‘Grandmaster Eno?’ Zeke said in astonishment. ‘You really think that’s true?’
‘It’s a strong possibility,’ Drake replied.
Joss levelled his gaze at the glowing horizon. ‘Too strong to chance it. We should go to Round Shield Ranch instead.’
‘Round Shield Ranch?’ said Zeke, his nostrils flaring. ‘Do you have any idea how long it’ll take us to fly there? And that’s provided that the Fat Lot’s power cells last the trip.’
‘We don’t have a lot of other options. And it’s far enough away from here that it should be safe,’ Joss shrugged.
‘He’s right,’ Hero said. ‘We need to warn people what’s coming, and we can’t risk going to Tower Town. Who knows how far Blaek’s corruptive influence stretches.’
‘Then Round Shield Ranch it is, I guess,’ Zeke said. ‘But if we’re going to get there anytime soon, we’ll have to leave now. And I’m not just saying that because I’m worried we’ll end up as a dragon’s midnight snack if we wait around here much longer.’
Drake turned to Joss and Hero. ‘We should fly there separately, on our pterosaurs. The lighter load should keep from sapping the ship’s power cells too much.’
Plans made, the group split to prepare for their voyage. Drake set to repairing Joss’s headset while Edgar watered the animals and Hero checked their harnesses. This gave Joss the chance he needed to catch Zeke’s attention.
‘Can I have a word?’ he asked, and Zeke lumbered over with a look of contrition.
‘Look, I’m sorry I didn’t back you up on the Round Shield Ranch suggestion,’ Zeke said. ‘It’s hard to know exactly what to do right now.’
‘That’s not what I wanted to say,’ Joss said, to Zeke’s obvious befuddlement. ‘What I wanted to say is – thank you. We wouldn’t have got out of there alive if it weren’t for you.’
Zeke grinned. ‘You know me, always happy to help,’ he said, and offered his hand. ‘Friends?’
Joss looked down at the outstretched hand, then took it tentatively by the wrist.
‘Allies,’ he said.
‘Allies?’ Zeke’s grin faded, replaced with a look of uncertainty.
‘For now, at least,’ Joss said.
After a moment’s consideration, Zeke smiled again as he returned the wristshake. ‘I’ll take it.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
A NEED FOR VENGEANCE
THE wind clawed at Joss’s face as he and Tempest flew through the night sky. Below him slept the Kingdom of Ai, for now blissfully unaware of all the dangers massing against it in the shadows, preparing to strike. How could everything have turned out this way? For all the research he’d done, for all his theories and suspicions, the truth had been staring him in the face unseen and unheeded.
Sur Blaek’s betrayal hurt more than he cared to admit. He hadn’t known the man all that long, but it rattled him to his core that someone in such a position could fall so far. Joss found it impossible to imagine how Hero was taking the news. Watching her fly along on the back of her pterosaur, he couldn’t spot even the smallest hint of what she was thinking or feeling. She had clad herself in her invisible armour again, just as she had done back in Rowan’s cottage.
Who could blame her? She had suffered so much in such a short time. First Lord Haven’s death, then Rowan’s, followed quickly by her mother abandoning her and her whole order burning to the ground. Joss wondered where she found the strength to carry on, and hoped he could somehow find the same resolve.
Drake seemed to have his own concerns about Hero; he kept glancing at her from over his shoulder, his goggles flashing with every stolen glimpse. Joss thought about hailing them both on his headset, striking up a conversation to help pass the time. Just the prospect of it felt draining, though, the enormity of everything they had to discuss weighing heavily on him. So instead he stuck to stewing on all that had happened at Blade’s Edge Acres, from Lord Rayner’s confession to his fiery death, and the harrowing revelation that had come when Sur Blaek had pressed a stone mask to his face and drained all faith from the world.
