Remnant: Warwitch Book 1

by Teresa Rook

  What a joke.

  “And a whole city of this stuff, bright enough for me to see from here, is safe?” I jab my thumb over my shoulder in the direction of the mystery settlement. It can’t be a train so far from the tracks. It’s probably more of this garbage. Stuff I can sacrifice to appear wholly on their side.

  And if there is danger out there, well, these men are Chirals. This is what we pay them for.

  Riksher considers my words, then nods. “You see it clearly? Just up there?”

  “Yeah.”

  He takes a deep breath. “Then we ride out to it. Quickly. Set it on fire, and then straight back here. No stops, no detours.”

  “It’s barely a few miles,” I say. “We’ll be fine.”

  #####

  We go back for our horses and to put out the fire. Riksher crouches by the coals and throws a thick blanket over what’s left of the flame. When he lifts it, the fire and the wood is gone.

  The metal pipe, however, is still there, bright with both heat and runes.

  “Darga,” he says, “are the runes gone?”

  I crouch next to him and lean over the remains of the fire, the live coals warming my face. The wood has burned away completely, leaving only ash, but the pipe, though perhaps a tad bent, is still whole, and still dancing with white. Entirely unharmed. Such a simple solution.

  “Yes,” I lie. “The fire got rid of them all.”

  Satisfied, Riksher moves on. As long as they believe that’s all it takes to destroy the runes, I have nothing to worry about. Fire won’t hurt the trains.

  This is going to be much easier than I thought.

  twelve

  Lying doesn’t come easy to me. The silence as we ride off the tracks feels charged, disapproving. They’re just nervous to be leaving the tracks. It’s not that they know I’ve lied to them.

  And I had to. They have to think fire is enough, or else when we find a train, they really will destroy it.

  The desert sun beats relentlessly us as we ride. I see the first real dust storm since our second retreat from Salis, and I point it out to them.

  “That what you meant by danger?” I ask.

  Riksher frowns at it. “We should be fine.”

  “You sure?” Ennis asks, uneasy. I suppose this is the first time he’s ever seen one this close, the sand swirling high into the air. We saw them often enough at Barnab, but I can only recall two that came close enough to pose a threat. We lost some corn crops those years. Nothing irreplaceable. This was back when a smaller harvest meant less income from sales, not starvation within our tribe.

  We ride steady and the sand storm dissipates over time. The silver ribbon slowly separates into individual shapes as we get closer. Riksher’s right, it’s far too small to be a Dead City. And besides, the witches only built along their tracks. There’s no chance of a Dead City out here.

  The settlement isn’t big. I squint and estimate it at about fifty homes. It’s no stone city like Salis, and it doesn’t even have the brick of the Barnab huts. It’s straw and wood, more like lean-tos than real buildings. There’s no sign that an advanced civilization of witches ever lived here.

  Except for the makeshift barricade at its center, tall enough to see over the tops of the huts. It glows bright with runes. I whistle. “There it is,” I say. “That wall, past the outer buildings. That’s all tech. All of it.”

  If people still live here, we might have a problem. How do we burn the barricade without risking the homes around it?

  When we’re still half a mile out from the settlement, something moves on the other side of Ennis. I do a double take, leaning around him. Ennis looks, too, and the woman freezes in her crouch, perhaps thinking the grasses are enough to obscure her from sight. But I narrow my eyes at the spear in her hand. “Riksher,” I call without taking my eyes off her, “we’ve got company.”

  Ennis’s horse stamps nervously, a reflection of its rider’s uneasiness. Riksher circles back without a word and places himself between us and our stalker. The woman, obviously realizing she's been compromised, stands and raises her crude spear over her head. She stares directly at us without flinching.

  Figures rise silently out of the grass around us, all dressed in the same worn clothing with elaborate red stitching around the neck. The weapons they point at us vary from spears to swords to pitchforks, some rusted but every one of them sharp enough to slice through flesh and sinew. Ennis’s horse whinnies, and even I feel a slow simmer of dread. It builds with each new face, each one sharp of eye as well as bone.

