The Hand That Mocked Them

Eventually Kivvien pulled them off the road and set up camp.

Hieronymus didn't ask for dinner this time; he'd been quiet all day and didn't move from his spot in the cart.

Kivvien found a perch and went to sleep.

Hieronymus watched him for a long while, then settled down to sleep as well.

It was cold and damp when Kivvien awoke just as the sun peeked over the horizon.

Hieronymus, despite the blanket, was covered in dew and awoke soaking wet. He sighed and shook himself; he had a pounding headache.

Kivvien quickly set up to get moving again. He couldn't wait for this all to be over.

He glanced at Kivvien, then guiltily looked away. He'd been horrible, absolutely horrible to him. He'd probably kick him out now and he would have to return to his master empty-handed.

Kivvien finished hooking up the mule and started the cart moving again. It shouldn't be too long now before they reached the madman's cottage, and Kivvien could make good on his word and find out if the alchemist had any use to him. If he didn't, Kivvien was about ready to charge into the demonic hoard himself. Being away was killing him.

He watched in silence, skipping back into the cradle of his prosthetics.

"How much further?" Kivvien asked.

"We have been on the road for two days, so I expect another five," he replied. "I told you it would be a week to Master Laurean's cottage, sir."

Another five days with this thing.

"I see."

He dipped his head. "Thank you again for your generosity, sir. I know this isn't an ideal situation."

"At the next inn we come across we need to dissect the demon properly and preserve it. It will likely set us back a day, but we mustn't let it go to waste."