Beyond The Vale

by Brian D. Anderson

  “I already paid you.”

  Manny lifted his brow. “You hear that, Hali? He says he already paid us.” The second man clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

  “What’s this about?” Drake whispered to Guery. “It’s nothing. Just a misunderstanding.”

  Drake could hear the fear in his voice. The boy was afraid as well, clinging to his father’s

  arm.

  “We can talk about this later, all right?” offered Guery.

  Manny reached under his jacket and produced a long dagger. The second man, Hali, did the same.

  “We tried that, remember?” said Manny. “You said...what did he say, Hali?”

  “I think he said to go to hell.”

  Manny nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. That’s right.” He looked to Drake. “Whoever you are, friend, you should move on. Guery and I need to talk privately.”

  Drake knew he should stay out of it. A fight would only draw attention to himself, and that was the last thing he needed. But one look at the terrified boy told him that he couldn’t.

  “Why don’t you two save it for another time?” said Drake. “The man has his son with him.” “I’m not blind, stranger,” said Manny. “So unless you want to end up in a world of hurt,

  do as I say and move on.”

  “Please,” said Guery, stepping forward. “Let my boy go. He’s got nothing to do with it.” He reached back and shoved the boy at Drake. “Take him out of here, I’m begging you.”

  “He stays put,” said Manny, then cast a wicked grin at Drake. “Make your choice, friend.”

  Drake grumbled a curse. Perfect. Can’t these morons see I have a bloody sword? “Go stand over there,” he told the boy, nodding toward a cluster of pines. He then shed his pack and freed his blade.

  Manny furrowed his brow. “Are you insane?” He pointed to the triangle on his chest. “You know who I am?”

  “Manny,” replied Drake, darkly. “Unless you’re too stupid to get your own name right.” “Please,” said Guery. “Don’t. You’ll get in trouble.” He moved between them. “Just let my

  boy leave, and you can have what you want.”

  It was too late. Drake assumed these men held status of some kind. He had been in this situation before; letting them go now was not an option. They would come back, likely find him among the Bomar, and he would be found out. You should have left, he admonished himself silently.

  “Go stand by your son,” said Drake.

  The second man, Hali, looked unsure. Drake figured him to be the subordinate. Manny, though not looking confident, was obviously not willing to back down.

  “Go on,” ordered Drake. “Get back.”

  Guery gave him a final pleading look before doing as instructed. “You’re going to regret this, stranger.”

  “Maybe,” said Drake. “One way to find out.”

  “Maybe we should just go,” suggested Hali, clearly unnerved by Drake’s confidence. “He has a bloody sword.”

  “My mother has a damned sword,” snapped Manny. “He ain’t no soldier. Probably found it somewhere.”

  Hali looked as if he was ready to flee. But after a harsh look from his comrade, he flipped the dagger from hand to hand and set his jaw.

  The two crouched and crept slowly forward. Drake knew better than to underestimate a skilled knife fighter. He squared his stance and lowered his blade to waist level.

  When less than a dozen feet away, they charged in unison, one dodging to his left, the second ducking low. Drake stepped in, planted his left foot, and swept his blade down. Steel connected with steel as he parried the low strike, narrowly avoiding the other. Drake brought the pommel back with his left hand as he landed on his right leg, then slammed it forward. A simple move. But effective. The fulcrum of the perfectly balanced weapon sent the steel slashing into Hali’s shoulder, and the infused mana ensured that it passed through flesh and bone with almost no resistance.

  Hali screamed, falling to the ground, and blood spewed from his severed shoulder as he flailed about wildly. Drake turned fully to face the second foe, who had pivoted and was poised for another strike. But his wounded comrade forced him to step over, throwing him off balance. It was a momentary disadvantage. But that was all a man like Drake needed.

  It was over before Manny knew what had happened. The infused steel struck out in an almost imperceptible blur. Manny’s eyes widened as he stumbled forward, his head rolling from his neck as he fell.

  Hali was still clutching at his shoulder, his wails turning to pleas for mercy as Drake loomed over him. But Drake knew he could not leave this man alive. With a quick thrust, he pierced his heart.

  Drake turned to see Guery and his son huddled together, the boy’s face buried in his father’s chest. Guery looked utterly horrorstruck.

  “We need to hide the bodies,” said Drake. When Guery did not respond, he snapped his fingers.

  Guery blinked several times before reacting, moving his son away and bending down to look him in the eye. “Lyal. I want you to run home now. You hear me? Don’t stop until you get there. If anyone asks, we were picking mushrooms in the forest. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Lyal nodded, tears running down his face.

  “It’s all right son,” said Guery putting on a reassuring smile. “I know you’re scared. But you have to be brave now. Can you do that for me?”

  “Yes, Father.” He sniffed back more tears and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Get going.”

  The boy hesitated for a brief moment, then turned and bolted off, averting his eyes as he passed the bodies.

  Once his son was well out of sight, Guery turned to Drake, looking frantic. “Why did you do that?”

