More than Monsters

Chapter One, Part One

Author note: this is a preview of a published work in the same fantasy series as The Ottanocta.

Cora climbed onto a shack to scramble to the top of the town's defensive wall. Many people did this to scan the frontier for monsters but she came to find a way through the overcrowded streets. The orc invasion had driven everyone behind the walls, making Retham as busy as a city. Making it Cora's worst nightmare.

Her destination, the large indoor market hall, was only four hundred yards away but the snow-covered mountains thirty miles behind her would be easier to reach. She could wander the wilderness for weeks on end, never worried about wild animals or monsters, but people were another matter. It would be easier to face an orc than struggle through this crowd.

The streets were packed. Avenues wide enough for carriages were now filled with hundreds of refugees. Tents, wagons, and tables cluttered every open area and people crammed the spaces between. Was Baron Rethamir's mission worth all this?

She came down, braced herself, and stepped into the crowd.

A man immediately cut her off and another bumped into her. The press of people carried her between two frontier families guarding their piles of possessions, through a slough of stinking waste, and past a suspicious gang of teens. She went with the flow, hoping she'd end up closer than when she'd started.

Yells and shouts excited the crowd ahead. Someone screamed and a wave of shoving pushed Cora back. The crowd parted and a runaway cow charged through, dragging its owner by a rope. Cora dashed through the gap to a different crowd of people.

The big-city mercenaries had arrived today. They were the whole reason Cora was crossing this insane crowd. Meet them tonight and in the morning, she'd take them into the mountains to find the monsters. They would kill the orcs and life could return to normal. All she had to do was finish crossing the street.

Apparently, these heroes were more than just mercenaries, they were sicarians. In the tales, they included wizards, holy exemplars, and warriors who wore enchanted armor that could withstand a cannon's blast. These people of legend had come to this frontier community to succeed where the baron's army failed.

The flow took her closer but then started circling back. Cora panicked. She barged into a clutch of mothers, stepping on feet and stumbling over a toddler before crashing through a makeshift corral filled with sheep.

Finally, she dashed to the town's market-hall. The building vibrated with the noise of shouts and cheers. She forced her legs to take her inside.

The huge hall stood ringed by shop stalls: a place that could accommodate hundreds. On normal days, it was full of farmers and merchants, now it was more like a seedy tavern. Dozens of people were drinking and laughing where they'd dragged tables together.

But most of these revellers were locals: farmers and woodsmen, serfs and young women; people Cora hated from firsthand experience.

Where were the heroes?

She veered around a drink-filled table and finally glimpsed some sicarians. Drunken lunatics by the look of them. A loudmouth, a teenage boy, and two pale savages in hides. Four people.

This was not enough. Rethamir's army had been beaten by five hundred orcs. Sicarians were legendary but these fools wouldn't stand a chance. And if more were coming, they'd best arrive soon: the mission started in the morning.

And why were only four people being put up in here? This large hall should have held hundreds of refugees instead of being converted into a tavern for four dubious heroes and whoever wanted to drink with them. Everything was wrong.

Cora approached them.

"Excuse me, sirs," she said.

One savage noticed. He slapped the teenager and they both looked.

"I'm supposed to report to Orthane."

The teen set his mug on the table. "Orthane, look at this."

The loudmouth glared at Cora until a mean-spirited lustiness filled his drunk eyes. "Well, come sit here, you little pixie. By Saga, you look fresh." He slapped his thigh, laughing. The crowd stopped talking and everyone looked at her.

"His High Lord sent me to help you," she said the way she'd rehearsed.

Orthane leaned forward. "Everyone. Shut up. Shut your damned gobs. I can't hear this little lady."

Silence fell over the room like a wet blanket.

"She says the baron sent her," the teen said.

"I can't turn down a gift from the baron, can I? Young. Small. How did he know what I like?"

The crowd erupted in laughter.

"No," Cora snapped. "I am your scout. I'm taking you into the mountains."

A stunned silence weighed for a long, painful moment before raucous laughter boiled over again.

"I got something she can guide," Orthane said. "I'll even let her pick the target."

The laughter grew even louder.

Cora refused to run away. She set her feet and clenched her jaw. Orthane ate her up with a carnal look before turning back to his drink.

Lies and exaggerations from the rowdy locals followed, describing Cora's virtueless antics and insatiable desires. All false. She stood in the middle of the insulting crowd, praying for a response that would shut them up, knowing that the slightest gesture would betray fingers shuddering with rage and fear. Unfreezing her face would release a torrent of tears. She'd never get a tenth the respect these cretins gave each other.

In the stories, sicarians were great heroes. Warriors were swordsmen with chivalrous codes. Wise wizards gave sober council and blasted evil with fire and lightning. Exemplars shining with holy light smote underworld demons. They were the people who slew giants and dragons. Cora's dreams were dashed by these drunk scoundrels.

She looked for anything to cling to in Orthane's companions. The two Melanch savages had pale tattooed skin, wild hair, and wore hides for shirts and trousers. Their hazel eyes marked them as the feared foreigners from frightening stories. The teen-aged boy, tall, slim, and awkward, winced in shame at the disgusting comments. Cora was twenty and he was definitely younger than her. He wore a high collared jacket over a linen shirt and had a tailored pair of practical britches, just like Orthane.

There was nothing to pin her hopes on. How badly would the baron punish her if she ran away?

Topics changed and braggarts demanded their own attention. If Cora had a magical power, it was the ability to disappear in a roomful of people. As she waited, everyone forgot about her.

"This one time," Orthane said, his voice booming. "The Duke of Perkank went mad." Cora moved back a few steps. "He marched through the streets of Lorebear, killing every subject he could find."

Cora let out a ragged breath and turned away.

"I was the only sicarian around and I couldn't just watch all those people get cut down. So, it was me against ten crack soldiers and the legendary duelist."

Cora didn't need to hear the end of Orthane's story, she needed to get away. Maybe they'd be ready to listen in the morning. Weaving between the local fools and dreamers, she kept her head down and made her way out.