Chapter 1: The desert trail
1
We rise and we fall. In our hands we hold the ashes. Love
passes into nothingness. And through it all, the world goes on.
2
A man walks alone. Through the
wastelands and the heat. A holstered revolver hangs from his right hip and a
sword in a sheath from his left.
He stops, pushes his hat back and looks up at
the sky. It is vast, with not a cloud to break up its blue emptiness. The sun
beats down relentlessly. The man moves on.
The road he
follows is dull and overgrown with weeds. Nothing can be seen in the western
wastelands but a few large dead trees, patches of yellow weeds and a group of
distant mountains far to the north. The ground is hard and flat.
A large crow flies overhead. Its cry stabs
through the rumbling silence. A small animal scurries threw the dead grass and
disappears into the ground.
He is
thirsty. But he cannot drink. Not now. The water skin tied to his belt with
strips of rawhide is less than halfway full. He cannot drink and the road is
long. His stores of grain and beef jerky are beginning to run low.
He thinks of
the man with the blonde hair and the scar on his cheek.
The group he
hunts is far ahead. They are well armed. They are better supplied. They have companions.
They are dangerous.
A wind blows
across the desert. Warm dust rises into the sky. The man walks on.
The man is
alone. He follows his prey. Through the wastelands. Through whatever might
come.
3
The man with the gun on his hip
stops. He is walking east on the old road. About half a mile up ahead here is
another man on the road. His hand drops to the butt of his revolver and
approaches slowly. He scans the dead grass around the road for movement. The
man in the road might be bait for an ambush. The blonde man was cunning.
There was an
ancient looking wagon broken down in the road. The man was sitting in the shade
with his back against the wagon. The man is old, bearded and skinny. His
clothes are old and a little tattered, but they are clean. To his left sits a
large pack. He is unarmed.
How strange
it was to see another man in the middle of this emptiness. He had set out on
his journey through the western wastelands two weeks ago. And in all that time
he had not seen a hint of another human being or intelligent creature. Aside
from the grey-black remains of old fires.
He walks up
to the old man, who appears to be fast asleep. He doesn’t hear him approach. He
scans the desert once more carefully. With the toe of his boot he taps the old
man’s arm.
The old man
groans and stirs but he does not wake. This time the man with the sword draws
his boot back and gives the old fart a hard kick to the thigh.
The old man
wakes with a shrill cry and waves his hands around his head as if to swat away flies.
“What in
hell do ya think-“the old man cries, then cuts himself off. His eyes go wide.
He is looking at the man standing before him. Specifically his big revolver. He
clears his throat and gets to his feet with a groan of effort. He speaks again,
but this time his voice is small and scared.
“Ima sorry
but ya can’t be going around just waking people up like that, son.”
He licks his
lips. His eyes on the revolver.
“What are ya
anyways? A robber? Walking around with a piece like that?”
The man with
the big gun and the sword on his hips took a step back and bowed his head. Now
the old man looked at his face.
“Just a
traveler.” he said, a small smile on his face. His voice was deep and rough.
His smile real.
“And I shall
tell you my name if you would tell me yours”
The old man
seemed to relax a bit now. He slumped back down in the shade of the old wagon.
He grabs his pack and opens it. The old man does not fail to notice that the
travelers’ hand has moved to the butt of his gun. The old man slowly pulls out
a small pouch. From the pouch he produces two scraps of paper and a small bag
of tobacco.
“Sit with me
in the shade, traveler. I’ll roll ya a smoke.” The man considered this for a
moment then sat next to the old man. It felt good to get out of the sun’s heat.
He looked over at the old man. He finished rolling the cigarettes, put them in
his mouth, then he produced a small knife and flint from his pack. He grabbed a
handful of dry grass and put it on the ground. He struck the flint and the
grass caught the spark easily. He used the small flame to light the cigarettes.
The old man passed one over and the traveler took it gratefully.
He took a
deep drag from his smoke, and exhaled slowly.
“Ma name is
Goomy,” the old man said with his smoke in his mouth. “Just Goomy. Everybody
calls me Goomy.”
The old man
puffed out a smoke ring. The warm dusty wind blew the ring away.
The man of
the sword and the gun gave his small smile again. He removed his hat to reveal
black hair. He bowed his head again.
“My name is Davis son of
Victor,” he said. His head still bowed. “Thank you for the smoke, sir”
4
The two men sat in the shade
smoking for a few minutes. The wind kicked up and brought up a new wave of
dust. Davis snubbed out the remains of his smoke and stood up. The old man did
the same. Goomy seemed to be a good enough man, simply going about his
business. But Davis hadn’t gotten this far by being careless about the people
on the road.
“Well I figure ya got some
questions for me,” Goomy said while beginning to put his things carefully back
in his pack.
“Otherwise ya woulda just walk
on by a old sleepin man”
Davis looked at Goommy
carefully. Then he simply nodded, trying to figure out the best way to ask his
questions. He put his hands on his hips.
“First, I want to know what you
are doing in the middle of the western wastelands” Davis’s face was serious.
His tone was flat and his small smile was gone.
“This is no place for a man who
has seen as many winters as you.”
“Bah.” Goomy said and waved the
question away with is hand. “Look here son. I got me some business in the
border town of Majin. I made the crossing through this here frying pan six or
seven times in ma day. And I got no doubt I make it this time too.” He thumped
his chest with a fist and smiled. Davis nodded. He had passed through the small
town of Majin on the trail of the blonde man. Stopping only long enough to
resupply.