  Drake was confused by this reaction. Granted, a young boy witnessing men being killed was not something he would have wanted. But from the look of the situation, the outcome for Guery was about to see him in the same condition.

  Drake knelt to wipe the blood from his blade on the pant leg of Hali. “Would you have rather I let them kill you?”

  “No. And I do thank you. But that doesn’t explain why. You’re a scout of the Imperium.

  Why would you care about protecting me?” “Let’s just say I don’t like bullies.”

  “But they were from the Bolan Brigade. “

  Drake shrugged. He was sure that meant they were men with some sort of authority. The badge they wore suggested as much. “I don’t care where they’re from. And neither should you. What you should care about is helping me hide the bodies.”

  “No. Leave them. Just take their belts and knives.” Drake furrowed his brow. “Why?”

  “Hardly anyone comes out this far. When the Bolan realizes they’re missing and comes looking, they’ll think they ran into the Nelwyn.”

  Drake didn’t like the notion of the Nelwyn being blamed. But as there were none in the area as far as he knew, it seemed a viable plan of action.

  They took the belt and knives and buried them a few hundred yards from the bodies. Guery then led them away northeast to a shallow stream where they washed the blood from their hands. Guery watched Drake closely, his expression an undisguised mask of doubt and confusion.

  “Before we leave,” said Guery. “I want the truth. Who are you?” “I told you. My name’s Drake.”

  “That much I believe. But you need to tell me the truth. Are you really a scout?”

  Drake regarded him for a long moment. Guery owed him his life. But would that be enough to ensure that he didn’t betray him? Not if the Bomar were anything like the people of Vale.

  “Does it matter?”

  “If you want my help it does.”

  “Why would I need your help?” asked Drake, trying to sound as dismissive as he could.

  But the fact was, he would probably need at least some help.

  “Because you just killed two Bolan men. If you’re not a scout, you’ll be a suspect. And I need to know if I can be seen with you. I have a son to look out for.”

 
“And if I weren’t?”

  “Then I’d have to find a way to get you the hell out of here. One that didn’t involve being seen with you.”

  “I thought you said they’d blame the Nelwyn.”

  “They will. Unless they see a stranger who isn’t a scout show up from out of nowhere.” Drake weighed his options. None of them were without risk. “I’m not a scout.”

  Guery’s shoulders drooped, and he let out a long groan. “I would ask what you were doing out here, but something tells me I don’t want to know.”

  “You really don’t. All I can say is that I need to get to Malizar. Can you help me?”

  Guery lowered his head and said nothing for an uncomfortably long time. He then looked up and nodded. “I can get you there. But if you’re caught, I swear I’ll say you forced me to do it. I know you saved my life, but like I said: I have a son to look out for.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Without another word, Guery started out, Drake following a short distance behind. “Why did those men want to kill you?” asked Drake.

  “I owe them money. Or at least they say I do.” “Did you?”

  “No. My wife did, though. After she left me and ran off with their former boss, they said I was obligated to pay. I didn’t agree. I gave them a little just to keep them from bothering me, but they wanted more. I said no.”

  “I don’t blame you. Where is she now?” Guery shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

  They continued for about twenty minutes until coming to a low rise. Drake caught the scent of burning wood and oil on the wind that reminded him somewhat of the recycling plant in Vale.

  As they reached the crest, Guery waved for Drake to stop. “You have to wait here until after dark. I’ll be back to get you.”

  Drake dropped to one knee and watched as Guery scurried down the other side. This would be it. He had either been very lucky or very stupid. He’d know in a few hours. At least the forest was to his back, and the vex crystal in his chest gave him a marked advantage in the dark should Guery decide that turning him in was preferable to repaying the man who had saved his life and possibly the life of his son.

  Chapter Five

  Bane pushed Cal to just over one hundred. Her engine hummed with perfection as the landscape flew by in a haze that made the squalor of the provinces just a bit easier to block out.

  “The old man sure knows his stuff,” said Bane.

  He had never told anyone, but he’d always been jealous that his father had built Cal for Drake. He had asked him for his own the year after, but was refused outright.

  “You don’t deserve it,” his father had said. “And Drake Sharazi does?” he shot back.

  “Drake Sharazi is a hawker because his life was taken from him. You threw yours away.”

  Bane spread his arms and gave a long, sweeping look around. “Yes. I can see how with all this, you’d be disappointed in me.” He pulled out a roll of one-hundred notes and held them up. “You see this?” There was a flash of green light, and the notes burst into flames. Bane dropped them indifferently at his father’s feet. “That’s why I don’t care what you think of me.”

  His father sneered. “Because you act like a selfish idiot who refuses to behave like an adult?

  That’s why? Then good job, son. You nailed it.”

  Bane threw up his hands. “There’s no pleasing you, is there? What do you want from me? You want me to come here and work? End up like you, bent and tired, with barely enough to keep myself fed?”

  “What I want is for you to do something with your life that matters. You think I haven’t heard what you do…what you’ve done?”

  “And you believe it?”

  His father stepped in close and met his eyes. “Then you tell me. Look at me and tell me you’re not a killer.”

