The Ghost Princess (Graylands Book 1)

by M. Walsh

  Hobbs was a man of below average height, but thick with muscle. His rectangular face was rough with scars, and he cultivated an intimidating appearance by adorning his massive arms with a variety of tattoos and keeping his dirty-blonde hair shaved into a short Mohawk. He was a man who wanted people that looked at him to know he was someone to fear.

  But even Lemmy Hobbs felt his blood chill looking at the man before him. He’d been pacing around the camp outside Dictum that morning, waiting for word from Leeroy and the others, when the man that introduced himself as Edmund Rictor appeared. He towered over Hobbs with dark skin and a grim, cold face that looked like it was carved from stone. He wore a black cloak over matching leather clothing that did little to hide his own massive physique.

  “What is your progress?” Rictor repeated, his voice deep and almost sounding like it echoed.

  Hobbs, in an effort to hide the fact he was intimidated, munched on a green apple and said, “I take it you’re with—”

  “I am here on behalf of Jacob Daredin,” Rictor interrupted. “That is all that is relevant to you. Now what is your progress?”

  “Well,” he said, swallowing a bite from the apple. “Kader got to the Rien broad yesterday. So we were going to hit her at night—the boss is handling it personally—and we’ve been waiting for confirmation.”

  Rictor stared at him with blank white eyes. After a long, awkward silence, he said, “You do realize this ‘Rien’ woman is far more formidable than you might think?”

  “She’s just a drunk.” He chuckled and took another bite. “Isn’t she..?”

  Rictor’s face was frozen, but his eyes twitched slightly—enough to convey he was not pleased. “There is a Mage in Dictum. He has just joined with Sentry Elite. Are you aware of that?”

  “Um ... no. I mean, we knew about the Sentries, but we didn’t think—”

  “Mr. Hobbs, I am beginning to doubt just how useful to our cause you and your associate, Mr. Leeroy, truly are.”

  Lemmy Hobbs was someone who took pride in his work as a pirate and thief, and despite his fear of the man before him, he would not allow the talents of himself or his boss be questioned.

  “Now hold on a minute there, big man,” he said, throwing the half-eaten apple aside. “You’re not dealing with two-bit pickpocket bandits here. You’re dealing with Krutch Leeroy, and I can promise you, when you got Krutch Leeroy and his boys, you got the best!” He paused, cracking his neck. “Now look, the boss will be back any time. If last night went tits up, we’ll deal with it. If the Sentries and their Mage are a problem, we’ll deal with it. You guys will get what you want—just make sure we get paid when you do.”

  Rictor’s face showed no sign of being intimidated or impressed. He simply sighed—sounding more like a growl—and said, “Very well, Mr. Hobbs. We’ll rely on you and your leader for the time being—if nothing else, because Master Daredin would prefer not revealing his hand just yet.” He turned and seemed to glide away, stopping to add, “Just remember, the Devil’s Moon is five days from now. We need the girl by then. If you fail us, I assure you we can conjure far worse punishment than any Sentry Elite can.”

  Hobbs smirked and spit, trying to maintain his bravado. When he looked up, Rictor had disappeared, and he felt an unpleasant chill in his blood again.

  “Damn it, boss,” he grumbled. “Where the hell are you?”

  * * *

  Katrina was wandering around Dictum all morning. Her arms were crossed tightly, trying to keep her hands from shaking. Her breathing was erratic, and she felt like there was a vice around her heart threatening to clamp down any moment. Even if the weather wasn’t unseasonably warm, she would’ve been sweating.

  She roamed the streets, hoping and not hoping to run into Rasul Kader. Part of her felt she should pack up and leave town right away. Another part thought she should try to get answers first. Mostly she alternated between circling the Pilgrim’s Stop and pacing in front of the bar where he first approached her. She otherwise had no idea where he could be—if he even was still in town—and tried not to dwell on the specifics of the night before.

  It had been a long time since she killed anybody. Even if it was in self-defense, the act brought back unpleasant memories she’d tried to bury with drinking. Years of training, fighting, war, and death came flooding back to her in an instant, and she remembered very clearly feeling like she was having an attack.

