++Elves are not perfect, let there be no mistake there. We are just as varied as humans and some of us fall short of the ideal to which our species aspires. And yet any elf is more fit to rule than any human. It is our nature. A simple fact. It is the way of things.++

  Chapter 19

  Reggie had a bit of internal debate with himself regarding whether or not he should heal his gunshot wounds, but in the end the answer was obvious. In the time they took to close up he’d have already ruined his disguise by regenerating the burns. Best to just tolerate them. What he did instead was slice open the fabric around his injuries with a claw before reaching Norvhan.

  If anybody asked, he was sliced up by glancing hits from some monster. They might ask to see, he’d tell them to fuck off, and however suspicious that was it would still be a lot better than running the risk of showing up with hair again.

  Still, less suspicion was better than more suspicion. Reggie took a mild detour to find some more peelers before he returned to Norvhan, which wasn’t too hard. He actually felt a little bad when he killed them both too. They didn’t flinch as he levelled the musket at them, and the second one just idly watched him reload it, aim again and fire a second shot after he’d killed its companion. Somehow that made the whole affair feel…cruel.

  Reggie reminded himself that if either of these creatures had met him as a human, or with his Royal Presence up, they’d have started tearing the meat off him and eating it like strips of bacon.

  Shit, now he wanted bacon. Not that he could eat anymore. Shit.

  Walking through the doors of Norvhan was, at least, pretty calming compared to breaking in. The only sour point was that Reggie was hauling two dripping corpses over his shoulder. Apparently, peelers started to smell after they were killed for real. Whatever magic kept them from rotting like normal must have worn off fast. Not the most pleasant bundle to have over his back.

  Then again, he’d be getting money for them. Three shillings each if he got the average rate, and that was no small thing. Just had to carry the three hundred or so pounds across town.

  Easier done than he’d have thought, actually. It felt more like one hundred and fifty pounds now, even in his smaller human form, and if Reggie was stumbling to manage that he still managed it all the same. The hardest part was getting directions to where he needed the corpses hauled.

  It was the Circumscriber, apparently. A nasty piece of news but not a hugely surprising one, Reggie had known that Witchfinders tended to answer to whichever piece of elven authority was most conveniently located. Hard to get more convenient than in the same town. Reggie carried the peelers another quarter-mile and set them down outside the Circumscriber’s abode.

  By far the nicest building in Norvhan, of course. It looked to be fully three stories off the ground and occupied enough space to fit several warehouses with room to spare. Reggie noted its walls were more wood than stone, perhaps prioritising comfort over safety. Perhaps not. He’d seen Circumscribers fight, could anything that threatened them really be slowed down by a few inches of rock and mortar?

  He knocked on the door and felt like he was committing some great sin by doing so, had to fight just to keep himself calm and collected. Then he was kept waiting for a long while. Seconds, half a minute, two more halves. A hundred heartbeats had passed, or would have if he still had a heartbeat, by the time the door finally creaked open.

  Reggie wasn’t met with an elf though, just a human. A servant he guessed, except they were dressed all fancy and looked all prim. Didn’t seem to like him one bit, eyed him like someone had just taken a shit at the doorstep.

  “Yes?” the servant asked, a man later on in his years whose hair was greying and face now lined by age, “can I help you?”

  “I have peelers,” Reggie told him, “dead ones. Destroyed, I mean. Not…you know, I put them down.” He gestured to the corpses. “I’m here for payment.”

  The servant somehow looked even less pleased at this. “I see. Wait there.”

  Reggie had been hoping to avoid entering the building, standing on its doorstep was just fine by him. He’d not had such a great experience with elves and confined spaces.

  Even still, he felt tense as a crushed spring while waiting for the Circumscriber. Every moment that passed was another second spent revisiting his…death. His death. Reggie was dead now. He’d not forgotten that, exactly, but it’d sunk into the back of his mind somewhere along the last few days of work. Now it was back at the forefront and impossible to ignore. He was a walking corpse.

  It would’ve been a relief when the elf arrived, had it not been for one fact. A small one, really, barely worth mentioning. He was one of the ones who’d murdered Reggie.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The world went cold and hot at once, rocking around, tilting, crumbling. Everything was falling inwards and Reggie’s eyes blurred all of creation past focus as they came to settle on the elf with a rifle’s coherence. He was taller than a human, though not by much. Leaner, though again not by much. Had all the fair features Reggie always saw on book covers and heard described in stories, a walking wonder.

  He was a demon in the skin of a person, a monster, an animal, a creature that wanted to destroy Reggie, kill him, eat him, end the world itself. He was everything bad and nothing good and a living call for action of any kind that would do the work, the endless work. The work Reggie had entered this world made for without even knowing it.

  But not now, even with Dvo screaming in both ears to lunge and move Reggie couldn’t do it now. He wasn’t strong enough now. He’d die again. Walking corpse? God no, Reggie was alive. He could think and feel, dream and hope. He had a future, still, he thought.