  “You go no further,” the first woman calls out. She wears a sash that carries the red stitching down her torso and brands her as a leader. “Turn back now and nothing bad will come of this.”

  “I am Chiral Riksher,” Riksher calls from atop his horse. “We’ve come to offer aid.”

  “We are in no need of aid, Chiral.” She twirls her spear, knees bent, then looks down the weapon’s shaft at us. “Leave. Now.” She feints a step forward and Riksher adjusts to counter, his horse nudging almost imperceptibly to the left.

  Ennis finds his bravery and dismounts. He walks slowly to Riksher, his hands held out in front of him to show the tribe: empty.

  Riksher and Ennis have a short, terse conversation I can’t hear. At the end of it, Riksher speaks to the audience. “Carnigans,” he begins in the voice of a grand orator. “It distresses me to see the state of you.”

  I cringe at Riksher’s painfully formal language. Is this his idea of a leader?

  “It is clear you have endured hardship these last few decades. Rest assured that your Chirals have seen your plight, and the plight of this entire nation. I am here today to end that suffering, to destroy that which keeps your pockets empty and your bones bare. Within this settlement lies the key to restoring your tribe to its former greatness, Tribe…”

  Riksher waits for someone to offer their tribe name, but nobody does. They watch him with half-and-half stoicism and hate.

  “We know who you are, Chiral Riksher.” The woman has not relaxed or lowered her spear. “And you will not get to Yural.”

  Ennis says something quietly, but Riksher ignores him and tries again. “Nothing grows in your ground,” he says. “The waters that once flowed in your streams have slowed or stopped. What little food you can scavenge is tough and lacking. Your children grow sick and often do not make it to a year. Great sadness has touched you, and we have failed to keep it at bay. For that, I am deeply sorry. But I am here now, and we will purge your home of the presence that keeps it dead and dry. Allow us to pass, and we will return your home to you.”

  Ennis backs off from Riksher, his head constantly turning, unable to keep an eye on all our aggressors at once. “Riksher won’t leave,” he whispers. “He thinks it’s too important, that we can’t leave all that tech intact.”

  “We’re not getting to that tech,” I say flatly. “Look at these people. Does Riksher plan to go through them? An hour ago, he didn’t want to leave the tracks.” I have to admit that at least his paranoia makes sense in light of all the metal currently pointing at us.

  The woman is silent, apparently having no interest in negotiations. She and her companions keep their weapons trained on us. She stares Riksher down, practically a dare.

  Riksher, not as fearful as he maybe should be, decides to call the woman’s bluff. He clicks his tongue once and his mare resumes its trot towards the settlement. My eyes bug wide at Riksher’s arrogance. You are not invincible. Your Chiral blood won’t protect you here.

  The woman moves in one sharp, fluid motion. Her spear flies and sticks in the horse’s knee, sending the mare crumpling to the ground with a whinny. A strangled sound chokes its way out of me, and then I’ve abandoned my own horse and am kneeling beside the keening creature, sunk to her knees and then on to her side. Riksher, looking stunned, managed to scramble out of the saddle before she hit the ground.

  “Congratulations,” I mutter darkly as I take the horse’s head onto my
lap. “You’ve killed your horse.” Wide, panicked eyes skirt erratically over her environment, and white ribbons of spit begin to form at the end of her trembling muzzle.

  I draw my knife from my boot. She can die fast or she can die slow. She’ll never walk again.

  Riksher’s shock melts first to sadness, and then rage. Guilt should be next, because Riksher was the one who decided to push through. We could have gone back to the tracks. That Chiral ego has now truly gotten us into trouble. My fists and my knife cannot take on eight angry, hungry desert dwellers.

  They advance on us in a tightening circle. Their leader steps to the front and stands nose-to-nose with a terrified Ennis. The other tribe members watch like hawks, their posture poised, aggressive. We’re not getting out of this, whatever this is. “What is a Nirokean boy doing with two Chirals?” the woman asks.