  She stopped on an empty street by the Dictum square and lit a cigarette. This was exactly what she always tried to avoid and why she went around using a phony name. She didn’t want to get caught up in people’s quests or adventures. Katrina’s fighting days were over.

  If I don’t find Kader, she thought, blowing a thick puff of smoke into the air. I’ll just ditch town and hope his baggage doesn’t follow me.

  The cigarette was soothing, and her breathing and heartbeat slowed down. But there was still a sense of lurking paranoia. She realized, for all she knew, more assassins could be waiting for the right time to strike. She recalled a third one running away after she killed the first two. Hell, she thought, they could already have gotten to Kader.

  She hesitated, wondering how she should feel about that.

  “Pardon me, Miss,” she heard a voice say behind her. “But might I trouble you for a match?”

  She turned to find a strange looking little man with a narrow face. His hair was gray, though he appeared to be in his thirties. He had large, staring pink eyes, and he wore rumpled clothes with a stained collar and numerous talismans, medallions, and symbols around his neck, like he was a man of many divergent faiths. He had a smoking pipe in his hand and a pleasant smile on his face.

  “Oh. Sure,” she said, handing him one of her matches.

  “Much obliged,” he said, lighting the pipe. He took a few puffs and eyed her up and down, as if inspecting her. “Are you well, Miss? You seem troubled.”

  Despite everything, she smirked. “This has not been my day.”

  “Pity,” he said. “But these are chaotic times.”

  “Yeah ... I guess.”

  He continued smoking from his pipe, and for some reason, she felt uneasy. Mostly to break the silence, she asked, “So, what’s with, uh, these things?” She gestured at the various pendants and talismans around his neck. “You some kind of priest or something?”

  “I am but a simple Vicar.”

  “Of what..?”

  He smiled and shrugged. “One can never have too many saviors.”

  Katrina chuckled and muttered, “I could probably use some myself.”

  “Ah,” he said, removing one of the talismans from around his neck. “Take this, as a token.”

  “Oh,” she mumbled. “No. Thanks, but I don’t really need—”

  “I insist,” he said, placing it in her hand. “I have so many as it is, and I hate to see a pretty lady so troubled.”

  She looked at the item in her hand. It was a small bronze medallion with a cross-like design inscribed on it. She didn’t recognize the faith it represented, but knew it was a religious token of some kind.

  “You never know,” he added. “Might bring you luck.”

  Before she could say any more, she glimpsed Rasul Kader down the street. Already forgetting about the Vicar, she stuffed the medallion into her pocket and rushed to meet him.

  “Ms. Rien..?” he said as she approached. “Interesting meeting you here. I was wondering if—”

  He didn’t finish. Practically tackling him, Katrina dragged him into a narrow alley and slammed him against the wall.

  “What did you get me into?!” she screamed in his face. “Who the hell are you?!”

  “Please! Ms. Rien..!” he squealed, holding his hands up. “I don’t understand..!”

  She backed away and let go of his coat, making him stumble and nearly fall to the ground. “Yesterday, you come to me with some important quest. Few hours later, I get jumped by three guys trying to kill me. Talk!”

  “It must have,�
�� Kader stammered, adjusting his glasses. “I must have been followed. My enemies probably saw me talking to you and assumed you would help me.”

  She grimaced, pressing her palms against her forehead, and turned in a circle, as though she was looking for something to punch.

  “I told you,” he continued. “I have dangerous enemies that hope to find the girl I’m looking for before I do. They’ll go after you just for knowing my mission.”

  Fury flashed across her face, but she contained it before she started shouting. Taking a deep breath, she said, “So what are you saying? I’m a target now, whether I help you or not?”

  “You have to understand how important this girl is. These people will do anythi—”

  She punched him in the face, sending him crumbling to the ground. “You dumb shit!” she screamed, her already scratchy voice sounding even harsher. “And isn’t that convenient, too! Now I’m a target no matter what I do, so I suppose I should help you anyway, right..? Well, screw you!”

