Beyond The Vale

by Brian D. Anderson

Guery straightened himself up and took a moment, looking around as if having difficulty focusing his thoughts. “You’ll need to stay near the coal stores. Once it arrives, there should be enough people about where no one will notice you.”

  Drake gathered his things, careful to pack his sword so that it was concealed, and then joined Guery as he peeked out the door. Once sure no one would see them leave, Guery darted out. “Stay behind me.”

  The streets were busy. Out here the stench of the chimneys was even stronger. Though Guery was still looking nervous, those they passed did not take any notice of them. In the light of day, the camp was revealed to be more dilapidated than Drake had thought initially. Most of the buildings looked on the verge of collapse, and the people bore an unsettling resemblance to those in the outer provinces – the slump-backed way they trudged about and their despondent, defeated expressions.

  They reached the final building and continued around several tall outcroppings of rocks. Beyond was a series of tracks, at least a dozen rows that stretched out of sight to his left behind a

  massive pile of black rock. To the right they were connected at irregular intervals, converging into one a few hundred yards further down. The switching station, thought Drake. The train that carried people from Troi to Antwerp had one, though not as big and rarely used, as the trains were able to travel in either direction.

  Several workers were busy loading a pair of cars with large crates, and more were hauling loads of the black stone in wheelbarrows from the main pile to a small one on the far side.

  Guery nodded toward the left, behind the rock pile. “You should be safe back there until the transport arrives in the morning. Just follow the others, and you should be fine.”

  “Thank you,” said Drake.

  “Just don’t mention me if you’re caught.” “I won’t.”

  Guery forced a smile then started back at a quick pace. Drake looked out over the switching station. No one was paying any attention to him, as far as he could tell. Experience told him to never look as if you wanted not to be noticed. If you appeared as if you belonged, people typically assumed you did.

  With as much confidence as he could muster, Drake strode toward the pile of rock, rounding it on the left side, away from the rail yard. It was then he saw six more equally large piles lined up. After reaching the last one, he crouched low and unslung his pack.

  There was a thin line of trees about a hundred feet further. Not much cover, he thought, and to reach it would expose him to the workers in the yard. He positioned himself between two piles and sat, half leaning. Picking up one of the rocks, he noticed that it left black marks on his skin. Clearly the stuff had some important use, but what it might be, he couldn’t begin to guess.

  After a few minutes, his mind began to wander. The similarities between the Bomar and his own people were too numerous to ignore. It wasn’t just the way they looked. The corruption of authority; the fear the powerful instilled in those who could not fight back. His misgivings over his ultimate goal were increasing. More disturbingly, it called into question the idea that it was the nobility and the high mages who were at the heart of Vale’s troubles. Perhaps it was inherent in who they were as a species? If freed from oppression, would things be better? Maybe they would be as bad as they’d always been, just with a new oppressor to replace the old in an endless cycle of misery.

  The crunch of boots shocked him back into the moment. “Come on out,” called a voice.

  Drake froze.

  “If I have to come get you, you won’t like it.”

  The voice was coming from the back side of the rock, out of easy view. Drake sat up and stepped out from his hiding place. Standing with a strange-looking handgun pointed at him was the man who had come to Guery’s house: Jimmel. The weapon was a simple revolver, yet ornate in its design, with gold and silver inlay and a polished white handgrip.

  “Guery’s not the brightest of men,” he said. “I might have missed you if you hadn’t walked straight out his front door when you left.” A grin stretched across his face. “Now I don’t suppose you want to tell me who you are? And why you’re sneaking around my town?”

  “I was just trying to get back home,” he lied.

  “That much I guessed. But as you’re trying to get there without being seen, I can only assume you’re a deserter. Is that what you are? A piece of dung deserter?”

  “No. I’m a scout for the Imperium.”

  The man raised an eyebrow. “A scout, you say? Then you’ll have no trouble showing me your papers.”

  The lie had failed. “I lost them when I ran into the Nelwyn a week ago.”

  The man let out a weary sigh. “I wish you lot would come up with better stories. Now, since you don’t have any papers, and I’m not wasting time on the likes of you…” He flicked his weapon toward the forest.

  Yes, he thought. The image of Sherriff Barnaby flashed through his mind. The Bomar were very much like his own people.

  He thought to explain that Guery had nothing to do with it. But he knew the end game. There was no point. Drake tried to look beaten, keeping his steps slow and awkward, as if his fear was increasing.

  “I’ll make it quick,” Jimmel said.

  They continued for a few minutes until reaching a shallow ravine with a tiny brook sifting through a rocky bottom. The forest had thickened enough that the sound of the gun would not reach the railyard.

  “Turn around,” he ordered.

  Drake did as he was told. “I don’t suppose I could offer you anything?”

  “Not when I can take it off your body anyway.” He leveled the gun to point at Drake’s

  heart.

