found only charred ruins. There is no sign of the occupants, either living or dead,” he reported clinically.
“If there are no corpses, we should assume they are alive until proven otherwise. It is fortunate they were able to flee,” the baron said, glancing in the direction of the ruined home.
He opened his mouth again, but his head snapped to the east before he could get any words out. A tear in space appeared mere feet from him, manifesting as a gateway of glowing purple. It was wide enough for men to walk three abreast, and it was at least ten feet tall.
Without a verbal command, his scattered soldiers formed a circle around the gate, spears pointed inward. He cursed himself for bringing only about a dozen men, but he had only discovered this attack while out on a routine patrol. He had to remind himself that he could not see the future and should not hold himself to a standard as if he could.
Drawing his own sidearm with a grimace, he took his place next to his soldiers. Things were not looking good. If the killer was coming back to the scene of the crime, wielding unbelievable spatial magic, he was not confident his men would even be distractions—nor himself, for that matter.
The first to emerge was a pair, a man and a woman. They were perhaps just beyond middle-aged, and their features spoke of labor under the hot sun. Most importantly, Bernard did not detect any threat from them. That, by itself, did not confirm that they were safe, but it was a factor that reinforced what his eyes told him.
The second pair to emerge was a woman of medium stature and a child, perhaps in her early to mid-teens. Despite the girl being a nuarch, which would have immediately interested him, the woman instead drew his eyes.
There did not seem to be anything notable about her. She was of average height and build, with long black hair and white eyes so uniform they almost looked like cataracts. If anything was noteworthy, it was her robe, made of a luxurious fabric with elaborate, intricate designs.
Her plain appearance, clothing aside, contrasted with the warning in his head. His instincts screamed that she was dangerous. He could not nail down a basis for that instinct beyond the fact that she was clearly responsible for the portal, yet he gripped his hilt so tightly that his leather gloves creaked.
“Oh!” the first woman squeaked, stopping in her tracks after nearly running into a spearpoint.
“What the—” said the man next to her.
Bernard barely heard them, though. His eyes were locked on the white-eyed woman, and hers on his. They stared, unblinking, for several long seconds. Eventually, a drop of sweat ran down his reflective crown and along his face, where it dripped from the tip of his nose.
As if that was some sort of signal, the woman broke eye contact, turning and gesturing toward the array of spears leveled toward her, the portal closing behind her.
“I am an adventurer assisting these two in investigating an attack on their home and property. Unless you announce yourselves, I will have to assume that you are brigands attempting to rob us, at the very least, and the perpetrators of this crime, at worst,” she said with a voice so neutral and unbothered that Bernard thought she might follow up with a yawn.
The words comforted him slightly, but he did not lower his guard.
“I am Baron Bernard Buchanan. I am here investigating an attack on my land, spotted during a patrol,” he explained, making sure to enunciate clearly.
“I see. Well, Baron Buchanan, it seems our interests are aligned. I would ask that your men lower their weapons now that we have established that neither of us is a threat to the other,” the woman said, turning toward Bernard.
Before he could answer, a low growling filled the air. The soldiers gasped, and Bernard felt his eyes widen, despite his years of training to maintain a diplomatic expression.
Beside the teenager was a huge cat, with dark fur that seemed to glow as it ruffled. It was the size of a wolf, and its muscles rippled with barely-restrained predatory instincts. That neither he nor any of his soldiers had even noticed it spoke of either powerful stealth or high levels, and neither was good.
“This is Aka, my summon. I have asked her to protect my apprentice, Tara. She means you no harm, but I imagine she does not like threats,” the woman explained, motioning toward the cat and Tara in turn.
Only now did Bernard notice that the teenager, Tara, was close to the adventurer, clinging to her robe with both hands. She seemed timid, but he did not see fear in her eyes. Instead, he saw a fire smoldering beneath a wet blanket, as if she viewed every person as a potential threat, and only her sense of civility kept her aggression restrained—barely.
A shiver ran down his spine as a realization dawned on him. Bernard glanced at Aka, who stood next to Tara protectively and stared straight at him. She was not angered by the spears pointed at her. She was angered by Tara’s demeanor, her fear.
The spears and the soldiers wielding them did not even register with Aka. She knew they were no threat.
“Sheathe,” Bernard said, sweat running down his back.
The soldiers raised their spears, planting the butts into the ground. They glanced at each other, as if wondering what to do next.
“As you were. Secure the perimeter. Inform me of any abnormalities, both external and internal,” he barked.
The soldiers took off at a jog, quickly reestablishing a secure perimeter—as secure as it could be with only a dozen men.
“Baron Buchanan!” the farming couple shouted simultaneously, bowing their heads.