In considering Sur Blaek’s betrayal, Joss also considered Sur Blaek’s words. Had he meant what he’d said about it suiting his purposes to play the stalwart paladero? Or did the truth stretch deeper than that? Had there been a part of him that had resisted the influence of the Shadow God, even as he’d sworn his loyalty? Perhaps that was too much to hope for, too much to ask, especially given the run of bad luck they’d had from the moment Hero had opened the letter addressed to her all the way back in Stormport.
Though for all that misfortune, there was at least one thing Joss and the others had working in their favour; the wind was blowing in strong from the north, giving them the extra push they needed to hasten their journey. Their only guiding light came from the occasional settlement, the glimmer of homes and villages appearing as tiny and far away as stars from this dizzying height. They created a whole galaxy of constellations, leading him home in an inverted form of celestial navigation. It was a comforting thought in among all the encroaching darkness, as was the simple prospect of being back at Round Shield Ranch.
So it was with immense relief that Joss noticed the sky lightening, the promise of sunrise bringing with it a greater sense of sanity. Lord Malkus and Sur Verity would know what to do, he was sure of it. In fact, he could think of nobody better suited to pull the world back from the edge of destruction. Perhaps in escaping to warn them both of what was coming, Joss might even fulfil his own destiny and prove his innermost hope to be true.
Only the galamor can bring light to the oncoming darkness, and draw hope from a dying dream, the words floated back to him. Only the galamor, and –
And then Joss realised that it wasn’t the sun streaking the sky with red.
It was Round Shield Ranch burning.
Burning with crimson flames.
‘Ancestors save me … !’ he muttered in astonishment, his voice carrying over his headset to the others.
‘It can’t be!’ Drake said with the same sense of shock.
Hero’s voice came over the line, hard and clear. ‘It is.’ And she gestured to the great black hole ripped open in the heart of the clouds ahead, and the monsters pouring freely from it.
Joss’s eyes watered as he stared at the blaze consuming his home. His blood roared through him like a tidal wave, his heart hammering harder than a thunderclap. Without thinking, he urged his mount downward.
‘Tempest, get!’ he said, leaning as far forward as he could while diving for the ground. He could hear Drake’s voice in his earpiece urging him to stop, to stay away, but he ignored it and rode on.
There was a burst of light and a violent crack of noise. The first blast of energy had ripped past his ear before Joss realised someone below was shooting at him. Tempest was faster to react. The pterosaur screeched as he wove between the bolts of green lightning, dodging this way and that in Joss’s bid to make it to solid ground.
Then, with fine-tuned focus, there came the one shot that was impossible to evade. It shrieked towards him with merciless intent, white-hot and irrefutable. This was it, Joss knew. This was how his story would end. Not heroically, nor with any great purpose. Just a fluke. A random shot in the dark that only gave him enough time to squeeze his eyes shut and hope it didn’t hurt.
Again, Tempest proved faster than his rider.
In the last possible moment before the blast struck, the pterosaur shot upward and took the force of the blow. Shrieking with pain, smoke billowing from the wound in his chest, the animal went limp.
‘No!’ Joss gasped, rendered so numb with shock that he didn’t think to brace himself as Tempest tumbled to the ground. The pair landed with bone-crunching force, the earth as unyielding as a sledgehammer, the rider and his mount little more than nails fit for smashing.
With the whole word spinning violently around him and darkness clawing at his vision, Joss struggled to sit up. He could taste blood, could hear a ringing in his head th
at deafened him to anything else. All he could see was Tempest stretched out beside him, the wound in the pterosaur’s chest an ugly red chasm from which there was no coming back.
‘No. Please no,’ Joss pleaded to anyone or anything that might be listening, hands slick as he cradled the thunder lizard’s prone body, trying to keep the blood from pouring out. It didn’t do any good. Of course it didn’t do any good. With one last squawk, Tempest tilted his head as if curious to know what awaited him. Then he relaxed, went still, and didn’t move again.
Through his tears, Joss studied first his stained hands and then the burning grounds of Round Shield Ranch. Livestock was stampeding all around him, desperate to escape the flames that were tearing through the stone towers and climbing the rampart walls, consuming everything that stood before them with insatiable hunger. The triceratops and stegosaur herds ignored the bodies that lay beneath them as they charged blindly for safety, the men and women who lay in the fields as motionless as Tempest.
