Dross (Sphereworld: Joined at the Hilt Book 2)

by Caleb Wachter

  “I know, I know,” he muttered, “it’s because I’m so weak, right?”

  You said it, Randall, she said haughtily, not me.

  “I think I found something that will be to your liking,” the shopkeeper, who may or may not be named Tangio, said eagerly as he came out of the back room with a bundle of items under each arms. “It looks like I’ve got a fine set of full leathers here,” he explained, “cut from the hide of a sand drake.”

  Sand drake leather is good, Dani said encouragingly. It requires regular oiling to keep from stiffening, but that is true of most leather—and it is remarkably resilient. The mundane versions are generally comparable to chain mail, though piercing attacks have better penetration through sand drake than slashing or bludgeoning blows.

  “What’s the price—the real price,” Randall added before Tangio could get into snake-oil-salesman mode.

  “A suit like this, with the oil,” he held up a pair of flasks which appeared to be full of the thick liquid, “retails for five gold bars. I’ll give it to you for one bar, but I’m not haggling down from there—these are ‘take it or leave my shop’ prices, savvy?”

  That is an eminently reasonable price, Dani agreed. Examine it carefully so we might find any hidden flaws or damaged areas.

  “Let me see it,” Randall held out his hands, and the shopkeeper obliged. After turning the suit over in his hands several times, Randall was unable to find anything untoward. “It looks ok…” he said dubiously, hoping Dani would lend her assistance.

  The upper arms have taken significant damage, but they appear to be functional. The rest seems to be in good condition, she finally declared.

  “What else have you got?” Randall asked, putting the leather suit down as the shopkeeper presented a trio of shields.

  “This first one,” Tangio said, holding up a round shield with a trio of wicked-looking spikes in the center, and a serrated blade ringing the shield’s entire edges, “is Grey Iron from Greystone’s own forges. Equally protective against all forms of attack, and capable of doing more than just blocking,” he tapped the gruesome spikes before warily eyeing the razor-sharp ring-blade at the shield’s edge, “this bastard is probably worth as much in intimidation factor as martial benefit.”

  Now that is a fine shield, Dani said wistfully, and one I would insist we purchase if I was in control of your left arm. In truth…it is tempting to purchase it in the hope that I will eventually gain control over your left arm. Such a shield is a rarity, indeed.

  “I’m not sure…” Randall said hesitantly as he could not help but look at the razor sharp edge of the shield, remembering the same argument which he and Dan’Moread had engaged in over her newly-fashioned cross-piece—a ridiculously dangerous thing which he was amazed had not yet cost him a finger. “It seems like it’s too heavy,” he said, hoping Dani would agree.

  It is heavy, she allowed, but if you could exercise another hour each day, perhaps…

  “What else have you got?” he asked, causing Tangio’s features to fall slightly as he produced a smaller, kite-shaped shield.

  “This one’s a White Steel escutcheon,” the shopkeeper explained, showing the brightly-burnished front of the slightly pitted and dented shield. “Forged in the Blue Sands manufactories, its provenance can be traced back for two hundred years since before the Federation became the powerhouse that dominates the entire world today. It’s lightweight, durable, and affordable since this particular style has fallen out of favor.”

  “Why out of favor?” Randall asked, uncertain why such an elegant design would ever become undesirable. It seemed like the perfect shield, even if it was on the small side.

  “I couldn’t tell you,” the shopkeeper shrugged. “I told you: I’m not really Tangio.”

  The Federation employs two styles of armor, Dan’Moread explained, the first of which is full plate with a tower shield large enough for a warrior to crouch behind or, less usually, no shield at all. This type is reserved for elite warriors and commanders. The second type is banded strips of metal overlain on leather—often called ‘banded mail’—for the rank-and-file soldiery. Federation soldiers are formation fighters, and as such their shields must be designed to interlock with one another. Sometimes tower shields are employed—which are large, rectangular, and unwieldy—but more usually their shields are asymmetrical and roughly circular in basic design, with a notch which permits a spear’s shaft to be passed through. This way, the soldier can manipulate both shield and spear to better receive an enemy charge or even to deal with an individual enemy. A shield like this escutcheon is better suited to dueling or personal defense than it is suited for formation fighting.

