Fired

by Liam Reese

“I see,” said Raff. “In that case, I have only to ascertain what you would be worth.”

  “Very little,” said Serhiy, humbly.

  “Then you are of no use to me if I can’t ransom you. You should be killed immediately.” Raff snapped his fingers at Azur, the black-haired rogue to Serhiy’s left. Serhiy jabbed an elbow into Azur’s side, followed it up with a kick to the kneecap, and stood to fend off the rogue on the right as he moved to attack. Azur slipped to the ground with a groan. Serhiy stomped on the other rogue’s foot, swiped at his ankle, and disentangled himself as the other man went down as well, leaving the executioner standing between the two men, hands still tied behind his back. He put one foot on each of the two, standing quite heavily on their chests, keeping his balance easily even as they writhed and wriggled.

  “I beg you to reconsider,” he said smoothly. “The December King would be so very disappointed, were his chosen messenger to be interfered with. And I know that you work so very closely with royal representatives. It would be a shame for any such friendship to end.”

  Raff, who did not appear to be in the least bit concerned about what he had done to Azur and the other, eyed him for a moment.

  Eventually, in response to the gurgling noises coming from the ground, he said, “Get off my men.”

  Serhiy obligingly stepped down to the ground.

  “I don’t believe that you know anything you claim to,” said Raff. “Anyone with information like that would not come looking for another kind of knowledge, not if they could prove it, and not if they were against it.”

  Serhiy pressed his hand to his heart.

  “Me, against a friendship with the king?” he gasped. “Never! The more the merrier, I say. Just so long as everyone remembers that I am his chief executioner — I am the one he calls upon for jobs like this.” He kicked briefly with the toe of his pointed boot at Azur, who whimpered. “He can order you to kidnap or rob any whom he likes. But keep out of my job, and I’ll keep out of yours.”

  Raff watched him for a long moment, then seemed to reach a decision. He clapped his hands together and stood up.

  “If you’ve come to ask about the girl,” he said, “as you did with my recently deceased cousin, I can be of little help to you. I did have her, for about two days, before I picked up another little motley crew. They were in the cart together, and apparently one of them knew how to pick locks. One of the scouts was dead drunk, the other ended up with a lump on his head the size of a mouse, and a lot less soft. The girl was gone.”

  “And you have no idea where she went?”

  “None. Should I keep track of my former ransoms? She’s no good to me now, though I suppose if she happened across my way again I would try my luck with her father to see what I could get. I suppose that’s what’s motivating you and your — superior.”

  “Nonsense,” said Serhiy, affronted, “we are motivated purely by faith and loyalty. Her father has been a great help, and we wish to reward his service by finding his daughter, wherever she has got to.” He sniffed, nose twitching. “And now the scent has gone cold.”

  “If I ever catch her again, I’ll keep her to myself,” said Raff. “It was when the other group was put in that the trouble started. A great deal of them, all determined to get themselves into trouble. A tall skinny lad with bad skin, a bard, a bull, a young woman and an old one, like one woman at both ends of her life — and something that will interest you.” He chuckled, a dry sound like leaves rustling, and folded his arms again. “A certain princess, running from her own exile, straight into the arms of the Damn Rogues.”

  “No!” said Serhiy. “Really?”

  “Of course. I never joke about such things as these.”

  “You might try,” said Serhiy, helpfully. “I find that keeping a sense of levity assists me with coping in life.” He twisted his bound wrists together, thoughtfully, and took a deep breath, looking up to the close ceiling of the canvas tent. “Well, well, well. The princess. Indeed. This is even more interesting than I had initially thought.”

  “Thought you’d like that.”

  “The trouble now is how to go about finding her trail again.”

  “Use a scrier,” advised Raff. “I don’t like them, myself, but they’ve come in handy more than a few times that I have heard of. There’s one in the nearest town to here, and you can throw your name around, easy, and get the help you need without paying. People are more afraid of your December King than you might expect.”

