Chapter 7: Meeting Place

Artur had to sleep.

He'd expected injuries even before entering Truving.

But that's what the months of preparation were for: to minimize as many of them as he could.

Yet some things simply couldn't be accounted for.

Like the Protector of the Tower Family carrying an unknown model of a Cometbreaker shotgun.

Or the Warden of Truving blocking the escape route.

And despite revealing himself to be the spy of the same woman who'd helped Artur infiltrate the safe city, still wanting a bloody battle.

Artur had defended himself against the knight's longsword despite his fatigue.

But with both his arms injured, their dragon scales chipped and bleeding, his encounter near the breach in the city walls with Darius Hooks had left a deep gash in his thigh and a shallow cut on his forehead.

The Warden had been displeased, borderline enraged, when his Horn steel longsword couldn't slice through Artur's dragon scale arms.

Which made the knight impatient—an opportunity to be exploited.

Artur, knowing their battle didn't need to get bloody after learning of the Warden's true allegiance, hadn't really fought back against Darius Hooks.

He'd simply used his claws to make as much noise as possible:

Be it from scratching at the nearby streetlamp, or deflecting the longsword, or slashing back at the knight's own plate armor.

The intent had been to alert as many close by city keepers as possible.

Darius Hooks, being a loyal enough servant of the so-called Queen that he'd killed his own subordinates to follow her command, knew he couldn't actually kill Artur.

Not because of his desire or ability.

But because Hooks had to follow his queen's orders.

Being her spy in Truving, while holding such an important station inside the safe city, the Warden was given the duty of ensuring Artur's escape.

And as Artur's attacks made increasingly more noise in their fight, Darius Hooks faced a tough dilemma regarding his duty.

Either he could suck up his pride and let Artur off before his subordinates arrived due to all the clamoring…

Or he could look incompetent in front of them after they showed up by allowing Artur to slip past him.

Which would threaten his station, rendering him a worse spy for his queen.

The choice to sabotage her was all his.

Artur had merely made Hooks choose urgently.

'Not urgently enough,' he thought in mild annoyance, his every other step now shooting a jolt of pain up his bleeding leg.

Again, Artur had expected injuries even before entering Truving.

He wasn't delusional enough to believe a Forsaken Mutant like him could simply walk in and walk out of a safe city.

But… this?

Artur hadn't expected the starless night to become this bloody for him.

Now almost an hour separated from his encounter with Vesper Drayton and Darius Hooks in Truving, all of Artur's injuries seemed to compete amongst one another for his pain as he made for the meeting place.

Arms barely moved.

Every inhale smelled of iron.

Second steps hurt.

Artur could only sigh at this.

'Talk about a fuckup.'

What else was he to do? Pity himself?

Regretting done deeds is like pulling a spear out of a lion's heart and expecting it to roar.

A common western saying he was told by a man he once called his friend.

'Never making that mistake again.'

Perhaps the spear was in his heart this time.

But Artur kept walking onward regardless, regretting neither their brief friendship nor the decisions he'd made in this starless night.

The meeting place was southeast from Truving, in one of the many abandoned villages at the edge of the cursed Spry Woods.

Having quietly snuck past the far towers and out holds of Truving under the blanket of darkness, Artur dragged himself atop a low hill.

A charred tree stood lonely upon its gentle slope.

Putting his right hand on its blackened trunk, Artur lifted his foot off the short yellow grass, taking some weight off his bleeding leg.

He wasn't exactly resting at the hill, rather inspecting the site of his execution.

The meeting place was visible from here, a thin trail of smoke rising from the nearby village.

Artur was reluctant to go there, as he didn't trust the so-called Queen.

On top of being the third most notorious Forsaken Mutant in the Last Lands, Sabine Spinetamer was also a ferocious warlord.

She was known to skin her enemies and rivals alive, becoming feared by the name of "The Flayer."

Artur had known all this about Sabine even before accepting the deal she had offered him.

Her notoriety did make him hesitate back then.

But after considering his circumstances over several weeks, Artur found only Sabine could get him out of his desperate situation.

Through a costly Syndicate connection, Artur had learned one of the only three people trained by Dante Warrick was in the safe city of Truving.

Three years of pursuing that monster for his vengeance and this was the closest Artur had reached to obtaining a lead on the Saving Grace.

Artur wasn't mad enough to let the opportunity slip by his claws.

But if infiltrating one of the Safe Seven wasn't impossible, getting out of it alive after interrogating his man of interest certainly was.

And thus, through one of her close servants, Pascal of the Emberbeard, a contract was signed between the two Forsaken Mutants.

Sabine Spinetamer would help Artur enter and escape Truving.

And in return…

Artur would kill Scotty Tower.

He still didn't know why she wanted such an incompetent Mutant Slayer dead.

But if Scotty Tower had to die, he'd do so only after revealing everything he knew about Dante Warrick to Artur.

For the assassination of the Tower heir, Artur was provided a lot of restricted information about Truving by Pascal, and even more about Scotty himself.

How did they obtain all that intelligence? Artur had wondered.

Now it was more than obvious who they were getting it from.

After all, a Warden knew the workings of their sworn city better than their own face.

But it seemed Darius Hooks placed those oaths below the loyalty he'd sold to Sabine.

It was still quite hard for Artur to fathom a Forsaken Mutant—who was also a warlord—had a Warden of the Safe Seven as her servant.

The Queen was plotting something big.

Something to legitimize her title.

And she would bleed the Last Lands to see it through, as she was infamous for having little hesitation for cruelty.

After assassinating Scotty Tower, Artur was obligated by the contract he'd signed to meet Sabine Spinetamer in the meeting place they'd agreed upon, and present her the proof of keeping his end of their deal.