Turning his gaze further afield, Joss could see a group of men dressed in the same lacquered masks and dark robes as Sur Blaek’s followers.
‘I got ’im! Didja see me git him?’ the largest figure hooted as he brandished his smoking bolt rifle like a trophy, and Joss recognised the voice. It was Horace Vahst, the fieldserv who’d taken such pleasure in torturing Joss whenever he’d found the chance. And that was all Joss needed to take the measure of every one of these cloaked cowards who had flocked to Thrall’s side, from Ichor’s cult in the lowest depths of the Silver Sea to the traitors who had hidden at the highest reaches of Blade’s Edge Acres, and who had spread all the way here to Joss’s own home.
They were the bullies of the world. The cravenly and the wrathful, all filled with such a sense of grievance against life for failing to deliver exactly what they’d expected of it that they were now driven to take their mindless vengeance against everyone and everything. All they needed was a cause they could convince themselves of, or at least an easy excuse.
Thrall and his court had provided both.
Without thinking, Joss grabbed for his swordbelt. Unsheathed the Champion’s Blade. Held it aloft as he ran for the cloaked figures. His blood was running as hot as the inferno encircling him, his eyes bleary with tears, his skin humming and his heart screaming. His whole being was consumed with the need for vengeance of his own, and the need to make this madness end.
He hadn’t taken more than a few steps across the uneven ground when another cloaked figure emerged from the crimson flames. Joss would have gasped, if not for all the smoke that poisoned the air. It was Sur Blaek, still in his guise as Thrall.
Somehow he had beaten them here, most likely through some act of black magic. How much blood had he shed to pull off such a feat? How many innocent lives had been sacrificed? Joss felt a spark of relief that Zeke and Edgar had gotten Azof and the other mounts to safety, saving them from such a grisly fate. But then he thought of Tempest, the poor creature lying just behind him in the dirt, and his mind returned to revenge.
‘Josiah Sarif!’ Thrall bellowed, hollow eyes staring at him from behind that same accursed mask that had haunted him at every turn. But as the figure walked towards him, Joss noticed something. Though he was just as tall as Sur Blaek, this Thrall was broader, with a torso that resembled an obelisk. His cloak was different too, the feathers longer and sharper, more feral. He looked like how Joss remembered him back at Tower Town, his gait authoritative yet managing to make it appear as if he were floating an inch from the ground, like a spectre given flesh.
‘You’re too late, boy,’ the masked man said, even his voice sounding different. It was bewildering how stark the contrast was now that Joss was aware of it, as if he’d been under the influence of some devious spell this whole time and had only just broken free of its power. ‘See how your world burns.’
‘Who are you?’ Joss demanded, refusing to allow this demon to intimidate him. Even so, he took a faltering step backward, holding the Champion’s Blade before him like some protective talisman.
The weapon made little difference to Thrall, who advanced on Joss without hesitation. ‘You know who I am,’ he said, throwing Joss off-balance with how both familiar and alien he sounded at the same time. The masked man was almost within striking distance now, twisted sword in his clenched fist.
Until someone leapt from between the flames, placing themselves between the two.
‘Josiah!’ said Sur Verity, face streaked with blood and dirt, song sword held aloft as she faced Thrall. ‘Run!’
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
A HARBINGER OF THE END
‘I CAN’T leave you!’ Joss told Sur Verity, standing his ground. Far from taken aback by the interruption, Thrall regarded the newcomer with the same steely-gazed focus as a raptor would have for its prey.
‘You can and will,’ Sur Verity shot back, matching the masked man’s fearsome gaze without blinking. ‘Wildsmith and the other survivors are leading what livestock they could muster to Tower Town. She’ll need your help to protect them.’
‘But Tower Town’s not safe!’ Joss replied. ‘They –’
‘Enough talk,’ Thrall interrupted. ‘Time now to face your fate.’