  And if it took seeing that future jeopardized to remember, that was fine by him. He’d been reminded now and he’d do everything he could to secure himself. So he smiled nervously, like a person meeting something he didn’t know better than to admire, and made a show of clearing his throat and struggling to speak as if his body were still a thing of fallible living meat and mucus.

  “Hello, uh, sir, I brought peelers to—”

  —”yes, my butler told me.” the elf cut in, sounding as bored as any creature Reggie had ever seen. Which was good, because he’d not have sounded bored if he recognised the face of a dead man. It seemed fifteen years and a few disfiguring burns were disguise enough. “You’ll be wanting your payment then, four shillings?”

  “Uh, it was six, sir.” Reggie said it politely enough, but apparently that wasn’t sufficiently to the elf’s tastes. He slapped Reggie with an open palm that felt more like an iron pan than a thing of flesh and bone. The strength behind it was no less ridiculous.

  Reggie landed hard, but rolled. Didn’t roll enough. His body slowed itself fast against the dirt and had waves of force run right through its innards. Reggie didn’t cough and wheeze, but he pretended to. Humans actually needed the air in their lungs, after all, and having it driven out of his without flinching would’ve aroused suspicion.

  Once he was sure enough moments of spluttering had passed to satisfy scrutiny, Reggie risked a glance up and saw the elf skewering him with a glare of pure, distilled hatred.

  “A Witchfinder’s rate is three shillings per zombie, you can expect two thirds that. And you can be grateful for it.” He tossed the coins at Reggie and they hit like sling bullets, bouncing off his face and falling into the dirt. “Pick them up yourself, and don’t think to correct your betters again.” The door slammed shut so hard that Reggie thought it might break apart, thick as it was. He lay there a moment more before finally taking the coins and shuffling off.

  Elves. That was two major interactions he’d had with one, now. At least most of the others had looked upset about murdering him, this one was just a prick.

  Are you feeling okay?

  “No,” Reggie muttered under his breath before remembering he was back in Norvhan. Best not talk to himself, that was how you got burned at the stake. That elf was one of the ones who…killed me.

  I know. I’m sorry you had to see him again.

  Reggie didn’t know how to respond to that, sort of flinched as she said it. I want to kill him.

  [Yes! You understand now, the joy of destroying and terrorising people!] Dvo’s input was about as welcome as always, but Reggie didn’t have the energy to retort.

  ***

  Ludvich’s home was a sanctuary that night, one that Reggie found himself more eager than ever to stumble into. He collapsed into the nearest seat he could find within it and lay back, groaning.

  “Circumscriber’s a cunt,” he grunted. Ludvich just nodded.

  “Eryqai,” Ludvich hissed between his teeth, “vicious one, him.”

  “You’ve met a lot of elves?” Reggie asked.

  “A few. Most of them are…fine. Don’t treat us particularly badly, not considering. But Eryqai…He’s a prick. Way I hear it, Eryqai thinks that there ought not be any humans at all. That the original elven migration to earth during the Olyngrit stopped too early. Human aggression back then isn’t punished enough now, as he says it.”

  Reggie found it hard to disagree with that out of hand. “Humans are plenty aggressive,” he muttered. “Aggressive enough to murder my parents.” He saw Ludvich flinch at the barb, his eyes fall. The old man didn’t say anything, just sat there looking…old.

  “I’ve gained more Attributes,” Reggie said at last, “almost halfway to my next Tier as well.” He didn’t want to apologize, not enough to do it. Part of him was still raw at what the Witchfinder had told him. Part of him always would be. So Reggie moved onto business instead, and Ludvich did the same.

  “At what level?” He asked. Reggie explained the details and saw that, aging though he was, Ludvich followed easily enough, nodding and listening with a mind as keen as it had ever been. “You’re growing dangerously fast,” he noted, “the Witchfinders have seen you fight, if they see you do something with too much power or speed they’ll know something’s wrong.”

  “I know that already,” Reggie snapped, “you don’t need to point out every little thing to me. I’m trying to hunt alone in the grimwoods anyway.”

  “Try to mingle with the townsfolk too,” Ludvich advised him, “your loner routine was fine back when everyone…back when, but loners attract attention now. You can’t afford attention. People are going to realise you’re never out in sunlight soon enough, but if you can delay that then we’ll both live longer.”

  Reggie eyed the Witchfinder. “You’re talking as if you already think I’m going to get caught eventually. I’m staying with you, here on your recommendation. They’ll kill you if that happens.”

  Ludvich’s gaze didn’t waver. “Saving you was the only good thing I’ve done in my whole career. If I can do it twice, then so much the better

  Reggie didn’t know how to reply to that, either, and he hastened to find some excuse not to. “I need to work on burning myself consistently,” he said after a moment, “if I don’t then people are bound to notice the scarring being different from one day to another.”

  Ludvich just nodded. Old. Tired. Reggie couldn’t look at him without feeling those words bouncing around in his head anymore. He’d live forever now, but Ludvich was going to age and die. Then…

  Then Reggie really would be alone. Funny. The only person in his life was the man who’d killed his parents.

  He didn’t know how to deal with that, and employed the technique that had been working so well until now regarding things he couldn’t deal with.