Bullets were snapping through the wooden railing now, splintering and tearing. Artor glanced up at the balloon of the aership. He could see grazes and dents in the thick canvas, and he hoped none of them were holes.

Two of the freed slaves were dead, and two more had been wounded. Whenever one of them tried for the burner to try and get them clear, they took fire.

“How many rifles have we got?” Artor shouted to Eganon.

“Not enough.” The young man’s face was grim, set and ready. Ready to die, maybe. He wasn’t much older than Artor, and he was ready to die.

Artor wasn’t. Not by a long shot. He peered through one of the bullet holes, out at the settlement. The brigands were starting to approach them across the dock, not quickly, but leisurely. The outcome was a foregone conclusion, and with the amount of fire coming from the ruins of the hall that had dominated the town, no slave could afford to get up and fire at them.

“They’re about fifty yards away.” Artor looked down at the glass bottle in his hand, full of burner fuel that was also soaking the rag stuffed into the neck. Without the burner he had no way to light it … but maybe he could manage it before they killed him.

Eganon wiped the sweat from his top lip and gave a short, sharp sigh. “I’ll take that and throw it. Stay down.”

He reached for the bottle, but Artor snatched it away. “Wait!”

“If we don’t do it now, the rest of us don’t have a chance! Those aerships will run the other two down!”

“Just wait! Wait for the bounty hunter!”

Eganon bared his teeth in fury. “You said he wasn’t coming!”

“He’s not …” Artor felt a strange lump form in his throat, that he was surprised Rand Irellian had earned in his heart. “He’s not coming … bu-”

A deafening boom and a flash of orange fire drew Artor’s eye back to the bullet hole. Debris began clattering against the aership’s hull and bouncing off the balloon.

One of the huts, to the right of the ruined hall, was ablaze, a cloud of black smoke belching into the cavern and creeping towards the open aer. As the brigands stumbled from the shock and turned to it, Artor pushed off the railing and bolted for the burner.

He skidded in a dead man’s blood and one knee scraped on the deck. His feet scrabbled for purchase on the wet planks, but he made it two more yards towards the burner before the ground was good enough to push up from. By the time he reached it, the gunfire was beginning to ring out again.

He twisted the valve, and the flame tripled in size. Two bullets whizzed past him as he felt the deck lurch upwards, and he threw himself down again.

“We’re off! Who’s on the helm?”

Eganon glanced around at the rest of the terrified and injured men on the deck, and gritted his teeth. He ran, bent double, as more bullets cracked into the hull and the railing of the aership. “Light that firebomb!”

Artor stood slowly, but shrank again as more bullets zipped past his head. He tried to breathe, but his chest was too tight, tighter than a bandage around a wound. Were those tears in his eyes? He wiped them away as quickly as he could, before anyone could see them. There was no time for tears.

He held his breath, and reached up with the bottle. He touched the rag in the neck to the flame. It caught the soaked oil instantly.

Artor bolted for the railing. The three remaining aerships sat below, one large and two smaller, waiting for their crews to board them and chase down the fleeing slaves.

He cocked his arm back to throw, and a bullet punched through his chest.

Artor almost fell. His grip on the railing was the only thing that kept him upright. He couldn’t breathe anymore. There was blood in his throat.

No, no, not yet. He couldn’t die yet. He set his jaw, gritted his bloody teeth, and threw the bottle with all the force he could muster.

The force he put into his arm pitched him half-over the railing. He clung on with his left hand, and craned his neck up.

The bottle shattered on the top deck of the closest aership, right on top of the fuel barrels, catching them alight. The fuel they had let out, pooling around the base of the cylinders, quickly caught as well.

Eganon guided their aership through the cavern mouth, pursued by round after round of relentless gunfire from the brigands. As they were halfway out, the first of the three docked craft ignited in a fireball so intense it seemed to overtake every bullet. The flames licked the hull and the balloon, and as Eganon started descending to move out of range of the cannons, the second docked craft exploded.

When the third went up, Artor felt himself begin slipping. His feet left the deck and his belt slipped free of the edge of the railing.

His chest heaved as he let out a series of hacking coughs. Blood dripped from his mouth and into the aer, where it quickly dropped out of sight. Artor stared after it, and into infinity.

The sky didn’t stop. Up, down, left, right, it was just sky and rocks as far as he could see. The incoming night began darkening the violet sky into a deep blue and black. Those star-things the bounty hunter talked about were beginning to twinkle above him.

He slipped further. Where would he land when he went over? Would he even land?

He imagined what he might pass on the way down. Flights of dragons gliding along the paths of rocks. Storms ripping through the wilderness. The cities he had heard about from traders that stretched for miles and miles. Water … water like the stretch of it he’d seen from the Scythe, blue and endless, droplets hitting his face. Maybe he’d land in one of those. He hoped so.

Or maybe … maybe he could just fly forever.

He slipped again, and kept slipping.

Then a hand wrapped tightly around his ankle. Another, further up his leg. And they were dragging him up and away from death.

Eganon and another man laid him down on the deck. Eganon twisted his head around. “Jon, get below and find a blanket!”

Artor grabbed him. “Nokturn Isle. Head … for Nokturn … Isle.”

Eganon nodded. “You’ve got to get us there. You remember?”

“I … think so.”

“Alright. Hold on, yeah? None of us are doctors, so I hope you know one.”

Artor hurt with every breath in and out. He could still taste blood in the back of his throat. Something inside him was broken. But he was alive, and that meant he could give it back.

He looked back at the fang of rock, where fire still licked from the cave mouth. Rand was silent. Still there, trapped. Alive?

He wanted to go back, but it would have meant his death, and everyone else’s.

“I’m coming back,” he hissed through his teeth. “I’ll make Garik come back.”

A blanket was thrown over him by a shadow, and the shadow that threw it cradled his head and tipped a water skin into his mouth. Despite the warmth of the covering, his body still felt cold.

“Come on,” the man said from above him. “Let’s get you below before night falls.”

***

Lord Gourvan stepped over the charred bodies around what was left of the blacksmith’s forge. He could tell who was who easily. The Spiral told him.

None of the bodies belonged to any of his veterans, or anyone of particular consequence. No, here was someone. Grilla. A decent fighter. Someone who certainly earned her place from his bed up to being one of his generals.

One of many who had, and many who could. And in death, she had given him the key to spreading the Spiral’s will across the broken world where life still stubbornly clung.

Her body was charred like the others, but thin and skeletal, with a jagged cut across the dry, crispy skin around her throat. Too dry. As if all the moisture had been sucked out of her.

She was tangled with another body, one that was burned, with clothes that were stained with blood where they weren’t burned beyond use. The coat he wore was now an ashen, hole filled mess. His hat was on the floor next to him, half-destroyed, and his hair was almost all burned away from the back of his head. Half of his face was charred, not completely black, but black in red rimmed patches.

Gourvan knelt beside him. He closed his eyes, and the Spiral wove around his inner-ear to strengthen his hearing.

He smiled. The breathing from the wounded man was ragged and drawn, so faint that one of his men would doubtless have thrown him over the side of the island, mistaking him for a corpse.

He stood again, and smiled down at his fellow Dae Rauko. His fellow chosen … chosen by something that lesser men called a demon. The Spiral was no demon. It was a god. The last god.

Gourvan looked around at the men who were waiting for him around the ruins of the blacksmiths shop. His mouth pulled into a smile.

“Find me a few of your less valuable slaves. I need blood. Lots of blood.”

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Lord Gourvan stood up from his throne of bones, his eyes never leaving Rand’s. Shadow seemed to wrap around his limbs, passing into his veins and turning them black as coal. His mouth parted and widened into a toothy smile, and he stepped slowly towards the edge of the stage.

Staying wouldn’t lead to anything good. Rand pulled back from the gap in the wall and started climbing down.

“Leaving so soon?”

“Leaving so soon?”

Rand’s muscles went rigid. The darkness had spoken, but at the same time, syllable by syllable, someone else had. The voice was warm, friendly and welcoming, greeting Rand as it would an old friend.

The music in the hall stopped abruptly. The chatter and moan of the hall’s occupants died away, became murmurs, then became silence.

“It seems we have a guest.” Gourvan’s voice, soft as it was, filled every corner of the hall. “Snipers, give him a proper welcome.”

Shards of wood exploded into Rand’s face, and the crack of rifles pummelled his ears. He glanced down. The drop was about thirty feet down. No choice.

Rand let go as sawdust and splinters rained down on his head. A ricochet caught him in the shoulder half a second before he landed, and the impact snapped his ankle like a twig.

He grimaced against the searing heat of pain. Sheer willpower mixed with adrenalin carried him on as he edged along the wall, which seemed to close in on him.

“He’s in the wall. The space between the wood and stone. Check for him in the windows.”

Rand grimaced. The only way out was in, or through those windows.

When he called upon his senses, augmented by the traitor in his head, he felt its cold, dark amusement at the request.

“Enjoying the show, are we?” Rand hissed. “Why don’t you help me so it gets a little more interesting?”

The cold chuckle vibrated through his body, and he suddenly noticed every individual grain in the wood before him, and every breath from the brigands on the other side of the wall.

He sent a tether out, searching for Artor in the bay. The young man’s familiar anxiety drew the tether like a dog to a piece of bacon.

Time to leave.

Oh no. Stay a while.

The voice filled Rand’s mind so quickly it made him dizzy, and sent bolts of lightning from ear to ear.

He re-established the tether to Artor. Now! Go now!

From outside, a volley of muffled cannonfire rumbled, shaking the walls in front and behind him, both wood and stone. Rand dropped so he was crawling on his side, and made his way along the wall, looking for a gap that could lead inside. The occasional shot snapped into the wall at head height, but for a couple of minutes, they were all silenced.

Then they resumed in thunderous alternating volleys from the second floor and the roof, aiming out at the bay. The response from Artor’s men made the world shatter all over again.

The cascade of blasts were instantly followed by a rain of iron, stone and wood. Rand felt the impact in his teeth, and he instinctively covered his head. Heat sucked away the air, before it rushed back filled with dust. A chunk of stone crashed into his back and shattered his right shoulder blade and collarbone. Broken planks eagerly followed, covering him from head to toe.

He heard screams and moans of pain, but heard nothing at all from Gourvan or his dark passenger.

Rand crawled forwards through the rubble and glanced up, putting his hat back on. It seemed the entire front of the hall had been peppered with cannon shot, and fortified as it was, a good amount of it still stood firm. However, it had been breached in enough places to let in the waning, violet daylight. Parts of the upper floor had caved in, and beneath those particular breaches, blood became a prominent part of the debris.

Some of the brigands had been reduced to little more than unrecognisable viscera by the impacts. Others could be identified as human by what was left, but they were of no use to Rand. It was only when he came to one still breathing that he acted, and he wouldn’t have been breathing for much longer.

The stocky man had been blown in half, and only shock still had him alive. Rand opened his palm on the edge of his sword, and grabbed onto the ugly wound that had replaced the brigand’s legs and groin.

Rand watched carefully around him as the dying man’s blood rushed into his body, and his broken bones snapped back together. Most of the wounded and dazed paid him no mind. Easy targets, but there was a time and a place for easy targets.

Rand made for the nearest breach and rolled out of the wreckage. The brigands around him were coming to their senses, dragging each other up and snatching for any discarded weapon they could find.

If they noticed him, they had their own priorities that superseded his presence. Nobody took a shot as he wove from wreckage to platform, and into the hail of gunfire vibrating the air.

Three of the brigand aerships had been boarded, and flurries of gunfire snapped back and forth from their decks to the rest of the settlement. One of them had taken off already, floating towards the daylight. The crossfire cannons in the cave mouth were shattered and burning. Rand could see some of the slaves laying in their own blood on the two ships that were still in their moorings.

He took stock quickly. The balloons on the two still on the ground were inflating, and vulnerable. No doubt they had already been breached, but they would be able to sustain some damage from small-arms fire. Still, they needed pressure taking off them.

He unslung Ksenia’s rifle and looked around at the hall of debauchery. Men were returning to the windows, armed and aiming from their elevated position. Great burned holes were in the wall, and smoke bled from the breaches. The men on the roof were already firing.

Rand scoped in on one of them, who was bringing a rifle to bear, and sent a shot cracking through his chest. Immediately after, as the man fell, he vaulted the railing ahead of him and onto the lower platform. When he landed, he opened the chamber in the rifle and loaded in a new round from his belt. After edging along the platform a few feet, he straightened, aiming upwards. He picked out a new target in a quarter of a second, and sent a bullet that shattered his cranium. Another bullet, another shift along the platform behind the railing, and again Rand fired up at the roof. One more, and he had most of the attention of the brigands up there, and rounds began to snap into the wood and stone of the platform and the ground beyond it.

He tethered to Artor, who was still on the ground, in the left-most aership. You’d better do what we discussed sooner rather than later. Don’t worry about me.

He bolted at that, aiming for the wooden buildings to the right of the damaged hall. A second behind him came a torrent of lead and black powder, tearing through the air and splintering the ground behind him. Shots cracked into the wall ahead as he dived behind it, and he spun, aiming across the cavern at the men sending volleys towards the aerships, who were using the tunnel that Rand and Artor had come from as cover. That meant that his route to the Scythe was cut off.

Well, he had already doomed himself to remain here. Why let off the pressure now?

He sent three shots into the men there, aiming upwards to compensate for the pull of the Core, and felled two of them. The pressure kept them back for long enough that the second aership’s balloon inflated enough for it to lift off.

“Keep firing,” Rand growled. “What are you waiting for?”

As he tethered to Artor, the thread was snatched in the air, and ripped somewhere else. Rand lost his balance and his back struck the wall hard enough to wind him. It felt like part of his brain was being pulled on a hook and thread.

It told me you were coming.

Rand slid down to the floor, panting. I hope it didn’t sell me short.

That remains to be seen. It didn’t tell me you were so naïve. You didn’t really believe you were the only one, did you?

Rand screwed his eyes shut, trying to withdraw the tether, but it was stuck fast. The stench of the burning fields rumbled from his memory and choked his throat. With a clench of his teeth, he cut the tether from his mind completely. The stench of smoke cleared from his nose, and he snatched up the rifle.

The footsteps were so close that he didn’t need his senses to be heightened. He spun as the first brigand rounded the corner, and squeezed the rifle’s trigger. The bullet sent the man tumbling into the brigand rushing up behind him, and gave Rand the precious second he needed to throw the rifle through the hut’s window and draw his first two pistols.

The next shot took a brigand in the forehead, and freed up a hand for Rand to switch to a fresh pistol and jump through the portal into a lamp-lit smith’s. The single, wide room was deserted, many of its rudimentary gas lamps off and hiding every detail in shadow. The respite left him space to sweep up the rifle, sling it, and duck behind the unlit forge that dominated the room.

The door blasted inwards a moment later, and Rand met it with lead. The kicker and the man behind him were wounded by the shots, and their howls of pain were enough to distract, their stumbles enough to bar the door long enough for him to circle the forge and draw his sword. Close quarters demanded no less.

The first one to come in ran straight into the blade, and Rand opened him from navel to throat. The next lost his head. The next barrelled in as another tried to climb through the window, only for Rand to relieve the first of his hatchet and throw it into the second’s face. He ducked a punch in reply and kicked him into another man coming through the door, before realising his position. While he was stuck in a smith’s workshop, he was leaving the aership and Artor vulnerable.

Most likely, that was the point.

He glanced around the workshop as he repositioned. The oil would be flammable, but where was it?

He spied and smelled four barrels of it in the corner near a rack of bolts, preparing himself as he glided across the floor to intercept the brigands coming in. As he deflected a sword swing and parried it, he snatched one of the lanterns from beside the door.

A pistol barrel poked through the window, and he spotted it too late. The flash of fire and smoke brought a flash of pain in Rand’s gut. He felt things tear within him that shouldn’t, and it kicked him backwards.

A bald brigand woman, spiral tattoo dancing with the shadows, ducked through the door, her eyes alight at Rand’s wound. She lunged with an axe, tight in both hands, stained teeth bared.

Rand slid aside, but not quick enough. The head bit into his shoulder, and the momentum of it spun him around. He had enough clarity to move his sword up into the swing, and the edge sliced through the woman’s neck, splattering scarlet all over the room, sending droplets hissing into the cooling forge.

The cut wasn’t deep enough to kill, and that was the second mistake. Another brigand charged through the door behind Rand, and drove a dirk between his ribs.

Rand kicked back, feeling more of his insides snap and tear, but now a third brigand was inside. A fourth. Lunging for him.

He stumbled away from them, and clutched the lantern preciously in his left hand. A fifth pirate burst into the smith, and another posted up at the window with a rifle, aiming in at him.

Rand drew one of his last two pistols and squeezed the trigger. The flash of black powder sent a momentary glow over the next two brigands that crowded through the door, and the five already rushing around the forge towards him.

He had no idea if he was going to survive what he was about to do. The only hope was that the distraction would be enough for Artor to escape.

He drew his last pistol and swung it around at the brigands, all of them. It gave them a moment of hesitation, before the bleeding woman lunged mockingly, laughing through the blood in her mouth.

Rand grinned at her and spat. Her face twisted and she swung towards him again.

He grabbed the shaft of her axe and pulled her into him. The second she was in range he broke her nose with his forehead, and as her eyes glazed, shoved her face into the bullet wound in his chest.

At the same time he snapped his last shot into the nearest oil barrel. The grey-black fluid inside began glugging out onto the floor where it spattered into a rapidly growing pool.

Rand ignited the lantern. The light captured the sudden realisation on the face of every brigand, before all of them bolted too-late for the door.

The woman in his arms was already shuddering as what was left of her blood was stolen. Rand was going to need it.

He smashed the lantern into the pool of oil, and the fluid ignited.

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The music rang in Rand’s ears, so much so that it completely drowned out Artor’s voice, not in volume, but in relevance. Soon the boy was far behind him, with the slaves they had freed.

It wasn’t the music itself that drew Rand onwards, it was something behind it. Chaotic as it, it was being played with feeling, such rich feeling. Drums. A stringed instrument, deep, plucked rhythmically with the percussion. Another, higher pitched, drawling over pentatonic notes. A thudding piano being struck with the violent energy of volleyed gunfire. And a violin. Intact, by the sound of it. Notes danced from up and down the four strings, differing in tone in subtle ways that only his god would let him hear.

It was very present now, despite its absence on the island while Rand and Artor had fought. It guided every step, turned his head, but it didn’t have control of his body. Rand chose to grasp the rungs of the ladder before him, and chose to climb. At the top, he chose to face the largest building in the settlement, and chose to approach it as if he belonged.

It was three levels tall, with a flat roof that burbled with voice after voice, clanging cups and the laughter of the drunk. Elevated position. Open air. Comfort in the cool air, strategic in defence.

Rand couldn’t see any windows on what would have been the bottom floor. On the second there was a row that faced the cavern entrance, and the wall looked to be thick. As Rand prowled around it, through the windows he could see a double layer of wooden planks either side of a layer of stone. There looked to be a space between the layers just about large enough for a person to squeeze through.

Rand circled the building, studying it, letting himself bathe in the assault on his senses. The music, upbeat and bouncy, but with a knife-like edge, the kind of tune played in a den of filth. The aromas of strong alcohol and salty, stodgy food were covered by the thick, choking cloud of powder smoke, sweeter than any syrup. The front of the building, facing the cave mouth, was the only one that had the triple-layered wall. Fortified in case of attack, windows on the upper level for an elevated attack position, just like the roof.

The double front doors were closed, and despite the pull that wanted him to stride right through them, his better senses prevailed. The second floor would be a far better point of entry, so long as he could do so relatively unseen. He orbited the building twice more. Judging by the noise, the upper floor was packed with people. He couldn’t guarantee all of them would be focused on the inside.

Rand leaned on the wall and considered. His best option had to be the gap between the fortification layers, although that meant climbing in through the side facing the dock. A lot of allies were over there, hopefully they could occupy any unwanted eyes.

He turned around and made his way as casually as he could to the fortified wall. Rand took off his hat and checked over the spikes on each of his boots. They would have no trouble with the wood, but he would still need to be careful. He reached out with his senses, and the dark part of him obliged. Rand closed his eyes.

He could hear the voices and footsteps on the second floor, arranged around the edges. All of them had alcohol on their breath and overflowing from their cups. Many had powder pipes between their teeth. The place where the scents were strongest and the voices most slurred was where Rand aimed to walk towards, unspooling the rope and grapple from his pack. He tossed it upwards. It latched unto the outermost layer of wood and hooked into the cut out window.

He began climbing, driving the spikes into the wood and hauling himself upwards hand over hand. He waited for a shout of alarm from behind him, but there was only silence beneath the hustle and bustle of the settlement. The debauched stink of the hall above him grew stronger and stronger. As soon as he got close to the window, he slowed his pace. Even though there was no sign from above that anyone was in any condition to notice him, there was no point in taking the risk.

Once he was close enough, Rand grabbed onto the lip of the window. He pushed himself upwards to peer into the building.

Smoke muffled the lamplight. The brigands inside moved like silhouettes through the powder-fog, drinking and smoking, in loose groups from four or five all the way up to more than twenty, probably clustered with their crewmates. The upper floor was a ring, a ten-foot deep walkway around a space that belched even more smoke, echoed with more laughter, and the bouncing, drawling lilt of the music.

As soon as every drunk eye was off him, Rand swung himself onto the ledge and into the gap between layers of the wall. He peered around and at looked at the walkway in more detail. The ring wasn’t complete, it only encompassed three sides of the hall. Rand glanced upwards. The pathway to the roof was a pair of spiral staircases that wound upwards at the far end, but there was no third floor. Instead, a series of booths and platforms were built into the walls, with a sniper in each. Paranoia? Security? Perhaps a nasty surprise if the island were to be invaded, and the hall breached.

The rafters lay above them, the only spot that really offered a good view without being seen. Thick wooden beams stretched from wall to wall, a network of supports to keep the palatial construction standing firm.

Rand sidled along the fortified wall, timing his passage from window to window so loose drunk eyes wouldn’t spot him. He reached the corner quickly, and began climbing upwards, applying pressure to the layers either side with his legs and his back. It took some time to work his way upwards but once the corner was directly above him, the more difficult work started.

Using one of the blades of his grapple, he began working one of the planks out of the inner wall layer in front of him. They were nailed in securely, and he had to lever each one out first. The music continued to blare across the hall, ricocheting like wayward bullets up the fortifications and around Rand’s head. He could almost feel the darkness within him oozing and swaying to the rhythm of every note and thump on the drum. The stink of powder smoke drifted lazily up to him, choking, wrapping around his hands to slow them and make him fumble. The burning of his abdominal muscles gave the darkness something to snack on, and Rand’s senses sharpened gradually, enough to pick out the individual drunken giggles and gasps of women, the bellowed laughter of the inebriated men, the dulled clang of full tankards and sharp clink of glasses. The musky smells of old liquor, drugs and sex hovered around him like a cloud of vapour before a rainstorm.

Finally, the last nail fell out and dropped into darkness. Rand prized out the plank and set it atop the nearest rafter, before pushing himself up so he could look through the gap.

Hundreds of brigands filled the hall, a heaving mass of flesh. Every man and woman was in a state of inebriation in some way. The smoke tendrils danced together between the laughing and swaying bodies, only broken by the bubbling spillages of alcohol.

Everyone surged around tables, round, wooden and stained, small enough to fit eight when standing, like zits on a squirming face full of worms. In the centre of the room was one long, narrow table with the remnants of a feast, reduced to bones, empty cutlery stained with remains, and crumbs.

The music came from a band, who played on a raised stage at the far end from where Rand was balancing. A pair of drummers struck different sized cymbals and drums, synchronised perfectly enough for the drunkards they played for. Another man played a huge, filthy stringed instrument, standing beside it and plucking the strings to send deep, rumbling notes beside and in between the thumps and crashes of the percussion. The melody came from two more string players and a pianist. The first stringer had a four-stringed, round-bodied apparatus on his lap, fitted with a thin neck. The thin strings sent out a twanging, pulsing cluster of chords over the bass line. The piano was more percussive than melodic, with the eager, grinning madman before it crashing his fingers into the keys like he was trying to squash insects. Despite the wide-eyed, toothy insanity of the musician, he was undoubtedly skilled. He never hit a wrong note, and never stopped moving.

The centrepiece of the band though was the violin, that violin, played with a lilting beauty that sat far above the debauchery below. The pace was quick, the notes sliding into each other seamlessly without a crunch or a whine, but with a sighing, consistent hum that was honey to the ears. The melody kept the rest of the chaotic band together, like a tightening thread that stopped one or more wandering off-beat.

The player was a tall man, more sinew than skin, with greying hair cut short on top and shorter at the sides. His eyes were closed, his face set in a serene smile, lost in the music. His clothes were finely woven, more likely stolen than not, a simple white shirt that buttoned down the chest with an open black jacket over the top of it. The dark fabric was lined with looping, gold-coloured patterns across the lapel and down to the tails. The black trousers led down to high-quality aerman’s boots, with extra grip and laces too tight for them to fall off in a crisis.

The music didn’t match the crowd at all. Almost everyone was snorting or smoking powders, their pupils blown into wide orbs that eclipsed their irises. Rand’s heightened senses could pick out their bright red blood vessels in the whites of their eyes, the red tinged drool on the edge of their lips, and the fresh dirt and scum from recent raids.

The pirates weren’t alone, though. The slave women were there too.

All were in some kind of state of undress. The most modest wore dresses thin enough to see the ghosts of their form through, drifting between tables with dead eyes. Others wore far less, with increasing and decreasing amounts of midriff and thigh bared. Some lay across the tables, used as a surface for brigands to snort lines of powder from. More than half of them were actively partaking in the use of the devilish substances, swaying with the music, tumbling from arm to arm and body to body. Beneath the walkways, Rand could catch glimpses of several of the women in trysts with one or more brigands, men and women, being groped and grabbed and pawed at with glazed expressions and stupified smiles.

More pawns, simply things to be passed around like the powder pipes.

The darkness chuckled inside Rand’s head. “Well, well. Here we are. It would take … perhaps one sustained volley from a few of your cannons, and your problem is solved.”

Rand rested his head on the stone behind him. One volley would have to be very directed to get through the fortified wall, unless they aimed at the windows. Certainly, if that worked, he would eliminate much of the enemy’s fighting force. It would also needlessly kill the women. Surely he was here to free them.

“You’re here for blood, champion. There are whores in every island port.”

Not what he wanted. Not at all. End a threat, yes, but also free who he could. In situations like this, in a practical sense, freeing slaves was the perfect way to bolster a fighting force, but in a personal sense, none should be enslaved by drug addled likes of these privateers.

Rand hadn’t cared for it in the least. He wouldn’t allow the same fate for anyone else.

He didn’t want anyone innocent caught in the crossfire, though, meaning that the manner of his attack needed to be more careful, as it always would in situations like these.

“The choice is yours, I suppose. Keep in mind, champion … you don’t have long to decide.”

Rand frowned, and scanned around the rafters, then the sniper nests. It didn’t seem like anyone had spotted him, or was even close to spotting him.

Below him, the music stopped.

The crowd let out a roar and began applauding, raising their tankards and glasses. The violinist bowed low, spreading his hands at his sides, and the noise of adulation grew. When he straightened up again, four men were walking onto the stage, carrying a large object between them, angular and lumpy, covered in a sheet.

His arms remained out at his sides. He raised the left a little higher, and the four men whipped away the covering.

Beneath was a throne, and even from this distance, Rand could see the bleached bones that formed it: human, animal and beast. A dragon skull sat at the top of the back rest, with human skulls on either side, arranged in a row.

Lord Gourvan waved to the band with his other hand, and they began playing again as he settled on the throne.

If the leader was here, that made the target even more tempting, but still…

Rand peered down at Gourvan, wanting to get a measure of the man. Gourvan leaned back on the grisly chair, smiling lazily at the crowd as they drank, ate and debauched.

He seemed an amiable man, out of the context of his life. He handled the violin that now sat on a stand beside the throne with the ease of a master musician. But the wiry physique was a scrappy one, that of a dirty fighter, not just a brawler. The type you would never expect to kill you even after his knife had passed through your throat.

His face was kind, if a little sharp. Weathered, as travelling men were. Unlike his men, he seemed to have no spiral tattoos on his body anywhere, though at this distance it couldn’t be determined.

Gourvan’s eyes scanned the faces and bodies of the crowd below him, enjoying their enjoyment, his fingers twitching along to the music that had become looser and more chaotic. His mouth twitched with lyrics it seemed only he could hear.

Then his smile widened. He chuckled to himself. And his eyes swept upwards.

When Lord Gourvan’s gaze met Rand’s, a coldness spread through his body, and the pull began again, the one that had so effectively drawn him in.

Gourvan’s eyes widened, and turned black as the void. His shadow lengthened to twice its size, reaching out for Rand, and in that moment he knew.

The dark betrayer in his head let out a mocking laugh.

“Oops.”

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The cages were just about tall enough for the slaves to stand in. They were four times as long as they were tall and wide, with bars made from a patchwork of different metals, some thick and some thin. They sat in scattered rows in a low-ceilinged, semi-circular cave, around the perimeter and tight against the wall.

The slaves within were all male, and almost uniformly young. Rand approached the cage right in the middle, with Artor and the glowering slaver in tow. The eight men inside squinted up at him, their faces grimy, their facial hair starting to lengthen. All of their heads were shaved close, but not completely. The stink of them was mild, less than he might have expected, and they didn’t seem terribly dirty. The bedrolls looked and smelled free of lice, and the bucket used as a privy was empty.

Rand tried to read their expressions. The eight men were guarded, fearful, yet not quite broken. They had an incentive to remain compliant, which accounted for the more lenient treatment than the norm. Again, that appeared to set ‘Lord’ Gourvan’s rabble apart from the usual brigands, the usual maniacs.

Physically, the eight men were neither thin nor weakened. Their backs were straight and their arms were lined with muscle. Relatively well-fed, and kept as healthy as it was possible in a cage.

“How long have you had these?” Rand murmured.

The slaver sidled up alongside him. “Some three or four weeks, four months at most.”

“Hmm.” Rand identified the one who had been there four months as he spotted the man’s lip curling. “You treat them well enough.”

“‘Course we do, they fetch and carry, lift building material, things like that. You seen a weak or sick slave do that kind of work?”

“Too many times.” Rand cast his eyes around the cavern into the other cages. He saw the same story in every one. Eight men, all relatively healthy, not living in filth, apart from the cages that were empty.

“I take it those cages are empty because the men are working?”

“Right. Not so cocky now, eh?”

Rand snorted. “I respect a well-maintained product. It says something about the man who keeps and sells it.”

“Just following my orders. Lord Gourvan has a reputation, eh?”

Rand turned into the slave-driver’s smug face. “What do you think brought me here?”

Artor cleared his throat behind them. Rand glared around, mostly for show, and tethered to him quickly. Seen something?

Artor cocked his head towards a small cluster of cages in the corner. Rand turned on his heel and marched towards them. The captive men on either side of them began moving closer, up towards the bars. Rand glanced at them. The neutral, tired expressions were urgent now, fearful, angry even. A second later, it seemed to become clear to the slave driver where Rand was going, and he cleared his throat loudly.

“They’re not for sale.”

Rand ignored him and kept walking, until a calloused hand snaked around his upper arm.

“You hear me? They’re not-“

The barrel of Rand’s pistol brushed against his forehead, and brought his sentence to a screeching halt.

“Take your hand from my arm, and don’t make the mistake so many have made that a trader is someone who won’t blow your head off.”

The slave-driver’s eyes became perfect circles. His throat quivered as he swallowed. He looked from side to side frantically at the guards in the room, who fumbled with their weapons as they started barrelling over. Artor whipped around to face them quickly. “Oi, no need for that, lads. Let it finish.”

Rand smirked at the strength in the young man’s voice. Within him, at the potential for bloodshed, he felt the darkness take a little interest … but still it remained in the shadows, blending with them, and held back its lust. Strange as that was, for the moment it was more a benefit than not. His face remained cold as he regarded the slave driver, and the man slowly let go. Rand matched his movement as he holstered the pistol. The slave driver glanced around at the other men, who Artor was keeping at bay.

“Alright lads, relax.”

Rand nodded at Artor and then smiled at the slave driver coldly. “Glad we understand each other.”

“They aren’t for sale, though,” the brigand grumbled.

“Fine, but they seem a part of your operation here.”

The slave driver dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned close. “I know, but … we should keep it quiet.”

Rand raised an eyebrow and nodded, before continuing his walk across the cave.

They stopped in front of the cages in the corner. Terrified, small eyes stared up at them, and all of the children inside shrank away from the bars. The youngest, perhaps five or six years old, dived under the bedrolls.

All three cages had twelve to fifteen children inside, boys and girls both. Rand glanced at the slave driver and lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Not for sale, eh?”

“No.”

Rand glanced back at the terrified men in the cages, and smiled. “Ah, of course. That’s one way to do it. ‘Comply, or it won’t be you that pays for it.’”

The slave driver grinned with teeth stained brown and red by powders. “That’s right. Got a better way?”

“We aren’t in the same trades or regions. My ways aren’t your ways. I’ve seen far worse, believe you me, in this particular trade. The women are where?”

“They’re entertaining.”

“Ah, of course they are. I assume that good behaviour here means good treatment for them as well.”

The slave driver chuckled. “Oh, they get treated very well.”

Rand heard Artor’s jaw click and chuckled as well to drown it out. “And the little ones here, what do they do?”

“Oh, you know, they clean, they slop out. Some of them do a bit of tunnelling, through the narrow spaces where we need em. Some go out on the ships if they’re nimble enough.”

“No funny business?”

“No, which a few still grumble over, but it’s a bad look to civilised folk, apparently.”

“Hmm. Imagine that.” Rand looked around, catching Artor’s eye and willing the red-faced teenager to calm down for the moment. “And I suppose you have quite a few cages like these, hmm?”

“Yep. Want to see ‘em?”

“The stock here will do nicely for my purposes, though the lack of women is a pity.” Rand sighed and forced a smile, lowering his voice. “It really is quite the set up. With your methods, you don’t even need that many guards in here. It’s just the three of them?”

The slave driver shrugged. “The boys in the cages don’t misbehave with the little’uns here with ‘em.”

Rand tethered to Artor as a smile crossed his face. “It’s brilliant, really. I take my hat off to you.”

The one right behind you is closest. Use your spear, make it fast and quiet. Now.

Rand swept off his hat in a grand, elaborate bow to the slave driver, and Artor spun around, driving his spear into the throat of the brigand behind him. The other two stepped back in shock before closing in with their weapons raised.

The slave driver turned swiftly, not seeing Rand’s sword sweep from his back scabbard. It clove through the big man’s neck and sent his head tumbling to the floor, where it didn’t even roll.

A few cries went up from the cages on either side of them. The remaining brigands were torn between fleeing and fighting, thrown by the speed of the assault. By the time they gathered themselves, Artor had the head of his spear buried in one of their chests, and Rand had closed the distance to the other.

A second later the last one dropped to the floor into a pool of his own blood, spreading along the rock floor.

“Watch the door,” Rand hissed to Artor, then rifled through the pockets of the dead for the cage keys. Once he had them, he moved between the pens, fumbling with each lock until they were all open.

In more than one cage, one or two of the men were laying bruised and battered, or worse. In the second, a boy not much older than Artor had his neck twisted well beyond the limit of his spine. Rand glanced up at the others, all breathing heavily, eyes wide with the blood rushing through their veins.

“He started shouting for help,” one of the slaves said, his voice devoid of any feeling at all.

Rand nodded. “Free the children, and make sure they stay quiet.”

Artor waved quickly from the entrance, and Rand pulled two of the stronger looking men with him as he jogged over. “Arm yourselves, then with me.”

Artor held up six fingers, then readied his spear. Six men against four, two of whom were slaves. Rand took a breath.

As the two joined them, he pulled the smaller one, a wiry lad of about nineteen or twenty with him, and shoved the older one with Artor. Both had armed themselves with short swords from the dead.

“Don’t hesitate,” he whispered to them all. He could hear the footsteps now, drawing closer, and their voices.

“Roland, where are ya? You make a deal with that poof in a hat?”

Rand raised an eyebrow and cracked a smile. They waited.

The footsteps stopped.

“Roland?”

Rand strained his ears. Could he hear their breathing? Not yet.

“Shooters out, lads.”

Artor’s eyes widened, and Rand shook his head. He waved the lad and the second slave back a step. He tethered to all three.

Wait til the first two are in.

“Take it slow, boys,” the brigand outside muttered. It was the one who had run for the ‘Lord’. “If it’s out of place, shoot it, eh?”

The rest grunted. Five or six yards from the door now. Rand’s ears picked up their tense breaths, the catch of their shoes on loose stones, and the shiver of the wood and metal as their pistols rattled.

The first two stepped into the chamber, and Rand ducked past them. He drove his sword into a brigand’s gut, while Artor did the same with hs spear. The two slaves set upon the guards at the front. One of the pirates fell quickly through the element of surprise, but the second put up a fight. He engaged the slave and managed to cut him, before the number of attackers overwhelmed him.

The back two cried out, much to Rand’s chagrin. He cut the shout short with a strike that separated the first man’s head from his neck, but the second pointed a cocked pistol. He squeezed the trigger.

