The Edge of the World

by Steven Lochran

  ‘And so another legend leaves us,’ Sur Verity noted. ‘Our way of life is dying.’

  Lord Malkus cast a curious but quiet eye in her direction, but Joss found it harder to contain his shock.

  ‘Do you truly believe that?’ he asked. As stern as Sur Verity was, as guarded and pitiless as she could be, she was by no means dramatic. If she felt that the traditions of the paladero were under threat, it was enough to give him pause.

  Whatever her answer may have been, it went unsaid as a pale young girl approached them through the crowd. Her riding gear was adorned with the emblem of Round Shield Ranch, her nose was smattered with freckles, and her blonde hair was shaved on either side to give her a raptor’s feathery mane. She walked with a paladero’s confident stride, though the humming knife on her belt gave away her true rank.

  ‘Sur Verity? Lord Malkus? I’m sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to let you know that our mounts are stabled and our accommodation is arranged, when you’re ready.’

  ‘Good to know. Thank you, Wildsmith,’ said Lord Malkus, while Sur Verity placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder and steered her towards Joss.

  ‘Josiah Sarif, may I introduce Eliza Wildsmith,’ she said. ‘My new prentice.’

  Joss, overwhelmed at meeting his replacement, felt his mouth turn dry. His tongue clicked as he stammered, ‘It’s – uh – a pleasure to meet you, Eliza.’

  ‘And you!’ the girl said, grabbing Joss by the wrist to shake it enthusiastically. ‘I’ve heard so much about you. Not to mention your victory at the Tournament. I have so many questions I want to ask!’

  ‘Eliza,’ Sur Verity said, her tone a gentle reminder that this was neither the time nor the place.

  ‘But that can wait, of course,’ Eliza said, blushing as she let go of Joss’s wrist.

  Still suffering from a mouth that had lost its taste for conversation, Joss searched for some way to escape. ‘I should probably go check on my brethren,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to say hello. It’s good to see some familiar faces around here. Especially at such a trying time.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Sur Verity said. ‘Though I think you’ll find that ours are not the only familiar faces here.’ She dipped her head in acknowledgement of a nearby presence. Joss turned. For the second time in as many minutes, he found himself caught off-guard by unexpected company as Zeke Zadkille pushed his way through the mourners, a lopsided smile on his face.

  ‘Hello, Joss,’ he said. ‘Did you get my letter?’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A REFORGED BLADE

  ‘YOUR letter?’ Joss said, thinking of the envelope Edgar had given him back in Stormport that was still tucked away in his luggage while Zeke stared at him. He looked just as bright and shiny and radiant as the day they’d been bound to each other as brethren. ‘I, uh, I haven’t had the chance …’

  ‘You haven’t?’ Zeke asked, taken aback. His smile fell away and his eyes flickered, revealing a level of uncertainty that the youngest scion of the Zadkille dynasty had never exhibited before. His demeanour reminded Joss of a blade that had been snapped and reforged, never again to have the strength it once possessed.

  Joss shook his head.

  ‘Well …’ Zeke continued, sliding his mask of confidence back into position. ‘I can only imagine how demanding your life is at the moment. Becoming a paladero is no easy business. And if anyone can testify to that, it’s me.’

  Zeke paused as if expecting a laugh. It didn’t come. Instead, the small group shuffled uncomfortably, with Eliza Wildsmith blushing so hard that her cheeks resembled overripe apples. But Zeke didn’t let the awkwardness throw him. If anything, his grin only grew wider. ‘It’s like old times, isn’t it? Back in Tower Town, circling among the dignitaries who came to witness the binding ceremony. All that’s missing is the recording of Irena Honeylush’s greatest hits.’

  ‘Josiah was only now saying as much,’ Sur Verity replied. Joss chose not to point out that he’d been referring to a different occasion. ‘Though Irena Honeylush may be an inappropriate choice, given the circumstances.’

  ‘Very true, Sur Verity. The last thing anyone would want would be to make a spectacle of such a solemn day. Bad enough that we’re burning rags and straw in place of a man who so steadfastly served this order,’ proclaimed a newcomer to the circle.

