[ WP ] `` What does n't kill me has made a tactical error . ''

Sometimes you get tired of your own cooking. 
 
 The town was called Riverside. That's what the sign said. I also passed a ruin of a mill, but the riverbed was cracked and full of bones. The wheel looked like it had n't turned in living memory. Somehow, Riverside hung on. Gangs of dirty children watched as I walked by, my spurs ringing with every step. A chicken crossed the road to get away from me. 
 
 `` Hold her! Hold her!'' 
 
 `` Careful, she's a wild one!'' 
 
 The villagers had caught themselves a centaur. They'd bound her and hobbled her but she struggled and kicked. Or tried to kick. A villager scrabbled out of the way of her hind legs. 
 
 `` Told you the pit trap was worth digging.'' 
 
 `` Pit trap, hell. *I* wanted a new outhouse.'' 
 
 She was muddy and bruised but better-fed than any of the humans. She had a head of chestnut hair to match the color of her horse half. 
 
 `` What're *you* looking at?'' a villager demanded. 
 
 I'd stopped without realizing. `` Just passing through,'' I said. 
 
 `` Well, pass on straight outta here. Unless you'd like to make me an offer?'' 
 
 `` I'm just looking for a hot meal.'' 
 
 The villager spat. He was probably married to his mother. `` Inn's that way.'' 
 
 * * * 
 
 The inn was the largest building in the village. I'd seen bigger barns. 
 A drunk asked to buy him a drink. 
 
 `` Maybe later,'' I said. 
 
 The day's special was thin stew and cottage loaf, both made by the innkeeper himself. He was a sullen old man and I hoped the food tasted better than he looked. 
 
 `` What's this?'' he asked, when I tried to pay. 
 
 `` That's an Imperial mark,'' I said. 
 
 `` We're not in the Empire,'' he said. `` And I do n't take coins with that creature's image.'' 
 
 `` It's solid silver.'' 
 
 He grumbled, but eventually produced a set of scales. It took a depressing amount of silver shavings to pay for the meal. 
 
 `` Got a drink for me?'' asked the drunk, after I'd sat down. 
 
 I pushed a bottle his way and reached into my bag for my knife and spoon. 
 
 `` You're not gon na take off your gloves?'' he asked. 
 
 `` No,'' I said. 
 
 `` You're not gon na take off your hood?'' 
 
 `` No.'' 
 
 He watched as I ate. The stew tasted sad, if that was possible. And the chicken bits were tough and bony. But it was hot and the bread was fresh. It took effort not to eat with my hands. 
 
 The drunk had a gleam in his eye. `` Y'know, your hand looks funny.'' 
 
 `` Old war wound,'' I said. Which was true. 
 
 `` Do n't seem to bend right.'' 
 
 `` Broke it, more than once,'' I said. 
 
 `` C'n you buy me another drink?'' 
 
 I looked at him. I was still wearing the hood, so he did n't back off. I reached for my belt and he leered. 
 
 I put the Imperial mark, now smaller, on the table. Slowly I slid it to him. `` For your silence,'' I said. 
 
 He took the coin and stumbled out of the inn. I finished my meal in peace. 
 
 They were `` taming'' the horse-girl as I stepped out. They'd gotten an old saddle on her but nobody could stay on. So they were lashing her up and down the main street. 
 
 `` Ha ha! That's it, beat it out of her!'' 
 
 `` Make'er bounce!'' 
 
 The centaur said nothing. They'd gagged her. All she could do was hobble and twist her back and shoulders away from the blows. She was naked from the waist and the whips cut angry lines into her skin. 
 
 I burped. My tongue darted under my chin to get at a bit of chicken grease. For the first time in months I was pleasantly full. I wanted nothing more than a place to sit and light my pipe. 
 
 The horse girl worked the gag from her mouth. `` Phr-please,'' she croaked. `` Please!'' 
 
 *None of my business*, I thought. I turned to the other end of town. 
 
 `` Please. H-help.'' 
 
 She must have dropped her guard, because there was a *crack*. She screamed and her forelegs buckled. A villager had laid a blow across her upper back. 
 
 `` Ai n't no stranger gon na help you,'' the man said. `` Not after I'm through with you. Eh?'' 
 
 He looked up. I was in front of him. 
 
 `` What do know about horses?'' I asked. 
 
 `` Know enough to shoe'em,'' he said. His leather apron marked him as the local blacksmith. 
 
 `` What will you do with this animal?'' I asked. `` From the looks of the saddle, nobody here knows how to ride.'' 
 
 `` Dunno. Make her pull a cart? What's it to you?'' 
 
 `` I'll buy her. I'm tired of walking.'' 
 
 I patted my money pouch, which jangled pleasantly. The smith and the mother-grabber smiled. That's when the drunk reached behind me and pulled off my hood. 
 
 They saw the missing ear. The receding hairline. The scar that split my upper lip and pointed to my right eye. 
 
 `` His eye...'' 
 