  Come on, Ennis. I know you’re proud of your home, but being a Chiral won’t help you now. He makes a show of carefully swallowing before he speaks.

  “I was stolen from Niroek when I was a child,” he says. “I grew up inside the Chiral capital. I was always meant as a bargaining chip.”

  She forces his chin up with a bony finger. “Strange bargaining chip. What use could you be?”

  He pauses for effect and glances at me, then away. Licks his lips. A good actor. “I am the lost Nirokean prince.”

  While Ennis lies, I try to think. There are still six weapons pointed at Riksher and I, though two of them we’ve lost to Ennis’s tale, their wielders watching him with such fixation they’ve let their guards down. Only two, though. Not enough. If it were just me, I might come out of this alive. But with two other people to protect? Even if I take out three of them at once, the fourth will easily slit Ennis’s throat. I stand over the dying horse and crouch into a defensive posture, trying to think.

  The settlement lies not half a mile north, surrounded by empty desert. Nowhere to hide. No way in but through this tribe. And Riksher has already lost his horse.

  “We turn around,” I hiss. “Continue to Akisir.”

  “We’re here now,” Riksher growls. “If we turn around every time we encounter resistance, we will never accomplish our goal.”

  “Look at your horse! You want your brother to be next?”

  “You’re a veterinarian, aren’t you?”

  I stare at him. “That spear shattered her knee. Riksher, she’s…” I clear my throat. “Nobody can do anything for her now. A horse who can’t walk is finished.”

  I watch him realize I’m right, realize what a mess he’s got us into. We have to retreat. He shakes his head to himself and glares at me, then looks out at our ambushers.

  “Tribe,” he shouts. The woman slowly rotates her head to look at him. “We apologize for the disturbance. We leave you in peace.”

  The woman looks about to shrug, and I’m grateful to Riksher for setting aside his pride. Belatedly, yes, but things could have gotten worse.

  But then the woman lashes out and takes Ennis by the throat. She twists him in front of her and forces his arms behind his back, where she holds his wrists with one hand and a knife to his neck with the other. Ennis lets out a startled yelp I’m sure will embarrass him later.

  “You’re right. The two of you will leave.”

  Anger immediately rises in me, and the knife I haven’t had the heart to plunge into the mare’s neck shifts to a different grip, a weapon now. But before I can lash out, Riksher speaks.

  “You will find him less useful than he claims,” he says with a disinterested drawl. “And yet, we've grown fond of him. Though we could be persuaded to part with him, if there were something of value you could offer in return.”

  “How about letting you leave with your lives?” Her tribe begins to cluster around us. What is Riksher doing?

  He raises his hands. “Fine.” A token resistance, nothing more. He's acting, and yet uneasiness grows in my gut. Ennis, perfectly still under the woman’s knife, looks on with a wounded expression. I wonder if he's reminded of the blood Riksher shares with Dyren.

  Riksher stares straight ahead with an expression that's intimately familiar to me. The Chiral prince may not know anything about horses, but he knows how to empty himself before a fight.

  I surprise him by moving first. My knife flies at Ennis’s captor and buries itself in her leg. She screams. Ennis slips from her grasp and makes it to our sides, where the three of us stand back to back.

  The woman clutches her calf while her compatriots advance on us in perfect unison. I curl my fists, missing my wraps. If I still had my knife, I would give it to Ennis.

  I stand my ground and feel Riksher doing the same. Ennis is the weak link, stiff with fear, and he’s the one they come for first. Two at once, they run at him with spears lowered. Riksher knocks one of the spears away with a cutlass I didn’t realize he had. I kick the other attacker hard in the knee and feel his joints shift sideways under my heel. Riksher’s victim is knocked sideways. Mine hops twice and crumbles. I kick him hard in the head, and he goes still, his body a barrier between Ennis and the others.

  A woman slams into Riksher with an audible crunch, but I can’t watch them grapple because a man is coming for me now, spear up, teeth bared.

  “What is so special about this settlement?” I ask as he sidesteps in half-circles before me. Throwing my knife was a bad idea. “Or is it about this place at all? Do you want our supplies? Our horses?”