  He was a tall man who wore his height as if it were some kind of accomplishment, his shoulders square and his back straight. He was dressed in the shiniest set of riding leathers Joss had ever seen, with a collared cloak that was high enough to skim his thin wedge of a jawline. He had the look of past braveries swallowed by bravado, of former glories grown into today’s vainglory.

  He was accompanied by a burly, kettle-headed man dressed in the same heavy plate-armour as the guards positioned throughout the fortress grounds, the gold star on his breastplate distinguishing him as their captain. Helmet removed and held at his side, he made no noise as he closely shadowed the stately fellow who’d forced his way into their conversation.

  ‘Sur Rayner,’ Lord Malkus dipped his head in salutation of the new arrival, while Eliza shuffled aside to allow him entry into the group. ‘On behalf of Round Shield Ranch, please allow me to offer you and all your fellow order members at Blade’s Edge Acres our sincerest condolences.’

  ‘Lord Rayner now, actually,’ the man sniffed, examining the stitching of his soft leather gloves. ‘A formal announcement will be issued imminently. We wished to observe a suitable period of mourning, as I’m sure both you and Sur Verity would understand.’

  ‘Of course,’ Sur Verity said. ‘We’re all still grappling with the loss of Lord Haven. Has there been any confirmation of the cause?’

  ‘Merchant’s pox, as the physician tells it. Most likely contracted on a visit to Skyend or Freecloud or any of the surrounding settlements. We had to burn the body as soon as it was discovered, as well as all the chamber linens, lest the disease spread,’ Lord Rayner said. Beside him, the captain of the guard scanned the crowd with his beady blue eyes.

  ‘It was a fieldserv who found his lordship,’ Zeke offered. ‘Must have been a bad dose – usually the pox takes a week or more. But Lord Haven fell ill at night and was gone the next morning.’

  For the first time since his arrival, Lord Rayner looked at the young man opposite him. ‘Zadkille, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘You’ve only been with us a short while, so I’ll forgive your interruption on this occasion. But here at Blade’s Edge Acres we don’t encourage fieldservs to speak on such matters. Now if you’re quite done, I’m sure you have duties to which you must attend.’

  Zeke stole an embarrassed glance at Joss, who did his best not to add to the humiliation by keeping his expression as blank as possible.

  ‘Yes, my lord. As you say.’ Zeke bowed low, his eyes fixed on the ground. Joss watched him weave through the crowd before disappearing through a side door, gone as quickly as he had arrived.

  ‘My apologies. But one can never permit a fieldserv to rise too far above their station, lest the impertinence festers,’ Lord Rayner said, before turning his focus on Joss. ‘Forgive me, we’ve not had the pleasure of a proper introduction.’

  ‘Lord Rayner, allow me to introduce Josiah Sarif of Round Shield Ranch, Bladebound prentice and paladero-in-training,’ Sur Verity said, taking the opportunity.

  ‘Of course. I recognise you from your win at the Tournament. Quite the upset. Is that the Champion’s Blade I see strapped to your swordbelt?’

  ‘Sorry, my lord?’ asked Joss, too distracted by Zeke’s rapid departure to have registered the question.

  Annoyance flickered on Rayner’s face. ‘The Champion’s Blade. I noted that you’re wearing it.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ Joss said. The last thing he wanted to discuss was how he’d won the Champion’s Blade from Sur Verity. He could only hope that being concise yet polite would minimise any injury.

  But Lord Rayner hadn’t finished with the matter. Not by
a long shot. ‘May I see it?’ he asked, and with stiff formality Joss unsheathed the blade and presented it to his lordship as Sur Verity watched on.

  ‘What a beautiful object it is!’ Lord Rayner said, taking the sword to admire its form and forging. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Captain Kardos?’

  The armoured man at Rayner’s side grunted. ‘I’ve always favoured steel over gold,’ he muttered, making Lord Rayner titter in response as he handed the sword back. Joss swiftly returned it to its scabbard.