  “Interesting,” murmured Serhiy, distracted by the fact that his wrist was beginning to bleed as the rope had cut rather deeply into it. He felt the slick warmth of his own blood on his palms. “After I’ve come this far, I hate to turn to such a thing.”

  “It’s better than coming this far and getting nowhere,” Raff pointed out. Serhiy shrugged one elegant shoulder, and first bent, then knelt beside Azur. He fished the man’s knife from his belt and cut his bonds after a few experimental passes. “My thanks for your help. Sorry about all the death.”

  “It is an accepted part of my profession,” said Raff. “I’d be a fool to take it personally.”

  “A question, then, before I go. I left none alive.” Serhiy spread his bloody hands, flexing his fingers. “Where, then, did you hear of my little adventure with your cousin?”

  Raff’s eyes narrowed above the mask, though whether it was with anger or amusement, Serhiy could not be certain.

  “A little bird,” he said.

  6

  The Badlands

  It was with great reluctance that Ruben the legendarian handed over his books to Thorn the Forged one. Oddly, he had previously seemed quite eager to do so when it meant that he could get out of traveling across the Badlands. There was the one on the Badlands themselves, which would undoubtedly come in very handy. But he also, after some convincing and wheedling, handed over the book that discussed the Forged, or at least what was known of the Forged.

  “This is very precious to me,” he said. “If you get to Keler and they take it from you —”

  Thorn held it to him. “They won’t take it from me,” he vowed.

  “But if they do,” insisted the bard, “I’m going to — I’m going to be —” He hesitated and looked Thorn up and down for a moment, then seemed to think better of whatever he was going to originally say. “I’m going to be very upset,” he said.

  So now Thorn rode towards the Badlands, following Karyl, who was following their intrepid if slightly foolish princess. They were taking a relatively slow pace, through the unknown terrain. The woodlands and tall forests of Braeve’s part of the kingdom gave way quickly to flat, open land. They forded a river that was up to the bridles of the horses. On the far side, the green of the grass faded away to a dull, dark color, and there were patches of sand here and there that turned rapidly into the beginnings of dunes.

  “Is this why they’re called the Badlands?” Thorn called forward. “Because they’re desert-like and no one lives in them?”

  “They are desert-like, and no one lives in them,” Irae called back, “but I think it’s a bit more than that. They’re the Badlands, not the Ugly, Lonely Lands.” She shot a glance to Karyl, probably to gauge what, if any, reaction this garnered. There wasn’t much. Practically nothing, really, Thorn thought. Perhaps the corners of the former guard’s mouth twitched up a little, but other than that —

  “Perhaps it’s a matter of no one ever really investigating them,” he said. “Legends grow when the truth is set aside.”

  “I know that to be true,” said Irae, eyes forward. “There’s a legend here with me, after all, and he’s nothing like what I expected him to be.”

  Thorn opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He seemed to be doing that a great deal lately.

  “Well, anyway,” he said, clearing his throat, and turning pages, “it looks as though there are several things to watch out for in the Badlands. Are we in them, yet?”

  “We entered them when we crossed the River Marr,” s
aid Irae. “From here they stretch into Henschot to the east and down along the rim of Ainsea to less than an hour from the Elgodon border.”

  “Hmmph,” said Thorn. “They should put up a sign.”

  “I’m sure many an unwary traveler has met his end here, it’s true.”

  “That’s why they should put up a sign. Even a simple ‘go away’ would suffice. In the meantime, it looks to me like the main things we need to be cautious of are the usual — wolves, manuars —”

  “Well, those aren’t real,” said Irae, with a laugh. “I mean, wolves, yes, but manuars. Really.”

  “Well, that’s what they look like to me. I don’t know, how many gigantic horned cats are there in real life? It also looks like there are dragons, and I know those aren’t real, either, so perhaps the whole Badlands are a bust and nothing is what it seems after all.”

  “If wolves are all we need to watch out for, then we should be fine,” said Irae. She cast another glance at Karyl. “Don’t you think, Karyl?”

