Thaland, Justicar
With no goal in mind, Thaland mindlessly followed the ebb and flow of the crowd as it wended its way along the waterfront. However, because he had no interest in the taverns or other waterfront dives and no business to conduct in the warehouses, Thaland soon found his feet retracing his accustomed path to the plaza that surrounded the public well near his former (and, he supposed, current) apartment. Did a Justicar ‘live’ anywhere? He apparently had no further need for rest, food or drink, yet he was not yet ready to completely sever himself from worldly desires, pleasures or comforts. He searched his mind and feelings and concluded that though he’d become a Justicar (though he did not yet fully understand what that was), he was not an ascetic. A Justicar should still be able to enjoy the pleasures of the life they had enjoyed before, shouldn’t they? The training and education program for this duty had been quite…truncated. Thaland supposed he would learn the rules as he went.
Previous to his conversion to the rank of Justicar, Thaland, a Captain of the Guard, Docks Division, had often concluded his overnight duties by relaxing on one of the benches or sections of waist-high wall that encircled the well and watching the glory of Sol’s Chariot ascending the eastern horizon. Today, though he was vastly changed, he indulged in his old ritual of watching light and life return to the sky and city. As the sky began to gray and shade to pink over the eastern rooftops, the good wives or eldest daughters of the local households began to appear in the plaza as they began their day by fetching water for their respective households.
Goodwife Macon, his landlady, emerged from the doorway of his building. With her was Diesca, her eldest daughter. Thaland had occasionally caught Diesca gazing at him or loitering over her duties when they brought her into his proximity. At nineteen, Diesca was practically an old maid, and Goody Macon had occasionally made none-too-subtle hints that Thaland would make an excellent father for the children Diesca wanted. Thaland had only the previous day wished he could know Diesca’s true, inner-most thoughts on the matter. Now, as he gazed upon her admittedly desirable form, he found he could.
Diesca’s surface thoughts were occupied with the upcoming duties of her day. The deeper thoughts were divided between the confusing desires the Watch Captain aroused in her mind and body and concern that he wasn’t around this morning. He’d been supposed to come back before dawn, yet his room was empty and she didn’t see him in the plaza. In addition, the street was rife with rumors that the Guild had used Grandfather Bones to dispose of a troublesome Watch Captain. Then there were the rumors that the ancient vampire had gone rogue, killing several Guild enforcers who’d been there to witness the captain’s demise.
Diesca’s worry was too much for Thaland’s still-human emotions. Before he was compelled to show himself to, and comfort her, he tore his attention from the young woman to ‘peruse’ the thoughts of the others gathering around the well. A middle-aged matron was concerned about her two eldest sons who’d begun running with the Tragelli Toughs, a local gang that ran a ‘protection’ racket extorting money from local merchants and families. Another was full of thoughts about how the local matchmaker had successfully paired her sons with two local merchant’s daughters. The dowrys would set the new couples in housekeeping and the prospective fathers-in-law were pleased with the match as well.
This, Thaland thought, was what he’d fought to protect; Ordinary, decent folk who didn’t have to concern themselves with anything beyond going about the common business of their lives. These were the people he’d fought and, in a way, died to protect against the corrupt, lawless predators who inhabited the underbelly of civilization. He accepted that he was beyond the influence of the living, but was the occasional, simple joy of the mortal life beyond him as well?
He consciously drew a deep breath, the first inhalation since…had he been breathing since he’d experimented in the warehouse basement? He found he was not sure. The well-remembered expansion of the chest and abdomen occurred reluctantly, but it did occur. The familiar tang of the salt air carried along with it the mixed sweet, sharp and pungent odors of civilization. After a few deeply savored breaths, his mind felt immeasurably better about his future. Other than death holding no threat over him, his personality hadn’t changed much.
A dirty, bruised, harried-looking girl rushed into the crowd surrounding the well, drawing Thaland’s attention. The girl, named Isgil, was pre-occupied with thoughts and cares no pre-teen should have. Her mother had recently died ‘falling down the stairs’ after a terrible fight with her uncle, who had since moved in with her family. Both her father and uncle were frequently drunk and subject to terrible rages. Her greatest troubles, however, were that her father and uncle had begun paying ‘special’ attention to her in ways she didn’t like. They would come to her pallet at night and... Thaland closed off Isgil’s mind quickly, embarrassed and mortified at what the girl’s thoughts implied.
Thaland’s formerly idle thoughts crystallized into a determination to do something to help Isgil. A quick perusal of the girl’s memories revealed where she lived and that she was the oldest of the five children her mother had borne that still lived. It was a sad fact that many babies born into this life did not live through their first winter, even in this relatively warm climate. Fewer still lived through the seemingly endless list of mundane diseases and magical plagues still lingering about two millennia after the Mage Wars.