  Drake had figured that was what he would say. At least Guery wouldn’t be implicated. Removing his pack, he tossed it a few feet away. Now that they were far enough, he no longer needed to pretend he was afraid.

  The shot slammed into Drake’s chest, spinning him left and down to one knee. Large caliber, but low velocity. Still, the pain was tremendous. Planting his leg he dove low, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist.

  Though clearly taken by surprise that Drake was able to fight, Jimmel still managed to rain down several blows to the back of Drake’s head before landing flat on his back. Drake could feel the blood already soaking his hair even as he shifted his body forward to straddle his opponent. He tore the gun from his hand and landed a solid punch to the jaw. There was the look of sheer terror in Jimmel’s eyes as he realized what had happened, his eyes fixed on the hole in Drake’s shirt were the bullet had struck.

  “What the hell are you?” he shouted. “Stop! Please!”

  Drake had a momentary feeling of guilt. Typically, he would have spared him, even though the man had intended on murdering him. But he could not afford to let him live. He pressed the gun to his chest and squeezed the trigger. A muffled pop and it was over, wide-eyed fear frozen in place on the man’s face.

  Drake stood and searched the body. Aside from a few of the Bomar coins, he had nothing of particular usefulness. Drake tucked the gun into his belt and then washed the blood from his scalp, the minor wound nearly closed already. He examined the hole in his shirt, then ripped it open a bit more so it would appear a more ordinary tear. His chest throbbed, and his skin was starting to turn purple. The pistol might be primitive, but it was damn sure effective.

  He thought it best to wait where he was until after nightfall. Hopefully no one would come looking for their missing comrades for a while. If Bomar authorities were anything like those in Vale, once three bodies were found, all hell would break loose. Nothing to be done about it now, he thought. But returning through here would be out of the question. A problem for later.

  More and more he was coming to realize just how ill thought out this plan actually was. Three men were dead so far. And his ignorance to Bomar ways would be easy to spot. Moreover, he had no idea where he was going or how he would find his way back. He recalled how he’d felt on his first trip into the provinces –
lost and completely vulnerable. This was immeasurably worse. At least in the provinces, he knew something about the way people lived. He had understood how things were organized.

  Drake waited at the top of the ravine until the sun was well past the horizon, then crept his way back to the railyard. A few men were huddled together near the far rail around a fire, passing a bottle and laughing drunkenly. The night watch, most likely. But they did not appear concerned about being attentive. Though unless the black rocks were of more value than they looked, there was little to steal that he could see.

  By the time dawn was drawing near, wagons, pulled by half a dozen men, began trundling down from the main part of the town, filled to bursting with what at a glance looked to be ore. All said, more than thirty arrived and lined up beside the first set of tracks.

  In the far distance, just as the sun was turning the sky from lavender to the orange of a new day, Drake heard what sounded like great rushes of air, blown out in rapid intervals. More people were gathering near the track a few yards away from the wagons, many carrying packs and bags. Travelers, from the look of them.

  Drake took a deep breath and casually emerged from the rocks. The crowd’s attention was focused on the point where the tracks converged, making it easy to pass unnoticed. He threaded his way into the thickest part of the crowd. So far so good.

  A screech like grating metal pierced the air and went on for more than a minute, and from above the trees rose a thick column of smoke. A few seconds later, the train appeared around the

  bend in the line. It was taller than those in Vale, and crafted from black metal – iron was Drake’s guess – and a great stack protruded from its cylindrical body, the source of the smoke.

  Drake almost burst out laughing. Steam! The Bomar powered their train with steam. His father had built him a toy car that ran on steam. Which meant the rock in those piles was likely the fuel.

  Simple firearms; steam-powered transportation. Even the technologies of the provinces were advanced by comparison.

  The train rumbled onto the far track and came to a grinding halt. Great clouds of steam billowed from vents above the wheels, enveloping those waiting. Several workers then proceeded to detach the engine from the twenty or so cars. He hadn’t noticed before but the end of the last track was segmented at the end. Chains attached to one end ran to a small building near where the guards had been standing earlier. The engine moved forward a few yards and then stopped again. The workers then ran to the building, joined by about ten more. A few minutes passed, then the chains went taut. The groan of the steel shook the ground as the track, engine and all, slowly turned until it was facing the opposite direction.

  Drake tried not to look at the scene with disapproval. What a waste of effort and time. If they’d just built a curved track, the engine could follow it until facing the other direction once the cars were detached, which would have been much more efficient. A stray thought entered his mind that drew a smile. His father would have not been able to contain himself. Drake could almost see him stomping about, lecturing anyone who would listen about the stupidity of it all.

  Once the tracks were secured, the engine began the laborious process of moving forward and back, switching tracks until reaching the first. Already the wagons were being emptied, their

  contents loaded into the rear cars. Several dozen people had exited the first two cars, all carrying packs and bags, and some dragging heavy chests along behind them.

  Once the wagons were empty and the engine attached to the opposite end of the cars, a voice called out.

