Too Young to Die

by Michael Anderle

  “I’ll take three,” Justin said promptly.

  “I—wait, what?” Hausen paused, confused. Beside him, Zaara frowned, Mayor Killian had his head tilted to the side quizzically, and the guards stared with their mouths open.

  “I won’t bankrupt the people of Riverbend,” he said. “Three of us worked together to defeat Sephith—myself, Lyle Stout, and Zaara. Each of us will take one gold coin in recognition of this effort. I would forgo payment entirely, but please understand that my armor is my livelihood.”

  Hausen, now with no moral high ground to speak of, cast about for something to say. At last, he managed to speak. “That is very generous, Master Williams. There being no objection from the members of your team—”

  “None,” Zaara said. “I’ll speak for Lyle.”

  “Um,” the man said. “In that case, your money will be provided to you at the inn before my daughter and I leave for Riverbend.”

  Justin’s smile slid off his face. He looked at her and saw her regret. She gave him a sad smile and a nod and he now understood that his freedom hadn’t come only from facts but from a bargain.

  “Now that Sephith is defeated,” her father said, “Zaara has no reason to stay in East Newbrook.” He looked meaningfully at her. There was no malice in his voice and instead, Justin could hear the echoes of fear.

  He understood but he still hated it.

  “There’s still a great deal more injustice in the world,” he reminded them.

  “Yes,” Zaara said. “My father and I have agreed that, in the future, I will inform him of my plans to fight against individuals like Sephith. He will help me assemble a team so he knows I am not fighting alone.” She gave him a half-hearted smile. “I don’t suppose you have a pressing injustice to fight now—”

  “Zaara,” Mayor Hausen said warningly.

  “I’m joking,” she said. “Of course. I know Mother and Yannick would be glad to see me.”

  “And have you home, Zaara.” There was genuine softness in the mayor’s voice. “All of us would be happy to have you home.”

  Justin swallowed and looked away.

  “Yes,” she said softly. She cleared her throat. “Justin, I’ll…I’ll be at the inn to say goodbye to you and Lyle.” She left, her footsteps a touch too fast, and her father followed.

  “Master Williams.” Mayor Killian sounded relieved. “The guards will remove your irons. I hope there are no hard feelings.”

  He gave him a hard look. “What would you have done if he had insisted on the trial?”

  The man had clearly considered this already. “You would have been convicted,” he said.

  Stunned, he gaped at him. Killian didn’t sound sorry at all.

  “And then,” the man continued, “regrettably, due to an unfortunate clerical error, you would have been released soon after Mayor Hausen returned to Riverbend.” He gave him a smile and a nod before he left.

  “Huh,” he said.

  “Don’t worry,” the guard said. “If he hadn’t done the right thing, we would have.”

  “What must it be like to have friends?” Batholemew asked rhetorically from the corner.

  “Shut up,” the guard said. “He saved us from Sephith. You robbed my aunt at knifepoint.”

  “Details.” The prisoner made a show of going back to sleep but opened one eye to look at him. “Don’t forget what I said about Insea.”

  “I haven’t,” he assured him. “Good luck, Batholemew.”

  Zaara was waiting for him in the inn. Three mugs of beer were on the table in front of her, laid out as if for her, Justin, and Lyle, but she had drunk all of them already. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth as he sat.

  “Sorry. I don’t want to go back.”

  “So don’t,” Justin said. He was surprised by how urgent his tone was. He leaned forward. “We’ll go right now. Grab Lyle and sneak out the back. We can disappear.”

  She shook her head sadly. “I thought of that. Trust me, I considered it.” She hiccupped and swayed slightly.

  “New plan,” he said, “we hide in the basement while you sleep that beer off.”

  “I don’t want to do that to my family.” She managed a shaky laugh. “My father may be an ass, but he was really worried about me. My mother was too. My brother…well, who knows.” She gave a half-smile. “I’m joking. He and I get along fine. I made Father agree to let him marry Annika when we get home.”