“I’m old, yar! But I made of some tough
stuff!” As if to prove this point he slung his heavy pack over his back easily.
“Now, what ya really want to
know?”
Davis looked at this old timer
a moment longer. He admired his rough nature, and simple but direct manner.
“I’m looking for a man.”
Goomy did not seem surprised to
hear this. But still his eyes narrowed slightly and he looked back towards the
road he had come from. He looked down at the ground.
“He is a thin, blonde man, with
a deep scar in his left cheek. He and his posse set out three days before me
from Majin.”
Goomy cleared his throat. “And
what is ya business with these men?”
Davis spoke no reply, but
simply rested his hand on his revolver. Goomy nodded as if this was all the
answer he needed.
“It seems ya have closed the
distance between ya. I seen the man ya ask for. Passed that fellow and his
friends on the road not two days ago. He and his buddies had a fowl look to em
so I walked off the road and let em pass. There was four of em. And I be damned
if all four of em didn’t have guns about their hips. Ma eyes are old but their
sharp. I ain’t seen that many guns at once since I was a younger man.”
Davis nodded and now he looked
down the desert road.
“About six days to get to the
town of Lock from here” Goomy said “But I think that the Posse will get their
before ya can catch up to em.”
“I think that you are right” Davis
said and removed his hat. He turned back towards Goomy. He seemed eager to go.
And also far livelier than a man his age had any right to be. Davis had no
doubt that the man would make it Majin.
“Thank you for your help
Goomy.” Davis held out his hand to old man. His small and easy smile was back
and it might have been a little wider. “And thank you for the smoke.” Goomy
took his hand and shook it.
“Tis always good to meet decent
men on the road. Sometimes they are hard to come by.” Davis nodded and reached
into his pack and produced a gold piece. He handed it to Goomy. Goomy smiled
and bit down on the gold piece as he turned to leave.
The men walked in different
directions, but on the same road as they both left the shade of the broken cart
behind. Before they were out of sight Davis turned around to look at the old
man. Off in the distance through the waves of heat Goomy also turned. He
thumped his chest twice and headed off.
Davis walked alone down the
desert road once again. Through the wastelands and the warm desert dust. He
knows his prey is closer now. His small smile returned and his pace quickened.
5
The blonde
man followed the road east to the town of Lock. The road out of the wastelands.
With one hand he adjusted the strap around his shoulder. He traveled with three
companions.
Mercenaries.
The four men walked across the desert, hard calibers slung about their waists.
The blonde
man, whose name was Elven Greene, had paid them well and the promise of more
gold to come had kept them loyal, for the time being. The leader of the
mercenary trio was a stout man by the name of Lee. He was quiet by nature but
quick to anger if provoked. Elven had seen this first hand in a saloon back in
Majin. Lee and his mates, Waters and Grayson, had been drinking the night the
blonde man had stopped in town. He had noticed the trio right away. They
carried firearms and it was rare to see any guns that far outside of the main
provinces. Let alone three. Lee sat drinking with his mates to either side of
him. The blonde man had taken a small table in a corner.
As the night
progressed, a table of men playing cards had become rowdier and rowdier. The
drunken slurs and obscenities became louder. It wasn’t long before the fists
began to fly. In the commotion a bottle was thrown. It flew across the saloon
and struck the leg of Lee’s bar stool. The bottle shattered covering his pant leg
with draft. The fight continued at the card table and the men never noticed Lee
getting up from his stool.
He produced
a handkerchief and cleaned his pant leg. He then walked over to the card table
and drew himself up to his full height. Lee could not have been any taller than
five foot five inches. One of the brawling men caught sight of Lee and froze.
The others turned to look at him.
With one
fast and fluid motion, Lee drew his revolver and shot six times. The shots rang
like thunderclap in the small saloon. The saloon was now quiet. He returned the
gun to its holster. Six men had fallen dead. All six shot in the head. One of
them had landed on the card table. Lee grabbed the dead man by the hair and
slid his body off the table. He collected the gold and silver pieces strewn
across it. Waters and Grayson watched the ordeal with bemused expressions.
The rest of the saloon’s patrons cleared out
pretty quickly. After a few more drinks Elven had approached Lee and his mates
with a proposition. The next morning all four men set out from the small dusty
town of Majin.
The man of the gun and the sword was on his
trail and gaining every day. That cursed man had not relented in his hunt. In
their last encounter they had left their mark on each other. Although the mark
the blonde man wore was far easier to see.
As he walked
Elven adjusted the strap around his shoulder that held a long thin object to
his back. It was about the size of a broom handle and was thickly wrapped in
cotton bandages. This item had not left his side since the day his dying father
had given it to him. All those long years ago. Even when the man of the sword
and the gun had come for it and his life. He had fought that day and escaped
scarred but with his life. Elven would die before he let his father’s treasure
fall into that man’s hands. He would Kill before he let it happen.
The wind was
hot and full of dust. The four men walked on to the town of Lock. Elven had
family in this town. If he could reach the home of his cousin Lord Ted Greene, he
would finally be safe. It would finally be safe. And after so long, he could
finally rest. The blonde man stopped. Lee and his companions also stopped.
