Chapter Forty-Three: Tested

FORTY-THREE

“What the hell?” Roan said as he rifled through the man’s pockets. Aside from a half eaten ration pack, there wasn’t anything he could find. He tossed the food to the side and started checking the man over. He had an amulet around his neck, a match to Roan’s own, which he took off and stuffed into his pocket.

“I know you were a killer and people have shit. So where is yours?” Roan muttered before he remembered looking through the common-grade items. Spatial storage rings cost five-thousand credits. If Lester had been a killer he could have easily either taken one or bought one to hide his loot.

His hunch paid off as he found a ring on the man’s pinky finger. Prying it off was the work of a moment, but Roan didn’t stop. He checked his boots, socks, underwear, anywhere that someone would hide something valuable. The only thing Lester had on him was the amulet and ring though.

Roan stared at the ring for a moment, trying to imagine accessing it or having it open for him. It felt like when you held two magnets across from each other, the rubbery, slippery, feeling of two forces refusing to meet. Except it was in his mind.

“They were called bonded. I bet it’s an anti-theft measure. We’ll have to find a way of cracking it open,” Roan talked to himself as he pocketed the ring and ran over to grab the spear. Even balancing out the two long weapons, there was no way he was leaving it behind.

The sounds of battle were everywhere. Screams and roars filled the air, the crack of bones shattering or trees breaking as the entire idyllic forest became a cacophony of distress. There were too many options to choose from, so Roan just started jogging.

“Kill as many of the goblins as you can, rescue people. Improve your image with other people to build good will.” It wasn’t quite a mantra he repeated over and over in his head as he swept his eyes back and forth, but it was close.

Roan stumbled into the remnants of a skirmish moments later. A trio of slaughtered goblins and a red blood smear on the thick grass. It didn’t take an expert tracker to follow after it. He kept the spear ready for a fast thrust, knowing he’d have to drop one of the weapons to fight with the other with any type of efficiency.

“Help…help…me,” the voice was faint, a whisper that was hard to hear over the sounds of unseen fighting. Roan slowed as he kept his eyes moving, looking for who was calling for him.

The trail of bright blood ended and there was another goblin laying to the side. Its throat had been slashed open, black blood staining the roots of a tree. Then the blood picked up again, on the other side of the tree. Roan swung wide of it and circled to see a woman leaning against it, her face pale and sweat covered. She held her wounded side as blood continued to seep through her long fingers to pool around her. On the opposite side her leg was stained where a knife had found the mark. He couldn’t see a weapon around her, but she didn’t look like in any shape to use one.

“Help…please,” she muttered, lips nearly white as she looked up with confused, hazy eyes, her eyes looked over his shoulder and then slipped back to him. Roan winced as he saw her wounds, wondering if the healing potion he had remaining would do anything for her. He shifted and glanced partially over his shoulder before turning his attention back to the wounded woman.

“Use your last potion for a lost cause? Foolish. End her suffering as gently as possible and continue on,” the practical part of Roan’s mind said. He leaned forward and grabbed at her hand, peeling it back to look at the wound. Blood so dark it was black rolled over her fingers. She groaned and her head sank back.

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“Just ease her on to the next world. End her pain.” Roan’s fingers released the grip on his spear and fumbled into his pocket, pulling the small potion out. He popped the cork and grabbed at the wound, ripping her shirt open wider to see the deep cut in her side.

“No. You don’t get to end your climb this early,” Roan whispered as he poured the potion over the wound. He had to peel back the torn flesh to pour the potion deep into the wound, but was rewarded as the blood flow slowed to a trickle. He leaned over to her wounded leg and winced as he tore the leg off his own clothes and quickly fashioned a tourniquet. He tightened it as well he could and a small groan of pain came from her lips as she rolled her head a bit but slipped unconscious.