  “Fine,” said Karyl, faintly. “Just — watch out.”

  “We will,” she assured him. Thorn looked at her closely; he couldn’t see much more than the tense set of her shoulders, but he could picture the little, worried line that she must have between her eyebrows just now. This wasn’t like Karyl at all. Perhaps his recovery was taking longer than usual, but it was unnerving to see the big, strong, capable former guard be so meek and mild and uncertain. And his stare — that was another issue entirely.

  There would be time to sort that out once they got through the Badlands and to Keler, Thorn told himself.

  “Is that all that the book says?” asked Irae.

  Thorn paged through it a little further. “I don’t know what it says,” he reminded her, “I only know what things look like. Now, this, for example. I don’t know what this is. It looks like a circle, only the shading on it is funny, and I can’t tell how large or small it is supposed to be.” A thought occurred to him and he checked the number of the page. “Page fifty-one. I suppose it’s what Ruben called a maw.”

  “A what?”

  “A maw. I don’t know what it means. He said we needed to have a stick.”

  Irae shook her head. “Him and his bigger sticks. The man is obsessed.”

  “Still.” Thorn reached down his left hand to make sure that his walking stick was still securely strapped to his horse. “There are worse ideas than to have some sort of weapon with you.”

  “I have a weapon. It’s like a stick, except it has a sharp point to it and it’s called a sword.”

  “I’m very happy for you, Jelen.”

  At the sound of the name, Karyl made a small noise. It was difficult to understand, but it sounded like a protest. Thorn glanced up at the big man, who otherwise had not moved. He frowned, puzzled. Karyl had never objected to his use of Irae’s assumed name before — and it wasn’t as though they were traveling under their real names, anyway. But they heard the sound of wolves out in the distance, nearly at the same moment, and that was a distraction.

  Irae said, “We will travel through the evening, and stop only briefly.”

  “Fine by me. The sooner we get out of this, the better.”

  “I’m so glad when we agree, Thorn.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to say something sarcastic, but another glance at Karyl, who looked distressed, made him change his mind. Instead, he contented himself with muttering wordlessly to his horse.

  The evening settled in with relatively few concerns. Apart from the howling of the wolves, which was drawing gradually closer, and the roar of something large in the sparse underbrush that Thorn was certain was a manuar, no matter what Irae said about their supposed inexistence, there was nothing. Not even the hint of a dragon, which was almost disappointing. When Irae called a temporary halt to rest the horses and eat a little something, he said so.

  She shot him a look.

  “Haven’t we faced enough dangerous things for your tempestuous blood, Thorn?”

  The idea of his blood being tempestuous was somewhat enticing. He did not consider himself an adventurer, but he liked the thought.

  “It’s only because they’re called the Badlands,” he said. “I was expecting something a bit more badland-y.”

  “Not everything is what it seems to be,” she said, and took her pack from her horse. She carried it towards a set of scrub brush that would give them a little cover, though they had seen no tracks or any other hints that the wildlands were inhabited or had even been traveled anytime recently.

  “Maybe a lot of hermits live here,” said Thorn, “and they’ve started the rumors so as to keep people away.”

  “A lot of hermits. Thorn. Consider what you’re suggesting. A lot of hermits.”

  “No, I mean — you know what I mean. Like with the monks and the giants. Perhaps all the dangers of the Badlands are just rumors.” He turned to Karyl and looked up at him. The guard had not got down from his horse, nor did he look as though he was about to. “Are you ready to stretch your legs?” Thorn asked him.

  There was a slight yelp behind him, followed almost immediately by a terrified scream.

  He whirled around, to see Irae buried to the hips in the ground. She scrabbled at the earth around her with both hands, and he could hear her breath coming in fits and gasps.

  “Don’t move!” he yelled.

  “I can’t!”

  He took a few steps toward her, and she sank another foot and a half into the ground. He could see the whites of her eyes, so wide and terrified, and his stomach jumped and yawed.

