Shoreseeker

by Brandon M. Lindsay

  Esta knew Nedrick hated the Face. It frightened him. Most things did. Including Esta. She sometimes wondered what he saw in her, why he continued to pursue her. She knew he thought of her as his betrothed, even if he wouldn’t outright say it. But neither did he deny it when others teased him about it. He just laughed along with them with a helpless shrug, as if attraction made people into fools.

  Esta was no fool.

  She made no move to take his hand.

  “Come on,” Nedrick said. He inched closer to her. “Just take my hand. You don’t have to go hunting. There are other things you can do, in town. Useful things.”

  “Hunting is useful enough.”

  “I’m not denying that.” He leaned forward. Slowly, as if reaching towards a venomous creature. “I just care about you. I don’t think this is the right thing for you, Esta.” He dropped his hand in exasperation. “Look, I know you hate working at Melnek’s. He told me that he got upset and yelled at you today.”

  “That’s not why I’m here,” Esta said in a tight voice, hoping the tears threatening to spill wouldn’t put the lie to her words.

  “I’m not saying it is. But I’ve been talking around town, keeping an eye out. I think I’ve found something that will be more … suitable for you.”

  Esta didn’t trust her voice enough to ask what it was.

  Nedrick seemed to sense that. “Horses.”

  “Horses?” she asked. They had all died out in Naruvieth over two hundred years ago. They had only been reintroduced this year, since the Rift had been crossed. “Who do you know who could afford them?”

  “Hender. His trade’s been good recently, and he wants to expand. He has four of them coming in from the Accord, and he’s hoping to breed them on his plot just west of town. He’s looking to take on new staff, too, people who have a way with animals. I mentioned you right away.” Nedrick grinned weakly as he gestured at the spear in Esta’s hand. “I may have left out some of the details, though.”

  Horses. She had seen them, of course, from time to time. The few merchants allowed to come from the Accord all drove teams of horses, and the dignitaries that had visited her brother since the Rift was bridged had come in horse-drawn carriages. Townsfolk, especially the children, always crowded around the beasts, making it difficult to see them, even when they were standing in front of Esta’s own house. She had caught glimpses but had yet to touch one.

  If she were working with them, she might even be able to ride one someday.

  Nedrick extended his hand again. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

  She looked over her shoulder. The strange orange light of the Rift was over the horizon, out of sight. Perhaps it would stay that way forever. The Steeds Who Would Not Yield would always remain in the stories; deep down, she had always known that, even if admitting it was sometimes too hard to do. Esta would have to settle for regular steeds.

  Wearing a smile she didn’t quite feel, she set down her spear and took Nedrick’s hand. She realized at that moment that it was softer than hers.

  They began walking, Esta following Nedrick’s lead. Her thoughts were too jumbled to lead right now. She was actually grateful for him at that moment. He seemed to sense that and squeezed her hand. And despite herself, she felt reassured.

  Before they got to the tree line, Nedrick froze so suddenly that Esta bumped into him from behind.

  Frowning, she asked, “What is …” The words died on her tongue as she looked ahead.

  Two men stood on the path, wearing mail shirts under brown tabards and steel helmets. Heavy, brown cloaks hung down to their ankles. Short swords hung from their hips, and in their hands were long wooden staves, capped with steel.

  On each chest was embroidered a wide, white eye wreathed in flame.

  Chapter 5: One of Your Own

  So,” Tharadis asked, “how dangerous are they?”

  Dransig was at his side, struggling to keep up with the younger man’s pace. They passed the last of the houses. All that lay between them and the forest ahead were pens holding pigs and goats and an empty field. The road leading from the main avenue towards the Face was more of a wide footpath made of hard-packed dirt.

  He had stumbled once on the shallow wheel ruts in the dim light of the night sky. Dransig could improve his eyesight easily by drawing on his magic, but there were costs to that he wasn’t willing to pay. Unlike with Patterning, drawing upon the shegasti magic could ruin a man, no matter how intelligent he was.

  The weight of all his years, which he felt keenly whenever he wasn’t drawing on shegasti, would remain on his shoulders for now. He would simply do his best to keep his footing and watch where Tharadis stepped.

