Gregor The Cripple

Gregor awoke with a groan, finding himself suffering from a headache that could kill gods. The distant memory of some bizarre dream was fading fast.

He cracked an eye and discovered that he could see nothing. Cracking the other, he found himself starting into the twitching nostrils of Randolph, who was sniffing at him worriedly.

“Randolph,” he wheezed, voice faint, “I believe that I have made a mistake.”

The weak wizard rolled onto his back and found the midday sun staring down at him though the ribbons of a tattered fabric awning. Gregor found the glare terribly judgmental, so he looked away and made an effort to sit up.

“I am incompetent. I murdered all those I that agreed to protect.” He almost unconsciously reached into his robe, feeling around for his laudanum flask. “Something about me has changed since I left Kaius. I am weaker somehow – weaker of mind and temperament.”

A depressing revelation crept into focus from a distant corner of his mind. “Or perhaps,” he mused, “I was never strong at all. Kaius made all my decisions for me. He was my conscience and my agency. Perhaps I mistook his strength of mind for my own. One would naturally presume themselves strong, after all.”

Pulling it out with a frown, Gregor unscrewed the cap. Distressingly, he could not see out of his right eye.

Randolph leapt at the empty vessel with a furious squeak, knocking it to the ground. The dopey wizard made no effort to intervene. He just sat, content to spectate.

Giving Gregor a firm look with his beady little eyes, Randolph began pissing into the bottle’s opening. The young man merely continued to watch.

It seemed that Randolph had an opinion about the way Gregor ought to proceed.

“You are a wise rat.” The wizard began a shuddering sigh which developed into a coughing exhale. “I am not to be trusted with opium.” A wretched grimace-sneer split Gregor’s face, as if he were a suicidal man at the gallows. “I agree with this.”

He was blinking rapidly, trying to make his right eye work. “Suffer or stagnate.” He muttered to the empty alley, “I will not stagnate, and perhaps I deserve to suffer; so suffer I shall.”

Gregor repeated these words of wisdom from his dead master and shuddered, for he now understood the depth of their truth, and he found himself agreeing. These words were the foundation Kaius’s philosophy and methods. He lived by them, and he was strong. Perhaps strength was to be found therein for Gregor also.

It was at this moment that the anti-Kaius died, and something new and uncertain rose in its place.

“I shall never assume the best of myself ever again. Hold me to this, Randolph. I currently trust you more than myself.” The rat squeaked, possibly in the affirmative, possibly at random.

Reaching into his hat with a shaky hand, Gregor retrieved the remainder of his pilfered opium stock. Upturning the little box, he dumped it all into Randolph’s puddle of urine. “I will suffer without this, but I have no choice. My own actions leave me no room for recourse.”

With the abandonment of opium, Gregor was left with only one option for dealing with the pain in his stump. He must seek a healer. Thus, his course was set.

“Come Randolph, let us make the long journey west to the Golden Empire, suffering all the while.”

Standing unsteadily, Gregor groped at his face in an attempt to discover why his right eye didn’t work. He poked and prodded, but his fingers could not find the firm gelatinous orb that should be present, discovering only a sad, deflated sack which would need to be removed before it started rotting. “Ah.” A pit formed in his stomach. I have lost yet another part of myself.

“It seems that the opium is still with me,” He noted his lack of agony with grim stoicism. “The suffering will begin shortly.”

***

Clip clop went the hooves of Gregor’s stolen steed.

Birds were singing, woodland creatures were rummaging in the underbrush, and a pleasantly blowing breeze carried a hint of smoke from the distant city behind him.

Apparently, as he had overheard while stealing his horse, the Duke’s mansion had suddenly caught fire during the night and everyone inside was dead. What a shock. The city was sure to be plagued with the political chaos of uncertain succession for months to come.

Oddly, Gregor was troubled by the fact that he had killed everyone in that mansion. His recollection of the night was fuzzy, but every scene his beleaguered mind managed to conjure contained at least a few violent deaths. And although he couldn’t remember starting it, Gregor had no doubt that the fire was a product of his indiscretion.