‘I was thinking the exact same thing,’ Sur Verity said, and leapt at the masked man.
Their blades met in battle, steel ringing against steel as Sur Verity chopped and stabbed and hacked at her opponent. Thrall blocked every attack, countered with his own. Their dual was fast, ferocious, hard-fought.
And over far, far too soon.
With one decisive thrust, Thrall caught Sur Verity in the chest with the tip of his sword. She gasped, pinned in place by the shock of it, allowing him the chance to run his blade through. Joss cried out as the two opponents stood face-to-face for a quiet moment before Sur Verity crumpled to the ground, defeated. Her prentice could only stare in horror at the sight, blinking in dim comprehension.
‘As I was saying,’ Thrall spoke to Joss without looking at him, too busy cleaning off his blade. ‘You know who I am. After all, I’ve warned you many times over now, haven’t I? I am a harbinger of the end, as are all the fellow members of my court. We will see this world made anew. And now, with our forces growing, that fact can no longer be denied. Those who seek to challenge us need only look as far as your mentor here to see what fate awaits them.’
Thrall prodded Sur Verity with the toe of his boot, and that one small action was enough to set off an explosion inside Joss. His scream was a raging battle cry as he charged at the masked killer, the tip of the Champion’s Blade aimed at the place where Thrall’s heart would be if he had one. The speed of the attack caught Thrall by surprise. He raised his guard with only enough time to keep Joss from landing a killing blow, the Champion’s Blade glancing up to slash the masked man across the face.
There was a spark from metal scraping stone, the sound of hard rock cracking open, a thump as the lower half of Thrall’s mask toppled to the dirt.
Joss’s eyes went wide.
‘… A hit,’ Thrall said, touching the thin cut on his chin and inspecting the blood that stained his fingertips. ‘A very palpable hit.’
The words chimed from between silver teeth, gritted to resemble an inverted crown.
‘No,’ Joss whispered, stumbling over himself. ‘No, it’s not possible.’
‘Don’t you remember what I told you, Josiah?’ said Lord Malkus as he wiped the blood from his hands. ‘Nothing is impossible.’
To Be Concluded
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
THANK you once again to the wonderful team at Hardie Grant Egmont for all their inspired work, with special thanks to Marisa Pintado, Luna Soo, Penelope White, Ella Meave, Haylee Collins, Kate Brown, Kristy Lund-White and Mandy Wildsmith. Illustrator Jeremy Love has worked his customary magic in producing the cover artwork and I can’t say enough how amazing it is. Thanks also to my agent Clare Forster and all her colleagues at Curtis Brown Australia for their guidance and support.
This is the sixth book I’ve had published and every one of them has contained a sly reference or two to the work of David Bowie. This time the references have been a lot less sly. Bowie was and continues to be a massive inspiration for me and I’d like to take this chance to express my gratitude to him, wherever he may be.
Stormport’s method for treating rheumatism was inspired by a similar practice conducted in the whaling town of Eden, New South Wales, in the early twentieth century; a custom I first discovered in Shirley Barrett’s novel Rush Oh! And keen-eyed readers may also spot a couple of references to the work of Emily Rodda, whose Rowan of Rin was a huge influence on me both as a young reader and as an aspiring author.
Finally, I’d like to thank all my friends and family, most especially my wife Simone and our son, Max. Of all the inspiration I’ve found in my life, you are the greatest and most profound. I love you both through sudden squall or snowstorm, right to the end and beyond.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Steven Lochran spent his childhood writing stories and now he gets to do it for a living. He graduated from Queensland University of Technology with a Bachelor’s degree in Creative Writing before going on to write the critically acclaimed Paladero and Vanguard Prime series. In addition to his career as an author, Steven has spent the past decade working in the publishing industry, first in the marketing department and then in sales. He lives in Melbourne with his wife and son, and owns way too many books, records and figurines.
Paladero:
The Edge of the World
published in 2018 by
Hardie Grant Egmont
The Edge of the World Page 24