The shot smashed and splintered into Artor’s shield before Rand could kill him. The bullet left a dirty, soot-stained hole in the wood.

Artor went very still as the pirate dropped to the dirty floor. Rand looked up at the lad, waiting for him to crumple, but he didn’t. He just shuddered as he held up one of his blunderbusses, slung behind the shield. The ball of lead was lodged in the wooden stock.

Artor cracked a mad smile. “Due a bit of luck, eh?”

“Oi! What was that? Was that a shot?”

The voice echoed up the tunnel from the direction of the dock. Rand and Artor looked at each other.

One of the slaves stepped up beside them. “Yeah! My piece of fuckin’ shit pistol went off! Almost shot me-self in the foot!”

There was a moment where the other voice seemed to be considering. “Who screamed?”

Rand glanced at the slave, who chewed his lip frantically. Artor started laughing, loud and harsh. Rand raised an eyebrow at him, and unslung his rifle. Surely…

“You fuckin’ pricks!” The voice was irritated, but there was the hint of a chuckle behind it.

Rand pulled them all back into the slave pens, picking up the weapons of the dead as he went. The freed men were clustered around the children’s cages, fumbling with the keys to get them open. Rand armed as many of the able-bodied as he could.

“Was this the plan?” Artor muttered.

“Obviously not.” Rand rubbed his head. “At least not yet. We could have done a little more scouting of the setup, but we would have needed more men eventually.”

“Anything from your gog?”

Rand squinted. “Eh?”

“You know, your …” Artor waved his hands and wiggled his fingers. “Your gog, your whisper friend.”

“Oh, that.” Rand sighed. The silence was strange, unsettling, especially given that they had killed ten men. His dark passenger hadn’t bayed or begged for even a drop of blood.

“The big one mentioned there were more cages, with more men. They need to be our target. We’ve got an army in here if we play our cards right, but we need to stay quiet. The numbers still aren’t in our favour.”

The men managed to get the cage holding the children open, and the young spilled out like the beer from a broken bottle. They tumbled into the arms of their fathers and older brothers, many of them weeping.

“Many of you need to stay here.”

The eyes of the slaves all fixed on Rand. They held the fury or terror of animals in captivity.

“Those armed, put on their clothes.” Rand pointed at the brigand corpses. “Get them as clean as you can, you don’t have long.”

The slave who had stood and fought beside Rand glanced around at the others and stepped forwards. “What’s the plan?”

Rand cracked a quick smile from the corner of his mouth. “What’s your name?”

“Eganon, of New Senon.”

“Well, Eganon of New Senon, the plan is simple. You’re going to keep stacking those barrels in the dock.”

***

Artor yanked his spear out of the last brigand’s chest, taking great pains to ignore the wet sucking sound of it leaving the body, and the way the man twitched in his death throes.

The disguised slaves walked out into the cavernous dockyard immediately, their backs straight, waving two dozen of the rest onwards. Each slave carried a barrel of fuel.

Artor turned to the bounty hunter. Rand’s face was, at first glance, completely neutral. However, as daylight met shadow, his eyes seemed to flicker between the ordinary human ones he had, and ones that were as deeply obsidian as the darkest depths of the abyss.

When Rand looked at Artor, they were normal again. “Hmm?”

“I … um … what now?”

“We need to wait for a moment, then try and find more slaves.” He extended a hand to Eganon and waved him over.

“What do you need?” The slave murmured.

“Load fuel barrels onto every aership in the dock, as many as you can, right on the deck. Choose the ship or ships that look the fastest and load the barrels on them below decks. Maybe the couriers, but we’ll need at least one bigger craft for the people we’re taking.”

Eganon looked up at the cannons on either side of the dock, set up for the crossfire.

With a nod, Rand lowered his voice.“Man every aership weapon you can on the three ships. We’ll only get one chance, so wait for the signal.”

“Where can we find other prisoners?” Artor hissed.

Eganon swallowed. “You won’t find any of the women out here.”

Rand turned to the ramshackle town behind them. As the shadows shifted over his face, Artor could’ve sworn that his eyes blackened again, and when the bounty hunter exhaled through his mouth, it was as if his teeth had sharpened into fang-like points.

“Any news from your friend?” Artor whispered.

Rand sighed and glanced at him. “No. Not a word.”

Another exhale. His teeth were still sharp.

“Are you sure?”

Rand’s glance was far more irritated this time. “What would be the point of hiding it from you?”

“You tell me. I don’t know why that thing inside you does what it does.”

“Believe it or not, neither do I a lot of the time.”

The brigands around them, mainly distant, barely gave the busy crowd of disguised freed slaves a second glance. The ones that drew closer seemed to be maintaining the docked aercraft, or changing shifts at the ambush cannons. All were armed either with blades or pistols, but the ones higher up with the cannons had rifles.

By the time Artor looked around to speak to Rand again, the bounty hunter was beginning to slowly stride towards the buildings, towards the music that still bounced and tumbled across the rocks.

Artor’s voice dropped to a hiss. “Oi, Rand! What’re you doing?!”

The bounty hunter ignored him, his stride never breaking. Artor gritted his teeth and strode up behind him, snagging his sleeve as surreptitiously as he could.

“Rand!”

When he looked around to face Artor, the bounty hunter’s eyes were black. The shadow he cast from the waning daylight seemed to lengthen, reaching out towards Artor like a parched man grasping for a pint of beer.

“Stay here with them. Carry on with the plan.” Rand looked around at the buildings again, then back at the dock. “If things go Voidways, start the exit plan we discussed.”

“But-”

But it was as if Artor no longer existed, as soon as the bounty hunter’s last word left his lips. Rand walked calmly away from the aerships, and towards the chaos that Lord Gourvan’s brigands inhabited.

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The balloon bumped on the platform as it landed on the narrow walkway. Rand immediately extinguished the burner and held out a hand to Artor for Ksenia’s rifle.

“Make sure the balloon deflates over the edge, then pull it in. I’ll cover you.”

Rand hopped out of the basket while Artor worked, quickly anchoring Scythe to the support beams, and driving a mooring spike into the rock. Once they were secure, he aimed the rifle up the rope-ladder that led down from a fissure in the jagged island-bottom. Nothing moved. Not so much as a whispered breeze gave any indication that they had been spotted.

Rand pulled back, noting that Lean was still alive and crawling towards what looked like a pull-rope of some kind. The sickening thud of Ksenia’s rifle butt connecting with the back of his skull made Artor look up in shock.

Rand rolled Lean over the side of the platform, and prepared to do the same to the bloody remains of Patroller.

“Oy, wait a second!” Artor jumped out of the Scythe’s basket hurried over. He snatched the filthy cap from Patroller’s head and put it on.

Rand grimaced. “You really want to put that on your head?”

“What? It’s a disguise!”

“Their hygiene leaves a lot to be desired, that’s all.”

Artor shrugged. “I mean, you can be sure he didn’t have lice, at least.”

Rand looked down at the Patroller’s shaved head, and faded spiral tattoo that covered his scalp. “I suppose not.”

Artor folded his arms with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not bothered about a man’s guts being blown out of his back, but you’re bothered about lice?”

Rand looked up into the boy’s eyes without amusement. “Guts don’t itch. Come on, let’s get up that ladder. Make sure your gear is secure.”

Rand slung Ksenia’s rifle over his shoulder and drew the pistol from his back holster. He kept his finger behind the trigger as he climbed. The island seemed to swallow them. The rope hand and footholds became metal. The sunlight and the breeze disappeared behind the ancient rock walls, and as soon as they were gone, silence reigned, spoiled only by the clink of Rand and Artor’s boots on the rungs.

It didn’t last long. Gentle musical notes began drifting down from above them, bouncing between the walls, but the further up they went, the more chaotic and lustful the song became. The rhythm of the drums began with a pulse, then devolved into dissonant impacts and thumps that sometimes moved in time, but often slipped into the clattering of dropped crockery, of falling rocks battering an aership’s hull. The must of old stone was joined by filth, smoke, and other familiar scents of degeneracy.

Then came the laughter. Hyper, high-pitched, almost frantic. The kind of sound some people made when they were covered in the blood of a slaughter that had somehow spared them. The noise of a skeletal vagrant wandering the filthy avenues of the cities that still managed to eke out an existence in the world’s remains.

There was no way to tell with any certainty how close the sounds and smells were. The shaft of rock amplified and echoed everything. The only certainty was that it came from ahead. The top of the ladder.

Rand’s knuckles were white around the rung and the handle of his pistol. He slowed his pace, and behind him, Artor didn’t question it.

The ladder went on and on. If Rand had to guess, he only spotted flickering light ahead of him after about a hundred yards. He stopped climbing and whispered behind him.

“We’re coming up on something. Ready yourself.”

“Alright,” came the whispered reply.

The closer they got, Rand spotted more details. The light was coming from lanterns, probably handmade or stolen. The ceiling above was rocky, chipped away by picks. He could see a wooden support crossing the space from wall to wall.

Ten feet from the top, Rand slowed his pace to a near static, gentle climb. He didn’t want to move the ladder too much and give away that he and Artor were coming up armed and ready. He kept the pistol pointed upwards as much as he could, obviously having to use the same hand to pick his way up rung after rung.

He listened at the lip of the tunnel, waiting for a whisper or footstep, but heard nothing. Gradually, he pushed himself upwards and into the tunnel.

Rand drew another pistol from his right shoulder holster. Up and down the sloping passage, there was no one, but the noise and smell that carried on unabated. The air inside was warm and entirely still.

Artor clambered up to join him. He sighed with relief and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Nobody?”

“Hmm.” Rand slowly holstered his weapons.

“What d’you reckon?”

“I think our best move is to act like we belong, and get a lay of the land. This place could be a labyrinth.”

Artor swallowed and looked around again. “What if we get caught? Or they realise we’re not supposed to be here?”

“Then we’re going to have to shoot our way out.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” Artor tried to breathe. “I don’t know if I can do that. Act like them.”

“Don’t act like them; act like you belong. Stay close to me and don’t talk. Keep your back straight. Keep your eyes open for any threats.”

Artor straightened up and blinked. He nodded.

Rand took off to the left, where the tunnel sloped upwards gently. He forced himself to holster his weapons, and stride as confidently as he could.

“Did the pirates dig these tunnels?” Artor whispered.

“No. Their slaves dug them. Recently, maybe. The wood in the supports looks new.”

The music gradually got louder and louder. The smoky stench sharpened in Rand’s nostrils, and mixed with the horrible, cloying, familiar stink of charred flesh and hair, incinerated crops…

He shook his head to clear it away and lowered his voice to a growl. “Now you make yourself known, eh?”

Artor’s voice shook. “Eh?”

“My … companion. It’s been very quiet. Now it’s not so quiet.”

“What’s it saying?”

“It’s not what it’s saying, more what it’s doing. Distracting, or trying to. Maybe trying to remind me how much I dislike brigands.”

Voices cut through the music. Ahead of them, three men were rounding a bend in the tunnel up ahead. They almost walked into a side passage, but one looked right at Rand and Artor, his step faltering. A quick ‘oy’ to the other two, and all three began striding towards them.

“Remember, act like you belong.” Rand murmured.

The three brigands spread out in the tunnel. All three had hands on their weapons; one a pistol, one an axe, one a knife. Rand didn’t falter in his step, and to his satisfaction, neither did Artor, though he could smell the lad’s sweat.

“Who the fuck are you?” the one in the lead barked at them.

Rand kept his voice level. “Who the fuck are you?”

That seemed to stump them. The brigands stopped walking.

“Are you stopping us for a reason?” Rand’s voice remained calm and he was careful not to make any provocative movements at all. His arms remained loose at his sides. “We have places to go and people to see, and certain people don’t like having their time wasted.”

“Not seen you before.” The leader’s voice was low, deadly, like a finger squeezing a trigger.

“And that means you think you can get in our way?”

“I’m in yer way now, piggot.”

Rand smirked. “Then your head can come with me. That should be all the explanation I need. Just your head, mind, because you seem the chatty one. One of these two can explain why it isn’t attached to your shoulders.”

The leader drew his knife, but his hand was shaking a little.

Rand spread his hands an inch further apart, and turned his palms so they were facing him. “Sure?”

“What are you ‘ere for, then?” the one on the left muttered.

“Trade. Goods. Simple pleasures. Your powders don’t come out of nowhere.”

“You’re not carrying nothing.”

“No, I’m literally carrying nothing. Imagine being the kind of idiot that carries his goods into a pirate clan’s stronghold without having made a deal first. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

The leader’s grim, annoyed face twisted again. The one on the right patted him on the shoulder. “It’s alright, let ‘em through.”

“What do you want to trade for your wares?” The leader growled.

Rand smiled. “Bits would be something, though they can be … boring. You can do better … but that’s not exactly for you to offer, is it?”

“Let it be,” the one on the left muttered. “The Lord’s business isn’t our business … until it is.”

Rand caught the warning, and gave a light shrug. “The Lord won’t be disappointed. He never is.”

The leader stood aside reluctantly. Rand paused next to him, and leaned over. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ll set aside a little of the good stuff for you and these lads … because you make good decisions.”

He strode past without another word, with Artor keeping pace. “You’re good,” the lad whispered.

“I have my moments. You’re doing well, too. Keep your head.”

The tunnel twisted an twirled upwards sharply, then opened. The cavern they had observed from the Scythe was huge and elaborate, in a way that the telescope hadn’t revealed.

Six aerships sat on a wooden platform that had been built above the rock, and probably reinforced from below. It was nore of a sophisticated dock than anything Rand had seen from a group of brigands before. The vessels were well-maintained, even relatively clean. All were armed to the teeth. Three were about the same size as the ones who had attacked Dryxovan and Nokturn Isle. The others were about half the size, perhaps swift couriers once, now raider craft intended for brutality.

Cannons were concealed in the cave mouth, blocked from view by a few clusters of rock on either side. A crossfire to smash the unsuspecting at close range. Had the galleon attacked, Garik and his men would have been completely obliterated. Rand looked up, and spotted two more cannons on each side of the yawning entry, built onto more platforms.

Barrels were stacked beside the platform, also wooden. One of the round lids was open on an empty container. A layer of glass, then metal, then wood. Meant for fuel stores. Stolen, most likely, but it wouldn’t have been much of a shock if the brigands had the facilities to create their own.

“Bloody hell,” Artor whispered. Rand glanced at him, and followed his gaze. Opposite the cave mouth was a town, solidly constructed, wood and stone. Some of it had been carved into the cavern walls, most were huts and houses and halls built in layers separated by stairways and ladders. The music was much louder now. He could see men and women walking around with purpose here and there, scaling the ladders as if they had been born on them. Smoke rose from narrow chimney stacks, and funnelled out into the open air where the breeze could catch it and cast it away.

There was no chaos to the settlement, not really. It was a well organised, efficient and solidly built town, sitting in a well-defended natural fortress. Rand had never before felt that he was in over his head, but this was not like anything he had seen in the wilderness. This was the kind of construction one might find in a city.

When they reached halfway across the cavern, Rand fixed his eyes ahead once more. Figures were going back and forth from another tunnel in the opposite wall, carrying barrels of fuel to and fro. Rand recognised the bent backs of slaves, and the cocky gait of the captors guarding them.

Rand headed towards them with as much purpose as he could. “Artor, look around and tell me what you see. Keep it quiet.”

The lad hesitated for a moment. “Lots of fuel by that platform. They’re ready to go long-range. Dryxovan for sure, but maybe further.”

The slave guards looked up at Rand and Artor as they approached, and straightened themselves up. They glanced at each other. They didn’t look hopped up on powders either, no more than the other three in the tunnel had.

“Everyone’s doing a job, so it seems. Looks like any other town… except it’s full of maniacs.”

“Maniacs that aren’t acting like maniacs,” Rand muttered.

“Yeah… but that music is fucking mental. And I can smell burning powders; a lot of burning powders. Can’t see any children, maybe there’s a schoolhouse somewhere.”

Rand snorted.

“Well, where are they, then?”

“You’d feel far better not knowing. Anything else about the town?”

Artor went quiet for a moment, before continuing gruffly. “I can see houses and halls, but I’m not sure I can see any shops. Like, shops where you buy things.”

“Oh, is that what a shop is?” Rand muttered.

“Yeah, smart arse… but I can see a smith, I think. At least one. There’ll have to be a lot of craftsmen for these buildings, and the aerships.”

“Agreed.”

The slavers glanced at each other again. Their slaves shot quick looks at the figures as Rand and Artor stopped a few feet away, but quickly kept their heads down and resumed their task of hauling barrels.

“You here for a reason?” one of them growled.

“Traders. Seeing what you’ve got to exchange.”

A few of the slaves glanced up. Some had the gall to look hopeful, but most wore blank expressions. One master for another was nothing to be hopeful about.

“Does Lord Gourvan know about it?”

Rand gave the man a look that was simultaneously amused and withering. The kind of look that suggested and asked if someone had been born yesterday. But in his mind, something began buzzing the way a mosquito might if it were trapped in his inner ear. He couldn’t place why, and when he found the dark thing within him, it was completely still and silent.

Gourvan. The so-called Lord had a name, and not one he recognised. Ulverland name, maybe, it sounded similar to the type of names they would have. But why was it making him uneasy? He couldn’t deny it, but there seemed no reason for the feeling nestling behind his eyes.

Rand began walking, a casual approach to one of the slaves.

“What are you doing?” The slaver demanded.

“Inspecting your goods.” Rand chose a young man, the one who looked the strongest, the most capable. His eyes regarded Rand coldly, almost defiantly. Rand opened his mind and sent a tether out to touch the slave’s mind. As he did so, the buzzing seemed to get a little louder.

Stay calm.

The slave flinched and took half a step back, startled. Rand’s hand shot out and grabbed onto his hemp shirt near the collar. His other hand slapped across the young man’s cheek.

The slave’s eyes burned as he glared at Rand, who extended a tether again.

Trust me.

Rand shot him a wink, and frowned as Rand turned his face to the left and right. “Interesting. Seems fit enough. They all seem fit enough. And they all seem intelligent enough to read a room.” He looked around at the closest slaver. “Show me more.”

The slavers looked at each other. The one who had spoken before spoke again. “We’re in the middle of something, in case you didn’t fuckin’ notice.”

Rand snorted. “And you need every one of you to watch over them do that, do you? Watch over unarmed slaves, most of whom have their hands full?” He stepped closer to the slaver with his eyes hard. “Tell you what… as you’re the one with the mouth, why don’t you use it to show me around your slave stock? The ones for sale, that is, if these here are too busy moving fuel barrels.”

“Maybe I should go to Lord Gourvan and ask him me-self.”

Rand shrugged. “Then go.”

It was a bet. Their ‘Lord’ wouldn’t want to be bothered by anything so small as a passing trader, although he was making more noise than he needed to. The mouthy brigand seemed to chew on his tongue for a moment.

“I can go,” one of his fellows muttered.

“Yeah, go on.”

The brigand jogged for the nearest ladder, and scaled it in a moment. Rand opened a tether to Artor quickly.

Watch where he goes.

“Lord Gourvan runs an impressive establishment here. I’ve not see a clan of your ilk so large or well established.”

The slave-driver didn’t take the bait. He folded his arms and glared at Rand, who snorted and half turned to face Artor. “Loud until they decide to be offensively boring.”

Artor snorted, keeping his eyes on the town where the brigand had gone to find his master.

Rand smirked back at the simmering brigand. “You’re a very good dog, though not particularly good at taking the initiative. Not that dogs need to do that.”

“You talk too fuckin’ much.”

“A flaw I picked up from a patron of mine, one very adept at talking your ear off when you want silence.”

The darkness within him chuckled a little at that, the first sound it had made for what seemed like hours.

The slave he had tethered to looked nervous, too nervous. Rand loosened his hands. It would take less than a second to draw and drop two of the brigands. Artor would drop a third if he was prepared. The shock would hopefully allow Rand to hit at least one more.

That left three more nearby at best, not accounting for the entire settlement. Rand sighed and shrugged at the one in front of him. “So we’re just supposed to stand here with you until a decision is made? You don’t have so much as a chair?”

“Sit on the rock if you want.”

Rand made a show of snorting. “Small wonder you lot aren’t known for your hospitality.”

Artor made a noise behind him, and Rand glanced at the settlement. The runner kicked off the ladder and jogged towards them.

Get ready, Rand tethered to Artor.

The brigand slowed down. He had taken on a scent of powder smoke and his own sweat, with an air of discomfort about him. Rand smirked at his stony expression.

“Lord Gourvan says to show them the stock.”

“What?” The slave driver frowned at him, then at Rand, who chuckled.

“Finally, someone reasonable.”

The slave driver’s scarlet face could have started another cyclone. The runner shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably.

“Distracted by all his pleasures, were ya?”

“It’s what he said! You wanna talk to ‘im?”

The slave driver threw up a hand in frustration, then rubbed his brows. “Fine, you look after this lot. I’ll show ‘em the stock. Get them barrels loaded on.” He glared at Rand and Artor. “Come on, then!”

He started for the tunnel ahead, and Rand followed with a smirk.

But it made him uneasy. The feeling only grew when they stepped out of earshot, and Artor muttered: “Lucky for us their Lord can’t be bothered.”

Rand answered with a tether. Is this the kind of settlement built by someone who can’t be bothered?

“No, it doesn’t look like it.”

Rand, in the ‘Lord’s’ position, would never have let them roam, even under guard, without seeing them first. Without getting a measure of them. Without searching them. Searching their aercraft. Locking it down. And no-one had asked them any questions about their craft at all, asked why it wasn’t in the cavern with every other aership, what kind of craft it was. He kept a sample of powders on him as cover, for when he played this kind of trick to get close to brigands, but nobody had so much as questioned them on the presence of their wares.

It’s been far too easy up until now … but we’re in too deep, he tethered to Artor. Keep your wits about you.

“Shouldn’t we get out of here, then?”

The smart answer would have been yes. Absolutely. But the thought was rebuffed every time it rose in his head. It didn’t seem to be the dark god within him doing it, but instead his own instincts. Manipulated?

Instead of saying ‘no’, Rand simply led Artor on the path behind the slave driver, and into the mountain.

Share

The hour that whipped by felt like mere minutes, and Rand’s eye never left the periscope lens. No aerships moved to challenge them on their ascent. No sentries shouted to give away their position. Their way was completely unopposed.

While Artor strapped on his armour, Rand grew more and more uneasy. Was there any chance that they had gotten lucky?

“It’s not quite right, is it … not quite as it should be. Surely you didn’t make all of their aerships plummet. Surely you didn’t kill them all.” The mockery of his dark companion’s voice made his heart begin to hammer.

Rand began to mutter under his breath so he didn’t have to listen, and also to try and puzzle it out himself. “You travel. You travel miles. Where are your ships? You should have more ships than you need…”

Artor cleared his throat. “What’s … um … what’s it saying?”

“Eh?” Rand realised what he meant all his of a sudden, and chuckled. “Oh no. That time I actually was talking to myself. The lack of hostile company is a little unsettling.”

“Is it?”

Rand nodded and leaned closer. Right on time, an obvious landmark came into view through the floating, rocky debris. A large island lay above them, about five miles distant. There didn’t seem to be any activity around it, but it lay in the exact place the map told. It was shaped like a jagged tooth, pointing down at the balloon, grey-brown and rotten.

“There,” he murmured.

Artor exhaled and checked his armour again. “Any ships?”

“No. There are probably watchmen, but I can’t see them at this distance. For a group this well equipped, you’d think there’d be more… but then again, they’re also more tactical than the usual clans. They’re probably hiding their numbers.”

“Maybe they only just got here?”

Rand exhaled through his nose and tapped the periscope with his fingertips. “Could be. I doubt they’ve been here more than a year. Likely, they took Nokturn Isle shortly after they arrived, used it as a lure to capture slaves and materials.” Rand stood up straight and rubbed his forehead, the darkness eliciting hell’s mother of a headache. “If they have been here for a year or more, that’s odd. Brigands like these tend to be more nomadic.”

Artor frowned upwards. “Yeah?”

Rand nodded, and began assembling his rifle.

“Do you reckon…” Artor swallowed. “Maybe we should take a look at it from a distance?”

Rand eyed the boy, who swallowed again.

“You know what … never mind.”

“Hmm.” Rand scratched his chin. “Get ready to wind the props.”

Artor opened his mouth, then closed it and bustled himself aft. Rand checked their path below, then turned the burner down and swung around to man the rudder.

“Wind them. We’re going out two miles then pulling up.” Rand pointed the Scythe at the clearest patch of aer in sight. “We can’t watch for long, or we’ll lose the light.”

“Wait … you actually agree with me?”

Rand glanced around at him at winked. Artor allowed himself a smirk, before winding again.

Rand piloted the balloon for a mile before he had Artor set the prop springs, and he handed over Ksenia’s rifle. The lad swallowed at it.

“You know how to use that?”

Artor nodded, but said nothing.

“Keep your wits about you. We’ll need ‘em.” Rand fired the burner again. The Scythe slowly began to climb.

As soon as they were level with the island, Rand turned the burner down again and covered the flame. He looked through the telescope and nodded. “Yes … that’s more like it.”

A cave yawned into lamplight spiced blackness, large enough for a pair of aerships to fly in and out side by side. The top rim lay a hundred feet or so from the jagged top of the island, where the brigands had been busy. Platforms and fortifications had been built to level out the ground, and cannons pointed in almost every direction. The weaponry was large calibre, meant for loading slugs for distance or flak for close range.

“They’ve been here for a while, and launched a lot of attacks.” He handed the telescope to Artor. “Those fortifications require a lot of material. It’s a fortress.”

“You think they’re in that cave? I can see lights.”

Rand nodded. “Probably. Still no ships, though, at least not in flight.”

Artor peered through the telescope again. “Can’t see any people.”

“No, from this distance it would be difficult to. We need to get ready to move.”

Artor glanced around. “Where?”

Rand raised an eyebrow and pointed at the island.

“What? Are you mental? We need hundreds of men to hit that place. There are only two of us!”

“We can’t wait until nightfall. We’ll be too easy to spot.” Rand stared at the island. There was something about it that pulled at him. Blood. Endless blood. The desire to free those taken into captivity, to bring those who took them to justice. But… it wasn’t just those things, those goals both noble and not.

As a man was drawn to a siren’s call, there was a tug on his mind willing him forwards. A little whisper, barely audible, in a language he couldn’t quite make out, but it was honey to his ears.

“Careful,” he whispered to himself again. He turned to Artor. “Wind the props. We’re going lower and closer.”

Artor grimaced, but obeyed. “I’m telling you, we need more men.”

“No, no. We just need to be quiet and careful. They’ll see a cohort of men coming from miles away.” Rand stroked his chin while he manipulated the rudder. “We can’t do what I usually would in this situation: hang back from a distance and pick them off. There are too many, and they’ll spot the balloon.”

“So what do we do?”

“We need a way in. A more subtle way in than down their throats.” Rand glanced up and around them at the sky. The shade of violet was still close enough to hide their craft, but they didn’t have the time to waste on spying this close to the enemy.

“Wind those props and set the spring. Release it when I tell you; I need your eyes.” Rand turned the burner down and the Scythe began to sink through the shards of rock. Artor wound until the mechanism clicked.

“What do you think?” Artor grunted.

“I’m thinking we check the bottom of the island for watchtowers or guard posts. Maybe a cave, anything like that.”

“Won’t they see us?”

Rand patted his rifle, set in the bipod. “Not for long. You use this, it’s more stable. I’ll use Ksenia’s rifle. Nothing personal, I’m just more used to shooting long firearms.”

Artor stroked his chin, then wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Yeah … alright.”

Rand checked Ksenia’s weapon, and saw nothing wrong with it aside from a little weathering on the stock, and a few specks of rust on the barrel. He loaded in a round, then signalled Artor to release the prop springs.

The Scythe drifted closer to the island, above them now. As the jagged rock disappeared from view behind their balloon, the Rand peered up at it through the periscope. Right at the bottom, on the point of the tooth, was a platform.

Rand kept his eye fixed on it as it came into better focus. A wooden ladder connected it to the rock above, leading into a deep black fissure. He couldn’t make out any movement yet.

“Stop the props and come here.”

He kept watching as the balloon slowly came to a halt, hanging above infinity. As Artor’s step creaked beside him, Rand was careful to keep the periscope pointed in the same direction. “Keep your eye on that and tell me what you see.”

Artor leaned over. “Ah yeah, I see it. Like an upside down watchtower.”

“Of a sort. I think it’s our way in.”

Artor inhaled and exhaled slowly as Rand unpacked another scope, and began studying the island as closely as he could. “They’ll have at least two men on that platform, watching for anything coming from below. The question is, are they alone?”

Artor snorted. “I wouldn’t leave ‘em alone.”

“Nor would I.” Yet, alone was exactly what they seemed to be. The rest of the rock nearby was bare, ancient, unbothered and unblemished by any construction, all the way up to the cavern where the pirates docked their craft.

“What am I missing?” Rand whispered to himself.

His nightmare companion said nothing to him. Rand frowned. “Not like you to be so stoic.”

It didn’t even let out a chuckle. Rand sighed and tapped the periscope on his chin.

Artor’s voice hummed through the silent approach. “There are blokes up there, alright. At least two.”

“Hmm…”

“Should we pull higher?”

Rand sighed. “Yes. Just a little.”

He turned up the burner gently, blocking the flame from view with his body. The Scythe rose a few yards.

“Yeah … there we go. Not two, three. Three men. Rifles. Telescopes too, maybe. They could see us, right?”

“They could.” Rand shouldered Ksenia’s rifle and peered down the telescopic sight. There they were: one patrolling lazily, one leaning on the rock, one lighting up a pipe.

“The rifles are going to be loud…” Rand murmured. “And we’ll need multiple shots. One loud noise could be thunder. Two or three in a row are obviously gunfire.”

Artor nodded. “So what do we do?”

Rand handed him Ksenia’s rifle and he blinked down at it. “But… I thought… you said…”

“Forget what I said. My long gun fires rounds that can punch through two people with ease, but it’s going to be a very well timed shot. We need to fire at the same time.”

“Right… which one do I shoot?”

“The one leaning on the rock wall. I’ll tell you when.”

Artor nodded, clutching the long gun like a babe. Rand leaned into the stock of his rifle and pulled himself tightly against it. He peered down the scope.

The three men were slouches, even by the standards of a powder addled brigand. The slight redness in the smoke coming from Pipe’s pipe told him that he was trying to mix powders with tobacco, as some often tried to do and failed. Patroller wasn’t looking at anything aside from his two friends, his mouth moving in a lopsided grin. Lean had no interest in anything at all, aside from the bottle he sneaked out of his filthy jacket.

“Hardly their best…”

Rand’s murmur was met with silence, from both Artor and his interloper. He tried to ignore his unease, tracking Patroller’s steps as he approached the perfect spot in line with Pipe.

“You have your shot?” Rand murmured to Artor.

“Yeah. I think. I can’t keep it still.”

“Lean it on the side of the basket, but be careful.”

He could hear Artor shuffling around next to him as he watched the brigands closely. They didn’t care about their job at all. An entire sight line blind, because of incompetence. Maybe the lower watch was a punishment. There was little shelter or room for a fire. If it were a punishment, though, why allow them to have alcohol and a pipe?

“Alright, yep. That’s better,” Artor murmured. “I’ve got him.”

“Good, now aim above his head.”

“Eh?”

“Bullets drop when you’re this far away. We’re lucky the wind isn’t stronger..”

Patroller paused about a step shy of the perfect shot. He and Pipe guffawed with each other, and each took a drag of the tobacco-and-powder smoke.

Rand’s jaw tightened. “One more step… come on.”

“Oh … Rand, mine’s moving!”

Rand twitched the scope across. Lean was strolling across the platform, undoing his trousers. He paused at the edge of the platform, presented his manhood, and begin to urinate into the aer.

“Charming.” Rand nudged Artor. “He won’t be going anywhere for a moment. Let’s hope mine do.”

“You want me to kill him while he’s taking a piss?”

“I’d want you to kill him if he was in the middle of a tryst with his wife. Line up your shot.”

Pipe and Patroller were nattering to each other like a pair of hens in a coop. Pipe passed his pipe over, and Patroller took a long drag. He coughed as he exhaled, and Pipe guffawed.

“Bloody hell, this bloke pisses like mule…” Artor grumbled, but the sardonic words had a shudder behind them.

“Exhale before you squeeze the trigger.” Rand found himself thankful for Lean’s voluminous bladder. The pair he was watching weren’t going anywhere fast.

“And … he’s done.”

Rand sighed. “Be patient.”

Lean stretched and began ambling back to the rockface. His course would take him behind his friends. Possible shot.

Pipe began smoking again, turning to face the aer with a grin. He was fully square on to the balloon. Rand’s fingers tightened around the handle of his rifle as the bleary eyes of the pirate drifted over Scythe, then paused.

“Right … change of plans. Scope in on the one with the pipe.”

Pipe squinted right at Rand.

“Which one’s that?”

Lean stopped walking and stretched, a foot from where he needed to be. Patroller nudged Pipe, who pointed at the balloon.

“On the right. Got him?”

“Uh… yeah.”

Patroller squinted in their direction. His eyes widened.

Lean moved.

“Fire!”

Both rifles let out a joyous blast of noise. The crack of Ksenia’s rifle was overwhelmed by the boom of Rand’s.

Through his scope, he saw Patroller’s chest burst into a bloody mess of churned flesh and shattered bone. Behind him, Lean fell to platform, covered in both his blood and friend’s. Pipe’s shirt rippled around the bullet hole that punched into his upper chest, and he took a half step back. He looked down at the blood beginning to soak his clothes. He pitched into the aer before he realised he was falling, and rapidly dropped out of sight.

“Good shot.” Rand scoped upwards, looking for any indication that they had raised an alarm. The bare, fang-like rock gave nothing away. They were committed now, though.

“Wind those props, and wind them fast.”

Share

“It’s not the first time I’ve heard you talking to someone when you think I’m not listening.” Artor stood up. Rand realised he hadn’t been asleep for a while. “Who are you talking to?”

Rand sighed and rubbed his eyes. The entity within him offered no help, but watched, waiting to see what he would do.

“I’m talking to myself.”

“But you’re not replying to yourself. You’re talking to someone I can’t see. I’m not stupid, bounty hunter, no matter what you think.”

Rand knew what would happen if he told Artor what was going on inside his head: the same thing that always happened. Word would spread quickly, and before long mobs would form. The battle within his head would begin to swell, the lust for blood on one side and the desire to protect people from any threat, including from himself, on the other.

Artor folded his arms. “I’m not going to pretend I didn’t hear anything. I’m not dropping it either.”

“Telling you won’t go well for me.”

Artor squinted. “Why. Am I gonna shoot ya?”

“You might try it. If you try it, I’ll finish it.”

Artor swallowed. “Alright.”

Rand exhaled. He was stuck on a balloon with the boy, and he didn’t want to hurt him. Once things began however, he wouldn’t be able to stop them. Ksenia had proven that.

“Remember I told you I didn’t keep to a god?”

“Yeah?”

“I lied, although I’d hesitate to call it a god.”

Artor nodded his head once, his expression changing from stubborn to curious. “What god?”

“I…” Rand snorted to himself. “I can’t pronounce its name.”

Artor cocked an eyebrow. “Why would that make me want to shoot you?” Then his face changed again. “Wait … the thing you do with your voice … and your eyes … and I’ve seen you get shot. Your armour ain’t that thick. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep.”

Rand sat down and leaned on the side of the basket. “Yes. It keeps me alive, lets me do … certain things. It offers its power to me for brief periods.”

Artor stared at him. “Let me see your arm.”

Rand rolled up his sleeve. Where the cut had been, deep and wicked, nothing but smooth skin remained.

“And … you can just do that whenever you’re hurt? Why did you wait so long with the cut on your arm?”

Rand sighed. “There’s a price. To heal like this … it requires blood. Human blood.”

Artor stopped. “Human blood? How?”

“I did it …”

“To Ksenia…” it whispered.

Rand’s voice cracked for a split second. “… in the bar, on Dryxovan, you saw me do it to one of the pirates.”

Artor frowned. “Right… yeah… that’s what that was? I thought … I guess I don’t know what I thought. There was too much goin’ on.”

He paced across the small deck, from the prop to the prow. “Wait, you can do that to anyone? Drain anyone’s blood?”

“If they have an open wound.”

“And you need the blood, there’s no other way?”

“My body still heals, but it takes as long as it would for anyone.”

Artor stared at him. “But your god, or whatever it is, needs human blood. It needs you to kill people. Why would you worship a god like that?”

Rand’s nostrils filled with the stench of fresh smoke, and a chuckle hummed in his ears.

“I owe it. I owe it more than blood.”

Artor folded his arms, waiting. Rand scratched his head, and took off his hat, tossing it down by his store of ammunition. “It saved my life.”

Artor squinted at him. “How?”

“It doesn’t matter how, but … I was alone. Younger than you, and all alone. It … it found me.”

Rand tapped the side of his head. “Before it found me, I was … well … nothing much. Just a boy from a rock.” The smell of smoke filled his nostrils again. “I had nothing. Could do nothing. No schooling. I couldn’t even read, much less take care of myself. But then it came … and it gave me the skills I could use to survive.”

“It taught you?”

Rand licked his lips and shook his head. “It was a gift.”

