The Edge of the World

by Steven Lochran

  ‘So you’ve said, Rowan,’ she replied, setting aside her plate and cup. ‘And I have to say, your warnings have made me curious about whatever it is that’s been happening here at the order.’ She nodded at the framed photo of Rowan and Lord Haven that adorned the nearest wall, and said, ‘Other than the obvious, of course.’

  Every drop of mirth drained from Rowan’s face. ‘It’s hard to know where to start. There’s no one thing to point to, other than the obvious, as yeh say. Maybe it’s the presence of all these mercenaries that’s setting me on edge …’

  ‘Mercenaries?’

  ‘Kardos and his men,’ said Rowan. ‘They’re all former military. Struck out on their own to work for the highest bidder, under the command of their former captain. Now they’re walking around here in their gleaming armour like little lordlings unto themselves. Kardos being chief among them, of course. The only authority he recognises is Rayner’s. Everyone else is just muck beneath his boots. Pardoning my language.’

  ‘That explains the seal that Kardos was wearing,’ Joss noted, and his brethren nodded.

  ‘The mercenaries – when did they arrive?’ Hero asked. ‘Was it Lord Haven who hired them?’

  ‘He approved the decision, though it was Rayner’s suggestion to bring them in. They were meant to help with the rustlers, though that doesn’t seem to be of much concern to them these days.’

  ‘Rustlers?’ Drake asked, making Rowan blink with surprise.

  ‘Nobody’s mentioned the rustlers to yeh?’

  The prentices shook their heads.

  ‘We’ve always been prey to thieves and poachers,’ Rowan explained. ‘What paladero order isn’t? But there’s been an unusual spate of it lately, and very unlike yer typical case. More like what yeh talked about seeing on the day of yer arrival. Lone animals gone missing from among herds, turning up dead in a ghastly state. Lord Haven was setting off to investigate the matter on the morning that he – well, on the morning that I found him …’

  ‘That was you?’ Hero said with surprise.

  Rowan nodded slowly. ‘In the Lord’s Keep, he was. He’d requested I ride with him on account of his being without a prentice.’

  Joss watched as a ripple of tension passed through Hero, which she dealt with by swallowing hard, then pushing her chin out.

  Rowan didn’t seem to notice as he went on, ‘We were going to inspect the grounds and rookeries to ensure they were all properly secured and there was no sign of anything suspicious. I’d been waiting on him for near two hours before I went to see what was keeping him so long. I found him sitting in an armchair in his solar, in his gloves and riding leathers, his lips blue, his eyes unblinking.’ Stopping to clear his throat, Rowan gazed up at the framed portrait. ‘But as peaceful as he seemed, I can’t help having me doubts.’

  ‘Doubts?’ said Hero, leaning forward.

  ‘Yeh’ll think me mad,’ the old fieldserv said, shaking his head.

  ‘Rowan,’ Hero said with a firm edge. ‘Tell me.’

  Rowan’s eyes darted across the faces of those seated before him, then back at the portrait. Fingers thrumming on the arm of his chair, he grumbled, ‘Merchant’s pox, the physician declared. Pah! His lordship hadn’t travelled beyond the fortress grounds for near on a week leading up to his death. And not a single other order member took ill, before or since. But it gave them the chance to burn him quick, without anyone stopping to take a closer look. And all this just happens to occur the day we’re off to investigate the most gruesome and peculiar case of rustling that I’ve seen in all my years of service? It doesn’t tally. Not unless yeh consider another possibility.’

  ‘What possibility?’ asked Joss.

  Rowan broke from staring at the portrait to gaze again into his guests’ faces. ‘Murder,’ he whispered.

  ‘Who would murder Lord Haven?’ Hero asked. Her question contained no hint of surprise. It was flat and focused, as if she were seeking to confirm an answer, and Joss wondered how long she’d harboured the thought.

  Rowan looked out the window. For a long time he just stared, sitting in contemplation.

  ‘I wish I could say, lass …’ he finally conceded. ‘Just as I wish I could say what all those accursed symbols carved into all those carcasses could mean.’

  ‘Symbols?’ Joss said, leaning forward alongside Hero. ‘What symbols?’