  ‘You’ll have to forgive the captain. He’s a single-minded man, though I’ve always found that a valuable trait in guards.’ Lord Rayner grinned at Lord Malkus and Sur Verity, who both forced a smile in response, before he turned back to Joss. ‘I understand, Prentice Sarif, that you’ll be undertaking the next step of your training here with us.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Very good. Though you should know we’ll brook no talk of “outrealmers” here,’ Rayner continued, invoking a crude term reserved for those few paladero orders stationed outside the borders of Thunder Realm. In all his travels with both Drake and Hero, the word hadn’t arisen once, so it struck Joss as odd that he’d just heard it from the leader of a so-called outrealm order. ‘We’ve always viewed ourselves as thunderfolk here, through and through, even when those residing in the heartland have named us elsewise.’

  ‘A shameful practice,’ said Lord Malkus. ‘And one that has never been condoned by Round Shield Ranch.’

  Rayner regarded Joss’s lord with no small hint of scepticism, making Joss struggle to maintain his composure.

  ‘Hmm. Yes. Well,’ Lord Rayner quickly pivoted his attention back to Joss. ‘You’ll find that accommodation has been arranged for you and your brethren in the northwest dormitory wing. Have your steward make enquiries and I’m sure someone will be able to direct you. And once you’re settled, it would be appreciated if you could join us in the Great Hall. A banquet has been arranged this evening in Lord Haven’s memory and you’ve been seated at the head table – along with our valued guests from Round Shield Ranch, of course.’

  ‘You do us great honour, Lord Rayner,’ Malkus said, provoking another chortle from the new leader of Blade’s Edge Acres.

  ‘Lord Rayner.’ He repeated the two words as if admiring the sound of them. ‘That shall take some getting used to – though not overmuch, I must admit.’

  His chortle became a burst of laughter that drew more than a few glances. Containing himself, Lord Rayner smoothed out his neatly combed hair. ‘If you’ll excuse me, duty begs that I tend to our other dear guests. Until tonight, my friends,’ he said, and he bowed his head and began circulating among the rest of the crowd, with Captain Kardos trailing close behind.

  Lord Malkus watched them go, then ran a hand down his face. ‘I suddenly find myself very weary,’ he said. ‘I think for now I’ll retire to my chambers and reconvene with you all at this evening’s formalities.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ Joss replied in unison with Sur Verity and her new prentice.

  Malkus offered a final clap on Joss’s shoulder. ‘Good to see you again, Sarif,’ he said, sounding as if he meant it. He was gone before Joss could reply.

  Instead, it was Eliza Wildsmith who filled the silence. She was still staring at Lord Rayner – who was chatting with everyone he encountered as if they were at some grand gala rather than a memorial for the lord of his own order – when she said, ‘Very … formal. Isn’t he?’

  Her tone spoke volumes. Joss braced for Sur Verity’s inevitable rebuke.

  ‘That’s one way of putting it,’ she said, and left it at that. Joss, used to Sur Verity’s usual abrupt manner, found her mild response bewildering – much as his unexpected reunion with Zeke had been. He was still trying to piece together all that had just happened when Sur Verity also took her leave, ushering her young prentice away ahead of the evening’s banquet.

  ‘A pleasure meeting you!’ the girl chirped as she followed Sur Verity from the battlement, leaving Joss to return to his brethren.

  Hero was one of the few people still gathered by the pyre, with Drake steadfastly by her side and Edgar hovering awkwardly behind them. ‘Was that Sur Verity I saw?’ the young steward asked.

  ‘And Zadkille too?’ Drake added in a hush. An irate glance from Hero convinced them that this conversation was best saved for later. Joss felt a rush of relief at the delay, his head still spinning from the whiplash speed of all the encounters he’d just had. He was in no frame of mind to try explaining any of it now.

  Eventually the pyre burned down and the crowd fragmented. Edgar offered hushed apologies before hurrying away to secure their lodgings. That left Hero alone with her brethren, keeping vigil over the dying flames. When all that was left was smouldering cinders, Drake coaxed her away from the fireside with an arm wrapped around her shoulder.

  Together the prentices made their way to the northwest wing, just as Lord Rayner had directed, where Edgar was waiting to guide them the rest of the way. The steward pointed out their assigned rooms; they were far more generous than those in Starlight Fields, with the Bladebound to be housed in a suite of bedchambers circling a shared den.