  Dransig didn’t need to ask who they were. “As you may already know,” he said, still stunned by the fact that Tharadis had a copy of First Night, Last Night, “the Knights are forbidden from taking human lives. That doesn’t restrict them from ruining a man’s life. I’ve watched as a Knight broke a man’s knees with his staff for trying to cheat at dice.” He caught Tharadis’s gaze. “And that’s just what I’ve seen. I’ve heard much worse.”

  “And they weren’t punished for it?”

  “Reprimanded? Yes. But not punished.” Dransig shook his head. “If anything happens to your men, it will be because of me. I apologize if they suffer on my account.”

  “You aren’t harming my men.”

  “No. But they’re only in danger because the Knights followed me here. They’re desperate to get a hold of me, and I’ve frustrated them so far. I fear for your men.”

  The needle-encrusted trees flanking the dusty road were large and gnarled, twisting at odd angles. As the lights from the edges of town faded behind them, only starlight and moonlight shone on the forest ahead.

  “Why are they so desperate to get you back?” Tharadis asked, ducking under a branch that had grown low over the road.

  “I betrayed them,” Dransig said quietly. “And I plan to betray them further.”

  Tharadis spared him a long glance, but thankfully, he didn’t press the point.

  Dransig followed close behind, so deep in his thoughts that he only realized what the two points of light up ahead were—not light that he saw with his eyes. Instead it was shegasti magic he sensed. He seized Tharadis’s sleeve. “Two, up ahead.” He tamped down his draw upon the magic. Hopefully, they were as distracted as he had been and hadn’t felt him yet.

  Tharadis crouched down beside him. “Up ahead is the Face. That’s where we need to go if we want to get off the plateau and down into the lowlands.”

  Dransig focused on his shegasti sense while trying not to draw too much of it into himself. It was a difficult balancing act, but one that all Knights of the Eye trained for—to see, but not be seen. Too bad they were trained the same as me, he thought. Still, he only used a tiny trickle to see beyond what his mundane eyes could.

  North. The two didn’t flicker, so they likely hadn’t sensed him. Good. He cast west, and then south. What he saw there made him drop his guard briefly, letting too much shegasti in. He stifled it immediately, but he knew that they had sensed him. He cursed silently to himself. “There are more behind us.”

  “How many?”

  “Eight. And I’m sure they felt me.”

  Tharadis paused briefly before nodding. “All right. Let’s hurry north.” As Dransig took a step, Tharadis grabbed his arm to hold him back. “Are you willing to kill one of your own?”

  Dransig bared his teeth in a humorless grin. “The Knights? I don’t count them as my own anymore.”

  Tharadis tightened his grip. “Can you kill them?”

  Dransig hesitated. He had been a Knight for many years; breaking the habits and beliefs drilled into him for so long was difficult. Yet he was here because that was exactly what he had done.

  He nodded sharply. “If I must.”

  Tharadis released Dransig’s arm. “Then let’s go.”

  Chapter 6: Eyes of a Predator

  Tell me.” The
man who spoke lowered the steel-capped end of his staff. There was no explicit threat in his change of stance, but Esta felt her whole body tense up in response. “Have you seen anyone looking like us come this way?” His voice was low and soft, but again, Esta felt as if it were a challenge.

  Her blood rose as the man’s eyes fixed on hers. She knew that look; she had seen it many times before. It was the look of someone who expected to get what they wanted, no matter what.

  “No,” Nedrick said. His eyes briefly flicked to Esta’s face with obvious concern. “We haven’t seen anyone at all.”

  “Maybe we have,” Esta said. “Maybe we haven’t. What we have or haven’t seen is no business of yours.” Her fist was so tightly clenched at her side her knuckles ached. These two may have been dressed as soldiers, but Esta knew what kind of men they really were. Bullies. Brutes.

  “As I said.” Nedrick gave her hand an imploring squeeze. “We haven’t seen anyone.” Nedrick tried to guide her around the two soldiers, and after a moment Esta let herself be led.