For the first time ever, the suffering Gregor caused weighed heavily on his mind. Those people shouldn’t have died. They shouldn’t have suffered so unfairly, but the Gregor of last night did not care about fairness. He was unhinged. A failure.

To Gregor, it was fine to cause suffering, so long as it was fair.

If a person has wronged you, it is fair to do wrong by them, obviously. But the duke and his guards, he had done them wrong. It was only fair that Gregor now suffered as they did.

Was this guilt? Gregor had no experience with guilt, so he couldn’t be sure. Usually it was a feeling for others. Certainly not for him.

He could feel the bodily pain growing. It throbbed in his eye and stump with every jostle of the horse. The opium hunger was there too. Distant now, but soon to be maddening.

Making the conscious choice to suffer filled him with a perverse kind of pride. Normal people would balk at his course of action. Discarding his opium stock was unnecessary and unwise, for Gregor could have rationed it and weaned himself from his addiction over the course of his long journey. Perhaps he should have, but nobody wise ever became a wizard.

Normal people don’t possess the willful disregard for self that such a decision necessitates, and none would be likely to stick with it. He would persist, for he exceeded the realm of normal. He was better than normal. Gregor belonged to a higher order of life. Madmen and corpses were his peers.

Having thought all this, he found it profoundly emboldening. His bruised ego began to quietly heal.

Glum but determined, he trotted on south-west, admiring the open road before him. Staying in Sine for so long had offended his wizard sensibilities. Finding permanent employment was solidly in the realm of magedom. It was downright unnatural for a wizard to pursue a social rank and a salary. Or an office, how absurd!

Perhaps Gregor was being punished for offending the natural order of things. Wizards adventured, while mages sat and grew fat. That was how it should be, and Gregor would never again violate this ironclad law of the world.

Looking up past the brim of his hat, he observed the sun beginning to trend downwards into a bank of clouds. It would rain again in the night. Too warm for snow, thankfully, but there would be no fire to warm the horse.

She was a northern breed. Thick-coated and stout. She’d be fine in the cold so long as she had water.

Though he had never traveled this way, Gregor knew of a town along the road, five days hence. It was a small place, the last stop before the land grew misty and the trees grew ponderously tall as Der Hexenwald began.

Der hexenwald was a vast, feared place. A gragantuan swath of woodland. Disappearances in the region were common. Faint whispering and fetid winds wafted out occasionally, with many people claiming to have seen something lurking in the treeline, though nobody could ever describe it in precise terms. Of it, there were only rumors of distant, half-imagined shapes moving between mist-obscured trees.

The town had no industry save for accommodating the prudent many who wished to travel around the wood, and the foolhardy few who wished to travel directly through.

After reaching the border town, he would follow the circuitous wood-skirting road southwards to the Horrel Gulf, a substantial inlet which sustained the surrounding areas with the miraculous power of maritime trade.

Since he had surrendered all of his money to the care of the dwarf apothecary, Gregor would need to find work in the various harbors once he arrived. Thankfully, people are always willing to pay for magic.

Upon gathering sufficient funds, Gregor planned to charter himself a ship as far west as possible. Though he doubted that he’d be able to make it as far as he wanted.

***

The light was dim. Looking behind him, Gregor found that the sun had melted into a line of tangerine that stretched the breadth of the horizon. The clouds, illumed in muted orange hues, had dragged themselves overhead. A faint pitter-patter began on his hat and tiny flecks of cold found their way to his face and hands.

There would be no telekinetic umbrella. The last night’s exertion had magically exhausted him beyond all notions of his own endurance which he previously held.

Further strain might cause his body to begin cannibalizing itself for energy. The weak magical force that held his cells together would become fuel and his precious corporeal form would begin to disintegrate in spite of its many performance-enhancing modifications.

The horse halted, huffing and throwing her head and ejecting Gregor from his thoughts. Looking up, two men met his cyclopean gaze. They sat astride massive warsteeds curiously outfitted for wayfaring.

Gregor’s eye was now throbbing more than his stump.

