Contents
Title Page
Books By Jason D. Morrow
Nate
Joe
Nate
Nate
Joe
Nate
Gwen
Joe
Nate
Gwen
Nate
Joe
Nate
Gwen
Joe
Nate
Gwen
Joe
Devlin
Nate
Gwen
Devlin
Joe
Gwen
Nate
Joe
Nate
Nate
Devlin
Nate
Author's Note
Author Links
Books By Jason D. Morrow
The Outlaw’s Quest
By
Jason D. Morrow
Edited by Beth Morrow & Emily Simpson Morrow
Copyright © 2016 Jason D. Morrow
All rights reserved.
Smashwords Edition
Books by Jason D. Morrow
Prototype
Prototype D
Prototype Exodus
The Starborn Ascension
Anywhere But Here
Away From The Sun
Into The Shadows
The Starborn Uprising
Out Of Darkness
If It Kills Me
Even In Death
The Marenon Chronicles
The Deliverer
The Gatekeeper
The Reckoning
Nate
Winter, 903 A.O.M
Nate hadn’t taken a sip of alcohol in more than a month. This was a record, it seemed. The lack of a drink hadn’t brought on the shakes as he thought it might. Perhaps over the years he hadn’t consumed enough to get to that point. Still, he needed it. Mostly, he wanted it. He liked to think he was made of stronger stuff than the men who fell into ravenous withdrawals, but he knew he wasn’t. He wore his toughness like a hat or a coat—items worn as a shield to block chilling winds that would otherwise freeze his interior. But unlike a hat or a coat, Nate’s demeanor wasn’t something he could easily remove, especially considering his line of work.
He decided to torture himself and sit at the bar away from his companions. This wasn’t to add to his temptation, though it didn’t help. He wanted a better vantage point in case things got hairy. If he had learned anything in the last month of being in Galamore, it was that traveling with a gray elf brought on more trouble than it was worth. Apparently, traveling anywhere north of Dragon Scale Mountain meant coming across people who acted like they had never heard of a gray elf. It was true that the North was mostly made up of men and women (with the exception of the wood elves in the Northeast), and to have any other race traveling through was a thing of mystery, but to see a gray elf was almost apocalyptic.
Alban seemed to think it would be fine to take up lodging this far south. It might have raised a few eyebrows, but the middle of the country, particularly this town, Bathevar, was a melting pot. Even in this tavern Nate spotted a few dwarves, a couple of gnomes. He wasn’t quite certain, but he thought there was a wood elf in the back corner. He’d have to keep an eye on that one. Gray elves and wood elves didn’t like each other, or so he had been told.
Nate had come into the tavern first, bellied up to the bar, and waited for his three companions to come in after him. The bartender had asked Nate what he wanted. Nate swallowed, took a deep breath, and muttered, “water…” to which the bartender scowled, but gave it to him anyway. Part of him wanted to express to the bartender how much the brown bottles behind the bar called out to him, taunting him with promises of an easier night. But what was the point? The bartender would only agree with them.
Nate knew when Alban, Rachel, and Marum walked into the tavern without having to look behind him. The loud and bustling room went quiet. Drinkers looked away from their glasses. A few shook their heads to make sure they were seeing clearly. Eaters dropped their forks, opting instead to rest their fingers on the pistols hanging on their belts. Smokers allowed their fat cigars to smolder in their fingers, holding the smoke in their lungs, waiting to see what might come of this unsettling situation.
Alban led the way to an empty booth with his daughter, Rachel, behind him, and Marum, the gray elf, behind her. Together they formed a short line, their eyes averted from the gazes of seemingly every person in the room. Nate kept his eye on the wood elf in the back corner who stared at his rival with sharp, suspicious eyebrows.
The three of them finally sat, waiting for a server. Nate wondered if anyone would dare approach them. Finally, an older woman, modestly dressed with her hair pulled up into a tight bun (this was a tavern and not a saloon, after all), braved the trek to their table and asked if they wanted food. Alban told her yes, and to bring an extra plate for their friend.
Nate allowed himself to take his gaze off the wood elf in the corner as he scanned the rest of the room. Slowly, each person went back to his drink, plate, or cigar, accepting, or at least trying to forget, that a gray elf was amongst them.
In his month-long journey from Tel Haven, Nate had learned a lot about Galamore. The roads were long, the plains flat and cheerless in the winter desert. They had passed the time with conversations and Alban’s endless history lessons. Nate had found most of this fascinating, though not all the time. But long journeys often presented drawn-out days of tedious travel, accompanied by unending landscapes that refused to change. Alban had made a case for other parts of Galamore—the magical trees of the Sunset Woods, the snow-capped mountains of Dwarf Country, the green hills of Gnome Country—but the center of Galamore was a flat no man’s land, covered now by a sea of endless white. Rachel had told him that the prairie had its merit in the summer and autumn, but the spring brought torrential downpours and treacherous tornados, while the winter hid the roads and threatened to disorient those brave or stupid enough to travel them. Nate and his small band were of those brave or stupid types, and their decision had tacked on an extra week to what they had originally planned. According to Alban, winter had come early, the autumn short as it usually was in this part of the country.