“So …” Artor rubbed his head. “What you do with a gift is up to you, right?”

“Usually. But usually the one who gives you a gift isn’t always there. All the time. Watching. Poking. Reminding. And like I said… it’s a debt. It’s always been a debt, one that pushed me into my line of work.”

“Alright, so … it made you read, made you a good shot, stuff like that.”

“Yes … well, practice made me a good shot, but it can sharpen my senses. When I say I can read, I mean that I can read anything. Any tongue, any script, any symbol. It helped me learn how to track, shoot, fight … it guided it all.”

Artor snorted. “And all it wants in return is people’s blood. Like … I dunno … can’t it just … I dunno … drink … a bit?”

Rand sighed a little. “That’s not how it seems to work, unfortunately. It’s thirsty. Always thirsty. It always…”

Ksenia’s pale, drawn face flashed across Rand’s mind. “It always takes everything. Everything.”

Artor didn’t say anything for a moment. “Bloody hell. No wonder you prefer being alone.”

Rand put his hat back on, and waited while Artor paced back and forth, railing to railing. He knew what the next words out of the lads mouth would be. He had heard them many times, and now would be no different. Rand had the sneaking suspicion, and had for a while, that his god wanted him to be alone. The wandering fiend, who could never protect enough people to find any kind of companionship once it became clear what he was. Now Rand had a true name for it.

Dae Rauko. The demon’s chosen.

Artor stopped pacing with a deep, laboured sigh, and the familiar words came haltingly from between his lips.

“When … if we deal with the pirates … you probably can’t go back to Dryxovan. Not to stay, I mean. People won’t understand.”

Rand grunted. “There was never a danger of me staying. I’ll happily leave once I’m paid.”

Artor looked a little crestfallen for a moment, but then he nodded. “That quick, eh?”

“The quicker the better. The story never changes. When someone finds out, I’m cast out, and normality returns. It returns for you, and it returns for me.”

Artor shifted this way and that, pulling a blanket around him. Rand put his hat back on and stood up, returning to the prop and rudder.

“Get some sleep. Dawn’s still more than an hour away.”

Artor shrugged. “I don’t really want to. Do you need a hand with anything?”

Rand stepped back from the prop lever and gestured to it. “Get winding while I steer.”

They worked in silence until Artor inevitably broke it.

“I’m sorry, if that’s worth anythin’ to you.”

Rand snorted. “It’s more than I usually get. I understand better than most would. Keep winding.”

The Scythe climbed over the next hour, where the aer began to thin and the rocks started spacing out again. As the sky began blushing violet from the dark night, Rand checked the map. They weren’t far now. Not far at all.

He loaded his rifle, Ksenia’s rifle, and checked all of his pistols. In terms of armament, he was ready. The boy … well, he would have to be ready, and ready fast.

Dots of greenery caught the glow of morning, clinging to a few caves and nooks where the weather couldn’t get at them. A few black rokk birds fluttered around the nests they managed, and zipped between the rocks in search of breakfast.

Artor whistled at them. “How many animals are out here?”

“As many as can survive. More than you might think. If it can fly, it stands a good chance.”

Rand glanced around as Artor’s face took on a malaise, ageing the boyishness in his excitement.

“I agree,” Rand muttered. “She would have enjoyed the sight of them too.”

“Your god-thing let’s you read minds, does it?” Artor grunted sullenly.

“I’d be ambushed less if it could,” Rand grumbled. He scanned the rocks again for anything threatening, but found nothing through his periscope except broken tree trunks and scattered remnants of shrubbery.

“I think we’re here at a good time,” he murmured. “A storm came through, maybe the same one that hit us so hard. If there were sentries here, they’re laying low. Or they had to leave.”

Artor shrugged. “About time we got lucky.”

A drop of water plopped onto the periscope lens. Rand smiled for a moment. “Isn’t it just.”

He turned the periscope upwards, and spotted the dark grey mass above the nearest islands, above the balloon.

“Eh?” Artor jerked in surprise and wiped his face. “What’s this?”

Rand leaned over the map book, sheltering it from the droplets. “It’s rain. Clouds like that form near bodies of water.”

“Didn’t know water had a body,” the lad murmured, his eyes closed as the droplets pattered over his face. Rand wanted to smile, but it the feeling died the moment he got their bearings. “That’s what I thought. This is the nearest water to the pirate stronghold. They must use it. Crank the props.”

Rand fired up the burner. The Scythe began to climb and pick up speed as Artor manipulated the lever. Rand peered through the periscope, guiding their path away from the cloud. He avoided them whenever he could, especially when they were weeping as this one was.

“Good, keep it up!” Rand watched the lip of the vast island growing closer and closer. He adjusted the balloon away. There was no way to outrun the cloud, all he could do was get as far away as he could before the wind caused any damage.

The edge was getting closer, melding with the violet sky. The rain began to lighten. The crosswinds were now no more than a gentle push against the Scythe’s balloon.

“Keep winding, I’m going to pull us a little higher.” Rand fired the burner. The Scythe picked up a little more speed as the aer thinned around them, with Artor winding the propellers as fast as he could with scarlet cheeks.

Rand turned back as the last droplets fell behind, and smiled to himself. He patted Artor on the back. “Here, I’ll take over. You … have a look at that.”

Artor, panting, wiped his brow and peered over the propellers. Shock rooted his feet to the deck, and Rand had to push him out of the way so he could take over at the lever.

The water stretched so far they couldn’t see the other side of the island. The rock had been eroded into a bowl by time or design, and carried what would once have been called a lake, or even a sea. Life teemed around the side in emerald flourishes, catching the precious deluge. Rand could barely hear the surging of the gentle tide at the distance they were.

“They get that big?” Artor whispered.

“They can.”

“How?”

Rand kept winding the props. “I don’t know the mechanics of it. There’s plenty that’s beyond me. Most things are beyond me.”

Artor sniffed and started wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Rand thought of telling him to stop in the same synapse that wanted to offer comfort as he wept. He did neither. He wound the prop until the last white wisps of cloud were well behind them.

“Here, wind them again while I check the maps.” Rand patted both Artor’s shoulders as he shifted back to the book.

“Ksenia would’ve like to see something like that water,” Artor murmured. “I’m glad I could see it for her.”

“So am I.” Rand tapped the large island in the map book. It was indeed huge, larger even than Ulverland. “That lake is the water source for Nokturn Isle. We have to assume, given the distance, it’s also the place where the pirates are getting theirs, like I said.”

Artor sniffed, and took a deep breath. “How close are we?”

“Very close, coming up from below.” Rand scratched his cheek. “Here’s the plan. We keep going at this elevation for about … ten miles. Then we start to rise. We’ll get to them well before night falls.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to get there at night?”

“Two reasons why not. First, they’ll be more alert at night, because night is when people attack. Two, the camouflage on the balloon is perfect for us coming from below. Same shade as the sky.”

Artor nodded. “Right, right. So that’s… what, a couple of hours?”

Rand’s mouth pulled into a grin. “Less.”

Artor’s next breath was shakier, a little more drawn. “I’d better get ready then.”

“Yes, you’d better, but only in your mind for now. I need you on the props while I navigate.” Rand tried to keep the hunger out of his voice, a hunger he had only half-put there. He wanted them dead, all of them, one by one or many at a time, it made no difference. The blood for whatever had taken up residence within him … that was a mere bonus.

“You sure about this island we’re going to, yeah?” Artor’s bravado had taken on a tremor of fear.

“I’m sure.”

“It’s where she … that pirate we caught … where she said they were?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“She could’ve been lying.”

Rand grinned again as he pointed his craft with the rudder. “No, she couldn’t have been. She wasn’t capable of lying to me.”

Artor didn’t say anything to that. A few minutes passed, the miles slowly counting down towards their destination. Rand looked around to Artor, who was now wiping his brow with a shaking hand.

“You’re afraid.”

Artor swallowed and glanced at him with annoyance.

“No, no, that’s not a judgement. You should be afraid. That means you’re not stupid, and it means you’re not angry enough to forget what we’re flying into.”

“Are you afraid?”

Rand smirked at him. “Even with a god behind me … within me … fear never leaves. It’s always there, in every gunfight. Fear for me, or fear for whoever might be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Up there, I think there are going to be a lot of people in the wrong place.”

“Yeah … you said they had slaves.”

Rand nodded. “And you. I would quite like you to go back to Dryxovan and marry that girl, and have lots of babies, and try to make this broken world a little bit less terrible.”

Artor stared at him, completely still.

“Keep winding the props. We’re nearly where we’re supposed to be.”

Artor blinked. “Right.” He wound the lever again, and kept winding.

For another ten minutes, the Scythe drifted through the aer until Rand turned back to Artor. “That’s it, stop. Start loading up your arms and armour.”

Artor nodded. As Rand reached out to fire the burner, the lad tugged on his other arm.

“What?”

“Up there … when we get up there … I’ll be careful.”

Rand nodded. “Good.”

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Rand rarely played with his food, but this time he made an exception.

He put a shot through the head of the youngest shipwrecked brigand first. After that, the captain. From there it was simply a case of watching them fall into chaos.

When one tried to take charge, Rand popped his strongest supporter. When the rudderless leader couldn’t get the terrified crew off the rock, they mutinied, and as they tried to throw him off the rock and into the infinite sky, Rand put a bullet through the ringleader’s forehead.

One started sewing the breached balloon closed with a patch of fabric, so Rand shot him in the back and let him bleed. The brigand that tried to treat him was the next in his sights. Once she was dead, the injured man bled to death.

The last three lay low after that, but Rand was patient. He shifted his position to get a better angle, and waited for someone to make a mistake. The first one to do so tried to angle a mirror to get a better look at him, and Rand put a shot through the wicker he was hiding behind, the bullet passing cleanly through his head.

One tried to send a shot at him through a gap she made in the basket. Rand watched her slowly cut through the wicker, doing her best to not be seen, slow and methodical. As he watched, the brigand took up a firing position with a rifle, laying down on her side, balancing the tip of the barrel at the edge of the hole. Rand managed to send a bullet right down the scope, through her eye and out the back of her skull.

The would-be-captain was the only one left. After a moment, he stood up and looked at the island above him, trying to find the tiny speck of a sniper who had annihilated the rest of the crew. He made no attempt to hide, his shoulders slumped, waiting.

“You fuckin’ done yet?”

Rand didn’t look at Artor. His eye remained on the man below. “One more.”

“Shoot him then. I can see him from here.”

“I’ll shoot him when I’m good and ready, boy.”

His voice deepened on the word ‘boy’. Artor paced behind him without a word about it. “Whose idea was it to land here? We could have met the galleon on any island.”

It was mine.

“Is she on the galleon?” Rand murmured.

Artor stopped and sighed. “Yeah. The boys wrapped her in a shroud. They’ll… they’ll get her back home.”

“Good. As to landing here … excuses are immaterial now. I didn’t think they’d hit an island this known, or remove a port they could have used. I’ve seen every trap they’ve ever used. I’ve seen this kind of trap before… but I missed it.”

Rand squeezed the trigger. The crack of the shot made Artor jump. He watched as the would-be-captain jerked, the hole in his chest quickly blooming blood. Then he dropped to sprawl in the wreckage with his cohorts.

He lowered Ksenia’s rifle. “Maybe the blood loss was fogging me up. I thought we’d have time before we engaged them. I thought they’d wait for us. I thought I knew them better than they knew themselves.”

Rand looked down at Ksenia’s rifle. Her fingers had left an imprint in the wooden stock, and on the trigger. An old weapon, but exquisitely maintained, the owner a woman after his own heart.

The entity within him still had enough brigand blood flowing through it to give him an echo of Ksenia as he ran his fingers over the wood. Echoed cracks of well-placed shots. The tension in her shoulders while she quietly crept from cover to cover. The peace she felt when she set the weapon in its rack, the safety that seemed to descend over her when she was home. Danger couldn’t reach her at home, surely.

Then he saw himself. Felt her pull towards him. That same feeling of safety was there whenever she looked at him.

Rand heard his teeth creak, and he forced his jaw to relax.

“So what do we do?” Artor was looking at him expectantly … because surely Rand knew what to do. Surely the bounty hunter knew what their next move needed to be.

“We?” Rand slung Ksenia’s rifle over his shoulder. “You are going to help Garik repair the galleon. Then you’re going to board it and go home. I’m going on alone.”

Artor’s sadness turned into a frown, then into fury. “What? My friend dies, so I have to slink off with my tail between my legs? Fuck off!”

“This isn’t a game, boy.”

Artor drew his sword. “Call me ‘boy’ again. I dare you. See what happens.”

Rand didn’t even flinch. He didn’t go for any of his weapons. “Does this little act work on people, usually?” He leaned forwards a little. “Boy.”

He spat the word out, and Artor blinked.

“What do you think you’re going to do, if you get in my balloon? When we reach their stronghold, outnumbered. Do what I tell you? What if they kill me?”

“I’ll kill as many of them as I can.”

“And how many’s that?”

“As many as it takes.”

Rand nodded. “Well … they probably know we’re coming. One wrong move, and they’ll shoot us down. We’ll be lucky to die, rather than fall into that forever.”

He pointed at the emptiness not six feet to his left. “Are you ready for that?”

Artor followed his finger, and swallowed at the infinite fall that would await him. Rand saw the beads of sweat on his brow, creeping down his face. He swallowed, then his jaw tightened.

“Maybe you don’t get it, maybe, but you was born somewhere.” Artor glared at Rand. “Dryxovan is my home. It’s where I live. It’s where my family and my friends are, and where Erika is. Yeah, I like Erika, shoot me for it. It’s where everything I know is. And those pieces of fucking shit want to take it all away.”

His chest puffed out a little, but not in any false bravado. Rand had seen that plenty of times in his line of work.

“You don’t want me coming with you? Tough. It’s not your home. It’s not your problem. It’s mine. It’s all of ours on Dryxovan. And if I fucking die … I’m gonna fucking die stopping ‘em, or making ‘em weaker so Garik and the others can stop ‘em.”

Rand watched Artor’s face as he spoke, reading him as closely as he was able to. The boy meant every syllable of every word.

“Come with me.”

Rand strode back from the edge, and the clomp of Artor’s boots followed closely. In the centre of the circle of empty, dead houses lay the pile of brigand weaponry that the militia had recovered. Next to them were bins and barrels where the ammunition was being stored.

Rand leaned down and picked up a pair of blunderbusses. “You’ll need a couple of hooks hammered or screwed into that shield of yours. Sling them there. Easy access.”

Artor took a deep breath and nodded. “Why two?”

“Because these take a long time to reload. They’re packed shots. I’ll show you how to do it. They’re loud, they’ve got a good spread. Point it at a problem, squeeze the trigger, and you’ll find that problem disappears quickly. Take as many shots as you can carry from here.”

He tapped the barrel where the blunderbuss shots were being kept. Rand dug down into the jacketed rifle rounds, and picked out the ones that looked in good condition.

A piece of Ksenia was coming with him, and he wanted all of its fury.

***

Commander Garik rubbed his chin, his brow furrowed. “I don’t like it. They’re going to see you coming.”

Rand smiled briefly, and Garik let out a sigh that gave more of the impression of a growl. “You’ll tell me you’ve snuck up on half the pirates in the Shattered Lands, no doubt.”

Rand shrugged. Artor glanced at him, and turned to Garik with his chest out. “We’ll be careful, Commander.”

“I’m telling you this as a courtesy, Garik.” Rand peered at the older man from beneath the low brim of his hat. “This isn’t asking for permission.”

Garik nodded at Artor. “What about the boy?”

Rand saw Artor biting his tongue, and chuckled. “He volunteered to join me. The longer we wait here, the more chance the pirates have to catch us here with the most useless type of aercraft: the grounded kind.”

Garik muttered something under his breath. “We’ll post lookouts … salvage what we can. Maybe one of their crashed ships could be gotten into the aer again.” He focused on Rand again. “If you two are going out there alone … we won’t be able to follow you for a good two or three days. Maybe even four or five.”

Rand nodded only once. “If the galleon’s repaired after three, head for home. Don’t wait for us.”

Garik exhaled. Artor opened his mouth to ask why, but seems to read the answer in the Commander’s face.

Rand turned to go, but paused. “Give Ksenia a proper send-off, would you? Respectful, and all that.”

Garik nodded. “We will.”

Rand strode towards the Scythe with Artor in tow. Once he leaped in, his eye was immediately drawn to the smear of blood that Ksenia had left on the side of the basket, now little more than a discolouration in the wood.

Sadness and a crippling guilt threatened him simultaneously, before the dark feeling of satisfaction overwhelmed every other emotion. Rand clenched his fists and shut his eyes.

“Stop it,” he hissed through his teeth, before Artor jumped in and fired up the burner.

The balloon gradually filled, and lifted from Nokturn Isle. Rand began winding the propellers, and pointed the craft into the wind. Within the hour, the dead island was out of sight.

***

As the violet sky began to darken, Rand found he had no desire to land again, and kept flying while Artor slept. He was in no mood to put any effort into the pretence of normality any more, and resolved to simply lie if asked about his sleeping.

The darkness around them was still prickled with the twinkling lights of the void, enough to see the obstacles in Scythe’s path. The route was clear enough, however, for his shadow to provide distraction.

“Do not fool yourself. That woman you brought with you was only good for her blood.”

Rand’s fists clenched. He locked the rudder and slipped around the burner, looking out front.

“There’s only one of me. We need allies to survive sometimes.”

“You only need me to survive.”

The hint of smoke teased Rand’s nostrils again. “I know you’re always here … but you can’t…”

“Give you childish fantasies of titillation?”

“Give me local information. Conversation. Pay me. Maintain my craft. Any number of things. You make the ordinary difficult.”

“You believe I cannot provide you conversation?”

Rand snorted. That was what it focused on, an attack on its personality.

“You would not have needed the blood if your mind hadn’t been clouded by injury enough to land on Nokturn Isle. Others weaken you. Weaken your will and your resolve. You have always prospered alone. Certainly, you have people that you can use. The fat one and those like him give you weaponry. Your precious metals. The boy is entertainment. The woman appealed to something more … animalistic. Companions exist to take bullets for you, nothing more.”

“Talk about something useful, for a change,” Rand grunted.

“I suppose I could. These pirates, for example. They are something different, are they not? Not just brigands and slavers.”

Rand tapped his fingers on the side of the basket. “What else could they be? They’re good at what they do, I won’t deny that. Laying traps …”

“Traps that deceive even you.”

Rand rubbed his jaw. “If I’d had a clearer head, I might have seen through it. They lay traps, plenty of them. What bothers me is that they seem to be more disciplined. More than the usual, even with the powders. Bigger players in the pirate clans, probably.”

“And that’s all it is?”

Rand shook his head slowly. “They knew we were coming to Nokturn Isle.”

“Watching you.”

“No, we would’ve seen them before now. Unless they have ambushes set up all across the surrounding area … but that would mean there were thousands of them. To cover every angle, every approach this far out…” Rand frowned. “How could they know we were coming? Setting up the trap at Nokturn … they knew we’d be coming that way. How?”

He felt the internal smile of the dark creature that inhabited his body, but got no answer. Instead, a different voice: Artor’s, spoke.

“Who the fuck are you talking to?”

Share

Rand raised the two pistols in his hands and blasted two shots through the cellar door. Two jagged holes splintered into the wood, and somebody cried out in pain from behind it.

Rand holstered his pistols at his hips, but before he could draw from his shoulder holsters, the remains of the door flew open.

The boom of a blunderbuss knocked Artor backward a few steps, and Rand crouched, half expecting a spatter of blood to coat his face. However, Artor had blocked the shot with his tower shield.

Artor let out a war cry, half rage, half terror, and drove forwards with his spear. The point slammed through the man in front of him and erupted from his back. The brigand’s lungs were obliterated by it, and he had no air with which to scream.

Rand moved to the left and right quickly, trying to peer into the cellar. There was a flash of movement to the right. A woman with cold eyes slipped from the shadows, pistol in hand, looking to poke it over Artor’s shield and kill him. Her eyes flitted to Rand and widened as he put a shot through her forehead. The brass bullet spun in and blasted out through her tangle of hair, snapping the bone and liquefying her brain. Everything she was ceased to exist, her slack body bouncing off the shield and laying in a heap on the floor.

Rand yanked Artor backwards by his collar as another pirate’s swing missed the lad by a hair; the man’s axe burying in the wooden wall. Rand shot him in the stomach, and grabbed him as he howled in pain.

Rand sliced open his palm with the sharp edge of the axe, and pressed his hand to the bullet wound.

It had been a while since he had felt blood suck from a body so quickly. He barely counted to five before the pale corpse of the brigand fell to the floor, useless.

Rand felt the strength he always took for granted return to him. He reared up to his full height, all the niggling pains of his cuts now a distant memory.

“Pick up a few firearms and ammunition,” he snapped at Artor. He opened the breeches of his own pistols and reloaded them, listening for any other footfalls or sounds from outside.

Another rifle shot went off, returned by a smattering of pistol fire. Rand took the stairs two at a time and kept himself low as he ran through the tavern.

He could see through the windows. A small cluster of brigands were approaching the inn at a run, armed, and Rand didn’t hesitate. He aimed each pistol in his hands, and squeezed the triggers. One shot struck a man in the chest and sent him crashing to the ground. The other ripped through a brigand’s stomach, and he screamed.

“Mmm… no powders … they can feel pain.”

A satisfied smile spread across Rand’s face, as if the corners were being pulled upwards by thin, needle-like fingers. His teeth bared. The howls and choking gasps of pain sent shivers across his skin.

The closest brigands scattered and sprinted for cover, firing wildly as they ran. Rand was compelled to give chase, but the sight of Ksenia pulled him back to his senses. She was leaning on the edge of the Scythe’s basket, her rifle shouldered. Three dead brigands were sprawled between the balloon and the nearby dock sheds. He could tell by her gait that she had been hurt. She picked a shot at the sheds, and the recoil made her stumble. Return fire snapped against the basket, and she fell more than ducked down. The balloon’s thin armour would keep her safe, but not for long.

Artor scrambled through the upended furniture and ducked down next to Rand, panting. “Fuck!”

“Keep that shield up.” Rand squinted through the window, and spotted an aership floating closer. It had probably been hiding behind one of the islands. He recognised it as one of the vessels that had attacked Dryxovan.

He pointed to the farthest right corner of the inn, where a window sat facing the square. “Go to that window. I’m going out into the square. Count to twenty, then go through that window and run around the back of the buildings to the Scythe. Ksenia needs you, she’s hurt.”

Artor exhaled, and nodded. “Yeah, okay … but you’ll be…”

“Very, very loud.” Rand’s eyes fixed on the closest houses. The brigands had fled to each one. They would have reloaded their pistols by now, even if they were simple powder and ball weapons. “You need to get on my rifle and hit that airship, and turn off the Scythe’s burner.”

Artor nodded, but with a grimace. “I’m no good with a rifle.”

“You only need to hit the balloon, and you’ll drive it off or make it crash land here. We’ll be on even footing.”

“But—“

“Go. Go on!”

Artor scrambled over to the window. Rand glanced between him, the nearest houses, and the pirate laying in the dust with blood pouring from his stomach.

The moment Artor touched the wall and nodded, Rand dived through the window.

He rolled across the dust and immediately a bullet whizzed past him. Another pounded into the ground, half an inch from striking him in the back and ripping a hole through his lung.

Rand popped to his feet with his momentum and broke into a sprint. A pop to his left signalled an incoming bullet. He raised his off-hand pistol and returned fire as the brigand’s round clipped his thigh. The wound stung, but didn’t slow him. The pain gave him a rush of adrenalin.

More shots came from his right hand side. One struck his side and broke a rib. The intense, hot pain that shot through his body sharpened his senses, and his arm flew out. The pain reached a crescendo with the movement, and he squeezed the trigger of his pistol. His agony-heightened hearing picked out the wet impact, the kicking of breath from lungs, the spatter of blood, and the crumpling of a body falling to the floor.

He grinned, but his step was compromised. As he drew his next two pistols, another shot struck his hip. The bleeding man lying in the dust worked his pistol around to point at Rand. He was so close now, the man couldn’t miss.

Rand tried to dodge, to minimise the damage the bullet would cause. The round passed through him, ripping a hole in his liver and one of his lungs. As the breath left him, he stumbled, and a cry of triumph rang out from the buildings on either side of him. He took note of their positions as he threw himself forwards, on top of the injured man.

The dying pirate smiled through his bloody teeth. His hissing voice bubbled. “You may have killed me, but I fucking killed you too, fucker.”

Rand winked at him. He adjusted himself so the bullet hole in his chest was against the one he had left in the pirate’s belly. Another round struck him in the back and collapsed Rand’s other lung, and he let himself go limp.

The dying pirate gasped and jerked beneath him as all the blood he had left was absorbed into Rand’s body.

Finally, both of them lay still. Rand waited, listening to the pop of gunfire from around the balloon. A few footsteps were closing in from both sides.

Rand kept his eyes open, watching the shadows approaching on one side and listening to the booted footfalls on the other.

He could hear their breaths and chuckles.

“He’s got some good gear on ‘im,” one said.

“I want them pistols in his hands,” another replied.

“You claim ‘em, you fight for ‘em.”

“Ha! What else has he got…”

One grabbed Rand by the left shoulder roughly, and hauled him onto his back.

Rand’s left-hand pistol was cocked and ready as he spun over. The hungry, greedy expression on the pirate’s face was frozen there as Rand blew out his brains. He fell on top of Rand as his right hand flashed out and placed a shot into another brigand’s heart.

The two shots had taken roughly a quarter of a second. There were two more brigands left, and both of them recoiled back in shock.

“Fack!” The one on the left, carrying a blunderbuss, reacted first. She pointed the wide barrel at Rand, who used the dead man on top of him to block the shot. Pellets blew chunks of flesh and skin off the corpse. The pirate stared and spun, then began tearing towards the nearest house.

The other pirate was trying to reload his pistol as Rand leaped to his feet. He could only glance up with his mouth in a perfect ‘o’ shape before Rand drew and swept off his head with his sword.

The bounty hunter drew his last pistol and picked a shot into the fleeing brigand. The bullet made her stagger, but she still managed to burst through the door.

A shadow fell across him, and he glanced up at the aership floating up and over the island. He heard his own rifle boom, and a moment later a brigand crashed into the dust with half his torso missing.

Rand broke into a sprint, and a moment later rifle shots began raining down on him.

The steepness of the angle meant that most of the shots weren’t coming close, but one bit through the rim of his hat and left a cut that reached all the way down his right shin.

Another shot whistled into his right shoulder and shattered the bone. White hot agony made him stumble. He managed to get his sword into his off-hand before he drove his left side into the door.

The pirate inside spun around, but Rand charged her. He knocked the blunderbuss from her hand before she could fire it, but she drove a blade into his side before he could do anything else. The shock of it made him let go for long enough for the woman to dive for the blunderbuss a and grab hold of it.

He ripped out her knife from his flank and sliced open his palm. He fell upon her as her finger closed around the trigger and pressed the open hand wound to the gunshot hole in her hip.

The brigand’s eyes widened, and her jaw tightened as her blood began to drain from her body. She screamed and swung the blunderbuss around. The blast rang in Rand’s ears, the shock so great he didn’t even feel any pain.

The scatter-shot tore out his throat down to the spine, broke his sternum and all of his ribs, tearing his lungs to pieces and piercing his heart. His eyes were turned to mush. Half of his teeth seemed to disappear.

But the blood still flowed.

His ruptured eardrums sucked themselves back together again.

PLINK.

He heard the gasps and felt the shudders of the woman beneath him.

PLINK. PLINK. PLINK.

The pieces of shot dropped out of his face, and plinked onto the wooden floor.

His eyes rebuilt and reformed and the house’s interior came into blurry shape, then focused. The woman beneath him was staring at him in abject terror. Her mouth formed two words.

Dae Rauko.

Demon’s Chosen.

PLINKPLINKPLINKPLINKPLINKPLINKPLINKPLINKPLINK

Every shot, one by one, dropped out of his body. His throat stitched itself back together enough for him to speak.

“Yes, I am.”

His voice was a rasping, evil thing, entirely appropriate to the title the brigands had given him.

The light left the woman’s eyes, and her shuddering body slumped.

He stood up and looked around at a rattling sound from behind him.

A young pirate was standing behind him, pistol in a trembling hand, eyes wide.

Rand turned around to face him, expecting a shot, but the boy couldn’t move. He was no older than Artor or Erika, or perhaps the girl brigand Rand had already blown away. A trail of urine was running down the boy’s leg.

A series of deafening booms from outside rattled the house, the unmistakeable chorus of cannonfire. The young pirate screamed.

“No powders, no bravery,” the dark presence within Rand chuckled. “Kill him.”

Rand raised a pistol, but his own hand began to tremble as he tried to hold himself back from squeezing the trigger.

“Demon!” The boy croaked. His hand shook even more. He seemed like he couldn’t make his body obey. “Demon!”

“Clever little boys run from demons,” Rand hissed.

The boy stopped breathing. His eyes boggled.

“Run!” Rand shouted.

The young lad dropped his pistol and bolted for the nearest window. He fell through it.

“Disappointing.”

Rand opened his pistols and slid new rounds into each chamber. “Blood is blood. These pieces of filth have plenty more for you.”

Rand kicked the door open in time to see Captain Garik’s galleon swing around and rake the brigand aership above with enough fire to shatter the hull. Scraps of wood rained down from above, carrying brigands with them to break on the dust.

Rand sprinted for the Scythe. He dodged between wreckage and corpses, including that of the boy. He had been crushed by a fallen cannon, destroying his chest.

Within sight of the Scythe, Rand readied himself. The balloon was deflated, full of holes, and the basket was smeared with spatters and stains of blood.

Ksenia rose, crying out in pain, and let out a shot from her rifle into the first of charging group of four pirates. The shot hit him in the chest and spun him. Rand put down two more before they could fire at either he or the sniper. The last one skidded to a halt, and doubled back. Artor barged into him with his shield, and drove his spear into the brigand’s chest with a wild scream.

Rand leaped into the basket. Ksenia’s bloody hands fumbled with a rifle round as she tried to load it into the chamber. Blood dribbled from her lips and dripped onto her neck. She had a hole in her leathers just shy of her heart, which seemed to be continually leaking blood.

“Bind that, tightly,” Rand said through his teeth. “I’ll cover you.”

Ksenia grimaced. “You … bind it. I’ll cover … you …”

They had no time for him to take off her leathers. Ksenia leaned on the side, rifle ready in her weak hands. Rand opened a trunk in the basket and took out a roll of fabric he could try and bandage her with. As he wrapped it around her, he realised that there was no exit wound. The bullet was still inside her.

Her rifle cracked, and a pirate in a doorway slumped over. Cannonfire boomed overhead. Another airship rose from beneath Nokturn Isle, taking the galleon by surprise. The shots breached the galleon’s balloon and hull, and it began sinking towards the village, banking around madly to reach the surface.

Rand finished binding Ksenia’s bullet wound. “Cover me.”

“I’ll try,” she rasped. She fumbled with another bullet, and Rand ducked down, wiping the blood from her hands. Some of it stained his fingers.

He squeezed her hands. Ksenia’s eyes were beginning to glaze over, but she looked at him with what strength she had.

“Hold on.”

Ksenia’s mouth turned up in a weak smile. She winked weakly.

Rand picked up his rifle from the basket where Artor had left it and steadied the bipod on the basket.

He lined up a shot on the second brigand airship, aiming for the balloon. The speed of the craft would add a little difficulty to a comparatively simple shot by his standards.

Ksenia’s rifle barked again, then she dropped down into the basket. Powder and ball shot popped around Rand, and he spun to face the brigands charging towards the basket.

Rand crouched and squeezed the trigger. The huge rifle boomed in his hands and kicked into his shoulder. The bullet blew the head and upper chest off one of them, and the arm off from the one behind him. Rand took a new bullet from his bandolier and slid it into the breech. Ksenia rose again with a scream of pain and sent another shot into the charging group. The rest peeled off and sprinted for cover.

Rand spun and took aim at the airship as it began to rake the galleon with cannonfire. His rifle boomed, and the bullet ripped through both sides of the balloon, and the hot air began bleeding from the tears. The firm fabric started to become limp, and the airship began dropping.

The galleon scraped along the dusty ground, straight through one of the wooden houses. Anchors and grapples were thrown from the deck to slow their momentum. The huge aercraft screamed and groaned to a halt.

The brigand aership disappeared below the edge of the island, and Rand was content to let them go.

“Any more company?” he asked Ksenia.

The only response was a pained wheeze.

Ksenia was lying against the side of the basket. Blood stained her teeth, and her eyes were glassy. The bandage he had wrapped around her chest was already soaked in blood.

“Artor!” Rand glanced up at the dock yard, but didn’t spot him. The crew were beginning to jump out of the galleon and sweep the island for more pirates.

“Get the doctor over here!” Rand shouted, but it was as if he was shouting at people with no ears.

“You’re really going to waste all that blood?”

Rand’s jaw locked. He tried to ignore the voice in his head, but he couldn’t push the hunger away. It suddenly seemed as if his stomach was completely empty, and had been for days.

“She is dead already, champion. As a corpse, she is useless.”

“I’m not injured,” Rand growled through his teeth. “You don’t need it.”

The laugh that wormed through his mind almost drove him mad.

“I hunger, champion. I always hunger.”

A sudden pain in his finger made Rand hiss. He had driven his finger down onto the blade of his knife so forcefully that he had cracked the bone.

Ksenia’s eyes opened wide as Rand’s finger was forced into the bullet hole. She couldn’t scream. Her lung had collapsed, and now her blood was rushing into his body, her very life along with it.

Rand wanted to unholster a pistol, and put a bullet through his own head. He couldn’t even twitch. He couldn’t even breathe.

Then, movement returned to him. He snatched his finger away, becoming suddenly aware of the footsteps faltering as they approached the Scythe’s basket.

“Oi, bounty hunter…” Artor stepped forwards hesitantly. “Is she…”

Ksenia’s eyes stared up at the sky. Her mouth gaped open. The only traces of the blood that had been leaking from her mouth were the dry stains on her lips and chin.

Rand stood up, staring down at her corpse. He clenched and unclenched his fists. Artor scrambled into the basket and shook Ksenia, pressing a hand to the wound. “Oh fuck … oh fuck, Ksenia … oh, please…”

Rand couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t move, even. He simply stared at the body, and let his fury build with every memory of her. Inquisitive. Skilled. Determined. Seductive in a way that appealed to him.

And dead, not only because he had been stupid enough to underestimate his opponents, but because he hadn’t been able to control the beast within him.

Rand picked up her rifle, and undid her bandolier. Artor stood up numbly and turned to the wrecked galleon.

“Doctor! Doctor over here!”

Rand offered him no comfort. He simply vaulted from the balloon, and made his way towards the edge of Nokturn Isle.

He had traced the downfall of the second brigand airship. Sure enough, as he stepped up to the lip of the void, there it was.

The hull was smashed in two, and the balloon hung limp. The brigands were already scurrying about, trying to organise themselves perhaps into some kind of defence.

They were rats in an empty barrel. He judged the distance, shouldered Ksenia’s rifle, and fired.

Share

As the Scythe climbed upwards out of the cave and above the nearby islands, Rand, Artor and Ksenia stared out at the desolation left by the storm.

Much of the greenery had been flattened. Trees had been tossed into the air and were doomed now to fall forever. The glittering pools of water were intact, and a few of them still had creatures bounding or fluttering around them. Life would return to this place over the next few days, and foliage would grow where the old had been ripped out of the soil. But looking at it now seemed like a bleak portent of doom.

Artor cranked the props, and Rand set their course towards Nokturn Isle.

Each took a turn on the periscope, propellers and general watch, rotating to stave off boredom that could dull the senses. Rand gave the other two some basic lessons in piloting the Scythe, and while the aer around them remained relatively clear, he wasn’t opposed to one of them taking the helm. Aside from that, there were very few words spoken between them. The closer they got to the brigand stronghold, the more tightly the bands of tension wound.

Predictably, it was Artor that broke the silence, as Rand took over from him at the propeller crank. “Hey, bounty hunter?”

“Hmm?”

“What was this island we’re going to called again?”

“Nokturn Isle.”

Artor massaged his shoulders and sat down. Rand glared at him.

“You think we need someone sitting around while we descend upon drug-addled brigands?”

Artor stared at him, as if Rand had just told the boy that his nose had fallen off. “Ten minutes! You try cranking that lever for two straight hours against the wind.”

“I fly this balloon alone. I crank it for eight to ten hours straight, at least.”

Artor rolled his eyes and slumped back. “Yeah, yeah…”

“‘Yeah yeah’,” Rand repeated with a snort. “You lift cargo all day, what’s wrong with you, boy?”

Artor glared at him. “My name’s Artor, and we get breaks at the dock.”

Rand grunted. “Must be nice.”

Ksenia glanced around from the rudder. “You’ve been to Nokturn Isle before?”

Rand nodded as he began cranking. “Twice, both short visits. It’s a port for travellers, only an aer mile from the shipping lanes. There’s an inn and a few houses, a bounty office and a small trading post. The inn makes them their bits.”

“And we won’t have any problem there? Docking?”

“I don’t see why we would. Brigands are everyone’s problem.”

Artor took a swig from his water skin. “How much further is it?”