  “And since the Federation is the top arms buyer—“ Randall mused before realizing he was speaking aloud. Tangio gave him a strange look which Randall did his best to ignore as he pointed to the last shield, “What about that one?”

  “This one,” the shopkeeper explained, “is an armored bracer with a built-in buckler. Less a shield, really, and more a duelist’s accessory. It’s lightweight and doesn’t restrict your movements in the least, but it’s obviously not all that useful for deflecting arrows or spears.”

  An armored bracer is more useful when employed with a lighter weapon—an epee, rapier, or even a hand-axe, Dani sneered. I am a sword-breaker, Randall; we must rely on power during battle and in order to generate that power we must select a shield which is capable of protecting us while we unleash our savagery upon our foes—

  “I really don’t know how to use a bracer-and-buckler,” Randall sighed, “so I guess I should look at the escutcheon again.”

  “Ah ha!” Tangio’s eyes lit up as he produced a book that was almost small enough to fit inside an ordinary pocket. “I thought you might say that, which is why I brought this little booklet out.”

  Randall eyed the book after the shopkeeper handed it to him, and eventually he was able to make out the title which he unconsciously muttered, “Armored Bracers & You: A Duelist’s Best Friend…?”

  Let me see that, Dani said gruffly, and Randall flipped the book open to find several detailed diagrams on each page—diagrams which generally featured two combatants, one of which wore an armored bracer while the opponent did not.

  Each diagram had between two and six itemized descriptions of specific moves or positions, and it seemed that the book was arranged into chapters. Each chapter described how a duelist might engage individual foes armed with specific weaponry: one chapter dealt with how to best fight an axe-wielder, another how to stifle a hammer-wielder, and several others each detailed how to combat the wielders of various swords.

  Interesting… Dani sniffed just before Randall came to the second third of the book, which covered how the bracer-and-buckler might be employed by a duelist who opted for short, thick blades instead of the longer, slenderer weapons generally associated with duelists. Perhaps this manual might prove of some value after all…though I must be clear that this bracer’s design offends me in nearly every imaginable way. It is dainty; its possible uses are extremely limited; and it does not invoke appropriate fear for a self-respecting piece of armory.

  “It’s lightweight,” Randall countered, doing his best to make it appear as though he was mulling the choice over, rather than carrying on a conversation with the sword hanging at his side, “and it looks well-maintained, but…” he hesitated, generally agreeing with Dani’s assessment of the exceptionally small shield—which was ovular and shorter than his forearm on the long axis.

  “You haven’t seen the best bits yet,” Tangio grinned, reaching beneath the shield to manipulate the wrist strap. Randall instinctively reared back in surprise as a four inch long blade sprang out of concealment near the wrist. His eyebrows rose as he realized that, if the wearer was not careful, that blade would stab straight into the back of his own hand. Tangio manipulated another strap and a similar, slightly longer blade—this one gently curved—sprang out toward the elbow-side of the miniature shield. “Two
trap blades,” Tangio explained, unnecessarily pointing at them, “along with a well-concealed series of serrated barbs along the outer edge,” he traced the little-finger-side of the shield, “which could cut the throat of a would-be attacker if he gets too close.”

  It is not a shield at all, Dan’Moread protested, but a concealed weapon—what use do we have for any other weapons than myself?

  “It’s not really a weapon,” Randall protested, both attempting to assuage Dani while putting up at least a perfunctory attempt at haggling with the shopkeeper, “but it’s not really a shield, either. More of a hybrid, I’d say,” he said hopefully.

  “It is an oddity, I’ll grant you that,” Tangio nodded, “but it’s made of blue steel which, while not as hardy as White Steel or as formidable as Grey Iron, is lightweight and capable of being worked by just about any smith. It’s also more concealable than either of the others,” he waved a hand to the two other shields, “and, if I may be so bold, concealment might be more important for someone like yourself than it might be for my regular clientele.”