  “On board!”

  The crowd lurched forward. Drake took his position behind an older woman carrying nothing but a small leather shoulder bag. A set of wooden stairs was placed in front of the broad sliding door of what he guessed to be the passenger cars. Drake had feared that he would need to show some sort of identification to get aboard, but to his relief, it was not the case. Inside were rows of benches fixed to either side of the car. Drake moved to the back and sat down, placing his pack beside him to discourage anyone from sitting next to him.

  They waited for about an hour before the hiss of steam and the grinding of steel said it was time. Though relieved, Drake knew that this was just the beginning. He had taken the first step toward his objective. And it hadn’t been easy. He knew better than to hope it would get any easier.

  Chapter Nine

  Drake found that the people on board were in high spirits. From the conversations he overheard, most had come on the promise of higher wages and a bonus after a year. These were laborers primarily, and without exception all were happy to be leaving what they referred to as the “frontier.” Some expressed pity for tradespeople who were forced to remain until the Imperium released them.

  It was to be a week-long journey to the capital city of Malizar. He would need to sleep in the seat – an uncomfortable enough prospect for Drake, but for the older passengers it would likely be torturous. A few people spoke to him, remarking that he didn’t look familiar. Doing as Guery had instructed, he explained that he was a scout. Some pressed for news about the Nelwyn, but as Drake would tell them that he had not encountered any, little else could be said on the subject. Oddly, most of the Bomar did not appear at all interested in them or the war. But then the lowest classes of Vale focus their minds on the day-to-day challenges of life. Politics and power were not part of their existence.

  It wasn’t until sunset that he saw any indication that there was a war at all. The train halted at a town, from appearances much like the one where he had just been. The car emptied, and several carts bearing breads, fruits, and dried meat were pulled along the tracks. Drake watched as some coins were given as payment, taking note of the values. He bought a loaf of bread and a few pieces of fruit, avoiding eating meat for which he didn’t know the source.

  About a dozen men were gathered near an open-faced building. They were wearing brown and black pants and shirts with insignias stitched into the sleeves and collars. Most had rifles of

  simple design, and short blades hung at their belts. Soldiers. Though not wearing the leather armor he’d seen previously.

  They waited for more than an hour while another passenger car was added before departing.

  Drake huddled into the seat, and using his pack for a pillow, did his best to get some sleep.

  By dawn the landscape from the small window had altered dramatically. Vast swaths of forest had been cut and there were miles of scarred earth, baring deep gouges, some too deep to tell how far down they went. The black rock was scattered about these areas, and Drake guessed the holes to be the likely source.

  Though not the case throughout, there was enough of this destruction to understand what the Nelwyn had meant when they described the devastation of their land.

  Over the next four days, they made two more stops. Each town added more passenger cars and he saw a greater number of soldiers; in the last of the towns, hundreds. The car at first only half full was now packed, forcing him to place his belongings on the floor at his feet. He had thought that as there were only two more days until they arrived, it might not be so bad. He was wrong.

  It was still dark when he felt it – a heat the like of which he had never experienced. The entire car was fanning themselves and drinking water from their canteens and bottles. He understood now why everyone had made a special effort to fill them at the last stop.

  As the sun rose, Drake caught his breath. Sand as far as the eye could see. There were a few thorny leafless shrubs and the occasional pile of loose stone, but aside from that…desolation. For hours it continued. The breeze from the open windows helped somewhat with the heat,

  but not much. He noticed the older woman he had followed upon boarding two seats up and across

  the aisle. She was clutching her bag in her lap with one hand and holding a bottle of water in the other. As she took a sip, he noticed her trembling.

  There was a younger man sitting beside Drake who had been tal
king sporadically, mostly about how happy he was to be going home and about how much he hated the frontier. But the heat had silenced him.

  Drake stood and squeezed his way into the aisle. “Excuse me,” he said to the old woman.

  She looked over and smiled. “Why don’t we change seats? It’s cooler by the window.”

  She glanced over to where Drake was sitting. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, young man.” “Don’t be silly. I insist.” He offered his hand.

  After a brief hesitation, she allowed Drake to help her up and over to the window. “You’re very kind,” she said.

  Drake waited until she was settled in, then sat back down. The woman beside where he was now seated looked at him curiously, but said nothing and leaned her head out the window.

  Drake kept a close watch on the woman throughout the day, and in the morning, offered her some of his food and to share his water. The vex crystal was helping to stave off his own thirst, so he had enough to spare.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked.

  Drake shrugged. “You remind me of my grandmother.” She didn’t; he’d never known his grandmother. Still, even in Vale, he had tried to help when he could. Though whether this was out of a sense of empathy or just to salve his own conscience…

  When the excitement among the passengers increased, he knew they must be drawing close. By midday the desert had faded and was replaced by a thin forest of unfamiliar trees – tall, thin, with clusters of oblong leaves that drooped down from the top branches. The temperature