Elven looked back down the way they had come. The old cracked road stretching
behind them. The wastelands huge and empty. He saw no one.
“You hear
something?” Lee asked as he too looked around.
“No.” The
blonde man responded and began walking again. They followed
“I don’t see
anything.” His hand came up and touched the scar on his face.
He will
come, the man of the sword and the gun. Elven could feel it. Just as he could
feel him somewhere on the road gone by. Fine. Then let him come, Elven thought.
I swear by the name of my father, I will be his death.
6
For five
days Davis traveled the road at a high speed. The days were hot but he allowed
himself to drink only when absolutely necessary. He cut his mind off from the
heat and from his thirst. His prey was so close. The blonde man. When he caught
him this time there would be no running for them. There would be no mercy. He
would kill this man and follow his duty.
Davis
thought of the wizard. He of the smoke and the future. With his old, bright
blue eyes. The end of his service must be coming soon. It must be if the wizard
wants Davis and his line to continue his work. No more work for the old fortune
teller.
But this
time had not yet come. He was still on the trail of his latest prey. And Davis
son of Victor, would do his duty. Just as his father had and his father before
him. All the way back to the former king of Erebus.
Davis took
the smallest drink from his water skin. He then began to move north, away from
the road. He went north until the road was barely visible. Then he began to
move parallel to the road. His speed increasing again, he now scanned the wastelands
more carefully for signs of his prey. Davis cut himself off from all thoughts
now. All that there was in him was yearning for the coming battle. Somewhere
deep in his stomach it ached. Soon there would be gunfire and screams. Soon
there will be blood. Davis traveled alone through the empty wastelands. The
bloodlust rising in him.
7
Elven the
blonde man, woke from a kind of daze he was in. Lee or one of his companions
had said something. They had been walking through the wastelands for so long
now. The huge empty desert had dulled Elven’s mind and senses. He and his
companions had slowed down considerably in the last few days. Stopping to rest
longer and getting up later in the mornings. They had seen nothing in their
long walk through the wastelands but a single old man who would probably die on
his way to Majin. His three companions had become short tempered. Lee
especially, who had developed a slight limp a few days back. Although he would
not admit to any pain. When they had set out that morning, Waters had assured
them that they would reach the town of Lock before night fall. The irony of Waters’s name was not lost on
Elven. Their water stores were running dangerously low. As they were, they
would not have survived another three days on the road.
“What was
that?” Elven asked as he shook his head a little.
“Lock is
just up ahead.” Grayson said. Elven could hear a small amount of relief in his
voice.
Elven looked
ahead. In the distance and through waves a heat he could see small buildings
and patches of green that could only be trees. His heart jumped at the sight.
His companions straightened up a little and the pace of all four men quickened.
There, in the town there will be fresh food and a soft bed. There will be other
people. There will be protection and safety. There will be rest.
Within the
hour they were almost to the town. The great road through the wastelands did
not lead to a gate. In simply became one of the main streets of the town and
lead to the river. The river could not be seen from where they were. Too many
buildings were blocking their view. The smaller buildings of Lock stood with
their backs to the wastelands. The buildings became larger as you moved closer
to the center of the town and the river. The trees also became more common the
closer to the river you were. Near the river is where the home of Lord Ted
Greene would be. That was their first and only stop.
Elven would
pay Lee, Waters and Grayson and have them be on their way. Over the journey he
had come to dislike all three men. Especially Lee. And now it seemed that
hiring these men had been completely unnecessary.
As they
approached, the noises of the town began to fill the air. The distant sounds of
horses and the bustling town market. The smell of cooking food. Elven smiled.
He was close to the end of his long journey. His blonde hair blew in the warm
wind. He adjusted the strap on his shoulder and the four men made for the
entrance of the town with some haste.
Maybe I’ll
stop at an Inn first and wash up before going to meet Lord Greene, Elven
thought. It will not do to show up looking so unkempt. His clothes were dirty
and sweat stained and his face was red with sunburn. A quick bath and warm meal
might be in order. Lee stopped and turned.
“Before we
reach the town, I think that we should deal with our business. You contracted
us to protect you across the wastelands and we have. We would like to be on our
way.” Lee said.
Grayson and
Waters grunted their approval.
“And a hard
road it was.” Grayson said. “Maybe a little extra would-“
Grayson’s
face exploded outward in a spray of blood and bone as the sound of a gunshot
rang through the air.
8
Lee was the first to react and
was also fast on the draw.
Davis had
reached the town of Lock just a few hours before the blonde man’s group. He had
walked into town and headed to the nearest fountain. After drinking his fill he
had eaten what little food he had left in his stores. He would need his energy
for what was to come. Then after taking a short rest he headed back towards the
road out of Lock. He walked south away from the road and stopped in front of
one of the houses that had its back to the desert. Davis found a small patch of
shade with a clear view of the road. He sat, relishing the cool ease of the
shade after the harsh glare of the wasteland sun.
Davis did
not move. His breathing was slow and even. He watched the empty road to the
north with one hand on the butt of his revolver the other on the hilt of his
sword. He smiled his small smile. This hunt was at its end.
9
Davis fired.
One of the blonde man’s men fell to the hard ground. He took aim at the second
man who was standing in front of the blonde man. He was looking at his fallen
friend with a look of both confusion and shock. Davis shot him twice in the
chest. He fell, screaming. Blood began running from his mouth choking his
shrieks.