  ‘Strange symbols,’ Rowan replied. ‘Carved right into the flesh of the poached beasts, they were. Almost like they’d been branded. But not by any mortal hand. Branded by something far more sinister. Something … unnatural.’

  A rush of wind blew through the cottage, setting off all the chimes, and again Joss found himself in Daheed. This time, however, his mind was filled with Shadow Gods and chants of Darkness take us all, and a stone mask riddled with arcane symbols of black magic. Their meaning had eluded him so far, but the crude little runes had been seared into his memory all the same. Were they the same symbols that Rowan described? And if so, what purpose did they serve?

  ‘I have to go,’ he said, leaping up and running for the door.

  ‘Joss?’ asked Edgar, while Drake called out, ‘Joss! Wait!’ But Joss didn’t stop to explain himself, the chants only growing clearer in his memory, his destination set firmly in mind.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A MIRACULOUS SIGHT

  COMPARED to the library at Starlight Fields, the one at Blade’s Edge Acres was the most resplendent monument to knowledge one could hope to find. And even then it was a dumpy little building that didn’t have what Joss was searching for after he’d run all the way from Rowan’s cottage.

  The graffiti didn’t add to the atmosphere. ‘His lordship has a hundred watchful eyes’ had been scratched into the desk where Joss was sitting, setting him on edge. After a quick scan of the room, he nestled deeper into the stack of hardback texts that buttressed him on either side, hoping to avoid the attention of any untrustworthy onlookers.

  Of the few books he’d found, The Compendium of the Arcane had proven to be the most informative. ‘When it comes to the mystic arts, there is always a price that must be paid,’ it explained. ‘With black magic, that price was all the more costly. Blood sacrifice was inexorably involved, with the nature of the victim’s “soul” playing a part in the nature of the ritual. These sacrifices were performed as a way to win the favour of the darker forces of the universe – the shadow gods and assorted figures in which wayward cultures would place their faith.’

  From there, the compendium favoured narrow-minded diatribes over substantive information before dismissing the practice of black magic as superstitious and largely forgotten. And while it referenced the use of runes and other such symbols, it didn’t include anything in the way of illustrated examples to compare to the stone mask of a man whom Joss knew to be a devout disciple of the dark arts.

  How else could Thrall’s supernatural abilities be explained? Not to mention the rituals he had carried out in the ruins of Daheed, his sacrificial killing of innocent people, or all his dire proclamations of the shadowy master he served. The fact that the masked man had died in the sunken city did little to allay Joss’s concerns. Though Thrall himself was gone, that didn’t necessarily mean his mission had ended. If Joss were to find any assurance that the threat of Thrall and his Shadow God was resolved, he would have to delve deeper. And the best way he could think of to start was to try to decipher the runes inscribed on Thrall’s mask, especially if they turned out to be the same as the marks Rowan had described.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said to the librarian as she passed by, pushing a trolley loaded with returns. ‘Are these all the books you have about magic?’

  The librarian scrunched her nose as she looked at the battlements Joss had made of all the books he’d pulled from the shelves. ‘Looks to be so,’ she replied. ‘Is there a particular subject you’re researching?’

  Joss hesitated, looking again at the words scratched into the table. ‘Black magic practices. And anything relate
d to something called “the Shadow God”.’

  The librarian pursed her lips, but showed no hint of judgement beyond that. ‘I’m afraid you may need to go to the library in Skyend. Our resources are fairly limited here.’

  Joss’s heart sank. Sur Blaek’s rigorous training schedule was never going to allow him to make it all the way to Skyend, let alone spend hours in its library. With a resigned sigh, he stood up to leave. He was so consumed with thoughts of black magic and shadow gods as he walked outside that he didn’t see the figure beyond the doorway until he heard his name being called.

  ‘Josiah! I mean – Joss! Joss, hello!’

  Joss cast a wary glance at the speaker. ‘Zeke,’ he said flatly. ‘What are you doing here?’

  The prentice-turned-fieldserv offered an uncomfortable grin. ‘Just running an errand for the blacksmith. He asked me to deliver this …’ he looked at the small crate in his hands, ‘… box of lug nuts.’

  ‘Lug nuts?’ Joss said. ‘For the library?’

