‘Oi, Montgomery! Pull me finger!’ barked another, his demand punctuated by an explosive burst of gas and a round of raucous laughter.
The guests were feasting on slow-roasted stegosaur belly, barbecued dimorphodon wings and haunches of salted megaloceros, with jugs of mead and sarsaparilla and mulled wine served up alongside every bite. It was the kind of spread that Joss would fantasise about while out on the trail, eating reheated beans from a can. But he had barely touched his plate.
Perhaps if he were back home at Round Shield Ranch he would feel differently. The Great Hall there was a far more modest thing, untiled and utilitarian, with dozens of smaller round tables scattered throughout. And rather than occupying a seat of great esteem, Lord Malkus would instead move around the room to sit at a different place every night. This way, everyone who served him had their own chance to break bread with him, to join him in a drink, to share their thoughts and voice their concerns. Although Joss was often too overwhelmed by the lord’s presence to speak up himself, he noted that Lord Malkus’s efforts gave those who laboured at Round Shield Ranch a greater sense of investment in the place. It wasn’t simply the order they served – it was their home.
Clearly that wasn’t the case at Blade’s Edge Acres, if the surroundings were anything to go by. Everything in the Great Hall, from the banners to the wall-mounted weapons, had been arranged to draw the eye towards the figure at the head of the room, who sat in a gilded throne that would leave even the Grandmaster Council feeling envious.
Of course, Lord Rayner had not been in his position long. Perhaps he had plans to overturn the traditions of his order, to make himself a man of the people in the same fashion as Lord Malkus. The way he held himself as he gazed imperiously down at his subjects, however, left Joss doubtful.
The newly minted lord was seated between the highest-ranked paladeros from the visiting orders, with Lord Malkus directly beside him. Sur Verity was positioned a few spots down from that, with Joss and his Bladebound brethren neighbouring her at the far end of the table. Edgar and Eliza Wildsmith were seated with all the other prentices, where Joss could see them chatting merrily to each other between mouthfuls of food. He wondered what could be delighting them both so much.
‘So,’ he said, staring at his plate as he addressed Sur Verity. ‘How’s the new prentice working out?’
‘Remarkably well,’ Sur Verity replied, munching on a megaloceros bone.
‘You don’t say,’ Joss grumbled, thinking of all the years he’d served as Sur Verity’s prentice without her saying anything nearly as glowing as what she’d just proclaimed about Eliza Wildsmith.
‘She’s diligent, dedicated, talented,’ Sur Verity went on, every word making Joss fume even more. ‘And a big admirer of yours, from what I can tell.’
‘Really?’ Joss said, his temperature suddenly shifting.
Picking the bone clean, Sur Verity tossed it onto her plate and picked up another. ‘I’m used to the odd lickspittle who wants to besiege me with every question they can think to ask about my experiences in running the Gauntlet and so on,’ she said. ‘What I’m not used to is having them follow it up with even more questions about my prentice’s exploits. Misbegotten as they were.’
‘Huh,’ was all Joss could think to say. It wasn’t the first time someone had noted his winning the Gauntlet, though people’s reactions were always mixed as a result of him having bluffed his way into the competition. He’d never encountered anyone who’d expressed full-throated admiration for what he’d done. Even his own brethren had struck him as ambivalent about the whole affair.
The only person who’d ever been truly and wholeheartedly enthusiastic about his win was Edgar, whose place at Round Shield Ranch had been assured when Joss had masqueraded as Edgar’s former master to keep the old paladero from being disqualified. And now here Edgar was, sitting with Joss’s replacement, who kept stealing glances at Joss before quickly looking away again.
‘Seems to me you’re somewhat of an inspiration to her,’ Sur Verity said, before finishing with a grizzle. ‘A notion I’ll be breaking her of in short order, believe me.’ There was just enough levity in her voice to let Joss know she was joking. Or to at least hope that she was.
‘Have you seen any more of the Zadkille prentice? Or should I say the Zadkille fieldserv?’ she asked, her question taking him by surprise.
‘Not since this afternoon,’ Joss admitted. He risked another sly look around the room. ‘Why? Is he here?’
