The Ruens of Fairstone (Aeon of Light Book 2)

by Sethlen, Aron

  Pard extends his hand. “Please, Major Cray, we didn’t mean to attack you, but you kept coming after us.”

  Cray rolls his eyes with his head. “I don’t take it personally, kid, who do you think I am? I’m not stupid. I can tell you’re just defending yourself from these bloody Iinian trollops and nitwits. I don’t care about them or you.” He points at Tor’s chest. “I came for him. Now if you please, move out of the way. It’s time for payday, and the tena and I have business to attend.”

  Tor rises tall and snarls. He raises his axe.

  “That a boy,” Cray says with a gleam in his eye, smelling the sport and kill within his grasp, “let’s get it on.” He grins ear to ear and tosses his rifle to the ground. Cray unsheathes the golden daggers fixed to his chest and grips the handles tight. “Let’s do this right.”

  Pard jumps between Cray and Tor and frantically waves his arms. “Stop!”

  Cray half-stands from his fighting stance. “Kid, move, or you’ll get hurt.”

  “We are esen’er,” Pard says, pressing his palm on Tor’s chest. Aqua-blue light arcs out of Pard’s fingers and enters Tor’s skin.

  Cray stands. “Shit. You’re a seeros, kid? And you somehow got the tena’s golden spikes?”

  “Yes. And we are now esen’er.”

  Cray shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”

  “That is what I said,” Tor says. “But the gods’ joke once again proves their wisdom.”

  Cray nods. “Impressive, kid, I got to hand it too you, didn’t see that coming.” Cray jams his golden blades back into their holsters, and he raises his finger high in the air and yells, “Stand down, Hawke.”

  Hawke pops out of his sniper perch from the second-story window and opens his arms. “What are you doing! He’s right in front of you.”

  “Kid and the tena are esen’er—he got the spikes.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, come on, get down here.”

  Hawk leaps out of the window and lands in a powdery explosion of snow. He slings his rifle and sneers at Pard and Tor as he strolls forward.

  Pard taps Tor on his chest again with the palm of his hand and more blue energy arcs out of his fingers and enters Tor’s skin. “It’s all good, we’re good, you’re safe.”

  Tor rests his massive hand on Pard’s shoulder. “Courage, my esen’er, I chose wisely.”

  “You really got the spikes, kid?” Hawke says to Pard, not believing him.

  “You told me what I needed to do, Hawke, and I thank you for that, we would’ve been dead if you didn’t tell us such an elaborate story.”

  Cray snorts. “See! I told you you should keep that big mouth of yours shut. Now it cost us the tena and four months.”

  Hawke turns away from Pard and Tor and follows Cray moving toward the horses huddled in a far off field. Hawke opens his arms. “Come on now, how was I supposed to know the kid could take out the tena? That was just dumb luck.”

  Cray half turns around and points at him. “Don’t you tell me about dumb luck, oh no, not this time, not again. I told you we should’ve gone after the ramfinns or the golocks.”

  “Hey guys!” Miles says, jogging and sliding on the ice toward Pard.

  Pard opens his arms and walks toward him with victory written all over his face. “We did it.”

  Miles wraps his arm around Pard’s shoulder and pulls him in for a tight embrace. “Professor, all that studying paid off, I told you you were a badass.” Miles cranes his head to the side and his eyes narrow as something shiny catches his eye. He lets go of Pard and steps away.

  Deet steps out of the building and onto the road. “Good job, kid.”

  Overwhelmed with relief and joy that all his friends, now his family, made it out alive, Pard smiles ear to ear at Deet and Tor and Miles.

  “Check out what I got!” Miles raises Eeva’s silver whip. “Lord Star has a new toy to learn how to use.”

  “Nice find, Lord Star!” Pard says. He turns and faces Tor.

  Tor grins with a proud smile. “Glory is ours, esen’er.”

  “And we rule the day, brother.”

  They walk tall through the center of the road, shoulder to shoulder, four abreast with victory in their strides.

  Pard leaves the carnage of destruction behind them, his Ruens of Fairstone in his past, and he gazes straight up at the noonday sun shining down on him.

  They reach a small hill and stop at the crest.

  Ravin, in the distance, now visible in a small valley surrounded by jagged, snow-capped mountains and thick evergreens, Pard points at the town. A train billows white smoke and a faint whistle blows.

  “To the Badlands.”

  THANKS FOR READING

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