A New Dawn Boxed Set Two: Dawn of Days, Broken Skies, Broken Bones (New Dawn Boxed Sets Book 2)

by Amy Hopkins

She gave him a warm smile and side-checked his hip. “Besides, I might even miss you if you got eaten.”

  “You would?” Bastian asked, surprised. “I mean, I’d miss you, too, I guess…” he blushed and turned his eyes to the forest as they walked back towards the Iron Tree.

  “Gee, you make me feel so wanted,” Tansy said with a snort.

  “Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that!” Bastian protested.

  She laughed. “I know. I’m just teasing. You’re as easy to bait as Danil!”

  Bastian groaned, but walked back to the main road by her side. “Clearly, the Temple did a horrible job of teaching us about women, despite all the ones that lived there.”

  “Maybe you could add it to the curriculum,” Tansy said with a wink. “Of course, you’ll need to learn a lot more about them before you decide.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Bette checked her belt, patted her sword, and wiggled her foot, feeling the dagger nestled securely in her boot. A staff was strapped to her saddle beneath a small buckler, and three smoke grenades—courtesy of Madam Seher—were tucked into her saddlebag.

  “Ye ready ta go?” she growled.

  “Aye, Captain!” Garrett snapped.

  Bette rolled her eyes, but didn’t rise to his bait. “Francis? Sharne?”

  “We’re ready,” Sharne said with a look at Francis. He nodded, and they set off.

  “So,” Garrett said once there was some distance between the rearick and the rest of the party. “Why are we bringin’ the builder? He’s lovely and all, but he’s not a fighter.”

  Bette grinned. “Ye’ll see. He’s our secret weapon.”

  “Against a remnant?” Garrett scoffed.

  “No,” she answered with a chuckle. “Against Lord George.”

  Garrett’s bushy eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “And why would we need a weapon against him?” he asked.

  “Shut yer trap and wait ‘n see,” she scolded. “And treat him with respect.”

  “Who, George? I always do!” Garrett protested.

  “No,” Bette said with a grin. “Francis.”

  Garrett heaved a sigh. “It’s politics, ain’t it? Ach, I should’ve guessed. I don’t like it, not one bit.”

  “Yer only job is ta stand around and look pretty, and make sure the only people who die are those pretend remnant we keep hearin’ about. That’s if we even find ‘em, the bloody cowards.” Bette spat on the ground, distaste clear on her face.

  The morning grew warm, and flies buzzed about, diving into Garrett’s beard and zooming away again as he cursed and smacked it.

  “Lucky yer not carrying yer sword,” Bette remarked. “Or ye’d have chopped off yer nose by now.”

  “Aye, that’s about—who’s that?” Garrett pulled his horse up and stood in the stirrups, shading his eyes against the morning sun.

  “Looks like Bastian and Tansy. Is that Danil and Polly with them?” Sharne asked.

  “Bloody fools,” Garrett cursed. “Gone out without an escort. It’s not safe; they know that!”

  Bette snorted. “Tansy could take ye down in two-point-four seconds, and Polly in not much more than that,” she said. “They’ll be fine, as long as those two mystics don’t get it in their heads ta go off alone.”

  “Aye. I’ll have a chat with the lads tonight,” Garrett promised.

  “Ye will not!” Bette snapped. “Ye tell ‘em to stay tucked up safe at home, and they’ll walk straight out ta spite ye. Let me do it. Better yet, I’ll talk ta Tansy and Polly, on the quiet, like. They’ll set the lads straight.”

  “Hey there!” Bastian called once he was in earshot. “Out for a walk?”

  “We’re off ta meet Lord George,” Bette explained. When they got closer, she added, “He’s meetin’ us on the road, so we can discuss the situation with the bandits.”

  “Bandits?” Bastian asked, voice cracking.

  Bette shook her head. “Ye don’t listen to a damn thing I say, do ye?”

  “It’s alright,” Tansy said. “I’ll be keeping an eye on our intrepid schoolmaster from now on. He and Danil have both promised not to head out this way without a competent guard with them.”

  “Hey, I don’t remember promising that!” Danil yelped. When Polly flattened her lips and crossed her arms, he back-pedaled. “Or maybe I did. Yeah. I definitely did.”

