16 Chapter 16
Both ends of the street were closed off, erasing the scene of what should have been a thriving marketplace. Tavern, restaurant, and shop doors were left agape; their guts spilling onto the road as if a capricious tornado passed. A pile of beaten wares laid twenty feet from their original places while uneaten food became a feast for hungry rodents and petulant flies.
Tables and chairs were displaced to expedite the militia's investigation of Rhett street.
In some cases, not even the floorboards were spared. As mandated by the higher-ups, the city guards overturned the strip of a thousand feet in less than a day.
Those who ran sounded the warning bells, creating waves of untethered panic that stunned the city into lock-down. Many tried to flee, run to the Hills of Tein, possibly cross the boarder to safer lands. Yet, the Militia spared no effort in closing the gates and caging them in. So, they grabbed their family, locked their doors, and placed the statue of the holy one on the mantle to pray. 'In the name of the Sun, let us live.'
Those who hid in the buildings had long been ousted after being cleared by the city guards. Many returned home with fire on their feet while those with no where else to turn begged the small officials to help them. Their pleads for protection went unheard, as the ones to appear before them were government grunts who could only perform tasks and not make decisions.
Thus, those displaced only had the choice to roam on the streets at night, apprehensively checking over their shoulders for the missing uhyre.
They were dissatisfied, but what else could be done? What rights did the people have in front of the city guards led by Captain Carose?
~
The young priest covered his nose and mouth with several layers of sodi-cloth as he moved closer to the pool of dried blood. Neat splatters crossed the hay bales and wooden planks, each blotch contrasted against grain like paint to a canvas.
No corpses were found, but the amount of blood that seeped through the floorboards to the cobblestone made it abundantly clear that someone or someones had suffered a gruesome death.
The priest took off his leather gloves and hovered his pallid palm over the stains. For those without the ability, nothing was seen. For those with the ability, a magnificent light of golden splendor washed over the blood like waves to a shore.
The light moved through the blood, expanding outward until it covered a radius of ten feet. All waited with bated breath when the priest's brow furrowed, retracted his palm, and dispersed the powers into nothingness.
After a moment, he stood up and backed away from the scene in utter disgust, his skin turning an even chalkier shade of white. When he was far enough, still holding a cloth over his mouth, he reported, "There are no signs of dark magic being used in the area. It's highly unlikely that an uhyre had been here." His tone was less derogating than the others who came before him, yet a hint of particular arrogance percolated like a fetid cologne.
Captain Carose listened coldly. His eyes had seen the flow of light as well as each expression on the priest's face.
This was the third time a templar had come to investigate this scene and all had concluded the same thing, yet the Captain refused to believe.
"More than a hundred people attested to a monster with hair and eyes the color of hellfire in the middle of the street. Are you suggesting that not even a hint of demonic energy can be felt by any of you from the temple?" The dour mood was expressed by a simple curl of the lip.
Unafraid of the Captain's ire, the priest reaffirmed his statement. "Although I cannot express the opinions of my brethren, the elements speak for themselves. The light sensed nothing abnormal in the area."
His indifference then turned sardonic. "The temple had come to cooperate with the militia for the sake of the people and has done its part. As we haven't seemed to provide any substantive help, I suggest you ask the Tower for any further elemental service, or better yet, use your own people. I've heard that the militia has quite the number of new recruits. Surely, one of them should possess eyes that can see what you're searching for."
As the priest passed the Captain, he then gave one more thoughtful suggestion, "Also, it may be a good idea for you to increase the area of your search. More than a day has passed and I doubt even a monster would be senseless enough to stay where it is being hunted."
The Captain's back molars nearly cracked upon the taunt. The priest was right, but the orders he was given were clear. Undeniable to any fool-brained man watching the show, he and his men were being used as scapegoats.
When the priest left the vicinity, Carose spit in his direction. Such a contemptible behavior was a far cry from the man's status, but no one claimed for the Captain to be a 'noble man'.
~
Whilst the city guards focused in that area, General Lovel was in the slums. The militia had barred them from interfering with the investigation since day one, even going as far as detaining some of his men for obstruction of justice despite conforming to their wishes.
It seemed like they were working hard, but the General hadn't heard of any advancement on their end. Another invisible hand was pulling strings again, but this time, he hadn't a clue of where to start.
The General tapped his fingers as he thought of who would have use for an uhyre. Many parties came to mind, but none stood out at present.
Near dawn, the guardsmen returned to their abandoned hovel they claimed as their temporary station, finally having a lead to report. "Sir, no person claimed to see a monster with crimson hair and eyes. However, I've brought a man who says he witnessed three men chasing a child that day."
The one to come forward seemed like a vagrant, but with shoes on his feet and hair somewhat combed, it was evident that this was one of the thousands of impoverished citizens living in the slums.
"Milord, I indeed sawr dem chasin' the child. 'Der pursuit went toward the market district," the man insisted. His broken smile was flattering as a whistle blew through his words. "I'f seen dos men beefer. I gotsa food stand n work der e'eryday. All dem people here come to eat. Dose men were dressed like dem masters but dey used-a be hooligans up ta no good. Ya see? Always making trouble for us werkin' folk. Dey even tipped my car' o'er when dey were youngins. It' bit lil fucks."
The General had to squint his ears while the downtrodden man spattered on about his ill-experiences, but years of living on a border where the accent was thicker than molasses allowed for him to naturally translate. "I see, then have you seen them since then?"
"Nah sir. Dey been gone as ghosts. But..." The man's rough palms rubbed together. A cheeky smile formed on his face as he hinted, "I migh' have a nose 'bout sometin' else ya migh' find intresin."
There was no need for the General to say anything. The guard from before pulled out a copper from his bag, setting it on the table with a click.
The man's hazy pupils glowed from within but with such obvious wealth from these masters, a mere copper wasn't enough.
The guard set another copper down, but the man didn't hide his greed. The little coin purse seemed heavy. He hadn't been as unsuspecting as these people thought. No normal citizen came to the slums to ask about thugs. The place seemed to be a gather of lepers and thieves to normal citizens. An area where not even the slaves of dignitaries dared to step foot in and a bubble that was cut off from the rest of the world.
Considering the number of them he saw roaming the streets, these men needed answers and found none.
And it just so happened that this poor man had information and needed a new cart.
The General waved at the guard. Reimbursement would be made when they returned to the mansion. The guard proceeded to dump the rest of the coins on the table. There wasn't much, a few more coins with a broken pieces on the side, but for the poor man, it seemed he struck gold.
Happily he offered all he knew. "I sawr dem talkin' to a cloaked man a few days ago. Dat man's part of da group dats been taking children round dese parts. Dey come a few times a year."
As soon as these words were said, a resounding crack was heard. Upon the powerful palm, the splintered wood of the table turned into dust. And with no surface to lay upon, coins fell into the dirt.
The General stood to his full height, unmasking the aura of death and bloodshed that clung to him like a haunting ghost. The atmosphere of the hovel warped with the man's mood like a raging inferno. The poor man knelt before him, momentarily forgetting of his compensation on the ground.
With a taste disgust, the General spat, "Exactly how long has this been happening?"
Then, interrupting what would have been the beginning of a turbulent storm, a guard that went to relay a message to the mansion returned. "General, Sir Randell had requested that you return immediately."