The men themselves, who rode abreast and were inspecting Gregor with reproachful eyes, were remarkable for the fact that they were attempting to appear unremarkable. Their baggy travelers’ garb was mostly the same, as if it came from the same outfitter. Furthermore, both wore swordless swordbelts and matching robust gloves, as well as identical pairs of thick leather boots with rubberized soles. It all carried the distinct suggestion of a pre-made appearance, supplied en-mass with little thought given to coordination.

The boots particularly stood out. Rubber, in this part of the world? These men are idiots. Gregor resisted the urge to rub his eye.

With identical postures of calm alertness, which belied training and discipline, they looked to each other and began a silent exchange of gestures. The man to Gregor’s right – who Gregor judged to be the less competent of the pair – spoke first. “Could you state your name?”

“You are amateurs.” After a moment of thought, “Or perhaps freelancers? Freelancers have less professional responsibility, I suppose.”

With raised brows, they shared a few more looks, “What are you talking about?”

“You two are doing a very poor job of being inconspicuous. Most people rightly try to avoid wizards, you know.”

The more competent one rested his hand inside his thick overcoat, which was conspicuously clean and unwrinkled.

“Hmm.” Gregor hmmed facetiously to himself. “Where in the world could you come from. You’re incompetent, so you shouldn’t be anyone important, yet you’re outfitted with expensive horses and rubber boots. I wonder who in the world could have both the rubber and the money to employ you?”

A jolt of arse-clenching adrenaline shot through Gregor as he spied a tubular impression protruding from the fabric of the competent man’s coat. As a result of his recent experiences, he was beginning to dislike firearms quite a bit.

Attempting to sound insultingly calm, he sighed and asked, “Were you never told how to behave on the mainland?”

Shrugging, the man – older than the other by a decent few decades – replied with equal calm. “No, actually. They rushed us out here at the last minute.”

“Might you be those Inquisitors who’ve been bumbling about Staltland recently?”

“We’re not nearly so important, I’m afraid.” Said the more senior.

“Worker bees, that’s what we are.” Supplied the younger.

Gregor blinked, surprised at their openness. “It would serve you well to not be so transparent, I think.”

The elder shook his head, “We aren’t traveling in secret, just low-key, that’s all. And it isn’t our intention to avoid people who know to look at us twice. In fact, we rather enjoy meeting them, isn’t that right?”

“Quite so. It expedites our work.” Affirmed the junior.

“Hmm, yes. On that subject, would you mind terribly if we asked you some questions, apprentice wizard?”

Gregor’s eye was burning. Despite his discomfort and the brazen attitudes of these men who sought to question him, Gregor was not offended by their assumption that he was merely an apprentice. It was a natural conclusion given his age, and Gregor thus took it as confirmation of his supremely abnormal abilities.

“You have no means by which to compel me to submit to interrogation. Furthermore, I wholly reject the notion that such a thing is even possible.”

“I am pointing a gun at you.”

“We both are.”

“That is not nearly enough.” Gregor had a thought. “However,” he continued, “I am open to an exchange of information.”

The senior nodded, “Sure.”

“Huh? Really?” Questioned his younger companion, who was genuinely surprised.

“This is a good lesson for you, boy. Continental wizards – all of them – tend to be reckless maniacs. No offense.”

Gregor nodded. What coud he say? It was true.

“You should avoid pushing them into a corner, and if they offer you a compromise, take it.”

“Wise.” commented the wizard.

“Well then, our questions are rather simple: how lie your allegiances?”

Gregor raised his brow. “That is an odd question to ask a wizard. The answer is rather predictable.” Neither of the men made comment, so Gregor proceeded. “I am loyal to my rat, to myself, and to my employer.”

“You are loyal to your rat?”

Randolph mounted Gregor’s shoulder, using his hat as protection from the light rain.

“He is a phenomenally good rat.”

“… Right.”

“Who is your employer?” Continued the more competent elder agent.

“I am not currently employed.”

“Good, good.” He muttered to himself, nodding.

“You believe me, just like that?”