  But then the soldier who had spoken stepped into their path. “I wasn’t talking to you, boy.” As he spoke, his dark eyes never left Esta’s face. The man’s companion, standing slightly behind him, grinned widely, his lips twisted by a scar that snaked across his face.

  Nedrick turned to her, his expression pleading. “Esta, just tell him what he wants to hear.”

  Esta knew it wasn’t what he wanted to hear that mattered. It was what he wanted to see.

  Fear. Submission. Well, she would show him neither. “Get out of my way,” she said.

  The scarred man chuckled. Neither of them stepped aside.

  “Esta.” Nedrick’s voice dropped nearly to a whisper, but the soldiers were close enough that they would doubtless hear, too. “Not all of us can hide behind your brother’s sword.”

  “I’m not hiding.” Esta glared at Nedrick before returning her gaze to the soldiers. They weren’t merely brutes. No, they were something else entirely.

  Predators. Esta had dealt with predators before. They would let her pass if they were staring down the length of her spear.

  As if he could sense her intentions, the scarred man suddenly stopped smiling. No one had moved, but the air had changed. It was filled with the promise of violence.

  “You don’t want to do that, girl.” The first soldier’s voice was almost a growl. Esta didn’t think he knew about the spear—it was far too dark to see it—but somehow, he and his companion knew she was planning something.

  Her spear was behind her, tucked under the brush. Three steps back, and it would be in her hands. She didn’t know how, but these men knew she wouldn’t back down without a fight. And now, she suspected, neither would they.

  Esta spun and leapt for the spear.

  Something rushed past her, stirring her hair. She slammed hard into the ground, and just as her fingers were about to close around its shaft, the spear was yanked out of reach.

  Esta looked up. The soldier stood there, holding her spear in both hands with his own staff slung over his back.

  Impossible. How had he moved so fast?

  With no visible effort, he snapped the shaft in half and tossed both halves over his shoulders. They disappeared beyond the cliff’s edge, clattering as they bounced down the Face.

  Behind her came a thump and a grunt. Esta turned, clambering to her feet. Nedrick lay face down in the dirt, not moving. The scarred man stood over him, staff in hand. He shrugged, almost apologetically. “He moved.”

  Loose pebbles and gravel crunched under the first soldier’s boots as he stepped around Esta to join his companion. He was watching her with his predator eyes, but Esta refused to give him the satisfaction of meeting his gaze, staring off to the side instead. He stopped not three feet from her and raised his staff. Esta felt the cold steel of its capped end pressing hard against her cheek, forcing her to look at him.

  “Now, he said. “You were just about to tell us something.”

  Chapter 7: Sword and Staff

  Staring down the shaft of the soldier’s staff, Esta felt her fear finally catch up with her.

  She glanced down at Nedrick’s limp form again. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing. For all she knew, he could be dead, and she would be next if she didn’t tell the man what he wanted to know.

  She knew she should feel regret for what happened to Nedrick, but all she felt was anger. At these men, for what they did, and at herself, for letting it get as far as it had. But she knew she couldn’t let her anger get the better of her. She knew when she was outmatched. The image of her spear broken and discarded flashed in her mind. She didn’t doubt the man could do the same to her.

  She looked at Nedrick. She hoped he was still alive. Despite his faults, he didn’t deserve this.

  It was time to end this and get Nedrick out of here. These men would get what they wanted, and it wouldn’t cost Esta more than few words and a little dignity. Besides, she had to live in order to make them pay.

  But before she could open her mouth, both soldiers turned to look down the path as if they’d heard a sound, even though Esta had heard nothing. Then the men shared a glance.

  Behind them, someone rushed out of the trees straight towards the men, a bared sword in his hand. In the darkness, Esta couldn’t make out his face. But she caught sight of the blade, unmistakable even in starlight. Shoreseeker.

  Both soldiers spun in surprise. Esta didn’t stop to consider why her brother was here; he’d created a distraction—and she’d be damned if she didn’t take it. She shoved the tip of the staff away from her face and grabbed hold of its middle, intending to wrench it out of his hands.