  I’m talking nonsense. If they’d wanted our horses, they wouldn’t have crippled Riksher’s. It takes every ounce of my focus not to glance at her. She is in so much pain.

  My talking doesn’t buy me as much time as I’d like. The man makes a jab with the spear, fast as a snake, and any delusions I’d had about grabbing it from him mid-strike are dashed. He moves sinuously, coiling and uncoiling, trying to confuse me. He jabs again, this time going for my left shoulder, and I barely roll out of the way in time. “Seriously,” I say. “It must be something really incredible, to be willing to kill for it.”

  But the man isn’t spilling any secrets. He comes in for a third jab, and this time I’m ready. I fold my knees and lurch forward, under and between his legs. His spear tries to follow me and, combined with two swift punches to the back of the knees, throws him off balance. He has to take a step to correct himself, and that’s when I jab my own foot out in front of his. This forces him to step wider, and he’s so unbalanced he stands the spear upright and touches its end to the ground for stability. This is my chance. I wrap my fist around its base and pull. It makes a scraping sound as it grinds through the baked dirt, but then I have a better grip on it than he does, and the awkward angle of his wrist forces him to let go. We stagger away from each other, me regaining my feet and him getting less steady on his. Now weaponless, he raises his fists, and I point the spear at him as best I can figure out how. I’ve never used a spear before. And now that I no longer have Riksher at my back, I quickly become surrounded.

  I lash out with the spear and quickly pull it in closer to my body, not liking how the length of the shaft leaves me vulnerable. Too much reach, not enough precision.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” I say truthfully.

  The first lunges for me, and I use the spear to trip him. I follow him down and shove his face into the ground before jamming the butt of the spear down on his skull. His scalp splits and spills warm blood onto my fingers. He goes limp, and I take a shaky breath. Have I just made my first kill?

  But the victory is short-lived, because somebody has grabbed my hair and is twisting, lifting my small body right off the ground. I grit my teeth and try not to scream at the pain, but I can’t help a whimper. It’s their leader, my knife still buried in her thigh.

  I take a deep breath and lunge for it, grabbing it by the hilt and twisting it out. The muscle tears, and we both drop. I hit the ground hard and am trying to crawl to my feet when a vicious kick flips me onto my back. I’m airborne for a moment, and then I slam against the ground, stun
ned.

  And then Riksher is here, wrestling her away from me. I blink once and the woman’s dirty blonde hair has been streaked with blood.

  Riksher lashes out with his sword and catches her again, this time in the ribs. Slashing, not stabbing. He doesn’t want to do serious damage.

  I think I killed a man.

  The woman moves fast and light, but he gets another gash in, this time on her cheek. A man creeps up behind Riksher and bends to pick up a large, sharp-edged rock.

  “Behind you!” I yell, but there’s no time. I make my body move, launching into the man headfirst. We both land hard on the ground, and my vision immediately flows sideways with a burst of pain. He gets his hands around my throat. I writhe and claw ineffectually at his wrists, and he watches me with an unreadable gleam to his eye. I struggle to focus, but it slips away from me more and more. My windpipe is being crushed. Who are these people?

  I watch three men closing in on Riksher, who is preoccupied with others already. My attacker snarls wordlessly, his face so close I can feel his breath on my face.

  A sharp whistle pulls me from the edge of unconsciousness. The man also looks to the sound, and his hands loosen enough for me to draw a bruised, gasping breath.

  Ennis, presumably because he was obviously no threat, was able to exit the throng while they focused on Riksher and I. He now stands a few paces away, with his and my horses’ reins wrapped around his wrists. Meeree throws her head twice and snorts.

  Ennis holds two halves of a broken spear, one with the stone head firm against my horse’s neck, right where curves under her chin. With the other hand, he presses the splintered wooden edge of the spear shaft against the appaloosa mare’s throat.

  “Let us leave and you get the horses,” he shouts into an uneasy silence. The tribe is looking at the woman, who sits straight and proud despite the muscle I’ve shredded in her thigh.