Rand glanced at the map, and then checked their bearing on the compass and the altimeter. “About four hours. We’ll probably get there before the galleon does; our run there is clearer.”

Their flight continued on uneventfully, until the rocks clustered closer together around them. Rand took the helm, and Ksenia took up her rifle.

“Keep an eye on the tops of these islands,” he muttered to her. “Sometimes brigands use them for ambushes. People typically watch out for other aercraft, not snipers.”

They continued on, a little more tense now they were closer to more inhabited areas, but before long the aer opened out again. Ksenia got back on the telescope, and after a few minutes she nudged Rand.

“Up ahead. Is that it?”

He gave her the helm and took up the telescope. He peered through and spotted the flat, dusty top of Nokturn Isle, its smattering of buildings sitting atop it. A docking arm extended out, supported by six poles that had been driven at angles into the rocky side. It looked a little like half a bridge, jutting out towards nothing.

“That’s it. Steady on.”

The Scythe floated onwards, and Rand kept an eye on the island. He made sure to glance up and around at the aer around them. There seemed to be no other traffic in the area, but there were a lot of places to hide. Caves, caverns, nooks, crannies, even simply out of their line of sight behind the larger rocks.

“What kind of welcome are we going to get?” Artor muttered. “Did you make the same impression on them you made on us?”

“I was just passing through. I doubt they remember me.”

“Is Garik about?”

“I can’t see the galleon. They’ll probably be a little while yet.”

They were a couple of miles away now, and Rand peered through the telescope again.

“Are we landing on the dock?” Ksenia asked.

“No, we’ll be landing next to it.” Rand watched the town as they floated closer. He grew very still, as if he didn’t want watchful eyes to spot him. That’s exactly how he felt: like he was being watched, and not in the way that they should be. Of course, the island’s occupants would have spotted them by now, but the eyes upon the Scythe weren’t friendly. He could feel it like the breath of a predator on his neck.

But it wasn’t just instinct that made him uneasy. Nokturn Island was far too quiet. No people walked between the buildings, no dockworkers prepared for the Scythe’s landing, no signal had been sent with a mirror…

“Artor, set the spring on the props and keep cranking until you hear them click. When you hear it, let the crank go and take up the telescope.”

“Eh? Yeah, alright.”

Ksenia glanced at Rand as Artor wound the lever. She peered into the periscope. “What am I looking for?”

“Another airship. Scan the top of those islands. If there’s any movement, tell me.”

Ksenia nodded as the prop mechanism clicked. Artor let go of the crank, and the propellers spun by themselves as the tension of the springs released. Rand handed him the telescope.

“Keep an eye on the town. Tell me if anything moves.”

Artor frowned. “Uh … but it’s a town. Should a lot of stuff be moving?”

Rand opened the case that held his powerful rifle, and began assembling it. “Yes. A lot of things should be moving.”

Ksenia picked up her rifle and loaded a bullet into the chamber. She cocked back the hammer, and kept her finger beside the trigger guard as she peered into the periscope.

Artor swallowed. “Oh … fuckin’ hell…”

Rand calmly screwed the long barrel into the receiver of his rifle, tightened it, and began attaching the telescopic sight. “Can you see anything, boy?”

“No,” Artor said, so tense he didn’t seem to notice that Rand had called him ‘boy’. “Nothing’s moving.”

Rand fixed the rifle into its bipod mount. “Any damage?”

“I dunno … some of the buildings look darker than the others, maybe? You think they were burnt?”

Rand slid one of the huge bullets into the rifle’s chamber, and drew back the bolt. “We won’t know until we get closer. Wind the props again, faster.”

Artor nodded and worked his way back to the propellers. Rand tapped him, and held out his hand for the telescope.

“Oh right, yeah…” Artor handed it over, and Rand set it back in its pouch, tied to the inner wall of the basket.

As the Scythe picked up speed, Rand peered through the scope of his rifle at the silent town. Some of the houses had indeed been burned, but not burned down completely. “Someone was alive to put those fires out.”

Ksenia grunted behind him. “So there are survivors?”

“Maybe.”

“They need our help, then. The pirates probably attacked them as well.”

“Hmm.”

Ksenia sighed. “Well, I can’t see anything around on any of the islands. No aercraft or people.”

“Keep looking.”

They were less than a mile away now. Rand could see damage on every building. The shutters had all been smashed to piles of splinters beside every window, and the doors had all been kicked in. The largest building, the inn, had a number of huge holes in the roof, and the upper floor had been almost entirely blackened by flame. Rand tapped his chin. There were still no people outside at all. Taking shelter within the ruined buildings? Perhaps… but something was wrong.

“Even if those fires were set by pirates, and put out by the settlers here … there would be some smoke. This attack must have happened weeks ago.”

Ksenia glanced back again. “Even if you’re right, they will still need help. They’re probably still laying low.”

The Scythe hovered close to the island now. Rand could see the familiar layout of the village: the buildings arranged in a circle that opened towards the dock, welcoming travellers. The inn was directly opposite the landing area, so any newcomers would have to walk past all the shops that the locals had established from carts or at the front of their houses.

The dusty ground was patterned by chaotic footfalls and smudges. Rand took in each building in turn. Not even a shadow quivered in the darkened windows.

“Ksenia … stay in the basket and keep an eye out. I’ll leave you my rifle. Alert us if you see an airship heading our way, or if anyone pops out. Artor and I will take a look around.”

Artor looked back with wide eyes. “What? We’re landing? We should wait for Captain Garik.”

“We have no idea where Garik is, only that he’s coming here. If people here need help, we can provide it. If there’s no-one here, there will be salvage and information. If this is a trap, better we spring it than allow it to hit us and the galleon both.”

Artor folded his arms and worked his jaw. “If it is a trap … we’re … fucked. There are three of us.”

A low chuckle rang through Rand’s mind. “I hope it’s a trap. You have a debt to me, champion.”

“Make your weapons ready and stay quiet. Follow my lead, and do nothing unless I tell you.”

Artor’s eyes goggled. Ksenia turned to him, holding her rifle at low-ready. “I’ll look out for you, Artor, and so will Rand.”

The lad swallowed. “I … um…”

“Put on your armour,” Rand said. “You’re not a slouch. You managed to disarm me, remember?” He turned down the burner, and the Scythe started descending. An eagerness had settled over him, making him ignore the pain from the slice in his arm. The blood hunger from his patron was beginning to tease his mortal mind.

“Careful,” he murmured to himself.

“Yeah … that’s what I’m sayin’. We should be careful,” Artor grumbled as he put on his armour.

“Yes, we should. Brigands shouldn’t be taken lightly regardless of how stupid the powders seem to make them.” Rand turned to Ksenia and patted his rifle. “If an airship comes in, use this. Your rifle won’t be enough, but use it for any people you see that look unfriendly.”

She nodded. “It’ll be close quarters, and you don’t look much better. I can go, and you could keep watch.”

Rand felt the flavour of blood coat his tongue, and had to keep himself from snapping. “I’ve been out in a worse condition than this.”

The Scythe’s basket gently bumped onto the dusty ground, and Rand turned the burner down a little more, but not enough to deflate the balloon. They’d need it to escape quickly if things went wrong.

Rand checked all five of his pistols. Loaded. Cocked. Ready to kill. His sword was in easy reach, but he wouldn’t be able to use it while he was still so weak.

Artor swung out of the basket and raised his shield. His other hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Rand climbed out after him, one pistol in his right hand.

“That way.” Rand pointed to the nearest building, a small wooden shack. Artor followed his instruction and jogged over. Rand just about managed to keep pace. “Stay at the left-hand corner of the nearest wall.”

Artor nodded and jogged towards it. Rand stopped by the right-hand corner, and peered out at the inner circle of the village.

“Uh … what am I doing over here?”

Rand rolled his eyes. “Making sure no-one sneaks up behind us. Now shut up for a second.”

“Alright! Keep your hair on!”

While there was still no movement visible between the buildings, even in a village as small as this one there were hundreds of places to hide. Rand closed his eyes, and tried to listen.

Still there was nothing to be heard. He gritted his teeth and drew his dagger quietly.

He lowered it to the back of his left arm and poked slowly until he broke the skin. Blood dribbled out, and the pain sharpened his hearing a little, but no more sounds found his ears. He couldn’t risk cutting himself any more, not while he was so depleted already.

His eyes drew down to the dusty ground as he wiped the blade off on his coat. Judging by the footprints and the displacement of the dust, there had been a lot of activity on Nokturn Isle of late. People running back and forth, changing directions, dragging their feet.

He peered closer. Dragging their feet through their own prints. Distorting them. Hiding numbers and direction of movement.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and drew another pistol in his off hand.

Artor looked around. “What?”

“Keep your ears and eyes sharp.” He nodded to Ksenia, who crouched a little in the basket and brought her rifle up to ready against her shoulder.

“Why are we whispering?” Artor whispered.

“Because I don’t think we’re alone.”

Artor hissed. “Fuck!”

Rand pointed back towards the outer edge and then walked back, staying light on his feet. Artor followed, his footsteps drumming along the hard ground. They made their way around to the next corner. There was an open window in the middle of the wall.

Rand sidled up to it, and hearing nothing from inside, peered into the house.

The door had been breached, likely kicked in. It lay in pieces on the wooden floorboards, in front of a table similarly broken. Rotten food was scattered about the floor, but it didn’t have the signature stink of such. The wardrobe and trunks were open and empty.

“Looted,” Rand whispered. “A long time ago … maybe a year, possibly longer.”

“What’s got you so spooked, then?” Artor hissed back.

“People have been here since.”

“Yeah? How’d you know?”

“It doesn’t matter how I know. I know. Keep your wits about you. Next building.”

Rand took a breath and ran across the dust to the next house. Through the window here he saw much of the same debris and damage as in the first. The house was larger, with a ladder leading to an upper floor as well as a hatchway in the corner. A cellar, logically, or storage space. The entire house was silent.

The next one was the same, silent and ruined, and the next, and the next. No survivors, sounds or smells.

“If there are people here, if there are pirates here, we should leave.”

The fury and frustration that rose in Rand’s head, wrapped in the black blood of the abyss, almost made him snap. His feet were no longer moving under their own power, or so it seemed.

Rand took as deep a breath as he could to push the rage down. “No. The galleon is coming. Risk three lives, or dozens, when your town is at stake?”

“But-“

But Rand was already running to the next empty house. They were drawing close to the inn now, and this building was the second largest in the entire village.

The smell coming from inside was different, only subtly different, but it drew the dark presence within Rand like a moth to a flame.

He turned to Artor and pressed a finger to his lips. The lad gritted his teeth, and raised his shield against whatever phantoms lurked here.

A window yawned open, leading to stinking blackness. Rand had the barrel of his pistol pointed straight at it, and whatever lay within.

He swung himself in, and his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. This house was bare, completely bare. The upper level was accessible with a narrow staircase instead of a ladder, and around the back of that staircase was another that led downwards to the cellar. That was the source of the smell, old but familiar, and tempting to the nightmare passenger in Rand’s head.

“What’s down there?” Artor whispered. “What do you know? You know something about this house.”

“I have a guess,” Rand murmured. He began down the steps.

Artor grabbed his upper arm and tried to turn him around. Rand looked back into the lad’s eyes, and Artor recoiled. His panicked steps creaked loudly across the floorboards.

“Shh!” Rand snapped.

“What’s wrong with your eyes?”

Rand could only imagine what Artor was seeing. He remembered the first time he had glimpsed his own black, abyssal eyes, and his reaction had been similar to the boy’s.

“Nothing. It’s the shadows. Have your weapons ready.”

“But…”

Rand crept away from him down the stairs, and tried the door handle to the cellar. It was unlocked.

He glanced at Artor, and raised his pistol. Artor readied his shield.

Rand opened the door. The cellar held the echo of a bloodbath.

The wooden walls and floorboards were stained with blood that had browned and blackened with time. There were no bodies, just the blood. Unfortunately for Rand’s patron, the blood was beyond useless. Too old… far, far too old.

“Fuckin’…” Aside from the curse, Artor seemed lost for words.

“A lot of people were led down here,” Rand muttered. “Maybe most of the village. Then they were killed.”

“Where are the bodies?” Artor wondered in a quiet daze. He had gone pale, and was swaying a little.

Rand snorted. “We’re very close to the island’s edge.”

Artor leaned on the doorframe. “They were thrown off, eh?”

“Yep.” Rand faced the house again, turning away from the cellar. “Get rid of the bodies … and no-one can find them before you spring the trap.”

“Fuckin’ hell … let’s go then!”

But Rand was already halfway up the stairs. There were pirates here.

There was fresh blood here.

Rand marched straight out through the front door, daring the brigands to attack as he strode towards the inn. Artor was hot on his heels.

“Oi! We’ve got to g-”

“Keep your voice down!” Rand snarled.

“But-”

“The moment we run, they strike. We have to move first.”

They walked through the inn’s front door. The furthest point from the dock, this was the perfect ambush point.

“There’ll be plenty of good salvage here,” Rand said loudly and clearly. As Artor’s eyes widened in protest, Rand held a finger over his lips. He sent a tether to the young man’s mind.

Act naturally. Keep your eyes open. Be ready.

He then pointed to his eyes with two fingers, then around at the tavern where they stood. Artor swallowed and nodded.

The drinking area was large, wide and welcoming. Cushioned benches and tables sat between dark wooden columns, with carved idols and images hanging on the walls. Rand recognised images of the huge island city, Mihre, as well as Ulverland, Old and New Senon, and other well known islands. A number of model aercraft, similarly carved from wood, hung from the ceiling.

The bar was covered in broken glass, rusted tankards and upturned plates. Similar debris was scattered about the floor and the tables. There were, just as on the rest of Nokturn Island, no dead, only silence.

“Uh…” Artor wiped the sweat from his brow. “In the mood for some drinks?”

“If there are any left. Alcohol is good for medicinal purposes.” Rand reached out with a tether, winding it back through the bar and out across the village to the Scythe. Ksenia was right at the edge of his range.

Keep your eyes out. Brigands are here, and they’ll attack very soon.

He hoped she understood. Sometimes the tethers spooked people. He didn’t know what the people receiving the message even heard on the other end. Was it his voice, or the voice of his dark passenger?

Rand and Artor moved deeper in, right up to the bar. Bullet holes now, covering the wall behind where the barman would stand, shattering the bottles and punching through the wood.

“What a waste of good liquor,” Rand said with a sigh. He glanced across at Artor, who was staring at something on the floor.

He took a step towards the lad. “Isn’t it? A waste of good liquor?”

Artor pointed at something on the floor. “Yeah, a real waste.”

It was a hip flask, a very shiny hip flask. It had been polished, to the point where not a single speck of rust discoloured the metal. Rand glanced at every rusty, filthy tankard within reach.

He closed his eyes, and poked his knife into his hip. The darkness used the pain to sharpen his ears, but only a little. Hunger was making it stingier.

Still, from below, came the creak of a footstep.

He glanced at Artor, and sent a tether to him. Below us.

“A pretty piece,” Rand said, looking around at the bar. A cellar door sat at the bottom of a staircase behind the bar.

Rand gestured to it, and waved Artor forwards.

Put up your shield. I’ll be at your back.

They walked forwards as quietly as they could. There would be a swift, brutal engagement once they went through the door.

Remember your training. You disarmed me. You can prevail here.

Artor swallowed and nodded once. They were almost at the door, on the last three steps.

A shot went off outside. A rifle. Ksenia’s rifle.

Then another, smaller bore, likely a pistol bullet.

They would have heard it in the cellar. Rand’s hands tightened on his pistol grips, and the promise of blood surged through his mind.

The trap was sprung.

Share

The balloon thrashed and whipped back and forth, refusing to fill with hot air, until both Rand and Artor held the opening to the fabric in place over the burner. They braced themselves against the winds and eventually the flapping, useless thing stiffened and firmed, billowing outwards and growing.

“Keep holding it!” Rand shouted over the howling winds. Artor nodded, his eyes squinting. The basket trembled beneath their feet and threatened to tip over.

“Artor! Wind the propeller! Keep it steady, we need to fight these winds!”

Artor struggled across the deck and steadied his feet. He grabbed onto the lever and began cranking it, even as the balloon strained against its moorings so hard it started to take off from the rock.

Rand turned the burner down a little and looked around. Crewmen from the galleon were picking up their moorings and tossing them back aboard. He could hear the creaking and screaming of the wood and iron-bracketed hull.

Bang after bang popped off around the Scythe, and Rand ducked down. The storm was kicking up the smaller rocks in the air and throwing them at the two aercraft, as if it was on purpose.

“Artor! Keep your head down!”

Artor ducked, as a shard of rock missed his head by an inch and disappeared into the shadows.

Weakness made Rand’s head swim, like he was being continually submerged underwater. The flavour of blood teased his tongue, but it wasn’t his own. It was a longing memory, a craving making his tastebuds dance madly.

He tried to ignore it by distracting himself: setting up the rudder, making sure everything was strapped down, making sure the fuel lines to the burner were intact.

The storm winds twisted in multiple directions, bouncing around the rocks. They carried many shards and chunks of rock with them, and Rand could hear them smacking against the island, basket and balloon. They didn’t have long before the winds grew so fast that the rocks would tear the dirigible, and they would be fully at the storms mercy.

He glanced up at the galleon just in time to see Ksenia leap from the gangway and sprint towards the Scythe. The winds fought her with every step, and she ducked down to make herself as small a target as possible for the rocks. The galleon pulled away from the island, half-carried by the wind, and half by the sails that extended on either side and billowed. It sped up swiftly and tore across the open patch of aer.

Ksenia grabbed onto the edge of the Scythe’s basket, and Rand hauled her inside. He drew a knife from his belt and sliced through one of the mooring ropes; the one furthest from the eye of the storm. Even so, Scythe shuddered and thrashed.

“Don’t we need those?” Ksenia shouted through her teeth.

Rand shook his head. “If we take them up one by one the winds will tip us over. We’ll come back for them if they’re still here. Do you two have knives?”

Artor drew his, and Ksenia nodded.

“Good. Get by a mooring rope, and cut it on the count of three.”

They spread out to each corner, keeping their footing through the shuddering winds.

“One … two … three!”

Rand sliced through the rope with a single, quick cut. Sharp blade, perfect technique. Artor’s blade was a little rougher, but he sawed through the rope quickly. Ksenia sliced twice, her knife a little better kept than Artor’s. Rand fired up the burner, and the Scythe sailed upwards. The wind shoved them towards the edge. The trio aboard held on to the basket for dear life as the basket lurched and threatened to capsize.

“Artor, be ready on those propellers!” Rand shouted. He could see the storm now, swallowing islands whole, one of the biggest he had encountered. Ksenia stared at it, her mouth agape, and Artor’s arms shook on the prop controls, both from terror and from the strain.

Vapour, dust and dirt swirled in a vortex that advanced upon them hungrily. The wind was black shadow upon grey debris, ripping up the foliage from the more fertile islands, adding the flotsam to its own horrific body. It reached up and down for miles, and Rand knew that the wide influence of its winds made the maelstrom inescapable.

Rand angled the rudder, trying to apply some direction to the howling wind shoving them away. They were also being twisted around in a slingshot, shoved but sucked inwards simultaneously. He managed to almost get their course back in a straight line, away from the vortex. The rear of the basket pointed at it.

“Artor, crank the props!”

Artor’s arm worked, steadily and slowly getting faster. The Scythe straightened up and arrowed to the edge of the island. Rand leaned back and turned the burner down to a third. The Scythe began to drop down.

Ksenia stared around at him madly. “What are you doing?!”

“I spotted a cave when we were flying in: it’s our only cover. Artor, stop cranking for now, but be ready to start again!”

“Right!” the lad shouted.

The Scythe dropped behind the island. While they were sheltered from the strongest of the winds trying to toss them around, the gusts that split and curved around the rock battered them from both left and right. Rand tried to angle the rudder and turn the balloon around, but the weather played havoc with their manoeuvrability.

“Tell me when you see that cave!” he shouted. One hand on the rudder, one hand on the burner, he struggled now to even keep them level. Without the power of the burner at full they were almost another piece of debris waiting to be swallowed.

“There!” Ksenia pointed, and Rand fired the burner. Instant control returned to him, and he pointed the Scythe around.

“Crank the prop!” he shouted, and the balloon drifted towards the black recess that led into the bowels of the rock.

A tree whipped around the island, tumbling towards them, and missed the basket only by a yard or two. The cyclone was almost upon them.

The chasm loomed ahead. Rand leaned forwards. “Artor, when I tell you, crank the lever the other way!”

The Scythe moved under the overhanging rock, and the winds on either side immediately ceased. The sheer noise of it, however, seemed to focus and scream even louder.

“Now!”

Artor cranked the lever in reverse, and the balloon began to gradually slow. Rand breathed for the first time in about ten minutes, at least that was how it felt. “How does the ground look beneath us?”

Ksenia leaned over. “Flat enough.”

“Hmm. Good.”

Rand turned the burner down lower and lower, matching the gentle descent of the aercraft. As they bumped softly onto the rock, Rand turned the burner off, and made sure the balloon sagged well away from the basket.

Artor sat down heavily, gasping, wiping the sweat off his brow. Rand worked his way over, and extended his right hand. “Well done.”

Artor took his hand, and Rand pulled him to his feet. Ksenia looked around their shelter from the basket, rifle in hand. “This cave is huge!”

“Yes, it probably used to be a riverbed, running underground. Maybe running through a mountain. Give me a hand, Artor.”

Rand used Artor’s arm to help him lever himself out of the basket, and walked around the Scythe. There was some scoring and scratching on the outer layer of wood, but they had gotten lucky. He started checking the balloon fabric.

“You two get some sleep, I’ll make sure we can take off safely when its time.”

Ksenia eyed the swirling winds, that had almost obscured everything outside. “Are we safe here?”

“We have enough shelter. I’ll tie us off to one or two of the stalagmites to make sure.”

She frowned at him. “What?”

Rand sighed. “The rocks that stick up from the floor.”

“Oh. Alright.” She shifted her step. “Should we set up a watch?”

There was no need, of course. Rand could stay awake the whole night … but did he want them to know that yet?

“You know what happens when people find out what you are.”

“Ah, you’re back, are you?” Rand whispered under his breath. He turned to Ksenia. “Yes … good idea. I’ll take the first one and wake you in … two hours.”

She took a step towards. “You sure? You look terrible. You lost a lot of blood when you cut your arm.”

“I’ll be fine.”

She folded her arms. “You need rest. You’re the most experienced aerman and gunman we have. We need you.”

Rand nodded. “Extended sleep will be better for me, then.”

“Artor and I can split the watch. Sleep.”

Rand shook his head. Six to eight hours pretending to sleep, with only his dark companion for company, might kill him with a combination of boredom and irritation. “You don’t know my balloon. I do. While you sleep I can survey the damage, and keep an eye out. I need you both alert and awake, and strong.”

Ksenia’s jaw locked stubbornly, but sighed. “Two hours, and no longer.”

Rand nodded. She turned back to the balloon and snorted. Artor was, of course, already asleep.

***

The storm passed after a few long, drawn out minutes, leaving only the distant howl and the black night.

Rand repaired a few small tears in the balloon fabric, and patched areas where the tarp was beginning to fray. He had grown very adept with a needle and thread; one of the most difficult skills he’d had to master and easily the one that had taken the longest. Once the seams were sealed as air-tight as he could make them, with sealant mixed from oil and tar, all he had to do was watch the mouth of the cave, and wait for Ksenia to wake up.

In the meantime, he only had one other as company.

“You may wear the face of an enigma around those two, but you have no secrets from me.”

Rand glanced at the basket. Neither of the others were awake. “I didn’t realise I was trying to keep one.”

“You really do care about that silly girl inhabiting the ruin she calls a town, don’t you.”

“I care about her safety. That’s all. I’m not surprised that you don’t recognise the feeling, nor that you confuse it for something more lascivious.”

“Safety. In your shattered lands, do you really believe that there is any so-called safety? After everything you’ve seen? Everything you’ve done?”

Rand stared out at the night, black and full of terror. “I would hope that good people, living well, might change the lands for the better. I’m here to protect them, aren’t I? As a bounty hunter, I remove threats to the societies that have formed here.”

A rueful chuckle bounced through his head. “You speak so well, use such pretty words, like an educated man. How far you’ve come over the years. I’m glad I chose you, but you are still that foolish boy you were, in so many ways.”

Rand rubbed his hands together for a little warmth. He was colder than he should have been. Maybe more food was needed, but as he unwrapped the last fragments of his ration biscuit dinner, the chuckle came again. “You know what you need, and it isn’t bad food.”

“You call me foolish, so why don’t you give me a little education,” Rand muttered, trying to move its attention away from conjuring the taste of blood on his tongue.

“Human company makes you stupid. You start to see the broken world through their eyes. All of these settlements and ‘societies’ you speak of are struggling against doom and death, built among the skeletons of what once was. Their time is borrowed, and they have no idea.”

“You don’t need to teach me that lesson. I was taught it before we met.”

That chuckle hummed through him again. “Only just before.”

“Everyone’s time is borrowed. Your time is borrowed too.”

“Oh, is it? Are you sure?”

“You exist in all of this, this broken world, the void above us and the core below. All things end.”

“Gods cannot end. Gods are eternal.”

“If you’re a god, you should be where the gods are, not bothering me.”

“Ha!” The pure joyful guffaw almost made him laugh as well, but he held it back. The tethers between him and his dark companion were elaborate and strong, running deeper than he knew.

“I see every thought that passes through your mind. I know you doubt me, more often than you should. You are not the first champion to have doubts, you will not be the last.”

Rand smiled to himself. “I suppose you assuaged those doubts.”

“Their eyes and the proof of their power assuaged their doubts. The power I imbued. What little were you before I found you and uplifted you?”

Rand’s smile died on his lips. “I was happy.”

“You were a weak, pathetic creature, inhabiting a dead rock you were trying to imbue life into. You couldn’t defend yourself. You couldn’t read. You couldn’t survive on your own. Moreover, let it not be said that it was I who took away your ‘happiness’.”

“You may not have taken it away, but you’ve kept it away.”

His ears picked up a moan from the balloon, that cut through the constant buzz of Artor’s snoring. A moment later, Ksenia stood up and stretched. She peered through the darkness until she found him. She nodded to him with a tired smile.

“Are you fooling yourself into thinking you’ll find it with her?”

Rand didn’t answer. Instead he waited until Ksenia was in earshot before he spoke. “You aren’t supposed to be awake for a little while.”

“Artor’s snoring doesn’t just bother you.” She sat beside him. “Anything out there?”

“Lingering dust, little more.”

“No more dragons, eh?”

Rand smiled and shook his head. “They’ll be long gone.”

Ksenia rubbed her arms to try and keep the cold away. “Were they coming this way to get away from the storm?”

“Probably. There’s a blanket in the balloon somewhere if you want it.”

She grunted. “It’s a little thin. You don’t feel cold ever?”

Rand patted his long coat.

“Oh, please. Typical man, no matter how big your rifle is.”

He smirked and looked out again.

She sighed. “Or maybe you need the pain. I can’t think how else your arm managed to get cut so badly. There’s nothing that sharp on your balloon, except your knife or your sword.”

Rand grunted. “Accidents happen.”

“A very fortunate accident, for us. We might have died if you hadn’t warned the galleon the way you did.”

“Maybe.”

“Your voice got really loud. Louder than is … possible.”

Rand sighed. “If you have something to say, or something to ask me, go ahead.”

Ksenia went quiet. Rand looked out into the night a little longer, then turned to look at her. Her eyes searched his, but he didn’t know what she was searching for. Maybe she didn’t know either.

“I don’t think I want to ask,” Ksenia murmured. “I don’t think I want to know. All that matters is that those pirates never come back to my home.”

Rand nodded. “Agreed.”

They didn’t say anything else for a little while gazing out into the night, until she broke the silence with a quiet question.

“How many pirates have you killed?”

Rand thought for a moment, as if he could actually count the many corpses at his feet. “I don’t know.”

“Too many to count?”

“Too many, over too many years.”

She went quiet again, this time breaking the silence with a sigh. “Up on the roofs, I saw so many people running for their lives and getting … shot in the back. I heard those … fucking … pieces of shit … laughing at wounded men and women who were bleeding to death.”

“Normal behaviour, unfortunately. The powders are a factor, but a lot of them are broken and mad, directed at places like Dryxovan by their lords and captains.”

“How many of them are there going to be, when we get to where we’re going?”

The dark patron pulled his lips into a grin. “Hundreds, probably.”

“I’m glad you’re excited about it.”

Rand waved her off. “Numbers are all they have. Brigands raid, they don’t fight. At Dryxovan, Garik organised his men, and beat them back. I dealt with plenty of them, you dealt with plenty of them. With a little intelligence and discipline, we’ll be more than a match for them.”

“Right.” Ksenia shuddered for a moment. “Look … we’re not far away from this. I want you to be right, but…”

She rubbed her face with her open palms. “This world out here … I’d heard stories, but it’s so dead. The life around these rocks here are the first scraps of it we’ve seen … and a storm has come and probably cast a lot of it away. Monsters fly between the rocks. There are no people. Not one person for miles, except us. How can you believe in any kind of grand plan or God?”

“I have all the proof I need. For most people, belief is an article of faith. You don’t have to believe what I believe, but you must know the realm you live in. You must know what it can do to you, how it can kill you, and keep your eyes open. They may be here, but our gods will not save you. Their power is being used elsewhere.”

Ksenia looked at him for a moment. “You said … you were shown them. The gods.”

“Yes.”

“Where are they?”

Rand smiled. “Telling you means that you would have no need of faith.”

Ksenia pouted at him. “Fine. If you’re not going to tell me, go to sleep like you’re supposed to.”

Rand smirked, and patted her on the shoulder. “Keep your eyes peeled.”

“I will.”

Rand stood and walked back towards the basket. At the sound of Artor’s relentless snoring, he rolled his eyes and walked straight past it towards the back of the cave, where he could meditate in peace.

He hoped for a little serenity, but he could feel the inescapable gaze of his dark companion.

An evening of torment awaited.

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The two aercraft landed on an island on the far side of the clear patch of the Shatter, and did a little maintenance. The two crews mixed, and Commander Garik let the men eat their rations on the land, lowering crewmen by rope to moor the galleon with grappling spikes and to tie up the gangway. Rand just set the Scythe down on top and moored it himself.

The galleon carried a surplus of supplies, so Garik offered Rand, Ksenia and Artor some of the fuel, food and water, as well as medical attention from the doctor aboard. Rand’s cut was stitched closed, but he had still lost a lot of blood, and found himself feeling a way he hadn’t for more years than he bothered to count.

Weak.

The stumble in his step and the tiredness were one thing, but the way others treated him was more than irritating. The looks of concern, the helping hands, the careful touches, the soft tone of voice…

Perhaps it was the shadow within that wanted the fear and reverence and respect to come back. Maybe Rand had gotten so used to the tendrils staining his heart that his feelings and his dark companion’s feelings were becoming one and the same.

He found himself longing for solitude, and wandered out to the edge of the island. He sat on a right angled outcropping on the edge of the drop into infinity, dangled his legs over the side, and lay back on the rock. With the oncoming night, the twinkling lights that dotted the black void beyond the outermost islands had come out, shining through the gaps in the field above. The passenger within him quietened at the sight, and seemed to relax as much as Rand.

Could he doze off? He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing, but peace never reached his mind.

“Just ten minutes,” Rand whispered. “That’s all.”

There was no response, apart from the continuation of his consciousness.

“Oi!”

“Oh, please … no …” Rand listened to Artor’s clomping, ungraceful footsteps bounding over, and Ksenia’s quieter, more nimble gait. The lad goggled at him, just in his peripheral vision.

“You alive?”

“No.”

“You shouldn’t be that close to the edge, not in your condition.” Ksenia’s voice was filled with that same annoying concern, and Rand sighed.

“If I was going to fall into infinity, I would have fallen when I tried to sit down here in the first place.” He didn’t try and keep the irritation out of his voice.

Rand listened to Ksenia’s footsteps carefully approaching, testing each rock and patch of ground, until she settled herself beside him. “We brought food.”

She set a hemp-wrapped package on Rand’s chest, about the size of a closed fist. Artor sat down on surer ground and shuffled across to the edge on his backside. Rand listened to the young man’s breath quicken a little so close to the endless fall.

“That’s a sight,” Ksenia murmured.

“A terrifying sight,” Artor muttered.

“More terrifying than being on the Scythe? You’re over a drop the entire time.”

“Yeah, but on the Scythe, the side of the basket’s in the way.” Artor wiped his brow.

“Lean back and you won’t fall,” Rand muttered as he unwrapped the package. Inside was a fatty biscuit, and a few dried scraps of meat, as well as a few dried mushrooms. He grunted at the meal. “I’ve eaten worse. It’s been a while since I’ve had dried mushrooms.”

Ksenia swallowed a mouthful of biscuit. “Yeah, up in the island where we get our water, they grow around the edge.”

“Hmm.” Rand tasted one. Not bad. Musty, even a little salty. Artor took a noisy bite of meat and chewed it like a sheep. Rand glared at him. “Stop that.”

“Fto’ wha’?” Artor said through is mouthful.

“Gods be good, stop literally all of what you’re doing with that food.”

Artor swallowed and stared at Rand, confused. “I’m just eating.”

“Do it more quietly, with your mouth closed. I have no desire to either hear or see your dinner.”

Ksenia chuckled. “You’re really not used to people, are you?”

“Not being around me so often, no. I fly a balloon for more reasons than just that it’s quiet.”

“How long have you been a bounty hunter?”

Rand grunted again and glared at her.

She raised an eyebrow. “What? You don’t even want to talk?”

“We haven’t talked much so far … boy, if you keep chomping on that biscuit I’ll toss it and you over the side.”

Artor opened his mouth wide to show Rand the mush inside, before chewing so loudly it was like shoes clopping on a wooden floor.

“Talking might distract you from that,” Ksenia said with a grin.

Rand closed his eyes. If he hadn’t been so weak, he would have just walked away. “Fine. What was it? How long have I been a bounty hunter?”

She nodded.

“Since I was thirteen.”

Artor choked a little on his mush as Ksenia raised her eyebrows. “Since you were … how did you get started at thirteen?”

The burning stench found Rand’s nose again and he shook it away. “It’s … I needed some direction in my life, and I found it … or rather it was … found for me.”

Artor swallowed. “So you’ve been flying around in a balloon, killing people, for … what … twenty years?”

“Ha, only twenty, boy?” The entity’s voice was a murmur, but an amused murmur. “You want to have that conversation with these two, about how old you really are?”

Rand wasn’t in the mood. “Not flying around, no. I couldn’t afford a balloon when I was thirteen.”

Ksenia lounged back, and took a bite of dried meat. “But don’t you … I don’t know exactly how it works, but you need to travel to your … bounty, right?”

“There are plenty of bounties at the local level, especially in the bigger cities like Ulverland or Mihre. Mihre especially … I wouldn’t visit there any time soon if I were you.”

“Why not?” Artor said as he chewed more biscuit.

“You’d be robbed blind at best, within an hour of landing. It’s not a nice place, especially in the lower reaches.”

“Well then, I suppose I’d better land in the upper reaches.” Artor grinned like he’d just said the smartest thing Rand had ever heard.

“If you can afford it on a dock man’s wage. You’d still be robbed blind, it would just take a day, rather than an hour.”

Ksenia took a sip from a small flask, and offered it to Rand. “But as a thirteen year old, how were you getting jobs? Who was trusting a thirteen year old to deal with a pirate captain and their like?”

Rand sipped the savoury, musty liquid, and raised an eyebrow at it. “Mushroom liquor?”

“Home made.”

“Hmph. To answer your question, nobody trusted a thirteen year old to kill a pirate. They trusted me to deal with pests, or retrieve certain items, but people… no. Not if they were wanted alive, especially.”

A memory of blood, conjured by his dark passenger, made a cold tingle of pleasure travel up his spine, and he shuddered.

Ksenia’s hand moved closer to his, mistaking the shudder for one of discomfort. Artor gaped. “So you were killing people, then, when you was thirteen?”

“Many are wanted dead or alive. Alive requires you to overpower the bounty, physically or with subversion, like a drug in wine, for example. As a thirteen year old, though, you’re rarely in a position to do something like that. So I had to kill … but the problem with killing is, as a bounty hunter, you develop a reputation. It limits your options. You won’t get jobs that require the bounty alive.”

“But that didn’t matter nearly as much as their delicious blood mattered.” The voice was wistful now, lost in memory, perhaps trying to tempt Rand into something rash. The food helped get his strength back, but not as much as blood did. Blood was the price to heal his wounds.

“How were you even getting jobs?” Ksenia wondered. “And who taught you how to kill?”

“I have a … patron. Mostly, though, I did the same thing I do now. I take jobs that posted on the boards in bounty offices, or from men like Hachi. I pick up rumours now and then from the taverns or dockyards, that lead me to work. As for who taught me … I learned from whoever was willing to teach me, take on an apprentice for a few months.”

Ksenia nodded as she chewed, her face turning thoughtful. “So when did you start believing in all the woo-woo stuff?”

Rand frowned. “Woo-woo?”

“You talk about gods and things like that. I’ve heard Vander talk about some of that stuff, but no-one I know believes in it.”