  “Wait..!” he called out as she stormed away.

  He clumsily tried to pick himself up, and Katrina thought he looked completely out of his depth. For a moment, she felt a hint of pity—but not enough to sway her.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked, climbing to his feet.

  “The sensible thing,” she replied. “I’m going to the Sentry Elite and let them deal with this.”

  “But ... you can’t..! You don’t understand! I—we—are the only ones that can find the girl and keep her safe!”

  She groaned and stopped only to say two words: “Piss! Off!”

  * * *

  Deacon Marcus awoke shortly before dawn. It was the dream again.

  He allowed the rest of his unit another hour of sleep before getting them moving. He spent twenty minutes exercising and used the rest of the hour relaxing in a bath. He figured he might as well enjoy the luxury while it lasted, as the road to Bevy would take at least a day, even on horseback. And that would be assuming they encountered no delays from pirates or whatever evil was festering in the forest.

  Exercise helped, but his mind dwelled on Tessa when he tried to relax. It was purely chance he ever met her. The Sentry Elite and Guardian Mages collaborate often enough—both organizations are dedicated to the defense of the Realm, after all—but it’s generally understood where one’s strength begins and ends. A marauding horde of orcs—that’s soldier’s work. A raving wizard summoning evil powers—that’s a spell-caster’s job.

  Tessa was a young Mage of the Guardians. She and her partner had stumbled across a pair of warlock brothers named Custer. They were planning to tap into the Black and harness its power ... for whatever reason lunatics like them do that sort of thing. Her partner was killed, forcing her to flee, and that was how she would cross paths with Deacon Marcus and his two partners at the time.

  It should’ve been strictly Mage business, but he felt obligated to help. For him, the born soldier, it was a simple matter of: the Custers were bad guys and the good guys needed his help. It was Tessa’s eyes, most of all. Not just how they shined, but the determination in them. They were going to save the world, and as long as she was by his side, he felt like he could take anything. It seemed like those old stories—the chance encounter, the great quest, and grand battle against evil.

  The problem was, in those stories, the villains are supposed to know what they’re doing. Whether the Custers used the wrong spells or just screwed up the ceremony, Marcus didn’t know, but what emerged from the gate to hell they opened was not what anyone expected. He was often asked afterward to describe it, but he could never find the words. He only remembered an abomination that had no shape—made of teeth and eyes.

  Eyes that hated.

  When it was over, the Custers and their servants were in pieces. Marcus’s partners fell. Tessa died sending the thing back. Only he survived, with nothing to show for it but a few scars, commendation, promotion to Captain, and nightmares.

  Finished with his bath, he woke Nelson and Brooks, telling them he wanted to be on the road before noon at the latest. Warren was already up, meditating, and he told him the same thing. They were ready to ride before ten o’clock, and Katrina might have missed the Sentries had they not been delayed by Dictum’s Sheriff.

  Marcus was packing his horse, when he spotted Sheriff Dunham waddling towards him with his thumbs looped in his strained suspenders. “Excuse me, Captain Marcus..?”

  “Yes..?”

  “Morning,” said the Sheriff, extending his hand. “We spoke yesterday. I believe you mentioned something about hunting for some pirates. Stolen dagger, if I’m correct..?”

  “We were following a lead. Pirates were suspected, but nothing concrete. We’ve just received new orders to ride for Bevy, so we’ll be out of your hair shortly.”

  Dunham nodded, stroking his graying mustache. “I don’t suppose you would mind if I borrowed some of your time before you go, do you, Captain?”

  “What is it?”

  “A pair of bodies was found on the other side of town this morning. Can’t be too certain, but I got a sneaking suspicion they might be pirates. I’d appreciate getting a Sentry Elite’s thoughts on the matter.”

  Marcus agreed, informed the rest of his unit what he was doing, and followed the Sheriff. He was led to the jailhouse, which was empty except for a few local militia men. The two bodies were kept in a back cell, covered in dirty white sheets. Dunham mentioned the undertaker’s place was at the edge of town, and he wanted them to be identified before sending them off.

