Groundborn

by Scott Moore

  Miles listened to the hollering in front and behind them. He imagined the castle he could be in instead. The fire that could warm his bones. The wine that could drown his sorrows, the whores that could be, well whores. But he just couldn’t kill that little fucking mistake. The damn bastard child that just had to ruin it all for him. What had been so damn special about that kid anyhow? The king had no children to worry about offending. He had no queen to put off. If he had a damn illegitimate child, no one would have given a damn about the little brat, but still the king wanted the child dead.

  Instead of the luxury, Miles had mud, blood, and shit covering him from head to toe. Miles stepped forward and stood in a fighting stance. The villagers in front of him slackened a moment. Bargaining time Miles thought. This would be the time that they came up with new ideas and decided that fighting wasn’t their best option after all.

  “We have no problem with you,” stated the man in the mob's front. “We just want your freak of a friend.”

  They wanted Miles to abandon his friend to the wind. Well not really his friend. He barely knew the guy honestly, but Sammy had believed him. Sammy helped him, Miles at least had to pay that back, so he kept his sword up in position. He wouldn’t need to exchange words with the men, they would get the message soon enough.

  “You are making a mistake,” the man said, lacking any confidence.

  Miles looked back. They would want Sammy alone. He looked pitiful, standing there with his hands buried under his arms, and his face slack with no emotion at all. Did this man even realize what the hell was going on? Miles almost doubted it, he seemed so much like an innocent child.

  Miles knew if he left it would be a slaughter, even against these fat, out of shape assholes with their impromptu weapons. Miles couldn’t do it, wouldn’t do it. Sammy had seen the creatures, knew they were real. Sammy was Miles’ last thread to sanity, if Sammy disappeared, this meant that no one else would believe him. He doubted anyone from the city who had witnessed the damn creatures had survived. Those who came across the carnage would just suppose it had been war, furthering Miles’ problems.

  No, he would stay and fight. It wasn’t him who had made the mistake, it was these men. Miles stepped forward, letting them know the time for conversation had expired. The men all clenched, it seemed as if they would try at least to show their bravery. They wouldn’t run outright, but that meant only one thing to Miles, another kill, another battle, another war.

  ***

  A flurry of movement. Sammy had never seen such a thing. Battle seemed chaotic and yet like a finely tuned movement at the same time. There were lunges and dips, followed by twirls. Right away it became obvious who was more skilled at killing. Miles moved nimbly, while the others stumbled forward without a care for their actions.

  Sammy did not move. He let the fighting happen around him, much too curious to turn away from the action and did not fear repercussions. That didn’t seem to be the case for everyone. More and more cleared the path for the fighting men to do their bidding. Miles ducked under a small garden shovel and came up with a swipe of his own, cutting the man before him from navel to breastbone.

  The man dropped in a shriek that could have busted glass. Sammy watched the red liquid pour from the rip in his skin. Sammy doubted the man would make a recovery from such a grave wound; another notch in the belt of Miles. Sammy didn’t have to know the history to see Miles was a trained killer. He wondered how many he had killed. However, many it didn’t seem to faze him to add another to his count.

  The four men left circled around Miles with their weapons held lax. Their demeanor changed after watching their comrade dying on the dirt road. Sammy could tell they no longer wanted to fight but had no idea how to disengage. Miles had zoned in and the only way those men were walking away alive would be to kill him.

  “Fight!” yelled a voice from behind Sammy. The town backed away, but that didn’t mean they didn’t want to see the action. They would have seen nothing like this before in their lives Sammy guessed. He didn’t blame them for wanting to see the conclusion. As gruesome as it was, the fighting mesmerized him in its own weird way.

  Sammy continued to hear doors open and close throughout the village behind him. Those who were too scared to watch ran home, those who heard about the fighting late came bursting through their doors. Sammy didn’t take his eyes off the men in front of him.

  Miles lunged forward, and the man in front of him tried to block with his primitive weapon. The man didn’t understand what to do in a fight, and Miles’ sword took advantage, driving deep into the man’s thigh. The second of the five men fell and another sure causality in the column for Miles.

  A sudden fit of bravery overtook one man in the group. He lunged forward with his weapon and swung for the back of Miles’ head. It would have been a killing blow, if not for Miles’ quick reaction. Without warning Miles dropped to his knees, and the swing passed harmlessly through the air above his head. Miles brought his shoulders inward and drove the pommel of his sword into the man’s midsection.

  The man hunched over and Miles turned with a sick smile spreading across his face. The man’s body slackened seconds later with a sword protruding through the base of his neck. Miles pulled his sword free and blood coated the ground at his boots. He looked outwards over the group of men, with no remorse painting his face, just the blood across his neck from the man’s wound.

  The other men dropped their weapons. What was once hatred and anger, turned to fear and their embarrassment at running faded. Their boots kicked up dust toward Miles and Sammy. Sammy turned to watch them rejoin the building crowd.

