Guyen ruffled the youngest’s hair. “I would if I could, but I have to stay here, people are relying on me. I’ll visit though, you can be sure of that.”
“I’m so proud of you,” Mother said. “And your father would have been too.”
“He was,” Guyen confirmed. “He told me that himself.” Mother’s face creased with sadness once more. He’d left out much of the detail of Father’s death. There’d been no appetite for it. He hugged her. “Come on then, we’d best not leave your coach driver waiting.”
They made their way back to the Circle, crossing the rusty iron bridge. Toulesh walked up front, head down, an air of depression about him. It was probably the loss of Rikesh that perturbed him, Yemelyan’s simulacrum had not reappeared since his recovery. “Still no sign of him?” Guyen asked.
Yemelyan offered a stoic smile. “No, looks like I’ve finally grown up.”
“You took your time.”
“Is Lesh here?”
Guyen nodded, swapping a resigned look with his simulacrum as he wondered which was more unnerving—that Rikesh had gone, or that no one else could see Toulesh now. They’d lost that connection twins were supposed to have, that they’d always had. It was the end of an era. They neared the waiting stagecoach and its train of four black mares. “What will you do in Pravos?” Guyen asked.
“Dalrik has set me up as an apprentice to a blacksmith,” Yemelyan replied. “A farrier—so shoeing horses, I suppose. If there’s no steel pouring, I’ll be grateful enough.” He paused. “You know, I don’t think Dalrik’s as bad as we thought.”
“He cleared all this with the Assignments Office?”
“Yes, he says they have better things to do than bother me now I’m well. That man certainly has some interesting connections.”
“That, brother, is the truest thing you’ve said all day.”
The others caught up, and Nazhedra shooed the girls aboard the coach, their luggage already loaded. Evgeniya stopped for a hug, pulling something from her shoulder bag.
“Here,” she said, “I made this for you.” It was another tricorne. Dyed purple beaver felt by the looks of it, woven with black ribbon and embroidered with a coin motif. Glorious.
“How did you know?” he quipped, admiring it lovingly before perching it on his head.
She tutted. “I plan to send you a regular supply, the rate you lose them at.”
He laughed. “You’re a kind girl—sorry—woman, with a big future as a milliner.”
“Think I’d need an Assignment for that.” She sniffed. “By the way, I prefer girl.” She pecked him on the cheek and clambered up.
Mother offered a final embrace. “You will eat properly?” she insisted. “And mind your company?”
“Don’t worry, Mother, I’m amongst friends.”
“How can I not worry about you? You’re my baby. You always will be, no matter how much you tower over me.”
He forced a smile. “I will write. Soon and often. And if there’s anything you need, or if Dalrik’s contact lets you down…”
“You’re a good son.” She held him so tight she might never let go, then looked up, pursing her lips. “Out of my way, silly boy.”
He gave her a kiss and stepped aside, helping her into the compartment. He turned to Yemelyan. “Well, this is it, goodbye for now.”
Yemelyan wrapped him in a hug. “We’ll be fine, arsewipe. Just you worry about yourself. Don’t let the bastards grind you down, eh?”
“I won’t.” Whatever happened now, at least the people he cared about were safe. For Guyen, it was time to spread his wings. Whichever way the future unfolded, he would embrace it free of anger, with new purpose and the peace acceptance brings.
Yemelyan aboard, he latched the carriage door and nodded to the driver. The coach rolled out through the gate, the girls waving through the window. He turned back, taking in the sweeping Circle and the smoke jetting from Nekic’s workshop window. This was home. At last, he’d found one.
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Acknowledgments
Clare, for her love and putting up with all my silliness. Louis and Sam for entertaining my bizarre imaginings. Toby, for reading and countless hours spent batting away my terrible ideas, always encouraging. Hanna, Jorden, Mark and Adam for reading the earliest, ropiest incarnation of this story and providing amazing feedback. Hannah, Laura, and Rob for reading and valuable discussion. And to all the other writers and readers who helped along the way, I tip my tricorne.
Also by Shaun Paul Stevens
Deliverance at Van Demon’s Deep
15 Years Before Nether Light
How far does camaraderie stretch, when it’s life and death?
Demon's Deep mine is out of action. The miners are missing, and psychotic savages—The Unbound—have taken it over. Unfortunately, where the Unbound go, bad magic follows. Magic which mutates living things, and liquefies rock.
Kiprik, long suffering leader of his elite snatch squad, must rescue the miners before army commanders run out of patience and start pumping poison gas. With his meat-headed corporal and loyal friend Stack at his side, he'll face up to any threat, and stick an axe in its face, so long as the sneering Padre Brax doesn't get in the way.
But this is a task which will see Kiprik and his crew going to the very bottom of the mine, where the deepest magic and the darkest truths lurk.
Will honour and camaraderie be enough?
Join Kiprik and the boys on this heart wrenching, epic fantasy adventure. If you enjoy complex characters, gorgeous settings and a big, big world, you'll love this.
GET Deliverance at Van Demon’s Deep HERE
About the Author
Born in London in 1972, Shaun spent his formative years in the shadows of the dreaming spires of Oxford, before moving to Nottingham where he graduated with a degree in English and Media.
He now lives in Brighton, on the south coast of England, where he splits his time between fiction, geekdom, and garlic bread.
Find out more at www.spstevens.com
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