  Zeke squeezed his mouth shut, gave a stiff nod, then sighed. ‘I’ll be honest with you. That may not have been entirely, uh … true.’

  ‘Shocking,’ was all Joss said as he brushed past the former prentice on his way back to the dormitory wing.

  Lug nuts still in hand, Zeke followed. ‘I wanted to talk. And when I saw you heading for the library I grabbed the closest thing I could find.’

  ‘It’s good to know your relationship with the truth remains as steadfast as ever.’ Satisfied he’d shut down the exchange, Joss kept walking while Zeke slowed to a stop. Joss had only made it half-a-dozen steps before Zeke called out to him.

  ‘You’re right.’

  It was only two words, but they were enough to make Joss freeze. Still, he refused to look at Zeke even as his one-time Bladebound brother stepped tentatively towards him.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about everything you said. And you’re right. The worst thing I ever did was betray you. The second worst thing I ever did was act as if I had some valid reason to be upset with you about it. I’m sorry for what I did to you, and I’m just as sorry for how badly I went about trying to make amends.’

  Joss scraped the toe of his boot through the dirt, scrutinized the line it made, and kept his head down. ‘That’s a lot of thinking you’ve been doing.’

  ‘Fixing field equipment all day gives you more than enough time to reflect on all the ways you’ve made a mess of things,’ Zeke said. He was close enough now for his shadow to fall on Joss’s boots, but still Joss refused to look up.

  ‘So I’m just supposed to – what? Take you at your word? Trust you again? Act like everything is just the way it was?’

  ‘No.’

  The answer was firm enough that Joss finally glanced up and saw the seriousness of Zeke’s expression.

  ‘I’m a long way from ever being trusted again. I know that. What I’m going to have to do is make it up to you.’

  ‘And how are you going to do that?’

  A glimmer of Zeke’s former self showed itself with a rakish smile. ‘I don’t know. Not exactly. Not yet. Words are one thing, after all. Actions are another. Like you said, if I’m going to get your trust back, I’m going to have to earn it. How that happens, I have no idea. But I’ll work it out. Hopefully, when I do, you might be able to consider calling me your friend again.’

  Joss turned his gaze across the yard, drawing himself as far away as he could manage. ‘We’ll see,’ he said, hoping his tone was cold enough to convey his feelings.

  If the ice in his voice worried Zeke, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he maintained his same sunny smile as he held up the lug nuts. ‘I should get these back before anyone notices them missing,’ he said, setting off for the forge. ‘I’ll see you again soon, Joss.’

  ‘Not if I can help it,’ Joss said to himself, and continued on his way.

  The weeks unfolded in a blind rush. When Sur Blaek didn’t have Joss and his brethren logging hours on their flight rigs, he had them running song sword drills, or practising their hand signals, or polishing their saddles, or any number of other mundane tasks. Despite all this relentless training, and despite managing to stay in the saddle for increasingly longer stretches, Joss still found himself struggling.

  To make matters worse, he was the only one of the three prentices to be having such a hard time. Drake had taken to the rig with an infuriating ease, the switch from tundra bear to pterosaur proving relatively easy for him despite a bumpy start. And of course Hero was impressively adept at the task. Not that she was without frustrations of her own.

  ‘When I left here, I was flying just about every other day,’ she complained one evening as they walked back from the yard. ‘Now I can’t get within wing distance of a saddled mount.’

  ‘Trust me, I know the feeling,’ Drake replied, and Hero cocked a brow at him.

  ‘Don’t I remember you saying something about the first lesson being patience?’ she asked.

  ‘The first lesson to learn is patience, yes,’ Drake echoed with a nod. ‘I’ll let you know when I’ve learned it.’

  That lesson bore fruit sooner than expected when the prentices arrived at the training yard the next morning to find the most miraculous sight waiting for them. Three real live pterosaurs had been led into the training yard to take the place of their flight rigs. And beside them, standing with his own mount and with a sly smirk etched on his face, was Sur Blaek.

  ‘Today’s the day,’ he said as the prentices lined up before him, each of them staring in awe at the magnificent creatures and their bright red feathers. ‘The day you’ve been waiting for. The day you fly.’

