by M. Walsh
DeLance’s horse picked up speed and rode back into Lester, where the remnants of Katrina’s people lived. Somewhere up there, there was a valley containing the last sliver of home she’d ever know. There was a strong longing in her heart, imagining that tiny settlement nestled in its valley.
It was a life she’d wanted for so long—even before the Red Plague. It was a life she hoped to find when Tyrell was defeated. A life of peace with her people. But that life was gone and what was left of it wouldn’t have her.
But Jagger is still alive, she thought. That’s something.
Katrina Lamont threw aside her flask, mounted her horse, and headed east.
* * *
“Sooooo, Darjo,” said Krutch. “What can I do you for?”
“You can come quietly,” the Graigman said, drawing the pair of blades from his belt. Out in the open, they looked even longer and thicker, and Krutch could see dried blood on them. “Or don’t.”
“Ah,” he said, noticing the five men with Darjo were spreading out to surround him. “And where would we be going?”
“I’m thinking maybe Canton. We could try Garland. I don’t know—what do you think, boys? Where you figure we’ll get the best price..?”
“How dare you?!” Brother Lucas said, backing toward the chapel. “How dare you desecrate this place with your presence, you filth?!”
“You shut the hell up, preacher!” Darjo snarled. “Go pray to your fake god and let us—”
Taking advantage of the distraction, Krutch shoved the Graigman aside and made a run for the mission’s gate. Behind him, he heard Darjo and Lucas yelling, but didn’t listen to what they were saying.
As he feared, Darjo and his crew were worse than Sentry Elite—they were bounty hunters. A Sentry would try to take him alive for trial. A bounty hunter wouldn’t care what condition the target was in, so long as the body could be identified.
He was less than ten feet from the gate when he felt his legs go out from under him. A length of chain had been thrown at his knees and tangled him up. He crumbled into the dirt and landed in a cloud of dust.
As he tried untangling the chain, the sun above him was blotted out by Darjo’s grinning face. “I’m disappointed,” he said. “Never would’ve guessed the great Krutch Leeroy to run like a scalded dog.”
“Where’s your magic weapon, Leeroy?” one of the Graigman’s comrades sneered. “Why don’t you summon the thunder an’ the fire?”
Coughing up dirt and dust, he replied, “You guys kind of caught me at a bad time.”
“Shame,” said Darjo. “I was looking forward to fighting Krutch Leeroy at his best.”
“You could let me go and we fight some other time?”
Darjo and his men chuckled. “You’re a funny guy, Leeroy. I will say that.”
“I tend to get that a—blargh!”
In desperation, he hurled a handful of dirt in Darjo’s face. The bounty hunter flinched and coughed, but he looked more irritated than anything else. The rest of his men were laughing, and Krutch attempted to run. He didn’t get far before getting tripped up again—this time with a whip.
“The hell was that, you goofy bastard?” Darjo snarled, pressing his blades against Krutch’s throat. “I seriously ought to just kill you right now, you little shit!”
“Relax, boss,” said one of Darjo’s larger, fatter men. “He ain’t going anywh—”
Suddenly, the fat man was split open where his neck met his right shoulder. His head curved to the side with a baffled look on his face, as if confused about what just occurred.
All eyes turned to the bloody halberd that had cut open the fat man and the individual wielding it: Eren Lucas. The Brother’s face was strained, and his eyes bulged. “This is a place of peace!” he bellowed, swinging at the remaining members of Darjo’s gang. “You are not welcome!”
Two more bounty hunters were chopped down in bloody heaps. One tried to fight back, but was beheaded for his trouble. Darjo himself, much like Krutch, could only stare in shock as the holy man wielded his massive weapon with surprising proficiency.
When the last member of Darjo’s gang decided to just give up and flee, Lucas turned to Krutch. “I knew you were trouble! The moment I set eyes upon you!”