“Rise. You owe no deference to the man who failed to protect your land and property,” Bernard said with a wave of his hand.
“Sir, we would never—” the man started as they both raised their heads.
“Please stop. A lord failed to protect the land he owns. That is all there is to it. We need not waste time with trivialities and formalities,” Bernard said, looking to the adventurer, who was staring off toward where the house used to stand. “I am more interested in what Ms. Adventurer thinks of this situation.”
“Nephthys is my name, Bernard,” she said, glancing at him before marching off toward the house.
The farming couple both inhaled sharply at Nephthys’ casual manner of address, but Bernard simply followed her with a wry smile.
“Forgive me, but I did not catch your names,” he said to the farmers as they walked.
“Ah, I’m Greg, and this is Martha. We’re the Halfords,” the farmer said.
Bernard was glad they were speaking more freely, though they still seemed timid.
“And do you have any idea who would have done something like this to you, or why?” Bernard asked.
“Sir, we only venture into town a few times a year to sell. Other’n that, we keep to ourselves. We don’t have neighbors, and we only interact with the occasional passing merchant.
“There’s no one even sees us enough to hold a grudge, let alone whatever this is,” Greg explained, motioning toward a dark patch of grass.
“The animals, they were low-level, correct?” Nephthys asked as the three arrived at her position.
She stood over a patch of trampled grass, bits of animals littered the ground, and the smell was like death itself. Her eyes glowed unmistakably.
“Yes, mostly cows and a couple of sheep for grazing animals. We also had some chickens and a few pigs,” Martha said, covering her nose with a handkerchief.
Nephthys nodded, turning to stare at the ruins of the house.
“Two men were present. One set the house on fire, using the flames to lure the two of you and divert your attention. The second silently slaughtered the animals while you were distracted,” Nephthys said, her voice distant and her head moving, as if she were watching the scene in real-time.
“The first then helped the second finish the animals off. They set the coop and barn alight as they fled in opposite directions,” she said, looking back toward the city, her eyes now glowing like bonfires, even in the noontime sun.
Bernard was about to ask how she knew, though it was obviously magic of some sort, but she vanished before he could even open his mouth.
He only discovered where she went when a delayed shockwave fluttered the hem of his jacket. He glanced down to find that only Aka had not been flown high into the air. She lay on the grass, licking one of the bones clean of remnant viscera.
Great.
After only moments, Nephthys and Tara reappeared, accompanied by another whoosh of air.
“Gah—you gotta let me know before—” Tara started, wobbling as she regained her feet.
“The two left in opposite directions but reconvened only a short way from here. They seem to have made for Gloamview,” Nephthys interrupted, placing a hand on top of Tara’s head to steady her.
“I see…so I cannot rule the Marquis out as the potential attacker…” Bernard mused, stroking the graying goatee on his chin.
“Your land was attacked by economics, Baron,” Nephthys replied, waving her hand dismissively.
“What?” Bernard asked, lost.
“I have been questioning merchants for an errand of my own over the last few days. Tell me, what do you know of low-level livestock?” Nephthys asked.
“Uh, sorry. I’m not sure I understand the question,” Bernard replied.
“The lowest level creature native to Ashreach would be above level one hundred, yes? I am sure I have not seen every single species of animal here, but that is a reasonable guess, I think,” Nephthys said with a nod.
“This means that there is no native food source for those below level one hundred on the entire continent. Low-level animals, such as cows and chickens, must therefore be imported, and this would make low-level stock valuable,” she explained.
“Ah, I see. You suspect someone is trying to corner the market?” Bernard asked.
“I suspect someone already has and is now enforcing it. There is something large moving beneath the streets of Gloamview, Baron. Something that is unafraid of your authority,” Nephthys concluded, staring back toward town, though it was not visible from this distance.
“I see. I will have to speak with the guild, thank them for sending someone so competent so quickly,” Bernard said.
“No need. The guild declined to post the Halfords’ job, citing ‘interference with noble authority’. I am investigating of my own volition, as these circumstances overlap with a matter I am already interested in,” she said, waving away the Baron’s obvious offer to speak well of her to the guild.
“Well, regardless, this is a matter I must also look into. Attacks against my land and people cannot go unpunished,” Bernard said through gritted teeth. This was a direct attack against him, and he would not have even known about it had he not been nearby already. What a failure, this was.
“You two can come back with me. We will get you settled into a new location, get your lives back on track,” he said, nodding to Greg and Martha.
The two looked relieved, if nervous. Understandable, considering the circumstances. They knew of Bernard as the baron, but they had never met him. They could not be one hundred percent assured by a stranger, title or no.
“And what can I do to thank—” Bernard started, but when he turned toward Nephthys, she, Tara, and Aka were all gone.
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