“What’ff a goh?” Artor mumbled through yet more biscuit.

“I don’t have the energy to explain it,” Rand grunted with a rub of his head.

“They’re sort of … legends,” Ksenia said. “They’re powerful beings who created everything we know, who manage all the moving parts.”

Rand snorted. “In basic terms.”

“So they’re like … builders?” Artor frowned out at the shattered rocks around them. “Are they having time off? What’s all this?”

“‘All this’ is why they’re not real.” Ksenia glanced at Rand. “Meaning no offence.”

“Oh, the poor idiots.”

Rand chuckled. “You being wrong doesn’t offend me.”

“Where are they, then?” Artor scoffed.

“Just because you can’t see something, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. You can’t see the air, but you breathe it.”

Ksenia shook her head. “You can hear the air, feel it.”

“And you can hear me, and feel me, can’t you, champion…”

Rand bit his lip, and lay back. “Look up there.”

Ksenia and Artor glanced at each other. Ksenia looked upwards first, squinted, and then lay back with wide eyes. Artor gaped, and flopped onto his back.

The three of them gazed at the distant lights, winking against the black void spiced with the colour of vast clouds even further away.

“Are those lights more islands?” Artor said with a loud, boyish inquisitiveness. It made Rand smile, despite himself.

“No. They’re more suns, far away.”

“What?” Artor glanced at him. “I thought there was only one. Huh … I’ve … never even seen the sun.”

“You’re far from the edge in Dryxovan. Light bounces between the rocks, but you don’t get it the way they would here, or a little further out.”

“How do you know they’re suns?” Ksenia asked.

“They’re not more islands. I’ve been far out enough to tell. They don’t get any bigger no matter how far out I go. There’s an island out near the edge, almost on the edge, so far out the Scythe can’t even go there. A specially made airship is needed to ferry visitors and supplies there.”

Artor was hanging on his every word. “What’s it like?”

“Too hot in the day, and too cold at night. Nothing grows, because nothing can. It is utterly dead, utterly desolate.”

“So why live there?”

“Because it’s close to the void. The air is just about thin enough to breathe, so people can … and those that do worship the void.”

Ksenia grimaced, but Rand shook his head. “They’re largely harmless, and very, very dedicated. They have more writing and information on the void than anyone on any island I’ve been to, and I’ve been to many. They watch the void with telescopes far more powerful than mine. Those points of light are suns, I promise you. Some are like ours. Some are huge, red things. Some are blue, some are tiny and white. Some come in pairs.”

Artor shifted himself a little to look at him. “Right … but … what does that have to do with you believing in gods?”

“Because those suns have spheres moving around them. Whole worlds. They move around our sun as well, in a circle. Some take close to a year, like us. Some take a couple of months. Some take a century or more. These worlds have moons, air, water … and perhaps have people like us. The Shatter used to be a world, like those worlds.”

“But something … broke our world?” Ksenia murmured.

“Yes. Shattered it like glass, hence the name.”

Artor squinted at him. “So?”

Rand looked around at Artor. “You’ve seen something explode before. What happens?”

“The bits go everywhere.”

“Right, and they keep going until they stop.”

“Yeah.”

Rand held his gaze. “In the void, if something explodes, the bits don’t stop. They keep going, because there’s nothing to stop them.”

“Yeah?”

“The distance between the islands in the Shatter doesn’t change. It has never changed since the world broke apart. What’s holding it together?”

Ksenia and Artor went silent for a moment.

“The rocks, the islands, the water (what little of it there is), the very air we breathe … it all stays together. What’s more … we’re here. People. Somehow, people survived the shattering of the world.”

Both of them were looking at him now. Ksenia’s brow was furrowed in thought, but Artor’s eyes were goggling saucers.

Rand looked back up at the distant suns. “Believe whatever you wish to. Maybe there is a perfectly logical reason for our survival, but I think the gods are the reason we live. I think they are holding what’s left of this world together with all their power, and they made sure some of us lived because they couldn’t bear to let us die.”

Neither of them said anything to that. They lay in silence for a few minutes, chewing thoughtfully on their dinner.

“Is there a god you keep to, or do you believe in all of them?”

“Tell them what I did for you, champion. Do it.”

Rand shifted. “I believe they’re all real. As for a specific god … I suppose … I don’t know.”

The knowing chuckle in his head was maddening.

Artor stretched back. “You know … you ain’t much different from us, ‘cept all your god-bothering. You act like you are, act better than us and stuff, but you started out the same way I did, or Erika did.”

Rand snorted. “I don’t think I bother it … or bother them, exactly, but maybe you have a point.”

Ksenia chuckled. “Hear that, Artor? He just suggested you were right about something.”

“Let’s not go that far,” Rand grunted, but as Artor turned to glare at him, he met the bounty hunter’s smirk with a snort.

“How much further do we have to travel?” Ksenia grunted.

“Another two days or so,” Rand murmured. “Depends on the wind, and the weather, and no surprises.”

“Where you going once it’s done?” Artor muttered.

“I don’t know. Back to Dryxovan to drop you off and pick up my payment. I might stay for a few days, help rebuild a little.”

“And teach Erika some stuff, you said.”

Rand grunted. “Yes, teach her a thing or two.”

“Right. You … um … you must like her.”

“I like her alive.”

Ksenia smirked at Artor, watching his wheels turn.

“Yeah. Me too,” he finally said. He turned and studied Rand for a moment. “That’s all?”

A smile turned the edges of Rand’s mouth. “She’s a slip of a girl in her teens. You won’t see any competition from me.”

Artor blushed. “I didn’t…”

“No, you didn’t, but you do.”

Ksenia’s smile grew as Artor’s cheeks went even redder. She glanced at Rand. “You have a woman somewhere?”

“No.”

She leaned back again, and looked up at the suns, twinkling billions of miles away. “You could.”

Rand grinned. “You’re too good a shot. You’d make me nervous.”

Her eyes touched him, and a wry smile danced across her lips.

The wind picked up a little, and Rand’s smile dropped. He glanced at the galleon. The huge airship creaked. The flag on the prow whipped back and strained.

Rand pushed back away from the edge of the drop and heaved himself to his feet.

As he limped back towards the galleon, Ksenia and Artor caught up quickly. “What’s wrong?” Artor said, frowning.

Rand held up, his mind turning over the variables. “Ksenia, run to Garik, and tell him to clear his moorings and head in the same direction as the wind. He can loop around and come up by …”

He swayed for a second, and Artor held him up quickly. “What’s goin’ on?”

The lad looked up, realising that he’d had to raise his voice. A roar was washing across the rocky top of the island.

“It’s a storm, a big one, and storms out here mean we’re dead if it hits us.” Rand grabbed Ksenia’s shoulder. “Garik has to get the galleon out of the storm’s path. He can meet us at Nokturn Isle. It’s a trade post, on our path. He’ll see it on his map.”

Ksenia nodded and bolted for the galleon’s ramp. Rand grabbed Artor’s sleeve. “We have to move the Scythe into cover, and fast. Help me.”

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Between the rocky islands around the Scythe and the captured galleon, shafts of light stabbed through the twilight and shadow, catching on stray pebbles and clouds of vapour that told of water pockets somewhere close, hidden pools of life where creatures might lurk or people might settle. The light faded as shattered day turned to shattered night, and the two aercraft halted and either anchored or settled on the arid surface of an island for the night.

As the light rose again Rand prepared the Scythe for lift-off. He did it as quietly as he could to avoid waking Ksenia and Artor, who had spent the previous day’s travel in stone silence. That suited Rand perfectly. The entity tethered to his mind was all the company and inane chatter enough.

His two … interlopers … were laying head to foot on one side of the balloon’s burner, wrapped in blankets against the chill that permeated every breeze. He signalled the night watchman on the nearby galleon with his mirror, and received the lift-off signal. In five minutes, their journey would resume.

Rand made to nudge Ksenia, only to see that she was already awake, and there were dark circles under her bloodshot eyes.

“Is it that time already?” she muttered.

“It is.”

She stretched and hauled herself up. Artor rolled over with a grunt. He looked just as tired.

Rand folded his arms. “You realise where we’re going, don’t you?”

Both of them glared at him.

“Good. You both realise, then, that you’re going to need a lot of sleep before we end up in a fight.”

“Then get thicker blankets,” Artor grunted.

“They’re thick enough for me.”

Ksenia snorted and shook her head, fastening up her leathers. Rand glanced from one to the other.

“Have either of you left Dryxovan before? Or the Dryxovan aer?”

Ksenia scratched her cheek. “No, only up to the lake.”

Artor shook his head. “On that galleon was the first time I’ve been on an aercraft while it’s flying.”

Rand snorted, and rubbed his head. He almost laughed along with the thing in his head, rolling around on the soft contours of his brain.

“Somethin’ funny?” Artor grunted.

“Oh … I wish it were.” Rand glanced at Ksenia. “Jump out and bring up the grappling hooks, would you?”

She glowered at him, and picked up the pry bar from the tool chest by the propeller. She lowered herself from the basket and strode up the rocky incline. She worked the bar under the hooks and wrenched them up. The last two were on the decline, and she kept hold of the ropes afterwards to keep herself from slipping and falling into oblivion.

Once she was back inside, Rand fired the burner. “Crank those props, boy.”

“Artor,” Artor snapped through his teeth as he began turning the lever that moved the propellers. The Scythe lifted and sailed outwards away from the island. Once the prow was in place and set, Rand used the rudders and turned the balloon towards the space between the rocks.

“Is the galleon with us?”

Ksenia glanced around and nodded. “It’s with us. Looks like they’re going upwards.”

Rand peered through the periscope and looked up. The aer above them was a little clearer, and the dawn, purple twilight was brighter in that direction.

“Probably smoother travel up there, even against the wind.” Rand tapped his chin and turned up the burner. “Up we go.”

The balloon was set for travel, tapered out to the front and back like a teardrop with another hollow tube.

The aercraft floated upwards through the world’s debris. Rand kept his hand on the helm and his eye on the periscope. “Crank the props a little slower. Don’t want to run into a rock on the way up. We’re almost there.”

Artor complied with a grumble. The rocks they passed grew smaller, and a couple even grew a little greener on the underside. Ksenia leaned over the side of the basket and squinted at the living hue. “What is all that?”

“Doubtless it has a name, but I don’t know it. I’ve only ever seen it grow in caves, so when everything split apart, there must have been one here.”

“They’re plants, eh?”

“Yes. They coat rock like fur on a hound.”

Ksenia edged around until she was next to him. “When everything split apart, you said? I’ve heard people talk about that idea before. Vander has mentioned it a few times, he’s convinced it’s true.”

“It is true.”

“How do you know?”

Devilry is an excellent source of information. “You see a lot of rocks out here that look as if they join together, crevice by crevice. You see it too often for it to be an accident of nature.” It showed me. The heat. The noise. The terror. The thrashing of the world as it died in agony.

“The things you must see out here…” Ksenia murmured.

“Did you ever think about it? Joining up with a crew?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Now and then. Why? You offering me a job?”

“You can see how much space there is with three people. With two it wouldn’t be much better.”

Ksenia let a grin tease her lips. “You need a bigger balloon.”

“Scythe has her uses and her charm. She’s faster than she looks.”

“You could have room for a hammock at least. How do you even sleep in this basket?”

I don’t. “I curl up like a kitten.”

She snorted. “I bet you… oh…” Ksenia’s eyes widened as the galleon and the Scythe cleared the rocks.

The islands were far more spaced out, allowing the violet hue of the sky to glow between them. The expanse of purple could be seen in widening slivers, sending rays of golden light into the murky shadows, and that light illuminated the little details of this part of the Shattered Lands. It wasn’t just hues of green on the rocks, but green and yellow, red and pink flecks on the long patches of bright green grass that faced the sunlight. Trees and shrubs clung to some of the top sides of the closest island. Flying creatures spread feathery wings, fluttering and soaring between islands and singing at the top of their lungs.

Rand took a moment to realise that the Scythe was no longer moving forwards. He glanced back at Artor. The lad had forgotten that the prop lever even existed. His eyes were wide, staring around at the lush islands, his breathing fast as if in a panic. Tears were streaming down Ksenia’s cheeks at the sight before them. Rand looked over at the galleon. The crew of Dryxovan natives were crowding around the railing, pointing and goggling and talking excitedly.

A smile found Rand’s face, and he let it bloom as he turned to his two new crewmates and their wonder. Neither, perhaps, had even dreamed that sights like this existed.

“Welcome to the Lands,” Rand said to them. “Wonders and dangers abound.”

Ksenia laughed through her tears, and wiped her eyes.

“You see this sort of thing every day?” Artor murmured.

“Not every day, but often enough to not let the darkness take root.”

A knowing chuckle pattered through his head, and he tried his best to ignore it. He picked up the mirror and turned the burner down a little until they were level. A sheen of moisture coated his hand as he waved it through the air, double-checking the direction of the wind to make sure they were on course. There was a lake nearby, something to fuel the growth of all the vegetation. Water meant more life, perhaps people.

“Ksenia, keep watch around us, just in case.”

“Huh? For what?”

“Any kind of company.”

Ksenia looked around at Artor, and he blinked at her with a shrug.

The two aercraft began crossing the clear sky at a steady pace. Both Rand and Ksenia kept watch with telescopes, while Rand kept one hand on the helm. The island tops were still, aside from the swaying trees and shrubs that were hardy enough to have survived the Shattering. The flying creatures swooped and squabbled in the air for whatever morsels they could get.

Knowing what to look for, it was Rand who spotted them first, gliding between the rocks and getting closer. He nudged Ksenia and pointed at them, before grabbing his mirror and quickly signalling the galleon to hold their fire.

Ksenia gasped and dropped the telescope. It bounced off the edge of the basket, and thankfully rolled beside the burner and settled. She fumbled for her rifle.

“No, no.” Rand held her bicep. “No. They don’t bother people if people don’t bother them first. Mostly.”

Ksenia stared around at him. “Mostly?”

“If they’re hungry, maybe, but if they’re around here, they’re not hungry. Hold your fire, and keep signalling the galleon to do the same.”

“What are you two on about?” Artor snapped. “What’s out there? What’s coming?”

They could hear the shouts from the galleon now.

Artor leaned over. “Bounty hunter! What’s…”

A roar washed over them, bouncing between the nearby islands. Ksenia’s wide, terrified eyes locked on Rand, and Artor went white as a sheet. The shouts of the galleon crew were silenced, then they renewed in terror and blind panic. The cannons hatches popped open on the starboard side.

“What are they doing?” Rand growled. His voice had deepened half an octave as his dark companion fuelled his anger. “Signal them!”

“I am signalling, them!” Ksenia twitched the mirror in a repeated command to their sister ship, but more and more cannons popped out of hatches.

Rand drew his sword and drew the deepest cut he dared across his left arm down to his palm. Blood sprayed across the basket and into the air. Artor cried out in alarm, and Ksenia backed away from him, unable to breathe.

The pain, though… the pain was raw energy.

Rand jumped up onto the side of the basket, perfectly balanced as the entity steadied him. His right hand grabbed onto one of the balloon ropes, and he leaned outwards as far as he dared. He breathed in, tasting the fresh water in the air around him.

“Galleon!”

His voice was amplified over every other sound around them.

“Retract your cannons and hold your fire! Take no provocative action at all! If one bullet flies, we will all die!”

His left hand was dripping with the blood soaking his skin. He jumped back into the basket, and the humanity in him was making him sway. He fumbled with the case that held his medical supplies, and tried to wind a bandage around his arm. “Ksenia, help me.”

She edged towards him, and wrapped the bandage around his bloody wound. “Why would you do that?”

“Tighter,” he grunted.

She complied with a grimace. The cut still dripped through the fabric. “You’ll bleed to death.”

“I didn’t cut anything vital. I’ve had so many wounds, I know what’s expendable and what isn’t.” He rubbed his forehead through the next roar coming towards them. Where was he going to find more blood? He had compromised himself like a sentimental, mortal fool.

He gritted his teeth and stood again. “Tie the rest of that around in a sling.”

Ksenia did so, and Artor stared at them. “Hello? What’s coming towards us that’s so dangerous that we can’t even shoot it?!”

Rand glanced towards the roaring beasts coming towards them. The flock emerged from over the top of the furthest island in the clear pocket of aer.

“Those.”

They spread their vast leathery wings, and flapped upwards. Once they had altitude, they dropped into a glide, straightening their tails for stability. Rand counted nine of them, thrice the length of the galleon at their smallest, and almost five times the length at their largest. Their armoured scales were thick across their streamlined bodies, with pointed snouts at the tip of long necks lined with spikes down their spines. They weren’t in view yet, but Rand had seen the jaws with teeth as sharp as swords closer than he would have liked.

Artor’s mouth dropped open. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Dragons?!”

“Dragons.”

The flock cast a wide shadow over them as they swept overhead. One by one, they landed on top of the island beside the two airships, disappearing from view over the lip. The last dragon in the flight flared its wings, and landed on the rocky, cliff-like side. A young male, the smallest of all of them. It turned its head around to stare at the two airships. The sentry, to make sure they didn’t try anything.

Artor stared right back, then looked away quickly when the dragon’s eyes met his. “You sure they won’t bother us?”

“Not if we don’t do anything stupid,” Rand muttered.

“What if they’re hungry?”

“Thirsty, I think.” Rand closed his eyes, and smiled. “I can hear them drinking.”

“When I drink, I get hungry,” Artor grumbled.

Rand opened his eyes. “The stories you hear in the taverns about … horrifying fire beasts … are mostly fables. Dragon attacks are rare, and they only happen on or near the shipping lanes.”

Artor snorted. “Hmm, yeah, ‘course they do. That’s where the people are.”

“And where people are most protective of their craft. Where they’re quick to act and slow to think.”

Artor stared at the dragon as they passed it, and gradually his back began to straighten. The great beast’s scales caught the violet sky and reflected it in waves of colour, in the same way hot grease would in water. Beast and boy’s eyes seemed to meet across the chasm of misty aer, both young, both on their own adventures. Perhaps it was the dragon’s first flight too, or one of his firsts. The dragon snorted at him, before a roar from above drew its attention. The long neck craned the slender head upwards, and the two huge wings spread wide and flapped once, then twice, then too many times to count. The gusts of wind buffeted the Scythe and the galleon, and everyone held on tightly to the railings. Rand kept an eye on the burner flame, turning it down a little to protect the crew and components from a flame-out.

Then the dragon leapt off the rock and swept upwards to join the others. Artor watched it go, his fear melting into awe.

Rand took a deep breath through his pain, and held onto the helm. “Signal the galleon, Ksenia. Steady on.”

Share

Rand checked the Scythe for any damage or theft. Almost everything was as it had been left, unsurprisingly. No-one here had the stomach to steal from him, except Hachi, who had more than enough stomach for two Dryxovans.

He had enough fuel to go forty of the hundred and ten miles against the wind. He calculated in his head what would be needed on the balloon, how much extra fuel versus how much weight needed cutting. He scratched his cheek with a hum. He rarely took any excess. Everything he had aboard was something he needed: the ammunition, the provisions, the fuel, the equipment…

“Why pursue the brigands, champion? To protect these worthless people?”

“What do you care?” Rand muttered. “If it’s blood you want, what does it matter whose blood it is?”

“There are better ways, no? After the attack on this place, don’t you think a few missing people would be … logical? Non-suspicious? Besides, your debt has increased. After my assistance with the brigand woman, I expect prompt compensation.”

“I’ve got a feeling you won’t be disappointed.” Rand tried to think of something else. Perhaps the coin he would receive and spend, and the calm flight away from Dryxovan and its problems.

“If you’re so keen on leaving, why don’t you just leave, hmm?”

“It’s bad business, breaking contracts without a good reason. Your whim isn’t a good enough reason.”

The back of his neck tingled, and he spun around at the promise of too-quiet footsteps and the hushed breathing of someone who didn’t want to be seen. He relaxed his posture when he saw it was Erika standing there behind him, but then saw the sweat on her brow and the unease in her step.

“Who … who were you just talking to?”

Rand sighed at the chuckle that rumbled through his mind. “I suppose you could say I was praying.”

She blinked at him, and frowned again. “You were … doing what?”

“Praying.”

Her face was blank, then the fear came back. “Preying on what?”

“Not that kind of praying. I was talking to my…”

As Rand struggled to find the words, it chuckled again. “Go ahead, tell her I’m a god.”

“I was talking to a … being. A little bit like a god.”

“Booooo!”

Erika’s face lost its fear, and the frown became one of confused curiosity. “God? Are these … words in your tongue?”

Rand scratched his head and rubbed his eyes. “It’s a long explanation. Your bookkeeper on the hill is a better one to tell it than me. In short, people used to ask Gods to protect them, protect their wares, their harvest. There were hundreds of different Gods.”

He walked to the doors of the shed and pointed across the square to the dome, being patronised now by no one except throngs of workmen surveying the damage. “That dome used to be a temple to Sorine. She was the goddess of sailors and fishermen. They prayed to her to keep them safe, and keep their nets full of fish.”

Erika took a step backwards, her face lined with fear. Rand sighed. “Fish are animals. They live in water.”

“But …” Erika’s face twisted in confusion. “How can anything live in water? There isn’t enough for anything to live in.”

“Things can live in places no-one expects.” He checked the knots on the lines that tied to the balloon, and saw Erika step closer to him in the corner of his eye.

“You’re really going after them alone?”

“It’s the best way.”

She held her arms around herself tightly. “I don’t want you to go.”

Rand stood up straight and sighed. “If not me, then who? Killing brigands is what I do. It’s what I’m best at.”

“You don’t have to do it alone.” Erika tapped her feet. “I … I want to come with you.”

Rand turned to her. “No, you don’t.”

“I’m not … I don’t feel safe here. Not after what happened.”

“You’re far safer here than you would be out there with me. Time is of the essence, and you being with me means extra provisions. Extra weight. Extra fuel. Stay here, and recover. Heal.”

Erika’s lips twitched, and she looked down, seeming to let the matter be. Her voice whispered to his ears while he was checking the tripod mount for his rifle.

“The pirate … what did you do to her?”

Rand stopped his work. “Nothing.”

“I saw her. You did something. She’s a vegetable.”

“No less than she deserved. Perhaps her conscience finally caught up with her in some small way. Maybe she finally saw the sum total of all the pain she has caused.” Rand looked into Erika’s eyes, and the discomfort there made a hot irritation rise in his chest. “She doesn’t deserve any of your horror, girl. She deserves for the population of this island to collectively spit on her before she plummets into infinity.”

“I’m not like you,” she whispered.

Rand grunted at her, and checked the knots he had tied. “No, you’re not.”

She took a step closer. “I don’t … after what she did … there’s no-one here who can … I don’t just want to go with you to kill the pirates.”

Rand stood up straight and turned around. Her eyes couldn’t meet his for more than a fleeting second. She was but a pup, plaintively glancing up at a master who provided and terrified in equal measure. “You want to come with me on my balloon, travel with me, live with me. Is that it?”

Her head barely moved in a nod. “There’s nothing for me here.”

“Do you know how far it is between … say … Dryxovan and Senon?”

Erika blinked, and held her arms around herself tightly. “Fifty miles?”

“Ninety, in a straight line, but in the Shatter, you can’t travel in a straight line. That journey takes a good two days if you care to stay alive. That’s two cold, uncomfortable days, exposed to the elements, with little food or water. Add to that the brigands, storms, hostile wildlife …” Rand leaned on the side of the basket and fixed her with a softer look than his usual glare. “It’s no life, not for someone your age, not even for someone my age. Those who do what I do are rare, and those who do it sober are even rarer.”

Tears were welling up in Erika’s eyes. Her shoulders were shaking. Protests were twitching her lips, but no words passed them.

Rand sighed at the twitch in his heart, and at the soft laughter of disapproval in his mind. “Consider that dock boy, what’s his name?”

Erika blushed for a moment, but her tears remained. “Artor? He …”

She wiped her eyes angrily. “Where was Artor when that woman came for me, and …”

Rand swung himself out of the basket and stood in front of her. “I already said I will teach you how to take care of yourself. Some things… hand to hand, knife work, maybe some marksmanship.”

The light of hope in her eyes bathed him, but it wasn’t warm. It seemed the cold scrutiny of a searchlight. Encouragement to danger wasn’t what she needed, but what did he expect of her if danger came to her? Was she supposed to simply be raped without resistance? Have her life threatened without a means to do anything to stop the jaws of death?

“Lessons when I return.” He opened the case latched to the inner wall of the basket and took out the equipment inside: an extendable periscope made of steel, rubber and brass, and the winder and gears for the propeller.

“Can I help?”

Rand glanced at her. “Yes … tighten the bolts when I tell you.”

Once the prop and periscope were mounted, Rand wheeled the Scythe out of the berth on a wheeled wooden trolley. Erika followed him, pushing another trolley that held the balloon itself, rolled up into a tight bundle. In the open air, Rand looked around at the jagged rocks and mountains surrounding the little island where life managed to cling on, floating impossibly above like anvils waiting to drop or jaws waiting to clench. The smell of vapour wetting the dust drew a smile on his lips, and he looked above to see the water falling from a crack in the huge rock above and dissolving into mist.

“Ah…” Rand sighed.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you smile before.”

He glanced around. Erika was grinning at him shyly.

“Somehow I never manage to find the motivation.”

Footsteps across the ancient, worn stonework drew Rand’s ear. Guard Captain Garik was leading two figures across the dock towards the Scythe. Rand recognised both immediately. One was the sniper he had battled beside the night before. The other was Artor.

Erika, at Rand’s back, gasped at the sight of him. He was wearing an iron cuirass, well used, likely a hand-me-down, as well as mismatched iron pauldrons and greaves that had seen better days and many blacksmiths, rippled with burns and stained by patches. On his back was strapped a shield almost as big as he was, with a trio of barbed spears poking above his head. On his hip was a bastard sword in a dusty scabbard.

The sniper wore darker, thinner leathers, but carried a bag that had room for thicker armour, her rifle, bullets, and some provisions and tools.

“Here to see me off, Captain?”

Garik shook his head. “I’m sending some guards with you. These two on your balloon, and the rest on one of our airships with me.”

“No.”

Garik raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going after who knows how many pirates by yourself.”

“I move quicker and quieter on my own.”

Garik folded his arms. “You’ll need the extra firearms.”

“So will you, to defend this island.”

The sniper snorted. “You know I’m a good shot. You’ll need my rifle to deal with a threat to this island.”

“Defending from the front, yes. I’m not opposed to that, but Scythe is more suited to this kind of task than any of your ships.”

“This is our island, and we’re going,” Artor snapped. “You ain’t always gonna be here.”

Rand glared at him, getting a measure of the balls he had gained when he had donned his old armour. Was it all for show? Perhaps. His eyes were drawn over to Erika now and then, making sure she was seeing him being so brave.

Garik leaned over. “You’re going to need them, and part of you, past all that devilry, knows it.”

The commander’s eyes were hard as the ancient stones he walked on. Rand grunted at him, and pointed to the sniper. “Your name?”

“Ksenia.”

Rand nodded. “Erika, I spotted a lot of junk in that hangar. Old cans, the rustiest ones, will be perfect. Could you bring twenty of them here?”

Erika nodded, and walked back to the shed from which they had dragged the balloon. Rand drew his sword from the scabbard on his back, and fixed his eyes on Artor.

“We’ll start with you.”

Artor swallowed, and his body tensed.

“Loosen up, you’ll need the speed. Lighter on your feet.”

Artor cracked his neck and stretched his shoulders. As he shook out his limbs, Rand stepped into a combat stance, keeping his weight even between both legs. “Your task is to disarm me. Don’t hold back. I won’t.”

As soon as Artor’s head moved in a nod, Rand struck.

He aimed for the chest plate, and telegraphed the thrust enough to not run the boy through. Artor stumbled back and unstrapped his shield, fumbling it into his hand. He drew the sword and brandished it towards Rand.

Rand feinted forwards to commit Artor’s shield, and stepped past, spinning into a swing, again towards the plate. Artor managed to deflect the blow with his sword, sending flecks of rust into the air.

As they both spun and faced each other, Artor lunged in wildly, and Rand swept the blade downwards. The clang kicked up more rust and left a dent in the old iron. Another parried strike bent and cracked Artor’s sword.

The boy took two stumbling steps back and dropped the broken blade. Terror found his eyes as he fumbled with the spears at his back. As Rand jumped towards him, Artor turned his shield. Rand struck the iron and wood, and the many months of dock work made the lad stand firm. Rand stumbled, and felt his sword be nicked from his hand. As he fell to one knee, the empty hand snaked around the pistol on his hip.

Artor’s spear point found Rand’s neck as he levelled his pistol at the boy’s face, finger curled around the trigger.

“Do it.”

Artor’s eyes widened in terror. Rand saw Garik take a step forwards.

The stench of the burning fields filled Rand’s nose again, but he resisted.

“Bang.”

Artor’s jaw clenched, and his eyes became wide as saucers. They had both heard the change in Rand’s voice: the deeper, more reverberating, itchiness of it.

“Kill me faster than that, boy.” Rand stood up and released the hammer on his pistol, before replacing it in the holster. He picked up the ruined blade, and glared at Artor. “Really?”

“My father’s,” he muttered, eyes cast downwards.

Rand felt the sting of that. He had heard himself say those same words in that same way. “Captain Garik, furnish him with a new blade, a quality blade.” He turned back to Artor and stepped to him. The boy’s sullenness took on an air of anger. “Better you found out now, with me, than while fighting for your life.”

Artor remained sullen, and shrugged one shoulder. Rand looked around towards the hangar, wondering what was taking Erika, only to find her standing with the cans gathered in her arms, with her eyes wide in terror. How much had she seen? Hopefully enough to convince her he was no companion for her in any way.

“Good. Arrange the cans over by the hangar however you like. Prop them on the ground or on the ruins, it’s up to you.”

Erika backed off a step, but made no other move. Rand nudged Artor. “Help her, boy.”

Artor scowled at him, but obeyed at a trudge, more for Erika than for the bounty hunter. Rand turned towards the sniper. “Ksenia, wasn’t it?”

She nodded, some of the colour now absent from her face.

“If you can hit ten of those cans with your rifle, and the other ten with a pistol, I’ll take you with me. Let’s say thirty seconds, you should have a fairly quick reload.”

Ksenia nodded, and unslung the rifle. She watched as Erika and Artor arranged the last of the cans. Three of them were on the edge of the lowest slope of the roof. A few scattered about the floor. Some had found their way onto the edge of old stones that had once been the towering wall of a fortress.

“You see all twenty?”

Ksenia nodded.

“The count starts when the shooting starts.”

Ksenia nodded, and breathed slowly, taking in each of her targets for about thirty seconds. She nodded again, shouldered the rifle, and fired.

One of the cans pinged off the top of the hangar. She ejected the spent casing, slid a new round in, and cycled the bolt, before shouldering and firing again. The whole process took a hair shy of three seconds.

Rand counted down the seconds as Ksenia sent shot after shot downrange. The cans flew away one by one. Her reload speed increased a little with every shot, until ten cans were gone. She slung the rifle and drew the pistol from her belt holster.

The first shot went wild, and she gripped it with both hands for the second. The reload was much slower on the sidearm. After ten shots, Rand stepped in front of Ksenia.

“That’s enough.” He glanced over his shoulder. All ten of the rifle shots had taken a can. Only four of the pistol shots had.

“You didn’t think to move forwards?”

Ksenia bristled at him. “You made the rules, you didn’t say I could.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t either. I never set a distance. Who engages with a pistol at this range?”

Ksenia sagged, as dejected as Artor seemed to be. Rand eyed Garik, whose arms were folded tightly, jaw working.

“If I’m taking them, I’ll need an extra prop, extra provisions and extra burner fuel. You both travel light. If all of that is here and attached in fifteen minutes, they can come.”

Rand jumped into the balloon and started taking stock of what could be left here. With the extra weight of two more people, one of whom seemed to want to dress like an ironsides…

“Wait … you’re actually taking us?” Artor said.

“Yes. You disarmed me successfully. She’s a good enough shot. I’ll need both against those pirates.” He looked up at them both through the brim of his hat. “If you still want to come, that is.”

***

The extra equipment arrived promptly, and was attached to the Scythe. Ksenia and Artor hurried back with lighter bags, tools for maintaining their gear, and spare ammunition. All of it arrived on a cart along with Vander, the aged wrinkled man holding on for dear life as it bumped over the cobbles. Rand reached out to scratch the old donkey that had pulled it on the neck and the nose, and the animal gave a grunting sigh.

“A rare sight these days,” Rand murmured as he gave Vander a hand down.

“An ass?”

“An old ass.”

Vander chuckled, his beard and bushy brows bobbing. “Now you’re looking at two of them.”

Rand smirked and patted him on the shoulder. “Did you find what I asked for?”

“I did, nestled in a very curious old tome, one passed down a few times. I believe it was found when Dryxovan was first settled, in the cellar of the dome there.”

Rand nodded. A tome in the catacombs of a temple, away from prying eyes. “I see.”

“The tome was not a pleasant read, I’m afraid, but the language, what I know of it, is unmistakeable in sound. Dae Rauko, as you heard it pronounced, was present in the text.”

“Could you translate it?”

“I’m afraid not, but given the content of the tome, I would be very, very careful regarding those who uttered those words. Honestly, those brigands should not have known them, and nothing good will come of such knowledge.”

Vander handed over a folded scrap of parchment, and Rand nodded. “Thank you. I can only promise to be careful.”

Vander’s gnarled hand gripped his tightly. Rand shook it.

“Good fortune, and good hunting.”

Rand nodded, and tipped his hat. He turned back to the Scythe and strode across the dockyard. Their companion airship was already airborne, floating overhead. It was the brigand woman’s galleon, the hull patched and repaired. Hachi was sitting in front of the bounty office, watching him walk. He lifted one meaty arm in a grand wave to his best customer. Rand smirked at him and nodded.

Captain Garik, Ksenia, Artor and Erika lingered by the balloon, alongside the rest of the latter’s friends. The younger ones glared at Rand as he walked up, especially the one he had struck. She rubbed her face and winced, even though there was barely a mark on her. As Rand snorted at her, the boy next to her wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder.

He focused on Artor and Ksenia. “I hope you’re both ready.”

The pair nodded. Rand gestured to the Scythe’s basket. Ksenia swung herself in as Artor wrapped his arms around Erika tightly and closed his eyes. She buried her face in his shoulder.

“We’ll give back thrice what they gave us,” Commander Garik murmured to her.

Rand grinned. “Only thrice? I can do better than that.”

“I’m sure you can.”

Artor heaved himself up and into the basket. Rand looked at the friend group again, and approached them. They all cowered back a little. He lowered his voice, fixing each of them with a glare. “Watch over Erika.”

The one that had bothered him at the bar nodded, and Rand laid a hand on the basket. Before he could jump in, Erika wound her fingers around his.

“Rand… please… let me come with you.”

Rand sighed. “They gave this island a taste of what they do. We’re going to the pit where they live. It’s a dragon’s den. I’m not putting you at risk.”

“Erika… he’s right,” Artor muttered. “Let us deal with it.”

“I owe them,” she insisted.

The wood creaked under Rand’s fingers as the dark thing within him teased his rage. He tried to hold it back. “You owe me.”

She flinched away from him, and he jumped into the basket. Artor backed away.

He turned back to her and her wide, worried eyes. “I didn’t save you from that woman’s appetite so you could throw your life away like a damn fool.”

Garik’s jaw set, and he slipped an arm around Erika’s shoulder as she began to tear up.

Rand would allow no more. He turned up the burner, and Scythe lifted off with a satisfied creak. As they gained altitude, he signalled the galleon with his mirror, and began extending the ballon’s thick, canvas prow. Artor helped him lift and extend the metal tube that supported and framed the sheet out to a point. It hooked in to two steel loops on opposite sides of the basket, in turn supported by two more poles, all screwed together until nothing could easily move them. As he finished the last screw, he heard the entity chuckle in his mind.

“It’s always entertaining to watch you pretend you’re not getting sentimental.”

“Shut up,” Rand snapped. Ksenia’s head jerked around to glance at him, and a frown crossed her brow.

“Spin up those propellers, would you?” he said to her, and she glanced at the aft of the basket. As she made her way back, Rand leaned over the prow, and took out the scrap of parchment that Vander had given him.

He unfolded it, and cast his eyes downwards.

The words: Dae Rauko, sat there in their peculiar, sharp script, and as he watched, they unwound and shifted. The entity in his head seemed to move the ink, and shape it into something he recognised.

When it settled, Rand looked at the new phrase for a few moments, processing it, etching it into his mind.

The Demon’s Chosen

Rand let the scrap go, and it quickly fluttered and spun away into the infinite sky.

Share

The mayor sat beside his aldermen in a semi-circle, on a hand-carved wooden table. Their chairs were musty and cushioned with as much dust as fabric. Rand regarded the pinched faces of the representatives with a tired sigh. He didn’t care to learn any of their names, none were worthy of such.

“You let them go,” the youngest alderman, or alderwoman, or whatever the name for her invented title was, spat.

Rand rolled his eyes with a snort. The mayor bristled, and his neatly trimmed beard twisted with his scowl. “Don’t treat her with that kind of disrespect.”

“Then have someone speak who knows what they’re talking about.”

The guard commander, Jonas Garik, coughed. Rand had learned his name, finding him singularly worthy of it out of all the people in the room. The mayor nodded to him.