Sur Verity watched him for a moment as she chewed on a wing. ‘No,’ she burped, then spat out a stray piece of cartilage. ‘He wouldn’t have been here long enough to earn table privileges yet. Most likely he’s eating down at the forge. That’s where I first ran across him, after busting a stirrup on the ride here. Lo and behold, the youngest scion of the Zadkille clan was there, jobbing as a blacksmith.’
‘You mean Wildsmith didn’t take the stirrup there herself?’ he asked, surprised that a prentice so highly lauded wouldn’t handle so basic a task.
But Sur Verity only shrugged. ‘Wanted to stretch my legs after the long ride. So I accompanied her.’
Joss lapsed into a pensive silence as he chewed on all that Sur Verity had told him, before turning his attention back to all the faces in the room. One of them caught his attention: Lynch, Hero’s bitter rival. He was sitting just a few places down from Edgar and Eliza, glaring maliciously at the head table. Beside him were his cronies, the Brute and the Newt. One of them must have made a cutting remark, as all three sniggered loudly, only to fall deathly silent upon being rebuked by a paladero sitting opposite them.
He was dressed in a white linen shirt and brown riding leathers, with a medal pinned over his heart that had a pair of pterosaur wings extending from a star – the sign of someone who’d achieved the rank of skyborne. His head was shaved of every hair, and he had an intensity to him that drew Joss’s attention like a magnet.
‘Who’s that?’ he asked, and Sur Verity glanced where he was staring.
‘Sur Blaek Corrigan? You know Sur Blaek. He’s the only lodestar-ranked paladero at Blade’s Edge Acres now that Lord Rayner’s ascended to his new role.’
‘Lodestar?’ Joss said, familiar with the term but not entirely clear on its meaning. ‘That’s like being an apex-ranked paladero at Round Shield Ranch, isn’t it? Like you?’
‘More or less. It places him as first among his order’s skyborne paladeros, second in charge only to his lordship. Though with the way he swept the pterosaur challenges at this past Tournament, I doubt Sur Blaek has time for all the politics involved in such a role. Or much else beyond life in the saddle.’
‘Was he in the Gauntlet?’ asked Joss, wondering if this would be yet another paladero who’d have a fang to pull with him.
‘Skyborne rarely compete in the Gauntlet,’ Sur Verity said, sucking on her teeth. ‘They see it as beneath them. Both literally and figuratively. Though I think it’s really because they spook at the prospect of being earthbound for too long.’
‘Did someone mention the Gauntlet?’ said the paladero to Sur Verity’s left. He swivelled around in his seat to address Sur Verity in a loud, inebriated moan, ‘What sport, Wolfsbane! We were just debating the finer points of running the Gauntlet. We were wondering what insights a three-time champion such as yourself might have to share!’
Sur Verity let out a small but distinct sigh and turned to the two paladeros beside her, who both had big ruddy grins on their faces. ‘What would you like to know?’
She was immediately barraged with a gamut of breathless questions. Joss was thankful for the distraction, their conversation having left him with a hardened knot in his stomach. He turned to Hero, who was sitting to the right of him and Drake.
‘How are you feeling?’ asked Drake, watching her with unmasked concern as she pushed around a mound of peas with her fork.
‘I’m fine,’ she replied. She set her cutlery back on the table. ‘Though I can’t say I’m much in the
mood for feasting tonight.’
Whatever Drake said in response was lost as a wave of noise rolled around the room, starting at the head table with the banging of knives and forks and growing into the stomping of feet. Joss saw that Lord Rayner was rising to stand, spurred on by the rowdy applause of his order. He waited a moment as he soaked in the adulation, with Captain Kardos appearing behind him to scan the crowd before Rayner finally held up his hand for silence.
‘Guests! Comrades! Friends! On this Witnessday evening we gather together to break bread and drink in remembrance of our dear departed Lord Haven. For well over a decade he led this order with dignified and sober intent. There truly was no other man like him, and he will be sorely missed. To Lord Haven!’
‘To Lord Haven!’ the crowd echoed, cups outstretched then quickly quaffed.