His eyes blazing, Lucas brought the halberd down. Darjo and Krutch rolled to either side, dodging the massive weapon as it smashed into the dirt. Trying to create as much distance as possible, Krutch shouted, “What are you mad at me for?!”
Darjo, looking equally stunned by this turn of events, tried to use the opportunity to escape. But Brother Lucas turned his attention to him and, with a swing of the halberd, screamed, “You shall not escape either! You’re just as bad as he!”
The Graigman deflected the attack with one his blades, but Lucas followed by ramming the pole of his weapon into Darjo’s face. He fell to the dirt, his nose crooked and bleeding, while Krutch—knowing he should use the chance to get away—sat frozen.
Today got extremely weird, really fast.
Adding to the chaos, the air became rich with the smell of smoke, and to Krutch’s shock, the chapel was on fire. The fire took Lucas’s attention away from Darjo, and he looked upon the blaze in disbelief and fury.
“Now look what you’ve done!” the Brother roared, revealing a thunderous voice that truly sounded like divine wrath. “Look at what you have done!”
“I didn’t do that!” Krutch whined.
Darjo snarled something in his native language and tackled Lucas. As the two men wrestled on the ground, Jessica appeared from the smoke riding a horse with another one by her side.
“Leeroy!” she yelled. “Come on! Let’s get out of here!” Krutch could say nothing, only letting out confused grunts and half-formed words. Without thinking, he climbed onto the horse with her. “I meant take the other horse, but okay …”
As they fled the burning mission, Krutch looked behind in time to see Lucas impale Darjo Uthor on his halberd. Throwing the body aside, the Brother—looking practically apocalyptic—raised his bloody weapon above his head and howled after them, “NOOO, JESSICA! YOU CANNOT LEAVE MEEEE!”
Jessica directed the horse eastward, leaving the blazing mission and Lucas’s echoing voice behind. Krutch, still too baffled to offer any response, barely reacted when she placed his pistol into his hand with a smile on her face.
“I knew you were Krutch Leeroy!” she said, laughing. “I just knew it!”
“I … you … he … er …”
“So,” said Jessica, paying no mind to his babbling. “On to Seba, is it? I always wanted to go to Seba.”
“… but … that was … I don’t … what..?”
“Oh, by the way, my name’s not Jessica. It’s Audra. Audra Fay.”
8
The golden white of morning gave way to crystal blue, and the sun sparkled like a great beacon as it approached noon. There was a breeze coming from the mountains, but that brought little comfort to Lock as sweat poured down his face. His wrist cramped, and his muscles burned like boiling water pumped through his body. The sword in his hand felt like it was getting heavier and heavier, and his movements got slower and slower along with it.
Across from him, Seria paced back and forth, looking as graceful as ever. She twirled the blade in her hand, a patient but anticipating smile on her face. She looked no worse than she did when the training session began that morning. He saw no sweat on her, and her hair was as light and shining as ever—in contrast to Lock’s, which had turned greasy and hugged his scalp as though he’d been dunked in water.
“You’re not getting tired on me, are you Lock?” she mused, her accent adding a melodic note to her banter.
“Am I that transparent?”
She smirked and pressed forward with swipes and jabs. Lock made a few blocks and even a counterattack or two, but his exhaustion from the morning’s long training had drained both his energy and interest in continuing the effort. Seria dodged a forward thrust, and with a swift twist, Lock�
��s sword flew from his hand and embedded in the dirt five feet away.
He hunched over, trying to catch his breath, ignoring Seria’s blade pointed at the center of his chest. “I think we’re done for today,” he said. “I’m not getting any better carrying on like this.”
Seria nodded, walked to the table set up outside, and poured herself a glass of water. “You shouldn’t think that way, Lock,” she said. “When you’re pushed to your limit is as valuable time to train as when you are at your peak. Do you think your enemies will let you call it a day when you’re too tired to fight?”
“Good thing I have no enemies,” he said, retrieving his sword and resting it on his shoulder. “Nor am I planning to fight any battles.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” she said. “Not in this country.”