 My right eye had a horizontal pupil, like a goat's. 
 
 `` Paladin!'' they screamed. `` He's a paladin!'' 
 
 * * * 
 
 `` You know, there was a time when people showed more respect.'' 
 
 `` We do n't want your kind,'' the blacksmith said. `` Your god is dead.'' 
 
 `` Yscyigg lives,'' I said. `` You think I'd still have this eye if He were dead?'' 
 
 `` You'll bring the sickness!'' 
 
 `` We did n't bring the sickness!'' I said. 
 
 The innkeeper shouldered his way through the crowd. `` I should've known when he tried to pass off that heathen money.'' 
 
 `` Did I eat for free?'' I said. `` Fine. I know when I'm not welcome.'' 
 
 I scattered coins in the dirt. `` That's more than enough to pay for the animal. Now, if someone could cut her bonds --'' 
 
 * * * 
 
 I woke up with my face in the dirt. Someone had thrown a hammer at the back of my head. I rolled sideways. The blacksmith stomped, hit only the ground. I got to my feet and got my fists up. 
 
 I would n't have been knocked out if I'd been wearing my helmet. But I'd thrown it away because it was too distinctive. Dizziness and regret washed over me. 
 
 The blacksmith charged, swinging another hammer. I threw him to the ground. Mother-grabber came in low with a knife and I caught his wrist and forced him to the ground. I had enough room now -- out came the arming sword. The innkeeper had a mace. No time to parry, I took it on the arm defenses. Steel hit steel. 
 
 More regrets. That mace might've glanced off if I had n't painted my armor. Plate should be slick and shiny, the better to deflect blows. But I'd painted my pauldrons black to keep the rust off. A fugitive with no squire has no time to polish metal. 
 
 I parried and sidestepped. Needed to keep the mob in front of me. Needed to tangle up their weapons too. I crouched and jabbed. A pitchfork stabbed toward me and almost wrenched my sword away. 
 
 I raised my free hand, then remembered that my god was n't listening. Pity. I used to be able to summon tentacles out of shadow, to liquefy the earth and bury my enemies alive. I used to be able to boil people's blood, or turn their eyeballs into spiders. Not anymore. 
 
 I twisted and the bottle shattered on my back. Shards of glass tangled in my hair. I shoved the drunk against the wall and punched him. 
 
 I'd kept the left gauntlet and was glad for it. The first punch broke his nose. The second punch smeared it over his face and shattered an eyesocket. The third punch caved in a cheekbone. 
 
 Pain! I fell to one knee. A child had cut me in the leg. He giggled and came in for another stab. 
 
 `` Bwaaagh!'' I said, sticking my tongue out. He screamed. He'd never seen a tongue with suckers before. I got to my feet and slapped him aside. 
 
 The whole village was out. Not one of them had any love for Yscyigg, because they were all armed. 
 
 `` Heretics,'' I said. `` Damn *all* of you!'' 
 
 I threw myself at them. The innkeeper swung his mace and I chopped his hand off. The villager with the knife thrust low and I stabbed him in the neck. Probably in front of his mother. The blacksmith roared and swung a hammer at my skull. I dodged and he punched me in the gut. 
 
 Endless regrets. I'd traded my good cuirass for a leather gambeson. Like my helmet, the breastplate had marked me as a paladin. 
 
 I retched. Someone slipped on the vomit and I ran him through the back. Blood ran down my leg. I was getting dizzier. `` Damn *all* you heretics!'' I said. 
 
 They came at me, all of them. Even the chickens, or so I remember. A woodcutter attacked and I killed him. His wife attacked and I killed her. A dog leaped at my neck and my sword went all the way down his throat. The innkeeper jumped on my back and tried to strangle me with the stump of one arm. I threw him off and opened his belly. 
 
 I killed and killed but kept taking hits. 
 
 An arrow went *thunk* into my chest. I looked down and my chest sprouted another arrow. 
 
 `` That was a tactical error,'' I told the archer. As I ran him through I said, `` That's not where my heart is.'' 
 
 The blacksmith threw a hammer. It would've clipped my ear, if I still had an ear. 
 
 `` Fuckin' *fall down*, you!'' He said. I grinned. He swung but I was ready. I lunged, slashed. His leather apron split and he fell to his knees and gave birth to his own intestines. 
 
 Still the villagers came. A boy with a peg leg walked in, fists swinging. I tripped him and stepped on the leg, breaking it. A villager with a cow skull for a helmet swung a halberd at me. I stumbled back, bleeding. If I was to die here, I would do so with an honor guard. 
 
 I raised my hand and called, not upon Yscyigg, but upon my own reserves of strength. At once, every wooden thing began to burn. The inn exploded. The hovels collapsed. The old mill imploded and the wheel rolled down the riverbed. 
 
 I heard screaming. Well, everyone was screaming. But the centaur was still bound, unable to run. I crawled to her, and with the last of my strength I severed her hobble. Then I blacked out. 
 
 * * *