Licking the wine from his lips, Lord Rayner lowered his goblet to continue. ‘So much for him. Now for ourselves. It is with great honour and humility that I accept the lordship of Blade’s Edge Acres. For years I have laboured alongside you, shed sweat beside you, wheeled through treacherous winds with you, seen off poachers and predators and scoundrels of all stripes!’
The more he spoke, the more mesmerised those closest in the audience became, with Captain Kardos and his armoured guards chief among them. It reminded Joss of Thrall and the strange, hypnotic influence that the masked man wielded like a weapon. But for every person that sat engrossed in Rayner’s address, there were two or three times that many who shared a sceptical glance, a hidden roll of the eyes.
Those glances centred around one man: Sur Blaek. Leaning back in his chair, he had one leg sticking out from under his table and his arms folded across his chest. He had the look of someone who’d flown beyond the furthest reaches of the mapped world to return with rare knowledge. And it was that knowledge that seemed to be leaving him leery of the words echoing from the Great Hall’s stage.
‘I know what it means to give your life to this place, to its people, and I intend to do no less as your leader!’ Lord Rayner was saying, still holding sway over those nearest him. ‘Together we will take this order to new heights, and gaze out at horizons heretofore unimagined! What say you!’
The crowd leapt to its feet, some faster and with more enthusiasm than others. Even Sur Blaek stood up at the far end of the hall, drawing the last of the hold-outs with him. Lord Rayner didn’t seem to notice the hesitation, beaming as any uncertainty was drowned out by the full-throated support of the rest of the audience, who were shouting louder and louder, ‘Ray-ner! RAY-NER! RAY-NER!’
The crowd was still chanting as Hero slid her plate aside and pushed back her seat. ‘Excuse me,’ she muttered. ‘My queasiness has taken a sudden turn for the worse.’
She slipped through the nearest door, disappearing from the hall like a ghost. Her absence was overlooked by everyone in the crowd save Captain Kardos, who scrutinized her early departure with suspicion before returning his attention to his lordship. Pushing back his chair, Drake moved to follow her. He was stopped with a quick hand to the shoulder, and glanced to see Joss rising in his place.
‘You stay,’ Joss said. ‘I’ll go find her.’
Drake looked uncertain. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I could use the fresh air. It’s suffocating in here.’
Drake resumed his seat with a reluctant nod, while Joss pushed through the door and found himself in a small courtyard. Beyond the fortress walls, the alpine wind was gliding through the surrounding mountains, while blue moonbeams poured down through the battlements like thick streams of ice water. There was no sign of Hero. No sign of anyone. There was only a small, copper mechanoid trundling past on one large wheel, which squeaked with every turn.
‘Excuse me, did a girl wearing a hat and dark goggles come this way?’
‘Miss Hero?’ the mek bleeped from the speaker embedded in its chest, while the lens in the middle of its featureless face contracted. ‘This unit has not seen her.’
Joss pondered what to do. Either Hero had fled back to their quarters or she had stolen away to roam the grounds. Either way, it was clear she didn’t want any company. Better to give her some time and space, he thought, just as a chestnut as hard and spiky as a raider’s mace dropped from a nearby tree to strike him in the head.
‘Ouch!’ he hissed, and the mechanoid rocked back to stare at him as if startled by the sudden noise. Joss rubbed his head, winced, and checked his fingers for blood. Though his skin was still throbbing, it hadn’t been broken. Looking up, he saw that the mek was still staring at him, blank-faced yet expectant. Free of the Great Hall with nowhere else to go, and with a spike of fresh anger sticking in him, Joss gingerly brushed away his injury and asked one last question.
‘Where can I find the forge?’
CHAPTER NINE
A FAT LOT OF GOOD
JOSS followed the mechanoid’s directions through the fortress grounds and into the northwest yard, not far from where he and his brethren were housed in the dormitory wing. The revelry of the Great Hall had faded to a far-off din, leaving only the chirping of crickets, the hooting of owls and the occasional screech of a circling pterosaur.
Trudging across the damp sod, Joss wondered if he was making a mistake coming out here. Perhaps it was better to let things lie, to ignore Zeke and focus only on his training. He had managed to hide his true feelings and keep from making a scene in front of their superiors. The wise thing, no doubt, would be to continue on that path – to not cause any unnecessary trouble. But the pull he felt was too strong to deny. Better to surrender to it, and let come what may.
