The Porthenge-Terminus Line
Artemis sat back in her seat, the soft cushions of her first class cabin a great comfort after the past week of travel. Her muscles were still a bit sore from the beating she’d taken, and several days on the road living rough hadn’t done them any favors. Pym lay across the cushions facing her, snoring softly. She smiled to look at him. Artemis had been an only child, and Pym seemed a perfect fit for the annoying little brother many of her friends had often complained about. She watched the scenery going past her window and let her thoughts drift back. Their arrival in Porthenge had been uneventful. The northern transport hub, normally a bustle of activity, seemed almost lifeless. The harbor was filled with ships flying the Nazean flag and soldiers patrolled the streets. One or two airships sat at their berths, but it was clear they would not be flying any time soon. Artemis and Pym made their way to the rail station, where they found the largest concentration of people. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to leave the coast and make their way to the farmlands where they hoped to escape the Nazean advance. Unfortunately, no one was permitted to travel without special authorization from the new government. Pym shot Artemis a worried glance when he overheard the murmurs of those turned away, but she calmed him with a look and a quick word in his mind. They approached the ticket counter. “We would like two one-way first class tickets to Terminus, please,” Artemis said, offering a handful of gold coins. “Papers?” the man behind the counter asked. “You’ve already seen our papers,” Artemis said, “you stamped them and gave them back to us.” She made a show of rummaging through her pack, “I can give them to you again if you like...” “No need,” the ticket man said, smiling, “You’ll have to forgive me, it’s been a very busy day and it’s made me a bit forgetful.” He scrutinized her, “Mrs... Alvara,” he proclaimed, “and your... son?” “That we are,” Artemis confirmed, grinning, “See? There’s nothing wrong with your memory.” The ticket man handed them their tickets with a chuckle and they continued on to their train. “My,” Pym commented as they boarded, “that is handy.” “It has its moments.” And then they were on their way, leaving the port city and the clustered villages on its outskirts behind as they headed deep into the farmlands of Vega. Now, hours into the journey, Pym woke, stretched and yawned. “Enjoy your nap?” Artemis asked, smiling. “I really did,” Pym said, “hang on.” He blurred momentarily, and was suddenly holding two tea cups in his hands. “Tea?” he asked. “Joltbean?” Artemis asked. “No, greenleaf,” Pym answered, “Joltbean makes me jittery.” “Goddess,” Artemis shuddered, “I’d hate to see what you consider jittery.” “I can get you some joltbean if you like,” Pym offered, beginning to rise. “No,” Artemis shook her head, waving him back down, “I like greenleaf too. Thank you for getting it.” “You’re welcome.” They sat and drank their tea for a moment, then Artemis asked, “So, now that we’re on the train, would you like me to take a look in your mind to see what may have been done to it?” Pym looked out the window nervously. His tea sloshed over the side of the cup as he began to vibrate. “Pym,” Artemis warned, “calm down.” “Sorry,” Pym’s vibrations stopped. He was gaining a greater level of control over them thanks to Artemis’ help, but stress made them start up again. He looked across at Artemis. “Will it hurt?” he asked. “Not a bit,” she said, “Is this your first time having someone in your mind like this?” “As far as I know,” Pym said. “Well, don’t worry, sweetheart,” Artemis said grinning, “I’ll be gentle.” “Oh, look at you,” Pym forced a smile, “trying to be funny.” They finished their tea and put down their empty cups. Artemis had Pym sit back in his seat and she did the same. They closed their eyes, and Artemis reached out to Pym with her mind. She made her way past his recent memories and entered his private thoughts. She was slightly surprised not to find any fantasies about her. Most of the boys Pym’s age that she read had naked images of her plastered all over their subconscious. Once she made her way to his sexual identity she realized why. She moved on, searching deep into his long-term memory. When she found what she was looking for, she sat up with a gasp, abruptly breaking the connection. “Oww!” Pym sat up, holding his head, “You said it wouldn’t hurt.” “S-sorry,” Artemis held the side of her head, “I, um, had to exit your mind rather abruptly.” “Why?” Artemis looked at Pym with great sympathy. “Pym,” she said, “what I saw in your past-” Suddenly, the door to their cabin burst open, and two Nazean soldiers entered, guns ready. A third soldier, clearly of higher rank, stepped in after them. He looked down at them with officious contempt. “I’m here to check your papers,” he said, holding out his hand. “Umm, but we just showed you our-” Artemis reached out to the officer’s mind just as one of the other soldiers noticed Pym. “Sir!” he shouted, aiming his gun at the young speedster, “It’s him, sir!” Pym was so shocked, he didn’t even think to use his speed. Artemis kicked the gun out of the hands of one soldier while knocking the other away with her sword. She smashed the flat of her hand into the officer’s face, breaking his nose and driving the bones up into his brain. He fell to the floor, dead. The other two attacked, but she broke the neck of one and clove the skull of the other with little effort. She looked over at Pym, who gaped up at her. “We need to get off this train,” she said. Pym looked at the pile of dead Nazeans on the floor, “You think so?” he snarked. Artemis looked around the doorway of their cabin, but no one else seemed to have noticed the melee. She stepped back into the cabin and gathered their things. “Let’s go,” she said, tossing Pym his bag. “What, now?” he looked out the window at the scenery rushing past. “We need to be gone when another group comes looking for this one,” Artemis said, opening the window, “and finds them here, dead.” “Why did you kill them, anyway?” Pym asked, “Couldn’t you have knocked them out?” “For one thing,” Artemis explained, “they’re Nazeans. I have a feeling I’ll be killing more than a few of them soon enough, so there’s no harm in starting early. For another, they saw me. The last thing we need is for the description of a young blonde woman with a wooden sword reaching Julien Castille.” “Aye, I know,” Pym muttered, “I just wish you didn’t have to kill them.” Artemis lay her hand on his shoulder, “So do I,” she said softly, “I wish a lot of things were other than they are.” Pym nodded, then looked around. “So,” he asked, “how are we going to get off the train without being seen?” “Easy,” Artemis answered. Then she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and tossed him out the open window.
