The Spotter on the Path

The sun was rising when the Spotter crossed the trickling stream into the Borderlands. His steed was a black Rhodanian horse, known across Errat for their fierce tempers and immense strength. It was the only horse that he could ride, and this one he had tamed personally.

"Steady, Quickbeam," he whispered as they rode onwards. On the horizon, encircled by orange hills, was Triumph, a town founded after the Genocide.

The perimeter of the town the Empire had named was fortified with crooked palisade fences. As the Spotter and Quickbeam entered through the decaying wooden gate, they passed rows of ramshackle cabins, one with a rickety paddock that faced a White Rose temple that was unusually dirty. Three hungry pigs sniffed around the caked mud whilst a wrinkled bronze-skinned woman in a tattered frock swept the front of her doorstep opposite. As the Spotter came into her view, she stopped and stared at him with sinister eyes. He brought Quickbeam to a halt, turned to

face her and then tipped his hat. She crossed herself and then hurried back into her house.

The Spotter cast a long shadow into Triumph, so with his wide-brimmed hat that covered his eyes, and swarthy cloak, he resembled the Evil One himself. Front doors on his left and right slammed shut, and bleached curtains twitched behind the windows.

One of Triumph's sentry-guards emerged from the bounty store, his silver armour plates clinking, and shook his finger at the Spotter.

"Spotters are banned in Triumph. Go bounty hunting somewhere else."

The Spotter ignored him, led Quickbeam to a blackened water trough next to the store and tied it to one of the standing poles. The sentry-guard stormed up to him but he was no taller than the Spotter's shoulder.

"Did you hear what I said? Your kind are nothing but trouble in these parts. Take your business elsewhere now, or I'll tell the Lord Knight."

The Spotter turned around and lifted the peak of his hat so that the guard could clearly see his eyes and face. The guard’s jaw fell, and he took a step backwards. The Spotter smiled, showing his sharp white canines. It was the same everywhere when they saw the colour of his eyes and the inhuman features of his face.

"No...you're a spotter? I thought you were all extinct…"

The Spotter, still smiling, reached a gloved hand into his pocket and pulled out a white rose with silken petals that he showed to the guard.

"Oh...didn't know Spotters took the Path. Well, you still mind yourself. I'm watching you."

The Spotter tipped his hat, patted the guard on the shoulder, then slipped past him and through the bat-wing doors of the bounty shop. The shop owner, a short, round man with a blue jerkin, green trousers and wiry glasses, looked up from his paper and squinted at the Spotter.

"We've no work for spotters here, sir."

The Spotter pointed at the board behind him, upon which hung a dozen notices for bandits and murderers.

"We've no work since the last spotter went rogue and robbed our bank." He started pulling down the notices except for one. "Now please leave."

"The child," the Spotter replied, pointing at the sole remaining notice for a missing girl.

"There's no reward in that, sir. Besides, we'll leave that to the Imperial Scouts once they come."

"Give me the notice. Now."

The owner sighed and removed the pin from the child’s reward notice. “Don't like an old-fashioned shoot-out or swordfight with bandits like other spotters?"

For the second time that day, the Spotter showed the white rose to the store owner, who frowned so his bushy eyebrows covered his eyes.

"Old religions die hard, I guess."

The Spotter perused the notice, his eyes darting over it. The child was eleven, an orphan who had run away from Aunt May’s house for young delinquents in nearby Toncton. The sketch of the child showed her full cheeks, long nose, pointed ears and high forehead, and the traditional scars of the fey folk. The Spotter closed his eyes, envisioning her in his mind, burning the image into his memory. He nodded to the owner.

The Spotter left on Quickbeam by the southern gate, taking up a worn road between the rolling hills, scattered with enormous boulders and patches of dried grass. He stopped by one of these tufts, crouched down and took a deep sniff, smelling dust, dirt, dried grass and potentially the residue from a human shoe belonging to a child. He picked up the trail and continued onwards for about a mile until he reached the edge of a vast crater in the middle of the desert. The Spike Mountains, jagged black peaks like a dragon's spine, dotted the horizon a few miles ahead. A bird's nest had been disturbed in one of the skeletal trees, and he suspected a human had done the deed, so he kept riding. His ears twitched when he thought he heard footsteps a few yards behind, but continued his ride as a black vulture with a white head soared across the sapphire sky.

When he reached the end of the crater, he saw a yellow lizard scamper over a cracked skull half buried in the sand. Curious at the shape of the skull, elongated like his own, he dismounted Quickbeam, removed his gloves, and handled the skull, feeling its grooves, dents, and bumps between his fingers. He shed a tear for the fallen member of his species, and then put the skull back where he found it and covered it completely with sand.

Before he could get back on Quickbeam, four dark shades emerged from hiding holes in the crater and careened towards him, taking advantage of his moment of reflection and respect, pointing swords and aiming guns at his head.