By this time the third man had drawn and was
leveling his gun at Davis. This man was short and had a limp but he was quick
on the draw.
Davis jumped
to his right and rolled against the hot ground. He was too slow. The short man
fired and the round grazed Davis’s right arm. A sharp pain shot from the wound.
Warm blood ran down his arm. Davis did not notice. Could not notice, not now.
He used the forward momentum of his roll to get to his feet and run for the
nearest building.
The blonde
man had drawn his piece. He and the short man were both firing. Davis ducked
for cover behind one of the houses. His ambush had reduced his enemies by half.
He sat and calmly reloaded his revolver. He could hear the sharp snap of the
bullets hitting the wall behind him.
Davis
counted the rounds fired carefully. He took a deep breath and stood up. Time
seemed to slow. His eyes sharpened as the world took on a bright clear shine
before his eyes.
Elven and
Lee continued to fire. Lee emptied his gun and reloaded quickly. He started
towards the house, his revolver raised in front of him. Elven followed closely.
Lee fired two more rounds into the house.
Davis jump
out from behind the wall. He sailed horizontally roaring at the top of his
lungs, with both hands on his gun. Lee was able to fire one shot. It went wild.
Davis fired twice. The first hit Lee in the cheek. The second imploded his
right eye.
Two quick
sprays of warm blood hit the blonde man who was standing directly behind Lee.
Lee’s blood covered his face and flew into his eyes. He was shooting wildly,
momentarily blinded by the blood.
Davis hit
the ground and let off another shot. This round hit the blonde man in the shin
as Lee fell to his knees then fell forward. The blonde man screamed in pain and
fell back holding his leg. The long item wrapped in bandage fell from his back.
Blood spurted from between his fingers.
Davis got to
his feet and fired a round. It struck Elven in the hand. He dropped his gun and
screamed in pain. He walked over to the two fallen men. He reloaded, his hands
moving quickly and confidently. Davis holstered his weapon and let out a long
sigh. The bright sharp quality had left his a quickly as it had come.
He looked
down at the blonde man. A scar ran down his face. The man he has been chasing
for so long. This man may even be his freedom if the wizard so chose.
“It’s over.”
Davis said.
Elven did
not look up. Davis kicked the blonde man’s revolver away from him.
“Anything
you’d like to say?” Davis asked. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt and moved it.
On his shoulder there was an old stab wound. The scar, a thin white line,
looked much like the scar on the blond man’s face.
“Fuck. You.”
Elven said looking up at Davis. The blonde man was shaking, but not with fear.
Fury burned in his eyes. He spit on Davis’s boots.
Davis drew
his sword and took a step back.
“Give it to
me.” Davis said. He used his sword to point to the object Elven had had on his
back. If the object was cursed in anyway having the blonde man give it over to
him would negate its effects.
Elven’s face
contorted into an awful smile.
“Why don’t
you just take it?” He asked. That hateful smile still on his lips. The hot
desert wind kicked up.
In one fluid
motion Davis stepped forward and buried the tip of his swords half an inch into
the blond man’s chest. He gave a single sharp cry of pain.
“I will not
ask again.” Davis said. His tone was flat and final. He drew his sword back.
Davis was
then a little surprised see tears falling from the blonde man’s eyes. His face
still full of hate.
Elven
reached back with his one good hand. His fingers paused just before touching
it. A shadow fell over his face. He grabbed the object, his hands shaking. He
brought it up but when Davis reached to take it Elven drew it back. He pressed
it against his chest like a mother protecting her child.
“I-I can’t!
I won’t give it to you. To protect it was my father’s duty! Just as it is now
my duty.” Elven sat there in the dust, covered in blood.
Davis
understood better than the blonde man would ever know. A father’s duty. Passed
on to his son. A burden that one must bear until the day his own son was ready
to take it. To lift it from his father’s shoulders and allow him to die in
peace. Oh yes, Davis understood.
But the
wizard wanted what this man had. That was all there is.
Elven bit
down on the object. Davis lowered his sword, a little confused. What the hell
is he doing?
He brought
his head back and tore off a mouthful of cotton bandage. Then another. Then
another. What was beneath the bandages was now visible. It appeared to be a
sword. Some kind of short sword. The steel of the blade was clean and bright
but broken. It came to a jagged point. The hilt was beautifully ornate, with
gold and silver inlay. It had no cross guard and a pointed pommel. The steel
shone bright.
Elven
Greene, the blonde man, grabbed it by the handle. Davis looked away as the
blade gave off a bright flash of white light. The light consumed the blonde
man. Davis took a step back. Elven got to his feet. But that was impossible.
Davis had shot him in the leg not three minutes ago. The light dissipated.
Elven stood holding the broken sword and was covered in blood. The cotton
bandages seemed to be burning at his feet. Gunshot wounds in his leg and hand
were no longer bleeding.
“Now.” The
blonde man said. His voice was no longer trembling and it had taken on a
strange new quality, as if the sound was not coming just from his mouth but
from everywhere at once.
“I will
remove your fucking head.”
10
This was no curse. The air around
the two men had taken on a strange new feeling, as if there was a low and
constant electrical charge. Davis took half a step back. The tears on Elven
Greene’s face glimmered for a moment then disappeared. The blood on him seemed
to be somehow too bright and too red. His expression also changed. The mixed
look of fear, hate and fury was replaced with a calm malicious gaze.