  Dunham flipped the sheets, revealing the two bodies. The first was a rotund, balding man with an ugly, discolored bruise on his neck. Just by looking at him, Marcus could see his neck had been crushed by someone’s foot. The second body was a thin, lanky man with hair that had been slicked back, but looked disheveled now. His face was broken and covered with dried blood—looking like it had been smashed in.

  “Well..?” Dunham asked. “You wouldn’t happen to recognize these two, would you?”

  “Pirates. I couldn’t tell you their names, but I’ve definitely seen their faces on Wanted posters. Usually affiliated with Krutch Leeroy.”

  “Him..?” Hearing the name, the Sheriff hesitated before letting out a nervous chuckle. “You, uh, you sure you gotta be heading for Bevy so soon, Captain?”

  “Don’t get too nervous, Sheriff,” he said, covering the two bodies with their sheets. “They’ve been affiliated with Leeroy, but that doesn’t mean the man himself is here.”

  “No offense, son, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. I don’t like the idea of pirates, Leeroy or not, lurking around my town.” He let out another nervous chuckle and added, “You sure Bevy can’t wait..? At least until we know for certain..?”

  “Might not be up to me,” he said with a sigh, scratching the stubble on his chin. “I’ll talk with the rest of my unit, and we’ll see what we can do.”

  Dunham nodded and shook his hand, though the Sheriff didn’t look satisfied. Marcus noted as he left the man was quick to emphasize Dictum was his town, but wasn’t keen with handling legitimate pirates without the help of Sentry Elite present.

  Heading back to the square where he left the others, he considered how best to proceed. He could probably allow one of the Privates to remain behind, but Nelson and Brooks were still rookies. Between the two, although Nelson was itching for a chance to fight some pirates, Brooks seemed the more level-headed.

  Marcus approached his troops, at first not noticing the woman there talking to them. He was about to speak when Nelson said, “Captain, I think you’re going to want to hear this.”

  * * *

  Nelson was the first of the Sentries Katrina found. He was leaning against a fence beside his horse, staring into space, and it didn’t take long for her to realize he was just a rookie. His partner, Brooks, seemed more experienced than him, but said little and only gave suspicious looks. The Mage, Warren, was willing to listen, but suggested it w
ould be best to wait for their superior to return.

  Once Marcus arrived, she explained her situation—meeting Kader, his quest, turning him down, and the subsequent attack. He listened, nodding along, and she instantly could tell he was indeed the man to talk to. It had been years since she had to deal with soldiers and officers, but she could still pick out a competent and experienced fighter from a green one.

  “This Kader,” he said when she finished. “He didn’t tell you anything specific about this girl he’s looking for?”

  “No. He said secrecy was important, and he couldn’t risk telling me more unless he knew I would help.”

  Marcus nodded and smirked. “Secrecy not so important to you, I take it.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “So I guess that means you’re responsible for the two dead pirates found this morning.”

  “Look, they attacked me, and I defended myself,” she said, noticing Nelson’s eyes light up when pirates were mentioned.

  “Understood, understood,” Marcus said, tonelessly. He sighed and looked at Warren. “So what’s the score here? Between your thing, our thing, and now this Kader thing—you think it’s all connected?”

  “I told you I don’t believe in coincidence.”

  The Captain let out a sardonic sounding chuckle, shaking his head and rubbing his neck. Katrina stared at him, looked at the Mage, then back to Marcus. Once again, she felt like control was slipping through her fingers, and with that, came a flash where she felt like she was watching herself from outside her body.

  She snapped out of it and said, “Listen, I don’t know what you guys are doing here, and I don’t care. The only thing I care about is getting these ... pirates, I guess ... off my back. Are you going to help me or not?”

  “I’ll tell you what, Miss ...” Marcus hesitated and asked, “What did you say your name was?”

  “Rien.”

  “Rien, do you know where this Kader is staying?”

  “No. Not at the inn I’m at, though. I know that.”

  He nodded and told Brooks to ask the keeper in Pilgrim’s Stop to see if anyone named Rasul Kader was staying there. “If he’s not there, then ...”