  “Your ‘regular clientele’?” Randall scoffed. “You’re going out of business—which means you don’t have a regular clientele!”

  “Whatever,” Tangio shook his head sourly, “it’s a bargain at half a gold bar.”

  Randall waited in silence for Dan’Moread to comment. When she failed to do so, he muttered, “What do you think?”

  I am unconvinced of its value, she said stiffly before finally sighing, but, given our peculiar circumstances, it does seem to provide the greatest utility. A proper shield would be useless to us without perfect coordination between our efforts, and coordination comes from training—training with which we have yet to commence in earnest, she added pointedly, causing him to go red in the ears as she finished, so this particular piece, while far from ideal, might suit us for at least a time.

  “Good,” Randall nodded, “I’ll take it. What about the kilt?” he asked, causing Tangio to wince.

  “I…well, I don’t exactly have any armored kilts,” he explained nervously, “but I do have one item that provides just as much protection while only weighing a tiny fraction of what the kilt would weigh. Though I am untrained in the arts martial, even I can tell that maneuverability would be of greater importance to you than it would be to the average connoisseur of such—“

  “Skip to the part where you show me what you have,” Randall insisted.

  Tangio winced again, but he schooled his features as he opened the last bundle which contained a flat, wooden box two feet wide and nearly as long. When he removed the box’s lid to reveal its contents, Randall’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion—then when he realized what Tangio was suggesting as an ‘alternative’ he scowled.

  “You have got to be kidding me…” he grumbled while Dan’Moread’s wordless laughter filled his mind.

  Chapter XIV: The Last Withdrawal

  Dusk, 2-2-6-659

  “Will there be anything else?” the bank’s manager asked after Randall had retrieved the tiny pouch which had been stored in the bank’s vault. That pouch contained a dozen gemstones of what looked to be exquisite quality and size, though Randall had no idea what any of them were since he had never become familiar with precious stones.

  “No,” Randall shook his head as he pocketed the pouch—just as he had pocketed all of the other gem-filled parcels which he had withdrawn at the other banks on Phinjo’s list. “That will be fine, thank you.”

  “Very good, sir,” the banker nodded neutrally, gesturing to the pair of armed guards who had shadowed Randall during his time in the bank’s vault. “My men will escort you wherever you need to go.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Randall assured him. “I can manage.”

  “Very well,” the banker allowed, but from his resolute expression it was clear that Randall should exit the bank as quickly as possible. “It has been a pleasure doing business with you, sir.”

  “Likewise,” Randall nodded, eyeing the guards as he made his way out of the bank and found that the sun had just gone dark overhead.

  I am glad to have that particular task completed, Dani said, sounding as relieved as Randall felt to be finished with the banks. It was a surprisingly expeditious process as well.

  “It was,” Randall nodded, “but I’m not exactly comfortable walking around with all of these on my person. We need to lay low.”

  Did you have somewhere in mind?

  “Actually, I did,” he said, remembering the small general store where he had rented rooms for Ellie and Yordan.

  Then we should make there with all haste, she said firmly before adding, milady.

  “Oh, come on,” Randall snapped, “will that joke never get old to you?”

  I do not imagine it will.

  “Well,” he grumbled, “it’s a bad joke.”

  One can hope that, after considerable practice, I will become more proficient in delivering it.

  Randall rolled his eyes as he set off for the Native District.

  Standing before the general store, above which Yordan and Ellie hopefully remained lodged, Randall could not help but succumb to a moment of nostalgia as he recalled their last night together.

  What had started out as such a bittersweet parting had turned into absolute horror when the Federation soldiers had accosted them in the alley. Randall had regrettably been unable to see the two girls safely home after the fight in the alley left all of the soldiers dead—a fight in which Dan’Moread had played the most crucial role, and without whose actions Randall and his friends would have suffered whatever cruelties the Federation soldiers had wished to inflict.