“Our enemies are not in the business of lying about such things.”

Before Gregor could inquire about these terribly interresting enemies, “-Are you acquainted with Gregor of Sine?” Queried the younger, motioning down the road whence Gregor came. “Are you perhaps his apprentice?”

“Do you have work?” Questioned Gregor in lieu of an answer.

He shook his head. “We wish to ask him the same question.”

“You would receive the same response.”

“We’d like to ask him ourselves.”

Gregor shrugged. He decided to change the topic, seeing no good reason to enlighten the men. Pointing to his mangled eye with his amputated limb, he stated, “I am in great pain.” Following which, and before the pair could do something rude like offering their sympathies, he asked, “Are you aware of any nearby healers?”

The younger man snorted. “We already told you that we aren’t inquisitors. That kind of information isn’t something people like us are allowed to learn.”

“And even if we were aware,” added the senior agent, “We wouldn’t tell you.”

“I expected as much.” How could it be that easy? “Instead, do you know of Kaius the Elderly?”

They shared a look, “We’re aware. Half the Empire is aware. He’s killed a good few Inquisitors over the years. The Queen even said she’d like to kill him herself.”

“I assume that such an infamous man must be the object of a substantial bounty.”

“You assume correctly.”

Gregor’s hand found its way to his stump. He began massaging it with a slight grimace tugging at his lips. “How would I collect a bounty like that?”

Both were dumbfounded at this inquiry. Kaius had been a target of their organization for almost ninety years. Most field personnel, such as they were, had several well-documented encounters with him included in their training material. There was not a single active Inquisitor or agent who had never fantasized about being the one to bring the evil wizard to justice.

Thus, the impossible implication present in Gregor’s query was of great interest to them.

“...If you know something, you should tell us. We’ll pay for good information, and we’ll pay really well if your lead pans out.”

It occurred to Gregor that he was becoming far too interesting to these people, and that he’d soon find himself being tailed if he didn’t do something about it.“I don’t have anything for you at present, but I plan to have that information eventually.” He proceeded calmly in his most arrogant tone. “If, hypothetically, I were to find myself in a miraculously advantageous position and were unexpectedly able to kill Kaius in the course of my obtaining this information, what then should I do?”

The younger agent barked out a laugh, thinking Gregor an overconfident fool. “I doubt you’ll be so lucky. We certainly haven’t.”

His senior delivered a more measured response. “If you do find something, I hope you bring it to us instead of chasing the bounty. Regardless of whatever advantage you possess, Kaius will kill you.”

“Even so, hypothetically, what ought I do?”

“The Department of Force in the Golden Capitol is responsible for dispensing rewards.”

“And I would need to bring proof of his death.”

“Of course.”

“I can’t exactly lop off his head and drag it halfway around the world. The smell would be horrible.”

He shrugged. “I can’t help you there, and it doesn’t matter because it’ll never happen.”

In Gregor’s mind, there emerged a far greater concern than mere stench. Kaius had been dead for more than half a year at this point. Already, the sun and rain would have withered him away. He’d be little more than black pieces of once-flesh clinging to a loose association of bones.

How was Gregor to make proof from that?

“Where would I go if I wished to bring you information?”

The agent licked his lips uneasily, considering how to answer. “We have a… presence in most large port cities. If you make your identity as a wizard known, one of our people is likely to contact you.”

Gregor raised a brow, “You seem quite concerned with the goings-on of wizards. Why?”

Both men maintained a tight-lipped silence until the younger agent spoke, quite against the wishes of his senior.

“Not just wizards.” The older man said nothing, but gave him a hard glare. “Look- if you happen to learn some odd things about some powerful people, we’d be interested.”

“I see.” Gregor held his questions, knowing they would go unanswered. “Coincidentally, I’m short on coin.” The wizard spread his arms performatively in the space before him. “I could share a few small points of interest which ought to be of immediate use in your current endeavor.”

“It would not be wise to speculate on the nature of our current endeavor.” Spake the frowning elder, who was growing dissatisfied with Gregor’s intimations.