Which he hadn't—Scotty Tower still lived.

'He's no use dead.'

But Artur dishonored their signed contract, and now Sabine had all the right by the Fringe Creed to flay him alive.

And she wouldn't hesitate to skin him with her own hands.

Sighing again, Artur stepped away from the charred tree, down the low hill, and toward the abandoned village.

Half the time, names were deceiving.

The other half, they were anything but.

Artur had decided at the end of their battle to hand over the Huntress the Spite antivenom, knowing, or at least believing, she wouldn't use it on herself.

And Vesper Drayton had lived up to her name, protecting the Tower heir over herself.

As awful as that decision had turned out for her, Scotty Tower being alive was absolutely crucial for Artur's vengeance.

Perhaps the inept Mutant Slayer hadn't talked tonight, but every night was different in the Last Lands.

Artur had made the most of this opportunity considering all the unknown factors.

Next time, he'd just have to do better.

'If there will be one, that is.'

By the time Sabine finds out about Scotty's survival, Artur had reasoned, he'd already be out of her reach.

Now, however, entering the abandoned village, wild moss overtaking its thatched-roofed houses, Artur realized his reasoning was in far worse shambles.

If there was one woman in the Last Lands who craved to live up to her name, it was Sabine Spinetamer.

The Flayer.

And everything had changed because of Darius Hooks.

Being the Warden of Truving, the knight would undoubtedly learn of Scotty Tower's survival.

And being Sabine's spy, he'd soon relay that information to her.

Upon receiving which, the Flayer would hunt down Artur to the ends of the Last Lands for his skin.

Assuming she hadn't learned about it already.

When she would eventually receive that word wasn't certain.

But one thing surely was.

If Artur disrespected her by not showing up to their meeting place, Sabine Spinetamer would instantly declare him an enemy.

A grim decision if he made it.

Artur didn't want such a dangerous hindrance on his path to slaying Dante Warrick.

Thus, the closer he got to the fire in the village square, the more his uncertainty regarding this whole ordeal faded away.

Artur would meet Sabine in person, present her with the proof of killing Scotty Tower, then get as far away from the warlord as his body would take him, before finding a place to sleep.

"Have a seat, my friend," said the tall sandy-haired man in his middle twenties sitting upon a mossy log beside the fire. "It's a chilly night."

He wasn't Pascal of the Emberbeard, didn't even have a single facial hair, in fact.

And instead of the muted colors of the expected executioner, he wore a lush verdant tunic with intricate goldwork on its collar and cuffs, and smooth sandy pants above his brown leather shoes.

Artur knew meeting Sabine here directly wouldn't be possible—she was a warlord, after all.

But as far as he could sense, there was only one person in this entire overgrown village.

And the stranger by the fire had a sharp aura, even more demanding than the Might of the East.

Artur sat opposite to him, looking into his glinting eyes, yellow and purple eyeshadow smeared about them, highlighting their hazel hue.

"I don't mind the cold," Artur told the stranger. "But I'll amuse her."

"You got it twisted," the stranger told him. "I merely wanted you to rest for a breath. Considering the journey ahead. And how shitty you look." He waved a hand. "No offence."

Seemed Sabine was quite far from this village.

Artur shrugged it off. "You Pascal's friend or something?"

"Perhaps," said the sandy-haired stranger. "What're you really asking for?"

"A name would be nice," Artur suggested. "I can't accompany a stranger for whatever journey that's ahead of us."

"Why the rush? Let's get warm before we embark."

"Not even flames can drive away the cold from a corpse."

Artur climbed to his feet.

"Amusement's over. Now take me to her. Or I'll show you why they call me what they do."

The stranger chuckled at that. "Sit down, boy. You're like a bird in a cage chirping about gouging the eyes out of their owner."

"I don't go for the eyes." Artur tested him by protracting his claws. "I go for the heart."

"Then learn some respect while yours still beats," the stranger said, unfazed.

Darkness wiggled about them.

Had someone broken the Shadow Law?

But there were only the two of them here, close to a bright fire, with no food in hand or mouth.

Artur turned with a start, but they were everywhere, too many for his two eyes to follow.

From under the moss grown thick upon the roofs, like unending snakes riddled with spikes, bearing red flowers as their heads, a hundred, a thousand of them rose and wriggled.

Gnarled cords alive with violence coursing through their length.

The good of it was that the Shadow Law hadn't been broken.

The bad: it was the mutation of a Tungstengrit.

Artur returned his eyes to the stranger, only now realizing his identity.

And understanding the danger he carried with him.

"Hawthorne of the Roses," Artur said with a nervous chuckle, cautious of the thorny vines with roses bloomed on them dancing toward him. "What a misfortune to meet you."

"The sentiment's mutual, Mr. Mutilator," Hawthorne said smilingly. "And I think your claws will blunt before they cut all my vines. Or would you like to prove me wrong?"

Considering the man was a Tungstengrit Elemental Mutant, the strongest of his kind in the middle region of the Last Lands, Artur made the wise decision of retracting his claws.

Love could kill you.

But pride always led to death.

Artur sat back down upon the log, the Huntress's words echoing in his head.

'Just give up already, Dragonclaw,' she'd adviced.

'It will only get worse from here.'

Hawthorne sent his thorny vines away at once, letting out another chuckle. "Finally, we can feign civility."

"Sure."

Artur's tired eyes followed the smoke from the fire between them trailing upward to the starless night sky, realizing there was no sleep for him under it.

"Now," Hawthorne said, tone suddenly serious. "Let's see the proof of Scotty Tower's death. The same one you're going to present before our Queen Sabine."