“Now you sound like your brother.”
“Just because he’s harsher than me does not make his teachings any less relevant.”
Lock shrugged and poured some water for himself. Summer was here and at full strength. Even standing in the shade of the house was hot. With his body aching and dripping with sweat, the thought of soaking in a bath for the rest of the day felt enticing.
“Do you like it here?” he asked. “Do you miss home?”
“A little,” she said. “This land is beautiful in its own way.”
“You ever think about going back?” He hesitated and added, “I mean to your own people.”
“I suspect my brother and I may return to our homeland someday,” she said, tying her hair into a ponytail. “But neither of us is in a hurry.”
“I suppose it’s not like Eldér have to worry about time,” he said. He didn’t know how old Seria and Troa were, although Seria once said they were young for their kind. But that could mean anything to a race able to live hundreds of years or more.
“What about you?” Seria asked. “Do you like it here?”
“It’s okay, I guess,” he replied. “I think for me it’s been a question of what’s next. We can live well here, but we can’t sit on our wealth forever.” He paused and smirked. “Especially living with Cassie.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that yet,” she said. “She was complaining other day there was little worth buying in this country.”
“There’s a relief.” He shook his head and sighed. “Anyway, I guess I have the same thing Deck has now. We’re in this new country, a fresh start, and …” He thought it over and shrugged. “Now what..?”
“What were you planning to do with yourself back home? Your brother has always longed to explore and fight and adventure. But you’ve always been quiet about that sort of thing.”
“I don’t know, to be honest. I never did really think about it back home. I guess I always figured something would come up. But here, it’s as if I really should go find something. If there is something next, I must seek it out.”
Seria nodded, listening intently as she always did. Her eyes were serene and comforting, and not for the first time, Lock was grateful she was around to listen to his prattling. Seria was always good to talk to, even when she had little to offer in return aside from an ear to listen.
“Men and women have asked themselves those questions long before you were born and will continue asking long after you’re gone,” she said. “That desire is shared among humans, Eldér, Graigfolk, and I suspect even Goblins. Some never find an answer.”
“That’s comforting.”
“Take heart,” she said, patting his shoulder. “At least you’re asking. There are just as many who would be content to sit in place and do nothing. You’re young and there’s no rush.” She smiled and went into the house, adding, “You’ll find your place, Lock. I’m sure it’s out there.”
* * *
Aster was a modest sized town, located just below a ridge of mountains in the northern portion of Graylands. It was not part of the Northern Regions, but it attracted a population of wealthy families from the Two Empires who saw the scenic town as something of a resort or summer home. Because of the relatively small population, there was space for grand estates, and in the center of Aster was a lake ideal for swimming on hot days.
Aster was also known in Graylands for its massive perimeter wall. Rivaling that of major cities like Garland and Canton, Aster—thanks to funding from its rich locals—was shielded by a thick wall of brick and stone that reached over seventy feet in height. There were only two entrances into the town, and both were shut every evening with reinforced steel doors. Combined with its wealthy inhabitants, Aster had the reputation of safety and exclusivity.
Although it was never said, Lock suspected it was because of this and Cassie’s sake Deck decided to have the family settle there.
After his training session with Seria, he washed up and joined Deck for a ride outside town. Having explored Aster enough since they arrived, he welcomed the chance to do some riding beyond the wall. They left through the East Gate and headed south, with Aster’s massive wall quickly obscured by a ceiling of green leaves.
Outside town was a vast forest crowded with trees and few roads. After riding for nearly an hour, they came across a large lake. The sky turned overcast and gray, but Lock welcomed it. To his right, the lake was calm and took on a dark teal color from the sky. He could imagine most people—Cassie in particular—finding the weather and scene dreary, but he found it soothing. Had the sun remained out, he was sure it would be uncomfortably hot.
“Have you been to the lake in Aster yet?” Deck asked.