  If they hadn’t been hated men for the bar, or the dead prostitute, they surely wouldn’t be asked back for a drink now. Two dead men lay in the middle of the dirt road. Two men who probably had wives, children, and maybe job in this village. Miles walked over to Sammy, placing his sword back into his belt loop, and placed his hand on Sammy’s shoulder.

  “I do believe it would be best to be on our way,” he said.

  Sammy turned toward the open road. He had to say he agreed.

  17

  The task before Nov would be the most difficult thing he had ever done. Already he had struggled to accept Alti’s plan. Now he had to come up with a way to see it through. If he thought seeing the council had been hard, then this next task would be his death.

  Nov faced gathering as many nobles as he could into a single gathering. Alti had told him that seeing the nests wouldn’t be enough if he were the only one to see them. He needed to let the others in the city see them too, but he knew the nobles—the real power in the city—wouldn’t come to the walls. They wouldn’t risk getting their dresses and suits dirty with the dirt of the soldier paths. Alti had another way to make them see. It made Nov sick to his stomach, but he would see it through.

  Nov knew all of zero nobles, however. He knew many men who aspired to be nobles. He had shaken hands with nobles while Earl pandered to them for supplies. That didn’t make him friends with them, nor did they likely remember him.

  So, he had to think of something else; something different. If he couldn’t gather the right crowd, he would just have to find someone who could do it for him. Someone that liked to show off their wealth and power; a group of greedy soul suckers would do it.

  For this reason, Nov stood on the grand dais of the Lady Duchesses; the single most powerful group in the city of Sera. Even more powerful than the council, depending who people talked with.

  The garden of the Duchesses left Nov’s mouth agape. The colors and expansive view were breathtaking. Fruit from everywhere in history hung from trees, ripe for the taking. Oranges that grew only in tropical climates and bananas that grew only in humid weather stood side by side. Apples lined the base of a tree falling in colors of green and red. Flowers bloomed from one end of the garden to the other in an array of fancy colors and designs.

  They were nothing compared to the group of ladies themselves. If the fruit sa
id exotic, they were unattainable. If the flowers were colorful, they were a rainbow. The ladies knew their worth, their wealth, and their beauty. They used it to their advantage in every conceivable way. They were the most deranged of the city, but people loved them anyhow; at least in front of their faces.

  The butler handed Nov a glass of water. He could see the Duchesses conversing at a small round glass table. Their dainty umbrellas providing shade from the sun overhead. Yet, he could not approach them until they waved him over.

  Like the council, they did not provide him a seat. Unlike the council, they had no precedent to turn him away. He was a suitor to nothing, since, in terms of power, they had no titles or say in the government. They were just normal nobles. In reality, things were much different, but one thing Nov learned about nobles, appearances mattered and not reality.

  Nov sipped on the water. He wondered if these women would torture him like Hamms had a few days before. Would Nov stand here watching them converse for twelve hours as if he didn’t even exist? He wouldn’t be the least bit surprised. He wouldn’t be surprised if they got up and left and never waved him over at all. They were under no obligation to see him. He had shown up with no warning. Had come with no gifts. He practically barged into the gates and demanded an audience.

  Yet, the butler had guided him to the gardens. The Duchesses had not outright turned him away when the butler went to introduce him. They didn’t glance in his direction, part of the play. When the butler came back, he had given him water, which meant the ladies gave their word to see him.

  Nov had to wait out the piousness of the nobility.

  It proved much less time than Hamms had made him wait. It had only been long enough for Nov to finish half his water before Dovey Mankamp waved him over to the table. Her hand flipping up and then back down, her eyes focused on Nov. They called Nov like a hunting hound, but he had no time to feel slighted.

  If he wanted this to go smooth, then he would have to let them have their novelties.

  “What do you think brings him here today?” Tyl Unton asked the table as if Nov didn’t stand five feet from her.

  Nov tried to remember what famous act her husband had achieved. Surely, the woman had ridden his coattails somehow. Or had it been her father? He couldn’t recall, but he knew that she hadn’t risen alone. She differed from Duchess Mankamp who had earned her own wealth without a husband, although Nov thought she had married by now.

  “Well, dear, it is time to ask that question to the man,” Dovey replied.

  Nov awaited the question, but the look in the woman’s eyes told him that had been it.

  “Well, as you all know by now, the city’s general, Earl has taken ill from a battle wound,” Nov started. He didn’t know if Earl still lived or if he had recovered any at all. He still feared to visit the hospital again. “With the occurrence, the soldiers and some of the city is in shock.”

  Mankamp raised her hand, cutting Nov off.

  “We are not in a position to make you the new general,” she said.

  Nov shook his head, dismissing that idea. He couldn’t be general of anything, let alone the entire army of Sera.

  “Not my intentions.”

  By now, the women had started to talk amongst themselves, as if the conversation had come to a close.

  “Some say that the Groundborn gather at the gates,” one woman said. Nov couldn’t recall her name.

  “It is a folly,” Unton interjected.

  “The gates will hold as they have always. It is to us to keep the moral standing,” Mankamp added.

  The conversation continued about their importance to the city of Sera. As if Nov no longer existed in their world. Standing there with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He had failed again. Failed with the council, with Hamms, and now, with the Lady Duchesses.