The two men stood for a moment. The
hot sun above, favoring them both with its constant gaze. Three dead and
bleeding men around them. Their blood spilling into the warm and unforgiving
earth.
Davis drew in a deep breath. His arm
wound still ran with blood. Blonde man stood still, holding the broken sword
almost casually. Not in a defensive posture. What the hell was this weapon? It
healed his wounds. It seemed to have done it the moment he touched it. And it
also changed him somehow. He was the same man. The same blonde hair on his head
and the same scar still ran down his cheek. But something had changed. His posture. His expression. That was not
the look of a man who is about to die. It also wasn’t the look of a man who is
going into a conflict where the result is uncertain. His look was focused,
sharp and fierce. The look of a predator.
The broken sword had made him more dangerous. That was clear.
The muscles in Davis’ right arm tensed then relaxed. He was going to end this
quickly. He did not want to see what other kind of tricks that sword had.
Davis moved. His hand blurred. In one sharp and smooth action
he drew his big revolver and fired. He did this with the speed and practiced
aim of a true gunslinger. The shot rang out. There was a flash of steel and a
sharp whine.
Davis’ eyes grew wide. He took another step back. The barrel
of his revolver lowered slightly. The round should have hit the blonde man
about an inch above his right eye. He should be dead.
The bright blade of the sword was now held out in front of
the blonde man’s face. A small wisp of smoke rose from where the round had hit.
There the bullet had left no mark.
That was impossible. At this range? No man was fast enough to
stop a round with his sword. No man. Had he even seen the blade move? No. Just
a flash of the steel. Davis had been trained in his father’s arts. To have eyes
that saw every small movement and detail. Yet he had not seen the blade move. The
blonde man smiled as he lowered the sword again. Impossible. It just had to be.
Davis roared as he raised his weapon to fire again. The
blonde man moved, his steps so quick and sure. One shot flew by where Elven had
been a split second before. Another sailed past his head as he ducked. A third
shot, which should have hit him dead in the center of his chest, gave a sharp,
metallic snap as it was deflected by the blade. The broken sword came down in a
wide arch before Davis could fire another round. The blade of the sword bit
into the steel of the revolvers cylinder. The gun was ripped out of Davis’ hand
by the force of the strike. His revolver, a weapon that had been his companion
for many years, fell to the dirt, a jumbled and broken mess. Davis brought his
own sword back to strike, but before he could do more the blonde man spun
around and kicked him square in his chest. Davis was lifted into the air by the
force of the kick.
He hit the hard ground
with his back several feet from where he had stood. His hat flew from his head
and his sword rolled out his hand. Davis gave a loud cry of pain as his hands
went to his chest. The force of the blow had broken two of his ribs. The pain
in his chest was agonizing. His breathing became shallow. He cried out. The
pain became more intense every time he breathed out. He looked up. The blonde
man was coming. The broken sword in his hand.
Davis rolled to his stomach and tried to stand. The pain in
his chest came to a sharp and intense pitch and he could not breathe. He got to
his feet. Elven Greene was looking at him smiling fiercely.
“I am going to take your head off and feed it to the crows.”
The blonde man said with a perverse joy in his voice. He lifted his arms to
gesture at the sky.
“You hear me you piece of shit? The fucking crows!” He
laughed as he approached. That hollow voice coming from all around. With some
effort Davis reached down and retrieved his sword. His black hair blew in the
warm wind. The wind had taken his hat and claimed it as its own. He tried to
slow his breathing. Sweat stood out on his face.
Elven came within strike range. Davis blocked out the pain.
He roared as he swung his blade, meaning to decapitate his enemy. Elven parried
the attack easily. Davis brought his sword back around.
Elven caught Davis’ sword hand by the wrist. His grip was impossibly
strong. Davis tried to break free. The blonde man twisted his wrist back. Davis
cried out in pain and rage, his sword dropped again. Elven grabbed Davis by his
shirt collar and pulled his torso down. He brought his knee up and it struck
Davis in his face. Davis staggered back as warm blood spurted from his nose.
The pain in his chest cried out louder than ever. Davis was
having trouble breathing now. His vision became momentarily blurry and dull. He
bent slightly. The pain in his chest brought him back fully. His vision
cleared.
Elven Greene began to laugh. He took several steps back.
“Is this it? After all this time? After trying to kill me in
my own home? After trying to take my father’s treasure? Is this all that you
can do!?” He feigned an exaggerated look of disappointment. Then he laughed
again. His voice all the while retaining that hollow sound, as if it were being
yelled down a long stone hallway. It seemed to come from all around Davis.
Davis spat the blood from his mouth and picked up his sword
again. To his left was the body of Lee, lying face down in the dirt. The blood had
pooled around his head forming a halo of dark earth. The world started to go
blurry again. He hit himself in the chest with the hilt of his sword. The pain
brought everything into clear focus.
Davis ran at Elven, his sword drawn back. The blonde man
smiled and raised his weapon. Before Davis came into range of the broken sword
he slid to a stop and jumped to his left. Davis reached out and grabbed Lee’s
revolver. He hit the ground and rolled, nearly stabbing himself in the stomach
with his own sword.
Davis brought the gun up and fired two rounds in quick
succession. The first was dodged with that same inhuman speed. The second
bounced off the broken blade as he closed the distance.