“Our sentries witnessed the remaining ships split and fly off in different directions. Such a move was likely a tactic to throw off pursuit.”

Rand bobbed his head from side to side. “Partially. It’s also a pincer to ambush anyone pursuing. I understand the blood lust, but the best method of following them is a more forensic one.”

“That’s a cold comfort to those whom they killed,” another alderman, far older and seemingly half-asleep, muttered. “You may never find them. There are a billion places to hide in the Shattered Lands.”

Rand cracked a smile. “Only a billion?”

“I don’t think this is a laughing matter.”

“Neither does he,” Commander Garik cut in. “This is Mr Irellian’s trade, he knows what he is doing, and is a very capable warrior.”

“No doubt if he were paid well enough, he would take your head, commander,” the alderwoman sneered, to murmurs of agreement from the rest of them.

Rand folded his arms, and exchanged a glance with Garik. He communicated a quick, ‘not you’ with his eyes, before turning back to the politicians.

“Perhaps I should’ve just left you … pissants to your fate. I certainly could have. I didn’t, and I don’t remember asking you for any compensation after slaughtering dozens of pirates that were trying to kill you.” Rand chuckled. “Well, not yet, anyway.”

“Now you’re holding us to ransom?” The mayor growled.

“I’m pointing out that you and your populace would have probably made half-decent slaves, or toys, and your ingratitude is offensive.”

Every eye in the room fixed upon him in anger, then in some fear. He knew that it wasn’t the darkness within him that elicited the feeling. It had very little time for figures of human authority. No, it was simple, cold reality.

“You don’t know those … people, not that many of them are worthy of being called so. You haven’t seen them like I have. You’ve experienced their violence, but their quiet moments, their version of normality, the times between the clashing of blades … they are just as horrifying. You have lived in relative safety, with less guards and defences than you needed, for far too long. You’ve ridden your luck. You got lucky again, that I was here to help you deal with the threat, and that I had the weaponry that could.”

“We were also unlucky that you were here, based on witness accounts,” the older man wheezed. “They were looking for you.”

Rand nodded. “Seems so. That’s why I’m going after them before they return, which they probably will.”

“Thanks to you, again,” the woman hissed.

“They’ll come whether I’m here or not. You’re a big target, you always have been, though now that fact is more acute. You have two ships with rookie crews, that got away with surprise last time. You won’t again.” Rand closed his eyes, and his mind turned to the prisoner being held beneath the citadel where they were all holding this meeting. “Finding them is the biggest obstacle. They probably don’t know we have the … thirsty one, although it’s no guarantee. We should make a move quickly.”

Commander Garik exchanged a glance with the mayor. “In which direction?”

“First of all, down into your prison.”

The politicians looked at each other, and began to turn pale one by one. “Question her, you mean,” Garik muttered.

“She’s the captain of one of their ships. She knows exactly where they are.”

“They don’t carry maps or charts aboard their ships?”

Rand shook his head. “They’re hunted, and they’re loyal to their lords. If a pirate’s ship is captured, and there’s a map aboard leading to the hideout …” He let it hang in the air.

“They can’t all be such skilled navigators while hopped up on that many powders,” Garik muttered.

“Yet, somehow they do, these ones in particular.” Rand looked at the ruling council. “So she’s our best way to find them.”

Garik nodded. “We’ve not been able to get anything out of her.”

Rand glared at him. There was a snort from deep within him. “Try harder.”

“We’re not barbarians,” the mayor snapped.

“You don’t need to be barbarians to ask the right questions.”

“We’re a trade port,” Garik muttered. “This isn’t the kind of thing we typically deal with. It’s always overly rambunctious aermen, or drunks, or …”

“I’ll do it for you.” Rand fixed his eyes on the female alderman. “For a modest fee.”

The snort within him became an eager, knowing chuckle.

The ruling council looked at each other. Their discomfort was almost amusing. Garik even took a step away from him.

“I will not allow torture in my citadel,” the Mayor growled.

“I won’t lay a finger on her. I can give you my word on that.”

The mayor folded his arms. “Your word?”

Rand nodded. The mayor looked to Garik, who studied Rand for a moment. “We probably don’t have a choice. Ultimately, he’s right: we don’t have time to blanch.”

The elder shook his head. “Compromising our principles in such a way … it is unethical. You will not have my support.”

Rand heard the laugh of pitying disbelief in his head, but held a measure of respect for the man himself.

“You won’t be compromising anything,” he muttered. “I certainly won’t be compromising mine.”

The mayor went as white as the ice that lingered on the islands near the void.

“So be it.”

***

Erika sat in the entrance hall of the citadel, what had once been the throne room of a long-dead king or queen. The crumbling remains of the throne were still there, in between two staircases that let up to the second floor, joining together to form a balcony that overlooked the room. She could barely imagine what it would have looked like at its height. Tapestries and works of art on the walls, men and women wearing bright, luxurious clothing that could only be found now among the elite of the great city islands like Ulverland or Mihre. Ceremonies and music that heralded the entrance of important people.

Now, only silence greeted Rand and Commander Garik as they walked down the left hand staircase. Erika again felt a rush of warmth at the sight of the bounty hunter, a feeling of security like a blanket being tucked around her shoulders. After having to recount her story to Irene Dreir, the alderwoman for her area of Dryxovan, then again to the mayor directly, she was mentally exhausted. She could hear the one eyed woman’s voice in her ear when things got too quiet, scattered hissing words describing and promising the acts of debauchery that would have been performed on her. As Rand’s eye met hers, the voice fell silent.

She stood up and walked over to both of them. Commander Garik immediately shook his head. “Erika, no.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’? Where are you going?” She limped around and stood in front of them. “You’re going to see her, aren’t you.”

“You’re not coming,” Rand murmured as he walked around her, and Garik followed. Erika pursued them, undeterred, as they strode down the stone passageway behind the throne. The guard quarters and bunk rooms were on either side, along with their mess hall and a small clinic, the training rooms where she could hear the clashing of wooden training blades.

“Rand! I’m not just going away.”

He said nothing, and kept walking, until they got to a narrow doorway. Garik unlocked the three iron bolts across the door, and raised the two bars at the top and bottom.

The moment it opened, the one-eyed woman’s voice drifted up from the bowels of the citadel, dripping with contempt and sickening joy.

“When I’m set loose, I’ll sever your spines. Not kill you, just make sure you can’t move. I’ll make you watch me fuck your wives, and your daughters … then I’ll make them watch me cut you to pieces. Maybe give them your cocks as a present.”

It was as if a noose had tightened around Erika’s neck. She couldn’t breathe. Garik gritted his teeth and grasped her shoulders.

“Erika, you shouldn’t be here. I don’t want you around her.”

Erika barely heard him over the one-eyed woman’s laughter.

“I’ll make them feel things you’ve never been able to make them feel. They’ll beg me to keep them, and we’ll laugh together in my bed about your pathetic little members. Girls are my specialty.”

Erika’s eyes filled with tears, and she turned to Rand. His eyes were closed, his body was still. He was listening to every poisoned syllable coming from the prisoner’s mouth.

“She’s not as scared as she should be,” he muttered. “Good.”

“I told you, we’re not used to this kind of thing,” Garik said.

Rand’s mouth turned up in a narrow grin. “Go down and bring your guards up here … and keep them up here.”

Garik fixed his eyes on Rand, and his brow furrowed. “I told you, we’re not torturers.”

“And I told you I wouldn’t touch her.”

Garik leaned forwards. “You’ve earned more respect with me than with the rest of them, but this isn’t right. It’s not right.”

“Then it’s your funeral.”

“It’s that easy for you, is it?”

Rand shook his head once. “There’s nothing easy about it. She is our only way to find them … and ultimately, your politicians spoke truly in that their presence here was my responsibility. I can do this thing that you can’t, so I will do it, because it might make you all sleep a little easier, beneath a slightly thicker blanket of safety. Go and fetch your guards, and make sure I’m not disturbed.”

Garik’s jaw worked for a moment, and he let out a throaty sound like the growl of one of the hounds as he started down the stairs. Rand could tell he had reached the bottom, as he heard the prisoner squeal in delight. “Now you definitely have a wife and daughter. Maybe even a granddaughter…”

Erika tried to shut the woman’s voice out, staring at Rand as if he was a rock she could tie herself to. His eyes were closed again, he was listening to the prisoner, which meant that Erika had no choice but to listen to her.

“You want to hear about the first one I had? She was something special, you always remember your first, don’t you? Or even better, that lovely little chicken I took from here … shame I was interrupted, but when my people come back here, and they let me out of you pathetic prison, I’ll dine on that chicken for hours.”

Erika shut her eyes tightly.

“Oooo … let’s play … who am I going to let watch? Maybe you, big officer man.”

Erika jumped as Rand’s hand closed around her forearm.

His eyes were incredibly intense. “You need to leave.”

Erika’s lip curled. “No.”

“There’s nothing here for you, Erika.”

“Oh … there’s something in it for me. I want to go in there with you.”

“Absolutely not.”

Erika’s jaw tightened until her teeth hurt. “I owe her.”

“If you go in there with me, you’ll be her way out. She’ll use you as pain relief, to redirect what happens to her, spread it so it hurts less. She wants to do harm, and do you harm specifically. Not only that, she’ll use you to try and hurt me, or distract me.”

Erika’s fist tightened. “You won’t be distracted … and I want … I owe her.”

Rand put both hands on her shoulders. “Erika, no. Don’t start down that particular path. It’s muddy, very muddy. Save it for those who are already dirty.”

Garik walked through the door, red-faced, with his two guards following. Both of them were stony faced, the one at the back was shaking.

He nodded to Rand, and glanced at her.

Before he could say anything, Rand spoke. “Have a map ready. Don’t let her come down those stairs.”

Garik glanced at Erika, and nodded.

“Rand…” Erika whined. “Please.”

Rand paused at the top of the stairs. “I don’t want you to see what’s about to happen. I couldn’t protect you from her. Let me do it now.”

Erika froze. Garik grabbed his upper arm. “You gave your word.”

Rand nodded. “I won’t touch her. Key?”

Garik paused, his jaw working, before he nodded to one of the guards, who handed him a rusting iron key. He passed it over.

Rand glanced at Erika one last time, and then walked down the stairs. Garik closed the door behind him.

***

“Who’s this, coming for a visit? A woman, I hope. You have too many men guarding your prison.”

Rand reached the bottom of the stairs, and started pacing slowly across the stone floor towards the cell.

All of them were empty, except one. Dryxovan had a very low amount of crime, unsurprisingly. They were well off enough, and these particular cells seemed to be for especially violent criminals.

“I hope you have a daughter. None of the other guards will tell me.”

She kept talking, her voice a taunting sing-song, as he moved closer.

“I’ve been deprived of my favourite after-battle meal … a nice virgin. You know what happens when someone goes without their favourite meal for a while … when they can have it again, they feast.”

Rand came upon the cell, and stopped at the bars, still covered by layers of shadow that the sconces couldn’t reveal. The one-eyed pirate was was sitting on a chair at the centre of a bare room. Her arms were cuffed behind her, with a chain attached to the floor. Her ankles were attached to separated chains. Another was wrapped around her midsection, and another around her chest.

She squinted at him, the smile fixed on her face. “The chains are an interesting touch, by the way. I’m not used to being the one chained up … normally its the girl in my bed.”

Rand watched her impassively as she giggled at him like a girl getting up to mischief.

“I let them put me in this chair, you know that, don’t you. You know that I’m your only way to stop them coming here and finishing off your little town of bones.”

The cell key clanked in the lock like a broken dinner bell as Rand unlocked the door.

Her grin widened. “Ah, finally! A brave one, willing to come in and try and shut me up.”

Rand watched her for a moment. He was almost certain that the pirate captain was close to slipping a chain, or she already had slipped one. He opened the barred door, and it squealed like an old pig.

“Your daughter … any woman you love, any woman you care about, I’ll have. Hurt me all you like, it’ll pale in the ways I can hurt them, and hurt you.”

Rand stepped across the threshold. The torchlight caught his face. He watched the pirate’s smug smile flicker. Her eye widened a little.

“Well … I was wondering if you would appear, Dae Rauko.”

Rand watched her, closing the door with one hand.

“I know you don’t have any women. You probably can’t even get it up.”

Rand locked the door behind him.

“You probably think you can just fly over and try and take us all out. We’re not that idiot Vriess. We’ll see you coming, and blow you out of the sky before you get within five miles of us.”

One step, then another, closer to the woman in the chair. The shadow of the bars danced across his face. She struggled a little, her chains jingling, betraying her.

“This town would throw you on a pyre if they knew what you are.”

Six feet. Five. Four.

Her face twisted into a snarl, trying to suppress her terror with anger. “I won’t tell you anything, piggot fuck.”

“You won’t have to.”

Her eye widened, and her mouth dropped open. Between shadows crossing Rand’s face, his eyes turned black. He felt the teeth in his mouth sharpen to points, and scratch across his tongue.

He locked his abyssal eyes on the only one she had left, and she screamed.

His skin rippled with goosebumps of pleasure.

***

The first scream made Erika jump. Garik’s head whipped around, and he went white.

It was a cry of pain and terror, that sent flashes of the night the pirates attacked through Erika’s mind. Her neighbours had screamed in the same way … she had screamed in that way.

One of the guards glanced at Garik. “Should we…?”

Garik swallowed. His voice came out as a whisper. “No.”

The scream changed. It was a sound like nothing Erika had ever heard. More than fear, it was the shriek of a mind shattering like the world around them. There were no words, no questions being asked or answers being given through the agony. The one-eyed pirate didn’t beg or plead. She only screamed.

One of the guards retched. Erika’s throat stung with bile. Whenever her mind started to get used to the sound, protecting her by trying to make it ordinary, the pitch of it would change, the horror of it would build, and very real pain would add to the fear.

It went on for minutes. Tears shot out of Erika’s eyes. Garik screwed his eyes shut, grimacing, so pale now it was as if his skin had fallen off his skull.

The screams suddenly became very high pitched, then turned to groans and gargles, an inhuman moan that was so alien to Erika’s ears that she almost fainted.

“What th… what’s…” one of the guards stammered.

“Get Doctor Korra,” Garik snapped through his teeth.

The guards looked at each other.

“Now!”

One of them bolted back up the corridor. The gargling moans continued.

“Commander?” the other one muttered. “What’s happening down there?”

Garik shook his head. Erika trembled as she looked at him. He didn’t even know? He was their most experienced fighter.

“Why is she making that sound?” The guard whispered.

Garik swallowed. “Her vocal chords have given out.”

Bile shot up Erika’s throat and out of her mouth. Vomit spattered across the wall. Garik put a hand on her back.

“Leave, Erika. You don’t have to be here, you shouldn’t be here.”

The screaming stopped. Their three sets of eyes immediately fixed on the door.

They heard the quiet sound of a cell door being opened, but not closed. Calm footsteps tapped across the stone floor, and climbed the stairs.

Rand opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. He glanced at all three of them, eyes lingering on Erika. Then he turned to Garik and held out the key to the cell.

The Commander stared at the key for a moment, and took it. Rand nodded, and walked up the corridor without a word, moving aside to allow Doctor Korra and the other guard to pass him.

Korra stared at him, and quickened his pace. His face was thunder as he approached Commander Garik. “What did he do? What did you let him do?”

Garik said nothing, and Korra threw the door open. He bolted down the stairs, followed by the two guards. Garik’s lip curled, and he followed.

Erika didn’t want to see what Rand had done, but her feet took her to the door. She started down the stairs as well, no matter how much her mind protested.

There was a louder voice powering her feet, reminding her of things she didn’t need it to. One-eye was going to rape you. Take you away from your home and never let you go. You would have never been you again.

Down the stairs she went. The smell hit her first. Bodily fluids, any and all she could name, the stink growing stronger the lower she went.

She followed Garik and the others to the barred door, and almost ran into the four of them, staring into the open cell in horror.

The one-eyed woman was twitching, slumped over. Blood specked drool and vomit dripped from her chin and down her front. It was obvious by the state of her and the stink that she had soiled herself. Her eye was wide and glazed over, and her lips were twitching as she babbled to herself in a hoarse whisper, through a mouth that never closed. Sometimes her voice trailed off completely, bubbling with the mucus pouring from her nose. Her muscles engaged and disengaged in no particular order, jerking and slumping, any ability to voluntarily move stripped from her mind.

Korra was covering his mouth in shock. Slowly, he stepped into the cell and retched.

“What’s she saying?” Garik grunted.

Korra shook his head. “I … I don’t know. They’re not words … or not words I understand.” He wheeled around. “How could you let that monster in here with her?!”

His eyes found Erika, and he softened. He pointed at the babbling woman. “This is what he is, girl. This is what a man like that does.”

That other voice manipulated Erika’s lips and formed the words. “He deals with monsters.”

Garik’s ashen face turned to her, and he sighed. “What did he do to her?”

Korra turned to the pirate and frowned. He walked around her studying her closely, growing paler and paler.

“I … don’t know.” His voice was a whisper. “Her jaw looks dislocated… but there’s … there’s not a mark on her. Not so much as a bruise, or any redness …”

“He said he wouldn’t touch her,” Garik muttered.

Erika stared at the dribbling, broken person sitting on the chair, and felt her skin starting to ripple and stretch. Bile filled her throat again and stayed there, while at the same time a sickening triumph crept up her spine. Her entire body started tingling in cathartic disgust.

“Don’t look, Erika,” Korra said, his face ashen.

Erika didn’t turn away. When the one-eyed woman had descended the stairs into her cellar, walking slowly, staring at her like a roasting leg of lamb, she had stepped out of a nightmare. Everything that had happened while in the pirate’s clutches had been little more than scattered, twisted images, discoloured and shadowy. Now she was more pathetic than anything he had seen, any discarded, broken thing in existence.

It felt … good. She couldn’t deny it, as much as it horrified her smothered conscience. A woman who gloated over the pain she had caused. Her own would-be rapist … reduced to a mumbling ruin, pissing and shitting herself, trapped in a nightmare.

Then Doctor Korra raised the crippled woman’s head, and her wide, glazed eyes met Erika’s, with absolutely no awareness whatsoever.

Erika tried to communicate her hatred with a look, but found it met with an emptiness that disarmed her entirely. She blinked, and her anger escaped her like the air from a ripped balloon.

She covered her mouth before the pain and disgust at herself could shoot out of her mouth in another jet of vomit.

She backed away until she was out of the cell, and fled up the stairs.

Her feet took her through the barracks until her legs started to burn. She didn’t stop until she was in the open air out front of the citadel.

Collapsing at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the doors, Erika shuddered and began to sob in shame, curling into a ball.

“I hope you aren’t weeping for her.”

Erika jerked and craned her neck around. Rand was sitting on the steps, with a map-book on his lap, four times the size of Hachi’s desk. It was open and unfolded.

“Wh-what did you do to her?”

The citadel’s doors opened behind them before he could answer. Garik stepped out, with Korra behind him. The doctor lunged for Rand, and Garik held him back with both arms.

“You are a fiend, Irellian! Inhuman!”

Rand glanced at him, and turned one more page in the map book. As Erika pushed herself up to her feet, he pointed to a floating island on the edge.

“There. It’s three days flight.”

Garik pushed Korra back a little and let him go. He leaned over the map as the doctor helped Erika to her feet.

Garik grunted. “That’s three days flight against the wind.”

“It’s not a problem.”

Garik snorted. “I bet it isn’t. You need one of the airships?”

“No. I’ll go in the Scythe, it’s far sneakier. Going in force, and going blind, it’s a bad move. Your ships are needed here.”

He hauled himself to his feet. He handed Garik the map, but the Commander held his forearm. “That pirate … she’s …”

“She’s in exactly the state she deserves to be in.” Rand locked eyes with Korra. “Blanch at her fate after someone like her rapes your wife or daughter or granddaughter.”

“You exposed an innocent girl to your monstrosity,” Korra snarled through his teeth.

“You should have stopped her going down those stairs.” Rand approached the doctor. “Moreover, you haven’t seen a fraction of what that innocent girl would have seen.”

Erika swallowed and began to shake again. Korra held her tightly. “Stop it. You’re terrifying her.”

“Good. Our lives are cold, and terrifying. We live on the bones of a broken body. Pretend to be civilised if you wish to. Blind yourself to what your life is if you wish to. Prosper off of my violence, off of my back, and judge me for it if you wish to.” Rand’s voice didn’t waver. “When the worst comes, it is men like me that men like you beg to save your lives, and luckily for you, my livelihood depends on coming to your rescue.”

Rand took a step away from the citadel, immune to Korra’s glower.

“What are we supposed to do with her?” Garik muttered. “It doesn’t look like she can eat or drink. She might fall to disease, given the state of her. We can’t just keep her in the cell.”

Rand stopped and looked over his shoulder. His eyes were entirely devoid of emotion.

“Put her down, eh?” Korra spat. “Shoot her in the head like a mad dog?”

“Why waste the bullet?” Rand’s eyes bored into Korra’s. “Throw her off the side of the island.”

Share

“I like spirited girls.”

Colours that no one had a name for spun and shimmered, weaving and twisting around in ribbons and swirls, in balls that seemed to be bouncing right into Erika’s eyes. There was nothing she could do to stop it. She had no idea where her arms were located, or how they worked, or if she had ever had them in the first place. She had no mouth or voice to scream with … until she suddenly did, and the shriek that escaped her chest banished the tormenting colours away into blackness.

Light suddenly snapped into being around her, and her muscles screamed at her as she sat up. A warm hand gently held her shoulder and the back of her neck, guiding her down onto her back again. The hands formed into a man, Dimi Korra, Dryxovan’s doctor. His wrinkled brow was even more wrinkled by concern, but his mouth was turned up in a smile.

Erika couldn’t catch her breath. Her chest was constricted as if it was bound by gradually tightening rope. Doctor Korra held her hand.

“You are safe, Erika. The pirates have gone.”

She looked around. The room was on the ward, she was one of four bedridden patients. The man beside her had his chest wrapped up in reddening bandages, and an arm splinted with wood and wrapped with fabric and thick twine. Opposite, a woman’s leg was missing above the knee, and her face was red and soaked in sweat. The last was a silent silhouette, laying behind a stained curtain.

Erika tried to speak, and her throat croaked with a burning spear of acidic agony that made her cough, and that only seemed to drive the spear in deeper. Doctor Korra handed her a cup of water, and another smaller cup that smelled of mushrooms and honey. “Water first. Small sips.”

Erika nodded and drank some of the water. It wetted her throat, and she felt it creeping down her gullet until it dripped into her stomach. She sipped until the doctor gently held her wrist, and held out the smaller cup. “All in one go.”

She nodded, and took as deep a breath as she could. The medicinal, spicy, almost alcoholic burn seemed to race into her stomach as quickly as it could. She retched.

“Now the rest of the water.”

Erika started drinking before she could cough again, and swallowed until the water and bile were gone.

“How did I get here?” she whispered.

“A couple of the dockworkers brought you in. I’ve heard bits and pieces from young Artor. He carried you off the galleon, but he says the bounty hunter was the one who rescued you.”

Erika tried to breathe deeply again. “You mean Rand?”

“I don’t care to know his name. They drove the pirates off, though, him and what’s left of the guard.”

Erika rubbed her head. “Rand and Artor drove them off?”

“I gather they were both part of the force that took the galleon.”

Erika lay back on the bed. The sides of her head were beginning to throb. “What happened to me?”

“Put simply, you were given especially powerful powders. Almost too much, in fact. Any more and you would never have woken up.”

Erika shivered.

“Have you taken them before?”

She shook her head.

“You’ve been in … what I can only describe as a fever and delirium for the past three days. Eventually the chemicals passed out of your system, though we had to give them a little push here and there. The effects will fully subside in three to ten days, we believe. You also have a twisted ankle, but it’s mostly healed. It’ll be a little tender for another day or so, be careful when you walk up and down stairs.”

The ward began to turn a sickly, bronze sheen, and she closed her eyes as a bolt of nausea shot through her stomach. A groan of pain drifted past her lips.

“In through your nose, out through your mouth. It’ll pass in a moment.”

It did indeed pass, but something worse replaced it: a joint dawning of realisation and fear.

“I’ll wait ‘til we’re alone before I take this off you.”

Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t ask. She had no way to ask. If she said the words, he would have to tell her. There were no parents to protect her, shield her from the evils of the shattered lands. There was only her.

Her mouth opened again. “Anything else?”

“No, that’s all.”

Tears of relief filled her eyes immediately, and she exhaled shakily a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding. Erika inhaled deeply, holding herself as still as she could to stop the room spinning. “Where are they now?”

“Who?”

“Artor and … Rand.”

“I gather Artor is at the docks, though he’ll be by in a little while. He’s been in every day to visit.”

She felt a little glowing ember of warmth touch each cheek. “And Rand?”

“The bounty hunter flew off in his balloon on the first dawn after the attack. My understanding is that he hasn’t been back since.”

Erika stared at the wall for a moment, and blinked. She hadn’t gotten the chance to thank him, not that he was likely to accept the thanks in the first place.

“I thought that he might stay … at least for a while.”

Doctor Korra pursed his lips. “Erika … take it from an old man. Soldiers of fortune … if soldier is even the right word for such, are not the kind of people you want to become involved with.”

“He saved me from them,” she whispered.

Korra sighed. “He did … but men like him don’t fight to defend their homes and neighbours, like our city guard do. They don’t uphold the rule of law. They take lives for bits of gold and silver, anyone’s lives. They chose their life of violence, in the company of death. They will never be free of it.”

The dead, blown-apart face of the girl’s corpse aboard the Cold Bich etched itself onto the wall in front of her. There was no doubt that Rand Irellian was certainly such a man … but she couldn’t hold the same low opinion of him as the doctor did. Especially as the girl’s face morphed into one more sneering and lustful, with a spiralling tattoo on her bald head and eye stitched closed by scarlet thread …

Erika wouldn’t weep for that one.

***

Dryxovan was no longer smoking, but it was scarred.

The ancient streets of the old ruins were cratered, the paving half-turned to rubble. Some of the dead buildings that life had renewed again had fallen and crumbled. Parts of the great dome were blackened and burned. The dockyard was a mess of debris: blackened wood and curled remains of canvas and tarpaulin balloons, and bones. Too many bones.

Yet, life streamed through those streets still, picking up the pieces of the battle. The debris was being salvaged and cleared. The galleon they had captured was helping to lift the heavier pieces away. The city guard and building workers were repurposing some of the scraps into temporary shelters for those who had lost their homes. Dogs were sniffing through rubble, and their barks rang out joyfully through the air when they found someone or something of use, quickly pulled from the wreckage and tended to by the other rescuers surrounding them.

Rand glanced between the activity and the parts of his long rifle. He rubbed polish and grease onto the bolt mechanism, checking the action of the slide.

“I hunger, champion.”

Rand looked up with a ragged sigh. Their pursuit of the remaining pirates had been largely fruitless. He had found signs of airship landing and repair on two different islands: scraps of hull, burned rope, expended fuel cans, even a body or two that had been burned. Unfortunately these islands had been in two different directions. While the Scythe was very quiet, no hot air balloon could match an airship for speed.

“You dithered.”

It was true, he hadn’t set off right away. He had procured what ammunition he could from Hachi. He had made sure that the pirate he had captured was securely locked away. He had made sure that Erika was safe in Dryxovan’s hospital, under the care of doctors that looked at him with the same uneasy eyes as the island’s dogs.

“You should have left her. You would have found her eventually anyway, after you had tracked them to their lair.”

Rand looked up from the rifle, and out at the maelstrom of floating rock all around him. “And what state would I have found her in?”

“The captain didn’t want her dead.”

Rand snorted. “No. She didn’t. They never do.”

He began preparing Scythe for landing, but he found his well practiced hands hesitant and fumbling with the ropes and burner. He stopped and leaned on the side of the basket before his clumsiness caused something serious.

“Dae Rauko.”

“Dae Rauko.”

“Not a language I recognise by ear.”

“Perhaps their own dialect.”

“Pirate dialects don’t sound like that. They’re always derivations of the common tongue of the area.”

“Perhaps they’re not from this area.”

“Pirates only travel far if they have no choice. They didn’t have the provisions or fuel for a long journey aboard the galleon we captured. They were speaking most of the time in a tongue I know. No … they’re not too far away.” Rand turned back to the burner, and turned it lower. Scythe began descending.

“Dae Rauko is a name, perhaps. It’s a noun, or an adjective and a noun. They were calling me Dae Rauko.”

A chuckle murmured through his mind. “Well, they were coming here for you. Everything else was a bonus.”

Rand packed his rifle away, and tapped his fingers on the lid of the case.

The basket bumped against the ground, and he cut off the burner. As he jumped out he nodded to the dockworkers starting to manage the deflating balloon and shift it into a hanger. Rand paid his five gold bits to the dock master, and set off into town.

A few dogs raised up their heads as they caught his scent. The workers beside them who were sifting through the rubble went for clubs and dirks as they growled, and spun around. They hesitated when they caught sight of the dark figure striding up the hill.

“You make them nervous.”

“You make them nervous,” Rand whispered. “Release the hold a little, for their sake.”

“It isn’t easy … when one is so famished …”

Rand grinned. “There’s something for you, no doubt in their prison. You know that.”

There was a feeling of contemplation for a moment, and then the dogs stopped growling all at once. The first tail began to wag slowly, then all of them did.

One wolf dog approached him, trotting down from the wreckage of one of the airships. It stopped in his path and sat, glaring up at him with intense eyes. Rand slowed to a halt beside it, and the snout slowly brushed against his hand. The nose was cold and damp, but the tongue was warm as it gave him a lick on the knuckle.

Rand’s old life bloomed in his mind and his heart, and he crouched down, scratching the dog behind the ears. It sniffed him again, and licked his cheek.

“Obie, let the man walk.”

Rand glanced up from the dog. An older and younger man were approaching him, men he recognised immediately. Their wounds were bound and healing, and as such they were getting their hands dirty with the community around them. A father and son, those he had helped defend their home, alive and well.

Rand ran his fingers through the dog’s shaggy fur. “It’s alright … I don’t mind. How are you both?”

“Keeping busy with these boys,” the father grunted. “Thank you, bounty hunter. Without you, our family … well …”

Rand nodded. “I’m glad you’re both on your feet.”

The son patted Obie on the rear, and the dog spun around and stood beside his master. “Are you going to get ‘em?”

Rand felt the dark rear up in him again, and tried to clamp it down. He nodded. “Once I have a direction.”

“Good,” the son grunted.

The father glanced at his son, and Rand caught the sadness in the look.

He stood up and stretched his neck. “With those ships, you can defend yourselves a little easier … and with their weapons.” He looked down at Obie again and smiled. The dog made him feel like a boy again. He gave him one more scratch behind the ears.

“Do you have a decent scholar around here? Maybe someone good with languages?”

The older man nodded. “Yeah, Vander, up at the schoolhouse. He teaches the youngest, but he’s a bright one. He runs the archive here, I reckon the teaching’s just a hobby.”

Rand nodded. “Appreciate it.”

“Aye, keep well, bounty hunter.”

Rand tipped his hat and continued up the hill, dodging around the rubble.

At the top of the rise, the damage gave Rand a far different impression, even more so than seeing it from the air. Dryxovan was far from dead, even far from clinging to life. Down here, the defiance was as palpable as the smells of smoke and dust, the tiny parts of the body that assisted with healing were clearly visible. Sooner rather than later, the streets would be clear, the town would fortify, and the normal, mundane lives of the citizenry would resume as if nothing had happened at all. It was a microscopic example of the adage: hard times make strong men. The night before had been hard, and the strong were now out to make times good again.

The school house was empty, and the archive sat close by, a cellar in the foundations of the citadel. In the times when the world was whole, it would have likely been a store room that held a plethora of mind-rotting liquors and wines and ales for a variety of functions. Now the scent that filled his nostrils told him the exact opposite.

The musty smells of old knowledge led the way to the sight of handmade shelves filled with thousands of books of varying size and thickness. Many were incredibly old and flaking, with crumbling leather covers and loose pages visible above the spines.

Rand’s shadow fell across a desk close to the door, and an ancient man sitting on a hard-backed chair. He was leaning over an open book, left hand gracefully painting a neat line of runic script with a quill onto a stack of parchment. With his right he was applying a coating of clear liquid onto the flaking, fragile pages of the tome. He was peering at it through an intricate apparatus of discs and lenses, adding and removing them to adjust the magnification. A long, grey beard reached down to his chest and curled.

Rand waited for a minute, in case he was noticed, until it became obvious that the elder was too absorbed in his work. He gently knocked on the door frame.

The man grunted and squinted up at the door, fishing for a set of thick spectacles.

“Yes?” While very tempered by advanced years, he had the authoritative voice of a general, not what Rand expected.

“Are you Vander?”

“Yes.”

“I’m in need of a literate man, if you can provide a service.”

Vander stretched, and it sounded as if half of his bones clicked into place. He pushed himself slowly to his feet. “Would you move out of the light so I can get a look at you?”

Rand stepped inside and took off his hat. Vander shuffled up to him and peered at his face. A little harumph escaped the corner of his mouth.

“Would you mind opening your coat?”

Rand raised an eyebrow, and held his coat open. Vander reached in and unclasped the pistol from his left shoulder holster.

He peered at it, and opened the breech, taking out the bullet loaded in. “Brass wrapped, single shot, rifled barrel. A simple piece, very few moving parts, very durable. You seem a man of practical violence, and no nonsense.”

Vander peered up at him. “And more dangerous than the average, suggesting a bounty hunter. Confident enough to not be nervous when a man is around you with one of your own loaded firearms. More intelligent than the average, perhaps, if you deal in matters that have brought you to an archive.”

“I’m told it’s unbecoming to speak of my own intelligence.”

“Hmph.” Vander loaded the bullet, snapped the barrel closed, and made sure that the safety was engaged to stop the hammer falling and firing the weapon. He handed it back to Rand.

“I take it you are the bounty hunter who assisted the town guard during the night.”

“Correct.”

“Your name?”

“Irellian. Rand Irellian.”

Vander smiled, and a shock of deepwrinkles appeared beside his eyes. “A second name. Very rare, and a most pleasing one. I thank you for your efforts in defending me, and my home.”

He settled back in the chair. “What service can I provide, exactly? I am happy to do it free of charge, given that I remain alive due to your actions.”

“I appreciate it, thank you.” Rand leaned on the wall opposite the desk. “How are you with languages?”

“Fairly good. I have a number of tomes in different languages here.” He stroked his beard. “Your second name for example. It is a word in a language from long before the Shattering, spoken by a people I have a few books about on the third shelf. Eldirin, I believe they were called … or Elves, in the stories. Are you aware of what it means?”

Rand ignored the smell of smoke and burning flesh that suddenly filled his nose. He nodded. “It means: fields.”

Vander beamed. “You are a rare one, Mr Irellian.”

“Rand, please.”

“Rand, then. Not many know the language, fewer know that plurals in the Eldiri language end in what we would know of as the letter ‘n’.”

Rand nodded, willing the conversation to shift. “The word I wish to know the translation for is not in Eldiri, to my knowledge.”

“What is the word?”

“Dae Rauko.”

Vander stroked his beard. “Dae Rauko … can you spell it?”

“I’m afraid not, I’ve not seen it written down.”

“Hmm …” Vander jotted the word down phonetically on a scrap of spare parchment. “Dae Rauko … I don’t recognise it by ear.”

“That’s how I heard it pronounced.”

“Hmm …” Vander tapped his fingers on the desk. “You would like a translation for this word?”

“If possible, but the word in its native script would be satisfactory.”

Vander nodded, though a frown bloomed on his face. “I don’t see how the native script would help you.”

Rand wondered if the dead pirates had been carrying anything that had any writing on it in this strange language. Something to ask the guard captain perhaps.

“Well, I will see what I can find for you,” Vander said with a grunt as he stood up.

“I appreciate it. If I’m not at the docks, I’ll be at the bounty office or the guard barracks.”

***

When Rand returned to the docks, he went straight to Hachi’s bounty office, and began studying the maps of the surrounding islands. Given where the wreckage had been found on his patrol, there were three potential directions they could have escaped to. Two were in the same direction as the flow of the wind, and one was against. Typically pirates escaped with the wind for the sake of speed, but didn’t necessarily keep flying in that direction in order to throw off pursuit. Both of the directions with the wind were also the direction where Rand had obliterated Vriess and his crew.

Judging by the amount of debris on the rocks, survivors had been picked up and valuable salvage picked clean. If the pirates were worth the powders they stuffed up their noses, which they seemed to be, they would have split their forces to throw off pursuit and to pick over the wrecks.

If he hadn’t been here, Dryxovan would have been reduced to yet another dead ruin floating among the rocks. Then again, if he hadn’t been there, the pirates wouldn’t have come to the town in the first place. They’d been there for him, after all, at least primarily.

Dae Rauko.

Whatever that meant, it was certainly a proper noun: a name or a thing they were explicitly calling him … but why him? He was a major hinderance to piracy, as every bounty hunter was. Was every bounty hunter Dae Rauko, or just ones like him, playing host to something darker than the void itself?

“When you put it that way, it seems obvious, doesn’t it?”

Rand grunted. “Doesn’t it just.”

Hachi squinted up at him from the desk. “Eh?”