  “Aye, that’s good ta hear,” Bette said with a triumphant grin at Garrett. “What’re ye doing so far from town anyway?”

  “Bastian has found a site for the new school,” Danil explained.

  “It’s not that far,” Bastian interjected. “And we’ll be able to set up a rest stop and overnight shelter for travelers, to help fund the ongoing costs. Maybe the extra traffic will help to deter bandits, too.”

  Bette rubbed her chin. “Aye, it just might at that. Do ye mind if I mention it ta Lord George?”

  “I’d love it if you did,” Bastian said. He gave her directions to the site, and asked her to reassure Lord George he would send a pigeon with more details the next day.

  The two small parties farewelled each other and headed in opposite directions.

  They stopped for lunch at the stand of trees that the traders had been attacked at. Bette and Garrett scoured the small clump of forest to no avail. Apart from some chewed bones and a discarded flask, there was no evidence of either remnant, or bandits.

  “Remnant my cornhole,” Garrett muttered.

  “That’s the fifth time you’ve said that since we left,” Sharne said. “The stories all say they’re from the Mads. Rotting faces, growling, spitting. You can’t be sure it’s not really remnant, can you?”

  Bette leaned back. “Ye’ve seen remnant yerself, lass. Do ye really think those beasts would stop fightin’ long enough ta cut a deal? Or deck themselves out with pretty trinkets?”

  “Aye, or wander into town ta sell jewels fer coin?” Garrett chimed in. “Trust us, lass, we know what we’re on about.”

  “I didn’t say you were wrong,” Sharne said, blushing. “I know you both know more than anyone else out here about those monsters.”

  “And yer right, too,” Bette said, voice softening. “It might well be remnant, ones that are just a wee bit different ta the ones we see in the Madlands. That’s why we’re gonna act as if there ‘re remnant and bandits and monsters and anythin’ else ye can think of.”

  “Monsters?” Sharne asked, eyes widening.

  Bette chuckled. “All I’m sayin’ is, ye can never be too careful. Always expect the unexpected, and stay prepared fer the worst. That way, ye’ll never be caught with yer pants down. Unless yer Garrett.”

  “Ahh, ye bitch!” he yelled and Francis burst out laughing. “Don’t ye start too, lad, or I’ll set a snake on ye next time ye go for a piss.”

  The story had made the rounds through Tahn a week ago—Garrett, running out of the bushes on a patrol, his pants around his ankles and screaming something about a snake. There actually had been one, a vicious looking serpent with anger management problems.

  It seemed Garrett had disturbed it by pissing on its head, no less. When it reared up, threatening to bite the offending source of its disturbance, he’d fled.

  “Fuckin’ snakes,” he muttered now, shoving his food roughly into a bag. “Slimy little bastards need their pointy little teeth rammed into a big old rock.”

  “Now, Garrett, just because yer scared of a wee—”

  “I’m not scared!” Garrett yelled, his voice loud in the quiet clearing. Realizing how silly he looked, he pulled back a little. “I’m just prepared for the worst, is all.”

  Sharne couldn’t hold her giggles in any longer, and their short stop was delayed for a few minutes while she and Bette clutched at each other, laughing themselves into a state of complete uselessness.

  Garrett slid a glance to Francis, who was still managing to smother a smile. “Like I said at the time, it’s not my fault I’ve got a cock long enough that snakes see it as a rival.”

  Fra
ncis rolled his eyes and went over to climb on his horse. “And here I thought it was a lady snake, trying to eat her young offspring that emerged from the egg early, too small and withered to survive.”

  Francis nudged the horse and meandered away, leaving Garrett behind shouting curses and shaking his fist.

  The first sign of Lord George’s party was the smoke. Black, billowing puffs mushroomed into the air, stopping for a moment before swelling again.

  “They’re being attacked!” Bette screamed, kicking her horse into a gallop. She raced up the road, Garrett and Francis behind her, Sharne keeping pace next to the rearick Captain.

  The small troop ahead looked to have been accosted during a rest stop. Fighters were paired off with attackers in torn clothes and dirty faces. Some had patches of hair missing and others yelled in guttural growls.

  “Bandits!” Sharne yelled, riding in to slice one across the shoulder. He howled and clutched the wound, blood pouring down his back.