  Beams of light poured in from the many arrowslits that lined the common-room wall, overlooking the winding mountain path the prentices had trekked up only hours earlier. A fire had been lit in the den’s stone hearth in preparation for their arrival, the hiss and sputter of the flames an uncomfortable reminder of Lord Haven’s pyre.

  Excusing himself, Joss hurried into his room and shut himself inside. The sleeping cell was small but cosy, with a comfortable-looking cot against the wall, a washbasin propped on a table beside it and a skinny wardrobe opposite. A set of hand-me-down riding leathers in caramel and chocolate brown hung from the wardrobe door. The vest had wide lapels and looked to be lined with sabretooth fur for added warmth, while a pair of polarised goggles had been slung around the high wraparound collar.

  The significance of the outfit gave Joss pause: these were the garments in which he would learn to fly. Inspecting the goggles and running his fingers along the stitched leather, he felt overawed by his circumstances. But then he thought again of Zeke’s letter, and fell back to earth.

  He found his bag waiting for him on his cot. Quickly unpacking it, he tossed his clothes in a heap into the cupboard, then carefully placed his two most precious belongings – his mother’s journal and the Scryer that Qorzo had given him aboard the Behemoth – beside the washbasin. That left only Zeke’s letter, which Joss ripped open.

  Dear Joss, it began. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve tried writing to you now. It’s hard to put into words all that I’ve thought and felt since we parted ways. But the most important of them all is how truly sorry I am. Sorry that I wasn’t stronger. Or wiser. Or braver. Sorry that I wasn’t the person you thought I was. Sorry that I betrayed you.

  I’ve left Zadkille Station. My father said I could stay on as a prentice, even having failed the Way. His understanding was a surprise, to say the least, but what would have been the point in staying? I’m no paladero. Paladeros are meant to defend the weak, to live a life of duty and service to the realm. Clearly I failed at that.

  Instead, I’ve taken a position at Blade’s Edge Acres, which is about as far away from everything and everyone in my life as I could find. I’m working as a fieldserv, securing fence lines and fixing old equipment. The work is often hard, but it’s good and honest, and it gives me a chance to think.

  I’ve heard that you and the others are expected to arrive here soon to continue your training.

  I want you to know that I bear no grudges, and that it’s my most fervent hope that we can find some way of renewing the friendship that we once enjoyed. A friendship I took for granted.

  Most sincerely,

  Zeke.

  Joss rested the letter on its envelope. The wax seal was broken on the lip, the lightning bolt ‘Z’ of Zadkille Station snapped into two sharp points. When he’d r
eceived the letter, he’d imagined it to be full of half-hearted excuses or venomous accusations, or both, all of them fired at him from the lap of luxury.

  Instead he found this apology, this confession, this entreaty.

  It offered few answers and even less comfort. Joss had been torn over his decision to leave Zeke behind on the Way, unsure if he had done the right thing. But he’d been far too distracted by everything else he’d been through since then to linger on his decision. Now there would be no escaping it. The face that had haunted him ever since he’d turned his back on it had returned, to remind him every day of the choice he’d made.

  He curled his fingers tight and crushed the letter into a ball, then walked into the den. The others had all dispersed to their cells, leaving him alone by the fire. With one flick he tossed the letter into the flames and watched as it first blackened, then burned. Embers danced away from it, its words floating away as smoke.

  If only forgetting could be so easy.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A MAN OF THE PEOPLE

  JOSS sat at the head of the Great Hall and tried to look like he belonged there. It felt strange to be up on the dais, just a few chairs down from Lord Rayner’s position at the centre of the table. It gave him the sense of being a prize plateosaur trussed up for all to see. Not that anyone looked all that interested. The paladeros, prentices and fieldservs of Blade’s Edge Acres were gathered at the ten long tables that ran the length of the hall, too distracted by eating and drinking and laughing among themselves to pay much mind to the dignitaries looming over them.

  ‘Yeh’ll never get me down to Tower Town,’ one booming voice leapt out from the crowd. ‘They may live as high up as we do but none of ’em have the head for it!’

  ‘I ever catch one of ’em rustlers, I’ll string ’im up higher than a lizard-bird in need of draining,’ said a second.