  He frowned and thought back. “The barmaid,” he said as he remembered. “That’s right. She said the mayor thought his son could do better than a barmaid.”

  Zaara raised the empty glass to him with a wry smile. “That’s my dear father, all right. But he wants Yannick to be mayor after him, so there’s no reason for him to marry outside the village. And he would do well as mayor, he really would. He—” She broke off. “You don’t care.”

  “I care,” he said quietly.

  To his surprise, she smiled at him. “Yeah. Yeah, I know you do. The thing is, Justin…” She steadied herself. “The thing is, you need to go home.”

  He wasn’t sure how to respond so simply said nothing. The innkeeper set three more mugs of beer down and left quickly as if to escape the awkward silence.

  “That’s why you need the three keys,” Zaara said. “Isn’t it? You never said as much, at least not straight out, but Lyle and I both knew.”

  “You told Lyle about where I was from?” He groaned.

  “Yes, I did. And the dwarves made those keys, Justin. They’re the ones who made it so the bearer could use the door. You’ve heard him talk. Dwarven artifacts have power woven into them, so him knowing your goal might help him remember things he wouldn’t otherwise.”

  “Okay, I hate to admit it, but you have a point. Still. He’ll make fun of me for this, you know.”

  “Everyone already makes fun of you,” the AI said.

  “Weak,” Justin muttered.

  “Yeah, I think I’m losing my touch. I can do better. Hang on.”

  Justin sighed. To Zaara, he said, “Yes. I don’t…know…that it’s why I’m finding keys, but I suspect so. I think they’re tests I have to pass to show that I’m ready to go back.”

  Zaara studied him. “When you get back, what do you think you’ll do?”

  He groaned, picked up a mug of beer, and drank a few gulps. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “My world isn’t like this one. You can’t simply go out and do things to help people.”

  “You can’t?” She sounded deeply confused. “Are you sure? But…is everyone happy? Is there no injustice there?”

  “Well, no—I mean, yes, there is injustice.”

  “And war? Poverty?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “So why can’t you help people?” She looked like she was trying to put two and two together and failed miserably. “I’m not confused because I’m drunk, am I?”

  “A drunk woman, and here I am talking about life plans and injustice,” Justin said philosophically.

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing. Uh…in my world, you can’t simply pick up a sword and go kill a wizard. Things are more complicated than that. Sometimes, injustice is in the laws or stuff like that.”

  Zaara shrugged. “So don’t kill any wizards with swords then. We were talking about injustice, not stabbing.”

  He opened his mouth, closed it, and nodded. She had a point. “It’s not that easy,” he said finally. “You don’t always know that what you’re doing is the right thing. No matter what you do, someone will tell you that you hurt people.”

  She smiled at him. “That’s not only your world, you know. There are people here who will tell you that Sephith was doing important work. He was trying to learn how to resurrect people.”

  “Oh.” He felt a stab of regret. “And we killed him.”

  “Yes.” Zaara took a sip of the new beer. “Exactly like he killed thousands of people trying to discover how to resurrect them afterward.”

  “Oh. Right.”


  “You have to make the best decisions you can,” she told him. “Here, in your world, wherever you are. And part of why I agreed to go back…” She sighed. “Well, it was so I could help you find the last key. I didn’t tell you this at the time, but when Kural asked me to be his apprentice, I said what I wanted was to help you get home. He was already looking for the key, and now he knows why. And he said I can help him. He gave me this.” She withdrew an orb from a pouch at her belt. It looked like clear glass but somehow, the inside was as black as night.

  The pause that followed was both awkward and heavy.

  “I always knew you’d have to go back,” Zaara said finally and her voice broke. “And so did you.”

  He cleared his throat and looked away.

  Lyle saved the moment when he clapped Justin so hard on the back that the young man smacked face-first into the table. He barely managed to get the mug out of the way and picked his head up, stars dancing in front of his vision, to squint at Zaara.

  “Ow,” he mumbled.