Elven gave a loud
echoing scream as he thrust. The jagged, broken tip of the blade entered Davis’
shoulder not far from the scar the blonde man had left him before. Davis let
out a wail of pain as his blood splattered onto the blonde man’s hand. The pain
in his shoulder dwarfed the pain in his chest. Blood spurted as the broken
blade withdrew. Davis fell to his knees before Elven Green the blonde man.
11
This is it. This was the end. The world grew dim and dull
around him. The words of the blonde man were far and distant. He could feel the
hard earth beneath his knees and the sweat on his face but nothing else.
This was death.
Davis heard a sound he
had not heard in so many years. Clear and real as the desert in which he knelt.
It was a soft rustle and the calm whistle of wind. A cool autumn
breeze blowing gently threw the upper wheat fields. He saw it now. The golden
waves of the swaying wheat. The clean and clear and bright blue sky. His
father, Victor Lawliet Alaric, stood by the field. He had seemed so tall to a
young Davis. His black hair blew in the breeze. Davis had run to him. His
father had picked him up so easily and sat his young son on his shoulder. He
heard his father’s voice then. So clear and so strong. Indeed, it had carried
across the endless miles and harsh years.
“Davis.” There was a small smile on his father’s face.
“Yes da?”
“Where do we come from?”
Davis recited his lesson. He knew it well.
“We are sons born from the line of Alaric.”
“Yes Davis.” His father paused. He brought Davis off his
shoulder and put him down. Then he kneeled to be at eye level with his young
son.
“We come from a noble bloodline. From a line of kings. The
kings and their kingdoms are far gone, but their line remains. It lives in us. And it will continue through you my son.”
Victor Alaric smiled. The golden field rustled and swayed again.
“When you are trained, my work will be finished. You will
take the burden of the oath we swore so long ago. In your time you may stumble,
you may doubt and you may fall. But you will bear the burden and all the
suffering and pain that follows.” He kissed his son’s forehead and put his hand
on his head.
“You will bear it because in your veins flows the blood of a
king. You will bear it because you are my
son.”
Victor spoke
with certainty in his heart and in his eyes. There was no doubt in him. There
was only faith. Faith in his son. Faith in what he would do and who he would
become.
“Yes da.”
Tears had run down Davis’ young smiling face. This was the
moment. Just before his fifth winter. This was the moment Davis Lawliet Alaric, son of Victor and decedent of kings
accepted his duty.
Through whatever pain may come Davis would do his duty.
12
Davis roared into the dusty sky. His cry was long and true.
He willed the dull, fading world around him back into focus. The pain returned
to him in a single wave. His shoulder was bleeding. His nose and several of his
ribs were broken.
Davis forced himself back to his feet. Blood flowed freely
down his shirt. Elven looked back at his opponent in disbelief. He had turned
and had begun to walk away after Davis had fallen. The broken sword still in
his hand, its presence strong.
“How?” Seemed to be all he could articulate.
Davis tightened his grip on his weapons. The broken sword had
made the blonde man strong and inhumanly fast. He seemed to be able to stop
bullets with only his sword. Davis’ skills as a gunslinger and swordsman had
been rendered useless. This was a fight he could not win. The blonde man was
going to kill him. Davis smiled. His smile was fierce and unafraid. He raised
his sword and pointed it at the blonde man.
“You want my head? Then come and fucking get it.”
13
The blonde man turned to face Davis. The air was hot and
every breeze was full of dust. Davis swayed a little on his feet. He was
acutely aware that he was probably going to die soon. Hell, he may already be
dying. The amount of blood he was losing from his shoulder wound was startling.
Davis stood his ground. He was not afraid. If this was
finally his moment to die he would go fighting.
Elven smiled. His snarl revealing too much of his teeth. He
raised the broken sword, mirroring Davis’s stance.
This was it, the end. Davis didn’t have much strength left. It
required an enormous force of will just to keep his sword up. His hand had
begun to tremble.
The blonde man’s malicious smile widened when he saw this.
This made him look quite insane.
“Well, what know?” Elven asked.
Davis had no answer. He cocked his revolver. Elven took a step
forward. Davis nearly stumbled taking a step back. The steel of the broken
blade flashed.
With blurred speed the blonde man moved to the left. Davis’s
gun hand followed with nearly the same inhuman speed. He was operating purely
on instinct now. There was no time to think. Davis stayed his hand. He didn’t
fire. Greene moved, closing the distance and raised the broken sword. Its blade
shone brilliantly. Davis drew back his own sword. His revolver still leveled.
Davis and Elven thrust their blades forward at the same
moment. Each man aiming for the other man’s heart. The broken blade moved far
too fast. Too fast to even see. In the split moment before the broken blade
entered Davis’s chest he fired the final shot. The Revolver roared, aimed
directly at Elven’s face.
The broken blade moved to stop the round. So fast. Not even a
blur of steel this time. The round should have struck just above the blonde
man’s right eye. Instead it made a loud metallic snapping sound as it bounced
off the broken blade.
The moment the round ricocheted Davis’s blade entered the
Blonde man’s chest. His strike was fast and true. The broken blade flashed once
more. It came down on Davis’s blade, shattering it. Davis fell back.