  Bette leaned down to thump one on the head with the hilt of her sword. He folded down into a heap, and the soldier gave her a wide-eyed nod. She recognized the terror in his eyes.

  “They’re men, ye fool,” she said. “Filthy and stupid, but men.”

  The soldier squinted, trying to process the thought while still in the rush of battle. “They’re not...”

  “Nay! Ye fools, they’re bandits tryin’ to trick ye.” She grunted and ploughed her horse into one of the bandits who had stood back, holding a bloody sword.

  Her horse clobbered him, knocking him to the ground before leaning her full weight on his back. Bette felt the crunch rather than heard it. She pulled her horse to the side and almost fell when a bandit swung at them, making the horse rear back in fright.

  Bette jumped from the saddle, rolling once on the ground before coming to her feet. Her sword was already swinging around, ready to take out any unlucky soul who stood too close.

  One of the bandits gave her a wicked, snarling grin, showing teeth that had rotted back to little more than stumps.

  “Ach, face paint is one thing, ye sack of toad sperm, but those teeth are one step too far.”

  She lunged forwards, parrying his sword thrust with her own. Metal clanged against metal as he struck again only to meet her defense. Bette swung around, dipping her head under a high swing and slashing for his shins.

  The sword bit into his leg, and he squealed like a pig in a snare. “Oh, buck up, ye pussy. A real remnant wouldn’t scream like that if the Bastard himself were facin’ it down!”

  He took a wobbling step, then collapsed on his injured leg. He managed to fend off Bette’s first attack, but her second was too fast, and he was too far off balance. Her sword thrust into his belly, then twisted as he shrieked again.

  A hard fist across his face cut the noise off immediately. A quick cut to the throat made sure he was out of his screaming misery.

  “Come on, lad, that’s not how remnant fight. Ye need ta put some anger into it, like this.”

  Bette twisted around to see Garrett fighting with one of the remaining attackers. The poor man scurried back, almost tripping as Garrett bared his teeth and let out an ear-splitting roar. The rearick tossed his sword aside and jumped, wrapping his arms around the bandit’s head.

  “Garrett! Stop playing around,” Bette yelled. “Just kill the bastard and come give me a hand, aye?”

  Bette would later swear she heard something muttered about ‘spoiled’ and ‘fun’, but a moment later, the last bandit was on the ground, neck snapped.

  “Sharne, Francis. Ye still walkin’?” Bette yelled. The soldiers milled around, dazed, blocking her view.

  “Over here!” Sharne called.

  Bette pushed her way through the people and saw a pretty carriage slashed with blood and mud. A dead horse lay nearby.

  “Ach. Bastards, they shouldn’t have killed the wee pony.” No matter that the ‘wee pony’ was a giant draught horse.

  “Check the bodies,” Bette snapped to a man nearby. “Tie up any that live, and put the worst off outta their misery if ye’ve got a few ta spare for questionin’.”

  She approached the carriage and smiled to see Sharne, blood splashed across her coat, talking to Lord George through the window.

  “Ye fight well, Sharne?” Bette asked.

  Sharne nodded and flicked three fingers up. Three kills? Aye, she did well, alright, Bette mused.

  “I was just reassuring Lord George that the danger is over, and that the attackers were men, not remnant.” Sharne gave the old man a comforting smile.

  “She saved my life,” Lord George admitted. “One of those beastly men was trying to climb in my window! Can you believe it? He almost had my head when this brave young lady pulled him out and chopped off his head.”

  “It wasn’t all that dramatic,” Sharne said. “But he shouldn’t have been able to get anywhere near you. What were your men thinking?” she snapped, glaring at the soldiers closest.

  Bette shook her head. “I’d ask the same,” she said, glowering.

  “My fault,” George said. “They’re new recruits, every last one of them. Well, except Tavish, but he died, unfortunately.”

  “What the bloody hell ‘re ye doin’ out here with raw recruits?” Bette screeched. She added a belated, “My lord.”

  George cringed, and Bette immediately felt bad. “My army has been decimated by Rogan,” he explained. “The few men I had left that I could trust are protecting the city, trying to undo some of the damage he wrought.”

  “Aye, I know.” She heaved a sigh. “But yer lucky we came along when we did. And at least now, yer men know a false monster when they see one.”