  Joss restrained himself from bursting out in a cheer. All the trouble he’d had with his flight rig melted away; he was certain that he’d fare better with a live mount than a mechanical one. From the way the others trembled beside him, he guessed they were just as excited. Only Edgar stood unmoved, clearly disappointed he wouldn’t be joining them in the air.

  ‘Hero, I understand you’ve flown Xeff before. Far be it from me to bust up a successful partnership,’ Sur Blaek said with a gesture to the nearest pterosaur, its chest puffed out regally as it squawked a greeting to its rider. A lopsided smile spread across Hero’s face.

  ‘Drake,’ Sur Blaek continued. ‘You’re the tallest of the bunch so you’ll be with the biggest pterosaur we have stabled: Nor’Wester.’

  ‘Yes, sur,’ Drake replied, gazing with reverence at the giant lizard-bird that sat between the other two like their minder. Its beak was easily as long as Drake’s Icefire spear, and just as sharp. But for all its strength and fierceness, the creature had a gentleness in its manner that emanated through its soft clucks and caws.

  ‘Sarif – that leaves you with Tempest. Be careful with him. He may be a runt but he has a nasty nip to him when he’s under stress.’

  Joss stared at the red-eyed pterosaur squatted before him, paying its rider no mind as it nibbled at its unkempt feathers and rubbed its scruffy face against its shoulder. It was half the size of the others, scrawny and agitated, and left Joss missing his grumpy old tundra bear. Perhaps he’d been too quick to assume his problems in the saddle were at an end.

  ‘Don’t we need helmets?’ he asked, thinking back to when he had snuck his way into competing in the Gauntlet by using Sur Wallace’s old visored skyborne helmet as a disguise. Joss had always thought it had a certain flair to it, not to mention the added safety should Tempest be as eager to throw him as his flight rig had been.

  ‘You can’t be true skyborne and hide your head under a hunk of metal,’ Sur Blaek replied. ‘A trusty pair of goggles is all you need, and perhaps a bandana if you’re not intent on tasting the wind. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Before any of that, we need to start much as we did with the flight rigs. Prentices, draw your swords and make your music. Bring these birds under your spell.’

  Together they unsheathed their practice blades and performed the now-familiar movements. The pterosaurs
watched with guarded curiosity, which soon turned to mystified submission. Not wanting to break the spell they’d woven, the prentices walked one cautious step at a time toward their mounts, then pulled themselves up into their saddles.

  ‘Safety lines hooked,’ Sur Blaek called out, taking the cord attached to his belt and fastening it to his pterosaur’s saddle. Joss and the others did the same, Joss’s beast shifting impatiently beneath him. It was almost like being saddled atop Azof again, firm flesh and straining sinew making for a far more agreeable ride than a glorified copper tub. But there was a skittish quality to Tempest’s movements that gave Joss pause, wondering how much of a fight this bird was going to offer.

  ‘Now remember,’ Sur Blaek said from the back of his own mount, Fulger. ‘There’s no need for nerves. You’ve done all this before. It’s just a case of keeping a clear head and putting together everything you’ve learned. All right? Then let’s go.’

  Sur Blaek clicked his tongue, tapped his heels against his pterosaur’s body, pulled the reins tight and cried, ‘Yah!’ and the great red lizard-bird leapt into the sky with a hearty shriek. Hero and Drake were quick to do the same. That just left Joss, sitting on the back of his small but feral pterosaur.

  ‘Come on, Tempest,’ he said. ‘Git!’

  He clicked his tongue. Tapped his heels. Pulled the reins.

  Nothing.

  And then, in a sudden rush of force, Tempest pounded his wings and launched himself upward. He ascended so quickly that Joss felt like his lower half was still somewhere down on the ground, his stomach stretched as tight as an anchor line in a strong current. The earth whirled around as it dropped away, the air shifting just as quickly.

  The rampart walls whizzed past and the fortress fell away, and then Joss and his winged mount were up in the crisp blue perfection of the open sky. He found the others circling there, high above the world, with Sur Blaek flying even higher overhead. The skyborne paladero looked down at them behind his polarised goggles and gestured with the hand signals he had taught them. Circle south. Trail formation. Sur Blaek to lead, Hero second, Drake third, Joss at the rear.