14
It was too late. Elven Greene looked down in horror. Four
inches of Davis’s sword were buried in his chest. Two more inches of blade were
sticking out like a metal tongue. He took a step back.
With a great effort Davis sat up, the broken remains of his
own sword still in his hand. Elven took another step back. A strange, low
gurgling sound now coming from him. As Davis stood up he dropped Lee’s empty
revolver. He brought his hand up to this shoulder wound and nearly screamed as
he applied pressure. He pressed his palm firmly against the open wound.
The blonde man looked at him. He looked at Davis’s broken
sword, the expression of horror still on his face. He stepped back again and
tried to raise his weapon. He couldn’t.
His arm fell to his side and the broken sword slipped from
his fingers. The weapon fell to the hot dirt.
The moment the sword had left his hand the wound in the
blonde man’s chest started bleeding, darkening his shirt. He coughed and blood
began to spill from his mouth.
“How… did-?” Elven asked, coughing blood. His hand came up to
touch the blade protruding from his chest. The horror on his face now mixed
with pain and fear. His voice no longer hollow. No longer coming from
everywhere.
Davis did not answer. His own breathing was now shallow and
labored. He had been right. This was the end. After so long, the hunt was
finally over.
The two men stood facing each other. Alone in the wastelands.
The town of Lock at their back. The hot breeze swelled for a moment and then
receded. The relentless sun above looking down at them both. The face of the
blonde man cleared. The look of pain seemed to drain away. He looked at Davis
for a long moment. No anger in his eyes. Or hate or malice. There was nothing
but his gaze. Steady in this heat.
The blonde man fell back. A small plume of dust rose as he
hit the hard ground. He lay there in a widening pool of his own blood. His eyes
looked absently up at
the sky. Elven Greene was dead.
Davis let out a sigh. The pain made it hard to breath. The
sweat against his forehead felt cold. Finally over. Finally done. He was dying.
But at least now in death he would be free of the wizard. At least there was
that. He gave his small smile at the thought. He dropped his shattered sword.
His bloody hand fell from his shoulder.
Davis looked up at the sky. It is vast, with not a cloud to
break up its blue emptiness. The sun beats down relentlessly. He falls forward,
onto the hard ground. He passes into a darkness. And in the darkness he can
hear his father’s voice.
15
Far above and to the north of the town of Lock, an eagle
soars. Its large and powerful wings catch the thermals and propel him upward
with almost no effort. Its dark, golden feathers glint in the harsh glow of the
desert sun. His gaze is sharp and his eyes see far. In the distance there is a
bull grazing in a small patch of yellow grass near a solitary house in the
outskirts of Lock. Being so near a town is dangerous. But the eagle is hungry.
And a predator will not be denied its prey.
The eagle beats its massive wings and shifts its tail to
change its direction. It then folds its wings and dives. It cuts easily through
the hot dusty air. Like a giant feathery bullet it finds its mark. At the last
it opens its wings and flashes its talons. The long, black blades sink into the
tough neck of the bull. The eagles weight drives the bull to the ground. It
sinks its talons deeper. The bull is dead before it knows what hit it.
The eagle begins to eat its catch. Tearing strips of beef
using its curved, razor sharp beak. Hearing the commotion the man in the house
comes out. Crossbow in hand. The eagle looks at the man wearily. As he
approaches the great bird opens its wings and lets out a piercing shriek. A
warning. The old farmer is stunned. He hasn’t seen an eagle that big since he
was a small boy, hiking through the mountains with his father. There had been
more eagles back then.
The farmer moved away. The bull had been about ready for
slaughtering anyway and it was a little too big for the eagle to carry it home.
He would let the eagle eat its fill and fly away. He would then skin the bull,
gut it and cure the meat. It would be worth it just to watch this giant animal
for a little while. The man sat, remembering tales of the first settlers to
come out of the main provinces into the wastelands. Back then, every so often
an eagle would swoop down and snatch up an unsuspecting traveler off the road,
leaving behind nothing more than a pack or a shoe or a wagon. Great winged
devils they had called them. Eventually, almost all had been hunted down and
killed. The only surviving eagles had been driven into the mountains. Sometimes
a winged devil egg would be found and large parties and celebrations would be
held. With giant omelets as the center piece of the feast. It would take three
strong men to flip the oversized omelet in a skillet nearly the size of a small
bathtub. The last such party had been before the old famers time. But everyone
liked to tell the stories.
These gold eagles were a little bigger than the white eagles
of the old kingdoms. But, unlike those, the gold eagles could not be trained to
carry a man. They were to smart. They were dangerous. As far as the farmer
knew, no man had ever ridden a gold eagle. Although many had tried and more
than a few had had their eyes pecked out or worse.
The great bird ate its fill. After it was done it looked at
the old man. It seemed to be considering him. Then after a moment it beat its
great wings and once more took to the sky. It used the rising warm air of the
thermals to gain altitude easily and headed for its home. The old farmer
watched it until it was gone from sight. He smiled.
He stood, produced a knife and, still smiling, walked over
and got to work skinning the bull. It looked like steak for dinner tonight.