The Dark Huntsman
Lord Rasp sat in the Archbishop’s private car, riding the train from the Nazean capitol to the outskirts of their Land. With Castille overseeing the conquest of Vega, it fell to Lord Rasp to administer the Nazean Land and conduct the ongoing war with Drego. It was a village on the Nazean/Drego border that he visited today, as he felt it was important to ensure the supply lines remained open, and the border towns stayed strong. He smiled. Of course, now that his people held the Dregan lowlands, this village wasn’t really a border town any more. Still, it had been several weeks since anyone had visited the garrison, and it was always a good idea to make sure proper discipline was being maintained. Plus, there had been some disturbing reports from this area recently and Lord Rasp had taken it upon himself to investigate. The train pulled to a stop and the common folk began to disembark. Lord Rasp waited for them to disperse. He was noble born and reluctant to mingle with the rabble. When their chatter abated, he rose from his seat and exited his car. As ordered, the commander of the garrison was there to meet him. “Lord Rasp,” the young officer said, bowing, “we have been looking forward to your visit. Please, if you will accompany me.” Lord Rasp nodded, “Lead on, Commander.” The two men walked through the village, with Lord Rasp paying particular attention to the inhabitants going about their business. “Commander,” he asked, “where are your Brain Masters?” “We have none, Lord Rasp.” Lord Rasp raised an eyebrow. “Really? How do you keep the people in line without them?” “We have our methods,” the Commander said. “Mm,” Lo
rd Rasp studied the other man carefully, “I’ll be interested in hearing all about them.” “Yes, Lord Rasp.” Changing the subject, Lord Rasp asked, “And what of this ‘Dark Hunstman’ I have been hearing about? Is he truly a member of the Hunt?” The commander shook his head, “We do not know for sure, Lord. He is more legend than man, for all that any have seen him. All accounts come third, if not fourth-hand. They say he only comes at night and that he learned the art of shadow-travel from the Nightwalkers. They say he preys on Nazean soldiers and punishes the unjust.” “Do they,” Lord Rasp said, unimpressed, “And do ‘they’ say where he came from?” The commander shrugged, “There are many different stories, Lord. Some call him a spirit of vengeance, others say he is the ghost of the last Zill Monarch, haunting the Land that once was his. No one knows for certain.” Lord Rasp grunted, “Well, I have come to find the truth, Commander,” he said, “If this Dark Huntsman exists, I will find him and kill him. His ‘legend’ has spread throughout the rural villages, even reaching so far as the city. It permeates the imaginations of the citizens and impedes the work of the Brain Masters.” He drew himself up, gripping the sword belted to his waist and fingering the pistol strapped to his hip, “Once I drag his body through the streets of the capitol and put his head upon a spike at the gates, that will put an end to it.” “As you say, Lord Rasp.” “I do. Now, show me to my quarters. The journey was long, and I wish to refresh myself before I inspect the village.” The commander bowed, “This way, Lord.” He led his superior to a central building which had very obviously been constructed more recently than the rest of the village. It was where all the business of the Nazean government was conducted, and where their officers had their quarters. The two men entered and rode a lift to the third floor. They walked down the hall to a pair of thick wooden doors. “Our best quarters, my Lord,” the commander said. Lord Rasp opened the door, sneering, “From what I have seen, Commander, that is not saying much.” “Yes, my Lord. My apologies.” “Mm.” Lord Rasp entered the room and shut the door. It was dim with the fading light of late afternoon, and he looked around for a candle. Suddenly, without warning, a knife appeared at his throat. “I understand you are looking for me, Lord Rasp,” a deep voice growled in his ear. “C-c-commander!” Lord Rasp tried to yell out, managing only a choked whisper. His belt was sliced away and he was thrown across the room. He heard a dull clank as his weapons were tossed in an opposite corner. He looked around for his attacker, but saw only shadows. The room grew darker as the sun slipped below the trees. Then the voice spoke again in his ear, “No, Lord. Let us have no intrusions.” Lord Rasp felt wind on his face, and heard a rustling sound, like that of a hundred leather wings. The shadows moved, shining black eyes locked with his and he heard the voice one more time. “We have so much to discuss, you and I.”
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