“I went by it last week with Cassie,” he said. “It looked nice. They have private decks built. If you get there early enough, you can claim one for the day.”
“It’s funny,” Deck said. “This lake here is larger, yet people would rather crowd into that one as long as it’s behind high walls.”
“I’m not sure a swim is worth risking an attack by bandits, Deck.”
“How’s the sword training coming?”
“Okay. I doubt I’m ready to fight any wars, but I think I could hold my own if need be.”
They continued riding along lake shore. Deck was deep in thought—as he often was these days. Since they’d settled in last month, Lock noticed his brother taking long rides outside of town—sometimes with Troa, often alone. In their former home, he saw restlessness in his brother’s silence. An impatience and anticipation—waiting for something to happen or something to come.
Now in Graylands, Deck remained silent and contemplative, but the restlessness had changed. Not gone away—Lock was sure of that—but changed. It was as if the move was only the first phase of some great ambition in Deck’s heart, and now that they were here, he was anticipating the next phase to appear any moment.
“Do you like it here, Lock?”
“Seria and I were talking about that this morning,” he replied.
“What did you tell her?”
“That it’s okay.”
“Miss home?”
“I suppose. But I’m fine here.”
Deck looked at him with a smirk. “That’s you, brother,” he said, giving Lock a gentle punch on the arm. “Plus and minus, here and there—always breaking even.”
“Never a bad way to live,” he said. “Maybe it’s fitting, since I’m the middle child.”
“Interesting way to look at it,” Deck said, chuckling. “I think I could love it here. There’s something in the air. An energy I can’t put my finger on. I was made for this country.” He looked up to the sky, taking a deep breath, and Lock thought his brother looked as content as he’d ever seen him. “Cassie, on the other hand …”
“She’s trying,” said Lock. He paused, recalling the numerous times he’d caught her sulking and pouting around the house. “As hard as she’s able to.”
“She’s still a child,” said Deck. “I can’t say I blame her. She’s lost her friends and everything she’s familiar with. Keep this to yourself, but if not for her, I would’ve pushed us further south.”
“I can�
��t even imagine how that might’ve gone,” he said. He tried to picture their sister out on the frontier in some cottage, trying to fend for herself—farming or mending her own clothes or—Gods help us—attempting to cook. He looked at his brother and saw Deck was having the same vision, and they both laughed.
“Who knows,” Deck said. “Maybe she’ll warm up to this place. In time.”
“Warm up, maybe. But I don’t see her heading into the frontier for anything.”
Deck nodded, still smiling, but Lock caught a hint of that longing in his eyes. He’d be gone, if not for us, he thought. If he wasn’t bound to us, he’d be off having adventures in the south.
“Have you thought about joining the Sentry Elite, Deck?” he asked. “If you got stationed here, you might end up working with Drake Garrison. They say he’s the best warrior the Realm’s seen since Grant Nolan.”
“The Sentry Elite..? Why bother? We’re in Graylands, little brother. There are no kings here. No emperors. Any man or woman can be what they want to be here.”
“Within reason.”
“I know that,” Deck said, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I’m not saying I’d be a marauder terrorizing villages and kidnapping maidens. I mean, if we wanted, we could just go out there and … and …”
“Get ourselves killed?”
“Very funny.”
Deck sighed and climbed down from his horse. He walked to the shore of the lake and looked out over the blue-gray waters. At the far side, a thin fog had formed, and the wind picked up. Slight sprays of rain began to come from the sky, feeling gentle and cool in the warm air.
Lock dismounted his horse and stood beside his brother. At his feet were piles of smooth, flat stones of black and brown. He picked up a handful and started skipping them across the water.
“You think it’s true?” Deck asked, still looking out to the darkening horizon. “That she’s here?”
“Who?” Lock asked. “Where?”
“The last Lamont,” Deck replied, his voice dry and deep. “What is it they call her? The Ghost Princess?”