  He saw a flicker of light at the lone window of the girls’ loft, and he picked up a pebble which he deftly tossed into the open, glassless window. He collected a small handful of similar pebbles and methodically tossed them into the window until the most welcome sight of his old friend, Yordan, greeted him at the window.

  “Shoo—begone, ye!” she snapped irritably, clearly unable to see his face in the dark. “I’ll call the Watch if you don’t scat right this instant!” she hissed.

  “Yordi,” he whispered, “it’s me.”

  “How do you know my name…” she began, trailing off as she squinted down at him and a look of shock washed away the irritation which had previously filled her features. “Randy?” she whispered, turning back into the room. “Ell, come quick—it’s Randy!”

  “What?” he heard Ellie ask before she too joined Yordan at the window. “Doll…” she gasped, “is it really you?”

  “It is,” he nodded, “can I come up?”

  “Store’s locked down after dusk,” Yordan shook her head. “But if you’re up to it, the back wall’s scalable.”

  “I’ll be right up,” he said before making his way to the general store’s back wall. A climb that would have been next to impossible for a human looked like no great ordeal to Randall, though he was uncertain if his new sand drake armor would restrict his movements enough to make the climb dangerous for him. Without such armor, scaling the wood-paneled walls of the general store would have been child’s play to him, but thankfully the armor did not restrict his movements enough to give him trouble as he quickly found himself standing on the poorly-maintained roof.

  Careful not to step through any weak patches, he skirted the roof and came to the window he had just tossed the pebbles through. Ducking his head inside, he barely touched his feet to the floor before he was accosted by the best friends he had ever known while growing up in Three Rivers.

  “Randy!” Yordan cried while wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

  “Doll!” Ellie folded herself against his side and gently squeezed his ribs.

  They shared a long moment of silence, during which Randall was not ashamed to admit that he shed a handful of tears upon seeing that his friends were alive and well. “I was worried sick about you two,” he said after the three-way embrace ended.

  Ellie kept her face pres
sed against his chest, but something in Yordan’s expression gave him cause for concern as she nodded quickly, “We didn’t know if we were ever to see your lady-loving self again. After what happened that night, we thought…” she trailed off before shaking her head firmly. “But after a few weeks, when the investigation into them soldiers’ deaths cooled a bit and came up empty, we knew you’d gotten out of the city alive.”

  “I am glad you returned, Doll,” Ellie said, looking up and him with moist eyes.

  Yordan harrumphed, “You should have stayed away, Randy. The city’s abuzz the last few days with word of war.”

  “The Fissalians?” Randall asked hopefully, but Yordan shook her head.

  “Seems like the northern city-state of Greystone’s stirrin’ up some shit,” Yordan explained. “Wind-word says two ships’ worth of war machines got diverted inland rather than sent across the Rydian to Fissalia.” She shook her head firmly, “You oughtn’t have come back, Randy. Security’s gettin’ tighter day by day; it’s only a matter of time before they start roundin’ us pointies up.”

  “They wouldn’t do that,” Randall denied, though somewhere deep within himself he knew what Yordan was suggesting was far from impossible. He had seen first-hand the brutality of the Federation regime, and the majority of that brutality had been directed at people with Ghaevlian blood—people like him, Yordan, and Ellie.

  “No,” Ellie agreed, “they would not.”

  “How can you say that, Ell?!” Yordan bristled. “You, of all people—“

  “Can we not just enjoy Randy’s return, Yordan?” Ellie asked sharply, which grabbed Randall’s attention. Yordan was outspoken—even vulgar—so such outbursts were commonplace for her. But Ellie was always the demure, patient and soft-spoken member of their group. Ellie broke away from Randall and looked out the window as she spoke in a more Ellie-like, reserved tone, “Is there not enough pain and suffering in this world without our adding to it? We are re-united,” she said, turning to face Randall before giving him a tight hug, “that is what we should care about right now.”