“Similarly, it would be wise for you to cease threatening me, lest I call your bluff.” Retorted the wizard.

Diplomatically, the younger agent raised a jingling leather pouch. “What can you tell us?”

Changing track smoothly from violence to business, Gregor began, “There are two things. The first: going to Sine would be a waste. Gregor the cripple is no longer there.”

“Isn’t he employed by the duke?”

“The duke died in a fire last night. Gregor left the city in the morning.”

“He left immediately after his employer died? That’s rather suspicious, don’t you think?”

Gregor shrugged, “He could have started the fire, or he could have been pursuing whoever started the fire. He might have just been leaving to look for a new employer. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Hmm.” The older agent sat back in his saddle, hand to his chin in contemplation.

“And the second?”

“There’s a large swamp to the north west. If you trudge to the center, you’ll find a primitive consanguineous family of bog-shaman. They are the Blight Clan.”

“We were already planning to pay them a visit.” Interjected the younger man, who hid his expression of disgust at the mention of familial co-mingling quite poorly. He lowered the dangling purse and brought it closer to himself, as if to imply that Gregor’s information wasn’t worth the money.

“I traveled through the area some months ago. The air was heavy with… odd magic. Foreign magic. It felt as if the region was sick, or had been poisoned somehow. I can’t explain it any better.”

The way the agents looked at each other, with their brows furrowed and their eyes wide and alert, told Gregor that this was exactly the kind of information they were interested in obtaining.

“Do you think that this is something they caused?” The elder probed.

“Knowing that you don’t enforce your backwards laws here on the mainland, I’ll speak honestly.” They frowned at this comment, but allowed him to continue, not quite sure where he was going. “I have consorted with demons, I have visited other planes, and I have peered into unknown epochs.” He smirked heavily, having satisfied his innate need to boast. “In short, I am quite familiar with unfamiliar magic. Believe me when I say that the taint in that fetid bog is beyond merely strange or unfamiliar. It is so utterly alien that nothing native to this world could have possibly ushered it into being.”

Both men were alert with grim excitement. Absently thumbing the small dirk tucked into his belt, the younger agent asked his final question. “Are they hostile?”

“They generally wouldn’t attack visitors, it’d be bad for business, but you aren’t regular visitors. I suppose it would depend on their answer to your question.” He chuckled heartily before doubling over in a fit of coughing. Gregor could really go for some opium right about now.

Concerned that the wizard was gathering a bit too much information from their exchange, the old agent began searching for an excuse to end the conversation. After his junior colleague tossed Gregor the bag of coin, he found his excuse in the newly glinting lights overhead and the dim, sunless horizon in the east. “Night comes. We must go.”

“Is there a waystation up the road?” Gregor asked, pointing in the direction of his travel.

“Not for a day.”

“Ah.” He nudged his horse into action. “By the way. Out of wizardly professional interest, what is the reward for Kaius’s life?”

“Everything he possessed prior to his exile, plus a little extra.”

“Oh?” It seemed that a change of destination was in order.

If Gregor were to proceed through Der Hexenwald instead of following its border south, he would emerge rather close to the tower, where it now seemed that he could acquire a substantial fortune.

Kaius was no pauper prior to his exile, in fact, one would be justified in calling him disgustingly rich. He was the sole inheritor of a lineal barony, wherein his ancestors had been lucky enough to discover several silver deposits of ludicrous size.

Even if the title and associated land had long since been sized and re-absorbed into the crown estate, Gregor had no doubt that Kaius’s liquid funds would be more than sufficient to purchase the services of the elf healers, and then to subsequently secure whatever else he desired.

The promise of potential profit from the Empire was quite enticing, and he began to wonder how else he could stand to benefit from the Inquisition outsourcing their work.

The pair of government men also began to move, encouraging their mounts toward the messy Sine city that Gregor left behind.

Turning with a frown, the younger agent remarked, “You never told us your name.”

“Neither did you.”

With that, both parties trotted away.

“That was definitely Gregor, right?” Said one agent to the other.

“Yeah.”