The forge was a squat, lowset building leaning against the fortress’s cliff-side outer wall. Its two circular windows looked like a pair of glowing golden eyes from across the field, through which Joss could see someone moving around inside. A small pack of juvenile hadrosaurs had been penned up outside for the night, the animals stirring only slightly as Joss passed them. When he opened the door, however, they jumped in fright at the sudden blast of noise let loose from within. Inside, a glitchy illuminator was projecting footage of Sooty Jenkins strumming his chordophone.
‘I spent ten seasons in the Searing Sands,’ the illumigram crooned.
‘With a sword that wouldn’t sing,
A toothless mount that never ran,
Totally forsook by the Sleeping King.’
Pushing through the veil of starry particles, Joss stepped into the workshop. It was a humble space, with an expansive slate floor leading to three large hearths stacked high with coal. The day’s fires had burned down to a red glow that kept the room as humid as a hatchery, while the whitewashed brick walls were cluttered with all manner of heavy-duty tools and instruments.
The largest, most noteworthy object was plunked down on a tarp in the centre of the workshop; a mass of tarnished steel, soldered into a shape that vaguely resembled a barge. Its hull was a curved and cumbersome thing, out of which stuck a pair of rounded wings that would better serve as iron skillets. An open-air wheelhouse had been built atop the bulky engine, which was mounted at the rear of the vessel. Its many gaskets and exhaust pipes looked like a mass of unlit fireworks, just waiting for the spark that would make them all explode.
A pair of legs stretched out from beneath the complex contraption, knees bent and bobbing.
‘Garth?’ the owner of the knees asked. ‘Tell me they had some stew left over – my guts are growling!’
‘No stew. Though you missed some tasty barbecue wings.’
There was the clang of a tool being dropped, the thump of flesh against metal, the hiss of a curse word. And then Zeke rolled out from beneath the hulking vehicle, rubbing his head, his face lined as much with surprise as it was with grease. ‘Joss! I wasn’t expecting you down here,’ he said, grabbing a nearby rag to wipe his hands as he quickly stood up.
‘I wasn’t exactly planning on making my way over,’ Joss admitted.
‘It’s good to see you. Though I’m sorry I startled yo
u before. I hadn’t planned on it all happening like that.’
Joss turned to the vessel laid out before him. ‘This some kind of airship?’ he asked.
Thrown by the change of subject, it took Zeke a moment to respond. ‘More like an airwagon, really. Given the size.’
‘Anything would feel small when you’ve been flying around with the Zadkille fleet all your life,’ Joss said.
If Zeke took any offense at the dig, he showed no sign of it beyond a fleeting glance thrown Joss’s way. ‘It’s a test model,’ he continued. ‘Meant for transporting only a few head of livestock across a short distance. Lord Haven bought it secondhand to rescue stranded beasts from mountaintops. Apparently it worked once, then never again. It’s been rusting here ever since. I’m trying my hand at fixing it up in my spare time, though I’m not sure if the problem lies with the power cells or if the whole ignition system needs replacing.’
‘Does it have a name?’ Joss moved forward to skim his eyes along the beastly machine.
‘They call it the Anvil,’ Zeke replied, taking a tentative step to bridge the distance between them. Joss stood his ground, keeping his gaze squarely set. ‘But I’m thinking of redubbing it the Fat Lot of Good for all the luck I’m having getting it going again.’
Zeke took another step, then another.
‘I read your letter,’ Joss said, and Zeke stopped.
‘I meant every word,’ he said.
‘You did?’
Zeke nodded.
‘Even the part where you said you didn’t hold a grudge?’ asked Joss.
‘Of course,’ Zeke said. A timid little smile flittered across his face, making Joss’s twist with rage.
‘You really have some cussing nerve.’
Zeke stopped. ‘Excuse me?’ he said, blinking, while Joss turned from the airship to stalk around the workshop floor.
‘You don’t hold a grudge? What could you possibly hold a grudge over? You betrayed us, Zeke! That was your choice and yours alone!’
The Edge of the World Page 5