Now, however, they were close to their destination. By day’s end tomorrow they would reach the foot of Dragon Scale Mountain and would hopefully gain an audience with a mysterious group known as the Sentinels. This stop in Bathevar was their last chance to clean themselves up and rest soundly before getting there.
Nate and the others had reservations about coming here. Marum was the most outspoken, but Alban had been insistent. Nate finally came to the conclusion that this stop was more for Alban than the rest of them. The old man probably wanted to sit back and drink a large ale next to the fire or to sleep in a real bed after so many nights of digging trenches in the snow and fighting to keep warm. Nate didn’t hate the idea either, but that didn’t mean this was a smart move.
The group hadn’t been so careless the entire journey. They had come across people on the roads, and had even stopped in a couple of small towns to resupply and take a warm bath, but they had been vigilant in those instances. Alban would usually go in first, talk to the desk clerk and get a couple of rooms. Past that, it wasn’t so hard to sneak Marum in and sneak her out, using the darkness of sundown and predawn.
Traveling with Marum hadn’t been easy at first. She’d been shot in the chest. The wound caused her to lose a lot of blood, but the bullet had missed anything vital. Still, her recovery wasn’t quick and for the first week or two they were constantly fighting off fever and infection. They eve
ntually reached a small settlement and Alban acquired the right medicine to put her on the mend. She still wasn’t at her best, but she moved around decently enough and seemed in good spirits.
Nate looked down at his coat, thinking about the day Marum had been shot—the same day a bullet found him, too. A thick stitch attempted to conceal a hole in his coat that had been ripped open by the bullet, just over his heart. The new thread was a darker color than the tan leather it held together. An unhealthy span of drinking and a less-than-charming habit of placing his flask in his left breast pocket had saved his life that day. When it first happened, he couldn’t figure how it saved him. The metal wasn’t thick enough to stop a bullet, but he imagined it hadn’t been a direct hit. Maybe he had moved slightly, he couldn’t remember. In any case, Nate had been lucky, and the bullet had probably lodged itself into a nearby tree after bouncing off the flask.
Had the plan gone as originally intended, Marum would now be well on her way to Gray Elf Country to rendezvous with her brother, Droman. But as it stood, the party had to get to the Sentinels, and Marum had been in no condition to travel alone. Still, they would part ways with her after staying with the Sentinels for a night.
This was all an assumption on Alban’s part. None of them actually knew if they would be allowed to meet with the Sentinels. They especially didn’t know if they would be allowed to stay within their walls. But Alban was confident.
The Sentinels were a group of five individuals, charged with the task of keeping Galamore held together. That seemed like a tall order in Nate’s mind, considering how big Galamore was. The Sentinels weren’t controlled by any government or outside entity, according to Alban, but Nate was skeptical. He was always skeptical of people in power. Money was a big motivator. He wouldn’t put it beneath any sheriff, president, or any Sentinel for that matter, to take a bribe.
Dragon Scale Mountain was as far south as Marum needed to go before finally veering southwest and on toward her people. Thankfully, the Sentinels weren’t racists and supposedly looked upon all people as equals.
The same couldn’t be said about the people in this tavern. None of them could have been more uncomfortable than if a fat man walked in naked, parked his hairy posterior at the bar, and ordered a cup of tea.
All eyes glanced in Marum’s direction every couple of seconds almost as if to see what she might do next. This was why Nate was at the bar. Any one of these observers might find his bravery buried deep within and decide to do something about her presence. But bravery and stupidity were often confused for one another, and Nate wondered which dimwit might conjure it up first.
Nate reached for the glass of water in front of him and took a sip. It felt cool on his tongue and he found he needed it more than he had thought. It was easy to neglect hydration when surrounded by snow. This was a different terrain than what Nate was used to. Back in Texas, whenever he was on the run from the law, the weather was hot and the ground was scorched by the sun, dry and dusty. Sweat provided a never ending shower on his skin.
Of course, he wasn’t on the run right now. He was still a wanted criminal and was technically fleeing, but as far as he could tell, there was no one actively pursuing him. All that could change, however. Over the course of a month, Nate had learned that letters could travel faster than he could. The employment of birds was the most common means of communicating. Pigeons were the cheapest, but slowest. Hawks were fast and expensive. Nate hadn’t seen it firsthand, but apparently these birds talked back and could relay messages verbally or carry a sealed letter in their talons. By now he had learned all about dull and bright animals, but he had yet to see the difference for himself.
As far as Nate knew, twenty hawks could have flown right into Bathevar and spread the word of a gray elf and a group of three traveling with her. But he also knew that the farther south they went, the less this would be a problem. He just wasn’t sure if they were far enough.
The first dimwit made his move for the table, his beefy hand resting on his pistol. Nate was already on his feet when he saw the man moving toward Marum and the others.