Rand shook his head. “Just talking to myself. You have ammunition to sell? I could use more heavy rounds for the rifle.”

“They’ll cost you,” Hachi muttered.

“I’d expect no less. How many and how much?”

“Box of ten, a hundred gold bits.”

Rand frowned. “I sold you a ship full of spices for less than that.”

“Your mistake.”

“Ten gold bits a bullet, even good bullets, is extorting your best protection against attack.”

“That’s why I’m charging you a hundred and not two hundred.”

Rand grinned. “You’ll charge me twenty, because those bullets will help me eliminate those pirates permanently.”

“I don’t buy in futures.”

“Then let’s say forty, a little extra to safeguard those futures.”

Hachi peered at him. “Seventy-five.”

“Not going higher than forty.”

Hachi suppressed a belch. “I won’t go lower than sixty.”

“Then fifty seems like we’d be meeting in the middle.”

Hachi shrugged his meaty shoulders. “Alright, Irellian, it’s a deal. They’re in the top drawer of the third cabinet on the left of the bounty board. Bits up front.”

Rand counted out the bits, and handed them over. The heavy bullets passed his scrutiny with flying colours. They were as long as his hand from the tip of his middle finger to his wrist.

The door creaked open. Hachi peered up as Rand packed the bullets into his ammunition belt.

“How are you keeping, girl?”

Rand glanced around. Erika was pale, wearing a stained grey woolen dress over a tan undershirt and slacks. She smiled weakly at Hachi. Her gait was slumped over a little, but she seemed healthy enough apart from a limp affecting her right leg.

Her eyes met his, and she smiled. Vitality seemed to return to her entire being. She looked over at Hachi. “I’m healing … well enough to get some fresh air. Doctor Korra agreed it would be good for me.”

Hachi smiled at her, the most joyful and gentle expression Rand had seen from the man. “You rest up, girl. No need to hurry back. Have you spoken to that dockyard boy? He’s been poking his head in on you, so I hear.”

She nodded. “I haven’t seen him yet, but Doctor Korra told me.”

She looked over at Rand. “I came straight here … I heard you were flying.”

Hachi glanced at Rand and leaned back, getting back to his reports with a knowing grin that immediately set part of Rand on edge.

He nodded to her. “I landed a little while ago. Looking to get a better idea of where the pirates went.”

“So you can kill them.”

Rand looked up at her. There was a sharpness to her eyes that hadn’t been there before. He nodded.

“So I can stop them hurting anyone else.”

From deep in the recesses of his head came a snort of derision.

“Good,” Erika whispered. She reached out and grasped his arm, and he tensed. She didn’t seem to notice. “Thank you. You saved me … saved me before … anything could be done to me.”

Rand put one hand on top of hers, squeezing gently so her grip loosened enough to let him go. He nodded to her without any mirth. “You don’t need to thank me for anything.”

Her lip quivered, and she nodded back.

“People rarely thank me,” he murmured. “I’m not sure how to deal with it, exactly.”

Erika sniffed. “Accept it.”

Rand shrugged a shoulder. “Then I accept your thanks … and when I find those pirates, I’ll remind them of what they did with prejudice.”

She wiped her eyes, but her breathing was steadier, less ragged. “Did she get away?”

Rand shook his head. “She’s in the citadel, in a cell. She won’t leave.”

“You didn’t kill her?”

He shook his head again. “As good as killing her would feel, it would be far less useful.”

“Oh.” Erika swallowed. “I … I don’t want to …”

She opened her mouth and breathed for a moment. “I don’t want to be scared anymore. I don’t … I was so … so helpless.”

Erika shook her head. “You being here … it makes me feel safe. You make me feel safe … but you’ll leave soon, I guess … and when you leave, the monsters will come back.”

She grabbed his arm again. “I want you to … if you can … I want to learn how to fight.”

Rand raised an eyebrow.

“Defend myself … if you hadn’t been here, they would have done … I don’t want to think about what they would have done to me.”

If he hadn’t been there, Erika wouldn’t have been put in that kind of danger in the first place.

The derisive snort came again, this time with far more cruelty. Again, Rand didn’t let it reach his face. He had a responsibility to her, to the town.

“When you’re well … when that ankle has healed, and not before that.”

Erika’s face broke into a smile, and she nodded vigorously. “Okay.”

Rand shook his head. “It’s not a game, Erika. Not a game. It’s your life.”

Her smile vanished, she blinked at him, and nodded again.

“We may well not get to it for a little while.” He tapped the map with his forefinger. “First … time to make sure they don’t come back.”

Share

The town’s defenders had been forced to fall back into the remains of the castle. The single closed-off building, effectively Dryxovan’s citadel, was a flurry of exploding black powder. The stink of smoke and burning fabric choked the air, ringing with the sounds of clashing metal and the pops of small-calibre shot.

Flashes went off inside the shadowy chambers, visible through the narrow windows. Rand had to pull his own focus away from the sensory chaos of battle, but the shrieks of pain and rage and the echoes of bellowed orders within the walls pursued him up the broken avenue.

One more fighter won’t make the difference, he told himself, almost convincingly, in a voice that almost sounded like his own and not his dark companion’s.

He knew pirates well enough. If that airship took off with Erika aboard, the girl would never be seen again. At the very least, she would never be seen whole.

Rand quickly set up his rifle on the roof opposite the embattled building. His sniper companion would definitely reach it; he could see her climbing around a crumbling chimney a little further back.

Once that was done, he jumped down, rolled, and tore down the hill in the cover of the buildings. The paving seemed to stretch and grow longer and longer the more he ran, an illusion of his own making. It was only when his feet went from hard stone to softer topsoil that part of him relaxed.

Rand crouched, weaving between the fronds and clusters of wheat and corn. “Can I trouble you to hide me for a moment?” he whispered to his master.

“It is no trouble, as long as you provide me enough blood.”

Rand focused on the task at hand instead of the words. The shadows surged around him as he ran, keeping him hidden from a passing glance, at least in the open. He kept to the cover of the crops, taking care to watch his footing. Silence was key.

He studied the landed galleon for a method of entry. The cannon hatches on the side of the hull were open, showing him scattered shadows moving back and forth, loading or maintaining the guns. He could hear the curses and orders from up on deck. Replacing the burner would take more time than they had … they just weren’t aware that their time was borrowed.

A sharp, female voice pierced the night. “What’s the fuckin’ hold-up?”

There was a mumble in response.

“Hurry it up, then!”

Another mumble hummed from the deck as Rand jumped and grabbed onto the lip of the closest hatch.

There was a low groan from the wood and rusted iron as he pulled himself up and squinted into the aership. The cannon had been pulled away, and a man was greasing the gears on the elevation controls, testing their smoothness.

Rand swung himself in. He landed softly, although the deck plates betrayed him, creaking under his feet.

The pirate looked up with a frown at the noise and spun around. He turned into Rand’s blade, which sliced through the right side of his neck and pierced his heart. A solitary jet of red sprayed across the bulkhead before he dropped to the floor. More began to pool around his head and upper chest in a slowly growing scarlet bloom.

Rand pushed the door ajar and peered into the passageway beyond. Crewmen jogged towards the top deck. They carried rusty cans of fuel and tools to fix the broken burner. He watched them scrabble up the ladder like insects, clearly under the whip of their captain.

Rand moved back and dumped the body out through the hatch before slipping into the corridor once there was a lull. He slipped past the ladder and listened at the next doorway. Only two distinct voices murmured, and Rand didn’t hesitate.

He burst through the door and beheaded the first pirate mid-laugh. Before the second could recover from the shock and raise the alarm, his head was spinning in the air. It landed with a dull bump into the stinking pile of powders on the table between the corpses, while the rest of him slumped in his chair.

Rand got his bearings quickly. The cannons and tools wouldn’t be on the same deck as the bunks, not if this was a repurposed galleon. He reached out with his senses, and heard the footsteps on the deck above him. Once out into the passageway, he quickly ascended the ladder.

He peered up through the hatch to the crew deck and waited. Once the corridor was clear enough, Rand jumped up and swept towards the galleon’s aft, where the captain’s cabin would be.

A door lay ahead of him, splitting the corridor. Again, he listened at the jamb. He could hear two pirates beyond, pacing, grunting at each other. Two, he could handle fairly easily, though one sounded bigger than the other, given the protesting of the wood beneath his feet.

Rand waited until the footsteps were going away from him and pushed the door open. The pair of brigands didn’t look to be full of powders and would make a challenge, especially considering the size of the one furthest away. He was almost seven feet tall, shirtless, and carrying a double-headed axe on his hip.

Rand drove his sword through the smaller one’s back, snapping ribs and collapsing her lungs. She hit the deck, twitching weakly and gasping.

The big one wheeled around as Rand flew at him and sliced through his throat. His eyes widened, and he stepped back twice before drawing his axe and gritting his bloodied teeth. Rand spotted the grains of powder on his nostrils and cursed himself.

The heavy attempted to shout, but instead a choking, bloody cough came out. Enraged, a wild swing flew towards Rand.

He ducked, and the axe head smashed into the bulkhead. He jumped forward and stabbed into the big man’s chest, quickly met by a dizzying punch to the jaw. Stars blasted in front of his eyes, and he felt his jaw snap and dislocate and his nose crunch. His back hit the deck, and despite the threat of unconsciousness, the pain supercharged his hearing and touch. He heard the wet suck of the man pulling the sword from his own chest and felt the shake of the heavy footstep as he moved to strike down with it. Rand rolled to the side and drew one of his pistols. He pressed the barrel against the man’s torso and squeezed the trigger.

The man’s bulk muffled the shot considerably, and Rand sliced his hand open on the sword, pressing it to the bullet wound.

The blood began swiftly draining, and Rand felt the sickening reconstruction of his nose and jaw, the pop as it went back into its sockets. The shock of it even cut through the powdered pirate’s madness, giving Rand the perfect opportunity. He yanked the sword from his chest and cleanly chopped off his head.

The adrenaline was blasting through Rand’s blood. Bile rose and fell in his throat. He felt pressure rising in the sides of his head. He pressed his fingers to his temples and leaned on the bulkhead.

“Those powders are quite something, aren’t they?”

Rand slapped his cheeks and gritted his teeth. “Make … it … stop.”

He heard the chuckle in his mind. “How am I supposed to do that, champion?”

Rand closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing.

“Use it like they do. Let it charge your blood. Let it steady your hand. No mercy.”

Rand could feel his senses sharpening again, but not through pain. He could smell perfumes and leather coming from the door at the end of the corridor, and jumped up. His steps were almost stumbles as he approached. He slowly grasped the handle, and opened the doorway.

The captain’s quarters here were grand for a pirate. The aft bulkhead was lined with the kind of windows that Rand had only seen in the broken ruins of the cathedrals of the old world. The drapery and carvings covering the wooden walls were akin to those in a temple, twisting curves looking like stone pillars. There were warm wooden cabinets and a weapon rack lined with blades and firearms. Powder residue covered the bedside tables, pillows and the grand desk in the corner, facing the windows. Bottles of liquor were lined and tipped against the walls.

Erika was naked, tied to the bed by the wrists and ankles. Her captor had her back to the door, tightening one of the restraints at the lower bed post.

Almost by itself, Rand’s hand flew up and pointed the pistol at the back of the pirate captain’s head. His own anger mixed seamlessly with the madness brought on by the powders staining his bloodstream, yet his hand was steady.

The bald tattooed harlot was wearing a stained green dress, a luxurious thing reserved for the higher echelons of the larger settlements. She had probably procured it from another of her victims, another who had awoken bound to the same bed.

Erika was sweating profusely, twisting and moaning in terror, her eyes half open and rolled to whites. The pirate captain stroked her hands up the girl’s thighs.

“Do it.”

Rand blinked, and gritted his teeth.

“You would let this filth defile the girl that has made you soft?”

His finger curled around the trigger, tightening. He was only dimly aware of it.

“No mercy, champion.”

“No.”

The pirate captain froze, but never had a chance to turn. Augmented by the wooden handle, Rand sharply struck the back of her head. She dropped like an overly perfumed sack of potatoes.

“No mercy … but a bullet’s too good for her, don’t you think?” Rand was almost shocked by the rage in his own voice.

“You have a sword, don’t you?”

“Hmm.” Rand untied Erika, and covered her with a blanket. Gently, he turned her onto her side, in case she vomited in her stupour. Then he fastened the bindings securely tightened around the pirate captain’s wrists, knees, ankles and neck. “Swords cut off sources of information that we might need.”

There were shouts now, coming from behind him. The rest of the bodies had been found, and the pirates knew they were under attack. He loaded a shot into his empty pistol, and immediately raised it at the door as it flew open.

The firearm barked into the face of the pirate who was coming into the room. Blood showered the two at the woman’s back, who both screamed and began backing off, shocked fingers fumbling with their weapons. Two more bullets dealt with them swiftly. Rand ducked back to reload the three pistols, and glanced up at the captain’s weapon rack.

He picked up a rifle, powder and ball. Comparatively useless, but it was an extra shot at distance before he would need to use his sword, and before he would start taking bullets to the chest.

Rand used the barrel to open the ajar door to the cabin, and walked as softly as he could up the corridor to the deck ladder. The hatch was shut, and he could only imagine that there were a few firearms pointing at it on the top deck. He jumped back down to the level below and made his way back to his point of ingress.

He reached into his jacket pocket for his mirrored glass. He usually used it to signal from the Scythe to other aercraft or settlements, but it was also helpful in situations like this.

He held the round mirror by the narrow handle at the side, and slowly held it out through the hatch. He adjusted his wrist so he could see the top deck railing. No one seemed to be watching. He listened carefully, but could hear no one close.

Rand swung himself through the hatch and climbed up the side of the galleon, using the iron armour frames, battle damage and gaps between planks as hand and footholds. Up and up he went, until he was right at the edge of the railing.

His stomach muscles were burning, and the pain was sharpening his senses. He slowly pushed up and peered over the railing. There were fourteen pirates on the top deck, six of whom were pointing rifles down at the hatch leading below. Three were working on the burner. The rest were patrolling around, keeping watch.

On the opposite side of the ship, there were hands closing around the railings. A few heads were pushing up and peering over.

Rand grinned. Maybe he wouldn’t end up taking so many bullets.

He swung over the railing, pointed the powder and ball rifle at one of the men around the deck hatch, and squeezed the trigger.

There was burst of sparks as the hammer struck the flint and powder, and fire blasted from the end of the barrel. One of the pirates screamed and toppled. Rand was already on the move, closing the distance to one of the patrolling men as he wheeled around to face him. He cracked him across the jaw with the butt of the rifle, before dropping it and grabbing the unconscious man before he hit the deck.

Several things happened at once. As Rand put the limp pirate between himself and the rest of the crew, a flurry of metal jacket and black powder fire ignited and made his ears ring. Bullets and lead balls ripped into the pirate. More figures, the defenders of Dryxovan island, hauled themselves up and over the railing and began opening fire, and the deck became a meat grinder.

As the attention was split, Rand tossed the pirate away and charged, pistols in each hand blazing. By the time he reached melee range, he had expended the shots in all five, his hands moving faster than any normal man was capable of. His sword sliced down, parrying rifle barrels away and spilling pint after pint of blood onto the deck. It seemed so slow and methodical, purely because of the companion he carried with him, but actually the fight couldn’t have lasted more than ten seconds.

When the last man fell wounded, he felt the pain of bullets that had hit him through his human shield. He scanned the fallen, spotting one that was still alive, choking on her own blood. He sliced his hand open and drained her, listening to the plink of the projectiles stuck in him hit the deck.

He exhaled and glanced up. The island’s defenders were giving him a berth of about ten feet, staring at him uneasily. The oldest among them walked forwards and closed to six feet. His short carbine remained in the low ready position.

“You’re that bounty hunter.”

Rand nodded. “And you must be the man in charge.”

“Of the island’s defences, yes.” He looked around and whistled. “Get up and working on that burner!”

A couple of the defenders had fallen in the flurry, and had others beside them, closing their eyes in mourning. The commander sighed and seemed to soften. “Better do it now, lads. Others will die if we don’t get this bitch moving.”

Rand stood up and moved close to him. When the older man turned, his eyes widened for a moment.

“There’s a girl down below: Erika. Captain took her. The captain’s down there too. Consider her my gift to you.”

“She’s alive?”

“They’re both alive, and better for all of us if they stay that way.”

The commander looked at him through his eyebrows and nodded. He glanced around at the railing, where a figure Rand recognised swung himself over and onto the deck.

Artor stared at the mass of dead on the top deck, and exhaled. His eyes met Rand’s, and he swallowed.

The commander pointed at him. “Artor! Over here! The rest of you, start on the burner!”

Artor walked over, his eyes flicking between them.

“Go with the bounty hunter, and help him, then get to work on the burner yourself.”

Artor looked at them both again, and nodded. Rand set off towards the hatch without a word.

He waited at the bottom of the ladder, impressed that the young man was able to keep up.

“Look here, bounty hunter …” Rand muttered. “What happened at the bar … that wasn’t right.”

Rand rolled his eyes and walked towards the captain’s cabin. “You don’t want to be doing this now.”

“What you said to Lynn wasn’t right, much less hitting her.”

Rand glanced back at him. “She’s the kind of person that evil thrives and relies on: a weak willed piggot of a girl that bends the second she’s leaned on. She’s the sort that will be the death of everyone you love. She’s lucky I didn’t blow her head off. Now …”

He kicked open the door to the cabin. “You take Erika, leave the pirate to me.”

“Erika?” Artor’s eyes widened, and he pushed past Rand, his anger forgotten. When he saw her in the bed, he raced to her side and stroked her cheek. His voice cracked. “Erika! Can you hear me?”

The pirate captain was grunting, and beginning to struggle against her bonds. Rand knelt beside her, and a flurry of curses and spittle roared at him until he slipped an arm around her neck and squeezed. The foul words were choked, and after about twenty seconds she shut up and went limp again. He picked her up and slung her over his shoulder.

Artor was holding Erika’s head gently, brushing the sweat from her brow with his sleeve. Rand sighed to himself and frowned at him.

“You want her aboard this ship when it takes off? When we’re exchanging fire with the other pirates?”

Artor’s jaw clenched and he shook his head. He started to pick her up, then realised she was naked. His face went red, and he looked up at the unconscious pirate with blood in his eyes.

“She’ll get hers,” Rand said.

Artor focused on him, blinking in fear. The cold matter of fact made him visibly shudder.

“Come on.”

Artor nodded and bunched the blanket around Erika tightly, lifting her into his arms. Rand jogged up the corridor and descended the ladder into the bowels of the ship. At the aft, he kicked the lever that lowered the cargo ramp, and ran down to where a number of other guards and dockers were waiting. He approached the former immediately, who took hesitant steps towards him.

“Take this creature to whatever passes for a prison on this island.” He glanced back as Artor jogged down the ramp after him with Erika in his arms.

“Get her to a doctor, quick!” Artor puffed, and carefully handed Erika to the biggest man he could find. Rand dumped the pirate captain unceremoniously onto the dust.

“Come on, boy,” Rand grunted. “We’ve got game to hunt.”

Artor was still looking at Erika longingly as she was carried away, but he nodded nonetheless. “Yeah … let’s fucking kill ‘em all.”

The pair ran back up the ramp and into the galleon, and raced up to the top deck. The Commander glanced at them as they emerged from the hatch. “Artor, I want you on a cannon. Bounty hunter … where are you best?”

Rand shrugged. “Up here, with a rifle or my pistols … or most likely both.”

As Artor followed the other gunners below decks, the burner blasted flame into the night, and the balloon strained. The galleon slowly lifted with an aged creak.

The sound of cannonfire still boomed across the island ruins. Shadow shapes drifted over the ancient spires.

“How many do you think?” The commander muttered. “We’ve counted four.”

“Sounds about right. A couple have been downed or driven off. We’ll surprise them in this ship.”

“Been in many air engagements?”

“A few. I tend to engage when I’m not seen.”

The commander gave a single nod. “What are our chances?”

Rand shrugged one shoulder. “Fair, with good timing. You haven’t done this before?”

“Avoidance is the policy here. We don’t have the ships, aside from a patrol craft or two. My province is the ground.”

Rand grinned. “You want a signal to fire?”

The commander nodded again. If the grin gave him any irritation, he didn’t show it. Rand had an appreciation for authority figures that knew when to swallow their pride.

“Then you’ll have it.”

The galleon caught the wind, and groaned over Dryxovan. The ground engagements were grumbling rather than raging, and it seemed that some of the pirates had been picked up. Rand glanced up at the skies, where three ships were lurking. Rand crouched down by the railing. If he were recognised, which was a possibility, they would open fire.

The Commander spun the helm wheel towards the ships, frowning at them. One of the ships signalled with a lantern, three short flashes. Rand looked back and raised three fingers.

The Commander raised three fingers to the signal man on the prow, who Rand recognised as Borannen from the bar. He swallowed as his eyes met the bounty hunter’s, and flashed the lantern three times.

“What does it mean?” The Commander called across the deck.

“They’re going to raze the town. Get between the closest two.” Rand’s voice was calm as the galleon slowly floated towards the great dome, which belched smoke from holes in the roof.

Rand raised his hand, and the ship moved slowly into position. “Don’t miss, Commander.”

“I don’t plan to.”

The galleon creaked as it moved slowly in. The other pirates had slowed, their cannons coming to bear.

Rand raised his hand higher, waiting until the position was perfect.

One pirate ship was either side of them. He whipped his hand down.

“Fire!” The Commander shouted.

The cannons rumbled and the deck shuddered. Rand ran to starboard and rolled against the railing as he drew his pistols. Cannonfire from the galleon smashed into the flanks of the ships on either side. There were other booms from the shadows ahead.

“Down!” Rand bellowed. The railing on the other side of the galleon smashed inward. Rand popped up and fired both his pistols into the balloon of the ship in front of him.

Three more melted out of the night ahead. Rand glanced back, another volley of cannonfire from the galleon sending the damaged pirate ship to port spinning into the ground. The other in front of Rand was slowly turning away and floating towards the edge of the island.

Rand moved up and pointed his pistols ahead. The three ships coming at them were out of his range. He cursed to himself. “Everyone brace!”

There was more cannon fire, and he gripped the railing. The ship behind the other two was firing from a familiar cannon turret on the top deck. Heavy shot tore into the balloon of the ship on the right. It began falling towards the ruins as The Cold Bich’s harpoons hit the other.

Rand looked back, but the Commander was already turning the wheel with a smile. “Cannons, target starboard!”

They fired, but the pirates knew they were beaten. The final ship sped away as quickly as they could.

Rand stood and holstered his pistols. Borannen howled in triumph at the prow.

Rand folded his arms and sighed, stepping as far from everyone as he could. He lowered his voice to a mutter. “They were going to raze the town.”

“That’s very unlike a gaggle of men and women whose diet mostly consists of powders and blood.”

Rand snorted at the sardonic tone. “Really? They were here for me. A whole town … just to take or kill me.”

“Hmm … extreme, isn’t it.”

“Extreme isn’t the word. I want to know why.”

A laugh echoed through Rand’s head. “Well, champion … you won’t find out here…”

Share

The first booming sound made Erika’s house shake with terror, and jolted her from sleep. At first she thought something had fallen or broken. One of the window shutters lay on the bedroom floor, perhaps it had been that clattering onto the stone that had been the culprit. But then the second boom, and the third, and the smell of smoke reached her senses.

She stumbled out of bed and looked through the window. The people of Dryxovan were starting to bellow in confusion and fear, and further away they were screaming.

The claw tips of fire and the tendrils of smoke were coming from the dockyard. Rubble from one of the buildings uphill was rolling down the cobbled path beneath the window. Dark shapes in the night passed overhead.

Erika ducked down. Long balloon on top, with the wooden and iron hull beneath, the sails billowing on the side … airships. Dryxovan was under attack.

From one of the craft, she watched as a number of grey and black blobs were thrown over the side, towards the street and the buildings. A large, ruined building, now used as an indoor market, shuddered as explosions rippled across the roof, and one wall crumbled and tumbled with a cracking sound.

Tears filled Erika’s eyes as panic wound around her throat and squeezed. She shrunk down again as another airship passed overhead. Ropes lowered from the sides and figures roared, sliding down the ropes and into the street. There were more bellows and laughter from uphill. Gunfire began popping outside, the brigands firing up at the windows around her. Her older neighbour, Orel, a market man, was hit in the chest as he gawked out of the window at the commotion.

Erika jumped back as bullets hit the walls around her. One ricocheted off the ceiling and sent a puff of feathers exploding from her pillow, driving her scrambling across the stone floor with a shriek.

She bolted downstairs and slid both bolts across the front door, dragging them through the build up of rust and splinters. When they eventually engaged, she looked around frantically for something to defend herself with, finding only the pan she cooked in, and a knife that wasn’t as sharp as it should have been.

Something crashed against the door behind her. She screamed, and outside someone laughed.

“Let us in, sweetie.”

The voice sent a flame of horror across her skin. It was a bucket of sugar and a pint of oil pouring into her ears and down her throat, lust and blood and detachment from anything human in the slightest. Erika snatched up the knife, and ran to the cellar door. The space was tiny, but she would be safe down there if she stayed quiet.

She threw open the door and ran down the stairs, but they were narrower even than those leading up, and her foot missed one near the middle in her terror. Her ankle twisted and she yelped in pain, tumbling down to the bottom.

A moment later, the front door crashed inwards above her.

She tried to hold her breath, but whimpers of pain and horror couldn’t be restrained from escaping between her clenched teeth. The cellar door was ripped from its hinges, and shadows fell across her. Erika rolled over onto her back, and thrust the knife up at the chuckling group above her.

They didn’t need to come at her quickly. They strolled down the narrow staircase, jumping nimbly out of the way of her wild swings and slashes that threatened nothing but the air. Their eyes were dark in the low light, like chasms leading into an abyss of a skull. Their long knives, and some of their teeth, glinted down at her. They made no move to attack, just surrounding her, one by one.

They squeezed into the tight space, but left the stairs open as a way of escape. Mercy? Pity? Not much. They could see she was immobile, and they were waiting for something.

The final shadow began descending into the cellar. Erika could tell from the manner of her walk that it was a woman. There was a pistol in her hand, the barrel thin and long like a rapier would be to a sword. Her ammunition belt clinked with every step downwards. The armour over her chest was chainmail, the ringlets jewelled and glistening, beneath a woollen coat and large cloak. A wide blade sat at her hip in a jewelled scabbard.

She leered down at Erika, leaning down into the light. Erika reeled back at the sight of her. The left eye socket was stitched over with scarlet threat. The other eye was bright blue, twitching across her captive’s body. A familiar, swirling spiral pattern was tattooed across her bald head in oil ink, which danced in the leaping shadows.

Erika trembled as the female brigand crouched at the foot of the stairs and smirked at her.

She swiped at the pirate with her knife, who caught her wrist with ease. With the other hand, she plucked it from her fingers. She chuckled at it and tossed it behind her.

“I like spirited girls,” she sneered. Her voice was needle-sharp. “Get her up.”

One of the brigands behind her lifted Erika up, and she cried out in pain as her weight came down on her ankle. On either side pirates restrained her arms.

The woman stepped forwards and stroked a hand through Erika’s hair, then down her cheek and her throat. She was so well restrained she couldn’t even recoil as the fingers stroked along her collarbone under her nightclothes, then down her body over them.

“I’ll wait ‘til we’re alone before I take this off you,” she murmured.

Erika thrashed weakly, unable to break free. “P…p…please…”

“I enjoy my spoils for a long time.” With a smirk, she produced a handful of powers from a pouch, and blew them in Erika’s face.

It streamed into her lungs and turned her limbs to wet rope. Her skin simultaneously went numb and burst into white-hot flame as her mind reeled and spiralled like the tattoo on the one-eyed woman’s head. It smelled like nothing she could have imagined, rotting fruit and tar, blood and sweet honey, sewage and choking smoke. Her vision went first, then her hearing, then the rest of her consciousness, tumbling and spiralling down into the dark.

***

Rand tore up the uneven cobblestones. The dock was on the other side of Dryxovan, and as the town burned his lack of firepower made his skin itch. He stayed close to the buildings on the left side of the main street, mainly for extra cover from the air.

He had so far counted three airships above. Pirates typically hunted in packs of five or six in a raid such as this one. It seemed that taking Rand wasn’t the only task at hand. Why miss an opportunity for plunder?

Bombs and cannonballs were plummeting into Dryxovan. Firebombs had set the old ruins alight. Flames and smoke danced with the ghosts of what had once been. People streamed out of the burning ruins with their families and hounds in tow, with little knowledge of the bitter fact that there was nowhere to run, nowhere that couldn’t be burned.

Rand could hear laughter amongst the shrieks of terror, and grinned. Some of them were on the ground.

Good.

Fierce barking and snarling drew his attention. One of the ruined stone buildings ahead of him had been patched with wood and newer brick, turning into probably a dozen houses, judging by the size of it. One of the wooden doors on the ground floor was hanging limply from a broken hinge, and shadows and bellows echoed out into the night from inside.

Rand holstered one of his pistols and drew his sword, sprinting for the door.

Inside, a pair of large wolfhounds had their jaws locked around a brigand’s ankle and forearm respectively. The pirate was howling and kicking out at the dogs, which kept moving out of the way while their jaws ground through his skin. A man and an older teenage boy were engaging three pirates with rusted, iron weapons. The boy had an axe and a cracked wooden shield, the man a bastard sword. Both were bleeding from cuts to the chest, upper arms and legs. In the small space, the pirates had the advantage with their shorter blades.

“One of ya kill these fuckin’ beasts, would ya!” the dog-food brigand screamed.

One the others glanced back and stepped out of the fight with the man and boy. As he turned to the dogs, he caught sight of Rand, and his eyes widened in fear.

“Dae Rauko!” He screamed.

Rand grinned and put a bullet between his eyes, before he plunged his sword through dog-food’s back.

The explosion of sound filled the room, and cannoned off the walls. Everyone was deafened except Rand. The two wolfhounds yipped in terror and backed away from him, whining. The melee in the corner was halted by the noise, as the four men were completely discombobulated.

It was a pirate who recovered first and wheeled around to face Rand. The older man ran him through, and turned to the other one, as the boy swung for him. The pirate dropped his sword and tried to bolt, only to be met by Rand’s blade.

The dying man’s eyes widened at him, and his bloodied lips mouthed the words again. Dae Rauko.

One of the wolfhounds bolted up the stairs, and the other jumped at the man and boy, licking their faces, then the blood from their wounds. They looked up at Rand nervously.

“Any more of them?” he asked calmly.

The man shook his head. The wolfhound whined again. From upstairs, a group of faces peered around the corner. The second wolfhound stood in front of them, and kept its unblinking eyes on Rand.

Behind it were an older woman, two other women who were the same age as the man and boy, along with three small faces of children.

“Your children?” Rand asked the man.

He shook his head, and nodded to the boy. “His. My grandchildren.”

Rand nodded. “Board that door, take their firearms, and tie off those cuts. You have a cellar?”

The boy nodded and pointed to a hatch underneath a barrel. “They called you … what did they call you? I didn’t …”

“It doesn’t matter what they called me. Go down there and lay low. I’m going to the docks, I need a quick and quieter way than the main street.”

They glanced at each other.

“I’m not fleeing, if that’s what you think. I just need a bigger gun.”

“Take the alley behind this building,” the man grunted. “Follow it downhill. When it splits, take the left path, then the first right, you’ll come out by the bounty office.”

Rand nodded, and checked outside. The street was still largely deserted, but the crash of a firebomb told him that it was far from safe.

He ducked out and followed the building around. The alley was dusty and smelled of the distant past. The same odour of sour milk and burned hair hung over the stone, as it hung over every ruin on every island he had been to. It was here now even over the smell of fresh flame and death.

There were a few people huddled in the alleyway, some vagrants, hiding behind old packing crates. There were others who had fled from their homes, some families, cuddling in cubby-holes and alcoves, staring out at him in the same terror the brigands showed him.

He listened to the screams and blasts and scattered gunfire. Dryxovan wasn’t going quietly, but their smattering of town guards weren’t going to be much of a match for the brigands. They had numbers, surprise and air superiority. No doubt the guard airships would have been the first things to be firebombed. Whatever defences they had were vulnerable, from the air or from the ground.

He took the left path as the alleyway reached a dead end, in front of the two remaining crumbled walls of an ancient castle, or perhaps a prison. The next right led around it, and back downhill. The open square where the dockyard lay was ahead, glowing with the flames of death.

Rand sprinted for it, only slowing when he was around thirty feet from the mouth of the alleyway. As he had suspected, the airships that had been laid out for repairs were all engulfed by flames. The top of the giant dome at the far end had been breached and burned. The statues in front of it had toppled over and shattered. A brigand airship floated overhead, exchanging rifle fire with guards who were huddled in a fortification that had been dug in the foundations of a ruin. Bricks and bags of sand had been piled into walls, with firing holes for the men inside.

Rand peered around, pistols in each hand, and jogged at a crouch along the nearest wall of the bounty office. At the corner, he checked the front.

Four pirates lay dead at the doorway, large holes in their chests. Just on the threshold, the bulbous form of Hachi was visible in the shadows. Rand hissed his name, and his sweaty, flabby brow poked out through the entry.

“Not dead yet, eh Irellian?”

“Not yet. Nice to see there’s something in the Shattered Lands that’ll actually make you stand up, aside from the promise of a feast.”

Hachi waved his blunderbuss. “This thing is loaded, flyboy.”

Rand grinned. “Keep safe. Without you here, there’s no work for me in these parts.”

He took off at a run, dodging around the wrecks and making for the hangars, where Scythe waited for him. The berth had cost him five gold bits, but it seemed to have been well-spent.

The hangars were little more than big sheds, and could only fit a smaller airship or a balloon like Rand’s. Each had a large double door at the front that opened outwards. The padlocks on the bolts that locked them up were laying on the dusty ground, broken.

He crept around to the side, listening for anyone who might have been plundering the craft. He could hear very little over the battle outside, though. He cursed, and jogged around to the door. With a pistol up, he opened it slowly.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness immediately, a little assistance from his shadowy companion. A brigand was bent over Scythe’s basket, undoing the fuel bottles from beneath the burner. Another pair were gaping at the massive rifle attached to the side, and holding out the long bullets it fired with amazement.

Rand crept through the shadows swiftly, circling around behind Scythe. He didn’t want to risk shooting the one in the basket: he might hit the fuel, and with the candles burning within there was every chance they would all go up in flames.

As soon as he was in position behind the men at the rifle, he raised his pistols. Close enough to not miss, both took shots in the back and fell. Rand dropped the pistols immediately and jumped into the basket with the other startled brigand, slashing across his throat and chest with his sword. Jumping out again, a quick stab each ensured that he was the only living thing inside the hangar.

He picked up the bullet from the floor and slid it into the rifle’s breech, cycling the bolt on the side. After that he jumped into the basket again and opened his toolbox. Fastening the belt of rifle bullets across his hip and shoulder, he picked out his wrench and began unfastening the rifle’s bipod from the side. Once it was loose he hefted it into his arms and turned to the hangar door as it flew open.

“Lonn? We ‘eard shots, where y-“

Rand stepped instantly into a wide stance. From the hip, he squeezed the rifle’s trigger. It bucked wildly in his arms, and a jolt of pain blasted up his right shoulder.

The bullet kicked into the first brigand’s thin gut and blew him into two twitching pieces. The two behind him howled in terror and ran.

He ducked back down behind a rack of wooden planks, and put the rifle down to reload his pistols. He needed to ignore the pain in his shoulder, but the dark companion within him was feeding on it hungrily. His ears and eyes were sharper as a result, he could viscerally taste the smoke and blood in the air.

The pirates would be waiting for him, no doubt, if he slipped out through the front door. He moved back to the far wall, and felt for any of the wooden boards that were loose.

Near the ground there were a pair of shaky ones that had snapped in some accident or another. He managed to move them aside using a crowbar from his balloon, listening for any sound on the other side of the wall. When he was satisfied, he slid the rifle through, and crawled out on his belly.

Rand peered around the hangar. The pirates were laying down on the ground, their pistols trained on the hangar door. Trained, but not experienced, most likely.

He slipped between the hangars until he could get out from beneath the overhang, heading back along the edge of the dockyard. This time he circled around the back of the bounty office, and ran back up the alleyway.

At the ruined castle walls, the one remaining weathered corner of an ancient fortification, Rand paused. He peered up at it. Some of the ramparts seemed to be intact. The walls were high enough to offer a vantage point.

“Are you going to let me climb that, with my shoulder the way it is?” Rand mutttered.

The dark companion chuckled. “The pain is only a benefit to both of us.”

Rand snorted and steadied his breathing. He almost screamed in pain as his weight settled on the injured shoulder, but as it did, cold power surged through his body and his hands. He began climbing swiftly, and every time his fingers touched the ancient stone, he found more information filling his mind.

First, he could tell the stone was a touch under a thousand years old, and on the next touch he could narrow it down to nine hundred and ninety three years old. By the next touch, he knew the number of months and days that had passed.