  “Have any of you ever seen a Groundborn?” Nov tried to let anger drive him forward, masking his fear.

  Not a single woman turned to him. Not one of them had ever seen the wall. They didn’t believe that anything lived on the other side. The nests that Alti had shown him were nothing to them. Mounds of dirt for them to stand on and masquerade their power. Another damn soapbox for them to preach from. Nov curled his fists and then remembered that anger would only see him in front of the council and not in the way he desired.

  Why had he thought they would give a damn anyhow? He was even less sure when the conversation took a more dramatic turn.

  “Did you see the dress that Len’s new fling was wearing? Was it secondhand?”

  The ladies even laughed with a proper pitch to their voice. Nov stood stone faced. Trying to think of a way to win back the moment.

  “Speaking of Len, I hear he is in line for a new title. After coming in big with a proposal to expand the east wall for a new rock quarry; it is like he is lining his pockets with coin these days.”

  Nov tried to recall who Len was. There were so many nobles that keeping track of them all seemed a pointless task. The Lady Duchesses probably knew the lives of every man and woman with any semblance of importance.

  What did he say to convince a group of ladies who had everything? A group of ladies that cared not for the sweat and toil of those new quarry workers, so long as they reaped the benefits in new dresses and jewels.

  These ladies did not care for the swords of soldiers or the wares of merchants. They cared for themselves and nothing else mattered. The same could be said across the city of Sera. Everyone cared for themselves and tried to move up in this shit hole called life. Or they cared for others and died of at an early age because of stress.

  Nov doubted anyone cared more than Earl, but he was dead or dying. Nov had to care; he had to fight for something. He wouldn’t make much difference with the sword at his hip. Not unless the council sounded the state of emergency.

  Nov tried to block out the frivolous conversation. They talked more and more about themselves and their wants and needs. They talked about how their husbands deserved more and how they were the prettiest.

  An idea hit him.

  “Maybe you should remind the city how elegant it can be.”

  Nov’s words hung in the air a moment. The ladies stopped their pointless jabbering and looked to him. Then, as if he harbored the plague, they turned their looks to scorn.

  “Ladies, don’t get me wrong, I just believe that a grand ball may be what this city needs,” Nov added.

  Mankamp replied first. Though, she did not direct her words to Nov.

  “Maybe we should have a ball. I recall someone telling me the city was in a hussy. Well, what better time to have a ball than that?”

  Then, just like that the Lady Duchesses agreed, as if Nov had never suggested the idea.

  It didn’t matter. Nov achieved part one of the goal. He didn’t bother announcing his exit. They wouldn’t notice. They had barely noticed him being there. The butler gave him a nod as he moved through the doors. Nov almost felt sorry for the poor bastard.

  You always find something else to fight for.

  18

  Miles had put his blade away in his leather armor. He had laid two men to rest, but it didn’t weigh on his mind, at least not anymore. His first kill had been like a slam to his gut, but now it meant nothing to him. He felt nothing for taking another human’s life, that’s what war did to a man.

  Miles pulled at his leather and felt the wind circulate across his chest. The sun’s rays beat off his face causing him to sweat like a pig, but he refused to even entertain taking off the armor. Shit armor it may be, but those damn creatures were everywhere. Better to be ill prepared than not prepared at all.

  Miles swallowed his doubt and fear for the thousandth time that day. He waited on the creatures to pop up again. He knew that he teetered on the verge of insanity. Maybe he had gone insane, period. How long could a man take the strain of constant fear? He hadn’t slept right in months. He had camped on dirt hills under the open sky since joining the rebels. Before that he had wandered fo
r days trying to find them, without so much as stopping for a meal. Even before that he had spent many sleepless nights in his quarters in Tanil, thinking about killing that worthless piece of shit baby. He had given it many nights of thought before he ran away with his tail tucked between his legs. Ran away from the chance at fame and glory. Not to mention riches and castles. He had given it all up so another man could do the deed he had refused to do. What had it mattered in the long run who killed the child? He would die, whether by Miles’ hand or another man. Yet Miles still couldn’t imagine parting the throat of an unborn baby.

  It didn’t matter much now anyhow. Now he ran from everything. Ran from the war, the king, the city he had slaughtered, the damn creatures that popped up at the most inopportune time, and his own fears and worries. He didn’t have a clue where to turn. He knew that news would travel about the city falling. Knew the rebels were not reforming, most of them slaughtered that night in the city walls. The king would soon hear of the carnage. Would he blame Miles? Or would he hear word of the bastard creatures? Did it matter? Miles would hang, or worse, no matter what happened. He had turned coat, killed, and refused the king’s orders.

  The only friend Miles had left was the man behind him named Sammy. A man who still looked at flowers, clouds, and trees with wonder building behind his eyes. Miles’ father had told him once that if by your eighth summer you haven’t learned to see the world for the shit and chaos, then you were a simple-minded fool and those with a simple mind didn’t last long in the world. It seemed Sammy had slipped through the cracks somehow, because it didn’t get much simpler than his childish ways.