“What are the likes of you doing in these parts?” the man said.
The three looked up at him, their faces blank and their voices silent. But the clicking noise of Nate’s pistol was enough of an answer. He pressed the barrel of his six-shooter into the back of the man’s head.
“I think a better question for you,” Nate said, “is what are you doing at my table?”
The man stiffened, paralyzed at the thought of his life ending in a flash. “I ain’t doin’ nothin’,” the man said. “Jus’ askin’ a friendly question’s all.”
“With your hand on your pistol. Don’t seem too friendly.” Nate turned his head to the rest of the room, each person staring at him with fear in his eyes. This was a tavern. People here wanted to eat and drink in peace. It was as good a place as any to get drunk and pass out, but a ruckus like this was usually reserved for the saloons. “You all should know,” Nate said, “we’re on Sentinel business. You interfere with us, you will have to deal with them.” Nate inched his face closer to the back of the man’s head. “That answer your question or do you need me to be more clear?”
“Yer clear as water, mister,” the man said, shaking.
“Good,” Nate said. He released the hammer and holstered his weapon. The man scampered to the other side of the tavern where he’d come from, finding comfort in his drink.
Nate looked around at the others throughout who immediately set their eyes back to whatever it was they were doing before the commotion.
Nate took a seat at the table and sighed, wishing more than ever for a bottle of whiskey.
“Sentinel business?” Rachel said, an eyebrow arched upward.
“Technically, yes,” Nate said. He looked at Alban next to him. “That was fine to say, right?”
Alban nodded slowly. “I suppose. We’re still a day out.”
“Yeah, but I think it was good,” Marum said with a whisper.
“I told you we shouldn’t have come in here,” Nate said.
“It’ll be fine,” said Alban.
Nate wasn’t convinced. Somewhere along the way they had crossed a set of train tracks—a possibility Nate didn’t know existed here. He tried to express his concern to Alban. If the president had wanted to send anyone after them, or even ahead of them, then all he needed to do was send someone by train. A trip that took Nate and company more than a month would take only a few days by train—a thought that thoroughly depressed Nate.
“Yes, but they wouldn’t know where to look for us,” Alban had said.
It wasn’t as if their small band could have simply boarded at one of the stations up north, and the stations here in no man’s land were few if they existed at all. Given that Marum had been on the mend, and that the rest of them were wanted criminals anyway, their set course had probably been best.
“Besides,” Alban had told them one night, “giving this all a month to cool down works to our advantage. The president’s strategy to capture Marum didn’t work. I doubt he’s pouring all his resources into finding her again.”
Now, as they sat in the small tavern, the smell of freshly cooked meat wafted toward Nate’s nostrils. The server brought them a plate each, filled to the edges with roasted pork, potatoes, and carrots. Nate had no idea he’d been so hungry until this moment. He, as well as the others, dug in, all the while remaining cautious.
Nate was glad the tavern wasn’t part of the same building as their lodging. He didn’t want anyone to get any ideas and try to be a hero. This way they were able to get into their rooms as quietly as possible.
As was proper, Nate and Alban shared a room and Marum and Rachel were in another. This wouldn’t have been so bad if it weren’t for Alban’s incessant snoring throughout the night. This hadn’t been so much of a problem when they were out on the plains where shivering might have replaced the deep growls of Alban’s nostrils, but here it kept Nate awake.
&n
bsp; He found himself sitting in a chair next to the window of their room. The glass offered a view of the street a floor below them. The moonlight reflected off the snow and Nate could see just about as good as he might during the day—perhaps even better since there wasn’t such a harsh glare whenever the sun decided to come out.
He couldn’t see a clock, so he didn’t know what time it was. Late. He knew that. If he just went to bed, he’d fall asleep eventually, but he found that trying only made him want to smother Alban with a pillow. An outlaw he was, but Nate didn’t consider himself much of a cold-blooded killer. Still, lying down would only bring on the temptation, so he found it best to stay awake until his eyes finally won the match. Dozing in this chair beat digging out snow trenches any day of the week.
There was little to no movement through the streets at this time of night. From here he could keep an eye on their cart, the horse sleeping soundly, standing tethered to its post. If there was any life or noise at all, it came from the saloon down the street.
Nate thought it was funny to be where he was now. If this were Texas, he figured he would be down there right now gambling and drinking. The point of all this carousing would be to forget about his travels and warm his belly with fire water. Now he wondered how much of that had been due to the company he’d kept. If he was with Joe, Amos, Stew, or Ralph, any one of them might have been the first to suggest they go to the saloon. Nate might have even tried to be the voice of reason among them, though he would lose out to their logic every time.
You deserve it, Nate…
We just finished a tough job, Nate…
You almost died today, Nate…
Any of those reasons were enough for him, but it would be strange if the suggestions came from Alban or Rachel. The two had been noble friends thus far. Nate sensed a genuine goodness in them that seemed misplaced on an outlaw like him. They were too good.
The Outlaw's Quest (Keeper of the Books, Book 2) Page 1