By the fourth he knew that the wall was made of limestone and granite, held together with mortar mixed from oil and sand. By the fifth he knew the exact quarry, gone now, from whence the stone was cut. By the sixth he could picture the grassy hill that had been razed to get to the treasured material beneath. By the seventh he got a trace of blood, from the slave who had been killed when the stone accidentally fell during construction. Then there was the blood of everyone else, from the battles that had been fought atop the ramparts. The blood of the castle’s defenders, and the invaders that had attacked it from across a vast, endless body of water that had been nearby. Real water, not conjured from the hands of a sorcerer or distilled from urine. He could feel the breadth and depth of that water too, the ageless nature of it, the echo of damp, the smell of salt and strange water-borne wildlife.

When Rand’s hand planted on top of the wall, the final jolt of pain gave him a taste of something else, something darker. The stench of sulphur, and materials deep within, only present now in the islands close to the Core of the Shattered Lands. The stone was hot to the touch, from a burst of fierce energy centuries old. The burst of energy that broke everything.

Rand pushed himself up into a crouch on top of the wall. Up above, he could see two airships prowling, lining up another bombing run at the dome. He balanced the rifle’s bipod on the ramparts, and peered through the telescope fixed to the top.

He adjusted his aim so he was leading the first brigand craft, and squeezed the trigger. The boom drowned out everything for a moment, and Dryxovan seemed to pause at the new player entering the game.

The bullet punched through the airship’s balloon, rending the thick canvas with ease. The craft dipped, and swung around as the crew tried to adjust the flight path. They managed to point it at the dockyard, where the hull smacked into stone and splintered, scraping along and leaving dead and injured crew in its wake. Guards pressed the advantage, streaming across the yard from their shelters. The second airship broke off its attack run, banking towards the dockyard to protect the survivors and slaughter the exposed defenders.

Rand already had another heavy bullet in the rifle’s breech, and had the sights fixed on the burner fuel beneath the balloon. The shot was off-target, but still pierced the balloon. Rather than crash, this airship pulled away, fleeing from the battle swiftly as it could manage, losing altitude the entire way. Repairs would have to take priority over the spoils.

A rifle shot rang out to his right and he turned, pistol drawn in his left hand.

On the roof of the building next to the castle walls, a sniper put another brass-wrapped bullet into her rifle and cycled the bolt. She nodded to him, and made a gesture with her fingers, pointing to her midnight brown eyes, and then the alleyway and main street. Rand holstered his pistol and nodded. The dockyard was looking in a far more secure position than it had before. The main causeway was a different matter. Brigands had seized a building, a tall smattering of dwellings, and were firing down at the guards who were trying to take it back. The sniper’s rifle popped, and a pirate in one of the windows fell back, a spatter of blood from his chest dripping down the wall. Rand fixed his sights on the lower floors, where a barricade had been cobbled together from whatever could be cobbled. Doors, window shutters, tables, it was keeping the guards out. Brigands fired at them through narrow gaps in the barricade.

Rand waited for the flash of a muzzle, and his rifle boomed in return. The firing hole tripled in size, and the shadow behind it wavered and toppled. He reloaded, and put another round through a barricaded shutter on the second floor as a rifle barrel poked through. The barrel jerked and the entire weapon hung limply out of the firing hole, only kept there by the jammed stock.

The sniper fired, reloaded, and fired again. She had an impressive technique, although that was only useful if she actually hit anything. The first round missed a brigand on the floor below the roof, but the second hit home. Rand could see that there were sharpshooters on the roof of the fortified building. He trained his rifle on them as one peered across the roofs towards his ally, and raised his weapon. Rand’s heavy round kicked him in the chest and sent him careening into the remains of an ancient chimney head first. He slid down and slumped, leaving a trail of blood on the wall above him.

He ducked down and sent a tether to the sniper, just at the edge of his range.

Relocate, or get in cover. You’ve been spotted.

Her shot went wild and she looked around at him in confusion and anger. He sent a heavy round into another sharpshooter who had her fixed in his sights. The sniper stood and sprinted for the edge of the roof. She leapt and grabbed the edge of the castle wall, hauling herself up and behind the ramparts.

She crawled over to Rand, taking deep breaths from the exertion. Her bushy hair was tied back in something like a ponytail or a bun. She wiped her brow. “I missed that there were shooters on the roof.”

“Luckily, they missed you as well.”

She frowned. “Well, your bloody great big rifle probably made me. Compensating for something?”

Rand raised an eyebrow at her. “Compensating for your bad eyes, apparently.”

She glanced behind him at the alleyway, and lay down flat on her stomach. “Talking of bad eyes, you haven’t spotted the company.”

Rand crouched and listened. Brigands were moving down the alley, starting to jostle and terrorise the people who had taken cover there. When he glanced back, he could see that a good number of the leaders were looking up at the ruined castle walls with purpose.

“Ah, yes. Would you mind greeting them for me while I entertain their friends?”

The sniper grinned, and scoped in on them. As she opened fire Rand vaulted the ramparts, ran along the top of the ruin at a crouch and lay down in the remains of a watchtower.

At the fortified building, the guards were right up against the walls, and firing into the lower floors. They were starting to clear the barricade, and the brigands were firing down at them from above. Rand reloaded and picked off a few of them, until the Dryxovan guards were streaming into the ground floor. On the roof, brigands began setting firebombs to burn the building down, until Rand again felled them one by one. The last three were killed as Rand shot the lit firebomb in one of their hands, which burst and coated all of them with thick flame. When the guards got to the roof they managed to put the more manageable fire out.

The kicking of the rifle into his shoulder was feeding his dark companion, and keeping him sharp. A flash of movement near the top of the hill caught his attention.

The remains of a door to a block of dwellings flew into the street and a brigand strode out. His heightened sight could pick out the black spiral tattooed on her shaved head. A captain, much like Vriess.

He adjusted his aim towards her, and almost fired. The trigger was half squeezed before the parade of brigands came into view, carrying an unconscious girl slumped between them. One of them picked her up in a cradle, and even from this distance he was sure. He released the trigger immediately.

The captain glanced around at Erika, and gestured to the rest to follow her.

“No mercy.”

Rand ignored its words. They were heading to the other side of Dryxovan, to the fields.

“No mercy, Rand.”

He sprinted back along the ruin to the sniper, still exchanging fire with the brigands in the alley. He ran right past her and jumped onto the roof she had vacated, rolling to his feet.

“Have you forgotten the burning fields?”

He jumped onto the next roof, and a moment later there was an impact and a grunt behind him. The sniper was following.

“Where are you going?” she grunted tersely.

“They’re taking people. Probably an airship landed near the fields.”

He cleared the gap to the next roof, barely, turning to catch the sniper as she followed. She cried out as her weight tipped her backwards, and Rand pulled her up with his forearm.

“Thank you,” she gasped. “Wait a moment…”

She doubled over gasping.

“Leave her here or kill her.”

“No!” Rand snapped furiously.

The sniper looked up at him angrily. “I need to catch my breath. How many rounds do you have left in that cannon of yours?”

“Eleven in the belt. I have plenty left for my pistols.” He grunted at her. “You?”

“Twenty or so.”

“Right. Let me put this to you simply. We have very little time before the airship takes off. We have likely less time before the girl is defiled.”

“Girl? What girl?”

Rand breathed. “Erika, from the bounty office.”

The sniper nodded. “Ah, aye, I know of her. Been through enough even without brigands … I’ll try to keep up. If I can’t … look, I’ll get to you later.”

Rand nodded. “It’s by the fields, I’m almost positive.”

“See you there. Don’t get shot.”

He grinned. “Don’t miss your jumps. Things go a little better when you’re watching my back. Make sure the town guard know where that ship is. If it’s on the ground, we can cause a little chaos.”

Before she could reply, he bounded away and leaped onto the next roof.

The way was tricky. The roofs weren’t all level. The jumps down were child’s play, although too far down and he found the need to break-fall. The climbs and jumps up were trickier, especially with his shoulder still giving him grief, although they had the side effect of heightening his senses. The chief boon was that he was unimpeded by brigands, and had no need to waste any shots on them.

The sniper never had any chance of keeping up with him, injury or no injury. She was just human.

Not that he was entirely unopposed. As he traversed Dryxovan’s heights, sprinting up the fallen spire of an old church, the smell began.

It was a scent from his deep memory. Crops on fire, livestock turning to ash, the burning wool of sheep. It began choking him the longer he tried to ignore it.

“You want me to be merciless, hmm?”

The smell increased sharply at his words, and for a moment he almost felt as though he had been swept from Dryxovan and back to that old, bitter place that burned in his memory.

“Do you think that I’ll show that captain any mercy? Or her crew? If they’ve hurt the girl, what are the chances they’ll be recognisable when I’m through with them?”

Slowly, the smell receded. Rand swallowed and nodded.

“There will be blood. The shadow is my master, and will ever be.”

He sprinted onwards, leaping and climbing up a narrow drainpipe to the highest point of Dryxovan.

From here he could see everything. The dockyard had been retaken by the guard, the main causeway a battleground that still raged. Ahead in the centre of the fields, a fat airship sat on a flat bottom.

This was a battleship. It looked to have three decks including the top beneath three balloons, strung together with rope. His sharpened eyes could pick out the captain as she and her men bore the unconscious Erika below decks, as well as counting the four cannon hatches on the side facing him. A formidable craft for sure, but not one that couldn’t be hindered.

He scoped in on the balloons. Each had a pipe attached to a hot air burner, covered by armour plating. The pipes were probably hardy as well.

He fired at the balloons, piercing two with one shot. After reloading, he scoped in on the burners. As he suspected, they were hardened against even one of his heavy rounds. He looked up a little and grinned at the seals. They looked to be some kind of fixed leather, a vulnerability and an awkward repair.

The heavy round blasted through the seal and buckled the housing of the burner, starting a small fire that alerted the crew on deck. By the time they had put it out, he was already running at full pelt downhill, working his way down to ground level, and ready to bring them their doom.

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Give me the strength to not shoot those … fucking children.

Rand’s fingers tightened around the plum liquor bottle as he uncorked it, and the ancient entity within him chuckled.

“Wait until they provoke you, at least.”

Rand snorted to himself. “No promises.”

Abika looked up at him from polishing one of the dirtier tankards. She strained to hear him over the music. “What was that, luv? Did you want something?”

“Do you have any food?”

“Ehm … a bit of pork crackling left, should be. Two copper bits if we’ve got it.”

Rand nodded with a smile.

The tables were half empty by now, and the band had almost finished playing. Their music had slowed down to more melodic, even romantic songs, that kept the pentatonic, driving lilt that the faster songs had. Erika’s friends were still at their table, and still giving him the odd sour look, particularly the guard boy.

Half of the plum liquor had disappeared down his throat. It hadn’t had much of an effect, as alcohol rarely did. The only reason he went to taverns in the first place was to listen out for work, and perhaps for the music. Even, rarely, the company of a woman.

“So many scraps of those precious metals in your pouch … and the chatter has begun to quieten.”

Rand tapped his fingers on the bar and put on his hat, drawing the wide brim low over his eyes and lowering his voice. “What’s your point?”

“You linger on the pirate girl. You linger on the office girl. You soften.”

Rand frowned. “You’re wrong, if that’s what you believe. Seven dead cutthroats should satiate you for the moment.”

“There are many left amongst the rocks and clouds of what remains of your world. Some are nearby. Do not forget your purpose. Do not forget the burning fields, champion.”

There was no way he could.

He felt the bottle of plum liquor being tugged from his grasp. His head raised quickly. Abika froze at the sight of his eyes, and swallowed.

“Thought you might be a little worse for wear,” she said, a slight tremor in her voice.

Rand let the bottle go. “Not quite yet … and I did pay for it, after all.”

Abika forced a smile. “Of course … but I don’t want-“

“Any trouble,” he finished. “Neither do I. Is that a powder and ball pistol?”

Abika glanced at the firearm in its holster on her wide hip, with her finger brushing the trigger, and frowned at him. He raised his hands in submission, and she let it go.

“It was my father’s. Still works, and you’d better believe I can hit a bottle at fifty yards with it.”

“I bet you can. Why no brass jackets yet?”

Abika bristled. “You bounty hunters might be able to afford the trip to Ulverland to buy them, but I have a bar to run.”

He shrugged.

“I normally only need one shot anyway,” she grumbled.

“With this lot, into the ceiling probably,” Rand muttered.

“They’re good people.”

“I’m sure they are.” He rubbed his eyes, and a feeling nestled at the back of his mind. It was like an itch, or the goosebump reaction to a cold wind, rippling across his skin. He shivered, and Abika glanced around and checked the shutters for a breeze.

The band played the last few notes of their final song, to a smattering of applause. It took Rand a few seconds to notice, and he joined the praise after a moment. The trio strode to the bar, and were greeted with a round of beers.

“They’re from the lad in the hat,” Abika said with a grin, nodding to Rand.

The singer smiled and raised his tankard. “Appreciate it.”

“Not a problem,” Rand muttered. The feeling persisted, a tingling over his fingertips. “There’s a tip for you all as well behind the bar.”

Before the singer could say anything, the door flew open.

Seven figures walked in. Grinning and pushing each other, they laughed at a high pitched squawk. All were armoured, and pistols and blunderbusses drawn. Their faces were painted with filthy, muddy, thick ink and tar. There were rings around their eyes, spiralling inwards, and immediately, Rand knew exactly why they were here.

He slumped down at the bar, and pulled the hat low over his face. He would have to rely on his ears for the moment. He slowly tipped the plum liquor so it was coating the bar and his trousers. One arm snaked into his jacket, and unholstered the pistol on his right side from the shoulder.

“Barkeep … your finest mind rotting bottles of spirit!” a female voice hollered in an exaggerated, aristocratic accent. “And while you’re at it, present those lovely big milky tits for us and our fellow patrons!”

“Easy now,” Abika started. “No troub-“

She was cut off by the boom of a blunderbuss. Chairs clattered back, people gasped and screamed.

Rand didn’t hear her fall to the ground, and let out a breath. He gritted his teeth.

“Get out your titties, shut yer fuckin’ trap, and get the drinks,” the pirate growled. Her playfulness, and the playfulness of the rest of her brigands, was completely gone.

There was a chuckle from deep inside Rand’s soul. “Well … these are fair game, surely.”

He smirked, and formed a picture of Abika in his mind. He saw, or rather felt, a tiny invisible tether reach from his mind to hers.

Do what they say for now, and whatever you do, don’t go for your pistol.

He heard Abika jerk in surprise, and the pirate step closer. Another laughed hysterically. “Looks like she doesn’t want to, Soraya. Ooo … look at ‘em jiggle as she shakes.”

Don’t worry … they’ll get theirs, but play along for now. It’s not you they want.

He heard Abika sniff, and then buttons began to pop. The pirates cheered.

“There they are!” another one hollered.

“Thank you … my fair … what’s the fucking word they use for those tavern whores with the big…”

“Wrenches,” one of the pirates piped up.

“That’s it! You’ve got gorgeous, massive titties, my fair wrench, but I don’t like it when my women cry! It uglies up the face.”

There was a wet slapping sound, and Abika cried out.

“You the band?”

Glasses clinked. Corks popped.

“Asked you’s a question.”

“Yeah, we’re the band,” the singer grunted.

“Fucking play then!” Soraya screamed.

Silence.

“Come on, lads.” Probably the drummer, voice low.

“Make it a nice, happy tune, and I might not take the little boy with us.”

The aggressive scrape of a chair, then the clap of a hand against someone’s chest. “Just play, and they’ll do their business and leave,” the drummer muttered.

“Is the piss-head one of yours?” one of the pirates yelled. Rand’s finger curled around the trigger.

Maybe there was a head shake, because the matter was left for the moment. Slow footsteps led away, towards the stage. A moment, then the tuning of instruments, then a jaunty tune began to play, the song they had played earlier.

“‘Music hold back the Void in me…’” the singer growled, furious.

“Good … now:” Soraya’s voice rose. “We’re looking for one man. Only one, then you might get back to your drinks and your night.”

“Hmm…” it hummed in Rand’s head.

“Rand Irellian is his name. A vagrant and a murderer. We know he likes to hang about in taverns like yours. He killed a friend of ours, and we want him to pay.”

The entity chuckled. “Oh … this’ll be good.”

“Rand Irellian is the only one who needs to pay … unless you shield him. Then, you’ll share the price. Barkeep! You know Rand Irellian?”

Abika’s breathing got faster. She must have shaken her head.

“Oh, no, no, no. You know every face that comes into your tavern. He’s come here before.”

The heavy hammer of a blunderbuss clicked back.

“Last chance. I’d rather not ruin those lovely big tits with what comes out of the barrel.”

“He’s there!” Someone shouted, a girl. Rand gritted his teeth. The voice had come from Artor’s table, he was positive about that. “The bounty hunter‘s there at the bar!”

There was a scattering of laughter amongst the pirates. Footsteps came closer to Rand.

“Looks a little bit worse for wear, doesn’t he lads?” Soraya laughed.

“Careful, boss,” one of the others said.

“You telling me what to do, piggot?”

“Just sayin’. If that’s him … he killed Vriess and his crew.”

“Yeah, well… he probably did that sober.”

Something wide and metallic poked his shoulder.

“Get up, Irellian.”

“Not going to kill you right away? Isn’t that interesting.”

He groaned drunkly. “…uck offff….”

The pirate Soraya laughed. “Come on, Randy …”

She knocked off his hat, and pushed him. Before he could fall off the stool, he grabbed her wrist and pulled himself back upright. He drew the pistol and pressed it under her chin.

The smug grin on her powder-wrecked face vanished. He pulled the trigger. There was a bang, and her eyes twitched. The top of her shaved head burst.

Immediately he snatched the blunderbuss out of her hands and whipped around behind her twitching corpse. The rest of the pirates shouted and cursed, and the gunfire began.

Soraya’s body jerked as bullets slammed into her. Pain lanced into Rand’s chest as the higher calibre rounds went straight through her armour and hit him.

The first volley stopped, and there was a panicked cry of “Fack!” Three of the pirates began reloading, the other three drew long dirks and ran for him.

Rand shoved the dead pirate at them and pointed the blunderbuss. It belched flame and shrapnel into the closest attacker and kicked him to the floor in pieces.

He dropped it and had the brace of pistols drawn from his hips before it hit the floor. He fired both. One pirate took a hit to the upper chest, the other to the head as he tried to dodge away.

Rand flew at the other three. He drew the second shoulder pistol and fired at one, hitting her in the gut and sending her shot wild into the ceiling.

The other two cursed. The woman drew a dirk as the man continued to reload. Rand whipped his sword from his back-scabbard. The curved blade swished through the air as he dodged a leaping thrust, chopping through her wrists. She stared at the bloody stumps and screamed. Blood streamed and spattered onto the floor.

As Rand looked up, a pistol barked into his chest. He grunted. Blood filled his throat.

“How’d you like that?! You fucking cu…”

Rand’s wild swipe went straight through his neck. The pirate’s triumphant head tumbled off his shoulders, cracked off a table, and rolled onto the floor.

Rand dropped to one knee, unable to breathe. His sliced his palm open, and looked around, counting down the seconds in his mind.

The pirate with no hands fell onto her side. She was shaking, eyes bulging. Rand reached forwards and grabbed the stumps. His blood mixed with hers, and then the process began.

Her eyes bulged wider. The wound on Rand’s palm was like a ravenous mouth, sucking the blood from her body with a wet, slurping sound.

There was a succession of plinks as three bullets popped out of Rand’s chest and clattered to the floor. The blood in his throat receded back into his body. Beneath him, the pirate stopped twitching. Nothing else leaked from her.

He stood up and glanced around. The band and remaining patrons looked up from behind tables and support beams. The only sounds were the ragged breathing and sobbing that echoed around the room. The eyes of the room bulged as they stared at him in horror.

Abika slowly stood from behind the bar, buttoning up the front of her shirt. Her face was set in a grimace, her eyes red. She looked at Rand in the same way he imagined she had looked at the pirates. He gave her a nod.

Only one of the assailants remained alive. He walked over to her slowly, wiping the blood from his blade, and sheathed it on his back again. He stopped in front of her.

She was leaning on a wooden beam, and had the breech of her pistol open on her lap. A little mismatched pile of bullets were on the floor beside her. She looked up at Rand with her teeth bared in fury.

“So … you’re just here for me, hmm?”

Her lip curled. Blood dripped from her mouth. She dove a hand into her pocket and Rand drew the last pistol from the holster on the back of his belt. He pointed it at her head, but all she had was a fist full of white, grey and red powder, that she pressed to her face and inhaled. She cried out and moaned in pain.

“That’s just going to make you bleed out faster.”

She grinned at him wildly, her teeth red. Her hand fumbled with the bullets beside her.

Rand shook his head. “Reload that, and you become a threat. Threats get bullets. Put it down, and you get to live. It’s a good deal, best one you’ll hear today.”

She cackled.

“You’re here for me, that’s fine. How many of you are here for me? That’s the big question.”

Her laugh became a little more strained. Blood was pouring from the wound in her belly.

There was a boom from outside, and a splintering crash. The wooden shutters from the wall by the door exploded inwards at once, and the patrons screamed again. Splinters rained inwards, and Rand turned his face away with a grunt.

A cannon. Had to have been. As he listened, more explosions rang out over Dryxovan.

When he looked down, the pirate had slipped a pistol bullet into the breech, and snapped it closed. Rand put one between her eyes before she could point it at him.

He grunted and began reloading his own weapons. He picked up the pistols he had dropped and loaded a brass jacketed round into each one, replacing them in the holsters. He checked the pirates’ discarded weapons. No rifles, the bastards.

He looked around at the cowering people in the tavern, listening to the cannonfire outside, and anger filled him. “What the fuck are you people waiting for? Abika, you have a cellar?”

She nodded, wiping her eyes. He began walking to the table where Erika’s friends were starting to peek up at him.

“Get them all down there, then. Those that can, pick up the guns and the bullets, and use them if anyone nasty walks in.”

The young men and the girl stood up. One of the lads took a step towards him, the tall one who’d had his arm around Erika while trying to intimidate him. “Look, bounty hunter…”

“Shut your mouth.” Rand looked at the girl, and struck her with the back of his open hand. She yelped. Her male friends began to raise their voices, before Rand drew a pistol. Their mouths closed, and they swallowed.

“You …” Rand growled at the girl. He could feel the dark within him rising, and he beat it down. He’d need it soon enough.

“Listen carefully. If you ever, in your life, even think about doing that again … I’ll leave you at the mercy of drugged out scum like that.” He pointed at the dead pirates. “What they do to girls like you would turn your boyfriends’ stomachs, much less yours. I’ll leave you to them and forget your face, leaving you to pray another man like me will save you from them, or put you out of your misery.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He jogged to the door and peered out. Airships passed overhead, the glow of their burners reflecting off the canvas of their balloons. The streets were clear for now, but more pirates would be landing soon, there was no doubt.

Rand didn’t look back. He drew another pistol, and dived out into the night.

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More than anything, Erika wanted to forget every facet and minute of that day. If her first working week with Hachi went with it, it wouldn’t have gone amiss either. In fact, she willed the last two months to evaporate into smoke and drift away, taking her misery and leaving only her living parents behind.

Artor had somehow convinced her that drinking would speed that process along. She walked the cobbles downhill to the Verdant Fields taverna, on the edge of Dryxovan that faced inwards toward the Core of the Shattered Lands.

The establishment was ever in competition with the dockside bar and inn, the Storm Shelter, where there were more dancers, prostitutes, and elicit activities. The rivalry was mostly good-natured, and the route between them was littered with smaller bars and pubs, making it a rite of passage to travel between them and remain standing by the end of the journey.

She could have walked along the edge of Dryxovan and bypassed all of the noise, along the fenced path that marked the periphery of the island, but at night the shadows of rocks and other islands were murky and blocked out the few stars visible at this distance. It had always made her uneasy, and tonight was especially dark. Only the faint glow of the Moon penetrated the barrier of rock, and bathed her in comforting natural light, helping the lanterns hanging on hooks and rope overhead. The little beacons were strung between the tops of the ruined buildings, between the old spires and ramparts that had long since lost any semblance of what they once were.

She could hear the chattering of Dryxovan’s evening strollers out at the night market a street over, and snippets of conversation from the dwellings and shops around her. It served to brighten her mood for a moment, before it turned dim once more. It was a warm reminder of the life that still prevailed in this dying world, but a bitter reminder of what she no longer had.

The taverna waited for her at the edge of the scrubland that had been converted into farmsteads by some of the locals. With the way some of the ruins encircled their patch of nature, it had probably been a park that the ancient citizens had frequented before the doom that had befallen them and everyone else.

The bounce of the music from inside gave her a lift, shaking the wooden shutters over every window. The lilt and pulse of it, and the beat of the drums seemed to draw her heart into its rhythm.

The Verdant Fields had once been a building full of one-room dwellings, but time and some kind of forceful impact on the roof had hollowed out the entire thing. The top floors were completely gone, but a new wooden roof had been built over the ruins, and the inner walls were almost all replaced with supports so that the inside was mostly one big open space. Still, for a dressed up ruin it had its charm, decorated with green fabric hangings and paintings that local artists had left directly on the ancient brickwork, as well as wildflowers that grew from the mosses and weeds that had wound their way between the old bricks.

She pushed through the doors. Artor and the rest of their group of friends were there already, enjoying a round of freshly brewed beer from the cellar of the Verdant Fields itself, from their own crop of wheat and barley. Artor raised his wooden tankard and bonked it against his cousin Borannen’s, who loaded cargo airships at the dockyard. Lynn, the youngest teacher at the Dryxovan schoolhouses, was nose to nose with Korey, one of the barley pickers, preparing to kiss him as she always did after three beers.

She thought of joining them for a moment, but her eyes were drawn to the stage, set up in the far corner. Three musicians played, and a few of the tavernas patrons were gathered around them, dancing in pairs and threes, or just nodding along. Erika leaned on a wooden support beam and listened.

The singer carried an instrument as well, a wooden plank as the frame for a single thick string, that he plucked in rhythm with the drums behind him, changing the pitch and tone by pressing down on it. The drums looked to be a pair of old barrels, one that held a gallon, and one that could have held five or six gallons, with leather stretched across the open top. What seemed to be a flattened, old steel helmet acted as a cymbal, and the drummer patted out the rhythm with thimbles on his fingertips.

The most impressive of them was a boy of twelve or thirteen, sitting on a stool with his instrument in his lap. This one was similar to the one played by the singer, but with a wooden box at the end on his legs, and with a thinner string and a sharper sound. The boy changed the notes by sliding a piece of metal pipe up and down the string, a melodic whine that danced and tumbled along with the rhythm.

The singer began, voice deep at first, but skilfully climbing the scales and dipping as the song demanded.

“‘Music: hold back the Void in me,

Music: hold back the Void in me,

Light up the stars and chase out the dark,

Hold my hands and cleanse my aching heart,

Guide the winds that’ll carry me far,

Music: hold back the Void in me.

Keep the Void out of my old soul,

Keep the Void out of my old soul,

Keep the wide old smile on my lips and defy,

The evil that creeps when the well runs dry,

Music’s the sword that I hold up high,

Keep the Void out of my old soul.’”

Erika closed her eyes and leaned her head on the beam, listening as the boy brought the music up into a new intensity. The crowd gathering around cheered as they danced faster and more wildly, as the notes and the rhythm quickened. The singer repeated the same two verses again, but his voice grew in power, and went an octave higher.

The music was an entirely different kind of magic than the spells and wizardry from stories. It harmonised with her heart in that moment, and brought her along with it on a journey that zipped between the islands and touched the heat of the very Core itself.

When they finished, Erika opened her eyes at the cheers, and turned to the bar. Abika was serving, bosom as ample as her belly, and gave Erika a warm smile as she approached. Her step faltered, however, when she noticed the man at the corner of the bar, on a seat that faced the door.

Irellian was looking over his shoulder, applauding the band with a grin. His hat sat on the bar in front of him, revealing his cropped hair, black at the root and deep brown at the tip. He turned back to Abika, and waited as she served Erika.

“What’ll it be, luv?” the barkeep asked warmly.

“A beer, please, Abi.”

“Aye, on its way.” She glanced up at Irellian. “You trying to catch my eye, stranger?”

“All evening, and I don’t just mean for the drinks.” He grinned at the jest, and dropped a bit of gold on the bar. “I’ll pay for hers, and a cup of that plum liquor for me. Send the change to the band, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t, but if you’re trying to catch my eye, a word of advice.”

Abika leaned over the bar, presenting as much of her teats as she was able. “Don’t be buying drinks for other women, because I’m the jealous type.”

“I’ll be sure to remember,” he replied, keeping his eyes on hers purposefully. “The drink is a friendly one, to make up for a difficult morning. Otherwise you have my undivided attention.”

Abika poured his drink from a dusty bottle on the top shelf, while pumping the beer up from the cellar at the same time.

Erika took the wooden tankard with a smile, but a nervous one. Abika gave her a wink, and pointed to the pistol at her wide hip. “I’ll keep him well-behaved, don’t you worry.”

Erika forced her smile, remembering how nonplussed Irellian had been on the receiving end of a blunderbuss. She could have stayed where she was, but she had no intent to make the bounty hunter angry. She slowly edged over to him, and sat down at the corner where he was.

“Thank you,” she said meekly.

He nodded, reaching into his pouch again. He put three gold bits in front of her. “We agreed to a hundred and fifty. You paid me one fifty three.”

She chewed her lip for a moment. Three gold bits would feed her for four or five months, or book her passage to another island. Senon was closest. She might even be able to afford to share a small house there, or rent a room, or at least stay at an inn for a month or so while she found work.

“You’re welcome,” he grunted. “You need it more than Hachi does.”

She looked into the honey-coloured beer in her tankard, and sipped it.

“The drink here isn’t half bad. It’s rare to find a tavern that brews its own beer. As for this stuff …” He held up the glass, and inspected the clear liquid inside. “Well, it’s old, but it does a job.”

Erika made herself nod.

“Not talking to me, eh?” Irellian snorted. “You should. Men like me keep you and your young friends safe.”

She looked up at him. “Is that why you do it? To keep us safe?”

He grunted. “No. I do it because I’m good at it. Because it pays well, even with the odd fat man wielding a shooter.”

“So … why do you drink alone?”

“I came here alone.”

“But you don’t have to drink alone.”

He looked up at her with a raised eyebrow. “Well, apparently I’m not drinking alone, now, am I?”

Erika blinked at him as he raised his glass to her. She touched her tankard against it hesitantly.

“Cheers,” he muttered. “May the band keep playing, and may the stars light up the Void.”

“Cheers,” she replied.

“What’s your excuse, then?” he asked. “It’s obvious why I’m drinking alone, but why are you?”

She shrugged. “I’m meeting friends here. Actually, they’re here now.”

“Ah.”

She drank a little more beer. “Why would it be obvious?”

“Hmm?”

“Why you drink alone.”

Irellian let a smile pass over his face. “You’re scared of me. I’m not offended by that, you have reason to be after this morning. Everyone else though, they feel the same way. They might not quite know why, but when they see me at a bar, or out on the street, they know in the back of their minds that something is … wrong. Something is dangerous. Some old instinct perhaps from when we were a younger race, fearing predators, back when the world was whole.”

Erika frowned at him. “When the world was whole? What do you mean?”

He snorted, and waved his hand. “Pay it no mind. It’s the liquor talking.”

If anything, that made Erika’s frown deepen. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Master Irellian.”

“Rand.”

She blinked at him. “Erika.”

He nodded. “Well, Erika, good. The odd kind word aside, you ought to stay far away from men like me. We’re not often the type to socialise with.”

“Abika doesn’t seem that scared of you.”

Rand chuckled and waved a hand. “Abika performs that same song and dance with her cleavage with everyone, it gets extra drinks out of the drunkards and the thirsty boys your age. You think she wears that pistol for the folk on Dryxovan?” He shook his head. “No, no. She’s wiser than that. She knows when danger’s lurking in her midst.”

Erika looked around. Rand Irellian was drawing some attention from the men who were off-duty guardsmen and dockworkers, as well as the rougher farmhands, protective of their land. Artor had noticed that she had come in, and was checking on her with every other glance. She smiled at him, to let him know she was alright. “Are there many others like you?”

“Bounty hunters? Yes. Bounty hunters like me? Gods above, I hope not.”

Erika frowned again. “What are gods?”

He smiled the same strange smile as before. “Answering that question requires a lot less plum liquor than I’ve been drinking…” He chuckled. “…or a lot more of it.”

She almost laughed, until the dead faces, and remains of faces, of Captain Vriess’s crew flashed across her memory. She gulped more beer, and coughed.

“Those people you killed … did they deserve it?”

Rand paused. He stared at the bar for a moment, then drank down the rest of his liquor in a single gulp.

“Truthfully?”

Erika nodded.

“You read Vriess’s bounty notice. He needed to go. His crew too … probably. The two in armour killed and … did worse … to their fair share of merchants, aermen and settlers, no doubt. The powder heads … ha … most likely. Powder brings out the beast in a man. The helmsman … that’s trickier. He was a lad, not much older than you.”

“What about the girl?” Erika whispered.

Rand sighed. “You’re asking the questions that keep me up at night. Maybe she was just along for the ride. Maybe she was just as mean as Vriess, I don’t know. I only see a moment of their lives, Erika. Just a moment, but it’s the moment that often brings their story to an abrupt end. She could have surrendered, and I would have spared her, brought her to your gaol in irons to serve a sentence … but she didn’t. They never do.”

He looked up at her. “She was about your age. How old are you, Erika?”

“Fifteen.”

Rand snorted. “Fifteen. Fifteen quick years. Barely a blink of an eye.”

Erika frowned. “I’m no babe. I work, I support myself.”

“As I did, when I was your age. As your parents probably did.”

Erika’s jaw tightened. Rand nodded, knowing. “How did it happen?”

“Fever,” she muttered. “My mother first, then my father. It was a cold snap …”

“The recent one?”

Erika nodded again. “Why do you think it’s so crowded in here? People are celebrating being alive, celebrating the crops coming back to their height … but I have nothing to celebrate. I’m alone, in an empty house, working for coppers.”

Rand patted her arm. “There are plenty of people who care for you here. I can see some of them preparing to liberate you from my terrible clutches.”

She glanced in the same direction he was, right at Artor and Borannen, who were watching them and muttering to each other.

“They don’t mean any harm, I promise.”

“I know.”

“Don’t … hurt them.”

Rand frowned at her. “I don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it. At least … I like to think I never have.”

Again, the dead girl’s face crossed Erika’s mind. “How long have you been doing what you do?”

“A long time.”

“Is it always pirates?”

Rand shrugged. “Most of the time. They’re everyone’s problem, so everyone wants them dead, and they’re a handy bogeyman for island mayors and tribe leaders to take care of and look like they’re strong enough to protect their people.”

He smiled over her shoulder. “Speaking of which…”

A hand lightly touched Erika’s waist, and Artor pulled up next to her. “Another round of beers, Abika! You’ve got the good stuff on tap tonight.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean, laddy?” Abika snapped as she walked on over. “My beer not normally to your liking?”

Artor blushed. “No, no! We love the beer, six more please. Five for the table and one for our friend here.”

His eyes fell on Rand with a challenge, which the bounty hunter met with a smile.

“Where’d you get the coat?” Borannen said loudly, popping a meaty arm around Rand’s shoulder. “I could use a coat like that.”

“Go on a lot of air trips, do you?” Rand muttered.

“Could use it for a cold snap, looks warm.”

“Go to the table,” Artor whispered to Erika. “We can handle the flyboy.”

“You don’t need to handle him, Artor, he’s not-“

“After what I saw this morning, yeah, he is,” he hissed.

Abika looked over at them. Her hands rested on her hips. The right one was an inch from the handle of her pistol. “Easy, lads. We’re not going to have a problem here, are we?”

“No, not at all,” Rand murmured. A smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked at Borannen. “Not from me, anyway. The coat’s tailored, by the way, but second hand. Cost me five silver bits and a very fine dagger that a brigand stuck in my thigh. If you like it outside, you should see the lining.”

Rand turned on his stool and opened the coat to reveal the thin leather armour beneath, and four pistols. One sat on each hip, two were in matching shoulder holsters.

Borannen took a step back and held his hands out at his sides, any threat he may have been presenting immediately gone. Rand gestured to the lining of his coat, a swirling, silk pattern of purple and dark blue, like the sky above them. “It’s a lovely design, isn’t it? I wish I knew who wove it originally … but they’re likely long dead.”

Artor swallowed, turning bright red.

“Erika, I believe your friends wish for your company. I won’t stand in their way. I appreciated a taste of not drinking alone.” His eyes flitted to Borannen again. “I’ll let you know about the coat.”

“Come on Borannen,” Artor muttered. “Let’s go.”

The two lads got up with Erika, and guided her to their table.

Maybe they were right. Rand certainly didn’t feel like they were wrong, he had told her as much. She would surely feel much better around her friends.

The trouble was, she didn’t. The music was still skilfully performed, but it became dissonant in her ears, and she was distracted by all of the words passing around her. Lynn and Korey’s kissing made her uncomfortable, and Artor’s eyes kept going over to the bar, where Rand still sat.

She excused herself when the band finished, and walked home. Artor wanted to go with her, to make sure she was safe, but she wanted no company, as much as she appreciated it. All she wanted was to sleep, and hope the new day brought more comfort.

Rand was still at the bar as she walked out of Verdant Fields. He had the bottle of plum liquor in front of him, and was pouring a new glass.

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