16
The folken of Lock were early risers. With most of the towns
people were up and challenging the day an hour before sunrise. This was the
time the people used to get to their various chores. The women of the house
would fetch water from the nearest well or the great Prometheus River itself. Then
start on making breakfast. The men used this time to cut a few cords of wood
for the breakfast fire, feeding the livestock and then get ready for work. The hour
before the rising of the sun was the coolest of the day and the people took
full advantage of it. For even a few minutes after sunrise the sun would cover
the town with its unrelenting heat. While the town of Lock was not large, it
was fairly prosperous considering its location so near the wasteland. Yet Lock
was not wanting for trade. Great merchant ships sailed up and down the river.
And the ports of Lock had long been a favorite with its saloons and
whorehouses.
Far to the south, well past the wastelands, the Prometheus
emptied into the great Gulf of Susanoo. There where the great river and ocean
meet were the great farming and ranching provinces. A loose affiliation of towns,
the largest of which was called Torren. Torren itself was one of the last remnants
of the old kingdoms.
To the north of Lock of course were the Stair Blade
Mountains. Their peaks were perpetually snowcapped and notoriously steep. Though
the range was small it was practically impassable on foot. One would have to go
around the jagged peaks for days. And these roads were dangerous. Only one of
every three men makes it around the Stair Blades. On all maps of these roads
there is a small feather symbol. A sigul that means “There be eagles here.” The Prometheus cuts through the mountain range
almost straight down the middle, taking millions of years to create a vast canyon
system through the range. Travelers and traders took this path gladly.
Far to the north, along the Prometheus, where the orchards
and Green Hills of Pelennor. The Prometheus broke off into smaller rivers and
small towns dotted the landscape along these. These were tree farmer folk who
grew apple for graph.
And further north along the great river was the vast city of Verdurous.
It was once the capital of one of the old Kingdoms. It’s long past line of
kings were legend, as was the city itself. This city was still the largest in
this old world, visited once by the Old Gods. Verdurous stood at the foot of
the Great Northern Mountain Ranges and near the birthplace of the Prometheus
River. The river itself was born from the snow melt of these mountains. Dragons
and Wolves roamed the high peaks of these ranges still. The City of Verdurous stood
next to the river with its back to the mountains. Surrounding the city to the
south were miles of fertile farmland. The city itself was the economic and
cultural center of the known world.
This was where the town of lock stood, in the center of the
wastelands by the river Prometheus. A trading point between the farmers and
ranchers to the south and the vast city to the north. Travel up and down the
river was safe, easy and relatively cheap. If you lived near the river you needn’t live
your entire life in one town. Therefore travelers were not given a second look
in the town of Lock. Usually.
Chapter 2: The wolf and the Wizard
1
Early one morning a small trading ship called the Frak pulled
into one of west docks. It had great tan sails and had come from the south. It carried
herbs and spices which the captain of the ship, Mikey Sturns, was hoping to
trade for tobacco seeds. He could have traded his goods, mostly pepper and ginger;
in the southern provinces for the tobacco seed. But he could get a far better
price in Lock. And also far better tobacco seed. Good tobacco, a rarity in the
south these days, was at a premium. Therefore prime choice ‘bacco seed from
Lock itself would be worth a fair bit of coin.
Captain Mikey was in the business of making money. And most
of his interests were in his business. He was a self-made man! He had worked
his way from the bottom to the top! At least, this was what he liked to tell
anyone who would listen. Mikey had started at the bottom. That much was true. He
had started as a deck hand on a livestock freighter at the ripe old age of
fourteen. He had been raised by his aunt and uncle and they used him mostly for
labor. Their own private slave he had been since his father had died when he
was four and the barren bitch could not give his uncle any children. Mikey had
put up with this until he turned fourteen and simply left his uncle’s home and
service one night. He had found work on the freighter six days later and they
had offered him two silvers a week plus food and a young Mikey Sturns had taken
it gladly. He had never had much more than a few coppers to his name and two
silver coins seemed an enormous sum to the boy. Of course there had been a
reason for the good pay.
Mikey’s first real job had been as a shit-tosser aboard The
Frakker. The Frakker transported livestock from the southern ranches, up
Prometheus to Lock. There, the livestock, usually steer sometimes horses, where
sold and unloaded. Mikey’s job on the Frakker was to bring hay from the storage
compartments of the ship for the stock to eat. Then he was to shovel the manure
produced into a separate compartment. This manure was sold off after the
livestock was sold. It was used as fertilizer for the great gardens of Lock.
So for two years Mikey Sturns shoveled shit and at the end of
each week the two silvers did seem like a perfectly reasonable wage. During
these two years he had had many firsts. He had had his first woman. One silver
bought you a whole night with one of the port whores. And not one of the dirty
fat whores either. He had also had his first drink. One silver was more than
enough to keep a man in drinks for a few days. But for the most part Mikey
saved his money. After his time as a shit-tosser he became a ship hand for the
Frakker. Then years later the first mate onboard that very ship. Although not
long after he bought a small trading ship of his own and left the Frakker.
He had felt a small pull of sadness leaving the Frakker. It had
become a home to him, manure smell and all. And he had also met a lot of decent
men in his time aboard that ship. But his saving had paid off. He had bought
his small boat, become its captain and named it the Frak, in honor of his first
real home. Now after a few years of trading he almost had enough money to buy a
freighter of his own. And with a freighter comes the big trading and of couse
the big money.
The night before Captain Mikey Sturns set off on what he
thought of as the spice-tobacco run up the Prometheus he was approached with an
offer. The man making the offer had blonde hair and on his back was a long
object wrapped in bandages.