  “Well, ye’ve some dwarven skills to learn yet,” Lyle said philosophically. “I can’t send ye home with no manners, now can I?”

  “Uh-huh.” Justin rubbed his forehead. “Or the same nose, apparently.”

  “Good point.” The dwarf sat. “Hey, who drank all the beer?”

  “Surprisingly, that was Zaara.” He nodded at her.

  “I always knew you had it in ye,” Lyle said with a nod of deep respect. “But what’s this I hear about you leaving?”

  “I’m going back to Riverbend,” she explained. “It was one of the ways I got my father to agree to Justin’s release.”

  “Ahhhh.” The dwarf nodded. “Has anyone suggested simply making a run for it?”

  “Justin did.” Zaara managed a smile. “I’ll go home, though. My father agreed that I can go adventuring and learn magic. I only need to not run off without telling him, and—I quote—‘giving your mother a heart attack.’”

  “Mothers,” Lyle said. “I remember the first time I fell down a mineshaft. My mother carried on about it for days. Or so I’m told. I was asleep for most of that. Knock on the head, you understand. Still, I came out of it fine.”

  Justin, who had choked on his beer, nodded seriously. “Ah. Yes.”

  “So, where are you two going?” she asked.

  “I thought perhaps Insea,” he told her.

  “My people’s first city,” the dwarf said. “Grand place. I’ve never seen it meself, of course. Why would we go there?”

  “The tournament,” he explained. “I hear the king throws his coffers open for the prizes, and he has quite a few Dwarven artifacts. I thought perhaps the third key might be there.”

  “O’ course, there’s the small matter of winning the tournament first,” Lyle pointed out.

  He waved a hand dismissively. “Insignificant.”

  “Very minor,” Zaara agreed. “Hardly worth mentioning. Well, when I was on your team, of course. Now, you two are screwed.”

  “Now, listen here,” he protested. “I’ve gotten out of plenty of scrapes without—well, we have good combat skills—uh…hmm.”

  “It’s all right,” she said. “Other than being quite a fine hand with knives and spells, I can distill most of my use to the group into one simple piece of advice. Don’t do stupid shit.”

  “That’s it?” he asked blankly.

  “The trick is getting you to follow that advice,” she explained.

  “Oh. Yeah, we’re screwed.”

  “Shpf,” Lyle said eloquently. “I, for one, am well-versed in careful battle plans.” He saw his companions staring at him open-mouthed and bristled. “It just so happens that the element of surprise is a good tactic—and charging at someone with yer fists gives ye the element of surprise.”

  “You’ll die,” Zaara told Justin.

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, I will.”

  “We’ll find another teammate,” the dwarf said. “It’d be easier if Miss Zaara would come along with us, o’ course, but if she’s determined to go back to Riverbend, I won’t risk my life by trying to persuade her otherwise.”

  “A wise choice,” she said serenely. “And I’ll make you two a deal. If you get to the final, I’ll make sure the last key is the prize.”

  “What if it’s not in the treasury?” Justin asked.

  “I didn’t say if it was in the treasury, did I?” she gave him a steely-eyed smile. “You hold your end of the bargain up, and I’ll hold up mine—come hell or high water.”

  “Come hell or high water.” He clinked his glass with hers. “Lyle?”

  “’Til magma swallows us all,” the dwarf said seriously.

  “Dude, that’s intense.”

  Lyle gave him a grin. “It’s a shame ye won’t be able to see the dwarven cities before ye leave. Ye’d have a fine time. And dwarven women…ah, let me tell ye about them.”

  Zaara caught his eye and gestured to indicate a luxurious beard. The two of them stifled their laugher behind their beers as he waxed poetical about the charms and talents of dwarven women, insisting that the ability to make a cast iron pot or find a chunk of ore was a valuable trait in a wife.

  “’Course, ye’d have to hold up yer end of the bargain,” he told Justin. “But don’ worry, I’ll teach ye to smelt ore an’ find her a vein to mine.”

  “Is that a double entendre?”