  Lord George shuddered. “I’m so very glad they weren’t real. I don’t think my men could have withstood a fight against the mad beasts.”

  Bette stopped short of pointing out that they very nearly hadn’t withstood this fight. Instead, she opened the door to George’s carriage, so he could step out.

  “Now we know they’re nothin’ but a bunch of piss-eatin’ cowards, let’s see what they were about, hey?”

  She grabbed the nearest man by his hair, hauling up to look at his face. “Aye. This one’ss breathin’. Let’s see if we can wake the bloated goat scrotum up.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The winding path to the estate belonging to Artemis’s friend was shaded by trees, making Julianne’s skin chill and dimple. The house at the end—well, a manor, really—stood tall and bright in the afternoon sun.

  “Bethany?” Artemis called when they were close. “Bethany!”

  The front door swung open and a tall, thin man looked out, shading his eyes. “Who’s there?” he called huskily. “We are armed and won’t hesitate to defend what’s ours.”

  “You blind goat, Nathan,” Artemis hollered, loud enough to make Julianne shield her ear with one hand. “It’s me, Art!”

  “Mort?” the old man called. “You son of a—”

  “ART!” Artemis yelled, as Julianne moved away to preserve her hearing. “It’s ARTEMIS, you deaf old garden slug!”

  “Artemis!” The slip of a man hurried down the steps to greet them. “Oh, it’s good to see you, friend. Does Bethany know you’re here? She’ll be so happy to see you!”

  He clasped his arms around Artemis, and to Julianne’s surprise, the mystic didn’t pull away. He was far from relaxed, but seemed to be doing his best to return the gesture as he awkwardly patted Nathan’s back.

  “Who’s Bethany?” Julianne asked, wondering at the strange duo of names.

  “My sister,” Nathan said. “Yes, our mother was a bit on the reverent side. She thought giving us the names of our Matriarch and her first follower would lead us to do great things.” Nathan offered them inside. “I’m afraid we fell a little short of her expectations.”

  Once the door was securely closed, Nathan reached above his head and yanked on a thin rope. Somewhere above, a bell rang out, low and soft, but deep enough to make the walls
hum with energy as it clanged.

  Two doors down the end of the hallway opened. A boy and a girl darted out of one, and a heavyset older woman emerged from the other.

  “Artemis!” The old woman hurried towards them, her thick body bouncing as she came. She grabbed Artemis’s hands and squeezed them, her eyes bright and shining. “You came back!” she breathed.

  A smile cracked the old man’s face, and he leaned down. Julianne nearly fell over when he reached out and wrapped his arms around her.

  “I’ve missed you, Bethany,” he said.

  “This is your sister?” Julianne asked politely, hiding a smile.

  “Yes, this is Beth. I don’t recall you saying who you are, though.” Nathan leaned back, waiting.

  Artemis winced. “This is Julianne. She is the Master of the Mystic Temple.”

  Beth gasped. “But… she’s not narrow-faced at all, and I don’t believe she’s snippy! Not one bit, not with a sweet face like that.”

  Julianne coughed, stifling a laugh at Artemis’s stricken look. “I would have been quite young when Artemis left the Temple. I’m sure my face has filled out since then, and I do hope my personality has… mellowed.” She avoided the other mystic’s gaze. “Though, I was far from being Master, then.”

  Artemis huffed. “Not like anyone with one eye and half a brain couldn’t see you’d succeed him.”

  Beth clicked her tongue at him. “Whatever your thoughts then, she is your Master, Artemis. You must treat her with respect!”

  Artemis mumbled an apology and bowed. “I’m sorry, Master.”

  “It’s… fine,” Julianne murmured.

  Am I dreaming? She sent to Marcus. Or has Artemis finally flipped a switch and gone mad as a remnant?

  Marcus ignored her, and bowed to Beth. “Beth, it’s so wonderful to meet you. Artemis told me all about you!”

  “He did?” Beth asked, her face lighting up, just as Artemis let out a wavering “I did?”

  “You did,” Marcus said with a grin. “That night after… err, after George came to Tahn. The younger one.”

  Julianne realized he was talking about the battle of Tahn, when she had killed August and sent George running. She had been exhausted that night, but vaguely remembered hearing that half the town—including stodgy old Artemis—had gotten blind, rotten drunk afterwards.