"Bandits. Damn," he whispered to himself.

"Boyo, boyo, a fellow spotter! Look at the size of him! Bet he's taken on that bounty on my head." The lead bandit slung his bastard sword over his right shoulder and spat into the ground. He stood but a head below the Spotter but was thick-muscled and broad-shouldered with fang marks in his neck and all over his sunburnt arms. "What's your name fellow spotter?"

The Spotter reached into his pocket, which made the other bandits jump and load their weapons.

"Wait! Easy there, boys."

The Spotter removed the white rose from his pocket and handed it to the leader.

"Boy," he said, scrunching the rose in his palm and then tossing it on the ground. "Didn't realise there were still folks stupid enough to hold to the old ways in the Borderlands, let alone a mean old spotter. Search his bags, boys. He's harmless and got no weapons.”

They shoved him to the ground, though it took all of them to push him down, and one to clap him on the back with the flat of his sword, which stung his spine.

"He ain’t so tough after all," squeaked one of the bandits, a long-haired youngling who leaped around like a grasshopper and sounded Rhodanian. "See he stole one of our famous horses." Then he gasped. "Wait a minute, he’s a tilodon!"

"Tilodons are extinct, Snuff," another bandit sighed, pulling white hairs from his scraggly blonde beard.

"No, look here Stump!" He kicked the Spotter in the stomach, and then whipped off his hat, so they could all see his feline-ears and furred head. "See Boss Janus? I was right!"

The Spotter grabbed his hat and put it back on but it was too late. He picked up the rose again and stared pleadingly at Janus.

"Please. Leave me be."

The bandit with a black eyepatch spat. "Praise the Evil One, he's right."

Janus spat on the ground, and smiled like a wolf cornering a wounded buffalo. "He sure is, Eyeball. A tilodon. Boyo, boyo. Well, guess the rumours are true, some escaped the Genocide." He scratched his chin, deep in thought, then spoke directly to the Spotter. "You must know where the rest of you furballs are?"

The Spotter lifted his green eyes upwards and growled at him.

"Oh, so you do have some murder in ya? Maybe you'll make a fine gladiator in the Capital. Or I'm sure they'll pay a handsome sum for a tilodon skin rug or a mount for your ugly head. For now, he's going to help us round up the rest of them and then we'll take them all to the Capital. That's our big score, boys."

"Boss, the Capital is three days away and we need to pass Toncton. They'll be after us there."

Janus looked at the spotter and thought for a moment, scratching his chin. He went over to the Rhodanian, and went to the Spotter’s saddlebags, removing the bounty notice. "Well, this is interesting. He’s after our little friend, boys. Tie him up.”

They cracked their swords off the top of his skull until he went down and then bound him with hemp rope that burned his wrists and ankles.

The bandit camp deep in the rocky crater consisted of two wagons, four horses and six boxes of supplies. A zoo cage attached to one of the wagons, covered with a dirty linen sheet, stood in the middle by the fire and this was the first thing the Spotter noticed that seemed out of place.

Janus lifted up the linen sheet just high enough so he could unlock the cage door. Once it was open, he and his men shoved the Spotter in and slammed it shut, before returning the linen. With the heat and brightness of the late afternoon, it was warm in the cage but not so dark. The Spotter stood up but then banged his head against the top of the cage, so he was forced to sit. When he turned around, a small spindly figure from the furthest corner appeared behind him.

"A tilodon. So it is true."

The figure’s voice was musical and silky, and even though the Spotter was seated he was still taller than her. Her clothes were tattered and dirty, and her black hair had grown thick and matted since her sketch was drawn, but her eyes remained bright like starshine and her pointed ears jutted outwards from her face, which had grown gaunt. She wrapped her arms around herself, so the Spotter took off his cloak and handed it to her.

"You ran away from your orphanage. Why?" he asked.

"I had a vision…a vision of you freeing your people and then mine. I had to find you."

The Spotter frowned. "I'm no hero. I'm a spotter."

The child could not have been older than twelve, but she spoke with firmness and a steely timbre.

"You are no spotter. You are the Great Hero of your people and the Liberator of the Fey. The gods have laid out our destiny for us. You have to do this."

The Spotter bowed his head, rubbing the back of his neck. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the white rose. "I made a vow."

"A vow for slavery, for genocide? None of that will save us!" she said, her voice rising to a shout, before breathing deeply and lowering her voice to a whisper. "Let me show you."

Before he could protest, she placed a hand on the top of his head and the cage was filled with bluish-white light that warmed his chest and made his joints tingle. His legs shuddered, and he was transported to a village in a verdant valley filled with trees and singing birds, farms and White Rose temples. The air smelled fresh and piny as the waters of the river ran clear and sparkled under the silvery sun. Suddenly, a fire started from beyond the valley and grew into a blaze that incinerated all the homesteads and the farms down. Fey mothers' wails and children’s screams echoed in his ears. When the smoke cleared, the path was clear and he saw a vast crater filled with the scorched, twisted bodies of the dead.