  “No.” The dwarf sounded offended. “Get yer mind out o’ the gutter, adventurer. This is a serious matter. I’m not about to let ye marry a kinswoman if ye can’t find her ore to mine. Are ye crazy?”

  “I…sorry.” He rested his chin on his palm. “Please, go on.”

  Beside him, Zaara smiled as she sipped her beer. “You know,” she said quietly to him and hiccupped. “If I have to leave, I’m glad I could spend another hour drinking beer with you two.”

  Justin watched Lyle for a moment to gauge the detail with which the dwarf explained mining techniques. “I’d say you have a good four before he’s finished.”

  She clinked her mug against his. “Even better.”

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Anna Price did very little with her life except work—something that became clearer by the day. When Tad first saw the shower and pull-out bed in the private jet, he thought it was an incredible luxury.

  Then he realized it was because she combined her travel time with her showering and sleep.

  On her recommendation, he showered before taking a nap. It did, indeed, ease some of the tension and allow him to relax. He was surprised at how much wearing old, rumpled clothes had affected his mood.

  The thoughts were short-lived, though, and he almost fell asleep on the way to the pull-out bed. He barely made it before passing out for the remainder of the flight, only to be woken by a gentle touch on the shoulder from the attendant.

  “We’ll be landing soon, sir.”

  “Thank you.” He changed from the provided pajamas into a new suit. On the one hand, the nap had made it painfully clear how much he was behind on sleep but on the other, he could now at least function.

  Kevin, one of his aides, met him at the plane with a car, a breakfast sandwich, and a very large coffee. From the taste of it, the coffee had been laced with more than one espresso shot. He ate while the other man briefed him on several routine bills that were coming up for vote.

  Once he had agreed with the recommendations from the aides—or, in some cases, asked for additional research—they were almost at the senate building.

  “We made sure there wouldn’t be word of you coming back today,” Kevin said worriedly, “but some of the reporters are bound to recognize you. Alice suggests you simply say, ‘I’ll give an official statement tomorrow.’”

  “And what will be in that official statement?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. We thought that would give us some time to decide.”

  Tad felt close to despair. “Does politics always work like this?”

  “Mostly,
” Kevin said. “It’s rare that there’s not a crisis of some kind. But remember, this isn’t a time-sensitive crisis. The accident happened a while ago. Simply because they know something about his treatment now doesn’t make it imperative for you to share details immediately.”

  “I know, Kevin. But thank you.” He sighed as the car pulled to a stop. “Ready?”

  “Absolutely, sir.”

  He squared his shoulders and stepped out of the car when his driver opened the door. “Thank you, Bill.”

  “Yes, sir. Nice to see you again.”

  “Same.” He smiled at him. “I hope your daughter is well?”

  “Yes, sir.” The man’s gaze flicked to the stairs, where several people were already yelling in their direction. “Would you like me to walk with you, sir?”

  “No, thank you, Bill. There’s no need to have coffee thrown on you this early in the morning.” He sighed. Most of the people there did not look like reporters but rather like protesters. “You get out of here and I’ll see if I can get any of them to throw the coffee directly into my mouth.”

  “An admirable goal, sir.” The man’s mouth twitched.

  The walk up the stairs, as much as he wanted to be amused by it, was hellish. People screamed Justin’s name at him, along with accusations that made his blood run cold. He was in the pocket of the gun companies, was allowing military experiments to be run on Justin, and was a terrible father who didn’t care at all for his son’s life or happiness. By the time he reached the doors and swept inside, his heart pounded and he wanted to snarl accusations in response.

  The first person he saw, by chance, was Charles Snelling. As one of the junior members of the other party, he had been one of Tad’s most vocal critics—on everything except a recent bill, where the two of them had collaborated to limit the power of pharmaceutical companies. Their sparring had always been good-natured and the brief alliance had amused them both.

  Still, he was wary. “Senator.” He hoped Snelling wasn’t in the mood for a fight because he would most assuredly get one if he was.