  The soldier holding the staff barely seemed to notice as he started to swing it. Esta’s eyes widened as she was lifted off her feet and flung aside, as if she weighed nothing. Before she knew what was happening, she crashed to the ground, her lungs screaming for air.

  * * *

  Tharadis parried the man’s first attack, keeping his motions light and close. His opponent, a Knight with a scar running down his chin, was fast—faster than Tharadis had ever seen a man move. On the second strike, that steel-tipped staff whistled past Tharadis’s ear, nearly splitting his head open.

  It was then that he noticed Esta, looking as if she were trying to wrestle the other man’s staff from his grip. The next moment she was flung away like a twig. Before he could make sense of that—how could a man be so strong?—his own opponent cracked Tharadis’s shoulder with a thrust. He danced back. Foolish, taking his eyes off his opponent like that. Luckily, it had been his left shoulder. It throbbed with agony, but he could still fight. The scarred man straightened and grinned, spinning his staff as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  This man was dangerous, maybe more than Tharadis could handle. But two of them? Tharadis could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he readjusted his grip. Come on, Dransig! Where are you? The other man, the one who had thrown Esta, sauntered over, his face a mask of cool anger.

  “Interesting sword,” the scarred one said, though his eyes never left Tharadis’s. “Too bad you’ll never hold it again. Not after I break every one of your knuckles.”

  Both men began to move, slowly trying to get on both sides of him. Tharadis stepped backward, knowing he couldn’t let that happen. He was finished if they flanked him. He ached to check if Esta was safe, but he knew he couldn’t afford to do that either. Distractions were death. Whatever had happened to her, she would have to wait.

  The scarred man suddenly swung his staff in a tight circle, the tip a blur. With no time to pull back, Tharadis tightened his grip and twisted his wrist.

  Shoreseeker, its matte blue blade a dull gray in the starlight, cleaved the tip of the staff from its shaft, sending it flying into the trees. The scarred man gaped, but only for a second, for the next moment Shoreseeker’s blade was buried in his eye, its tip punching out the back of his skull. He slumped to his knees and finally to his side as Tharadis drew
Shoreseeker free.

  He turned to the sound of staves clacking. Dransig, seemingly from out of nowhere, had engaged the other man and was already pressing him back. For an old man, Dransig certainly held his own—but there was no need for him to, not with someone to help him. Tharadis sprinted forward and, before the other Knight could react, sliced the tendon above his heel.

  The man collapsed, screaming. His scream was cut short as Dransig’s staff spun, smashing his throat. Somehow the man survived, thrashing and writhing on the dirt, but Tharadis paid him no mind. He was no longer a threat.

  Tharadis sheathed Shoreseeker and ran into the trees, scanning the darkness for the shape of his sister. He couldn’t remember where exactly she had been thrown, or how far. But only a few moments passed before he found her lying on her stomach, coughing.

  “Esta!” He crouched next to her and scanned her for injuries. No blood or broken bones that he could see; only a couple twigs tangled in her hair and a short rip in her dress. “Are you hurt?”

  Behind him, Tharadis heard a loud crunch. He didn’t have to turn to know that Dransig had finished the downed man.

  Esta flinched at the sound, but when Tharadis didn’t, she merely shook her head. “Wind was gone,” she said, grimacing with every word. “Now it’s back. Where’s Nedrick?”

  Tharadis shook his head. “I didn’t see him.”

  With some effort, Esta got to her feet, shaking off Tharadis’s attempt to help her. “He might be … hurt. I have to help him.” She staggered back to the mouth of the trail and froze when she caught sight of Dransig, crouched next to another form lying not far from where Tharadis had been moments before. He hadn’t even noticed it during the fight; had he taken a few more steps to the left, he would have tripped over it.

  Tharadis sensed Esta tensing up. He touched her arm. “Don’t worry. He won’t harm you.”

  Dransig looked up at Esta, his expression weary, though Tharadis could see it was beyond physical weariness. He gestured to the still form at his feet. “A friend of yours?” He rose and turned to Tharadis. “This man’s still breathing. The both of them should be gone when the others come.”