  As hard as he tried, Bane could not stop himself from averting his gaze. “You don’t understand. What I…what I have to do sometimes…it’s not like I enjoy it. And I try to bring runners back alive.”

  “Is that what you tell yourself?” His mouth twitched, pain and disappointment carved deeply into the lines on his father’s weathered face. All at once his posture sagged, and it looked as if he had aged ten years in an instant. He turned his back. “You should go.”

  Bane reached out, the first tears he had felt since childhood welling in his eyes, but stopped short of touching his father’s shoulder. “I’m sorry if you…never mind.”

  As he was walking away, his father called out: “Come back when you decide to be the person I know you really are. The one I’ve always been proud of.”

  Bane paused for a heartbeat, then continued on.

  They didn’t speak again for a year. Not until his father became ill. It was then Bane did the thing he regretted most, the thing that brought about the self-loathing only betraying the ones you love can create. A lie. One that would never stop being told. The spell was subtle, but effective. Only a handful of mages in Vale could have done it with confidence. He was not among them, but it had worked nonetheless. Now his father thought he was a mere bodyguard for a factory owner in just outside Troi. Any mention of the name Bane would be forgotten moments after he heard it. He had stolen his father’s memories; altered his mind.

  But it hadn’t been until he realized that his father had great gaps in his memory, some spanning years, that Bane realized the true extent of the crime he had committed.

  Bane shoved away those thoughts. He had to focus. This whole thing might be nothing more than a trap. Linx served the prince now, but her message had been quite clear: she could not go along with what he planned, and she wanted Bane to help her stop him.

  He slowed Cal back down to sixty. No hurry. He was meant to be there at midday tomorrow, and he was already nearly to Tylerton. He knew the area well. But if they had Fisk helping them, there was a good chance that was why it had been chosen: to give him a false sense of security; make him think he had the advantage. That is, if it was a trap. Either way, better safe than sorry.

  Bane hoped Linx was being truthful. He knew that Drake liked her and had spoken highly of her talent and resourcefulness. But the reality of the situation could not be ignored. He didn’t know her. More than that, Linx was indebted to Salazar for elevating her from poverty into a position of extreme trust and authority. She had survived on her own knowing what side to be on when the stakes were high – and right now they couldn’t be any higher. Being on the side of Exodus would not likely be the best way to keep breathing.

  It was just after dark when he reached the outskirts of town. Putting Cal in low profile mode, he kept to the side roads, passing through small groupings of shacks and tents where the most desperate people were forced to live.

  Any vehicle would be noticed if you were looking. But here, no one cared. The world went by unseen in places like this. A place to wait for death. The last stop for those whose luck had run out.

  He pulled into an empty lot just before the main part of town and parked at the end farthest from the street. Ahead was the rear of a two-story apartment building where those who were able to find work resided and could scrape together enough for a place to live.

  Bane exited Cal and checked the knife attached to his belt. There were guns in the trunk, but he had never been good with one. In his profession, to give the impression of being poorly armed was often an advantage. A runner might become overconfident. On occasion, a they became violent, thinking that killing the hawker was preferable to capture. This had resulted in more than a few half-bounties, not to mention his earning the very reputation for which his father had rebuked him.

  Bane started toward the street, then headed north down one block, then east for two. There was a bar on the opposite side of the street: Lou’s Place. There was a time he would have spent the evening drinking, rather than focusing on the task ahead. He would have come a day early simply to have the time to relax and have a bit of fun. But in those days, he had been precisely what his father had accused him
of: a man not willing to grow up. He had since learned to appreciate the consequences of his actions.

  Still, the thrumming of the music stirred the old temptations. But only for a moment. Ducking into the next door, he checked to make sure he hadn’t been followed. He then slipped out and rounded the corner.

  This was the downtown district, such as it was. The few vehicles that passed squealed and whined from poor maintenance and cheap mana fuel. On their way to Lou’s, more than likely. It was about that time.

  He’d heard a magistrate officer from Troi once remark that if people in the provinces didn’t spend what they earned on drink, maybe they could feed themselves. It was as close as he had ever come to ending up a runner himself. But he held his tongue.

  How could you buy food when there was none? But there was never a shortage of drink or vash to dull the pain. He had never tried vash himself. But in years past, he would often drown his regrets in a bottle.

  The alley from where he would watch was mercifully unoccupied. Running off some poor homeless sod was not a thing he would relish; unlike the sheriff, a pasty-faced slime of a man named Hunson – who absolutely loved harassing those who could not fight back. But then, that went for every sheriff in the outer provinces. Bane used to wonder about that – why in the outer provinces the sheriffs were invariably cruel and corrupt. He didn’t wonder anymore.

  Bane found a spot from where he could see the building across the street and one down. It was an old fabric shop, closed for years. That was where he’d been told to meet Linx. If this was a trap, he’d know soon enough. He’d learned long ago to never do what a foe expects. Whether Linx was a foe or not, he wasn’t taking any chances. A simple ploy: show up ahead of time to see if anyone was watching or readying for his arrival. But one that had saved his life more than once.