Thaland stood suddenly, startling several pigeons that had gathered about, but curiously, no people seemed to notice his abrupt movement other than to watch the pigeons. This, he presumed, was part of what legends called ‘The Shield of Justice’. Lore said that the Justicars moved unseen and untouched through the masses. It appeared to Thaland that this was not due to great skill or stealth, but because the Justicars had some sort of ‘Don’t See Me/Don’t Touch Me’ aura that warded off all mortals. That worked to his advantage for now. However, he knew he would soon need to figure out how to get the attention of those he wanted to communicate with. The recent episode with Grandfather Bones rose to mind. A repeat performance with Isgil’s male relatives would probably be enough to stop their ‘special time’ with the girl. Then again, Thaland’s hand clenched in a fist around his sword hilt, there were other methods that held certain appeal.
He began striding purposefully toward the seedy, run-down district where Isgil’s family’s too-small apartment resided. Various potential scenes, ranging from pathetic to positively blood-thirsty, unfolded in Thaland’s imagination as he walked with ever-increasing speed toward Isgil’s address. He turned from the broad, well-maintained thoroughfare into a lane too narrow for anything wider than a one-horse cart to pass without trouble. That didn’t stop the rag merchants, sausage vendors and other enterprising souls from hawking their wares or services from the rough cobblestones as they navigated barrows, hand-carts and even a wagon or two, up and down the milling stream of dirty humanity.
Washing hung from lines run between the tenements that lurked on either side of the lane, contributing to the illusion that the street was infested with giant spiders whose webs displayed the gutted remains of their previous victims. The way the refuse and chamber pot spillings made the lane smell added to the dungeonesque illusion.
Many of the buildings’ bottom floors were given over to shops offering wares ranging from mundane dry goods and the local bakery to fortune-tellers, a quarter of whom might have a fragment of true Talent. There were more than the usual sprinkling of pawn-brokers and second-hand shops. Desperate people draw their own brand of vultures, Thaland knew. He also knew that a large number of the managers of these shops had connections with the Guild and their stock had recently graced the homes or shops of the finer classes of Kingston or another coastal city. A used doublet is a used doublet, who can say whether the former wearer parted willingly with it or not? The same was often the case for lamps, half-burned candles or anything else, for that matter. No one was going to spend the coin for a Trace spell to recover something worth less than the spell unless there was a great sentiment involved, and the thieves, as well as their masters, knew it.
In the midst of these thoughts, a deep segment of Thaland’s attention was grabbed by a seemingly innocent scene two buildings away and behind him that would have escaped his notice only yesterday. (Of course, yesterday, he would have been looking for someone to ambush him because of his uniform.) Only a grain would have fallen in a Time Glass in the time it took Thaland to assess the situation and grind his teeth in rage.
Thaland couldn’t begin to count the number of bereaved families, siblings or parents that had come to him, fully expecting him or his subordinates to find a missing child. The majority of the time, it was an unusually attractive, nubile girl or almost beautiful boy. He had often agonized in the countless Turns of the Glass he’d spent in fruitless searches over why the flesh peddlers couldn’t be satisfied with the uncounted cast-off children and leave the few wanted and loved children at home with their families.
Isgil’s father and uncle would have to wait. Thaland could clearly read the fear and panic in the faces and thoughts of the three girls, and the predatory lust in the teenage boys and older men, as the children were skillfully herded away from the relative safety of their rented apartments.
Even had he seen the incident yesterday, there was no way he could have forced his way through the people and covered the intervening distance before the captors had gotten their prey hidden away and despoiled their virtue, and possibly the rest of their lives. Even now, knowing that he could run full-tilt through the crowds, he despaired because the ruffians were pushing their captives around the corner of the further building into the alley. A terrible sense of urgency seized the former watch captain. He needed to be there, in the alley, to protect the three girls.
Thaland wasn’t sure exactly how he’d done it, but he was aware of reaching across the distance to where he wanted to be. Just as he’d willed himself back to the street level from Grandfather Bones’ subterranean domain, the Justicar pulled and stepped through the people and buildings as though they were no more substantial than the harbor fog.
When the world re-solidified, Thaland’s first impression was that the alley was filthy. The stones were carpeted with a thick layer of decomposing refuse and populated with vermin ranging from lice and roaches to rats he couldn’t see yet could somehow sense to …the ruffian enforcers busily hustling their three young, barely pubescent, prisoners along towards the as-yet unnoticed Justicar.
The first two enforcers, scouting for any interference, Thaland presumed, both ignored and avoided the cloak-shrouded figure, just as everyone else Thaland had encountered since his ‘death’. Suddenly, Thaland was afraid that the rest of the oncoming crowd would pass by unseeing and uncaring. He drew his sword with his right hand to block off the alley to his right and readied his left to catch the next ruffian that came within his reach.
Thaland had never been a large man. In fact he’d been slightly shorter than average and slightly built. He’d relied on the force of his personality, willpower, and the threat of the full weight of the Kingston Watch, to convince others to do his bidding. Now, when he grasped the next passing enforcer, he was greatly shocked to see the man’s neck disappear within his hand’s grasp.