  “The stick,” he said, and leaped backward to his horse.

  The stick resisted his efforts to dislodge it for a few precious seconds, and by the time he had started towards her again, there was nothing there but her arms and the top half of her face, turning a frightened, beseeched gaze on him. The opening in the ground was wider now, the ground swallowing itself, falling in behind her and leaving open space, space that led to nothing. He didn’t dare to think of how deep it might have opened.

  “Hold on,” he said, changing his steps as he approached.

  “Hurry,” she whispered.

  “I’m afraid to disturb the ground —”

  “Please, Thorn!”

  He took a deep breath562 and darted forward.

  In the next second, she had been pulled all the way under, and in desperation he hurled the stick immediately after her. It sailed vertically down into the pit in her wake, and he waited for a breathless, sickening moment for a sound, any sound, even that of something hitting the bottom of the hole. But there was nothing.

  Then, as though from far away, a faint, “I’m caught.”

  “Jelen!”

  He scrambled on all fours to the edge of the hole, catching himself just before momentum took him over. He could see nothing, but more of the sandy earth fell into the hole, and he stumbled back a few paces.

  “I’m hanging from the stick. Both — both hands wrapped around it, but my grip is not the best.” He could hear her swallow, hear her trying to control her own fear. Her fear was a yellow-grey sound, thick and ugly, oozing around the edges of her words and trying to take over. “Can you get a rope down to me?”

  “I’m not sure we have one long enough.”

  “Tie them together, Thorn!”

  “All right, all right,” he said, lurching to his feet and putting his hands to his head to tug at his hair. “Stupid, stupid, stupid. Tie two together. Of course.” He ripped the rope from where it was tied around his own saddle, then went to Karyl’s. He had nearly forgotten about him, and when he looked up, it was to be met with the same blank, silent stare.

  “She’s fallen down a sinkhole!” he said. “We need to get her out.”

  “She needs to be saved,” said Karyl, quietly.

  “I know that! Come and help me!”

  But Karyl did not move. Thorn left him and got the last rope from Irae’s horse. With shaking hands, he tied them to
gether, stepped on one end and pulled them tight. It still looked terribly short for how far away her voice had sounded, but there didn’t seem anything else that he could do. He approached the edge of the hole again, cautiously, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Karyl had begun haltingly to get down from his horse at last.

  He held his breath and threw one end of the rope over the edge, letting it down slowly.

  “Can you see it?”

  Her voice was fainter than before. “No — not yet — keep trying, Thorn.”

  He was nearing the end of the last tied piece of rope when she called, “I see it! I see it! I have it!”

  “Can you wrap it around yourself?”

  There was a moment, and then a startled shriek. Thorn leaped forward.

  “Irae!”

  “I’m all right! I’m all right, I just — there was a moment. I almost — I have the rope, Thorn, it’s wrapped around my wrists. I can’t get it around my waist, and I can’t pull myself up any higher.”

  Around her wrists, he thought. This is going to hurt.

  Aloud, he said, “Good, good, that’s good, I’m going to get you out. Have you let go of the stick?”

  “No —”

  “When I tell you to, then you need to let go.”

  “Thorn, I don’t —”

  He sighed and closed his eyes. “I know you don’t want to, but you need to. I’ll have you. I have you now. Don’t worry, just trust me.” He thought for a moment, then stepped a little closer still to the edge of the hole, turning to wrap the rope about his waist. It was a close fit, but he could just about manage to get it securely tightened. He doubled it up around his wrists, as well. The rope was now taut, leading down into the ground. The hole looked smaller than it had been, as though it were closing up again, though there was no apparent disturbance of the ground or any noise. The maw, if that was what it was, was absolutely silent, with no warning sign that he could tell at all.

  Well, at least they could watch out for it now, once he got her out and they went on their way.

  He said, trying to keep his voice steady, “Karyl, I could use another pair of hands over here.”