"Your people have suffered," he began. "But..."

Before he could finish, the cage opened and Janus came in with Snuff beside him like a loyal dog. Both aimed their guns at the Spotter and the child.

"You, pointy-ears, stay here. You, furball, you come with us."

They grabbed him by the ropes around his wrists and pulled him so hard he forgot to duck under the cage door and banged his head. Snuff burst out laughing, and Janus covered his mouth.

"Look out furball!"

His head throbbed as they pulled him out into the late afternoon sunlight, which blinded him from the time he spent under the cover. The bandits had started a fire and were roasting skinned sand rabbits. Janus walked up to him, untied his wrists and his ankles.

"I've been thinking. And I heard you talking to the pointy-eared princess. We can help each other, you know," Janus said.

"Boss, what are you doing?" Stump cried.

"Relax, he won't harm us. He's White Rose, remember?" Janus went to a roll of parchments on one of the wooden boxes and threw all of them at the Spotter's feet. They were all bounty notices for fey warriors.

"You probably don't know me, but I've been expelled from our guild for who knows what. My family needs money. The Genocide got most of you, but I know there’s a few pointy-ears who are making trouble in the Capital. You help us find them, we split the rewards seventy thirty."

"I cannot," the Spotter replied without hesitation.

Janus laughed. "Thought you’d say no. Snuff, fetch the kid."

Snuff went back into the cage. There were muffled sounds of struggle, followed by a loud thud.

"Ouch! You little shit!" Snuff shouted, and then came the slap of a hand across a face. He carried the child out, struggling like a fish and kicking her feet. Snuff tied her wrists together and marched her to a lone boulder, then pulled out his revolver.

"I know you're on the Path," Janus said. "You do as I say, or Snuff shoots this little snot. And as you're a spotter, that black Rhodanian is more just than a steed, so I'll also put a bullet in that beast's skull. And if your conscience is still clear even after that, well then, I'll find your people without you and each one I find I will personally kill. That understood?"

The Spotter looked at the child and bit his lip. Snuff clicked the revolver and pressed it against her skull. She shook her head and closed her eyes, even as tears ran down her cheeks. The Spotter knelt and lifted his hands.

"Let the child go, and I will help you."

Janus nodded to Snuff, who groaned and put his revolver away.

"Tell you what, since I don't like to disappoint Snuff and you won’t do anything either way," Janus said, reaching into his pocket. "I’ll just shoot her anyway."

Janus' hand pulled out his silver gun and aimed it at the fey girl, and then a snap cracked across the valley, followed by a dull scream.

"Whaaaaaaaa!" Janus howled in pain. In the second before Janus could shoot, the Spotter had unsheathed his claws and with his massive paw had delivered a thunderous swipe, which left Janus’ forearm hanging off his elbow. Janus collapsed, quivering, his eyes wide in fear, trembling as black blood shot out of the wound.

Snuff shouted as well and aimed his revolver at the Spotter, whilst Stump and Eyeball seized their guns and swords. The Spotter flew forward like a panther, stuck his claws into Snuff’s chest and hurled him high into the air. A spray of blood followed as Snuff crashed into the ground with a crack of his skull. The last two fired, but the spotter careened left and right. He shoved the child behind the boulder and ducked.

"Stay here!" he shouted. Then when the bullets stopped, he re-emerged. There were more screams, more tearing and slicing of limbs, and so much blood it drenched the sand.

The child emerged from behind the boulder a few minutes later to find the Spotter sat on the ground, his arms around his knees, sobbing. Streams of tears ran down his face.

"What have I done?" he cried.

The child said nothing. She put her hand on his shoulder and there she stood until he stopped crying. He wiped the tears from his eyes, then stood up and began digging a hole in the ground. As the sun got low, he gently lifted the bodies of the bandits into the hole, then covered it up with dirt.

"You could still get the reward for Janus if you wanted?" the child said.

"No. No blood money."

When he had finished burying them, he went over to Quickbeam, who had watched the entire scene with keen interest, and caressed his neck. "My old friend." He turned to the child. "Where will you go?"

"With you," the child said.

"As you wish. But if there are survivors amongst my people, I intend to find them before anyone else does."

He lifted the child onto Quickbeam and they rode up the side of the crater. When they emerged so the Spike Mountains faced directly in front, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the white rose he had kept all those years. He turned it over in his paw and moved his arm, preparing to let it loose into the desert. The child grabbed his arm and pulled it back.

"I realise now that our paths are not always true. Sometimes we fall, but we have to carry on."

He stared at the white rose, then put it back into his pocket. With a final glance at the crater, he set Quickbeam on a gallop and with the child he rode off into the sunset.