The enforcer’s visage melted from shocked annoyance to mild alarm when he couldn’t budge Thaland’s iron grasp. Suddenly, the ruffian seemed to shrink in size and Thaland realized that he’d physically grown dramatically in the blink of an eye.
The legends of Justicars had portrayed Justicars as ranging from average height and build (for a human man) to the height and girth of giants. Thaland had never given the legends credence because of that wild variation. Now he understood, a Justicar could become as large as they needed to physically dominate the situation.
Thaland lifted the ruffian to stare him in the eye. The enforcer’s legs windmilled uselessly in the air above the refuse-strewn cobbles and his eyes bulged in raw terror. Thaland jerked the man close to his face and snarled in a voice he scarcely recognized as his own, “The Scales find you…guilty.” He hurled the ruffian casually, almost contemptuously, at the still-oncoming knot of enforcers that were herding their terrified prisoners.
The hapless enforcer’s limbs scrabbled wildly, vainly seeking purchase in the passing air until he crashed into three of the other hoodlums. Yells and curses of pain and outrage erupted as the four enforcers tumbled like tenpins.
Three of the four remaining ruffians each grabbed one of girls aborting any attempt to escape and the fourth produced an ugly, but efficient-looking crossbow from beneath his cloak. “Begone you! Yer interferin’ wi’ Guild business!” the ruffian yelled with menace laced with confusion and fear.
Thaland took a single, menace-laden stride forward and pointed his sword. “The scales of Justice hold you in their pans,” he pronounced in a deep, doom-laden voice. “You have this one chance to escape the judgment I bring.” He paused for a moment as three of the enforcers scrambled to their feet. The ruffian Thaland had thrown lay motionless, his neck cocked at an impossible angle.
“Oy, fellow,” came a voice from behind Thaland. “You ‘as really stepped in it. We’s wi’ th’ Guild, see? As youse ‘as interfered wi’ our bus’ness, yer a dead man.”
Three crossbows ‘clacked’ as their deadly bolts were released. Only Thaland wasn’t there anymore when the missiles whirred through the air. Two bolts clacked against the walls at opposite ends of the alley. A ruffian screamed in pain and fell, announcing where the third bolt was now located.
“My Turn,” Thaland announced ominously as he coalesced into existence from behind the crossbow wielder nearest the prisoners. The black flamberge blade swung in a deadly arc, decapitating the crossbowman and one of the ruffians holding a girl before chopping heavily through the chest of a guildsman who’d just regained his feet.
The first two fell bonelessly, blood spurting from severed arteries. The third fell against one of his companions, pink froth burbling from his mouth and side.
The remaining six ruffians stood motionless, mouths agape, their minds unable to cope with this sudden and unexpected turn of events. The now-free girl stared at the severed head of her erstwhile captor that lay at her feet, covered her eyes with her hands, and began screaming in a high, shrill tone that would have put a banshee to shame.
“Flee,” Thaland commanded. “Flee now or die by my hand.”
“Wizard!” screamed one of the crossbowmen as he produced a rod made from what appeared to be an intricately carved length of blackened bone. “Die!” A black glyph surrounded by purple flame appeared in the air between the crossbowman and Thaland, then smashed into the former watchman with physical force.
Thaland was knocked back a step and trembled slightly for an instant as the glyph’s power sought to snuff a life-force that was no longer mortal. He pointed his black-bladed sword at the disbelieving guildsmen as he stated in a flat, sepuchural tone, “You cannot kill me, for I no longer live. I am eternal, I am the vengeance of White against the servants of Blood!” A surge of other-worldly power flowed into Thaland as he watched the non-descript tunic sleeve on his pointing arm transform into glittering plate armor as he proclaimed loudly, “I am Justicar!” At the same instant, blue-white tendrils of power surged on the sword blade before blasting into the rod-weilding guildsman, transforming him, and everything on him, into a cloud of pale gray ash.
The two of the remaining guildsmen holding the girls shoved their captives at the glittering Justicar and took to their heels, followed an instant later by their three remaining companions.
Thaland reversed his transformation, returning to the nondescript form he’d worn since leaving Grandfather Bones’ tunnels. He crouched, took the screaming girl’s face in his hands, and gently turned her so that she looked into his eyes. “It is a terrible thing that has happened to you my dear Rika. Let me help you by softening the edges.” He gently stroked her on the forehead, carefully blurring the memories of her ordeal. Soon, her screams stopped. Once the first girl calmed, Thaland eased the traumatic memories of the other two girls. Their memories would clear and fill in as time healed them enough to deal with the details.
Thaland escorted the three girls back to their neighborhood. When other children greeted the girls and exclaimed over Rika’s blood-spattered form, Thaland let himself become ‘invisible’ again. He still had to visit Isgil’s home and express his displeasure with the behavior of her father and uncle. Such actions wouldn’t change the future of Kingston, Thaland knew, but it would change Isgil’s future. A bucket filled one drop at a time.
Thaland began humming as he approached Isgil’s apartment building. He didn’t think he would have to get as rough with the people there as he’d had to with the Guild’s men just a few moments earlier.